Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [13]
I have to join him in his mirth because, in my case, his guess is spot-on. There’s a decent chance that if I hadn’t spent time during my formative years at the knees of my parents, listening to stories about ancient peoples and places, I might not have taken an interest in the study of civilizations arisen, fallen, and in some cases, passed from collective memory.
“I see I’ve come close to the truth?” Gordon asks.
I nod and give him his due. “It may have had some influence on my education, yes.”
He grunts an acknowledgment and then shakes his head. “It amazes me how such a seminal work can be so neglected once one enters into serious study. It’s quite odd, really.”
I do not respond, principally because it seems such a childish thing to say coming from such a bright man. It’s the equivalent of suggesting that a person earning his doctorate in English Literature should spend time studying children’s books. While these books might have instilled in the doctoral candidate a love of reading, their usefulness has long been spent.
“I can tell by your expression that you do not agree with me?” There is no indictment in the question, but I sense a hint of sadness.
I let a few ticks pass in silence while I consider the question. I have no wish to offend this man, yet I have a feeling he would not be fooled by insincerity. I watch the flames dance over logs half consumed by their ravenous tendrils.
“The Bible does not teach a person the fundamentals of archaeology,” I say. “While there are some interesting stories in there—some even corroborated by other documents and excavations—you can’t use the book as some sort of treasure map.”
“That is certainly true, Jack. However, the treasures are there, if one knows where to look.”
We’re getting to the crux of it now. I can feel the reason behind the meeting looming just outside the edge of the conversation. I do not answer. It is his story to unravel, his request to make.
“Second Kings,” Gordon says. “Chapter thirteen, verses twenty and twenty-one.”
Of course, I’m silent. I could no more quote the contents of those verses than I could recite pi to the thousandth place.
Gordon looks once again at the fire, and when he speaks he’s quoting the biblical passage. “ ‘Elisha died and was buried. Now Moabite raiders used to enter the country every spring. Once while some Israelites were burying a man, suddenly they saw a band of raiders; so they threw the man’s body into Elisha’s tomb. When the body touched Elisha’s bones, the man came to life and stood up on his feet.’ ”
From deep within my childhood experiences, I pull a memory that corresponds to what Gordon has just recited, although I remember hearing the passage in Old English. It sounds different spoken in contemporary language.
“Do you know, Jack, that there’s no other mention of this event after these two verses? Imagine that: a dead man is tossed onto the bones of a prophet and he comes back to life. Today, that would be quite a story. The media would be all over it.”
“As they would the fact that this same man made an axhead float in water, and that he summoned bears out of the woods to kill children who made fun of his receding hairline.” It’s coming back to me now—these fanciful Bible stories. I remember not liking Elisha very much. It seemed petulant to use the power of God to get even with taunting youths.
Gordon picks up on my thoughts and nods. “Yes, the Bible is full of what seem to us abuses of divine power. But I think the work is richer for it. There is a certain weight—a believability— that is granted to a book that shows its heroes in all of their insidious splendor.” Gordon’s glass is empty and I’m beginning to wish I’d taken him up on the offer of a drink of my own. If nothing else, it would give me something to do during these pauses in the conversation.