Nine

'As you see," said Nathanael when they drew up, "I have brought Thomas, who wishes--he thinks, just as I suspect we all do--to become one of us and follow the Master."

Philip dashed up. "Then you have seen him! Thank God! The last time you came to the shop, I could hardly recognize you, you were so drunk!"

Philip had not lost the capacity to put an immediate end to any conversation. Thomas was torn between the desire to run away and hide, and the urge to smash him in the face; he could not prevent himself from making a fist, and he could see Nathanael recoil in horror. But he bit his lips, reflecting that what Philip said was nothing but the truth, which all probably knew anyway, and then said, "When they found me, I was even worse, half dead and seeing things that were not there. But I have been saved--I think--I hope. No, I know." But he added another "I hope" under his breath.

"I never knew it was you, before you came to me yourself, after you k--" at this point, even Philip realized what he was about to say, and caught himself. "After the accident. Before, I thought it was Nathanael."

He certainly required bracing oneself against. Thomas took a deep breath, and answered, "Well, that was part of the deception that I was practicing. I find, though, that I was deceiving myself even more than anyone else. Samuel--and my poor father--knew all about me, though I thought I was being so clever."

"You had me completely fooled," blurted Philip

Thomas looked at him, Not that that was difficult. And yet--"Not completely," he said. "I remember once you told me I looked as if I was drunk."

Philip was taken aback. "I was merely joking."

"No doubt I did look as if I was drunk, because I was. I did not realize how drunk I was, and was convinced no one would notice, but you made me drink less, as I remember, for a while. But it caught up with me again. It is insidious."

Philip looked thoughtful. "How is it that most people can drink and nothing happens, but others become drunks? You would think they would see what was happening and stop before it became too serious."

"It is not that simple, Philip. I told you it is insidious. At first, I suppose, one can stop, but at that point there is no reason to stop. Everyone else drinks wine, and one thinks that one is not drinking any more than anyone else. But one does not notice that one drinks more and more as time goes on, and still believes that perhaps it is a bit more than others, but not unusual--and one believes that he can stop any time he chooses. But he finds no occasion to choose, even as life becomes more and more difficult. And then when the crisis comes, he cannot stop, and he even fights when--" he could not go on, and doubled over in sobs.

Philip ran up to him and placed his hand on his back, while the others stood round in embarrassment, "I am so sorry, Thomas! I know you could not help it! But the Master has saved you from it, has he not? It is over!"

Thomas gradually recovered control of himself. He straightened up and looked Philip in the eye, and said, "Oh, no, Philip, it is not 'over.' I suppose it never will be 'over.' But it is past, and the Master has made it possible to begin again--he says."

"Fear not, Thomas," said Philip apologetically. "Trust the Master. He can do anything."

"It does seem so. At least I no longer see things that are not there." He looked around. "You all are here, are you not?" The others laughed an embarrassed laugh.

"Do not fear that you must not mention what happened," said Nathanael to everyone at large, who began to take this very lesson from what they saw, "Thomas told me that he would like to have you call him 'Didymus,' Greek for 'Twin,' precisely so that the memory of Samuel can be kept alive. And by the way," he added as an afterthought, "you might call me Bartholomew."

One or two of those standing there gave a nod of comprehension. Thomas wondered just what it was that had estranged Nathanael from his father, but it was too late for him now to ask. Up to now, he had been too interested in himself and in Nathanael only as a vehicle for his supply of wine to inquire about his life at home. Perhaps his relation, or lack of it, with his father had something to do with whatever it was that Nathanael did not think he could reveal to Thomas--though it seemed to Thomas, as he thought back about it, that it was somehow connected with him. Well, either he would find out in due time, or he would not. It was another part of the mysterious future.

Nathanael was introducing Thomas to those standing about, and Thomas, to his surprise, found that he had heard of several of them. Andrew, a man even larger than Ezra, and much more muscular--someone that the ancient Israelites would have called one of the Anakim, the giants he had read about in one of the lessons Nathanael gave him, was another fisherman, Thomas remembered, obviously one who plied the oars, judging by his chest and arms.

He greeted Thomas in a rather higher-pitched voice than one would expect from such a frame, and said, "I have heard of you and your brother. My own brother Simon is not here at the moment. He is negotiating with Zebedee to combine our fishing businesses into one--and I think with your father, if I am not mistaken--"

Thomas's face flamed, and Andrew realized that he also had stepped into quicksand. He tried to recover himself by saying quickly, "Since not only Simon and I, but both of Zebedee's sons have decided to follow Jesus. He has but the hired hands at the moment."

A man came up and took his hand, "I am James, Bar-Zebedee. We are here because, though my father rather expected John here," he nodded at a young man--a boy, really, probably not more than sixteen or so--"to leave us and do things religious, he is not quite reconciled to the fact that Jesus seems to have stolen both of us from him."

"What is this 'following' that we are supposed to be doing?" asked Thomas.

"Know you not?"

"I know nothing except that I was a drunk and now I seem not to be. Nathanael told me that he could rescue me; beyond that I know nothing of him--except that he told me that he would like me to 'follow' him, for some reason. And he seems to know things."

James laughed. "It is difficult not to do follow him if he calls you, is it not?" and John, the boy, added, "He is the Prince; I am convinced of it. We are to be his retinue. That is what it is."

"Now John," said James. "You do not know this."

"Nonsense! I do not know the sun will rise tomorrow--or rather," he said, looking up at the western sky--"that it will be overcast. But facts are still facts. Of course he is the Prince."

"Prince?" asked Thomas.

"Know you not?" said John. "The one the prophesies have written of for centuries. The Son of David, who is to be King."

Thomas's eyes widened. "Of a truth?" Then perhaps the sky would rip open and angels would be going up and down--or whatever it was. What had he got himself involved with?

"We were down in Judea when John started speaking of him," said John. Thomas looked confused, and John said, "John is a person that has been causing a tremendous amount of controversy, bathing people in the Jordan down there, telling them that he is the forerunner of the promised Prince, and that we should prepare ourselves. I happened to be there, though James stayed here to keep the business going--I was to enter into studies at the Temple, and my--at any rate, I was there with Andrew and Simon, who had decided to take a little holiday and see this preacher."

"And we were enthralled," said Andrew. "He had everyone convinced that we were about to enter a new age."

"And then he actually pointed out who it was that he was referring to," continued John, "one day that Jesus walked by. He said that he had bathed him also (he bathed us too, of course) and saw the Spirit come upon him like a dove, and that was how he knew who he was."

"And of course, as soon as we heard it, we went after Jesus," continued Andrew, "and spent the day with him. John may have been forceful, but he--well, of course, you have met him."

"We knew we were to be 'students' of his, as he called us, as if he were a rabbi," said John, "but he mentioned that he would not be available for a couple of months, and that we should resume what we had been doing. 'I will see you again, never fear,' he said."

"And sure enough," Andrew continued, "as we were in the boats not too long ago, mending our nets, he came by and told us to follow him--and we did, as did James and Simon, leaving poor Zebedee bewildered and, truth be told, a bit indignant. That is what Simon is trying to patch up at the moment."

Thomas seemed to catch some kind of undercurrent in what Andrew said as he referred to Simon, but it was subtle enough so that he could not place it. Whatever it was, he doubted whether Andrew himself were aware of it--a hint of resentment, perhaps?

Nathanael then stepped in and said, "But let me introduce you to the others," and brought Thomas to a little owl of a man, also named James, with a round, round face and a nose exactly like a beak sticking out of the middle of it, who had a habit of clearing his throat constantly. "I am (hem) pleased to make your acquaintance. I had (ha) heard of your plight from Nathanael--or should I now say (hem) Bartholomew?"

"Call me whatever you like," answered Nathanael.

"So like you," said James. "It gratifies me," he said to Thomas, "to see that you are (ha) recovered." Thomas thought that James would take a certain amount of bracing oneself against also. But then it occurred to him that he probably still had his own habit of nodding to emphasize what he said, as if he were chopping at his hearer with his nose. Well, we all must brace ourselves, I suppose, he thought, reflecting that his problem of not taking a drink from his magic liquid was rather more serious than wondering if he nodded annoyingly. He smiled and turned back to Nathanael, who was bringing him to someone else.

"This is Judas," he said, "but he also has another name, Thaddeus, to distinguish him from the man over there we will meet in a moment, Judas from Kerioth, whom we call 'Iscariot' for that reason. The two greeted one another and made the appropriate noises, and then Nathanael went over to a strikingly handsome, supremely self-assured man, and said, "Judas, Thomas is by now quite bewildered at how we all seem to be named in pairs."

As Judas greeted Thomas cordially (but just a trifle distantly? thought Thomas), he said, "We will sort ourselves out in a short time. We are in one sense a rather rag-tag group, but the Master knows what he is doing; you will see." Did he give the impression that the Master would have to know what he was doing if Judas condescended to be a follower of his? Thomas immediately reproached himself for his cynicism; but he had so little confidence in himself that it rather irked him to see someone who was completely self-assured. And after all, Jesus had chosen him, and, as he himself said, he knew what he was doing--Thomas supposed.

"But there is another Simon also, besides the brother of Andrew," said Nathanael, and led him to a man of middle height, with what seemed to Thomas a fierce black beard--or perhaps it was his eyes, which were also almost black. "We call him 'Simon the Revolutionary."

"In truth?" said Thomas. It seemed odd for a revolutionary to have anything to do with the Jesus he had seen.

"Well, I used to belong to the Zealot party that, you know, has been trying to find a way to free us of Rome. And if Jesus is the Prince who had been prophesied, then he will be able to accomplish it--he will be sure to do so--and so I joined him."

"The rest of us," broke in John, "are not quite so sure that that is what Jesus has in mind."

"I would not rule it out, youngster," said Simon.

"Oh, please! Do we look like the makings of an army?" Thomas certainly did not feel that he was, or ever would be, ready to take up a sword rush into battle--let alone command a legion, if this group were to be the nucleus.

"You never know," answered Simon. "I imagine those who followed Judas Maccabeus did not look like much at the beginning. We will see, we will see."

"We will never see that, I am certain."

"Yes, well, many are certain of many things."

"But I did not have a chance to tell you--Didymus--" said John, to end what evidently was an ongoing controversy among them, "how very happy--how very happy--I am to see you here."

"Why thank you--John, is it? The names are running by me so quickly I lose them as soon as I hear them. But I fear I am no great addition to anything."

"Fear not. You will do great things. We all will do great things; I am convinced of it."

"By the way," said Andrew, "did you know that Jesus' mother has been invited to a wedding in Cana tomorrow? And that it looks as if we will be going also?"

"Indeed?" said John.

"I believe so," answered Andrew. "That is why Jesus is at Simon's house now. He is speaking to his wife and her mother about the arrangements; it is her sister who is about to be married, and he is trying to see if we will be a burden on the couple."

"I can see why," said Thomas. "Probably whoever invited her and Jesus had no idea that it would involve eight or ten more people."

"Exactly. And I do not think they are especially well off. So perhaps Jesus will go alone; I would suspect that that would be the most sensible thing. But Simon gave me the impression that he (I mean Jesus) would like to bring us along, if it were possible. Perhaps Jesus will subtly supply some financial help, somehow." Thomas surmised that it would be an insult to give money openly, and so Jesus would have to devise a way to do it without seeming to do so.

"He wishes to make a sort of public display of us as a group, I suspect," said Nathanael. "We are the core of whatever it is that he is planning."

Not a promising core, thought Thomas. Anything but a promising core. But perhaps that was the point. To take incompetents and make them do amazing things. Then his mind turned to the wedding. They were to go to a place where it was expected that everyone would drink wine in honor of the bride and groom. Well, perhaps he could hold a cup in his hand and not drink from it, so that he would not appear to insult the couple, and yet could keep himself safe. If he could not drink from it. It was one thing to have the magic liquid at his waist and another to have wine in his hand wafting its seductive odor up his nose.

Of course, if Jesus were a miracle-worker, as he seemed to be from how he had saved Thomas from the apparition of Samuel, perhaps he could perform the miracle here also. Thomas resolved, however, to keep himself in the background and not take a cup unless he could not avoid it. Of course, they might not be going. He hoped not.

The conversation had now become general, with the people resuming what they had been discussing with each other, mainly speculating on where Jesus was heading in collecting them, what criteria he was using, if any, to select them, and so on. Since Thomas--and, it must be admitted, Philip--were enigmas in this, it began to be difficult to talk about the subject--doubly difficult based on Thomas's assessment of their apparent competence--and other topics were introduced to make the atmosphere less tense.

But since Thomas was a newcomer, he felt himself rather left out of their conversations, and drifted off to the side--where he found Ezra, standing there with an "I could have foreseen it" expression on his face.

"You are not joining in the discussions?" asked Thomas.

"I am invisible. Have you noticed?"

"Invisible? What do you mean?" If there was anything Ezra was not, it was invisible--in the daytime, at least.

"I used to observe it when I was a slave. I was there, but no one saw me, because I was not someone to see. Just as no one really looked to see what scroll Nath--Bartholomew--had in his hand, and did not notice it unless his attention was called to it, so I was no one, and just an adjunct to him, unless he needed something, when I suddenly appeared. You heard him speak of me as if I were not there."

"I remember feeling uncomfortable about it, but I knew not what to do. You evidently resented it a good deal."

"I did then. I still do, to some extent. And I saw the expression on your face, though he did not notice. I understand how it was, and do not blame him for it, but how could I not resent it? I have always been a person, even if I had never been treated as one.

"But now that I am free and have indeed become a person, I wondered what other people's reaction to me would be. I thought I knew, and now I am confirming it.

"You see, I am black, and I was a slave. I am different; I look different, and my speech is somewhat different. Even though I am a Hebrew, no one believes it until he is told, and that makes me even more of an oddity. How can I be one of you if I look so different? Obviously, one of my ancestors married a black woman. But does that make me not a Hebrew? In that case, King David would not be a Hebrew, for his great-grandmother was Ruth, a Moabite. It just happens that I inherited my mother's skin. In Ethiopia, there are Hebrews of all colors, from mine to yours, and everything in between.

"But no one here knows this. So no one knows what to do with me, or how to speak to me, because they know not whether I have a mind, let alone any ideas that they would be interested in, and so they simply act as if I am not there. They look right through me when they look in my direction, because otherwise, they might have to respond to me. I am invisible."

"That is disgraceful! Outrageous!"

"It is human. One likes to be comfortable. I make people uncomfortable. Therefore, I do not exist."

"How can you be so calm, so philosophical, about it? I would be screaming, 'I exist also!'"

Ezra laughed. "One learns to be 'philosophical,' as you put it, after years and years of being ready to scream, and trying it once or twice and being beaten for it. One learns first how to put on a neutral face--not that anyone ever noticed my face--and even a rather pleasant face, though one is seething inside. A resentful face only brings on blows and makes a difficult life intolerable. And as I said, I was a rather pampered dog, because I acted in such a way that I frequently deserved a pat or two.

"And as the years go on, the expression on the face works its way into one's heart, and one sees that much of one's life is almost pleasant, and so one learns to ignore the aspects that are not pleasant, because nothing can be done about them--without the help of someone like the Master. I saved up the small sums I was given to buy my freedom, but it was a hopeless task, for they knew enough not to give me what would be sufficient to let me be rid of them. Another thing one resents for a long time.

"But, you see, during all these years I had much time to think. Much. Mas--I mean, Bartholomew--had very little for me to do, and so I simply stood there, at the ready, most of the day, as idle as he was. Well, of course, if the body is idle, the mind need not be, and so I thought of my situation, and looked at it from his point of view. Why should he not act as he was acting? Why give a slave, for instance, enough money so that he buys his freedom and then one has the nuisance of training another slave? From his point of view, it makes no sense.

"And he did not capture me, after all, and enslave me. He bought me from someone who did, when I was too young to know what had happened to me. It did not make my pain any less, but I understood it; my pain became the pain of someone born crippled, who simply has to accept the fact that he cannot walk, and learns to live with it, because otherwise he can find no reason not to kill himself."

"But you are free now."

"True. I can walk away, if I choose. But where would I go? I have no relatives that I know of in Ethiopia."

"But is there not something we can do about it? Something I can do?"

"Well, I suppose you are doing something at the moment by coming to talk to me as if I were actually someone one could talk to. Imagine! They see you actually listening to me!"

"Why should I not listen to you?"

"You and I know this--I hope--but they have not been able to get it through their heads that I might have anything to say worth listening to. Not even Bartholomew. Especially Bartholomew. You saw how surprised he was when I said something intelligent."

"You hate him for it, do you not?"

"No, not really. As I said, I understand it from his point of view. He has spent his life with me there, never offering him anything human, but merely a body, a machine, to do whatever he found disagreeable. It will take him time to learn that I have a mind also--if he ever does. And I think he will. He is well-intentioned, if lazy."

"I suppose that that is praise from his former slave. They say that no man is a hero to his slave."

"Slaves are supposed to know nothing, but of course they know too much--about their masters. They have to; they must know a great deal to avoid being beaten."

"I know nothing of slaves, because we never had one. You are the only slave I ever met. But I would suppose that they exploit this knowledge to their advantage. I would, if I were a slave."

"Oh, yes. For instance, Bartholomew is lazy. If he thought of something particularly unpleasant to do--which I would have to do, of course, I would, in planning it, point out the various ways in which he would be inconvenienced, and the project would be dropped. And of course, the dropping of it would appear to him as his own idea. It is not hard, once one has had a little practice."

Thomas laughed. "If ever I need lessons in how to be a successful slave, I know who to come to for instruction." Ezra laughed with him. The others looked over in some surprise.

John came over to them. "What was this you found so amusing?"

Ezra gave Thomas a knowing look, as if to say, "You see? You did do something for me." Thomas said to John, "Oh, Ezra was telling me how slaves manage to manipulate their masters, and I said I knew who to go to if I needed lessons in how to be a slave."

"How does it feel, Ezra," said John, "to be a free man?"

"At the moment, John," (as he said the name without any "Master" preceding it, John reacted for an instant, but recovered himself) "it is not so very different. I find it somewhat frightening, however, because my decisions now have consequences. When I merely did what my master ordered, the consequences were his."

"Yes, I have heard people who leave the army say much the same thing," said John.

"But I will learn. We all have a great deal to learn, I think."

"True. And we have found the perfect rabbi and master. And here he comes--with his mother and Simon."