Six

Thomas woke in his bed two days later, his head screaming with pain, and blinded by the light from the window, apparently mid-morning. He sat up, trying to focus, and saw his father at the foot of the bed, looking at him with disgust and loathing.

"It may interest you to know that your brother has been laid in the tomb, and that it is now the third day since his death."

"The third day? Death?" Suddenly, it all came back to Thomas. He put his hand on his blazing forehead and closed his eyes in pain as his father went on:

"We found my son, dead, on the shore two days ago, beside his boat, and you, stark naked, with only this--" he held up the empty bladder and then threw it at Thomas--"as your covering. Fortunately, it covered what needed to be covered, though I doubt if that was your intention." His voice was measured, but with the measurement of fury.

"I did not--"

"I wish to hear nothing from you while I finish what must be said. I speak to you for the last time. I once thought I had two sons, but what I had was a son I loved as the life of my soul, and another who was his distorted reflection in a filthy pond. For the sake of the son I loved, I tolerated the other one, until finally I found that what I most feared--"

His voice broke, and Thomas stared in horror as he recovered himself, and said, "--what I most feared had happened, that his drunken reflection had actually killed him!" His voice broke once again. Thomas longed to say something, anything, but the man's face forbade it.

"What I must now say is that now I have no sons. He who slaughtered the only son I ever really had, the son who was the life of my soul, no longer exists. I have sold the boat, which is useless now, since there is no one to man it, and I have the proceeds and what you had earned this week, and I give this to you, for I would not turn you out with nothing at all.

"You know where your brother's tomb is to be found, where your grandfather was buried. You are not to go there while either your mother or I--who are all that is left of this family--" He actually broke down in tears at this, something that frightened Thomas ten times worse than his suppressed rage.

"--your mother or I are able to see you. For I would then kill you. Gladly. It is all I can do not to kill you now." He said this flatly, as stating a simple fact, though the rage beneath it flamed out of it. "Once I leave this room, I am to have no sight whatever of you for the rest of my life, or I will not answer for the consequences. And the same goes for the one you called Eema. You are fatherless and motherless, as we are childless. Do you understand?"

"Yes. You cannot think worse of me than I of myself.

"I will hear not one word of your attempts to excuse or justify yourself, or anything else that proceeds from that mouth!" His voice had risen to a scream, drowning out anything that Thomas would have said, though there was nothing more that he could have said. Did he not deserve everything the Father--no father, the man he once thought of has father, but he had no father--had said to him, and a hundred times worse? Had he not wished to be rid of Samuel? Samuel, whom he now knew he also loved as the life of his soul, because now the life had gone out of his soul. He now, when it was too late, knew what it was to be a twin: not half a person, but a person who was more than one single person. Now he was half a person--no, not half a person, nothing, and not even nothing, merely half of nothing, with the only half that made it something gone, non-existent.

As he thought this, he looked up from staring at the floor to see his father glaring at him with clenched teeth and fists, the bag of coins clutched in one of them. "Well?" he said, and before Thomas could answer he went on, "Will you go? Must my eyes be contaminated further? Take your clothes and this money--" he tossed it onto the bed, where it lay on top of the bladder--"and leave. I go now to join your mother and mourn my only son." And he turned and left.

Thomas sat there, in physical agony, but even more, unable to move and hardly able to breathe from sheer despair. What was he to do? Leave, of a certainty. But where to go?

Where to go? What to do?

Anywhere, nowhere. Anything, nothing.

What could he do but fish? And now he could not fish; he had no boat and no compan--he could not even finish the thought and lapsed into a waking kind of coma, paralyzed in body and mind.

The first conscious thought he had, he knew not how long afterwards, was that he desperately needed a drink. The bladder was empty. He held it up and looked into it, and said to himself in a kind of awe, "I drank the whole thing! No wonder I feel as I feel; the wonder is that I am alive! Oh, why did it not kill me? Why am I still breathing?"

He finally broke down in tears, and in spite of the dizziness, the pain, the wretchedness of his stomach, he wept in great shouts of anguish, calling on Samuel to come back and kill him, pounding on the bed with his fists and trying to tear the bedclothes into shreds--and finding that he was too feeble to make a rent. He had, after all, not eaten since two days ago, apparently.

The thought of eating made him try to vomit, but nothing came out of his mouth, and he retched and retched in unproductive agony, while at the same time his stomach cried out for food and especially for drink. Apparently he had already vomited out everything he had inside.

Water. He was completely parched; his tongue seemed to have swollen to fill his mouth.

Finally, the spasms passed, and he finally rose on tottering feet, threw something over his nakedness, and lurched feebly over to the water jars where the family washed, and plunged his head in as he drank. He was so thirsty he almost continued drinking as he took in a breath, and began to cough and choke, and almost vomited the water he had been drinking back into the water jar.

The thought occurred to him that his parents might return if he stayed here, and he could not bear to face them. He must go, he knew not nor cared where, but he must go. And take his clothes, the bladder and the money, his father had said.

The bladder reminded him of how desperately he needed wine--the magic liquid--again. There was no more magic liquid, at least until he had filled the bladder and heated it; but there was an almost full wineskin in the hollow tree.

He had somewhere to go. He dressed himself in half of the clothes he owned, took the rest and bundled them into his second cloak--and marveled at how little he had that was actually his. He and Samuel had shared much, and now that he realized it, practically everything he wore and used was Samuel's; Samuel had bought it for himself--no, for both of them, while Thomas had spent almost all his money on wine. And had nothing to show for it but this dizziness, raging headache, feebleness, agony, and the death of the half of his soul, who now lay in the tomb of his grandfather.

It could not be true. It did not happen. He fell once again into a pit of no thought.

But the need for drink roused him, and he picked up the pathetically small bundle that was his everything, and walked out behind the house to the hollow tree, where he found the wineskin and drank.

He sat, invisible from the house, which he would leave soon and never see again, and as he drank, the pain lessened, and the consciousness of his loneliness lessened. He had one companion--not a friend, he knew it was an enemy, but it spoke soothing, warm words, at least at the moment. "But you are the one who attacks my head, I know," he told the wineskin. "I hate you, but what can I do? I have nothing and no one else."

Nathanael, perhaps?

No, not Nathanael. As soon as he saw Thomas, and became aware of what had happened, and how destitute Thomas was, he would scent "work" all over him, and would avoid him as he avoided a thunderstorm.

Where was he, by the way, when the--when it happened? Had he not been under the fig-tree on the shore just as they were leaving? Thomas could not quite remember whether it was that day or some other day when he had noticed him as he embarked; they were all so similar. But he did remember that he was not there when Thomas beached the boat. Had he been there and left? It would be like him; he would not want to be involved in trouble, still less in trouble where he would have to do something to help out.

No, not Nathanael.

Philip?

"Do not be ridiculous," he told himself aloud. Philip would be shocked beyond belief to find that Thomas actually was a drunk, and a drunk who had killed his own brother to boot. Philip had the misfortune of being a thoroughly good person, unblest with great intelligence or even much common sense. He was prone to think that because things ought to be a certain way, they really were that way, and only seemed not to be.

Well, Thomas was not that way; he was a drunk and a murderous drunk, and there was no possibility now that he could be anything different. He took another swallow of the wine.

Nothing and no one. He himself was no one, rapidly becoming nothing. He lay back in the woods, and fell into a drunken stupor.

There were a few moments of foggy consciousness in the days--weeks? Months? He had no idea--that followed. He saw himself at Philip's wine shop, aware that he could not bear to ask Nathanael to buy anything for him now, and that desperation had made him face Philip's look of revulsion and horror when he demanded a skin of wine and handed over the money. He said nothing more, and Philip was too shocked to speak. The scene faded, and he knew nothing of the sequel.

He also saw himself caught in the rain, looking for a cave to shelter him. He found one that overlooked the "sea," not far from Capernaum, where Philip lived, which would put him near the enemy-friend that was his only reason for living. There was a little arm of the lake not far from the door, and Thomas did not notice at first, but on the other side, he had a view, off in the distance, of a corner of his--no, not his, no longer his--house, with the woods behind it, in which the wineskin was hidden. How many days it required to establish this "home" he never knew, because all was lost in oblivion.

He saw himself once, however, struggling to light a fire at the entrance of the cave--probably early on. He had struck fire many times in the past, of course, but the damp tinder and his trembling hands made heavy weather of it. But finally the shavings caught, and the first thing he did was fill the bladder from his newly-bought wineskin, spilling too much of the precious liquid, and putting it beside the fire to turn itself into the magic liquid. And then that vision lapsed also into a blank

He saw himself testing the bladder to see if it had cooked, and taking a large swallow once it had. And then again there was nothing.

Until he woke screaming one--night? morning? He knew not, nor how much after this, but it must have been a good while, to judge from the condition he found himself in--to see Samuel standing beside his bed of cypress needles, to the right of the fire, which Thomas had somehow kept lit, looking down at him. He shrieked and ran out the door, and Samuel glided after him--through the wall!

He ran back in, and Samuel followed, again through the wall, keeping himself a couple of arms lengths away, with an enigmatic half-smile on his face. "Whatwd you?" screamed Thomas. "Ycannt bstandthere! Yre dead! Killed you!" And Samuel just smiled, saying not a word.

"Goway! Leavem! I cnnt bear it! Illgo mad!" And Samuel smiled as the thought came to Thomas, "I am mad! He is not there, he cannot be, and yet I see him as clearly as the wall itself! Is he to stay with me forever, to haunt me? I cannot bear it!"

And Samuel just smiled, saying not a word.

Thomas drank some more of his magic liquid, hoping to kill himself or at least render himself unconscious; but this time it did not work. He shook and shuddered, but Samuel stood there nonetheless, just smiling, saying nothing, as if he knew that this was what would happen (or, as if he knew nothing at all, but simply felt mildly amused). Thomas covered his eyes, as he sat on his bed, but could not keep his hands over them. He would glance out between his fingers, only to see Samuel still standing in the same place, just smiling, saying not a word.

He knew it was not real; there was no Samuel there; that his drink had produced this in him somehow. But he could not prevent himself from drinking, though it made him shake even more, and the terror increased tenfold. And Samuel smiled at this, saying nothing.

"Thomas!" came a voice. "Are you in there?"

"Nother?" screamed Thomas. "Ill die! Theylkill me!"

"You are in there!" cried Nathanael, plunging the cave into night for an instant as he entered. He caught one look at Thomas, flickering in the firelight at the entrance, and both simultaneously shrieked in horror.

"My God!" said Nathanael, after he found his voice. "Is that truly you?"

"Real, or are nother one come tormnt me? Cnnot be Nthanel; never comere!"

"Thomas, how--I cannot believe it! How came you this way?" He seemed to shrink from coming closer.

"Touch me not!" screamed Thomas, shaking like an aspen. Nathanael seemed to have no inclination whatever to do so, but merely stood inside the entrance to the cave, with all four fingers of his right hand inside his mouth, as if he would bite them off.

Finally, he took his hand out and managed to say, "It is truly I, Thomas. Truly. I have come seeking you--and (half under his breath) now I know why. My God!" He turned his head back out of the cave and said, "Ezra, I need--Where is he? Ezra!"

"Seekme? YounEzra? Thelp me, peraps?" Thomas broke into hysterical laughter, and when he recovered, he said in a sepulchral voice, "Fyou wouldelp me, send Saml away!"

"Samuel? Did you say Samuel?"

"Dyou not seeim? Hestands righside you!" Nathanael jumped and looked at the empty wall where Thomas, his eyes huge with dread, pointed.

"Thomas," said Nathanael, in a voice shaking on the verge of panic, "there is no one there." He looked again outside the cave, and said to himself, "Where could he have gone?"

"None ere! Hes nt gone! Heright there, sreal syou! --or sunreals you! I cnnot bear it!" He seemed to realize he was not speaking clearly, and, enunciating every syllable, very slowly said, "Truly, you cannot see him? How can you not?"

"I cannot indeed, Thomas. There is no one. Believe me."

"Blieve you! Why shd I blieve youn not blieve mown eyes?"

Nathanael looked from the empty wall, at which he had been staring, back to Thomas, wallowing in filth, hair matted with it, his nose running, eyes all but popping out of his head, and his drooling mouth distorted in a way not to be described. Even his body seemed to have collapsed upon itself, and the muscular youth had become a skeleton with skin.

He was completely loathsome as well as horrifying, and Nathanael almost gave way to his panic and ran out of the cave. But something gave him the strength to remain, and even to approach Thomas, who now looked at him with the same face of anguish and horror as he shook uncontrollably that he had worn in looking over at the invisible Samuel.

"You are sick, Thomas. Very, very sick. I wish to help you."

"--Nhe smilestill, and still says nothn. Least you speak! Isat how one cnknow wheth one seesreal? Thatspeaks? O letm not speak, or I wll die!"

Then he broke into pathetic supplication, if anything more repulsive than his terror. Again, very slowly, "Can you remove him?" he pleaded. "Can you please remove him? Wll drive mmad!"

"There is no one to remove, Thomas," said Nathanael, "Truly."

"Noone there!" Thomas looked down at the ground for a time, in thought. "Mus right. Know youright, I had knownt. How could be there? I killedm. But seeim still!" Once more, an attempt at clear speech, "Did you know I killed him, Nathanael?"

"It was an accident, Thomas. Accidents happen. You did not kill him. You would not kill your own brother."

"Oh, you knownt, Nthanl! You know slittle fme, how loathsome Im! I wishd n wished tbe freefim! I knew nt wat was wishn, but I wishd had no twin, sotht cd be mself." Deliberate, slow enunciation again, wide-eyed with terror, very quietly, "And now I have no twin, and I have lost myself also! And he is dead, and he stands! there bside me tmake me know tht killed! him and that I will nev be freefim, and he will drive me MAD!" His voice rose to a scream that broke into racking sobs, making him collapse back on his filthy bed. "Takm away! Takem away! Or fhes not there, make me not seeim! Please!"

"I cannot do it, God help me!" said Nathanael. "But--but I think I bring hope. I know I do. I cannot help you myself, Thomas, but I now know who can. If he cannot, no one can; but he can; I am sure he can. He rescued me, and when he rescued me, he sent me here. So he can help."

"Rscued you? Frmwhat?"

Nathanael's face flamed; he had said too much. "No. I cannot tell you--at least, not now. Perhaps some day. I know not. Perhaps I will one day be able to bear to tell you."

"You cnnot be Nthanel! Hes rich! Heas no need for anyone trescuem from nything!"

"Oh, Thomas, if you only knew! --I cannot say it, Thomas! I cannot! But he has saved me from it--" and he added under his breath--"I hope."

Slow speech again. "You do sound real. Perhaps you are not another Samuel. See, he stands there still, smiling now at both of us. Will you be haunted also? If you help me?"

Nathanael flinched at the thought, but recovered himself. "Will you come with me? I will bring you to him, and he will help you. I am sure of it. Why else would he have sent me to you?" Thomas made an effort to rise, shaking in weakness and dread, and nearly collapsed. Nathanael approached him, trying desperately to keep from vomiting at the thought of touching him, and striving with all his might to speak kindly and gently. "Here. Let me hold you. We will walk together, slowly."

Thomas looked over to the side. "And Saml follows, smilng nsayng nothing!" And as they reached the entrance of the cave, "Nhe comes through thwall! Run!" He made a pathetic attempt to run, and only stumbled into Nathanael's arms, covering him with the filth on his body.

Nathanael almost dropped him, and then held on. "We cannot run, Thomas. He will do nothing." He put Thomas beside himself, and, with his hand about his waist, supporting him, took two tentative steps in the direction of Capernaum.

"Ycnnot knowat!" said Thomas, trying to struggle, "M sure he wishes destroy! me!"

Nathanael held him tight and looked at him, the revulsion finally beginning to be overcome by pity. "He almost did, Thomas, he almost did. But it will be over soon. You will see."

"Whos person you bringing me tsee?"

"He is called Jesus of Nazareth."

"Cn anyth good com frm Nazareth?" said Thomas.