now, Joseph? Biff is meeting Bartholomew for his lesson.”
Joseph nodded and we were off before he inflicted more kindness upon us. We actually had befriended Bartholomew, the village idiot. He was foul and drooled a lot, but he was large, and offered some protection against Jakan and his bullies. Bart also spent most of his time begging near the town square, where the women came to fetch water from the well. From time to time we caught a glimpse of Maggie as she passed, a water jar balanced on her head.
“You know, we are going to have to start working soon,” Joshua said. “I won’t see you, once I’m working with my father.”
“Joshua, look around you, do you see any trees?”
“No.”
“And the trees we do have, olive trees—twisted, gnarly, knotty things, right?”
“Right.”
“But you’re going to be a carpenter like your father?”
“There’s a chance of it.”
“One word, Josh: rocks.”
“Rocks?”
“Look around. Rocks as far as the eye can see. Galilee is nothing but rocks, dirt, and more rocks. Be a stonemason like me and my father. We can build cities for the Romans.”
“Actually, I was thinking about saving mankind.”
“Forget that nonsense, Josh. Rocks, I tell you.”
C hapter 3
The angel will tell me nothing of what happened to my friends, of the twelve, of Maggie. All he’ll say is that they are dead and that I have to write my own version of the story. Oh, he’ll tell me useless angel stories—of how Gabriel disappeared once for sixty years and they found him on earth hiding in the body of a man named Miles Davis, or how Raphael snuck out of heaven to visit Satan and returned with something called a cell phone. (Evidently everyone has them in hell now.) He watches the television and when they show an earthquake or a tornado he’ll say, “I destroyed a city with one of those once. Mine was better.” I am awash in useless angel prattle, but about my own time I know nothing but what I saw. And when the television makes mention of Joshua, calling him by his Greek name, Raziel changes the channel before I can learn anything.
He never sleeps. He just watches me, watches the television, and eats. He never leaves the room.
Today, while searching for extra towels, I opened one of the drawers and there, beneath a plastic bag meant for laundry, I found a book: Holy Bible, it said on the cover. Thank the Lord I did not take the book from the drawer, but opened it with my back to the angel. There are chapters there that were in no Bible I know. I saw the names of Matthew and John, I saw Romans and Galatians—this is a book of my time.
“What are you doing?” the angel asked.
I covered the Bible and closed the drawer. “Looking for towels. I need to bathe.”
“You bathed yesterday.”
“Cleanliness is important to my people.”
“I know that. What, you think I don’t know that?”
“You’re not exactly the brightest halo in the bunch.”
“Then bathe. And stand away from the television.”
“Why don’t you go get me some towels?”
“I’ll call down to the desk.”
And he did. If I am to get a look at that book, I must get the angel to leave the room.
It came to pass that in the village of Japhia, the sister village of Nazareth, that Esther, the mother of one of the priests of the Temple, died of bad air. The Levite priests, or Sadducees, were rich from the tributes we paid to the Temple, and mourners were hired from all the surrounding villages. The families of Nazareth made the journey to the next hill for the funeral, and for the first time, Joshua and I were able to spend time with Maggie as we walked along the road.
“So,” she said without looking at us, “have you two been playing with any snakes lately?”
“We’ve been waiting for the lion to lay down with the lamb,” Joshua said. “That’s the next part of the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Snakes are for boys. We are almost men. We will begin work
Joseph nodded and we were off before he inflicted more kindness upon us. We actually had befriended Bartholomew, the village idiot. He was foul and drooled a lot, but he was large, and offered some protection against Jakan and his bullies. Bart also spent most of his time begging near the town square, where the women came to fetch water from the well. From time to time we caught a glimpse of Maggie as she passed, a water jar balanced on her head.
“You know, we are going to have to start working soon,” Joshua said. “I won’t see you, once I’m working with my father.”
“Joshua, look around you, do you see any trees?”
“No.”
“And the trees we do have, olive trees—twisted, gnarly, knotty things, right?”
“Right.”
“But you’re going to be a carpenter like your father?”
“There’s a chance of it.”
“One word, Josh: rocks.”
“Rocks?”
“Look around. Rocks as far as the eye can see. Galilee is nothing but rocks, dirt, and more rocks. Be a stonemason like me and my father. We can build cities for the Romans.”
“Actually, I was thinking about saving mankind.”
“Forget that nonsense, Josh. Rocks, I tell you.”
C hapter 3
The angel will tell me nothing of what happened to my friends, of the twelve, of Maggie. All he’ll say is that they are dead and that I have to write my own version of the story. Oh, he’ll tell me useless angel stories—of how Gabriel disappeared once for sixty years and they found him on earth hiding in the body of a man named Miles Davis, or how Raphael snuck out of heaven to visit Satan and returned with something called a cell phone. (Evidently everyone has them in hell now.) He watches the television and when they show an earthquake or a tornado he’ll say, “I destroyed a city with one of those once. Mine was better.” I am awash in useless angel prattle, but about my own time I know nothing but what I saw. And when the television makes mention of Joshua, calling him by his Greek name, Raziel changes the channel before I can learn anything.
He never sleeps. He just watches me, watches the television, and eats. He never leaves the room.
Today, while searching for extra towels, I opened one of the drawers and there, beneath a plastic bag meant for laundry, I found a book: Holy Bible, it said on the cover. Thank the Lord I did not take the book from the drawer, but opened it with my back to the angel. There are chapters there that were in no Bible I know. I saw the names of Matthew and John, I saw Romans and Galatians—this is a book of my time.
“What are you doing?” the angel asked.
I covered the Bible and closed the drawer. “Looking for towels. I need to bathe.”
“You bathed yesterday.”
“Cleanliness is important to my people.”
“I know that. What, you think I don’t know that?”
“You’re not exactly the brightest halo in the bunch.”
“Then bathe. And stand away from the television.”
“Why don’t you go get me some towels?”
“I’ll call down to the desk.”
And he did. If I am to get a look at that book, I must get the angel to leave the room.
It came to pass that in the village of Japhia, the sister village of Nazareth, that Esther, the mother of one of the priests of the Temple, died of bad air. The Levite priests, or Sadducees, were rich from the tributes we paid to the Temple, and mourners were hired from all the surrounding villages. The families of Nazareth made the journey to the next hill for the funeral, and for the first time, Joshua and I were able to spend time with Maggie as we walked along the road.
“So,” she said without looking at us, “have you two been playing with any snakes lately?”
“We’ve been waiting for the lion to lay down with the lamb,” Joshua said. “That’s the next part of the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Snakes are for boys. We are almost men. We will begin work