The Ironsmith (11 page)

Noah smiled and nodded agreement. With that settled, it seemed a propitious moment to inquire after his real business.

“I have a cousin,” he said. “The last I heard of him, he was living somewhere here. I wonder if you know of him.”

“What's his name?”

“Joshua bar Joseph.”

“This cousin, he's from Sepphoris?”

“No. From Nazareth. That's a village just south of Sepphoris.”

“And his name is Joshua?” The proprietor appeared to consider all this, and then suddenly the expression on his face changed, as if something unpleasant had just occurred to him.

“You don't mean the preacher, do you?”

“It seems likely enough. He's a tall man. He used to be a carpenter.”

“That's him. He's been making a nuisance of himself around here for a couple of months now. You say he's kin of yours?”

Noah had the distinct impression that the price of hospitality had just gone up, so he reached into his purse and took out three silver shekels, one after the other, and placed them in a row on the table.

“You will put me in your debt if you can tell me where to find him.”

*   *   *

The sun was just at the horizon when Noah saw a man sitting in the sand by the water's edge, leaning back against an overturned fishing boat. Even at a distance of a hundred paces, he knew it was Joshua.

He sat down beside him. He could make out little except his profile, with its high forehead and eye sockets deep enough that the darkness seemed to gather in them. Joshua gave no sign that he noticed his presence until Noah used his thumb to break the clay seal on the wine jar he was carrying with him. In his other hand were two small cups. He filled them both and offered one to his cousin.

“Where did you buy this?” Joshua asked. “Or did you simply scoop it up from a puddle of donkey piss?”

Noah laughed quietly and threw his arm across Joshua's shoulders.

“And hello to you,” he said.

For a time they drank in silence. It was a warm evening, and the sound of waves lapping against the shore was agreeable. Neither wished to break the spell with questions that could have only unpleasant answers.

“Where
did
you buy this?”

Joshua held his cup out to be refilled.

“I don't notice that you are reluctant to drink it.”

Joshua tasted the wine again and made a face, which was just visible in the gathering darkness.

“That is because it is your wine. Should I ever again have a few copper coins of my own to spend, I want to know what places to avoid.”

“This one is just off the main square. It has a green awning.”

“By chance is the owner a big, stout man?”

“Yes.”

“Noah, you have an unerring instinct for trouble. His name is Ezra and he used to be a fisherman, until he married the previous owner's widow. She is ten years older than he, so perhaps she wasn't inclined to be fastidious. For a brief time she listened to my message, and perhaps it made some impression. Needless to say,
he
is not one of the saved.”

“So I gathered.”

“Does he know you are my cousin?”

“Yes, but for a consideration he will overlook it. I have a bed there.”

“You will probably find yourself sleeping on the roof. The weather this close to the sea can be freakish, so let us pray it does not rain.”

The idea seemed to amuse him, and he laughed. Then, suddenly, the laughter stopped.

“What are you doing here, Noah?”

“I have come as a spy for Antipas. He wants to know if he should have you arrested.”

“No—really. What are you doing here?”

“That is the reason.”

So Noah told him about Caleb. Joshua listened and then said, “I do not know this man.”

“Believe me, it is my hope that you never will. If the rumors are to be believed, he is the one who put the Baptist to death.”

“Then why have
you
come?”

“Because I have no choice and because if I do not someone else will. I, however, being your cousin, will report that you are a harmless crank who preaches repentance and that nobody listens to you anyway. Besides, I felt you should be warned.”

“I am safe enough here.”

“You cannot imagine how reassured I am.”

“You worry too much, Noah.” Joshua reached back and rapped his knuckles against the hull of the boat. “How long would it take me to have this in the water? And on the other shore Antipas has no authority?

“They might surprise you before you can get to a boat.”

“No. This town is like a drum—the slightest tap is heard everywhere within. Should Antipas send men for me, someone would tell me of it before they had left the main road. The Tetrarch is not popular hereabouts.”

“What are
you
doing here, Joshua?”

“Getting drunk with you.”

Joshua laughed at his own joke, and then suddenly he stood up.

“Come along,” he said, holding out his hand to help Noah to his feet. “Let's walk. You can tell me your news. Has Sarah found a husband yet?”

They followed the shore. It was dark by then, but there was a long streak of moonlight across the water, enough to light their way. They took off their sandals and let the waves wash over their feet. It was as if they were boys again.

“How do you live here?”

“Simply.” Joshua smiled, as if it were the answer to a riddle. “I have made the great discovery that a man, no less than a sparrow, needs little to be content. A friend of mine, who is a fisherman, keeps a bed for me. I am invited everywhere to dinner. Enough people listen to me that one or another will supply anything I may happen to need. The Baptist lived on locusts and wild honey and drank nothing but water. I am not so pure a soul as he was, but I am learning. I have stopped worrying about my little wants because I know that I live under God's protection.”

“And this is enough for you?”

“Yes.” He shook his head. “Yes and no. Now and then, when I remember Rachel, I have a twinge of regret, but in time I hope to overcome even that. God took her from me for a reason. Besides, very soon I will have her back.”

Noah risked a glance at him. There was only moonlight, but he knew that face well enough to sense its perfect composure.

“Do you believe that death is final?” Joshua asked, without turning his head. Noah thought there might be a faint smile on his lips.

“I don't know.” Suddenly Noah remembered his own dead wife. “I hope not.”

“The Pharisees teach that one day the graves will yield up their dead. The Baptist believed it. I believe it. And I know that day is not far off.”

 

8

They talked until late into the night. Then Joshua said that he wished to be alone to pray and Noah went back into the town to find his bed at the wineshop.

To do him justice, Ezra provided a cot near the remains of the kitchen fire, and Noah would have slept soundly had he been able to still the whir of thoughts racing through his mind.

The most troubling thing was Joshua's utter sincerity. It was impossible to listen to him and not be convinced that he believed the will of God had been revealed to him, and such was the force of that conviction that it was very difficult to stand against it.

But when had it ever been any different?

Once, when they were children, Joshua had somehow conceived the idea that Moses was the father of King David, whom he identified with his grandfather's father, who had recently died and whose name had been David. From this he concluded that his own grandfather must be king of Israel, which he identified with Nazareth. Thus Joseph, and then he, would in turn become kings.

Noah expressed doubts, so eventually the question was referred to his grandfather, who, with becoming gravity, explained everything.

“Can you count to ten, Joshua?”

“Yes.”

“And if you have ten tens, how many is that?”

“I don't know—a lot.”

“Ten tens make a hundred. And ten hundreds make a thousand. That is how many years since the time of King David. In those days Nazareth did not even exist.

“None of our family will be kings, Joshua, and that is well. For the children of Israel should have no king but God.”

Joshua accepted this, since it never occurred to him that Uncle Benjamin could be wrong about anything, but for three days he would not even speak to Noah.

This did not seem unjust to Noah, who, for his part, was never able to overcome the sense that he had somehow committed a breach of friendship, that Joshua, somehow, had been entitled to be right.

But now they were men. They no longer enjoyed the child's luxury of surrendering to imagination.

*   *   *

Very early the next morning a man appeared at Ezra's tavern. He was thickset, with a massive curly black beard that suggested a certain ferocity. The impression was offset, however, by his eyes, which were constantly glancing down at the ground, as if he were embarrassed. To Noah he introduced himself as Simon, and he was apparently the fisherman in whose house Joshua found a bed.

“He sent me to fetch you. Perhaps you will take breakfast with us?”

“It would be a pleasure.”

Simon actually seemed relieved, and they set off together in the direction of the sea. As they walked, Noah, more out of compassion than interest, tried to draw this shy man out.

“Have you known Joshua long?”

“We were both followers of the Baptist.” Simon risked a sidelong glance at him. “Do you think it's true that they killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Some say he ascended bodily into heaven.”

“Would it were so, but I have never heard of anyone escaping that way from the Tetrarch's dungeons.”

They were silent for a long moment as Simon appeared to be adjusting to this new reality. At last he shook his head.

“Joshua loved the Baptist,” he murmured, giving the impression that he regarded this as a great secret. “He was closer to John than any of us. He says that God will avenge His servant.”

“Does he say so publicly?”

“No. Only among those who are closest to him.”

“It is just as well he does not. Antipas has a long reach.”

Except for the nets drying beside the door, the fisherman's house might have been in any village anywhere in Galilee. The walls were of mud brick, painted a dusty white and enclosing two rooms. The floors were of earth, but they were covered with cut reeds.

In good weather, like today, meals were taken out of doors. Simon's yard faced the water, and there were perhaps sixty people assembled there. Among the adults, there were more women than men, and there were several children. They all were quiet, even the children.

It was easy to find Joshua—one merely had to follow everyone else's gaze. He sat on a stool beside the door, the center of attention. From the way he gestured with his hands, he was obviously explaining something. This was clear even before Noah could distinguish the sound of his voice.

“… and death will be held in abeyance forever. The mighty shall grieve then, and the poor shall be exalted. Is not God a just God, and shall not the first be made last and the last first? We live in a world ruled by darkness, and shall not the light come? That we find evil everywhere is but a sign that the kingdom of God is near.”

He glanced up and saw Noah. Then he raised his hand and smiled.

“Friends,” he announced, “this is my cousin Noah, whom, as he tells me himself, Antipas has sent here to spy on me. Well, Cousin, what say you? Should the Tetrarch have me put in chains?”

“Oh yes, for you have been talking sedition.”

“Yet I have not mentioned his name.”

“You say the world is full of evil.”

“But is that not the truth?”

“That it is the truth is what makes it seditious.”

For an instant Joshua seemed perplexed, and then he threw back his head and laughed. A moment later he was on his feet and the two men embraced.

“Eat your breakfast,” he said in a low voice. “I have almost finished. Then we can talk.”

Breakfast consisted of a piece of flatbread wrapped around some fennel.

Joshua resumed his seat near the door. He buried his face in his hands for a moment and then looked up and smiled.

“Happy are the destitute, for they shall be exalted. Happy are the children, for their faith is pure. Happy are the children of man, for their father is God. Go in peace.”

When the crowd had departed, Joshua and Noah walked slowly back down to the shore, where men were pushing their boats into the water in preparation for the day's fishing. The sun was in their faces, and Joshua had to shade his eyes with his hand in order to watch.

“I like fishermen,” he said. “I wish I had been born a fisherman and had lived my life in sight of the sea.”

“If you had been born here, you would be longing to be a carpenter in Nazareth.”

“That is perhaps so.”

“I know it is so. You always had too much imagination.” Noah made sweeping gesture with his arm. “One world is not big enough for you.”

“As it is,
this
world is not big enough for anyone.”

“It eases my conscience to hear you say so. Now at least I know I will not be lying when I tell Caleb you are not in your right mind.”

For the second time that morning, Joshua laughed. It was a good sound, reassuring and human.

“I am not afraid of him.”

“Then you
are
crazy.”

Joshua started to say something, but Noah waved his hands, commanding silence. Anger was boiling in him, mingled with an odd feeling of shame.

For a long time they walked along the shore without speaking.

“Go away, Joshua,” Noah said at last, kicking clumsily at a small stone, which rolled only a few feet and then abruptly stopped, like an old man settling into a chair. “Take a boat and cross over, tonight, into Gaulonitus, and lose yourself. I have enough money with me to keep you for three or four months, and I will send you more. I have reliable friends in the gentile cities. In a year or two, provided only that you keep silent—that you refrain from preaching—Caleb will forget your very name and you can come home.”