My Glorious Brothers Read Online Free PDF Page A

weapons.
    â€œGo back and watch the goats,” he told Jonathan. “Dry your eyes.” Suddenly, he threw his arms around Jonathan and held him close, rocked him back and forth for a moment, and then kissed his brow. Jonathan began to cry again, and the Adon said, harsh suddenly:
    â€œNever cry again—No more. No more.”
    Still we were unseen, and unseen we rolled the three bodies against the inner side of the new wall, covered them over with dirt and then worked all the rest of that day until the terrace was completed. When we threw in the last basketful of dirt, the Adon said:
    â€œSleep forever, sleep deep. May the Lord God forgive a Jew who shed blood and a Kohan who touched the dead; may he tear out of your heart the lust that brought you to our land—and may he cleanse the land of all the filth like you.” And turning to us, “Say you Amen!”
    â€œAmen,” we repeated.
    â€œAmen,” the Adon said.
    We put on our tunics. Jonathan came with the goats, and with him we walked back to Modin, Judas carrying the armor and weapons, all wrapped in leaves and grass.
    That night, after dinner, we sat at the table with a single lamp burning, and the Adon spoke to us. With a deep, old-fashioned formality he spoke, addressing us each in turn, and giving us each four generations, as:
    â€œTo you, my sons, to you John ben Mattathias ben John ben Simon, to you Simon ben Mattathias ben John ben Simon, to you Judas ben Mattathias ben John ben Simon, to you Eleazar ben Mattathias ben John ben Simon, to you Jonathan ben Mattathias ben John ben Simon—to you my five sons who have borne me up in my sorrow and my loneliness, who have comforted me in my old age, who have felt the weight of my hand and the bite of my anger—to you I speak as a man among you, for there is no turning back for them who have broken God’s commandment. We who were holy are holy no longer. It is said thou shalt not kill, and we have slain. We have exacted the price of freedom, which is always counted in blood, even as Moses did and Joshua, and Gideon too. From here on, we will not ask for forgiveness, only for strength—for strength.”
    He stopped then, and suddenly his age was apparent, the wrinkles deep on his face, his pale gray eyes clouded over with sorrow, an old Jew who had desired only what other Jews desired, gentle and peaceful years into the soil where his fathers lay. From face to face, he looked, anxiously, uncertainly, and I wonder what he saw there—the long, bony, sad face of John, the eldest; my own plain, almost ugly features; Judas, tall and beautiful, clean brown skin running into a curling brown beard; Eleazar, broad-faced, childlike, good-natured, wanting only to do my bidding or Judas’s or Jonathan’s, all the strength of a Samson with even more simplicity—and Jonathan, so small in contrast with the rest of us, yet like a knife-edge, pent-up, restless, a boundless desire for some unknown abiding all through him; five sons, five brothers…
    â€œPut your hands on mine!” he said suddenly, laying his big, fleshless hands palms up on the table, and we laid our hands in his, leaning toward each other—and how will I forget that, my brothers’ faces almost touching mine, their breath mingling with my breath? “Make a covenant with me,” he went on, almost pleadingly. “Since Cain slew Abel, there has been hatred and jealousy and bitterness among brothers. Make a covenant with me that your hands will be one—and you shall lay down your lives for each other!”
    â€œAmen—so be it,” we whispered.
    â€œSo be it,” the Adon said.
    ***
    My brother John married. I remember because it was the last day of grace, the day before Apelles came to take over the wardenship left empty by the death of Pericles. He married a sweet and simple girl, Sarah, the daughter of Melek ben Aaron, who performed circumcisions and who raised