Travelers in the North Country

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***
When the short, plump innkeeper opened the door, a thin man of medium height pushed his way in. The innkeeper attempted to close the door behind the rover, but a rush of raw spirit forced him back. An aroma of burned sulfur filled his nostrils. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

The innkeeper sought his voice. His mouth and jaw moved up and down, but nothing came out. He swallowed hard and found a weak, faded and stammering voice. “Do you wish food, wine, and a place to sleep? For these you must have coins.” He spoke in Greek tainted with bits of the Aramaic common to the townsfolk.

The gray cat at the innkeeper’s feet noticed the black demons drenched in brimstone. It stood with its hackles up and screeched. The innkeeper kicked the cat, and finding his normal voice, said to it, “Here, you, what’s this?”

The traveler reached into his cloak and pulled coins from a purse revealing a long knife tucked into his belt as he did so. He dropped a few coins in the innkeeper’s hands.

“These will do. Welcome, stranger, and eat. Follow me. Here is a place for you at table. Don’t mind the cat.”

The man checked the spot where the innkeeper indicated. Other travelers filled the table. A blind man wore rags so must have had a good day’s begging to afford a night of comfort. Another had but one leg and a stick nearby to lean upon. A third leaned his head on his hand and slept while two flies buzzed between his cup and a half empty plate. The traveler ignored the others at the table and strode off towards a man staring out the latticework window. That man wore a coarse cloth and leather outfit with a short skirt. His hand rested on the hilt of a sword.

“As you wish, sir,” called the innkeeper to the traveler. Nodding towards the man by the window, the innkeeper said, “He is of the king’s guard over there. A quiet man. You two are well met.”

The innkeeper shook his head as he turned towards the kitchen. He lifted one of the coins to his mouth and bit into it.

Across the room, the traveler addressed the military man in Latin-stained Aramaic. “She is here.”

The spirits gathered about the two men, some hanging from the ceiling, some crawling like roaches on the floor. The cat backed away from the specters towards the warmth of the kitchen.

The military man sniffed the air and winced at the pungent odor that followed the traveler. “She has been busy in the marketplace. We should act tonight,” he replied.

“You have your sword.”

“Herod said to wait for you. When he says ‘wait,’ I wait. When he says ‘act,’ I act. Let us act before the storm worsens.”

“Let’s eat. The road was long today. Uphill. Why this infernal town of all places?”

“She is here, Hillalel.”

“You are a simple man, Bezalel. I on the other hand am a hungry one. A bit of wine, some cheese, bread and a warm hearth. She’ll still be around in the morning.”

The dark fiends leapt upon the two men, with half digging their claws into their brains, while the others sank tentacles into their hearts, each encouraging the men on their journey.

“I feel twitchy. Shouldn’t we be about our business?” Bezalel scratched at his back.

“This place has an air about it. I don’t like it here. I feel... well, you are right, Bezalel. Let’s go.” Turning to leave, Hillalel shouted, “Innkeeper.”

The innkeeper came running. He could not see the black demons infesting the men, but he shook in their presence and stuttered. “Yes, sir, your food is prepared. The girl brings a hot stew, see?”

“Hold the food and wine” Hillalel waved off the innkeeper.

The two men trudged out, dragging with them an invisible army of evil clutching with their claws and tentacles.

“She is down this way,” said Bezalel.

“Yes, I know.”
***
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Big Ears

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***
On the way home from Sarah’s house, Mary stopped in the road and tugged Mother’s arm. “Papa’s coming.”

“Why is his face set so hard?” Mother folded her arms across her bosom and waited.

Mary gulped. I should not have let Joseph kiss me, but we are engaged. It is permitted. Why is Papa angry? When he came closer, Mary realized Papa was sad, not angry.

“What is wrong?” Mother asked.

Papa sighed. He stared at Mary before turning his watery eyes away.

Mary grabbed hold of Papa’s arm. “What is it?”

Papa turned back to her. “Big Ears.”

“Is he sick?”

“No, child, he is not sick. He’s been killed. I’m sorry.”

Mary buried her head in his garments.

“What happened to him?” Mother asked.

Papa hugged his daughter. “I found him this morning in the field behind our house. He had been attacked by something.”

“What something?” Mother asked. “You mean a wild animal?”

Papa shook his head. “A powerful animal tore him apart. It’s up in those hills. I must tell the elders.”

“What could it be?” Mary pulled back from Papa.

“I don’t know,” Papa said.
***
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A Conspiracy of Mothers

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***
Mary stared at the marriage bed. She turned to face Joseph. On the wall behind Joseph, Mary spotted wood supports for shelving.

“Hello, Joseph.” Mary folded her hands.

“Hi! What are you doing here?”

“Mother and I are visiting Sarah.”

“Oh.” Joseph dropped his carpenter’s plane.

“What does Sarah plan to do with shelves in her marriage room?”

Joseph bent down to pick up his plane. “I have no idea.”

Mary waved an arm in the direction of the shelves. “Was this a conspiracy to bring us together?”

Joseph rose to full height. “Perhaps.”

“Are you glad to see me?”

Joseph smiled. “Yes.”

“Good, because I’m happy to see you, too.” Mary ambled to Joseph and put her arms around his neck. “Soon we shall have our own marriage bed.”

“Yes.” Joseph kissed her lips gently. He then placed his hands on her shoulders and stepped back. “I can hardly wait, yet we will wait, won’t we?”

“Of course, darling.”

“It is a long time for the wedding celebration.”

“That’s because I am so young. If I were even a year older, Papa would permit us to marry right away.”

“Yes, you are my young love.”

“When my next birthday comes, you can speak to Papa about setting the date.”

“Your papa is a good man. He wants the best for you.”

“And you are the best for me, my Joseph, you wonderful carpenter, you.” Mary took Joseph’s hand and swung his arm leading him across the room towards the marriage bed. She sat on the blanketed bed and pulled him down to sit by her side. “Sarah told me to find a place to sit in this room. Here is a good spot. Here we can talk if you like.”

“I have my work, Mary.”

“Then work if you like, and I will watch, but first you have to kiss me.”

Joseph leaned over and kissed Mary. She put her arms around his neck. Joseph took Mary’s wrists into his huge carpenter’s hands and lowered them to her lap. He stood, smiled at her and returned to work. Mary looked on until her mother came for her.

***
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Visitors

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***
Mary and Mother held their skirts up as they trudged along the muddy road. Mary kept an eye towards the hills and byways for Big Ears, but spotted no sign of the missing dog. As they approached Sarah’s home, she clapped her hands at the site of several large pieces of lumber leaning against the front of the house and a familiar little donkey tied to a good sized rock on the ground.

Mother’s friend Sarah greeted them at the doorway and invited them into the main room of the little home. “Sit here, friends.”

Mother sat on the cushion offered to her, while Mary gaped at the covered doorway that led into another room.

“Do you not wish to sit, Mary?” Sarah asked.

Mary turned away from the closed door. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

“Mary!” Mother’s hands flew to her hips. “Why aren’t you listening to Sarah?”

“I’m sorry, Mother. Excuse me, Sarah, for not paying attention.”

Sarah smiled. “Would you prefer a seat in another room, Mary?”

Mary’s eyes lit up. “Mother, do you think it would be permissible?”

“Permissible? Of course, my dear. If Sarah says you are to sit in another room, it is her home, is it not? Who am I to contradict our hostess? Go in peace, child.”

Mother and Sarah laughed as a red-faced Mary ran over to the cloth covered opening. She peeked back at Mother and Sarah. Both women waved their hands to motion her into the room. Mary shrugged her shoulders, smiled, skipped once, remembered to be formal, and disappeared into the next room.

In one corner of the room, a large bed poked out from under a shroud. Mary turned beat red when she realized she was in Sarah and Alexander’s marriage room. On the other side of the room, Joseph smiled at her.

***
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Storm Brewing

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***
Mother wiped the dishes. “Where’s your plate, Mary?”

“I must have dropped it with the food. May I take Big Ears to live with me, Mother?”

“Mary, you’re such a child. Joseph may not want a dog to feed. He wants a wife, not a pet.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask him. I think he likes dogs.”

“How would you know?”

“I hope he likes dogs. I will miss Big Ears if I can’t take him with me.”

“You’re not planning to take me along with you, too, are you?”

“Oh, Mother, of course not. You’re too old, and besides, Papa needs you here.”

“Thanks a lot, pal. Perhaps Papa needs Big Ears. Somebody has to eat the scraps and I suppose lick the plates if you don’t run outside this instant and retrieve that dish.”

“Yes, Mother. Where is Papa, anyway?”

“He’s sleeping. He’s had a rough day and needs his rest. He’s not as young as he used to be. So you’ll be quiet, won’t you, dear?”

“As you wish, Mother.”

Mary headed for the back door of the cottage, but stopped when a loud rush of wind exploded and the cooking fire flared with a whoosh.

“Mother, what was that?”

“It’s a storm brewing, child. We could use the rain.”

“Didn’t sound like any wind I ever heard.”

“The things you think about. Get the plate, now.”

Mary returned to the yard and grabbed the dish. A giant moonlit shadow crossed the stone wall behind her house. Mary gasped and ran inside.

“Big Ears never came for his supper. Do you suppose something could have happened to him?” Mary handed the place to Mother.

Mother patted Mary’s head. “Don’t be a worry-wart, child. He’s probably visiting his fiancée. Dogs get married, too, sometimes.”

Mary’s stomped her foot. “No they don’t. They pretend they’re married and make puppies.”

Mother raised her eyes. “Mary!”

“Well, it’s true.” Mary’s hands flew to her hips.

“You’re far too young to talk about such things.”

Mary grabbed a cloth to dry the dishes. “I’m engaged. I have to know about these things.”

“I suppose, but you’re still a little girl to me.”

“Mother.” Mary’s right fist dropped to her hip.

“I know, dear. Time flies on eagle’s wings while here below, we just get older.”

Mary sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m going to my room now.”

“Give your mother a kiss first.”

“Yes, Mother, I will.”

***
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The Hill Country – Six Months Later

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***
Mary’s face reddened, her eyes flared, but she kept her voice polite, submissive and with a hint of sarcasm. “Yes, Mother. I will, Mother.” She pushed the vegetable skins, leftover scraps of bones and the crumbs of bread from the new wooden eating table onto a plate. She took them into the yard in back of the family cottage and dumped them on the ground.

“Big Ears! Come eat your supper.” Mary listened. Her skin crawled. Her eyes widened. She hunched her shoulders withdrawing into herself as she took in the gathering darkness. The burning stench of rotting fear crept up her nose dragging panic close behind.

“Big Ears!” A loud whoosh passed close behind her, rustling her skirt. She suppressed an urge to cry out, speaking instead a soft, “Oh.”

She turned around. In the distance beyond the village, the hills disappeared into the blackness of night.

“Big Ears!” she cried again, this time toward the hills behind her village home.

The response made her shake and almost lose her balance. It must be the roar of a lion, but no lions roam the hills nowadays. A wolf or a leopard? But wolves do not roar, do they? Must be a leopard. Or a jackal. She straightened her tiny back and shivered.

Her face, which had been smiling when she came out of the house, now bore a frown. A huge dark shadow passed along a stone wall in the yard in front of her. She opened her mouth while holding back the urge to scream as long as she could. When the roar came again, she released a suppressed huh and dropped the plate on top of Big Ears’ supper. She ran inside to the safety of the glowing oil lamp and the lingering warmth radiating from a fading cooking fire.

***
To Dwell Among Us continues Monday, November 19, 2012.

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Who Did He See?

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***
Jaaziah raised his voice and pointed a finger to the ceiling. “Did you see our father Abraham?”

Zechariah shook his head no.

“Did you see Moses?” Jaaziah asked.

Zechariah shook his head no.

“Did you see an angel?” asked Shelomoth.

Zechariah nodded.

“Ah, you met an angel, and the angel has struck you dumb?” asked Jaaziah.

Zechariah nodded.

Pethahiah stepped out from the wall. “Why did the angel strike Zechariah dumb?”

Zechariah moved his hands up and down shaping the curves of a woman’s form.

“What’s he doing?” asked Mahli.

“I don’t know” Jakin shrugged.

“It’s a woman,” said Shelomoth.

“Of course it’s a woman, Shelomoth.” Jaaziah turned to Zechariah. “Was the angel a woman?”

Zechariah shook his head no.

“Aaarph,” shouted Jaaziah.

Jakin pointed a finger at Zechariah. “The angel was pointing out that you should not be found in sin with a woman.”

Zechariah shook his head no. Then he began gesturing with his arms.

“What’s he doing now?” asked Pethahiah.

“I don’t know,” said Shelomoth.

“It’s a baby,” said Jakin. “He’s holding a baby in his arms and rocking it back and forth.”

Zechariah nodded.

Mahli pumped his right fist. “Zechariah has had relations with a woman out of wedlock. She has had a baby, and for this reason, Zechariah was struck dumb.”

Zechariah shook his head no and struck Mahli several times about the head.

“Ah, at last I get it,” shouted Jaaziah. “You glimpsed a woman angel holding a baby.”

Zechariah shook his head no.

“Aagggh!” shouted Jaaziah.

“What if he heard an angel who told him about a woman holding a baby?” asked Shelomoth.

Zechariah shook his head yes.

“Who was the woman?” asked Jaaziah.

Zechariah pointed at himself.

“You’re a mother?” asked Jakin.

“Don’t be simple, Jakin,” said Pethahiah. “He’s not saying he’s the mother. He’s pointing to himself for another reason.”

“Is he the father?” suggested Shelomoth.

Zechariah nodded.

“You’re to become a father?” asked Jaaziah.

Zechariah nodded.

“And who is to be the mother, old Elizabeth?” Jakin’s voice rose to a high pitch.

Zechariah nodded.

“You and Elizabeth are to have a baby?” asked Jaaziah. “At your age?”

The priests laughed.

Zechariah nodded.

“A boy baby or a girl baby?” Shelomoth asked.

Zechariah made a gesture with his hand.

“A boy baby,” laughed Jaaziah. “That’s good, Zechariah.” Turning to the other priests, Jaaziah repeated the gesture. “See, it will be a boy baby.” The priests laughed and began making the sign.

“But why did the angel strike you dumb?” Shelomoth asked. “A boy baby is great news if true.”

“Yes, but who would believe such a thing. Zechariah? At his age?” Mahli laughed and continued making the gesture.

“Ahhh,” said Jaaziah. “For your disbelief you have been struck dumb?”

The priests stopped laughing and gesturing and turned to Zechariah.

Zechariah nodded. He lowered his head and wept.

***
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Gestures

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***
Jaaziah put an arm around Zechariah’s shoulders and led him into the priests’ chambers where the flame upon the lampstand waited. Zechariah handed his own oil lamp to Shelomoth and sank to the floor.

“Are you ill?” Jaaziah asked.

Zechariah shook his head no.

“Then what is the matter?” Jaaziah rubbed his chin.

Zechariah shook his head no.

“You won’t tell us?” Jaaziah persisted.

Zechariah shook his head no.

“He can’t tell us” Shelomoth smiled when Zechariah shook his head yes.

“You can’t speak?” asked Jaaziah.

Zechariah nodded.

“You’re shaking your head yes meaning you can speak, but you won’t. Is that correct?” asked Jaaziah.

Zechariah shook his head no.

“You can’t speak? Shake your head yes if you can’t speak,” said Jaaziah.

Zechariah nodded, which was accompanied by a round of ahhhs from the priests gathered in a circle, and the priests, too, nodded.

“You can’t speak and you are not sick?” asked Jaaziah.

Zechariah nodded.

“Something must have happened in the Holy of Holies,” said Mahli.

“Yes, of course,” said Jakin.

“Have you seen the Holy One of Israel?” asked Jaaziah.

Zechariah shook his head no.

“Then what?” Jaaziah smacked his hands together.

“What could it be?” asked Pethahiah. “He cannot speak, yet he is not ill. He has not seen a vision.”

Zechariah grabbed Pethahiah by the robes. He pointed at Pethahiah’s mouth and shook his own head yes.

“He’s possessed.” Jakin turned away.

Uzziel grabbed Jakin by the arm. “You cannot become possessed in the Holy of Holies.”

“Then he is demented,” insisted Jakin.

“No, it is a riddle. He did not see the Holy One, but he saw a vision nonetheless,” said Jaaziah.

Zechariah pointed a long bony finger at Jaaziah, pointed a finger from his other hand at his own nose and nodded.

“Ah, he has seen a vision, and the vision was such that he was struck dumb to prevent him from revealing the vision,” said Jakin.

Zechariah shook his head no.

“Aaargh,” shouted Jaaziah. “This is so frustrating. You observed a vision, is that correct?”

Zechariah nodded.

Jaaziah placed his hands on Zechariah’s shoulders. “And something happened during your vision and now you cannot speak?”

Zechariah nodded.

Jaaziah paced the room. “But you did not see the Holy One of Israel?”

Zechariah shook his head no.

Jakin raised his hand. “Did he shake his head no because he did not see the Holy One or no because he did see the Holy One?”

“Urrrrh!” Jaaziah stopped pacing. “Zechariah, shake your head no if you did not see the Holy One of Israel.”

Zechariah shook his head no.

Uzziel stretched his hands out from his side and shrugged his shoulders. “If he had seen the Holy One of Israel, he would have been struck dead, not dumb. Perhaps he has seen another spirit.”

Jaaziah slapped his hands on his hips. “Then shake your head yes if you encountered some other spirit.”

Zechariah nodded.

“Who did you see?” asked Jakin. As Zechariah pointed to his mouth and shook his head no, Jakin turned to the other priests. “Who did he see?”

***
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The Glow

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***
The crowd outside the Holy of Holies paced quicker now and murmured louder than before. “What takes him so long.” Jaaziah shouted.

Jakin raised his voice to be heard. “I told you he was too old. Pethahiah agrees, don’t you?”

“You said he was too old and I concurred,” said Pethahiah. “Jaaziah, you allowed him to take his turn. What do you say of your lot now?”

Jaaziah straightened his shoulders. “I stand by it. It’s our way. If we have to wait, then we shall wait.”

“Shouldn’t we pull the rope?” asked Shelomoth. “To see if he is all right? Aren’t we supposed to yank the high priest out if he cannot come out on his own? Isn’t that what the rope is for? No one can enter until a new high priest is appointed.”

Jaaziah glared. “Where were you when Zechariah began his work? His hair was thin and gray when I was your age. Zechariah not perform his duties? Who among us are more faithful? Or more righteous?” Jaaziah took the time to stare each of the priests in the eye. “Well, is there?”

Pethahiah placed a gentle hand on Jaaziah’s shoulder and rubbed. “We don’t question his righteousness, Jaaziah. Nor do we question the righteousness of Elizabeth. No man or woman in Israel is more righteous than these two. Nor do we say, like young Shelomoth here, that he can no longer do the work. He is old. It is time for him to allow others to burn the incense. He takes him too long.”

“Look.” Shelomoth pointed at Zechariah making his way from the Holy of Holies.
Zechariah trudged along past the priests and the crowd towards the priest’s room.
Shelomoth continued pointing. “His face glows.” 

***
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Gabriel

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***
Zechariah fell to the floor. His body shook. A sharp pain stabbed at his heart. Deep cold penetrated his body.

In front of him a creature floated barefoot a few inches above the floor. Zechariah swallowed hard and lowered his face to the floor. In his mind raced a thousand things thought and never said, things said and never meant.

A deep, gentle voice filled the air. “Don’t be afraid, Zechariah. For God has heard your prayers. Your wife, Elizabeth, will bear you a son. Name him John. You will then have great joy and gladness, and many will rejoice with you at his birth, for he will be great in the eyes of the Lord. Don’t let him touch wine or hard liquor for the Holy Spirit will fill him, even before his birth. And he will persuade many Israelites to turn to the Lord. He will possess the spirit and power of Elijah, the prophet of old. He will precede the coming of the Lord, preparing the people for his arrival. He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children. He will change disobedient minds to accept godly wisdom.”

Zechariah’s jaw dropped. Son? In my old age? He gazed at the angel with sharp eyes. His hand shook when he raised it to shade his eyes from the blinding light. But the light did not blind. Instead, the angel cast a warm glow.

With his hand protecting his eyes, not wishing to reveal his unworthy soul to the angel, Zechariah surveyed the years of prayer and hope for a son pass through his mind. But Elizabeth was barren.

We are so old. Who is this angel to speak to me of a son? Son. What a wonderful word. He turned the word over in his mind. How he had dreamed from his youth that someday, like his own father before him, he would have a son to bring honor to his household. Son. It is a simple word, but can a single word change the world? Or does this angel think a priest of the most high is to be made the fool? Does Heaven taunt me with my own weakness like Jaaziah the priest?

Zechariah lowered his hand from his face to reveal piercing dark eyes. He shook his fist at the angel. “But I am an old man, and my wife is also well along in years.”

From the angel’s eyes flames flared to the ceiling. The deep voice reverberated through the Holy of Holies, shaking the incense dispenser. Smoking incense dotted the floor at Zechariah’s feet. “I am Gabriel. I stand in the very presence of God. He sent me to bring you this good news. And now, since you didn’t believe what I said, you won’t be able to speak until the child is born. For my words will come true at the proper time.”

***
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