Five

The father's test of Matthew came early, Matthew remembered. He felt the pain of that whipping once again after all these years, partly because he recalled how furious he was with himself for being so stupid as to fall into the trap.

But the father was shrewd; he saw that Matthew seemed to have learned his lesson, and so he put it behind him (always keeping watch, of course) and accepted him as a member of his household. Naturally, he had himself nothing to do with him--and very little to do with Pontius and his brother and sister, for that matter. He was concerned with affairs of government in Jerusalem, and had little time for anything else.

The test did not really prevent Matthew from stealing, of course; only from taking things that people expected him to steal. The mother was notorious for mislaying objects, and then wandering the house looking for them saying, "I must be out of my mind," and remarking how "very strange" the loss was, though it was a daily occurrence. Matthew made it his business to find things for her, for which she tended to favor him a bit. One was not actually grateful toward a slave. But at widely-spaced irregular intervals, some little thing which was not really very valuable would disappear forever. Matthew made sure that it was not something that anyone cared particularly about, and it had to be something small, something that could find its way down a crack, and then be quickly replaced after the search turned out vain.

Matthew would then find a time when he and Pontius were studying, and would slip away to some people he knew who could give him money for his treasure. It was never enough in itself to amount to anything, but Matthew's little cache began slowly to grow; and he knew that he would need it as soon as he ran away. He had time; he realized that he would have to endure some years in this existence, until he learned what he needed for his life on his own--as a tax collector, he became more and more convinced.

It helped that Pontius seemed to have a cheerful disposition, though Matthew quickly discovered that the constant smile was a facade that had nothing to do with the way he really felt. He asked Pontius about it once, and he replied, "I found out that it is easy to do, and you would be surprised to learn how many doors it opens." It began to get on Matthew's nerves after a while, like the habit of another's clearing his throat constantly. But of course he was a slave, and the idiosyncracies of the master were part of what one had to put up with silently.

One thing that Matthew had not anticipated and discovered with joy was that he was brilliant. He loved to learn, and whatever he heard seemed to stick inside his head permanently, with no real effort on his part. At first, he took this as simply the way everyone was, and was somewhat scornful of Pontius as he struggled with Greek and forgot what he had been told in yesterday's lesson. Of course, as a slave, he learned very quickly to hide this attitude and to pretend that he was having even more difficulty than Pontius, because an angry Pontius was not something one wished to confront. He had a number of bruises to remind him of this.

It was their tutor who gave Matthew the clue that he was extraordinary. He could not really hide his delight in teaching someone who could absorb everything that was presented to him. But since he was a slave himself, he was wise enough to show no overt favoritism to Matthew; and so they entered into a kind of conspiracy together, in which Matthew would receive double and even triple assignments (which he still completed in less time than Pontius took for his normal work), and in which the tutor and Matthew would find time for conversations in Greek and Latin, for sending messages to each other, and even for writing Hebrew, which the tutor learned along with Matthew. Pontius made rather fitful efforts at Hebrew, complaining that one could not read words that had no vowels, but realized that he had to have some knowledge of the language if he was to govern this people, and so he struggled along at a rather desultory pace.

The tutor, fortunately, was also quite bright, and found historical texts in Hebrew that he read with Matthew, making easy summaries for Pontius so that he could know something of the past of the people. He managed to collect a rather large number of books in Hebrew, which Matthew, who had outstripped the tutor here, began to read on his own, puzzling over what the prophets could have been meaning. But Latin and Greek were what really interested him.

Within three years, Matthew, who also had an ear, was speaking Latin with an accent almost as good as that of Pontius himself, and reading it considerably better; and his Greek was rapidly becoming indistinguishable from that of his tutor, a Macedonian by birth. There was the occasional mistake with odd forms like the optative, but every correction was instantly registered, and the error was never repeated.

But numbers fascinated him even more than language--if that were possible. Pontius rather hated working with the abacus, but Matthew discovered all sorts of tricks one could do with it--which invariably translated themselves into different ways of keeping track of his money.

Needless to say, at the beginning, Matthew had considerable catching up to do, since Pontius had begun his schooling years before; but it was not more than a year or two before Matthew was close on his heels, and then with the connivance of the tutor, surreptitiously going far beyond him, especially in mathematics.

Much of each day was spent learning, to Matthew's delight; but they still went to the park and played ball--except that Matthew now was less of a companion in the game, and more of a means of chasing and retrieving the ball when it escaped. It was not really that Pontius was cruel or even callous, but one could not look on a slave as a friend. One did not order a friend about, and one did not make requests of a slave. Besides, Matthew was a Judean, and Pontius was Roman, and that was all the difference in the world. Some of Pontius' playmates made fun of him when he treated Matthew as more than just a trained animal; and that did not make Matthew's life easier, as Pontius exercised little cruelties to curry their favor.

On the whole, however, his life was far, far better than even his life on the farm with his parents, and--physically at least--much easier. But it had its serious drawbacks. He now belonged to someone, even in a way he had not belonged to his parents; and it galled him daily to think that someone else owned him. It had very little to do with the way he was treated; it was that his mind--his will--was outside himself; his will was Pontius' will. It mattered not what he wanted; when Pontius wanted something from him, he did it, or suffered the consequences.

There was a sense, he felt, in which his life of misery was better than this. At least he was his own master. But then he reflected that the poverty itself was just a different form of slavery, because one had to be thinking constantly of where to find enough to eat and wear and how to escape the cold. Here, he could think and learn and speak to someone intelligent--the tutor, not Pontius--and find out about the world outside the house and even outside the country he lived in. It was enthralling.

But Pontius, who was born in Rome, was bored by it all. He would sneer at Matthew when he became excited at some new discovery, and say, "Well, of course! We had that back in Ostia." or "I went through there on my way to this garbage-dump of a country. It was rather nice."

Fortunately for Matthew, Pontius did not actually require very much of him. Because he was, probably not even consciously, jealous of Matthew--one could not consciously be jealous of a slave--he never asked for help in his school work, though Matthew could have shown him a hundred short-cuts that even the tutor had not discovered. It embarrassed Pontius that this Judean might understand the material better than he, a Roman. That was not to be admitted, not thought of. So Matthew was reduced to being a kind of child's valet, picking up after his master and seeing that he had everything he wanted ready to hand--and conspiring with him how to persuade the parents to give Pontius something that he "needed" and they did not think was good for him.

On the whole, they got on fairly well together, since Matthew learned rather quickly to read his master's moods and avoid his tantrums and the blows that ensued. And as they entered their teen years, Pontius began wishing to spend more time by himself, and rather resenting it if Matthew were hovering nearby. Matthew understood, of course, after a while, since he began feeling the same urges; but just as Pontius had no desire to share his experiences with a slave, Matthew had no urge to bring Pontius into his confidence.

This naturally gave Matthew more of an opportunity to expand his minor depredations of the household, and to build up more rapidly his little store of wealth. Also, as the years went on, with the help of the tutor he began to meet people that might be able to advance his ambition--which he never for one instant forgot--to become wealthy by the most efficient means.

It would not be all that difficult to become a tax-collector, he discovered. Rome was not inclined to ask too many questions of eager applicants, beyond making sure that they could be counted on to deliver the money--largely because the applicants were so very few. No Judean with any vestige of self-respect, no matter how poor, would stoop to the business. People would sweep the streets of animal droppings first.

But one learned rather early on, as a slave, that self-respect was something one could do without, provided one had a goal in view. Self-respect could be postponed into the future, when one had one's own villa, and wealth beyond imagining, when one could command one's own slaves and order others about.

Ah, yes, he thought now, that noble goal! And here he was, with the goal attained, stumbling through the night, with the moon revealing his fine robes filthy with dirt and tears, the face in the moon smiling at him more mockingly than Pontius, as he wondered whether he should take the advice he had that night received and rid the world of the excrescence he had become.

How could he go back to that booth and resume bilking poor farmers of the little they had to live on, driving them to suicide like his father? How could he do it? Yet if he did not, that Longinus would seek him out, with no grin on his face then, and either force him to resume his post or torture him beyond endurance before he finally killed him.

Dawn was coming. He looked around, wondering where he had arrived in his aimless meanderings in the vague direction of his house. It looked to be Nazareth, was it not? He had not strayed too far off course. Yes, here was the landmark, the synagogue.

On an impulse he went in, not quite knowing why; and once inside, a great remorse overwhelmed him. It was dark inside. He stood in the back, and then began beating himself on the breast, saying softly to himself, "My God, please have mercy on this sinner! My God, please have mercy on this sinner!" He had never done this before, had never even given the Master a thought since the last time his parents had brought him to the synagogue--except that one time when he had cursed God for making him poor, he recalled.

He expected nothing from this, he simply did it. If there was a God, He probably neither knew nor cared what these insects called "men" did in any case, and as to "forgiving" Matthew, why should He--and for that matter, what did it mean? Matthew needed the sins erased, destroyed and buried, and how could that be? What was done was done. But he prayed nonetheless, because he realized that he was broken; his soul had been smashed and was rattling around in fragments inside his torn body, and he begged for some kind of restoration.

Nothing would happen, of course; but at least he needed to express his remorse to--whatever it was, and so he kept beating his chest and begging for mercy, as if mercy was possible. He had to pretend that it was possible, or he simply could not go on.

As his eyes accustomed themselves to the deep gloom, he saw that the place was empty except for a well-dressed man up in the front, who glanced over his shoulder at his muttering and then turned back in contempt and resumed his prayers. Matthew was used to contempt, and paid no heed to it.

He kept wanting to leave, trying to leave, but something held him there; and suddenly, a crowd began entering the synagogue for the morning service, and he was trapped. He could not reach the entrance without elbowing his way through people, some of whom he recognized--and worse, who would recognize him, and do he knew not what if they found him there. He sank back into the shadows.

The crowd grew more or less silent and the service began. During it a young rabbi was introduced, "someone doubtless all of you know." Matthew had not been paying attention, eager as he was to leave without being seen, and so had not caught the name. He looked up. Was there not something vaguely familiar about the man? He received the huge scroll of the day, and began unrolling it until he found the place he wanted. Then he began to read--in a voice Matthew was convinced that he had heard before:

"The Master's spirit is upon me," he said, "and this is why he has anointed me to report the good news to the poor. He has given me a proclamation to deliver: one of freedom for prisoners of war, of new sight for the blind; he has told me to set broken people free and announce a year of the Master's favor."

When he said, "set broken people free," he looked up, straight at Matthew, and the words seemed to burn a hole in his chest. He rolled up the scroll and handed it to the attendant, and sat back down. Every eye in the synagogue fastened upon him--and Matthew now realized that this was his chance to escape unseen, except that he found he could not move.

The rabbi began his sermon by saying, "Today that passage is being fulfilled as you listen to it," and someone beside Matthew whispered, "What is he trying to say?"

"Evidently," was the whispered answer, "he thinks that he is the Master's Anointed."

"Who, that man? But is he not the Jesus who is Joseph's son? The carpenter? What is he doing here acting like a rabbi?"

"Acting like a rabbi! He is acting as if he were the Prince who was prophesied to become David's successor!"

"Does he think we know him not? We know his father and mother and all his relatives! Why, he has lived here his whole life! Does he expect us to believe he suddenly came down from heaven?"

The carpenter Joseph's son! Jesus was his name! Of course! No wonder he looked familiar! He had helped build Matthew's house!

The murmuring grew louder, and the rabbi lifted up his hand, and said, mildly, but in a voice that could clearly be heard through the whole synagogue, "I know. You are all quoting me the proverb, 'Doctor, cure yourself. Do here in your own town what we have heard you do in Capernaum.'"

Here some whispered, "What? Has he done something in Capernaum?"

"They say he has cured many of all kinds of diseases, and--"

"How? Has he discovered some new medicine?"

"No, he does it with a mere word, they say."

"Nonsense!"

". . . accepted in his own land," Jesus was saying. "There were many, many widows in Israel during Elijah's time--this is true, what I am saying--when the sky was shut for three years and six months, and a great famine spread through the whole country. But Elijah was not sent to any one of them; he went to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. And there were many lepers in Israel during the time of the prophet Elisha; but it was Naaman the Syrian, not one of them, who was cured."

"Do you hear that?"

"He is as much as saying that we are not worthy of his consideration!"

"Who does he think he is?"

"Well I will show him who he really is!" And the crowd surged forward grasping Jesus, pulling him out of the building, clearly intending to take him to the cliff outside the town to throw him over. The synagogue emptied, and Matthew slipped out, shaken both by what they were going to do to Jesus and by the effect of the words, "set broken people free," which were still ringing like a bell after it has been struck. It sounded almost as if it was an answer to his prayer.

He followed behind the crowd, which was paying no attention at all to him. Suddenly, everyone began milling about. Matthew quickly ducked behind a bush. "Where is he?" everyone was saying. "Who had him?" "He was here but a moment since!" "Who let him go?" They were all furious in their frustration, but it gradually dawned on them that there was nothing to be done. Jesus was simply not there. They began to disperse, shaking their heads.

Matthew did not know what to make of it. He himself had seen him being dragged away--and then he looked away for an eyeblink, and when he looked back, he had vanished. Even the ones who held him, it seemed, did not realize when he escaped; he did not wrest himself from their grasp, they kept saying; it was just that there was no one there. Their attention too was diverted by something, and when they came back into consciousness of what they were doing, their hands were empty.

So it was the carpenter! He remembered him; a quiet sort, three or four years younger than Matthew, someone one did not pay a great deal of attention to. Matthew, of course, knew and dealt mainly with his father, though it was Jesus, he remembered, who had put in several of the secret recesses in the walls of his house where he stored his valuables. The father had said, "He had better do this; his joints are always perfectly exact." And it was true; it was impossible to detect them, even if one knew that they were there.

But that voice! Where had he heard it? From a distance somewhere, not long ago.

Absently, Matthew was stumbling along in the general direction of his home, when that same voice broke in on his thoughts, "And speaking of setting broken people free, Gideon is still lying on his bed gagged and tied." Jesus was walking beside him.

"How did you--?" His voice trailed off in astonishment.

"Let us merely say that I have been made aware of it," said Jesus. "As well as some other things. I realize that Gideon is not the only one who needs to be set free. I seem to have helped in building what some have called a prison, have I not?" He smiled.

Matthew looked at him, half in terror. Who was this man?

"But there are many prisons, is it not so? And the guard of one of them will grow impatient before long if you do not appear to resume your duties."

"But I cannot . . . How? . . ." Matthew could not even think of how to finish the sentence.

"I would advise your going back at least for the day," said Jesus. "After you have freed Gideon, of course. If you wish to be freed yourself of the life you have forged, that too is possible. That is why I joined you."

"Wish to be! But how could you . . . ?"

"You saw me free myself just now, did you not? You saw me at the Jordan also, I know, and heard something besides. I say this so that you will believe. Believe, and it will be as simple as my own escape. I will return at the proper time."

The Jordan! That was where he had heard that voice, just before the thunder had spoken! Matthew felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck once again.

--And suddenly, they were outside Matthew's house, with Longinus waiting outside the gate, and the dogs growling menacingly at him. Matthew turned to say something to Jesus, and there was no one there.