The Book of Longings(117)

Laying down the lyre, Tabitha caught one of the strings on her finger, the sound like a small whimper. I motioned her to the seat beside me and we sat pressed together.

“Antipas already knows the people call Jesus King of the Jews,” Lazarus said. “There’s not a soul in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard of it, including the Romans. But the governor, Pilate, is an even greater threat than Antipas. He’s known for his brutality. He will crush any threat to peace within the city.”

I shivered, and not from the cold seeping into the night air.

“Last Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey,” he said. “There’s a prophecy that the Messiah king will come into Jerusalem humbly, sitting on an ass.”

I knew the prophecy. We all knew the prophecy. That Jesus had done such a thing rendered me speechless. It was a blatant acceptance of the role. But why did this shock me? I thought of the epiphany he’d had when he was baptized, the revelation that he must act, how he’d gone off with John the Immerser.

“The crowds followed after him,” Lazarus was saying. “They were shouting ‘Hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’”

“We were there,” Mary added. “The people were carried away with jubilation, believing they would soon be delivered from the Romans and that God’s kingdom would be ushered in. You should have seen them, Ana. They broke branches off the trees and strew them in his path. We walked behind him with his disciples and joined in ourselves.”

If I’d been there, would I have tried to stop him or blessed the fierce need that drove him? I didn’t know; I honestly didn’t know.

Lazarus walked to the wall gap, just as I’d done a short while before, and stared across the valley toward the city as if trying to divine where in the web of narrow, twisting, fevered streets his old friend was. We watched him: his back to us, hands clasped behind him, the relentless way he rubbed his fingers. “Jesus has proclaimed that he is a Messiah,” he said, turning toward us. “He did it believing God will act, but it wasn’t only a religious statement. It was a political one. That’s what worries me most, Ana. Pilate knows the Jewish Messiah is meant to overthrow Rome—he will take it seriously.”

All this time Martha had said nothing, but I saw her sit straighter on the bench and draw a breath. She said, “There is one more thing, Ana. The day after Jesus announced himself on the donkey, he returned to Jerusalem and—tell her, Mary.”

Mary gave her a rueful look. “Yes, he returned to the city and started a . . . a commotion in the Temple.”

“It was more than a commotion,” Martha said. “It was a riot.”

Mary sent her another look of exasperation.

“What do you mean, a riot?” I asked.

“This time, we were not there,” Mary said. “But the disciples said he became angry over the corruption of the money changers and the men who sell the animals for sacrifice.”

Martha broke in. “He upended their tables, scattering coins, and kicked over the seats of the pigeon sellers. He shouted that they’d turned the Temple into a den of thieves. People scrambled to pluck up the coins. The Temple guard was summoned.”

“He wasn’t harmed, was he?”

“No,” said Mary. “Surprisingly, the Temple authorities didn’t apprehend him.”

“Yes, but Caiaphas, the high priest, is set against him now,” Lazarus said. “I don’t like to admit it, but Jesus is very much in danger.”

Tabitha leaned into me. We sat for several moments before I could ask the question. “Do you think they will arrest him?”

“It’s hard to say,” Lazarus answered. “The mood in the city is volatile. Pilate and Caiaphas want nothing more than to be rid of him. Jesus could easily start a revolt.”

“I cannot believe that’s his wish,” I said. My husband was a resister to Rome, but not a violent one. He was not like my brother.

“I wondered about his intention,” Lazarus said. “He seemed to purposely provoke the authorities. But that same night, he stood right here where I’m standing now and told his disciples that whatever happened they would not take up the sword. Judas challenged him, saying, ‘How do you expect to free us from Rome without a fight? You speak of love—how will that rid us of Rome?’ I know he’s your brother, Ana, but he was angry, almost hostile.”

“Judas is a Zealot,” I said. “The Romans murdered his father and sent his mother into slavery. His whole life has been about seeking vengeance.” Even as I said this, I marveled that I made excuses for him. He meant to overthrow the Romans even if he had to hand Jesus over to spark a revolution. There would never be enough excuses for that. Fury surged into my chest. I said, “How did Jesus answer him?”

“He did so sternly. He said, ‘I’ve spoken, Judas.’ That silenced him.”

For a moment I considered pulling Judas’s letter from my travel pouch and reading it to them, but it would do nothing but alarm them more.

Lazarus rested his hand on Martha’s shoulder. He said, “This morning before Jesus left for Jerusalem, I implored him to spend Passover in a quiet fashion and to keep hidden. He agreed. If the authorities seek to arrest him, they will have to find him first.”

They would have no trouble finding him if Judas intervened to help them. The thought lifted me to my feet. “Should we not go and find him ourselves?”