Lars Sveen - Children of God

She held on tightly to Esther. She thought about Andrew, about everything he’d told her, and how quiet he’d been when she held him tight. She’d caressed his face, and down over his neck. She’d laid her hand over his warm stomach; he’d closed his eyes and whispered her name. “Anna, Anna, Anna.”

Morning came, darkness left, everything rose and shone. Esther didn’t want to get up. She whimpered, laid her cheek against Anna’s, and said, “Sing to me, can you sing to me?” Anna stroked her, sang softly, and told her it was morning. Esther eventually got up, but she didn’t run off that day, she stayed close to Anna. All day there was a small hand with tiny fingers getting caught in Anna’s clothes or around her leg.

When Andrew came, he lifted Esther and threw her up into the air, calling her a little rascal and asking where she’d been last night. But Esther began screaming and crying, so Andrew gave her back to Anna. He apologized and returned with some flowers he’d picked.

“These are for you,” he said, crouching down and giving the flowers to Esther. “Please forgive me, I don’t know what was wrong with me. It’s a good thing you have Anna and Orpah to look after you.”

Esther didn’t say anything and just stood there with the flowers in one hand.

“I’m not going to take Anna away from you,” Andrew said.

Esther glanced up at him and nodded.

“Andrew’s nice,” she said. “He can come and meet the King.”

“The King?” asked Andrew. “Who’s that?”

“He’s my king,” said Esther. “He sent me away, but now he’s come back to fetch me.”

“What are you talking about?” said Andrew.

But she said no more, in spite of Anna and Orpah both trying to get her to tell them who this king was. Andrew made her promise that the next time she met this king, she would take him or Orpah or Anna with her. Esther nodded and agreed.

“Maybe that’s what the children call him,” Orpah wondered. But Anna thought it was odd. There was something about the way Esther had said “the King.”

“The children love Jesus,” said Anna. “They don’t talk about him like that.”

That evening, a great meal was prepared for the whole group and for anybody else who wanted to join them. A family opened their house, others helped out, setting up tables outside, and gathering torches and vases. Mary got somebody to fetch food, and the children helped to collect firewood, build bonfires, and fill the vases with flowers. Anna stood there with Esther, watching Andrew whittle. He sat there with some of Jesus’s brothers, cutting away at small, rough pieces of wood, turning them into horses, bears, birds, smooth sticks, and slingshots. Andrew gave Esther a small, round disk with tiny marks etched on it. Anna laughed and asked what it was.

“It’s a sun, can’t you see?” Andrew said. “It’s a sun that’ll never set. It’ll always shine, even through the darkest of nights.” Anna laughed again and shook her head. Andrew was the worst carver of them all, but the children appreciated him. Even Esther seemed to like him now. She hid the figurine under her clothes and smiled at Anna.

Anna went to help sort out the food and put it in bowls and on plates. She didn’t notice, but Andrew followed her. He went up to her and put one of his hands in hers.

“Anna,” he said, “can I speak with you again?”

“I don’t know how to say this,” he continued when they’d got away from the others and were walking alone at the edge of Nazareth. The sun was going down, darkness was creeping in on a chill wind.

“I don’t know how long all this will last,” he said, “how long we’ll be together like this.” Anna was about to say something, but Andrew spoke first: “No, no, just listen to me, Anna. I’m telling you I don’t know when we’ll be leaving again. I want to be by your side when the Master summons us. I want you to come too. It’s so long since I was with you, Anna, I thought you’d forgotten me. I didn’t think there would be a place for somebody like me with you. But now, I don’t know. Let me put it like this. There’s something about you, you change me into a different person. I don’t know quite what it is, but it’s all that I can be. I don’t normally talk like this, Anna, I don’t talk like this to other people. You’re something else, when I think about you, when I see you, when I hear you speak. You know when it rains, when the whole sky comes falling down? The next time the rain comes, if you’re without me, then I will be the gentle rain falling on you. If you’re in the rain, I will be the lucky droplet running off your nose. I will be the water you catch in your hands. I will beat on the roof over where you sleep. I will be the gentle rain that nobody fears going out into. I will be the crowns of the trees, making puddles for the children. I will be the gentle rain that sends you to sleep. And then I will rise up through the dream, like a shaft of rising sunlight.”

They stood there in the last remains of the day. Andrew and Anna held hands, they moved closer to each other, they kissed, strands of hair tickling their noses, their cheeks. Anna closed her eyes and thought of the rain, how it could come drifting over the land, drenching everything. She thought of Ruth, who said, “All we need to do is to let them think they’ve found the way home.” She thought it was the other way around, it was Ruth and she who had lost their way. They’d lost their way again and again. And it was only now, in Andrew’s hands, that she was really found.

Night had fallen over Nazareth. The meal had begun, somebody sang, and in the middle of the song, a very high-pitched voice, Judas’s, carried the whole song before everybody else joined in. The song seemed to lift up the tables and the roofs of the houses, even the stones on the ground. After the song died down, Jesus spoke. He spoke of the small and the weak, of his father’s kingdom, and justice and courage and the struggle of all those who followed him. He turned to Mary, and she began to sing. After one verse, Judas joined in, their voices intertwined, as they sang about the Lord and his holy kingdom, about everything that had been built, and everything that had been torn down. When their song ended, all that could be heard were the shouts of the children running around.

Anna stood there, watching everybody walking around her, everybody brushing past her, whispering and laughing and shouting. She heard Andrew’s words, his soft voice. I will be the rain. The bowl of water you catch in your hands. Orpah was there; she came over and gave her a hug, carrying a candle, a small, burning candle. The rain that sends you to sleep. Men and women and children danced, their arms around each other, they sat on the ground, stood on stools and benches. I will rise up through the dream. Those who were bound in rags took them all off, and in the faint light, their cuts and wounds resembled dark hollows. Like a shaft of sunlight.

They were all there, together.

“Anna,” said a soft voice.

“What?” said Anna, turning around, but there was nobody there. Something brushed by her foot; she bent down, and it was Esther. She held on tightly to Anna and said something.

“What’s that, Esther?” Anna asked.

“The King,” said Esther.

“What?” said Anna, putting her head close to Esther’s mouth.

“I want to show you the King,” said Esther.

Esther took Anna’s hand and dragged her along. Andrew was there, and Anna waved at him. He waved back and said something she couldn’t hear. She smiled and could still sense his fingers, his warmth, and his salt taste.

“Come,” said Esther, and Anna followed her. They were heading away from the gathering around the meal, and Anna asked where they were going, but Esther didn’t answer. It became dark, the torches and the bonfires fell behind them, and Anna suddenly felt afraid. Nobody could see them, where were they heading? She pulled away her hand.