Lars Sveen - Children of God

There are no other traces. Esther was with Anna, sitting under the palm trees in Ashkelon, listening to Anna telling her story, while Anna holds her hand and Orpah’s hand, telling them that she misses Andrew.

“I miss him so much,” she says.

Andrew was always there. Not as a mark on her body like Aaron or Reuben. He wasn’t a name threatening her in the coming evening dark. Andrew stayed there, just like light doesn’t go out and only goes on rumbling around the world, until one day it comes creeping back, beneath a door, through a curtain, stroking the skin with the touch of gentle fingers.

“I know you’re here,” he says softly. “I’m hardly ever alone, am I?” His fingers answer him, stroking his cheeks, his chin, before wrapping themselves around his warm neck. “I’ve got a story for you,” he says. “Do you want to hear it?” The fingers crawl up from his neck, up over his chin, and start pulling at his lips. “That’s what I thought,” says Peter. “That’s what I thought.” The fingers creep down, the hand wrapping itself around his neck again, and Peter tries to see through the dark. A hyena howls; it’s the sound of the cold night. “Hush,” says Peter. “We must be quiet, so quiet.” He puts one hand on top of the other, and for a few seconds he doesn’t know if he’s standing up or if he’s falling, if the night means he’ll keep falling until he’s surrounded by the light of day again.

“There was a man,” he whispers, “whose whole body was on fire. Every day he woke with the flames burning, every night he went to bed with the flames. He wondered what he should use the flames for. What could this fire do? He became a fisherman, but he scared all the fish away. The other fishermen didn’t want to sit in the boat with him. So he started building houses, but the houses collapsed, the flames having made them so fragile. He made one last attempt, trying to grow fruit and vegetables and sell them in the markets at Capernaum and Gennesaret, sometimes even as far away as Tiberias. But the food shriveled up; it was all dry and scorched. When the city guards saw what he was trying to sell, they beat him and chased him away. He came back the next day, and then they chopped off his right hand. But no blood came from the stump, only smoke. The smoke came pouring out of his arm, the soldiers’ eyes filled with tears, and he got away. The man sought shelter in the mountains, where he joined other men who’d gone seeking shelter. They saw his flames, they saw the smoke coming out of him, and they asked him to join them in their struggle against the occupiers. They gave him a sword, they gave him a spear, and they took him with them into battle. The battle came, and the Romans cut them down, every single one of them. The man was left lying in the grass, and he saw the flames go out, everything turning to smoke. When the children found him later that day, the man was just a charred piece of coal, like wood burned away beneath the sun.

“What did you think of that story?” Peter whispered.

The fingers let go of his neck, hanging poised in the air in front of him.

“You change it every night,” a voice says from behind him, and Peter turns around, but there’s only night there too.

“Do you really remember what happened to Father?” the voice says.

“Be silent,” says Peter. “You have no business following me.”

Somebody reaches out a hand and hesitantly grabs Peter’s clothing.

“I’m keeping an eye on you so you don’t get lost,” says Andrew, trying to hold on to his brother. Peter takes his hand and pushes it away.

“Are there others here? Has anybody come with you?” he asks. Andrew calls him a fool and tells him all the others are sleeping.

“It’ll soon be morning,” says Andrew. “Can you see it?” Peter turns around but can see only the same darkness everywhere. “I can feel it,” says Andrew. “It’s like a silent rumbling.”

Peter’s cold. “It’s still night,” he says. He hears Andrew breathing, a faint sound of something warm.

“Have you spoken with him about it?” Andrew asks. Peter crouches down. His hands pat the ground. His skin is dry, the grass is dry, the soil is hard and the stones cold. Once he believed that water could change everything.

“Look,” says Andrew, and Peter looks around him. A faint glint far away, as if something were opening up, but it’s still night where they are.

“Did you get some sleep?” Andrew asks, and Peter can hear him rubbing his hands together.

“Sleep?” says Peter. “Who gets any sleep?” Andrew stays quiet for a moment, and when he starts to say something about the Lord, Peter interrupts him. “It’s only a matter of time,” says Peter. “He can’t stop them. They’re going to hang him. They’re going to hang us all, none of us will be buried, we’ll be fed to the dogs.”

“He’s the Lord,” says Andrew. “If anything like that were to happen, then the Lord will be there with us.” Peter holds his head in his hands, feeling his sticky hair and his oily skin. His hands tremble.

“You saw what happened today,” he says. “Even our own people are afraid, and they reject us.”

“Simon,” says Andrew, “we’re all afraid, but we believe. We know what the faithless occupiers might do to us, but we can’t judge those who have so little and would stand to lose everything.”

“I’m not judging them,” says Peter. He gets up and takes a step toward Andrew’s silhouette.

“We must believe,” says Andrew.

“I believe,” says Peter, “but we know what’s coming.”

“We must believe, Simon,” Andrew says again.

Peter tries to see Andrew’s face in the dark, but there’s something else there in front of him, and Peter remembers the stranger who came toward them earlier, in the daylight, out of the cave tombs, with the damp, rotten air stuck to his skin like soil. With no clothes, and with his body covered in a pattern of cuts, cracks, lesions, and swellings. His hands hanging by his sides, two eyes like something dragged up from the bottom of the sea. Their party stopped; Peter took a step toward Jesus and stood in front of him. The thing made a noise, like stones grinding against stones in a dark sack. They all stood there, staring at the monster. People in the village had told them that he was a good husband and a good father, until his wife and children died of an illness, and he was infected too. Then he became possessed and started living in the cave tombs where the remains of his family lay.

Jesus put his hand on Peter, pushed him aside, and stepped forward. The stranger stayed quiet, he smiled, his teeth black and yellow, and then out of his mouth came words, words none of them had heard before. Jesus took another step closer, and the man speaking changed his voice, starting to whisper, but Jesus didn’t stop.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” said Jesus. “You know that I’m not here to judge you.” The creature fell silent.

“Come, step forward,” said Jesus, turning to Peter and the others. He said the names of three of his followers who had open wounds that were covered up.

“Come and show yourselves,” said Jesus. The three of them came up to him. Jesus asked them to take off their dressings and show their wounds.

“See,” said Jesus. “These people are with us, they are us.”

The thing stared at the three who had undressed, at their wounds, at the mouth of one of the women, whom Peter had never heard speak. Her lips had gone, and her teeth were darker than the gums around them.

Several of the people who lived in the area and had come to watch began to talk and shout. Jesus lay his hands on one of the people who had got undressed.