Christ the Lord - Anne Rice [77]
“A thief, even now?” I asked. “Didn't he confess his sins and go into the river?”
“He's at the customs post, hammering away as he always did,” said Simon. “Lord, dine with me under my roof. Dine with your sister. We'll dine with you wherever you like, we'll camp by the sea; we'll dine on my catch. But not with Matthew, the toll collector. Everyone will see and know this thing.”
“You don't owe this to him, Yeshua,” said Salome. “You do this because our beloved Joseph died in the toll collector's tent. But you don't have to do it. It's not required.”
“I require it,” I said gently. I kissed her again.
She laid her head against my chest. “Yeshua, there've been so many letters from Nazareth. There's been word from Jerusalem. You're being watched with expectation, and with reason.”
“Listen to me,” I said. I didn't want to let her go. “You go now and ask your father-in-law if you might come with us to Nazareth to celebrate the wedding of Reuben and Avigail. You and this little one, Tobiah, who hasn't seen his grandfather's house, our house. I tell you, your father-in-law will say yes to this. Bundle up your wedding garments, and we'll call for you both at dawn.”
She started to object, to say the inevitable, that her father-in-law needed her, and would never permit it, but the words died on her lips. She was overcome with excitement, and giving me one last kiss, she snatched up Little Tobiah and hurried with him out of the house.
The others followed me.
When I stepped outside the door, there was a young man staring at me anxiously. He was vigorous and covered with dust from his work, but with ink stains on his fingers.
“They're talking of you,” he said, “up and down the shore. They're saying John the Baptist pointed to you.”
“Yours is a Greek name, Philip,” I said. “I like your name. I like all I see in you. Come and follow me.”
This gave him a violent start. He reached for my hand but waited for me to give him leave to take it.
“Let me call my friend who's here in the city with me.”
I stopped for a moment. I saw his friend in my mind's eye. I knew this was Nathanael of Cana, the student of Hananel I'd seen in Hananel's house when I went to talk to him. In a nearby yard, behind whitewashed walls, the young man was packing his parchments and scrolls and clothing for the journey home to Cana. He'd been all this time working near the sea, and now and then peering at the Baptist from afar. His mind was heavy with worries; he thought this trip home a nuisance, yet he couldn't miss the wedding. He had no expectation that Philip was rushing towards him as he wrestled with his wares and his cares.
I went on down the road, marveling at the numbers who were following us, and the children coming to peer up at us, and the adults who struggled to control them, though they whispered to each other and pointed. I heard my name. Over and over again, they spoke my name.
Nathanael of Cana caught up with us right before we came to the busy road, just opposite the toll post, where the bustle of travelers slowed and gathered in a knot.
There was now a large shuffling idle crowd around us. People moved in to glance at me, and say, yes, that is the man they saw at the river, or yes, that is the man who brought the devils out of Mary of Magdala. Others said, no, it was not. Some declared the Baptist was about to be arrested for the crowds he was drawing, and others insisted it was because the Baptist had angered the King.
I stopped and bowed my head. I could hear every word spoken, I could hear all words spoken, I could hear the words just about to break from parted lips. I let this fall into silence, into the sweet wind rising off the distant sparkling sea.
Only the proximate sounds returned—Simon Peter was declaring that I had cured his mother-in-law by the mere touch of her hand.
I turned my face to the moist breeze. It was lovely and light and filled with the airy scent of the water. My parched