ISBN: 9781626754027
I lay awake in the cool of the pre-dawn hours thinking about things. The cock crowed. A ghostly blue light permeated the room. The morning birds flooded the air with their robust little songs. The nets! I must get the nets!
Then I smelled the cedar and smiled. Sarah and I were in the special room, a separate little house, actually. It was my last day of vacation. So we all stopped the itinerant preacher business and went our separate ways for a while.
For me, that meant six days of back breaking labor helping old John, my dad, with the fishing business again. But even he relented and gave me the final morning off, with a wink and a grin. Then Sarah said we sleep in the special room, the one usually reserved for newlyweds.
“Oh,” I said, always ready to co-operate with Sarah in her perpetual pursuit of parenthood, which seems to have eluded us these many years.
We did the right thing and I went to sleep, exhausted from the multiple labors of the day. And that was that, or so I thought.
This morning seemed special, holy, pregnant with possibilities. I looked over to Sarah’s shadowy sleeping form and smiled. Well, why not? I applied what us guys jokingly called, “fisherman’s foreplay.” I touched her shoulder and whispered, “Honey, you awake?”
“I am now, you big lunk,” she answered in mock irritation for she was merely waiting for me to wake up. She opened her nightclothes and I opened mine.
Then: Wham!
I still do not know what hit me. She was like ten tornadoes. A few touches and we were both gasping. Her large boned muscular body gleamed with sweat. Her eyes, green and brown and ringed with gold, flashed fire. Her high cheek bones and olive complexion glowed in the morning light.
I rolled over on top of her and entered her wet, warm love-tunnel as gently as I could, but she grasped me savagely by the buttocks and shoved me in. I exploded volcanically and she kept shoving me in. I did not wither.
She flipped me like a Greek wrestler and rolled over on top and rode me like a prize stallion, her full breasts glistening in the morning sun. Her teeth shone in a wild grin. Her long raven hair flew every which way.
Then she rippled and shivered and clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle her wild screams. She flashed red all over so intensely for a minute that I thought she might be having a heart attack. After that, she collapsed on top of me. Is she alive? I thought.
Her rapid breathing assured me she was, as her deep blush bled into the morning sky. She seemed to be in some kind of coma.
As for me, I ascertained I would live as well. Though totally exhausted, I never felt better in my life
Afterwards, I lay gasping, wondering if I could ever move again.
Her eyes suddenly popped open. She grinned. “Time for breakfast!” Then she jumped up and bustled over to the kitchen area. As the domestic noises, the clang of pots and the bubbling of liquids ensued, I tried to get up. I was paralyzed! Every single muscle of my body was totally limp. I smiled. Some day, when all my relatives are dead, I will write about this.
Although modest in public, we Jews are not shy about sex. It is simply that no one would believe me if I told them. Where did all that come from?
Ever so slowly, with the enveloping scent of cedar, my ability to move returned. I would never smell cedar again without thinking of this morning. I will plant cedars up and down the whole of Judea.
I wrapped my robe around me and shuffled to the living area. I had to go sideways through the doorway. Though not overly tall I was about twice as wide as a regular person, which is one reason I loved the out-of-doors.
She sat at the edge of our little eating mat made of reeds. I sat just around the corner from her. The low table you may have read about was just for rich people who consorted with Romans. We poor folks ate like the Jews and Greeks have for centuries. Hard workers like us usually could not recline without falling asleep.
She had made a little feast. I am used to some bread and cheese and a piece of left over fruit, but this time we had roasted eggs, pomegranate juice, pecans, and raisins. Everything was seasoned with spices, cinnamon and curry from who knows where.
“Eggs for breakfast?” I commented. “I could get used to this.” Usually we had to wait until Passover for eggs when the chickens started laying again.
“We should have something like this on our outing.”
“Don’t bother,” she said, with dimples and a grin. “You guys can’t cook beans. You’ll probably have to eat soup made from tree bark and dirt.”
“I can start a fire with two sticks,” I said
“Is that how you burned your hand?” she asked in all mock innocence.
I shut up.
I was looking forward to the camp-out with The Master, but I had to admit the cooking might leave something to be desired. As a matter of fact, I do not recall that any of us actually did any real cooking. We were always being invited to stay over at people’s places. Bart roasted a couple of rabbits once, but they were all black on the outside and no one would eat them.
So we had been practicing starting fires and boiling water, digging up roots and making melted cheese roll-ups with flat bread; simple stuff.
While I ate my gaze rested on my wife and lover, so different this morning, so vital and aggressive. I could get used to that, if I survived.
“So…” I said, not knowing where to start.
“So?” she inquired.
“Ya, well, where did all that come from?”
“Goldie cooked most of it. I just warmed it up this morning.” She answered, speaking about her mother.
I choked on my toast. The inappropriate associations were instantly banished. But it was too late. Sarah grinned like a cat. She had done that on purpose.
“What I mean is,” I plowed on, “Is all THAT” I gestured towards the bedroom.
“Didn’t you like it? I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.” She teased.
“Oh, yes well, of course I liked it. I’m just kind of wondering how you learned to do all that? It’s like nothing we’ve ever done before.”
“Yes, and nothing we’ve ever done before has worked, has it?” She said quietly, with eyes cast down. Our childlessness stood between us like a physical being. She looked like she was about to cry.
“Don’t do that!” I said, afraid to ruin our morning together. “I was just curious, that’s all. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
We were breaking all kinds of rules here, setting precedents. Guys could talk to guys about sex, and gals could talk to gals; but husband and wife usually just did it. What was to talk about? You enjoyed yourselves. You made babies. Then you worked like hell the rest of your life to support them. Except for us; we worked like hell for nothing.
She continued to look down and mumbled something.
“What did you say?”
“I said that the caravans bring more than spices.”
“What then?”
“Secrets.”
And she would say no more.
“Oh,” I said, getting the gist of it.
There were always old oriental guys at the market place hawking “love secrets.” I guess some of them were legit.
She looked up and our eyes locked. Hers went all gold and green, like two foreign gems. My breath caught. Her robe fell open revealing the warm skin over her heart. Mine started beating faster. She leaned towards me, lips parted. My hand reached up to stroke her face.
“ROCKEE!!!”
My kid brother’s shouting shattered the morning air. We pulled back quickly, pulling our clothes together. Andy’s head poked through the window.
“Hi guys, you got anything left to eat?
I swear, sometimes I think Andy is nothing but an appetite with a thin layer of person wrapped around it.
Sarah mumbled some holy words in an inappropriate way. Then she flashed Andy her widest smile. She loved Andy. You just had to love Andy. I continued to reach out both hands as if I were stretching.
“C’mon in bro’, “I beckoned to him. “I think we have some of Sarah’s roast eggs left.”
“Eggs? For breakfast? Yum. You guys sure know how to live!’
And he let himself in through the stout wooden door and sat with us by the mat. As he started inhaling leftovers, goat cheese, raisins, eggs, bread, and milk we attempted to converse with him.
“Have you found a girl yet, Andy?” Sarah asked warmly. We were all openly concerned about Andy’s lack of mate. By now a good Jewish boy should be settled down with kids.
Andy had spent most of his young adulthood chasing around prophets and messiahs. You do not meet many women this way. As luck would have it though, we all think he finally found the real thing, our old friend Jess had come out as a great rabbi, The Master, and now we all followed Him even though we were not sure who He was anymore. The Son of God, sure, but what does that mean? What stuff was He made of? Although we admired Him greatly and loved Him more, we all studied Him constantly looking for clues.
Andy was no worse for the experience, lean and tall, brown with whipcord muscles, voluminous curly dark hair, alert and talkative. He was always eager and happy. I thought of him as a huge puppy.
Sarah waited for his answer. His mouth was so full. What made her a great conversationalist is she truly listened. Andy finally cleared his throat and said, “Nope.”
“We’ll be traveling. Maybe I’ll meet someone then. A lot of women follow The Master around. Maybe when one realizes she can’t get Him she’ll settle for me.”
Sarah smiled at me quizzically. I shrugged. Actually Andy’s viewpoint made a lot of sense.
“So,” Sarah continued, “Where are you all headed off to?” Andy and I looked at each other. I nodded in his direction.
He said, “We don’t know exactly. The Master said “the desert.” We meet at Ephraim. That’s all we know.”
“It sounds grim,” she said with a small frown.
“Oh, it can’t be so bad,” said Andy. “John was always disappearing into the desert. He did not come back fat, but he stayed healthy. There must be some trick to it.”
We bowed our heads for a moment of silence for John the Baptist was gone now. Then we chattered on. He wouldn’t want us to not enjoy life. He enjoyed life to the fullest, goatskin, and locusts, and all. Mostly he liked good company and conversation. And he loved the river. He did his best preaching there.
Now we were going to abandon all known lands. We were not afraid, Andy and I. We could not avoid wondering, however, what The Master was up to.
We helped Sarah to clean up the area; then she rolled up the mat. Now the kitchen was the living room. Neat.
Andy bounced up in one swift move and was out the door in a flash. Even he, it seemed, had developed a smidgeon of discretion in his waning teen-age years. (This new Roman numeration had created a whole new age group.)
Sarah and I wandered more slowly to the door, our fingers laced, our bodies touching. We turned to hold each other and shared a kiss which was lingering and sweet, so barely not public.
“Gird your loins, boy,” she said in a low, musical voice.
“Are you trying to sound like The Master?” I asked..
“No, I mean it,” she answered. “You forgot to put on your underwear.”
Embarrassed, I ducked back inside. I gathered my gear, such as it was, a change of clothes and some dried fruit and water. People along the road were always happy to share. I was not worried. Worse things could happen to you than being stranded in Galilee.
Then we were off, with many a backward glance. I debated whether or not to be a tough guy and not look back, but who was I going to kid? This was the family house. Speaking of which Sarah’s mom, Goldie, came running out with a package to take for both me and Andy.
“Here’s some dried fish. You can live for days on dried fish.”
Having lived for days on dried fish I know she spoke truly, but I think I would rather have some mutton, or a chicken. She seemed unusually healthy that morning. She was always unusually healthy. For an old person of nearly fifty, she was obscenely healthy. Once cured by The Master you stayed cured, it seemed.
Once on the way Andy and I debated whether to take the high road or the low road.
“If we cut to the high road,” Andy urged, “We’ll get there in no time.”
The high road was a straight road maintained by the Romans with us for slave labor. “Tax work,” they called it. So they could reach even this nether part of their empire with dispatch.
That damned road. I built that road, with its gravel surface and crushed rock for its foundation. It was not the forced labor that was so onerous, we often joked we worked like slaves without half the recompense. It was the lack of company, sleeping without your woman accompanied only by all the other sweaty goons from the neighborhood. I swore that I would never leave my Sarah for that long again. I was young. What did I know?
The low road, on the other hand, wound in and between villages and farms for ease of transport for the little people.
“Little people?” Andy laughed. For he was six foot four inches, gangly but strong. I was only five foot ten or so but twice as wide and stronger. I laughed too, for I reveled in my size and my strength.
“Yes!” I answered. “We’ll meet all our friends on the way. It’ll be fun.”
“Then we’ll never get there in time,” Andy moaned.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Then let’s compromise. After we pick up all the guys we’ll cut to the high road and march straight to The Master.”
“Can’t we just walk?” Andy asked with a small smile, for he knew my aversion to Roman soldiers.
I sighed.
“Sure, we can just walk.”
So we walked and we talked.
“What is The Master anyway?” Andy speculated.
“You’re the one who convinced us He’s The Messiah.”
“He pretty much does His own convincing don’t you think?”
“That’s for sure.” I answered thinking of all the miracles and the intensity of His preaching.
“”But what I meant was,” he continued, “What is The Messiah? He’s no military hero. Is He a prophet, or is He really The Son of God?”
“He’s really The Son of God, no doubt about it. God said so. Weren’t you down by the river when John baptized Him?”
“O Yes!” Andy answered. “The best day of my life! But still, what is He? Is He still human? Or is He…” He trailed off uncertainly. For speculation about Godly matters did not come easily, even to an apostle.
I mulled this over. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
After that we just walked for a bit, each silent in our own thoughts, enjoying the breeze for the lake as the sun evaporated the last of the morning chill.
We took a turn off the road to pick up Bart from his farm. “Burly Bart,” we called him, or “the barrel,” if we wanted to risk a painful punch on the arm. Bart was stout, the quintessential farmer with thick legs, calves like rocks, thick in body, arms like a gorilla, neck like a…well, no neck really, and a head like a big round boulder.
He was idly sitting on a stump swinging his legs and whittling on a stick and whistling.
“Now there’s something you don’t see often. Bart’s not working hard,” said Andy.
“Relaxing IS hard work,” said Bart. “It just don’t seem natural.”
“For you,” was Andy’s retort.
“Yup,” agreed Bart. “but I had some fun this morning.”
“Like what?” Andy asked, challengingly.
“O, I gathered eggs, fed the chickens, milked the cows, and shoveled horseshit, stacked some hay, and I read some scripture.”
“You can read?” quipped Andy.
“Can you run?” shouted Bart. And he lept off the stump, caught Andy in three steps and wrestled him to the ground. There they pummeled each other mercilessly then both sat up dusty and grinning.
“Any more ill considered comments?” Bart asked.
“Not today,” moaned Andy in jest. “I’m going to need time to heal.”
The apostles were a breed apart, really. Most of us knew each other from before the call. Sarah bought her eggs from Bart’s wife. His roosters strayed and woke us up. Unlike the general population we were super smart, rowdy, and huge, mostly. Although we came from different backgrounds within our small, conquered nation, (excuse me, “client nation”), our most common denominator was a huge irrepressible joy of life.
I shook my head in mock consternation. After all, I was supposed to be the leader.
“You guys are supposed to be men of peace, remember?” I said.
“Then what’s with the huge honkin’ swords?” Bart asked.
“There may be bandits!” Andy exclaimed.
“Ah, bandits,” Bart nodded. “Wait a sec.” And he ambled off quickly to return with his own sword, a beat up old Roman model, short with many dents, but deadly in the right hands. And Bart’s right hand was known to be deadly. He had encountered bandits in his previous life. He had bought his farm with his earnings as a caravan guard. Not all of our guys were stick-at-homes.
“So where’s Big Jim and John?” Bart asked about our fellow apostles who were also our neighbors and fishing partners.
“Uh,” I said, for I had forgotten completely about them. Andy laughed and slapped his knees.
“We forgot about them completely, didn’t we Rocky?” I stammered some more; fishing for an excuse, though I had none.
Bart was grinning with his tongue poking in his cheek.
Don’t worry, they left without you. They came by about dawn. They said you were busy.
I was beyond stammering. I felt the blood rush to my face. Andy merely whistled and looked at the sky.
“Ah, don’t be a wuss. We are day people. Sometimes a chore begun at night is best finished up in the morning, hey? Believe me, a farmer understands these things. Sex sure beats shoveling shit anyway, hey? And it’s more necessary. You were just following the Law anyway, hey?...”
“Bas!” I yelled in our language. (Enough!) “Yes, yes, and yes!”
You see, Bart could talk forever. Any conversation with him was a commitment.
Andy looked back and forth between us smiling mischievously. He was forever entertained by the goings on between his elders.
“Time to go!” I stated, asserting my position as leader. Bart shrugged. Andy raised his eyebrows. We walked one behind the other down the narrow rural path, avoiding ruts, mud and various globs of manure.
We walked the twisting, turning path for a couple of hours enjoying the cool morning air, the sunlight, and the birdsongs. We greeted everyone we saw in the fields and on the trail. For everyone knew us from way back and what we had become, Apostles of The Lord.
Eventually we hit the Roman road, not one of the great walls of Rome, but a high way all the same. Gravel crunched beneath the soles of our sandals as we trod this fancy birm.
At the first little town, made rich by its close association with the traffic, Big Jim and John were waiting for us.
“About time,” grumbled big Jim in his basso rumbling voice. “You guys must sleep like city people.
“Naw,” answered Bart. “Some of us make love like a country horse.”
We all laughed then, for we were in the mode, back on the road again, traveling with our friends.
John and Andy hugged and pounded each other on the back, for they were best friends and constant companions since childhood. They had gone messiah hunting together, successfully, and they hadn’t seen each other in over twenty-four hours.
Big Jim came lumbering at me with arms outspread making to hug me in jest. I backed off in jest, for Big Jim was as strong as said country horse and would crack your back if you let him.