Short Story: First Born

Short Story: First Born

“How long have we been friends, Joe? Twenty, thirty years, maybe? It's so long you won’t mind me saying - this is one big mistake.”

Jeremiah shifted his bulk, searching in vain to be comfortable in a chair too small for his ample backside. What is it with chairs, he often complained. Made for looks not comfort. He also noted, gloomily, that this one was set a little lower than that of his companion sitting opposite.

Joseph Caiaphas did not respond but continued to gaze out of the window.

“Fine view, Joe,” Jeremiah filled the silence between them, “Classy. Always said you’d go far, but this time,” he shrugged his massive shoulders “perhaps too far.”

An hour he’d been jammed in this stupid chair trying to make the man see sense. An hour when he could have been catching some shut eye before the labours of the afternoon.

“It is out of my hands,” came the response “the law has been satisfied.”

Jeremiah snorted, “Joe. Joe. You’re talking to a judge here, remember. I know the law and this ain’t it. The boy’s a troublemaker there’s no denying that. A slap on the wrist. A weekend in the cells, then sling him back to his adoring mother - but not this Joe. Not this.”

“This man” Joe said coldly, “this man, blasphemer, defiled the Temple and…”

“So a few birds got their necks saved. Some coin got spilled.” Jeremiah gave up on the chair and heaved himself to his feet. “Not enough for this, Joe.”

He knew he should leave, but could not bring himself to give up. The memory of the foolish young man’s mother pricked at his conscience. She did not plead or wail like the mothers who appeared in his Court with their miscreant sons, but simply asked that he do his best for her first born. What had she said? ‘He says this is his destiny, but I’d rather it wasn’t.' Normally he would not have bothered, made an excuse and passed on, but her gentleness had tugged at his heart.

Joe’s voice brought him back to a reality he did not want to acknowledge.

“He and his followers preach insurrection. Have you any idea what will happen to our people if the occupying power feel threatened? We have a good relationship with them we are allowed religious freedom. This man threatens all of us.”

“Relationship, Joe?” Jeremiah was surprisingly gentle. “Over ten years you’ve held this office. Chummy, chummy with the Governor. That’s a long time with never a cross word. People talk…”

Joe’s reaction shocked him. He spun around from the window and crashed his fist onto the table. “The people,” he spat, “made their choice, Jerry. Don’t say we did not listen!”

Jerry’s composure cracked, he’d lost the fight but he would not go quietly.

“The people did what you paid them to do,” he stabbed his finger at Joe’s chest. “I was there, Joe. The name with the highest price tag won the vote. There’s gonna be repercussions, Joe, lots of repercussions. In fact they’ve started already, or don’t you feel the unrest way up here in your ivory tower?”

Joseph Caiaphas resumed his seat, straightening the objects scattered by his table thumping.

“In that case, Jerry, shouldn’t you be in Court.”

Failure. Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped as he turned to leave.

“Tell the family they can have him when it’s over. That’s the best I can do.”

Jerry sighed bitterly. “Nice that you have that authority,” he paused, “know something, Joe, I don’t think we’re friends any more.”

The people on the hot, dusty streets scurried anxiously about their business. Jeremiah reflected that, if asked, he doubted if they would be able to say what was making them act so. Something was in the air. Something had changed but no one knew what it was. Like them, he was relieved when he reached his destination and could duck out of sight.

His clerk was waiting, robes draped over one arm, court lists in the other hand. He was late and sounds from an already full courtroom filtered through to his chambers.

Glowering at the man, Jeremiah struggled into his robes.

“Let’s get this charade over with.”

“Charade?” the clerk was puzzled.

“This. All of this. The Law. You and me thinking we’re in charge of our own destiny. Well, we’re not. It’s just one long game of pretend and if you don’t speak your lines word perfect…” He made a throat slitting motion with his finger.

The Clerk looked alarmed and tried to respond, but Jeremiah was already gone, striding towards the courtroom.

From his seat above the main body of the court, Jeremiah scowled across at the pen where the first batch of accused were crowded, looking for someone to vent his impotent anger.

“You!” he roared pointing to a shelpit looking youth trying to look small at the back of the pen. “Get out here!”

The boy elbowed his way through the crowd and shuffled forward, in his wake trailed the obligatory sobbing mother, hands clasped in supplication for her son.

“I know you. Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me,” Jeremiah impatiently brushed the clerk away. He prided himself on his memory and knew that the little bastard’s name would come to him.

“Jake, the widows son,” triumphantly he hurled Jake his blackest look while the boy shifted from one bare dusty foot to the other. The mother set off afresh at wailing and pleading.

Jeremiah studied the charge sheet On the road to Golgotha in company with a group of youths, the accused had hurled a stone at the Nazarene. The missile had missed it’s target and blacked the eye of the city official there to see fair play for the condemned man.

Fair play! Jeremiah snorted to himself.

“Shurrup, woman!” he roared at Jake’s mother who stuffed a corner of her robe in her mouth to stifle her sobs.

“How many times have you been before my court?”

“Dunno.”

“Well I do. You are a disgrace,” he thumped the table. “Your mother works her fingers to the bone for you, your brothers and sisters are decent people. But you’re never out of trouble and won’t learn a lesson.” There was a similarity here, Jeremiah realised, except that the other one’s mother had a calm, dignified face. Was he dead yet? Or still choking away what time he had left in gasping sobs for breath? Suddenly Jeremiah wanted to weep..

“How does a wee spell in the galleys sound. Eh? Eh?”

“He’s too young for the galleys. Juvenile,” the clerk hissed.

Jake sniggered. Incensed, Jeremiah brought his gavel crashing down so hard on the bench that the head flew off and smacked one of the court guards between the eyes.

Ignoring the commotion Jeremiah leaned forward wagging his finger at Jake.

“Here’s what’s going to happen to you….”

Without warning, thick black dark enveloped the room as the sun, unnaturally dim for the time of day, disappeared. Jake’s mother gave a terrified wail and guards ran in to one another as they tried to stop prisoners escaping. A howling wind blew through the windows, tugging at robes and extinguishing lamps hastily lit by panicked clerks.

As daylight returned, creeping into the room, filling the corners with wan light, Jeremiah knew it was over for the sad mother with the quiet dignity.

Jake, eyes starting from his head, struggled up from where he had fallen to his knees.

“How did you do that?” he gasped staring, awestruck.

“Never mind. Now young Jake,” a strange, quiet calmness settled over Jeremiah, “Here’s what we’re going to do with you.”

Evening shadows lengthen towards the time when it is safe for those who plot and connive, to meet. Two men, supposed enemies, share a glass of wine and admit they have made a mistake. A martyr’s tomb becomes a rallying point. They have made a mistake, and it would be best for all if the error was erased the focal point removed.

Abe and Reuben crouched behind a tombstone and shivered. The cold cramped their muscles and the darkness made Abe’s skin creep. He did not like cemeteries, especially at night, and he did not really understand why they were there. The men who pulled them from the prison cell had frightened him, but Reuben said it was alright if they did this job well, not only would they have gold, they would be free to do as they pleased for ever. Abe liked that part of the deal best.

He jumped when Reuben touched his shoulder and mouthed “Now!” in his ear. Blindly, he followed, crouching low as they slithered over the ground towards the tomb set in the rocky perimeter. To an ordinary man the huge rock sealing the entrance would have presented a daunting obstacle, but to Abe, with his massive build it took no more than a few heaves to slide it back enough for them to gain entry.

The body lay in an alcove to the side of the entrance. Reuben made straight for it pulling a sack from under his tunic as he went.

“This is good cloth,” he grunted fingering the linen wrappings

“Valuable.” He grinned at Abe as he swiftly removed the head cloth. Rolling it up he said “We’ll plank it over there and come back for it when we’re done.”

Abe recoiled as the realisation of what they were doing dawned on him.

“I thought…..jewels maybe. Not a body. We can’t.”

Reuben turned on him. A shaft of moonlight shining in the entrance gave his face with its mouth of broken teeth a satanic look. “Give it a rest. We’re only moving him. You heard the man. Take him to the north section and plant him where we were told. No harm done. This is our big chance. Money. Freedom and those” he pointed at the grave clothes. “We don’t have time Abe. Get him in there and leave the cloth.”

Abe backed away. “Do it yourself Reub. I’m not touching him.” Sweat stood out on his forehead and his head swam.

“We don’t have time…” Reuben began then seeing the terror on Abe’s face he shoved him towards the entrance. “Keep look out. I’ll do it myself. But I keep the cloth. O.K?”

Dumbly Abe nodded and turned his back.

In the dark of night, two men of power concealed behind a screen listened to the swarthy man with the broken teeth give his report. Behind him the huge bulk of his companion, nervously fidgeting by the door.

“We left it open like you said. Just another grave robbery.” Reuben strained to see through the gloom. He didn’t mention the grave cloths which were supposed to stay with their owner. “But he’s buried, sir, real deep. Where you said.”

As he waited for a response, Reuben wondered if he could give Abe the slip and go back for the cloths. That damn drunk stumbling around had made the big fella nervous and he’d had to leave them behind. But it was good cloth….

The bag of gold thrown to them was swiftly scooped up and the wine to refresh themselves from their labours swallowed in one gulp. Then they were gone.

“Was that wise,” said one man of power to the other.

“They’ll be dead before they reach the end of the street,” came the reply.

Jake cursed as another thorn bush scratched his hands. Community service Judge Jeremiah called it. Get thee to the cemetery, Jake recalled the words Clean up the thorn bushes, clear out the weeds. Make it a place where a man would be proud to bury his mother.

Already he had tumbled into the thorns, his feet were shredded, no one gave him boots, his hands were a mess and his shirt, well his Mum would be scrubbing for weeks to get the stains out. Resentment fizzed in Jake’s juvenile soul. Better finish the job though, after that trick with the sun he daren’t cross the Judge again. He rested on the hoe for a minute maybe, he should think about that apprenticeship with Ahab. The old guy was soft on his Mum and working the trade routes with him, well, that was travel, foreign parts and such wasn’t it?

Jake’s reverie was shattered by the sound of a woman screaming. Grasping the hoe like a spear, he ran towards the sound. She was kneeling by the entrance to an open tomb, tears streaming down her face.

“What is it?” Jake called. “What’s happened?”

“He’s gone. What have they done with him?” She squinted up at him, the sun in her eyes.

Crazy woman, Jake thought, that’s all I need. He glanced at the tomb which, to him, was obviously not in use. The woman had made a mistake, but the way she was keening and carrying on he didn’t fancy telling her.

“It’s alright,” he said “Don’t worry. Why don’t you go home. There’s no dead person here.

He pointed her gently towards the town.

“Go home,” he repeated.

The sun probed at Ahab’s closed eyes. Nagging. Insistent. He screwed them down tighter. Resisting. A sharp stone dug into his backside so he knew he must be lying on the ground somewhere. With the inside of his mouth like a camel’s arse, and the stink, he thought, emanating from himself, opening his eyes to greet the day was not an inviting prospect.

Rolling on his side away from the direct rays, he struggled to remember the events of the previous night. As usual, recall was preceded by a litany of ‘if only’. If only he’d gone straight to Miriam’s house. If only he had not run into the boys. Miriam, that was it. Yesterday he’d made up his mind to ask her to marry him. A fine woman was Miriam. Kept a clean house and could cook like an angel.

Ahab unglued his lips and yawned. The stink was definitely attached to him, there was no getting away from it.

The boys. That’s where the plan had gone wrong. With his gift for Miriam under his arm, he’d run into the boys and confided the nature of his mission. Celebrations were called for, they insisted. Not only was he taking a wife but he was gaining a juvenile delinquent. Wasn’t Miriam’s son that young scallywag, Jake? They teased him unmercifully. Jake, he remembered declaring, was a young man with fire, it just needed channelling. Already he had offered to teach him the trade. A fitting successor to himself who had also been a bit of tearaway in his youth.

Ahab pulled himself upright and risked opening his eyes. His bed had been a patch of disturbed earth, small stones peppering the surface. Miriam’s gift lay a few feet away and he dropped to his knees to pick it up. The wrappings were still intact and, for a moment, Ahab marvelled at the luck of the drunk man. His mother was buried around here somewhere and it was to her he was going with his news when the need to sleep got the upper hand.

There was an open drain. Yes. He remembered now. Taking a shortcut and falling full length into an open drain. Hence the ruinous state of his clothes and the stink.

Even Ahab’s drink soaked brain understood that this was not a good time or place to be caught in the open. Tensions in the city made a target of the most sober of citizens. Scrabbling for Miriam’s gift he removed the wrappings. The cloak of bright shimmering silk glowed in the morning sun. She’ll look a treat in this, he thought, but I’m afraid I’ll need to borrow it to get home. Although not quite long enough, the cloak covered enough of the damage to make him almost respectable. If he moved fast he’d be home before anyone saw him.

Deciding to avoid the main road Ahab cut across the cemetery making for a lesser used gate. Pausing for breath by an open, apparently unused tomb he was surprised by two men coming out of the cool darkness. They were carrying what looked like grave cloths.

Still having some of last night’s bonhomie Ahab lifted his hand in greeting and cried

“What’s up lads? Have you lost one? Still in the land of the living. Eh?”

He thought it a bit over the top when they backed away and ran down the hill towards town.

Jeremiah adjusted his robe and prepared for the business of the day. On the lists were the usual debris from the weekend A Trader for public disorder. Supporters of the Nazarene for Breach of the Peace - claiming the man had risen from his tomb and was once more walking around. Hadn’t they seen the very grave clothes in the hands of his followers?

Jeremiah laughed aloud, suddenly feeling happier than he had for a long time. Hell mend you, Joe, in your ivory tower, this one will run and run whereas, if you’d listened, a weekend in the cells and send him on his way would have nipped the whole thing in the bud.