Tomb

A story about a homeless boy who lives on the streets of Jerusalem surviving as a pickpocket. He witnesses the crucifixion of Christ and finds himself sealed up in the tomb with the body.

Chapter I

He awoke from a fitful night of sleep. The emptiness in his stomach was piercing. The few figs and scraps of bread he had been able to steal yesterday were long gone. The daytime hours didn't seem so bad, their distractions diverting his attention from his empty belly. When the night fell, however, the stabbing hunger became most acute. It was a stark reminder of his dire circumstances and lack of anyone in his life.

The noises of the city coming to life reminded him that the day was starting over again. It would be no different than the day before and the day before that. The fourteen year-old boy on the cusp of becoming a young man had nothing to look forward to except trying to find a way to earn a little money or steal whatever he needed to fill his stomach. The challenge was in trying to achieve his goal of survival ahead of all the other street people.

Despite having spent only a couple of years on the streets, he had figured out what worked best for him. Whereas others begged and played on sympathy, he preferred to remain as invisible as possible. The less attention he drew to himself, the less likely he was to be caught. This was a lesson he had learned when he first ended up on the street and was caught stealing some grilled meat from a local vendor. The beating he narrowly survived was one he would not soon forget.

The sun was shining brightly on this day. Colors seemed more vibrant, smells more poignant and sounds more alive. The market place was filled with people from all walks of life, rich and poor, Roman and Jew. Along the streets and in the entrance ways to alleys were beggars sitting on the ground and begging for coins. Their unwashed appearance and clothes crudely made from rags were in stark contrast to the wealthy patrons who came to the marketplace to shop.

The splendor in which these people dressed themselves and their children just to come to market was an exercise in vanity. The women were adorned in fine linens, wools, and silks in beautiful shades of saffron, red, lapis blue, mossy green, and purple. The jewelry they wore could feed several families for more than a year. Around their necks were chunky gold necklaces embedded with precious stones and on their wrists charm bracelets that jingled when they moved. Many of the women were resplendent in head dresses of gold embroidery glistening in the sun. Some also wore small bells on their sandals to make a tinkling sound when they walked.

The men were not to be outdone. They too were attired in their finest robes and had their hair and beards beautifully arranged and oiled. Their children were dressed in their finest clothes as a way of flaunting their parents' wealth.

Jerusalem was an exciting city, attracting people from all over the region because of its beauty and culture, its commerce and the magnificent temple. It was well known that the finest foods and goods could be found here. If you were a man seeking to make his fortune Jerusalem was the place to be. And, the temple was an architectural wonder that could be seen far off in the distance by travelers. People made long pilgrimages just to be able to worship.

The boy watched as the crowds continued to grow in size as the morning wore on. Throngs like this created endless possibilities for making a lot of money. The more excited the crowds grew the less attention market-goers paid to the whereabouts of the purses.

He took a moment to survey his surroundings. He wanted to enjoy the moment before he began to focus on the task at hand which was to pick as many pockets as possible. The smell of roasting meat wafted through the air. The rich aroma of lamb and onions caused him to consider whether he could manage to pinch a meal first, but he knew that he could not afford to be distracted and needed to get to work quickly before any of the other pickpockets got to the people before him.

For some inexplicable reason this day seemed much different from any other one. Even though things were bustling in usual fashion, something in the air contradicted what appeared on the surface. Those milling about in the streets were not just in town to conduct business they were there for something of a unique nature. Some were gathered in small groups crying and wringing their hands. Whatever was on the horizon this day was being anticipated with a myriad of emotions.

As the boy passed between people in the crowded market place he noticed patrons with large coin purses. All of them were bumping into each other and dropping food and an occasional coin. At the sight of a lone shekel laying on the ground, he quickly scooped it up, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. The last thing he wanted was to be caught and questioned by a merchant or, worse, a Roman soldier. As he skulked away he saw another coin. What luck! He wandered over and placed his foot on it to hide it from sight. Quickly bending down to retrieve the coin, he pocketed it.

The heft of the two coins in his pocket made him feel like one of those wealthy men he had watched entering the city in their finery. With this newfound bounty he could buy himself a feast of grilled meat on a stick, fresh figs and warm bread with honey. It had been a long time since he had eaten a meal like that. As his fingers caressed the coins the thought crossed his mind that if he could collect enough of them he could afford to pay for a place to stay for a night or two. Such a haven would be far better than sleeping on the dusty streets among the insects, feral dogs and criminals who preyed on the innocent and unsuspecting. But how could he manage to collect so many coins?

As the young boy took in the festive sights and sounds he looked down at his bare feet and tattered clothes. The hunger pangs that had become his constant companion made themselves known with a vengeance. He wanted so much to have food in his belly, sandals on his feet, and a freshly washed tunic on his back. At one point in his life he knew what that was like, but by now it had become a faded memory.

As he gazed at the people around him a woman with her daughter pushed into him causing the little girl to drop her pastry in the dirt. The girl let out a cry and the mother slapped him for being in their way. As the girl bent down to pick up the pastry her mother pulled her away and told her to leave it. She would buy her another one.

The boy reached for the honey coated treat and tried to wipe off the dirt, but off it was no use. The pains in his stomach sharpened. He could have bought a pastry with the money he had in his pocket, but why should he spend money when he had something to eat right there in his hand? It didn't look all that bad so he decided to eat the cake regardless of its condition. Greedily he began to devour the cake. As he was chewing the little girl looked back and saw him. She pulled on her mother's dress and pointed at the boy eating the cake she had dropped on the ground. The mother gave him a sharp look of disdain and told her daughter that he was an animal and that's where animals find their food.

Upon hearing this the boy turned his back to them and shoved the remaining piece in his mouth. As he was swallowing it, a deep feeling of humiliation came over him. The cake suddenly didn't taste as good anymore. He hated himself for being nothing more than a street urchin. He had seen the look in the eyes of others who had witnessed the mother's calling him an animal. They stared as they would at a dog on the street. Awash in shame, he ran into an alley where he leaned against a wall and hid from view.

He struggled to understand how people who had so much could be so unkind toward those with so little. How could it be that having nothing of material value turned someone into a person of no worth? Was it fine clothes and expensive jewels that conferred individual worth? Did rich food and an opulent home determine a person's value? The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. At that moment he decided it was all going to change.

As he watched people pulling out their purses to pay for purchases he noticed that they would lay them down momentarily unattended. Who would do something like that in such a crowded place? He wondered. Have they forgotten that there were thieves and beggars afoot? Didn't they care if someone were to steal their money? Well, if they didn't care, they deserved what they had coming to them. If they were so careless with their purses, money must mean nothing to them.

Using his skills for going unnoticed he slipped beside a man who sat his purse down while he looked at goods. In a flash the boy snatched the purse, shoved it under his shirt and vanished into the crowd. While hiding behind a pen that held lambs, he looked into the purse and gasped. Never before had he seen so much money at one time. The bag must have held thirty to forty pieces of silver, more than enough for lots of fine meals, a new set of clothes, a pair of sandals and a place to stay.

He shoved the bag into his pocket and looked cautiously around to see whether he had been noticed. Once he realized that he had not been detected, a feeling of daring came over him. If he were able to do this so easily, such theft could be repeated. The market-goers had more money than they needed, and he was just the one to disburden them. On this day there seemed to be a bigger crowd than he'd seen in a long time. It would be a shame not to take advantage of the opportunity before him.

He passed through the crowd as quietly and discreetly as he could. He had learned from other pickpockets that sudden moves will get a thief noticed. The best way to go ignored was to be like a lizard, move ever so slowly and, when the moment is right, snatch the prize and vanish like a mist.

Chapter II

The sun was high in the sky and the temperature grew hotter and hotter. People started wiping their faces with wet cloths and fanning themselves. As the day became drier, the feel of sweat and dust sticking to the skin made being outdoors uncomfortable. Everyone in the marketplace began to move more slowly. The hotter it became the more honey wine was consumed making many of the men a bit inebriated.

By now the boy had collected quite a hoard of coins, so many in fact that when he ran he had to keep a hand on his pocket to ensure they would not fall out, thus raising suspicion as to how he had come by so much money.

He was feeling lucky today. In one morning he had collected more coins than he had in months. He was beginning to think that he had stolen enough for the day, but the crowds were bigger and wealthier than he had seen in a long time. When would another such day come again? It would be wrong to squander the opportunity.

As he stealthily wove in and out among people, he began to wonder what would bring so many to the market. The Romans were performing crucifixions that day, but it was a common occurrence. For many residents of Jerusalem crucifixions were a form of entertainment and for others a horror inflicted by the Romans with the tacit consent of temple leaders to oppress, suppress and intimidate the populace. Anyone who was considered a criminal or political subversive was subjected to this cruel form of torture and execution.

Making his way through the throngs, the boy heard something that explained why there were such large crowds this day. Those who normally showed no interest in the public crucifixions as entertainment wanted to be present at this event. Apparently, someone called the “King of the Jews” was going to be put to death. Never before had a person of royal blood been brought to Golgotha.

The boy was confused. He was a Jew, yet he had never heard of a king. He knew about the Pharisees and Sadducees, but nothing of a king. His curiosity was piqued. He wanted to find out who this man was. The Romans would never allow the Jews to have a king. They were the supreme authority that was to never be questioned or challenged.

Whoever this man was, surmised the boy, he must be a very dangerous man if the Romans were putting him to death. The boy couldn't begin to imagine what it must be like to be put to death in such a slow and painful way.

While the boy was leaning against an alley wall and eating an orange, he began to wonder what this man looked like. Based on what he had heard the condemned probably was a big and imposing man, one who commanded respect, possibly as ferocious as the gladiators in Rome he heard about. He must be someone who could kill a man with his bare hands.

As the sun moved past its meridian, the crowds moved toward the crucifixion site. As the boy followed them, he saw upright stakes in every direction. Roman soldiers, criminals in chains, beggars of every imaginable age and type, grieving family members, Jewish religious leaders, and merchants selling treats and drinks to the spectators.

Having seen his fair share of crucifixions, the boy understood that they were not something anyone should want to see. He considered going away, but if he did he would lose out on all the other money he could steal from unsuspecting onlookers. Besides, why should he let someone else get the money that he deserved? If he remained focused he could perhaps steal enough to rent a place to live for a month with food! Better yet, he might even be able to move away and start a new life.

How wonderful would it be to buy a new set of clothes and a donkey. He could ride far away from Jerusalem and present himself to a tradesman as an apprentice. If he worked hard perhaps one day he could be one of those fine men in silks who rode camels and lived in a fine home. No one had to know his past or how he had come by all the gold and silver in his pockets. For all they know he could be the nephew of a rich merchant who had given him the money to carve out a path for himself in the world.

He owed no one an explanation. All he wanted was a normal life free of hunger, pain, loneliness, and fear.

With renewed determination he moved stealthily through the crowd and lifted only the smaller purses. He knew that if he tried to grab a large purse its owner would notice the theft. The smaller ones didn't weigh as much and the chances of their being missed immediately was lessened.

As the day wore on the temperature rose steadily. People were fanning themselves and covering their heads to get some relief. Men and women were lifting the bottom of their robes to cool down. Normally on a day like this they would be lounging in the shade and drinking cool beverages, but not today. This day was special, the crucifixion of a king had been announced. It would surely be something to talk about for a long time to come.

All day long criminals were being whipped, beaten and tied to crosses in every imaginable manner to inflict as much pain as possible. The air was filled with the rancid smell of death and blood. The cries of the dying and those awaiting their fate could be heard over the din of the crowds. The voices of men and women proclaiming their innocence merged with the entreaties of those begging for the sweet relief of death to take them.

As the crowds grew thicker people were crushing each other. Parents were trying hard to keep track of their children while trying not to miss any of the excitement. The more the throngs pushed forward the more coins and small purses were falling to the ground. This was like manna falling from heaven for the boy. He found that he was collecting as much from what was strewn on the ground as he had when taking his chances by snatching purses.

The sun was high in the sky when the exclamations from the crowds turned from cheering and jeering to breathless disbelief when a bloody, beaten man could be seen struggling to drag a cross on his torn and scourged back. Perspiration was pouring from his emaciated body; his eyes were burning with sweat and blood. How he could carry so heavy a load was beyond comprehension. Somehow the man managed to make his way through the crowd amid the jeers. Interspersed in the crowd were several men and women wailing. Whoever this man was, he was beloved by more than a few.

As the boy was reaching toward a man's coin purse the intended victim saw him and seized him by the back of the hair. A struggle ensued. The angered man began to beat him mercilessly, the youth screamed and proclaimed his innocence. He thrashed about and kicked his feet trying to free himself. When the opportunity presented itself he bit down on the man's wrist so hard that the man lost his grip. The frightened boy scrambled through the throng as fast as he could shoving people aside in the process.

As he pressed his way through, he found himself stumbling to the front of the crowd and there before him were Roman soldiers everywhere. Fear darted through him like a hot knife. The soldiers had a reputation for ruthless abuse of anyone suspected of even the smallest infraction. The boy reached down and felt the coins hidden in his clothes as he looked into the soulless eyes of these Roman brutes. What would they do to him if they found all these coins? Would they scourge him? Would they pummel his hands until they were broken beyond repair? Worse yet, would they subject him to a slow and painful death just for trying to eke out a meager living?

The boy took a deep breath and as inconspicuously as possible slid behind a man and his wife trying to hide behind their robes. Horror and fear coursed though his body as he watched the defenseless man being pummeled. The soldiers seemed keenly focused on humiliating this man. It looked as though he had been beaten more than any other convict crucified that day. What could he possibly have done to deserve such savagery?

The man lay prostrate with his chest heaving and gasping for air. It seemed as if he would not live long enough to be hung. While the boy was witnessing this atrocity he could hear others in the crowd asking each other what the man had done to warrant such extreme punishment. As the conversations spread it came to light that this was the man who was being called “King of the Jews”.

His appearance was that of any other man, the boy thought. He looked no different than any other common laborer with his dark, leathery, sun-tanned skin and roughly cropped hair. The boy was puzzled. He imagined that a king would be a larger than life person with a regal bearing. He would be someone who stood out from all others, not like this man. Why was this ordinary looking man regarded as a king? A claim like that could get him killed. This king didn't seem to have an army to protect him, but even if he were a deranged lunatic did the man really deserve so a severe a beating?

Everywhere the boy looked there were either men hanging on roughly hewed crosses or others in shackles with looks of horror and utter hopelessness scarring their faces as they awaited their fate. Soldiers roamed among the people performing duties of all types such as crowd control and meting out punishment.

All around the boy were men of all ages in pain, dying slow and excruciating deaths. The air was heavy with suffering and despair. The soul-shaking sounds of lamenting families and the ear-piercing screams of the tortured and dying were more than any human being could stand.

As he looked around at faces in the crowd the boy was shaken to the core by the wide variety of emotions and expressions. People otherwise as pleasant as anyone you would meet on the street had faces twisted with hatred. For some reason this level of human depravity was irresistible to them. Their thirst for blood dripped from their chins like the juice of an orange.

In his mind the boy blamed the Romans for bringing this sort of blood lust to the Jewish community. Not only did he hate the Romans because of their oppression of the Jews, but also he hated his fellow Jews because they were assimilating to the Roman way of life through the clothes they wore and the customs they were adopting.

Others had faces deeply carved with grief and sorrow. The helplessness these people felt as they watched loved ones and people they knew being brought to a violent end could never be fully expressed in mere language. As talented as humans are at creating words to best explain their thoughts and feelings to string these words together, they could never wholly harness the totality of what they were experiencing.

There was no doubt that some of the criminals that day were justifiably paying for the crimes they had committed, but what of the others who were paying the ultimate price for the simplest infraction? Good and normally honest people were now being placed, for whatever reason, in the same category as the vilest dregs of society. These were men who out of desperation may have stolen food or a few coins to feed their families. Others may have spoken out against the oppressive regime under which they were living. They were simple men trying to stay alive or save some small part of their dignity as human beings.

The boy stared as women and children cried out when fathers, brothers and husbands were torn from them. Men stood in shackles in all states of emotional distress. Imposing looking soldiers walked up and down the rows of prisoners in the hot sun gripping their weapons prepared for anything that may occur. From time to time a pair of soldiers could be seen preventing a family from having their last contact with the accused. Across the way a group of soldiers were violently beating a man who had dared to challenge their authority or tried to escape. These soldiers had unlimited authority to decide how much punishment was warranted. Many times the punishment far exceeded the crime.

Chapter III

The boy's attention was drawn back to this “King of the Jews” who lay in the dirt with his wrists tied to a cross beam. From time to time, when the man turned slightly the open cuts on his back could be seen. Chunks of flesh had been torn away from his body like someone had torn hunks of bread off a loaf. The cuts were visible on his rib cage as well from where the whip had wrapped around his body. At one point a dog wandered over to smell the man and began to lick his wounds.

Meanwhile, two men had already been hoisted up onto tall stakes, their wrists lashed with crudely made rope. They hung there on either side of a third cross. Their cries for water could barely be heard over the din of the crowd. It was as if these two were of no consequence to anyone. It's understood that once these two die there will be two more just like them to replace them like rats.

Suddenly, a hush came over the spectators as they saw two Roman soldiers and their captain come over to the “King of the Jews”. As the prisoner's back arched the captain placed his foot on the man's abdomen and pushed him down into the dirt. One soldier held the man's arms still while the three discussed among themselves the best place to hammer in the spikes so that their victim didn't fall from the cross beam.

As the soldiers were preparing to crucify the prisoner, supporters and sympathizers were pushing through the crowd toward him. Some wanted to comfort him, and others thought they could save his life. Old and young women were on their knees pleading for mercy, crying out with the cries reserved for the death of a loved one.

The soldiers were keenly aware that this man could be a problem and that they needed to keep the peace however they could. They called to their comrades to provide crowd control. Quickly soldiers from every direction created a barrier to hold back the mourners. Many of them used their shields to keep the crowd at a safe distance. Others used physical intimidation beating anyone who didn't do as instructed.

As the soldiers pressed the throng back they became confused by what they were hearing. While some onlookers were grieving, others were calling out for the prisoner's death. Their tone was blood thirsty and venomous. The hate these people had for this man was unlike anything the boy had seen before. Normally there were those who enjoyed the crucifixions and would mock the criminals. It was pure entertainment. They were not going to be satisfied until he was beaten, tortured and dead.

As the crowd grew more volatile the boy remained fixated on the man on the ground surrounded by the soldiers. He watched carefully as they studied the man. The boys eyes widened as a soldier pulled three spikes out of a sack. They were long, heavy, and twisted with a very sharp point. The head of the spike was large, perhaps to ensure that no one would miss when hammering them into flesh.

Slowly and deliberately a soldier placed his foot on the man's arm to keep it from moving. The man groaned under the pressure. It was as if the soldier enjoyed the pain he was inflicting. The sadistic look on his face was that of a person with a blackened heart. The life these men had lead had caused their consciences to become nothing, but a distant memory.

As the soldier looked down at the man beneath him with contempt, a wave of viciousness coursed through him. He used his foot to force the crown of thorns onto the man's head even more tightly. The thorns tore through the skin, entering and exiting the flesh on his forehead. The tearing flesh, the blood and sweat that poured from the prisoner's head and the unspeakable pain brought a smile of satisfaction to the soldier's face. The crowd cheered and tossed coins to the soldier who stood before them grinning and holding up his arms like a victor in the arena. The crowd threw coins at him in approval. As he was collecting the coins his supervisor ordered him to get back to the task at hand.

The boy grew excited as he watched coins falling to the ground. He contemplated how he could get some of the ones left behind for himself.

The captain kept a sharp eye on the crowd to be sure that there were no uprisings as his men carried out their duties. This prisoner's execution had to go off without a hitch.

Under the blistering sun the soldier with the spikes knelt down. Sweat dripped from his face. As he placed his hand on the accused a feeling of profound sorrow and compassion raced through him. His body vibrated and his senses tingled. A feeling of flight swept over him. He wanted to throw down the spikes and hammer and flee. He had participated in countless crucifixions before, but nothing like this. He had never given any of the others he'd strung up a second thought. Somehow this battered, broken, pathetic looking man opened up a place in his heart he had not felt before.

On his captain's orders he placed the first spike on the man's wrist. He held the hammer high and brought it down. As the rusted spike ripped through the man's flesh, a guttural, indescribable cry came forth. It most sounded like a lamb whose throat was bring cut. The man's body involuntarily jerked upward. His face contorted and his mouth fell open as he lapsed into a silent scream. His breath was shallow and erratic. The horrific pain of humanity shot through him in a way no other man could begin to comprehend.

Blood sprayed across the soldier's face and tunic. It was hot and sticky with a coppery smell. The soldier wiped the sweat and blood from his eyes and refocused to deliver the next blow. Piercing the man's wrist was the easy part. Getting the spike far enough into the hard wood to hold the man up was the challenge.

He raised the hammer high above his head and put all of his strength behind the second blow. As the hammer struck the spike a loud metallic clang rang out above the crowd noise. For a moment the soldier dropped his head down. He understood his duty. He took a long deep breath and held it as he brought the hammer down again and again until the spike was deeply embedded in the wood.

The other soldier with his foot on the prisoner's arm stepped away and snatched the hammer from his companion. He wanted to experience the excitement of nailing this man down. The sadistic look in his eyes made it apparent that he was going to enjoy this task.

The captain ordered the blood-spattered soldier to hold the man's other arm down. Reluctantly he reached down and gripped the man's forearm. He shut his eyes tightly, waiting for this moment to be over as quickly as possible.

The soldier with the hammer looked down and grinned, revealing his missing teeth and the few remaining ones that were brown and rotting away. The hammer hung at his side. He raised it and tapped it against his hand like a gladiator with his mace preparing for battle. He dropped to his knees, looked at the suffering man and made an inaudible remark. With lightening speed the hammer came down with such force that the spike pierced the man and the crossbeam with ease. The clanging sound brought the crowd to an immediate hush.

The boy was so gripped by what he was witnessing that he lost all interest in his coins. He clasped his hands over his mouth as tears ran down his face. Being a child of the streets he had seen his share of violence and mistreatment, but nothing had prepared him for the brutality he was witnessing.

Once the man was securely fastened to the crossbeam he was hoisted upright and secured to the stake. The soldiers situated the man until he was seated on a small piece of wood used as a crude seat. It gave him a place to barely sit, but very little relief. Even though he could sit he couldn't lean back. His pinioned arms caused him to slump forward against the restraining spikes.

The soldiers grabbed at his ankles and forced one foot over the top of the other into an almost unnatural position onto a wedge of wood used to secure the feet down. The soldier who enjoyed inflicting pain positioned a sharp jagged spike over the victim's feet while his companion held them in place. The more compassionate soldier lowered his eyes and tried not to watch the carnage that was taking place only inches away from his face. In his mind and heart he sensed what he was doing was wrong, but he was a Roman soldier and sworn to carry out his duty regardless of his personal feelings. He was a soldier and soldiers do their duty without question and without reservation.

The soldier holding the spike looked up into the hot summer sky. Sweat was pouring out from under his helmet. With his forearm he wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes. He squinted his eyes from the blinding sun. He wanted to see when the iron-buttressed mallet struck its target. The mallet came down with such force that the ringing of metal on metal pierced the air. The crucified man let out a scream so shrill and so agonized that it caused men in the crowd to look away, women pulled their children to themselves and covered their ears. The sound of his voice sounded eerily like that of a lamb being offered up for sacrifice. The strange blend of pain, innocence, and suffering is something no word in the human lexicon could fully describe.

The man's back arched. His voice reverberated over the commotion of the crowd. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, his eyes burned from the streaming blood and sweat. Many in the crowd were amazed that after all the punishment this man had endured he somehow was still alive.

Throughout all this horror the boy hid behind a woman's skirts peeking around at times when he was able to screw up the courage. He had seen crucifixions before but this one was different. Some men cursed and struggled to the end; others went to their deaths with resigned submission. Almost as if the fight had been beaten out of them and there was no way out.

This man, however had withstood more punishment and humiliation than anyone he could remember. What particularly struck the boy was that this man's attitude toward his death was different from that of other condemned prisoners. His resignation seemed deeper and unfathomable. The profundity of what the boy was witnessing went far beyond what his mind could process.

The soldier who nailed in the last spike raised his arms to the cheering crowds like a gladiator who just finished vanquishing an opponent. He reveled in the adulation. As he strutted around before the crowd he let out a primal cry. The applause intoxicated him. The more the crowd cheered the more he wanted.

Out of the corner of his eye the soldier who had hammered home the final spike saw a random piece of wood lying on the ground. He snatched it up, took out a knife and carved on it, “King of the Jews”. He climbed up the cross and hung the placard over the man's head. Many in the crowd jeered once they read the inscription. The boy then remembered that this was the man so many in Jerusalem had been talking about.

The man on the cross didn't look at all regal. He looked utterly broken and so strangely innocent. As he hung there he cried out plaintively for his mother and father like a child who was afraid and helpless looking for comfort. For a man who was a king he was as much a child inside as anyone else. When a man is on the precipice of death all titles, wealth and earthly accomplishments fall to the wayside and all things in a man's life become equal. However with this man all things were not equal. Something in him transcended humanity in a way that few could understand.

Chapter IV

When someone is dying loved ones gather around to make the final days and hours as peaceful as possible. The end of life becomes a time for people to say their goodbyes and to express feelings that got lost along the way in the course of day to day existence. All of the things they wish they had said during the person's life come flooding out when the moments are slipping away and they may not have another chance to express their feelings and what's in their hearts.

This was not to be for the “King of the Jews” or anyone else crucified that day. Their final moments were met with ridicule, pain, and degradation. The people there to witness the agonizing demise of their loved ones were denied the opportunity to express tender last words and heartfelt goodbyes. Those being crucified were leaving this life robbed of any kindness or compassion. Any comforts to ease their suffering were cruelly withheld from them.

As the boy watched the events unfolding around him his head began to spin. There before him were people in deep despair, others who found the proceedings exciting, soldiers who seemed heartless and brutal and on this cross a man who despite his appearance gave off an unmistakable presence which was hard to describe. His heart ached as he watched this man suspended above him and gasping for air, even being mocked by the victim hanging next to him.

As if driven by a force greater than himself, the boy pushed his way through the crowd, walked to the foot of the cross and looked up at this proclaimed king. His eyes were fixated. Everything and everyone around him seemed to disappear. Time stood still. The air no longer moved. Sounds went silent. Something in the world felt terribly wrong.

As the boy gazed upward his heart went out to this man. A love and tenderness he had not known in a very long time permeated his soul. As he listened to this king offer the man next to him a place with him in paradise he wondered where this place existed. How could he make this offer when he was about to die? Wherever paradise was, he wanted to be there too. He wanted to live in a place where pain and suffering were no more, where beauty and love flourished instead. If this man, this king, could be so benevolent amid the throws of death what must he have been like in life?

While the boy stood there, gazing on this frail shell of a man, a dog who had licked the man's wounds came up and pressed himself against the boy's side. The dog whimpered during the man's last moments. The boy saw the sadness in the dog's eyes. He knelt down and put his arms around the dog's neck as tears ran down his face. Together the boy and his new companion shared a moment of profound connection. Unbeknownst to the boy, this was a moment that would effect the entire world. An event that every living creature would come to know and understand in some way.

As he drew the dog's face into his chest, the boy looked up when he heard the king announce, “It is finished”. At that moment the man's head dropped down, and his chest stopped heaving. The crown of thorns representing his royalty and his suffering at the hands of a confused and lost world was clearly visible for all to see.

The boy was speechless. The ability to cry or make any kind of audible sound escaped him. He held his breath. The desire to wrap his arms around this man and show him love was overwhelming. He was not one to touch people or allow anyone to touch him. For him, physical contact was usually accompanied by misery. So, this need to touch was something new and foreign to him yet, somehow natural.

As voices of grief and mourning pierced the air, the crowd grew momentarily hushed and confused when the skies began to darken and the earth started to tremble. It was as if all of creation were letting out a wordless, primal response. This type of anger was reserved for a parent whose child was senselessly murdered.

People suddenly began to run in every direction looking for safe haven. The boy was knocked over by a man frantically carrying his child. All the coins the boy had stolen that day scattered on the ground. While rushing to gather them up, he was consumed with keeping his new companion safe as well.

He held the dog to him as close as he could. While maintaining his place near the foot of the cross, he heard the sympathetic soldier say, “Truly, this man was the Son of God.”

“Son of God? What did that mean?”, the boy asked himself.

The darkness lasted for hours, by which time night had descended and blanketed the earth. It felt as if the world had no intention of allowing sunlight to shine again. The density and feel of the air was unlike anything anyone had experienced before. Meanwhile, the soldiers stood at their post as ordered. They were not to allow anyone near this man. He had caused enough problems already with the temple leaders and Roman authorities. It was important to ensure that nothing happened to turn this man into a folk hero.

As the soldiers watched the people, they were met by the man's mother, Mary, Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus and a woman named Mary Magdalene. They begged the soldiers to allow them to take the body down and give it a proper burial. One soldier refused to consider their request, ordering them to go on their way, but the women begged over and over for mercy. The other soldier took his companion aside to convince him to let them have the body. He explained that the man was already dead and that within a couple of days he would be a distant memory.

The soldiers came back to the grieving group and told them to take the body, but to do it quickly before anyone could see. The women kissed the soldier's hands only to be reminded to depart quickly.

As they approached the cross one of the soldiers offered to help take down the body. The muscular man removed the corpse from the crossbeam and lowered the body into Joseph's arms. He carried it away with the women following behind him.

The boy was pleased to see that there were people who cared about the man and would give him a proper burial. This man would not leave this world without someone to say goodbye. Wanting to see where they were taking the deceased, he followed the small party at a safe distance to avoid detection. As he did so he noticed the that dog was immediately behind him, as though he were as interested as the boy in the final arrangements for this man.

The boy watched intently as the two men and two women took the body into a tomb reserved for Joseph of Arimathea, a rich man and member of the Jewish Sanhedrin. They wanted to bury the body quickly because the Sabbath was rapidly approaching. Inside the tomb Joseph and Nicodemus prepared the body with fine linen, myrrh and aloes. The women in attendance offered prayers.

The boy stayed far enough away not to be noticed, but close enough to hear the tearful prayers being offered. He leaned down and held the dog close to him, hoping that it would not alert anyone to their presence. It seemed as though the people burying the man were trying to do it as secretly as possible.

Slowly the pair crept closer to the tomb. The boy wanted to see what was going on. Strong feelings of a desire to be near the crucified man swept over him. The feelings were inexplicable. The boy knew only that he needed to be in the tomb.

This desire made no earthly sense at all. Why would anyone feel a need to be entombed with a dead man, let alone a man he had never met before? Didn't the boy realize that entombment with this man would mean the end his own life? There would be no escape and the death he would suffer would be slow, lonely and excruciating. What was it about this particular man that would cause the boy to consider so rash an act? What could he possibly see in this beaten and broken man that would entice him to give up his own life?

Could it be that his life alone on the streets with no one to call his own and no home to go to had taken a toll on him? Was he weary of the day-to-day battle to stay alive? Perhaps any hope he had for a better future had been systematically drained by the cruelty of life.

Could it be that he hungered for the one thing he had never had, a male influence in his life? A man to bond with who would teach him how to become a man himself. Surely, if all the boy wanted was a man in his life, a father figure, he could find that among the living. It's not as if he doesn't meet all kinds of men every day. There was no logical explanation as to why or how this dead man managed to have such a profound impact on the young boy.

When Joseph and Nicodemus exited from the tomb, they met the women waiting outside. They held each other and recited a tearful prayer on behalf of the dead man.

At a moment when it appeared they wouldn't notice, the boy and the dog slipped into the tomb and hid in a dark corner. He kept the dog close and held his breath. What he was doing made no logical sense, but in his heart he couldn't resist the need to be where he was.

Chapter V

Suddenly the stone sealing the tomb shut was rolled into place. Within moments the light was gone and pitch darkness descended. The air quickly turned still. He could feel the dust settling. Total silence enveloped him with a deathly embrace. It was so quiet that he could hear a ringing in his ears as he adjusted to the penetrating quiet.

The reality of what he had done dawned on him. What had he been thinking? He could hear his heart beat and his breath as he exhaled and inhaled. Even the dog's panting rang in his ears. When the dog shook himself, the sound of its body shaking and the flopping of its ears echoed off the tomb's walls like thunder. In such an eerie environment every sound, every smell, every sensation is heightened.

The boy stood up and began to feel around in the dark. He now understood how things must be for the blind people he saw on the streets. His hands trailed along the walls. Without his sight to help him make sense of things he had to rely on what he could translate through his fingertips. When his hands came across the entrance way and the stone sealing the tomb shut, he felt around the entire opening. In the dark the opening felt bigger than it probably was. His sense of proportion and time were skewed and now about to be challenged.

The darkened tomb was about to test the boy as never before. He was accustomed to using his sight and hearing to help him survive on the streets. He needed an acute awareness of his surroundings so he wouldn't be caught by shopkeepers or worse yet, the Roman soldiers. He developed a keen ability of sensing trouble even when there seemed to be no evidence of it. Living on the streets brings out animal survival instincts lost by those who live in relative safety. His highly developed awareness could mean the difference between being fed and safe, or caught and severely punished.

The walls felt cool and moist. The chamber had seemed so small when he slipped inside, but now that nothing could be seen it felt strangely large. He pressed against the stone to see whether it could be moved. Not even a small sliver of light was visible around its periphery. The darkness in this room was unlike anything he'd experienced before. Even on the starless nights when he thought he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face he was still able to make it out. This room was unearthly and pitch dark.

As he groped around the walls, the boy could feel the dog's tail tapping his leg and hear its panting. He reached down and rubbed the dog's head to let it know that it was safe and to show his appreciation that he wasn't alone in here.

As he slid his feet along the floor his toe bumped against a ledge. When his hands trailed along the moist walls and went lower, he discovered that he was touching the dead man's body. He could feel the linen wrappings on the body, and a resin-like smell of myrrh filled his nostrils with an aroma that was not particularly sweet, but rather more of a dry and leathery smell, even a bit like licorice. Myrrh was used by doctors to fight infection and promote quicker healing, an ironic thing to put on a body that has no hope of returning to life.

Once the boy realized that he was touching a corpse he jerked his hand back. He let out a shriek that caused the dog to bolt away from him. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he could feel his breath rushing in and out of his lungs. What had he gotten himself into? He wanted to get as far away as possible, but the stone made any possibility of escape futile.

Then his mind recalled the poor, suffering man he had seen earlier who, through all the verbal abuse and physical torture he endured, had an indescribable look of compassion and love in his eyes. Inching closer toward the body, he slowly knelt down and placed both hands on the cadaver. He let them rest on the man's arm until he could find the courage to touch more of him. When his hands made contact a deep feeling of sadness and emptiness flooded through him. By some miracle he wanted to bring this man back to life. How wonderful would that be? Perhaps, if he could give this man his life back the “King of the Jews” would let him be his companion. The boy would never be lonely again.

A surge of love seemed to suffuse him the longer he touched the king. How could he have such feelings for someone with whom he'd never shared even a single word? They had no previous interactions. They had never laid eyes on each other until today. So, with no relationship to speak of how could he be experiencing such deep emotions for this man?

He moved in closer and laid his arm across the man's body, resting his head on the chest like a little boy finding solace in the arms of his father. The sensation of the burial linens on his cheek was soothing. He felt as though he could stay this way forever. He offered what little he knew of love to this dead man who seemed like he needed some in return. He was aware the man was dead, but fantasized he was giving the boy back love in return.

But even if this man did come back to life, the boy speculated, what would a king want with a street urchin? This man must be used to servants who were trained to satisfy his every whim. The best the boy could imagine is to sit at this king's feet like a dog waiting for a smile or other sign of approval. He knew that he would never be accepted, even by a kind and benevolent king.

A tear rolled down the side of the boy's face as his soul reached out to that of the dead man. His desires and needs were so simple; love me and I will ask for nothing more, not even food.

The dog snuggled next to the boy's legs and nudged him with his nose. The fourteen-year old could tell that his new friend was hungry. In his pocket he still had a couple of figs and some grilled meat wrapped in a cloth. This would be, he thought, the last of the food he and the dog would ever eat. There was no way they were ever getting out of this vault. It was where their lives would end. But what a way to end, in the tomb of a king with a new friend, his dog!

The boy wanted to make his limited supply of food last as long as he could. Taking one of the figs out of his pocket, he took a bite out of it and put the rest back into his pocket. He chewed the morsel slowly, allowing every part of his mouth to experience this treat. He had not remembered figs as being so sweet and succulent. Once he swallowed he allowed his tongue to probe the crevices of his mouth. The few bits he did find he chewed with his front teeth to enjoy the cracking and popping of the seeds.

The dog whimpered to remind the boy that he didn't want to be left out. Reaching deep into his pocket, the boy pulled out a rag within which was a chunk of grilled meat he had stolen earlier in the day. He tore off a strip and held it in the air for the dog to find. Sniffed around until it found the meat, the dog greedily took the whole piece into it's mouth. The boy wrapped up the remaining portion to keep for later and put it in the deepest part of his pocket along with his half eaten fig and the other one he had.

He moved over to a corner of the tomb and rested against the cool wall. The moistness and coolness were a welcome relief from the blistering sun of the day. He pulled the dog close to him. It felt good to have the dog rest on him. His new companion was almost like a blanket. The boy sat looking out into nothingness as he listened to the dog's respiration slow as it fell asleep. He wanted to stay awake in case a miracle happened and the king suddenly woke up. If he wanted a place in this man's kingdom he could not be found sleeping. He wanted to prove himself as a worthy and steadfast servant. He wanted to prove that he was much more than a common street thief.

As he leaned back, his hands trailed up and down the dog's body. The dog gave him a feeling of safety and belonging. He had just found this dog only a short time earlier, but they were now connected for life.

Chapter VI

The boy's mind began to wander. Thought after thought bombarded his brain with no rhyme or reason. Random visions ran through his brain like a box of marbles dumped on the floor. He tried hard to think about one thing at a time, but he couldn't manage it.

The one constant in his recollections was his mother. His memories of her were vivid yet selective. She was a woman who though world-weary had a light in her eyes and a beauty reserved for the rare few. Even in her ragged robes and dusty hair her loveliness could not be denied. Some men would stop in mid-step to look at her, others tried to steal a glance when their wives looked away. Women eyed her with suspicion. They wondered how someone like her could be on the streets.

The boy's mother gave women prone to gossip much on which to speculate. They remembered when she first appeared on the streets heavy with child. Her silks and gold jewelry were hardly typical of a lowly and destitute person. Women also remembered her searching through her purse to find coins to pay for food. She was seen offering some of her jewelry in exchange for even the smallest scraps. She would at times beg merchants to show mercy on her and her situation. She learned quickly that mercy was not a currency in which merchants traded.

As time passed she offered her fine silks to whomever would pay for them. With every piece of finery she bartered it seemed as if she forfeited a bit of her humanity and dignity. Little by little the boy's mother found herself transforming into someone she didn't recognize. Eventually she turned from a beautiful vibrant woman into a frightened and demoralized creature of the streets.

When the time came for her to give birth she was in a side alley sitting in the dirt and leaning against a wall. People stepped over her as if she were not even there. Her pleas to those who walked past her fell on deaf ears. Here was a young woman who was about to give birth in the streets like a feral cat. The compassion she so yearned for was not to be found. This stark reality seared her. Even at a moment when one of God's greatest miracles was about to take place, it was shrouded by neglect and a profound understanding that she was inescapably alone.

This was her first child. She had no idea what to expect or how to bring a child into the world. She knew that giving birth was a dangerous and harrowing experience for every woman. Now she is on the streets in unsanitary conditions with no medicines to relieve pain and no one to help her. She feared she would die in the process. She knew it was not uncommon for children to die at birth or shortly thereafter. Many children were fortunate if they made it through their formative years. This was never more true for the poor. Children of the wealthy had many more advantages.

As the woman leaned back against the wall sweat was pouring down her face. She struggled to breathe against the spasmodic pain that coursed through her. It was as if a knife were being thrust into her. She fell to her side holding her abdomen. As she lay there she reached out and grabbed the hem of a passerby's robe and pleaded for help. The man kicked her away as he would a begging dog.

As she lay there crying and moaning she felt someone wipe her face with a cool wet cloth. A kindly woman was standing over her and assuring her that she would be alright. The old woman leaned down and helped the vagrant to her feet. The two women struggled up the street until they reached a small, almost hidden, doorway. When old woman beat on a thick wooden door, it opened slightly. A tiny woman peered through the crack to see who was there, then pulled the door open and stepped back. The pregnant woman saw a room filled with women and girls of all ages. The young mother glanced at the tiny woman out of the corner of her eye. She saw a frail creature with gray straw-like hair and one blind eye. Her spindly hands were surprisingly strong as she helped the old woman bring the young mother inside.

The old woman called to have a bed prepared quickly. Her strong, commanding voice was obeyed without question. Instantly the home was a flurry of activity. Young girls heated water for bathing; others gathered blankets and items needed for bringing a child into the world.

This home was different from a normal household. It had a large common area and many small rooms, each with a privacy curtain in its doorway. In the corner of the common room was a cooking area filled with pots and dishes. From the fire came the smell of roasting lamb and baking bread. Scattered around the room were rugs that at one time were beautiful, but now were old and threadbare. On thick, luxurious floor cushions were lounging several cats. The scent of perfume wafted in the air. Through a small doorway just off the common room was a sun-filled courtyard with a single half-dead tree which provided some shade as well as some smaller foliage and more cushions.

The tiny woman pulled back the privacy drape to one of the rooms. The old woman lowered the young mother onto a mat and placed a pillow under her head. It was apparent that a child was about to be born at any moment. A young girl brought in a bowl of warm scented water. The old woman then took a cloth and began to clean the young mother's face, arms and legs. The tiny woman gave her cool water to sip and whispered comforting words.

After the old woman ordered everyone except her assistant out of the room, the other residents gathered in the common room and waited with anxious anticipation. One girl dared to steal a peek through the curtain. After a long period of crying and moaning the young mother let out a piercing scream. Within moments the cry of a newborn baby could be heard.

The old woman emerged from the room wiping her hands. Behind her was the tiny woman carrying the child, which she handed to her mistress. The old woman announced that the mother and child were both fine. Everyone in the common room rejoiced, praised God and hugged each other. It was a boy!

The midwife ordered two of the women to attend the new mother, and after she had rested, to bring her some food. After a time the old woman brought the child to its mother, gently laying him in her loving arms. The matron couldn't remember the last time she had seen such a beautiful mother.

As the mother was admiring her new son a thought ran through her mind that brought her to a state of panic. Taking the old woman's hand and pulling her close, she asked where she would go with the baby. The matron assured her that she had found a home with her. Tears welled up in the young woman's eyes. For so long she had been struggling and alone with no one to care for her. She had spent night after night restlessly sleeping in alleys in fear for her life, clutching the few possessions she had.

The old woman took a moment to admire the new mother's angelic face. It was apparent she was a rare beauty. Even after the painful ordeal of giving birth this young woman's face was a sight to behold. The old woman smiled sweetly and told her to rest. She took the child away so that the young mother could regain her strength. After she had thanked her benefactress over and over, a deep sense of peace came over the woman. For the first time in a very long while she felt safe. She let out a long sigh of relief and fell off into a recuperative slumber.

Chapter VII

As the boy sat in the dark, time no longer had any relevance in this dank and dismal place. Minutes and hours held no dominion here. Inside this tomb was another dimension quite unlike that of the world outside where the sun rose and set and where people's lives were ruled by meals, social obligations, and familial responsibilities. The boy's former curiosity about how long he had been sealed up in the tomb no longer crossed his mind. It no longer mattered.

Thoughts of his mother and her tender touch made the boy yearn for some basic human contact. He leaned down and pressed his face softly into the dog's furry head. The dog's musty smell and warm breath provided him a small amount of comfort. As he held the dog close, he began to wonder whether anyone truly loved the man who lay on a cold slab. He had seen people crying during the king's horrific ordeal, but were they really crying for him or for themselves and their loss? Why did no one at the crucifixion defy the soldiers and fight to rescue him? The boy understood all too well the feeling of being alone, the feeling of being without a protector.

He slid the sleeping dog off his lap and crawled toward the ledge where the dead king lay. He placed his hand on the gauze-wrapped body, hoping to sense the love he imagined that he had felt earlier. However, something was different, indescribably different. Something was missing. The feelings he experienced earlier were not there. It was as if this man's body was nothing, but an empty shell. The essence of this man was gone. The body felt cold, lifeless.

The boy sat back on his heels. His head dropped down and a flood of hot tears ran down his face. He felt lost and abandoned. His cries came from deep within his gut and were profoundly primal. They were like the sounds of a wolf that had it's leg caught in a trap. The boy's heart felt red and swollen. His chest ached with longing.

He lay on the ground beside the man's body and curled up in a ball. He was confused. Earlier he had felt something emanating from this man. Where had it gone? Yes, the man was dead, but for some odd reason the boy didn't feel entirely alone.

As he lay there crying, he felt a warm breath on the back of his neck. His canine companion came to him to offer comfort. The dog walked in circles behind the boy, then slumped down behind him with his back pressed against the boy's. This simple contact helped the boy to calm down.

His mind went back to thoughts of his mother. He knew that their lives together hadn't been easy, but somehow she had managed to make even deprivation seem less harsh. He remembered never being hungry or without a kiss on his cheek before falling asleep at night.

Chapter VIII

For a period of time after he was born, the boy's mother had tried to repay her benefactress by performing chores - cooking, cleaning, mending, whatever was needed. She stayed quiet and tried her best to keep her baby quiet. Every night before she went to sleep the old woman would come to her and take her son away to sleep with her. His mother didn't like this yet yielded to the old woman because she was told that she needed her rest.

The old woman appreciated having such a lovely housemaid. The young woman's cooking got better and better over time and the home had never been so clean. As much as the old woman enjoyed the chores being performed, having two extra mouths to feed wasn't inexpensive. This would have to change soon.

Many months passed, and as the boy grew, he was spending more and more time with the old woman. Eventually, he was sleeping in the her room nearly every night. When the boy was first learning to speak one of his first words was “savta”, the Aramaic word for grandmother. This term of endearment gave the old woman such joy. Each time he called her this she rewarded him with a fig or sweet cake. The more rewards he received the more he called her savta. The boy's mother began to become concerned by how attached her son seemed to be with this woman.

The boy continued to grow into a handsome young child. One evening when the mother called for her son, he did not respond. She approached the old woman's room and asked through the curtain whether the boy were with her. The old woman invited her to come in. This was the first time that the mother had seen the old woman's private quarters. The room was filled with lovely tapestries and cushions. The sweet smell of incense and fresh oranges gave the room a magical appeal. Several oil lamps imparted a soft, mysterious glow.

Her son's head was resting on the old woman's lap. The matriarch was stroking his hair and feeding him sweets. When the mother called to her son, he chose to stay with his benefactress. This act of defiance was like a fist in the young woman's belly. How is a mother to feel when her child prefers another woman?

The old woman invited her to sit down and offered her an orange, which she reluctantly accepted. The matriarch peeled another one and offered the sections to the boy, feeding them into his awaiting mouth like a bird might give her young a worm. Seeing her child so willing to be fed by someone else gave the mother pause.

The old woman began by asking whether her guest had been happy in her home. Cautiously the young woman agreed. The old woman then asked whether she were well treated by the others. Again she agreed. The household head began to reminisce next about the day she had found the young mother pregnant and alone in the streets. She recounted the terrible state of the young woman when she was in labor, afraid, and alone. The memory of that day made the young woman wince.

She answered by thanking the old woman and everyone in the house for their compassion and kindness. She spoke of how while on the streets she felt as though she were less than a common stray dog. She expressed how happy it had made her to be taken in and cared for. It had been a long time since she had felt welcomed anywhere. The old woman smiled and thanked her for her lovely sentiments.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, all the while the young mother was taking notice of how content her son was with his head in the old woman's lap. The mother stared at the floor while the old woman looked down at the boy adoringly and stroked his hair.

Abruptly, the matriarch broke the silence. Speaking in a rough tone, she stated that the two of them were an expense she was not in a position to continue supporting. Things were going to need to change immediately if the mother and her son were to stay under her roof. The young woman's eyes widened with fear and confusion. What did this mean? How would she find money? Or worse, if she were forced out of the house where would she go with a small child and no way to pay for their needs?

The old woman's visage changed as the conversation continued. Her face grew dark and her voice deepened. She asked the young woman whether she had any way to pay for her lodgings and food, knowing full well the answer. The young mother's eyes began to dart from side to side as she was processing the situation and contemplated her almost non-existent options. When her hands began to shake, she clasped them tightly in her lap so that her fear wouldn't show..

She offered to do more chores. but the more suggestions she offered the more irritated the old woman became. Calling for silence, the matriarch ordered the boy to leave the room. He dutifully walked past his mother without looking at her. The young woman stretched out her hands for him, but he was beyond her reach. She watched helplessly as her son walked away.

The old woman sat quietly eating an orange section. The silence was long and deliberate. The mother waited in nervous anticipation. Slowly placing the remaining orange aside and wiping her fingers on her robe, the crone turned her attention to the frightened young woman. In a quiet voice she asked her whether she knew how the food and lodgings were paid for. The young woman had no idea. It was explained that everyone in the household contributed toward her room and board. The matron informed the boy's mother that it was time she found a way to pitch in.

Tears flooded the young woman's eyes. She had no marketable skills and was a disgraced woman with a child. No one would hire her. The thought of being on the streets again and with a child was more than she could bear. She didn't care what happened to her, but what would become of her son? Her mind was racing. She struggled to maintain a coherent thought. Her palms grew sweaty and her hands began to shake.

The old woman made clear that there were many ways to earn a living and that everyone, young and old, had a way of bringing in money. It was merely a matter of using what you had to sell or taking advantage of what talents were available to you. These comments puzzled the young woman. In the back of her mind she had a good idea of what the old woman meant, but was hoping against hope it wasn't so.

The old woman beckoned the boy's mother to sit at her feet. The matron stroked her hair while she explained the three stages of a woman's life: when she is learning to become useful, when she is actually useful, and when she is no longer useful. Women with husbands, she added, don't realize as fully as a woman who is alone. In the latter case a woman constantly redefines herself because doing so is imperative to her survival. The females in this house were no exception.

The old crone explained that she had helped all of the girls in the house to become women and the women to become secure and independent. To be independent, however a woman has to remove all fear from her life, specifically the fear instilled in women by a misogynistic patriarchal society that didn't value women. She reiterated that fear is a poison that will kill, not quickly, but slowly and surely without mercy. She told the young mother that she would teach her how to be strong and use the currency she carried within her that men will pay any price to possess.

The young woman had no idea of what that currency was. The matriarch told her that as a woman her gender was all the currency she needed. It held more value than gold and jewels. Those things could be stolen, but a woman's currency was forever the one thing she can walk away with and keep totally as her own. Yes, men would steal samples of it, but they could never truly own it unless she chose to give it away.

Chapter IX

The matriarch went on to explain how the residents paid for the privilege of living in her home. She taught the young girls the art of pick-pocketing Depending on the talent of the children, picking pockets could bring in a nice living. She taught them the skills they needed to be successful. It was important for the girls to be proficient in either creating a distraction or going without being noticed. A child's age determined what techniques she needed to master.

If a girl was working alone, she had to look innocent and unassuming while keeping her eyes alert for potential “marks”. It was important not to draw attention to herself. When working alone it is necessary to know all possible avenues of escape so as not to be caught.

Taking advantage of a goodhearted person was another effective way of lifting a purse. One child created a diversion by making it appear that she was in trouble. When someone stopped to help her, another child stole whatever she could.

The most lucrative hauls came from staged a fist fights. While two of the girls were fighting, their accomplices quickly fleeced the crowd who gathered to watch and didn't have their minds on their purses and jewelry.

Picking pockets, according to the matron, was a skill these girls could use for the rest of their lives. If they became masters of the art, they would never go hungry again. One of the most important lessons they were taught was that if they got caught they were on their own and were never to tell where they live. The last thing the old woman wanted was any scandal or attention brought to the house.

As for the old women, she went on to say, they turned to begging. These women were groomed to have unique abilities to make people believe the are poor, sick and destitute. Instilling guilt was their stock in trade, with some pick-pocketing thrown in to supplement their earnings. The skills they learned when they were young came in handy in their later years. Begging was not hugely profitable, but it still brought in a money.

With dread and trepidation the boy's mother asked how the younger women earned their keep. In her heart of hearts she knew what the answer would be, but hoped to hear something else. The old woman smiled, reached down, and began to twirl her fingers gently in the mother's hair. Before she spoke she took a moment to admire the young woman's beauty; such fine features and long hair with gentle curls that beckoned to be touched. Her almond-shaped eyes refracted light much like a finely cut smoky quartz, and she had the kind of body men lusted after. She was the kind of woman men hoped for before settling for the wife they ended up marrying. She was a rare beauty who could bring in quite a bit of coin.

The old woman was lost in thought as she stroked the young woman's hair. Then, as if someone had awakened her, she returned to the moment. She took a long, deep breath and began by saying that the young woman was not like the others in the house. She was far more beautiful and far from common. She explained that the ladies in her employ were special and that men of great power and wealth paid a good price for a little “attention”.

When the young woman realized what she was being asked to do she protested immediately. She began to plead and offered other things she could do instead. The old woman would not hear of it. She recognized the commodity she had in this young beauty. She realized that it would not be cheap to maintain this lovely young woman, but with the amount of money she'd generate all of the costs would be more than covered.

When the young woman began to argue and refuse to do such things, the matriarch flew into a furious rage. She grabbed the young woman's hair and yanked her head back. Leaning over and looking deep the mother's face, she reminded her of how much money she had spent to care for her and her son. She went on to say that until it was paid back there would be no negotiating. She reminded her that the options for her and her boy were limited. The young mother could either do as she was told or leave immediately and take her son with her and see how well they fared on the streets alone.

At that moment the boy came running through the curtain toward the old crone with a white flower. She let loose of the mother's hair and placed her hand on the young woman's head instead to suggest she should not move.

The boy ran to his savta and presented her with his gift. She accepted it, put her hand around the boy's waist and pulled him close. The boy smiled and pressed his nose against the old woman's cheek. She turned toward the boy and they pressed their noses together and giggled. The young mother's heart sank as she realized the hold this woman had over her son. A feeling of being trapped gripped her. She realized there were no options for her.

Slowly she stood up and moved toward the doorway watching her son sitting in this woman's lap. Suddenly nothing felt real. All the sounds in the house blended together; everything in the house looked oddly different, faces she had known since arriving were unrecognizable. Her head began to spin and her breathing became rapid and shallow. Suddenly she collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Chapter X

The absence of sensory stimuli can completely change a person's perception of time, space, and reality. Lying on the floor of the tomb, the boy began to wonder how long he had been in there. Without light and sound, time was virtually frozen. He knew that he would die in there along with his new friend. No one was going to open the tomb and let him out. This dark, cold cave was where he would eventually meet his end.

Oddly he wasn't experiencing any fear of his impending death. He didn't know what he was feeling. The whole experience was unlike anything he had known. Earlier he had spent his days scavenging and trying not to get caught. He slept wherever he could find a place and would not be seen. A safe and restful sleep were unfamiliar to him. Then he had to be aware of his surroundings even when he was asleep. Because he could easily be attacked or robbed. When you live on the streets you can never let your guard down.

In the tomb it was cool and quiet. He was safe and had a friend. What little food he had he didn't have to worry about its being stolen. As he thought about his little parcel of food he placed his hand in his pocket to feel it. Even though it wasn't much, it gave him a sense of security.

The dog crawled up next to him. placed his head on the boy's lap, and began to lick the boy's hand. The salt tasted good. The boy leaned down and snuggled his face into the dog's face and began to hum a lullaby. From his pocket he pulled out a piece of the grilled meat he had shared before. The dog ate it greedily and gratefully licked the boy's fingers clean.

The boy knew only one song that his mother had sung to him when he was young. He sang it to himself when he felt sad or missed his mother. It was a simple tune, but it conjured up much love and comfort. He laid down on the floor and pulled the dog closer to himself. The warmth coming from the dog's body felt good and gave the boy a feeling of relief.

While lying there with the dog he wondered what life would have been like in this king's palace. His mind began to wander down imaginary halls. His thoughts drifted into lush banquet halls filled with beautiful flowers and servants rushing around preparing great feasts. Luxurious couches were covered with soft pillows of every color in the rainbow. It was magical. Everyone, including the servants, were beautiful. The sweet, smokey aroma of incense wafted through the air. In the distance music could be heard. Laughter and activity abounded as a celebration was being prepared.

Only a good and kind king could have so many happy people working for him, the boy thought. He must treat them well if they were willing to work so cheerfully. He imagined this man coming down the hall to greet a roomful of guests. As he made his way past them, servants and guests alike bowed in respect. The boy imagined him as the kind of man who made sure that everyone was well fed and enjoying themselves. He served only the best meats and fruits. Every glass was filled with the best wine money could buy. There was no shortage of food. Platter after platter of the finest dishes were brought out and presented to the guests.

In his mind's eye the boy saw the festivities as clearly as if he were there himself. He took a fig out of his pocket and took a small bite, savoring the sweetness. He chewed it slowly and bit down on the seeds to relish the flavor. The subtle crunch of each seed gave him a satisfying pleasure. The smell of the fig filled his nose with a luxurious sensation.

The boy's attention turned back to the man lying on the slab beside him. Was he like the figment of his imagination or was he a wicked and cruel man? If he were kind, he wouldn't have been put to death. Perhaps he did unspeakably evil things to many innocent people, and crucifixion was the punishment he deserved. Could it be that this torture he experienced is a small sample of what he did to others?

The boy was confused. If this man had been a heartless reprobate, why would he pray for the very people who were putting him to death? Why would he so tenderly call down from the cross to his friend and ask him to take care of his mother? Why would he show compassion to the criminal hanging beside him? How could this man be so concerned about others when he was being slowly put to death? Where was his anger? Where was his bitterness? Where was his army to his rescue him? These questions flooded the boy's mind at a break neck pace.

All he knew for certain was what he had felt when he looked into the man's eyes while he lay on the ground being nailed to the cross. Never had he seen a look like what he saw then. This man's eyes drew him in and captured his soul. He felt compelled to be by this man's side even in death. It made no logical sense, but he knew that he needed to follow his instincts.

He closed his eyes and pulled the dog closer as he drifted off to sleep. The sound of the dog's breathing and the feel of its body made the boy feel as if he could sleep without fear.

Chapter XI

As the boy lapsed slowly into slumber, his mind went back to his days of living with his mother and the women in that house. Occasionally he slept in his mother's room. Otherwise, most of the time he curled up with the old woman in her bed. She was very maternal and seemed to enjoy indulging the boy. His mother hadn't always approved of the old woman's decisions when it came to her son, but as long as they lived in the old woman's house her feelings were moot. She knew that if she were to continue to have a place for her and her son to live she would need to follow orders and be nice to the men who came by to visit.

The boy's mother was especially beautiful and the envy of all the others in the house. The old woman attired his mother in the finest clothes and made sure she smelled as beautiful as she looked. The men who came to see her arrived under the cloak of darkness with hushed voices and guilty expressions. The old woman invited them to inspect all of the young women there. Many of the men were easily satisfied, but a special visitor was treated like an honored guest. He was served the best wine and fruit and given the best cushions to sit upon. All of the young ladies would vie for his attention, but they knew very well the old woman's precious commodity was the boy's mother. She possessed a unique beauty, elegance and sophistication that they lacked.

After the special visitor was plied with strong wine, the old woman would have the young beauty present herself. When she appeared, everyone else in the room faded from view. Even in the dim lamplight she glowed. Her lithe body, delicate hands and alluring eyes were hard for any man to resist. Yet, despite all of the finery, however, there was a deep sadness behind her eyes. They were the eyes of a person who had become nothing but a shell with all feelings of humanity drained from her. She was a woman without a soul, but no one in the room could tell this. All the special visitor saw was a body he wanted to possess, and the old woman regarded her as a rare and profitable commodity.

Dutifully the boy's mother led the man into her room and pulled the curtain. Anyone outside the alcove could hear what was going on. The old woman stayed close to ensure that nothing went too far. She had to deal with this issue in the past, and for her to run a successful business she had to protect her “merchandise.”

After less than an hour the man emerged from behind the curtain disheveled, sweaty, and looking rather satisfied. As he left the room he turned and tossed a coin onto the cushion next to the young woman. He thanked the house matron and assured her he would be back. When she cautiously opened the door for him, he looked out to see whether he had been spotted and then slipped off into the night like a criminal trying to avoid detection.

Meanwhile the young woman lay back on her cushions clutching the coin in her hand. The money brought a flurry of mixed emotions. On the one hand, she felt filthy having prostituted herself. On the other hand, she lived in a survival mode and hoped one day to have enough money to buy her way out of this house of degradation. All she wanted was a quiet life for her and her son, but her dreams seemed like hopeless fantasies that stood little chance of coming to fruition.

She pressed her face into a pillow and began to cry. Her sobs came from a place deep within her soul. She could feel them come up from her belly and when they released themselves into the air, the sound was more like a wounded animal rather than a woman. No words could convey the profound feelings of helplessness, entrapment, desperation, and anger that soiled every fiber of her being.

When her son peeked into the room, the sight of his mother in such despair moved yet confused him. He didn't understand why she was so sad. All he knew was that his mother was upset. Upon his lying beside her, she pulled him close and buried her face in his hair. She apologized over and over for the life they were living, promising him that one day she would give him a better life.

Moments later the old woman pulled back the curtain and called the boy. Slowly he stood up. His mother gripped his hand tightly. The old woman called to him again and as he stepped toward her his mother released her grasp on his hand. The old woman gave him an orange and told him to go to her room. As the boy obeyed her orders, the brothel's manager stared dispassionately at the young woman's tear-stained face, then let the curtain close behind her leaving the boy's mother isolated and alone.

Moments later the house matron passed through the curtain to her quarters to find the boy sitting on one of her most comfortable cushions and beginning to peel the orange she had given him. She smiled and sat down beside him. She took the orange from him and placed his head on her lap. As she peeled the fruit she took bits of the rind and rubbed the orange scent onto his face. They laughed as she teased him about smelling like an orange and if he weren't careful someone may eat him.

Once the fruit was peeled she began her habit of feeding him by hand. She touched the tip of his nose with each section before placing it into his awaiting mouth. As she fed him she reflected on how much she enjoyed raising the boy. She wondered what her life would have been like had she been a mother herself. She questioned whether she would have been a good mother, but motherhood would be an experience she would never know first hand. Since she was unable to bear children of her own, she had to live vicariously through the girls and women she took in.

The feelings of longing, pain, and disappointment which plagued her over the years causing her heart to become red and swollen were replaced by emotions which left her cold, leathery and empty. The bitterness she harbored created in her feelings of deep resentment toward any female who was carrying a child.

Just outside the matriarch's room stood the boy's mother peeking through the curtain. She watched dolefully as her son was sharing a tender moment, one which should have been her own.

Chapter XII

For the young mother, living in this house grew worse as the months and years passed. With each man that passed through her arms a little more of her self-respect and humanity faded away. Had it not been for her son she would have had no happy memories to cherish during those long lonely nights when the old woman kept her child from her. Even in this den of depravity she did her best to create a fantasy world for her son in an attempt to mask the very ugliness that resided right there among them within its walls.

The boy had only one fond memory when it came to the old woman, it was when the two of them visited the open market. Each excursion was filled with adventure as they walked down the cobblestone streets hand in hand through the crowds of shoppers, merchants, Roman soldiers, and beggars. As they walked down the street the boy recognized many of the beggars because they lived together in the same house. Occasionally he smiled at them and waved because he was so happy to see them. When he did this the old woman yanked on his hand and reminded him that he should not acknowledge them. It was important that no passerby be aware that he knew them.

The boy was fascinated by the endless rows of vendor's stands. It was as if there was nothing that couldn't be purchased at the market; fresh fruits and vegetables, spices from all over to the world, beautiful scarves and clothing with ornate stitching, livestock, slaves from faraway lands, lamps and rugs, and all other kinds of merchandise.

The boy stayed close to his savta and clung tightly to her robes so he wouldn't be separated from her. The crowd was so thick with people it would not have taken much for him to wind up lost.

The old woman made a trip to the market once or twice a week for supplies and usually brought the boy along with her. He enjoyed the outing because it gave him a chance to see the people. Each time he went along the old woman bought him a special treat to eat to keep him occupied while she took care of her errands. His two favorite merchants were the ones who sold spices and the one who sold slaves.

The spice booth had all sorts of baskets filled with the most aromatic seasonings. Their fragrances filled the air and their colors were so rich and vibrant. Cinnamon and cloves were two of his favorite flavors. He watched carefully as the old woman touched the tip of her finger in the spice and tasted it. Once she had tasted his wares she fiercely negotiated with the merchant over the price. From time to time she would dip her finger in one of the spices and give him a little taste and ask his opinion.

As much as he enjoyed the spice booth, he enjoyed looking at the slaves even more. Off to one side of the market stood a small platform and on it were men, women, and even children shackled together by the neck. They stood together in the blistering sun dripping in sweat with looks of fear and uncertainty on their faces. These exotic looking creatures clad in chains and rags were a fascination to him. He had never seen anyone with skin so dark or such woolly hair. The thick metal collars each of them wore looked heavy and uncomfortable.

Once when he was in the market with savta he wandered over toward the slave sellers to look at the people standing on the platform. One boy in particular had skin darker than any of the others he had seen before, it had almost a bluish glow. The slave boy had a very round, shiny face and the whites of his eyes shined like two white moons on a pitch dark night.

Without thinking, the boy reached out and touched the young slave's hand. When the young captive's hand turned over the boy was surprised to see that the slave's palms were light-colored like his own. For a moment the boy wondered if the young slave's dark color was some sort of coating and he tried to rub some of it off. The young boy giggled when he discovered that the slave's pigment was his actual color! As the boy was smiling their eyes met. For a brief moment the two of them were holding hands. Just then tears welled up in the slave boy's eyes. This was some of the first human contact the young captive had known in quite some time since being stolen from his home.

It was then that the old woman called to the boy. He gave the prisoner one last look before running to her.

The boy looked forward to these excursions with the old woman because not only were they exciting, he knew that each time they went to market he would be treated to some kind of special goody.

On this particular day the matriarch went to the market without the boy and left him at home in the care of the other women. Initially he roamed the house asking each of the women what they were doing and offered to help them with whatever chore they were performing. Some of them were washing clothes while others were cleaning the pots and pans. Many of the women found him endearing and allowed him to help while others shooed him away. They found him annoying and didn't like him by virtue of the fact that his mother was the house's highly prized courtesan. Jealousy ran deep between some of the women.

After a while the boy grew restless and took his toy lion outside to the courtyard and began to play quietly. The boy had amassed quite a collection of brightly painted animal figurines which had been given to him by his mother, some of the other women and the house matriarch. He enjoyed spending time in the garden and imaging all sorts of adventures.

Unbeknownst to him, his mother had been watching him for several minutes from the garden entrance way. He looked so innocent and sweet as he played while being completely unaware of her. The longer she gazed at him the more she could see bits of his father, the profile of his face or the way he tilted his head.

Quietly she slipped up beside him and knelt down. She placed her hands over his eyes and using a funny fake voice asked him to guess who was behind him. The boy laughed while guessing it was his mother. Pulling her hands from his eyes he flashed her his toothy smile. She couldn't resist running her fingers through his head of shiny dark brown ringlets. The boy's wide brown eyes looked so much like his father's, even their olive complexions looked the same.

The boy's mother noticed that he was playing only with his toy lion. She asked him why he wasn't playing with all of his toy animals. He replied, “I like this one best”.

“Why?”, she asked.

“Because I like lions and you gave me this one.”, he answered. His remark made her feel warm and loved. As she pulled him close to hug him, she took his toy lion and held it next to his head and teased him by saying the lion was about to eat him up. The two laughed and continued to play. It was as if they were in their own little world. Rarely did they have time alone like this without the matriarch of the house standing over them or lurking in the background to interrupt at any moment.

As they continued to play the boy stopped and sat silently for a moment staring at the ground with a pensive look on his face. His mother was asking him if everything were alright. The boy, without looking up at her asked, “Do I have a father?”. The young mother was taken aback by her son's query. Occasionally her husband crossed her mind, but she had never spoken of him to her son. “Why would you ask that?”, she nervously inquired. He shrugged his shoulders and said he was curious about his father.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath hoping it would help suppress some long buried feelings and memories. The topic of his father was one she had hoped she wouldn't have to entertain anytime soon, but knew that one day it would need to be addressed. For now, she was going to do her best by giving him an answer she hoped would satisfy his youthful curiosity.

“You have the best father in the whole world. He is kind, loving, and strong. And, he loves you very much.”, she told him.

“When will I see him?”, he asked.

This was the one question for which she did not have a sufficient answer. “One day soon, my son and he will be so proud of you.”. Fortunately for her the answers seemed to be enough to satisfy his curiosity and he smiled broadly as he continued to play. She looked off in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief while her mind wandered with thoughts of what the boy's father would think of him if they met.

Chapter XIII

Being alone and isolated can break the spirit quicker than just about any other abuse. Human beings, by nature, are communal creatures. They are nurtured and thrive through human interaction. Very few can function without interaction with others. As the boy sat in the dark tomb, however, he was surprisingly unaffected by his isolation from the outside world. Inside this walled enclosure was safety from the dangerous elements he had faced daily on the streets. His companionship with the dog gave him all the comfort he needed, but the emotions he was feeling for this dead man confused him.

He crawled near the body and asked several questions.

What did you do to make the Romans want to crucify you? Why did so many people want to see you killed? If you were a king why didn't your armies come to fight the Roman soldiers and rescue you? How could you speak so kindly to those who were executing you?

Hearing this man show concern for his own mother while dying on the cross made a powerful impression on him. This man must have loved his mother the same way the he loved his.

The boy's voice echoed off the walls, and he was startled by the sound of his own voice. He had never heard his voice quite this way before. He began to make silly sounds to amuse himself. For a moment he let his guard down and simply, if only briefly, was able to act like a child.

Once the novelty wore off he asked more questions of the man. “What is your kingdom like?” “Would my mother and I have had a better life living in your kingdom?” “Could I live in your palace?” All were the questions of a young mind searching for love and security, a place of belonging after so much time of not belonging anywhere.

He sat in silence for a while and then began to speak to the man as if he were alive. He shared stories of his life on the streets, his favorites foods, his happiest memories and one memory he kept locked away in his heart and had never shared with anyone. This memory made all other painful memories pale in comparison.

As he sat there deciding whether or not to share this memory tears began to run down his face. He pulled his knees up, buried his face, and cried in a way he had not been able to before. He was afraid to put his pain into words.

He began by telling the man about his life in the brothel, stories of thievery, beatings and strange men who came and left at all hours of the day and night. Once he got started talking it was as if a dam had burst, and all of his past rushed forth as if it had a life of its own and he was unable to control it. It was one thing to have these thoughts buried in his brain, but to recount them out loud was overwhelming.

The more he talked, the more he came to realize just how cruel the old woman had been. She would withhold food if her orders were not followed. Nothing except money was sacred to her. He particularly remembered a time when one of the beggar women had displeased her. With no emotion she went over to the cage where the woman's pet bird sang cheerfully. The matriarch stared at the yellow and green bird for a moment, then slowly opened the cage and reached in. Suddenly there was a crunching sound. She had reached in and crushed the bird with one hand. She turned, wiped her hand on her robe and walked away as if nothing had happened. Everyone in the room sat in stunned silence. It was heartless acts like this that made it clear she was not one to be defied or disobeyed.

The poor beggar woman shuffled toward the cage and stared at her annihilated bird in disbelief. Her bird, this happy creature, was the only beauty she had known. It may not have been much to others, but it was the only bit of happiness she could find in that den of iniquity. Now it was cruelly hushed forever. Tenderly she reached into the cage and took the crushed bird out and held it against her chest. Without a word, without a tear she silently left the room. Everyone looked around at each other not knowing what to say. Their hearts sank as they watched the woman take the one and only thing she loved most in the world out to the garden.

The boy watched from a distance as the woman crept off into a darkened area of the garden and scooped out a hole under a bush with her hands, whispered something inaudible, gently lay the bird in the hole, and reverently covered it with dirt. After sitting in silence for quite a while, she stood up and held her hands to her mouth as went to her room without speaking to anyone.

The boy went to his mother and clung to her robe with a look of confusion on his face. He asked her why savta had done this. She shook her head silently with no words to describe this hateful act. Instead, she pulled the boy to herself and held him tightly. The two women locked eyes. The old woman then called the boy to herself and informed his mother that a guest was waiting for her. Without argument she stood up, adjusted her clothes and escorted the man to her room while staring at the floor. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the old woman standing behind her son with her hands on his shoulders.

The boy narrated this story to the dead man with detachment, almost as if he were telling someone else's tale. There was a callousness to the boy's story. Life had hardened him to the point where he could feel no more emotion concerning the brutal death of the poor bird. He asked the man, “If I lived in your kingdom would I be allowed to own a bird? You wouldn't kill it if you were angry, would you?”

Even with his scarred heart the boy was reaching out for a glimmer of hope and love, even if the love came from a dead man. A desperate heart will look for comfort in the most unlikely of places. A lonely heart has a keen eye when looking for any sort of kindness or compassion. It will take whatever it can get, much like a thirsty man. He does not care if the water comes from a babbling brook or a sewer. All he knows is his thirst and he is determined to satisfy it at all cost.

The more he asked questions the more the boy wondered what this man must have been like while alive. He fantasized childlike scenarios. He imagined what it would have been like to play in the river with him, the two of them enjoying the refreshing water and the man teaching him to swim. He saw the two of them sharing a piece of fruit. He imagined going to school and the man quizzing him on his studies. He fantasized their going on long walks hand in hand and the man telling him how proud he was of him. All were things to which a love- starved boy dreamed.

Placing his head on the man's chest and his arm across the body, the boy felt the numbness of his heart begin to dissolve, and for a moment he was able to feel. He whispered to the man, “I wish you could have known my mother. You would have liked her.” Tears ran down his face. He said, “If I lived in your kingdom I would be such a good and obedient child. I would never do anything to make you mad or make you not love me.” Such were the innocent sentiments of a child starved for something as simple as love and affection.

Chapter XIV

More years had passed and by this time the old woman had made quite a bit of money off the backs of the girls and women in her house. The lion's share of it came from the boy's mother. But as time marches on, so does nature and a woman's youthful beauty can only last so long. Eventually the petals begin to fall from the rose. So it was with the boy's mother. Other than her regular patrons, men who came to the brothel began asking for younger and prettier consorts. This did not go unnoticed by the old woman. She moved the boy's mother out of her room into a small dark space in the back of the house. The room she held for years was now being given to the most attractive, desirable and profitable women.

Meanwhile, the boy was growing into a handsome young man. The old woman took great pride in him as if he were a prized possession or a favored pet. He sat at her feet much like a dog. She still fed him by hand and patted him on the head, making it a point for his mother to see her do this. It was to ensure that the boy's mother understood that she controlled everything in the house including the son's affection. This kind of treatment was not unusual to the boy. It was all he ever knew. He had been his mother's son, but the old crone's possession since his birth. This strange dynamic held no perspective for him.

One evening his mother had a man come to see her. He was a gruff and ill-mannered merchant who treated her like worn out goods. He was fat with leathery, sun-tanned skin, and stinking breath with several missing teeth. He smelled of livestock and when he walked into the house his sandals tracked in animal manure. He had a rough voice with hands to match. Each time he visited he treated the boy's mother no better than his livestock. He showed her no tenderness or desire as a woman. He gripped the boy's mother by the arm and took her to her little alcove in the back of the house.

After a while a disturbing commotion could be heard coming from her room. The woman came running out into the common area in tears with her clothes torn and exposing one of her naked breast. She was bruised on her arms and holding the side of her face. Everyone rushed into the room to see what was wrong. The old woman ordered him to stop striking her. She told the man that if he did not leave immediately he would not be able to come back again.

The abusive patron became filled with rage. He could not believe that a mere woman, especially an old woman, would talk to him that way, especially after all the money he had given her over the years. In a fit of rage he grabbed an oil lamp and threw it at the boy's mother, who let out a blood curdling scream. The oil caught fire, severely burning her clothes and face. Her long luxurious hair that had been one of her most attractive features was charred. The man stormed out the door with the old woman chasing after him beating on his back and cursing him. He grabbed the old woman by her robes and threw her to the ground and stormed away.

The matron came back to the house to find the others tending to the injured woman's burns. Her left breast had been burnt along with the left side of her face and half her hair from the side of her head. She also was blinded in her left eye. Looking at the wounds, the brothel madam knew that the young woman's high earning days had come to an end.

“This would not have happened,” she yelled, “if you had done what he wanted.” She ordered the others to clean up the room and went to her quarters.

The boy was confused and frightened. He went into his savta's room only to find her seething in anger. When she saw him she ordered him out of her room and told him to go sleep with his mother. He had never been rejected at by her before. He didn't know what to do. He stood there bewildered and wondering what to do. At that moment the old woman screamed at him to go and threw a vase of flowers at him. He ran from her room as fast as he could.

He went to his mother's room and slowly pulled back the curtain. He saw her lying on a mat crying and holding a cloth to her face. She smelled of burnt flesh and singed hair. Seeing her son standing in the doorway, she turned away to keep him from witnessing the severity of her injuries. He did not know what to make of what he was seeing. His mother had always been beautiful, and now that attribute had been stolen from her.

He knelt down beside her, took the cloth from her hand, and dipped it in clean water mixed with herbs to help numb the pain. As he dabbed her gently, the smell of her burnt body filled his nose with a putrid, unspeakable odor. She reached out to him, pulled him close and wept uncontrollably. Hearing her cry like this was nothing new to him, but this time it was deeper and more primal than ever before.

He laid beside her on her mat and the two of them held each other as if they were the only two left in the world. The boy's mother kept whispering over and over how sorry she was for the kind of life they were living. She promised him that she would somehow make things right and give him the kind of life he deserved.

Chapter XV

Several days passed since the horrible incident. The old woman allowed the boy's mother time to begin to heal. One morning the boy's mother emerged from her small room to face the others in the house. The young girls were unable to hide their fright while the older women did their best to downplay how she looked and show her some kindness. But it was the young girls' reactions that gave the best idea of how bad the injured woman looked.

The side of her face was covered in bloody scabs. Her beautiful flowing hair, which had been the envy of all the women in the house, was completely burnt off on one side. Worst of all, she could see only out of her right eye, the left one had been blinded. It was apparent that she was permanently blinded and disfigured. No man would want to be with someone who looked so hideous.

She heard her name being called from the old woman's room. Fear shot through her body as she entered it. The old woman had not seen her since the night of the outrage. The damage was worse than she expected. Anger welled up in her because her income was now affected. When the boy's mother went to sit down on a cushion. the madam ordered her to remain standing and turn around slowly so she could take it all in. The old woman mumbled and cursed under her breath. She knew that only one option remained for her former beauty-begging.

When the young woman heard this verdict her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. She pleaded for mercy and tried to assure the matriarch that her looks would return, but she knew that she was hopelessly and permanently disfigured. Immediately her thoughts went to her son. How would she earn enough support them both? When she asked as much of the old woman, she told that was of no concern to the establishment. If boy's mother could not pay for the upkeep of herself and her son, they would have to leave. The injured mother was panic-stricken. This was the only home she and her son had ever known. It wasn't much, but it was still a home of sorts.

The matron called one of the beggar women to come into the room. She told her to teach the younger woman the trade, warning again that if the mother did not earn enough money she and her son would be out on the streets. The two women left the room arm in arm with the young woman trembling in fear.

After they left the room, the old woman sat on a cushion peeling an orange. She stared off into space as she considered what was to be done with the boy. He had been an amusement for her and a means of keeping his mother under control, but now things had changed, and so must they for him. He was no longer a commodity, he was a financial burden unless he could earn his keep. She had an answer for that.

She called the boy and one of her most talented pickpockets into the room. As they entered the boy went to take his usual place at her feet. She pushed him away and ordered him to stand next to the young girl. He was bewildered. This was not the loving savta to whom he had become accustomed. He stood dutifully next to the girl. Both children looked down at the floor afraid to make eye contact with this fierce woman.

She asked the boy whether he had been happy living in her home all these years. He told her he had been very happy. She then asked whether he loved his mother, to which he replied, “Yes.” She went on to inquire whether he loved her. He smiled and told her that he loved her as much as his mother. The old woman explained that she did not have much money and that the only reason he and his mother had a place to live was due to her kindness when she found his mother on the streets and in labor. She reminded him that without her benevolence his mother would have died on the streets like a dog. She let it be known that charity did not come cheaply. Many sacrifices had been made on her part to ensure that he and his mother had a place to stay, food to eat and clothes on their backs.

When he thanked her for all she had done, she answered coldly, “Thanks don't put food on the table and a roof over our heads”.

She then informed the boy that since his mother was unable to bring in the same kind of household income anymore he would have to earn his keep. He was confused and asked how. She told him that the young girl was going to teach him everything he needed to know about making money. He was to listen to everything she had to say and do exactly as she did and never come home empty-handed.

As she was excusing them from her presence, the matriarch handed the young girl an orange. When the boy stepped forward to receive one as well, she refused him one and ordered them out of her room. This was the first time he had ever been denied a treat. His emotions were in a state of turmoil. He was being asked to do something he had never done before in order to support himself and his mother, and savta was withholding her favor from him. Suddenly the world had turned into an upsetting and ugly place.

Chapter XVI

The sudden shift in the household paradigm was more than the young woman had expected and more than her son was equipped to handle. Now both of their lives were in survival mode. Adapting was paramount to their very existence. They either had to adapt or face the perils of life on the streets. As cruel as life was in the house, it was far less brutal than life on the streets. This reality was not lost on the boy's mother. She understood that they were teetering on the precipice and they needed to change or die.

Having led a rather sheltered and sequestered life among women, with no significant male influence in his life, the boy had no real idea of how the outside world worked. He had never had to develop a sense of his surroundings or how to read people. Now he was going to have to hone a new set of skills that would require him to be able to deceive people and ignore his innate sense of right and wrong in the pursuit of separating unsuspecting people from their purses.

His first lesson was how to blend into a crowd and avoid detection. The girl taught him to make himself look innocent so that he wouldn't draw attention. Since the art was about deception it was important to look as unsuspecting as possible. She also showed him how to look as though he were accompanied by an adult so that merchants wouldn't be suspicious of him as a lone child wandering aimlessly. In short, the girl instructed him in how to use his age and innocence to avoid detection.

She showed him how to spot the person who looks like they are carrying a large amount of money on them. The goal of picking pockets, she said, was simple: to make the largest profit possible and to take “marks” for all they had. The way to tell whether people had a lot of money on them was to identify the quality of their clothes and jewelry. Also, what sort of purchases did they make, and were servants carrying their packages for them?

The girl's lesson then turned to the matter of diversion. The goal was to distract a mark's attention from his or her purse or other valuables. This strategy was especially effective when working in pairs. Another diversion was to pretend to be a cripple. Most people, she explained, wouldn't think you're a thief if you appear to be impaired.

Most important of all, the boy's tutor added, was to have avenues of escape so as not to get caught. If he should be found out, she advised, run and don't look back. Don't hesitate to bite or kick to get loose. Also, if he were working with a partner who got caught, leave them behind. If he's the one to be caught be prepared for a severe beating. She told him that dogs were held in higher regard than a street urchin.

She started him off with a simple demonstration to help him get the idea. The girl wandered up to a fruit stand, and when the merchant was distracted for a moment she slipped a couple of figs into her pocket. When the merchant then asked her if she wanted anything she excused herself and went on her way. It was important to remember, she told the boy, not to go to the same merchant more than once every couple of days so that he didn't remember your face. Being recognized was one of the worst things that could happen to a pickpocket. She and the boy wandered through the crowd enjoying the figs she had just pinched.

As they walked around looking at people in the crowd the boy asked the girl why she never ate at home. She explained that the old woman did not feed the children. Their job was to steal their own food if they wanted to eat, but they must never come home at night without any coins. All of the money went straight to the woman. She told the boy of a time when she came back with no money and the old woman beat her and made her sleep outside in the rain for several days. The girl contracted influenza as a result yet still had to go out and bring home her expected daily earnings. After this incident the girl refined her skills and never came back empty handed again.

The boy had not experienced hunger or beatings. He was accustomed to a life of being pampered and not wanting for anything. Now that he was on his own he had to figure out how to succeed. His life and the life of his mother depended on it.

Meanwhile, in a congested part of the market place the boy's mother was being taught how to prey on the sympathetic nature of people in the crowd. Begging was the most difficult and humiliating of all the tasks the old woman required of her boarders. Beggars earned the least of anyone in the house, a fact that explained why they had the crudest sleeping arrangements of anyone and the least amount of food. To be successful as a beggar a person had to relinquish any shred of human dignity and focus solely on one task, getting someone to drop a coin in her dish.

The psychological strategy was to make people feel bad about having it so good when others were suffering. Guilt was these women's leverage. If guilt didn't work, irritating passersby until they gave something to stop the annoyance was another option. It was important not to be too aggressive; otherwise a woman ran the risk of being beaten or run off by a Roman soldier.

One benefit of begging that went without revealing to the old woman or the others in the house was that not a lot was expected of the beggar women. Thus, if they hid some of their earnings no one would know. As long as they brought home enough to satisfy the old woman they were safe. It was understood by the other beggar women that this small benefit was never to be discussed with anyone.

The boy's mother was taught that no story or appeal for sympathy was too much. The goal was simply to solicit as much pity as possible. In the young woman's mind this posed a challenge. The only time she had ever been forced to beg was the few weeks when she was pregnant and living on the streets. Normally she wouldn't do this, but at that time it was a situation of life and death. Otherwise, she had found ways to pay for what she needed, but to beg as a vocation was an unsettling prospect.

The beggar woman teaching her showed the boy's mother how to use her current affliction as a means of gaining sympathy and attention. The idea of showing off her disfigured face to the world terrified her. Showing her face to anyone created within her an unspeakable panic. The burns were still fresh and the scabs were large and unsightly. People who saw her recoiled at the sight of a badly scarred woman with half of her hair missing. Tears ran down her face as she witnessed people's horrified reactions. None of the people walking past her realized that she was once a rare beauty to whom life turned into a grotesque creature.

When she tried to ask for money the words caught in her throat. All that came out of her mouth were whispers. Her begging companion reminded her that if she didn't bring back any money she and her son would be on the streets. What would become of them then? The reminded her that at least she had a place for them to rest their heads at night and to not to risk losing it.

Chapter XVII

While the boy lay across the corpse he remembered what the man had looked like while they were nailing him to the cross. His body was weak, and broken His flesh torn and bloody from head to foot, yet despite his gruesome afflictions a light gleamed from his suffering eyes. They were like two shining orbs of hope and love buried within a mass of beaten and abused violence.

The crucified man's sufferings reminded the boy of his mother. The memory of her scarred face and burnt hair was something he would carry with him for the rest of his life. The horrid memory was seared into his mind like hot wax on cold granite, stirring within him a range of emotions. He felt anger, hate, hurt, sadness, sorrow, loathing, and a host of less definable feelings for which there wasn't a word in the human tongue sufficient enough to describe his truest emotions.

While near the man's body he remembered the suffering his mother had endured at the hands of hateful people, and he wanted to know what this man had done that was so bad that there was a need to kill him so brutally. He regarded his mother's humiliation on the streets in front of total strangers who didn't know a thing about her as similar to the humiliation this man had suffered on the cross before crowds who treated his suffering as entertainment. The people who had rejected his mother and this man didn't stop to consider or understand who it was they were persecuting.

As he lay with his face pressed against the man's chest he talked to him as if he were alive and able to respond back. The boy asked one rhetorical question after another hoping for an answer. He knew the man couldn't talk back, but it provided and inexplicable comfort, much the way a spouse still talks to their loved one after their death. It's a coping mechanism to help survive the day or get through the moment.

The boy then became quiet inside and allowed himself simply to rest. In this dark and solitude place even the most mundane things one hardly notices became more pronounced. The sound of his breathing, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the panting of the dog beside him all seemed to blend together into a symphony of humanity.

Even the ringing in his ears from the silence when he first entered the tomb had changed. He adapted to the quiet and became one with it.

There is a difference between silence and quietness. Silence can drive men mad. Quietness, on the other hand, is a restful plateau of being. Silence is the absence of peace, a false version of quietness. The human soul is more drawn toward things that are organic. Silence is used to punish or manipulate, to break a man's spirit, whereas quietness is something men spend their whole lives trying to achieve. Though as elusive as the wind, quietness can nurture and heal. It is something the can be felt, but it cannot be held in the hand. It can be experienced one moment and the next it's gone.

This profound feeling of quietness that the boy was experiencing was unlike anything he had known before. Little by little the peace that comes with true quietness seeped into him like water into the dry earth. It nourished him. It made so many of the unsettling moments of his life fall away. The more he sat in the presence of this man who was called a king the more safe and secure he felt. In fact, he felt loved. But how could that be? The man was dead, and the boy didn't even know his name. Could it be that after a lifetime of sorrow, with no man in his life to teach him how to grow up into a man, the boy was merely projecting his secret longings onto this corpse?

If so, what did it matter? The boy knew that once the tomb was sealed he wouldn't live long, perhaps a few days at the most. What would possess anyone to allow himself to be sealed up in a tomb, knowing that it would mean a slow and certain death? Life as it was didn't seem to matter to the boy. So if he was only going to live only a few days more why not live in a fantasy? It was certainly better than the hell in which he had been living. He was a child who had been born in a crucible of want and deprivation. What was so wrong with leaving this life with happy thoughts, even if they were only the machinations of a young mind?

It seemed that the more he talked to the man and fantasized about the man's past, the more he felt unworthy and ashamed to be in the presence of this king. This was a man of royal blood, and he was nothing more than a common thief with a beggar for a mother. He knew that he and his mother were not the kinds of people that sat in the presence of royalty. A man like this would never eat at a table with such types. He wondered whether he treated the people in his kingdom better than the Romans and temple leaders treated the Jews.

The boy remembered from time to time hearing the temple leaders talk about the mercy of God. They said that God required unwavering obedience and that if people complied God would bless them with riches and freedom. He watched as the faithful gave the last of their money to show their obedience. He watched as people brought their sick and crippled loved ones to the temple for prayer, often only to be turned away. He had considered bringing his mother to the temple leaders for prayer, but knew that if they had any idea as to what he and his mother did to survive they would be turned away as well.

The boy talked of a man who was performing miracles and healing people, but he wasn't sure if this man could or would heal his mother. The temple leaders had spoken out against this man, calling him a false prophet, a sorcerer, and a criminal. They had warned people about getting involved with him. Rumors were that this healer was sent from God while others said he was in league with the devil himself.

As the boy sat there telling this man about his life he began to feel unburdened. For such a young boy, he had to grow up fast to survive and part of that survival was bottling up feelings and pain. The more he talked the more he felt all of the pain and embarrassment slipping away. It felt good finally to confess things he had held inside for a long time. It was cleansing to admit to all of these things. The more he talked the more he felt as if he had stepped into a river covered in dirt and emerged clean and refreshed.

Chapter XVIII

Life on the streets proved to be even harder than the boy and his mother had imagined. Months had gone by, and his mother was not earning enough. The boy had been caught on several occasions trying to steal a purse. Theft was harder for him because merchants expected a lone boy to be up to no good. Girls had an easier time of it because of their gender and were less likely to be thought of as common thieves.

Once when the boy was caught he suffered a beating at the hands of his victims that would have made a grown man beg for mercy. The boy found that if he simply closed his eyes and let his mind wander and take him away the beatings were easier to endure.

It was of the utmost importance to wait until after dark to make his way home so not to bring any attention to the house. When he arrived home, his mother would examine him and find vicious welts on his back. His back would be a mass of black and blue contusions so severe that the boy recoiled at his mothers touch. She then would wipe his back with fresh water and herbs to help with the healing. After such days she tried her best to keep him out of sight in the hope that the old woman wouldn't find out, but it was to no avail. The old woman collected her money daily and no one was overlooked. If the boy got caught, but still managed to bring home money, he was spared her rod. But if he was caught and came home empty-handed she gave him just as severe a beating.

The more beatings the boy endured, the more his back became as tough as leather, but these beatings did more than toughen his back. They also calloused his heart. The wide-eyed innocence of his childhood was systematically being driven out of him. With every strike of the rod the boy's innocence seeped away making him an angry young man devoid of any feelings toward others with the exception of his mother. Even though his heart was closed to others, he always managed to maintain a tenderness for her.

Because the old woman did not provide food for the children and the beggar women were fed based on how well they did, hunger became a constant companion for the boy and his mother. Many nights went by when the old woman refused her food. Over time the young woman became frightfully thin and frail. Her wounds never fully healed, and she always had some sort of infection on her skin. Between the lack of proper nutrition and unsanitary sleeping conditions she never stood a chance for a full recovery.

Her only savior was her son. From whatever food he had stolen each day he kept some aside for her. Hiding it in his clothes and sharing it with her when they were alone. Tears ran down her face as she savored the morsels he provided for her. Her tears were of gratefulness and shame. The humiliation of her young son's having to provide for her the things she felt she should be providing for him brought her spirits low. She often promised him that she would do better and one day give him the kind of life of which she could only dream.

Many nights they fell asleep in each others arms talking of the home they would one day own. It would be a big house with a beautiful courtyard garden filled with flowers and lush plants. She would bake fresh bread daily and roast lamb with garlic and rosemary. The house would be filled with laughter. She also dreamed that one day she would see him marry a beautiful girl who would give him healthy children. She imagined herself going to market with her beautiful daughter-in-law and grandchildren. People would stop her and compliment her on her lovely grandchildren. She would relish the attention and invite her neighbors to dine with her and meet her handsome son.

She fantasized as well that when she became an old woman she would sit in her garden with her dutiful daughter-in-law and grandchildren showing her the kind of love and respect a woman of her years had earned. These were the kinds of stories the mother and her son shared when they were alone. Their fantasies were the only escape they had from their present situation. When reality is too much to bear the only other viable option is to escape into a dream world where you can create a story to fit your needs and desires. Dreams like these helped her to sleep until morning came and the harsh realities of life resumed.

Begging became harder and harder for her as the days wore on. Between the lack of food and infected wounds the mother's health and strength slowly began to deteriorate. From time to time her son would try to pass by her on the street and drop a few of the coins he had stolen in her plate to give the illusion that she was earning her keep. This was a risky thing to do. He did not want to be seen by the other beggar women. If the other beggars saw him do this, they could inform on him to the old woman, and that would spell more trouble.

One day the boy's mother was sitting near the temple calling out to everyone walking by when she saw what looked like a very wealthy man walk by with his wife. She called out to him and begged for mercy and perhaps a coin, going so far as to grab a hold of the hem of his robe. He kicked her away, but as he was turning from her their eyes met. A look of horror came across his face. She immediately looked down and covered her face with her veil. The man ushered his wife away quickly and they disappeared into the crowd.

The young woman sat in shock staring at the ground. She knew this man. It was her husband. He had become such a distant memory for her that she never expected she would see him again. Encountering him once more devastated her. Of all the people to see her in such a lowly state he was the last one she wanted to see. If ever there were a time when she would have liked the earth to open up and swallow her whole it would have been then. At that moment any small remnant of her will to live was extinguished. If she really wanted a better life for her son it had to be without her in it. The only way she could make him free was for him to be free of her.

Suicide was not an option. This was something for which she had no courage and somehow the taking of her own life seemed wrong, but she would help the process along.

That night the old woman again withheld food from the boy's mother warning that if she did not improve in begging she would be evicted from the house. The dejected woman promised that she would try to do better. The boy helped his mother to her mat in their sleeping area. He took a cool, damp cloth and wiped her face. Showing her a good-sized portion of roasted lamb he had stolen earlier in the day, he lovingly offered it to her. She smiled and told him to eat it himself. He begged her to eat, but she refused explaining that she wasn't feeling well and wanted to sleep.

Chapter XIX

The boy sat with his back against the cool wall with the dog resting against him. He reached into his pocket, pulled out one of the last remaining chunks of meat, and fed it to the dog. He liked it when the dog licked his hand clean. The sensation of the dog's tongue was one of pure enjoyment. The boy rubbed a bit of the grease from the meat on his face so he could enjoy the dog licking it off.

After the dog satisfied itself the boy went on telling the man about his mother. He told him that ever since that day when she refused the roasted lamb she never ate again. She claimed over and over not to be hungry, but the lack of food was taking its toll on her. He recalled a night when he held his mother in his arms. She felt so brittle and light, any small breeze could have carried her away. He pleaded with her to eat something. She held fast to her abstinence.

When he asked her why she said, “I'm leaving you to give you a better life.”

It was then that the boy realized that his mother was starving herself to death. The boy broke out in tears and struggled to make sense of it all. He didn't want his mother to die. He needed her. She was all he had in the world. If she died what would he do and where would he go?

In a weak and frail voice she apologized again for not being able to give him a better life. Finally, the boy decided to ask his mother how they had ended up in this house. She looked away trying to hide the tears that began to roll down her cheeks. She knew her time was short and felt that her son deserved to know the truth about her and their circumstances. She told him that the story wouldn't be easy to hear and maybe difficult for a boy so young to understand. That didn't matter to him. He wanted to know all the truth.

She took a deep breath and began by telling him that many years earlier she had been quite a beautiful woman. She lived in a large home with servants, fine food, beautiful clothes and jewelry. At the time she was married to a very wealthy husband who adored her and treated her like a queen. They were very much in love and were quite happy together. They entertained the richest and most powerful people in their home.

She fondly remembered one day when her husband asked her to close her eyes and when she opened them he presented her with a beautiful cream-colored cat that he had brought back from a trip to Egypt just for her. He told her that the cat would keep her company during those months when he was traveling on business. She was thrilled and told him that the cat would sleep with her when he was away. It would remind her of him.

Many nights they would sit in the garden in each others arms and dream of all the children they would have. She insisted that she wanted to bear handsome sons like their father and he in turn insisted that he wanted some daughters who were as beautiful as their mother.

Children, however, seemed to be the one blessing that God withheld from them. They thanked God for their home and families but prayed constantly for a child. From time to time she would conceive, but only to miscarry. Several years went by in a continuous cycle of getting their hopes up only to have them dashed. Little by little her husband began to lose interest in her. His trips abroad grew longer; they communicated less and less; the loving gifts with which he had showered her became fewer. At times he became despondent and even verbally abusive. Many nights she lay in her bed crying and wondering what she had done wrong. The loving man she married was no longer living under the same roof.

Over time her husband began to sleep in another room. She tried to make herself more alluring in the hope of rekindling his interest. She could feel he was drifting away from her. She reminded him that Abraham and Sarah also had problems conceiving a child before God blessed them. She believed that if they prayed more God would bless them as well. He was not as certain. As far as he was concerned, her main function as his wife, and as a woman, was to give him sons. If she could not do this she was of no use to him. His abrupt response left her upset and feeling worthless.

She then became aware that her husband was fulfilling his carnal needs with the household servants. She could tell which ones by the way they behaved when around her. The ones he slept with became withdrawn and shy. Any other woman would have had these servants beaten and cast out into the streets, but she couldn't bring herself to blame them. Somehow, she believed, the fault must lie within herself because she was unable to do the simplest thing a husband expects from his wife, bear him a child. If she could not do this then she was a failure as a woman.

As the boy listened to his mother tell her personal story he was at a loss for words. He couldn't understand why this man would cast his mother aside for not bearing him children. It was quite natural for the boy to think this way. Having been raised in a female household, he had not been exposed to the mindset of men in his society.

His mother took a deep and labored breath as she began to continue her story. The boy insisted that she be quiet and rest, but she was intent on finishing her story before she fell asleep. She wanted him to know everything, even the unsavory parts.

One night her husband, after consuming too much wine, came to her room while was sitting at her dressing table brushing her hair. He swung the door open and staggered around the room with a wine goblet in his hand. He accused her that it was her her fault she was not producing sons. She had never seen him in this condition before. It frightened her. She pleaded with him that she was doing all she could. The more she spoke, however, the angrier he became. He slung his goblet across the room and told her that this night would be the night where she would finally conceive his child once and for all.

Reeking of wine and sweat, he grabbed her and forced her down to the bed. He pulled her dress up above her waist. For the first time in her marriage she was afraid of her husband. The man who was mounting her was nothing like the man she had married. The loving face she had grown to know was no where to be found. His face looked dark and demonic. He forced her legs apart, lifted his robe and began to breed her in much the same way as an animal does, without care or feeling. She cried and begged him to stop, but he placed his hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.

Sweat poured off his face onto her as he thrust himself into her. Animals in the pens were shown more consideration than he showed her. Once the husband was done he rolled off her. He lay beside her perspiring and breathing hard. Slowly he rose from the bed and stumbled out of the room. As he left he tipped over a table and broke a vase of flowers. He left her lying in a fetal position with her arms wrapped around herself, crying and shaking. With tears streaming down her face, she clutched her pillow and struggled with feelings of subjugation. She felt dirty and cheap and used.

This man, this animal, was not the man who promised her the moon and the stars. This was not the man who had pledged himself before God to be a loving and protective husband. This man who just finished breeding her was not the man to whom she gave her heart and soul.

When she awoke the next morning, her husband had already left on business. He would be gone for quite some time. This was not unusual. Trips like this usually made her miss him all the more. Only this time she was happy to learn he had left. She needed time to make sense of what happened only hours earlier.

After several months of absence from home, her husband returned to a great surprise. His wife was carrying his child and was six months along. She was sure that having this child would make everything right again in their marriage. All of the doubts and fears she carried within would be gone with the birth of this child. This child promised to restore her husband back to the loving man she once knew. She wanted to make his homecoming special, so she surprised him with a feast that included all of his favorite foods and drink.

Upon her husband's return she presented him with the glorious news. Contrary to her expectations, he stared blankly at her and stormed away leaving her utterly confused.

She immediately had the servants clear away the feast as fast as possible and ordered them to stay quiet so as not to upset their master. She couldn't understand what had made him so angry. She was finally giving him what he always had wanted.

She waited until he seemed calmer and came up behind him, putting her arms around his neck, but before she could say a word he threw them off and began walking around in a circle like a caged animal. He asked her how this could have happened.

“With you, of course.” she answered.

His rage intensified. He insisted that he had not had relations with her and thus that there was no way the child was his. She reminded him of the night before he left that he came to her after a night of drinking and forced himself on her. Using the word “forced” made him even angrier. He insisted that he did not “force” himself on her because no husband “forces” himself on his wife. It is her duty to give him what he wants, when he wants it.

He placed his hand over his mouth and walked back and forth as he contemplated the situation. The only possible explanation, he alleged, was that she had been with another man while he was away and had concocted this story to cover up her misdeeds. She fell to her knees and pleaded with him to rethink what he was saying, reminding him that she had always been a good and faithful wife, but he did not want to hear her entreaty. He would not pass off some other man's child as his own. He called to the servants and ordered them to put this woman out of his house.

Shock and horror overwhelmed her. She ran to her room and bolted the door. Her eyes were wide with fear. Not knowing what to do under the circumstances she did the only thing she could think of which was to grab as many valuables and as much money as she could, which she began hiding under her clothes. These resources would help her to survive until her husband regained his senses and invited her to return home. She was certain that he would once he had time to calm down and realize how wrong he had been about her.

When she emerged from her room her husband was no calmer. He insisted that the servants throw their mistress into the streets. The servants were reluctant to follow his orders knowing her as a kind and loving woman. They didn't want to treat her in such an undignified manner. It was apparent that they had no choice in the matter. They led her to the front door, and pushed her out, and then bolted it shut.

The ostracized wife began beating on the door and pleading for mercy and understanding. She screamed over and over that the child was her husband's and that she had been a good wife, but no amount of beseeching moved him. He was convinced that his wife had been unfaithful and soiled his good name.

When a crowd began to gather to witness the event, a servant came out to her with the message that if she did not leave immediately her husband was going to bring her before the temple leaders and have her stoned to death.

News spread quickly and every door she went to looking for help turned her away. She was spurned by the very people who had dined at her table. She quickly realized that without her husband she was nothing. She didn't exist without him.

With no other options, she found herself living on the streets and relying on what money she had. When it ran out she began to sell the few things she had in exchange for food. In less than a day she had gone from being the celebrated wife of a rich merchant to a pregnant and homeless vagrant surrounded by people who would not acknowledge her or make eye contact.

This sad chain of events led to her crossing paths with the old woman. She told her son about the day he was born, recounting the kindness she had been shown. At the time she felt that she finally had found a place where she could be safe, little realizing the trap in which she had been lured. She went from one hellish situation into another.

For a woman in these days it was dehumanizing to know that they had no say in what happens concerning the course of their life. Every part of their life was determined by a man. He could make their life a loving and pleasant experience or bring it to an abrupt end. Uncertainty was as natural to a woman as breathing. She understood that one of her primary purposes was to bear her husband sons and raise them. If she was unable to do this her value in her husband's eyes was diminished and as a result her future was uncertain.

When a woman who is with child finds herself alone any act of kindness is like water to the dying. The old woman was a shrewd person and could see what sort of commodity this young mother could be. She had an uncanny knack for survival and was skilled at recognizing and seizing opportunities that were not apparent to others.

The boy had always known that his mother was unlike the other women in the house. She was poised and beautiful; her way of speaking was different from the residents. Now it all made sense: she was originally of the upper class and the life she was forced to live within the house was not something to which she was accustomed. She had gone from being a woman of privilege who was used to eating off fine tableware to someone who was begging for scraps. She turned from a bird with beautiful plumage to a scavenger on the streets.

His mother wanted to say more, but her strength was drained, her voice weak and raspy. The velvety alto he grew to know was long gone. The smooth supple face that made men swoon was replaced by a dry and scarred one. The light that once glistened from her eyes was quieted and it's place were two tired orbs which has seen too much. The life she once had known was a distant memory. The joy and happiness she enjoyed like a good friend had left her like an unfaithful lover.

The only thing left that could give her any peace would be to leave this life behind and hope that a merciful God in his mercy would accept her into His eternal kingdom.

Chapter XX

As the boy stared off into the darkness of the tomb, he slowly petted the dog's warm fur. When he had begun his story to the dead man, a wave of shame and sorrow had filled his voice, yet once he started sharing things he had never told anyone before the words spilled out of him like water from a tipped bucket. He was not used to speaking much, let alone having long conversations, but somehow this was different. It was as if his soul needed to unburden itself of all the things in his life for which he felt a deep sorrow and regret.

This whole situation was surreal. A street urchin entombed with a crucified king, soon he would be dead as well and that no one would know or mourn his passing. No one would prepare his body for burial. Would even God even know that he was dead? And did God know what he and his mother had suffered? Given all of the terrible and immoral things he and his mother had done to survive, could God look past them all and forgive them? If God could choose only one of them, he would rather spend eternity in hell if he knew that his mother would be in the bosom of Abraham.

The boy admitted all the things he had done, asking whether the man would he be able to grant him and his mother an opportunity for a new life. He told the king that he would be happy tending the pigs or working in the fields if it meant that he did not have to lie, cheat, and steal to survive. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. He wanted to let go of the hate and anger that had become woven into the very fabric of his being.

As he spoke in earnest, he struggled to find the words that would best describe the pain and anguish he felt. Once there were no words left he relied on the only thing he had left " tears of remorse. He cried and cried until he was exhausted and no tears were left. As he cried he heard his voice echo off the tomb walls. He sounded like a severely wounded wolf.

This emotional catharsis left him feeling utterly depleted. He lay on the tomb's floor and held the dog close as it licked the salty tears from his face.

Chapter XXI

The boy dosed off while holding his weak and frail mother against his chest. Her breathing was labored and shallow. Upon awaking he stroked her hair and caressed the damaged side of her face. He told her that no matter what happened she would always be beautiful to him. He promised her that he would find a way for them to escape from this prison.

He assured his mother he would be a man and move them as far away from this place as he could. He also shared with his mother the dreams he had for them. He spoke of a house overlooking the sea that had a beautiful garden where his mother could tend her flowers and feel the breeze blowing through her hair. He promised her a comfortable bed and only the best food. He told her stories of how they would go to the open market where she could buy whatever she wanted. He would make sure that she never wanted for anything.

When he promised her many grandchildren who would love her and give her happiness every day of her life, a faint and labored smile crossed her lips as she drank in the sound of her son's voice. She wanted to savor every moment with him. She wanted to believe that everything he was saying would come true if not for both of them, then at least for him.

His mother seemed so small and brittle. He lovingly stroked her hair which had by now turned dry and lifeless. So much about her appearance had changed. It seemed as if how she looked on the outside reflected how she felt in the inside, worn out and emaciated. A woman who was hanging on, but needing to let go.

As the boy slowly rocked her in his arms he hummed a tune that he remembered her singing to him. He was taking pleasure in being able to give her some peace. She could feel the vibration of his voice through his chest and against her cheek, the sound of his voice took her away to a kinder and more gentler place.

After a couple of labored breaths she lay still in his arms as he continued to rock her. At one point he reached down and took her hand in his. He noticed that she did not seem to be responding. He let go of her hand, which dropped lifelessly to her side. It was then that he realized his mother had died. As much as her spirit wanted to stay with him, her body could no longer carry on with the burden of living.

He sat motionless. His mouth gaped in a silent scream. He whispered over and over into his mother's ear, hoping that she was merely sleeping. He didn't know what to do. The boy wondered whether he should call for help, but he wanted these last moments with her to be private. He wanted to memorize the feel of her body and the smell of her hair. He wanted to be sure that she was comfortable until her soul was in heaven.

Finally, he called to one of the women to help him. Several women came and laid his mother's body down on her mat. They took time to straighten her hair and adjust her clothes. One woman brought a flower in from the garden and placed it in the deceased mother's hair. Her world-weary face now had a look of peace about it. The boy was taken aside by several women who held him as wept loudly.

When the old woman came to see what was going on, a look of concern came over her face. She stood quietly assessing the situation. She ordered the women to take the boy to the garden and keep him there until she called for him. Then she called one of the beggar women over and whispered something to her. The beggar woman seemed to understand her orders and went about obeying them.

Meanwhile, the old woman knelt down and gave the corpse one last look. Brushing a strand of hair off her face, she bowed her head briefly, took a deep breath, stood up, and she went out to the garden to check on the boy.

After several minutes the old woman told the boy that she would meet with him in her room. As he went there he passed his mother's sleeping area and saw that her body she was gone. He wondered who had taken her and to where.

When the old woman entered her room she quietly took a seat on a cushion. She reached over and began to slowly and methodically peel an orange. Finally, the boy broke the silence and asked where his mother had gone. The old woman remained quiet. She didn't look up at him and remained her focused on the fruit.

Once the orange was peeled, she reached up and offered him a piece, but he refused it and asked again about his mother. The old woman said, “She's gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”, the boy asked.

The old woman reminded him of the importance of keeping their home private from the rest of the world. She could not afford to have anyone see a body being removed from the premises. It would bring up too many questions. She told the boy that all he needed to know was that his mother had been properly disposed of.

“Disposed of?” he thought. What could she possibly mean?

The very sound of the two heartless words froze him in his tracks. He stood motionless. His mind began to race. All of his thoughts and feelings violently collided like two armies on a battlefield. The room began to spin. His heart was pounding and his breath had become hot as his chest heaved. His eyes were wide and wild with rage. It was at this moment the veil was pulled back. Everything about this old woman, this house, this life he and his mother lived was coming into focus. Never before had he seen evil as vividly as he did at this moment.

This old woman, the one he had lovingly called his savta, was nothing more than a wicked, hateful, greedy abomination, so sorry an excuse for a human being that the devil himself would reject her. The woman who had fed him from her hand like a mother bird was more like a vulture that picked the bones and souls clean of all those under her roof. A maggot who slowly and systematically devoured anything good and decent, leaving her victims mere shells of their former beings. Deceiving these females to the point where they could not see their own potential, or any hope for a happy life of their own.

The more these thoughts became clearer the more livid the boy grew. Anger and a desire for revenge coursed uncontrollably through every muscle in his body. He stood there clenching his fists and grinding his teeth like a madman.

Finally, he was able to form the words that hung off the end of his tongue. He asked, “What do you mean 'disposed of'? She was a person, not a dead cat or trash that needed to be removed?”

His voice continued to grow louder and more angry. He had never spoken this way to savta before. She was beginning to see her as a loathsome and damnable creature of the worst variety. His intonation angered her. The old hag warned him that if he didn't change his tone he could find another place to live.

The boy erupted like a long dormant volcano. He trashed the old woman's room and running out into the common area, turned over lamps and furniture. He ripped apart pillows and pulled plants out of their pots and threw them across the room.

Although the old woman was screaming at him to stop, he paid her no heed. This horror of a human being disposed of his mothers body like it was a pile of inconvenient garbage. The flaming hatred in the boy's eyes scared her. Pulling out a dagger from her robe, she held it up and threatened to put it into the boy's chest if he didn't leave her home immediately.

The boy threw his arms out to his side and dared her to thrust it into him. He screamed, “You killed my mother. Why not kill me too?”

He lunged at her and grabbing her wrist, he then pushed her up against a wall with one hand across her throat. Staring straight into her eyes, he wrenched the dagger from her hand and tossed it across the room before throwing the old woman to the floor. She lay among the overturned furniture and cushions holding her hands up to defend herself. The boy stood over her breathing heavily with a look of murder in his eyes. He placed his foot across her neck and began to press down while she feebly clawed at his foot struggling to get it off her throat. It was at that moment he had the perfect opportunity to kill the very person who set his mother on the path to her death. Suddenly, he stepped back and spit on her. He reached down into her robes and found her coin purse. He snatched it from her and took off into the night.

The boy ran and ran until he was exhausted and couldn't run anymore. Ducking into a dark alley, he leaned against a wall with his hands on his knees to steady his breathing. As he wiped the sweat from his face on his sleeve he looked up into the night sky. It was crystal clear. The moon was like a silver disk floating in a black sea of twinkling stars. He cried out to his mother. As he did so, gentle breeze brushed across his face, reminding him of the times when his mother lovingly stroked his cheek. He stood there silently taking a moment to absorb all that had just happened. As he looked up at the sky it occurred to him that he had rarely ever gone outside at night. Everything seemed different at night " mysterious, magical, mystical.

He realized he could never go back to that house. He didn't care. He'd figure out how to survive on the streets. Eventually he would create the kind of life that he and his mother had dreamed about, even if she wouldn't there to enjoy it with him.

Chapter XXII

By now the boy had finished telling his life story to the man lying on the crypt's slab. The act of recounting his tale purged him of the pent-up frustration and anger that had seared itself into his memory. All of the pain in his heart was somehow gone.

An overwhelming need for sleep came over him. He told the man that he was going to sleep, but would stay right beside him in case he needed anything. He knew the corpse would not need anything. He said this only to continue the fantasy he created of being a servant to a king.

For the first time in the boy's life he drifted off into a deep and peaceful slumber with his dog resting beside him. This would be a good time, he reflected, to drift off into an eternal sleep. He had unburdened his soul and hoped that God would forgive him and his mother. They did the best they could do to survive based on their circumstances.

After a time the boy was awakened by a bright and ethereal light. He gasped and clutched the dog in fear. He couldn't tell where this light was coming from. He squinted and held his hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding light. As his eyes adjusted to the brilliance he was astounded to see the man sitting up. He was still wrapped in his cerements, but inexplicable light emanated from between the layers of his cloth. The boy was terrified. He moved quickly to the other side of the tomb and pressed himself up against the wall. He wanted to run away, but there was no where to go.

The boy's mind was racing. What was this? How can a dead man come back to life? He had been dead for days. Not a sound, not a movement. Nothing. He was even more stunned to see the bandaged corpse suddenly stand upright. The boy held his breath while his eyes widened at the sight of this phenomenon.

Then suddenly a winged man appeared. The same glow that emanated from the corpse came from him as well. Tall and muscular, he was wearing a long white robe and had golden, diaphanous wings that extended from above his head to his ankles. They looked as if they had been spun from the finest gold thread. The patterning of the wings was so fine and intricate they could not possibly have been fashioned by human hands. The wings wafted gently back and forth as if they had a life of their own much the same way a cat's tail moves involuntarily. His robe was tied with a golden belt and a long shining sword hanging from the apparition's waist.

As the angel stood before the man, his flared wings obscured the boy's view. After a moment the angel stepped back to reveal the man clean, healed and dressed in a long luminous robe. All signs of the torture beatings he had endured were nowhere to be seen. His eyes radiated an unfathomable and indescribable love.

The man sat down on the ledge where he had been lying with the angel standing beside him. He reached out his hand to the boy. The boy froze in fear. He could not bring himself to move forward. The dog, however had no reservations and went straight up to the man. He smiled and pet the dog's head and scratched behind its ears. The canine wagged its tail excitedly and lay on it's back. The man reached down rubbed the dog's belly while the dog wiggled back and forth. Then got up and sat at the man's feet panting as if it had just seen it's best friend.

Once again the man looked over at the boy and reached out his hand. Cautiously the boy reached out and grasped the proffered hand. It was then that he saw the holes in the man's wrists. This was definitely the man whom he had seen being nailed to the cross only a few days earlier. The boy's eyes widened in wonder as he looked into the face of this man whom the Romans mockingly had called the “King of the Jews”. His face radiated a blend of strength and love. Magnificently kingly yet, possessing the look of the common man.

The boy moved slowly inching his way toward the man. Once in front of him, he knelt and bowed his head like an obedient servant. The man gently stroked the boy's hair. The feeling of love that flowed from the man's hand was unlike anything the boy had ever experienced.

The man then put his hand under the boy's chin and raised his face up so that they were looking into each others eyes. Once their eyes met the boy felt a powerful surge of love permeate him exactly as he had imagined it would. All sense of abandonment, pain, and bitterness that had grown in his heart over the years melted away like ice in the spring sunshine.

The man leaned in and said to the boy, “You are a good and faithful servant. You were willing to give up your life to serve me in death. I know your heart. My father knows your heart. We know your mother's heart and the loving sacrifice she made for you. You both will be with me in my kingdom.”

With that the man arose and stood before the tomb's opening with the angel behind him. Then the angel's wings began to flutter. Suddenly, the earth started to shake. The boy grabbed the dog and pulled it close. The rumbling began quietly and became stronger. The walls of the tomb shook violently. Dust fell from the ceiling. The stone that sealed the tomb shut began to tremble. Then there was a terrible cracking sound as the stone loosened itself from the opening. It felt like an earthquake. The tremors were so strong that the boy wondered whether the tomb might collapse. The stone had taken several of the strongest Roman soldiers to move it, yet it now rolled aside revealing the sunlight. The rays of the sun streamed in bringing with them a rush of warm, fresh air.

The king looked around then stepped out of the tomb into the daylight, followed by the angel. To the side of the tomb's opening several Roman guards were fast asleep. The king paused for a moment to appreciate the beauty of God's creation. He took in a deep breath and looked back at the boy and smiled. As he walked away his robe moved gently from side to side while he faded from view as if in a mist.

The boy crept toward the tomb's opening and watched in awe and wonder. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The man who had been lying for days wrapped in cerements of the grave, whose body had been anointed with burial oils and herbs was now alive and completely healed. The man who had been executed like a criminal now had a gleaming warrior angel with him. Only kings have attendants, the boy thought to himself, but no earthly king has angels to serve him. This man must be more than a mere king.

Sticking his head out of the tomb, the boy could see the soldiers sleeping. Could this all have been a dream? Cautiously he placed his foot on the ground outside. The earth felt quite solid and real. But how could he be sure? He was convinced once he saw the dog leap out and run around in the sun.

Slowly the boy emerged from the tomb. The world somehow seemed different now. The air smelled fresher. Colors were brighter and more vibrant. Sounds were clearer. As he walked forward, the boy noticed that the man and his attendant had not left any footprints. The boy was amazed by this. He asked himself how there were none to be found. How could a person leave no footprints?

He reached down and felt the coin purse in his pocket. The money gave him a sense of confidence. He had enough to go far away and start a new life. As he fingered the coins his mind began to contemplate all the places he could go and all the things he could do. The more he ruminated on the possibilities, however, the more his heart felt heavy. These coins were not his. They belonged to the people from whom he had stolen them. He had no right to them because hadn't earned them. How could he start a truly fresh and new life with stolen money?

As he stood outside the tomb he realized that for the first time in his life he was truly free. He took a moment to savor this new feeling of liberation. He now wanted a life that would make his mother proud. He turned back and put the purse of stolen coins on the ledge next to the pile of burial wrappings. As his hand let go of the money he felt that he had been released from the shackles and ugliness of the life he had known. He had a greater purpose now. He wasn't sure what that was, but he knew that he would discover it in time.

He would continue to be the king's servant and no one could take that away from him.

The End

Author's Note

I'm curious if the story is enjoyable. Is the story easy to follow and consistent. Looking for a quick critique, constructive feedback.