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.”

***
To Dwell Among Us continues tomorrow.

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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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Casting Lots

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 ***

“Who will cast the lots?” Mahli asked.

“Let the new priest do it,” Uzziel, another of the older priests, waved a withered hand at the youth.

Jaaziah slapped Shelomoth on the back. “So it shall be, for he is no longer a boy. He is a man among men, a member of the priestly order of Abijah.” He took the stones out of a pouch and handed them to Shelomoth.

Shelomoth pressed the stones to his chest, closed his eyes, and bowed his head in a moment of silent prayer. He released the pebbles upon the floor where they bounced and spun before stopping.

“The dark one is closest to Zechariah. We must choose again,” said Jakin.

“I agree. He is too old,” added Pethahiah.

“No, the lot falls to Zechariah and so it shall be,” declared Jaazia. “Age is of no matter.”

“Perhaps I have seen a ghost.” Zechariah reached behind his back for the rope. He tied one end to his ankle and rose with his back bent over and stiff. Dragging the rope behind him, he shuffled off to the holy place carrying his little oil lamp.

Jakin sat back against the wall to be more comfortable. “We will have a long wait.”

“How long can it take him? He is old and slow, but the task is simple and will not take so long as you think,” replied Jaaziah. “Let us carry our end of the rope and join the crowd in prayer.” Jaaziah stood up, followed by Shelomoth and then the others except Jakin.

Jakin scrutinized the others, grunted as he stood up. “Let’s get on with it.”

In the empty chamber of the priests, the tiny flame upon the oil lamp hanging from its stand burst into a hot flare shooting to the high ceiling of the room. In the light of the flame, a dark shadow filled one of the walls. It vanished as the flame died down to nothing. The shadow dared stay no longer in this sacred space.

***

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