György Spiró - Captivity

“A big, black-bearded bloke?”

“That’s the one!”

Judas nodded. He was a clever man, able to plan houses, and not at all badly, but he had been banished from Jerusalem because he stole.

“Are you sure?” Uri asked.

“No, I’m not sure he stole,” said Judas, “but he was driven out anyway. Of course if there had been any proof he would have been in much bigger trouble. True, they wouldn’t be able to sell him off as a slave, what with his being a Roman citizen, but people like that are carted off to the prefect in Caesarea. He investigates the matter, and if he finds the charge to be well-founded, then the accused is sent back to Rome and sentenced there.”

Uri said that Plotius had not run into any trouble, indeed he had been able to return to Jerusalem as a delegate, which indicated that he hadn’t stolen anything after all.

“He might have done some stealing anyway,” chipped in one of Judas’s brothers. “It all depends who he stole for.”

Judas gave a dirty laugh and confirmed that if you were going to steal, it made a big difference whom you paid off.

“The richer they are, the more they steal,” he declared. “Jerusalem is well-known for that.”

“Just who are the wealthiest ones?” Uri asked.

“Well, the wealthiest ones…” said one of Judas’s brothers, winding up for a long discussion.

Nothing happened until late that afternoon, when the foreman appeared, blew a whistle, and raised his stick in the air. The men scrambled to their feet, gathered around him, and walked out of the City of David through one of the city gates. They said that this was the Fountain Gate, that had long been its name, though there was no fountain anywhere near. The foreman tuned southward at the gate, and a few of the men followed. They were going to go through the Essene Gate into the Lower City, but most of them went through the meadow along the Valley of Kidron toward the river. The River Kidron itself was little more than a shallow trickle, with a plank leading over it to the other side.

“There’s a lot more water in it in the autumn and spring,” said Judas, “just in time for the festivals. But the drought is so bad this year that the river might dry up completely.”

Lying about on parched stretches of the riverbed were broken wheels, rusted metal implements, rags, rubbish, leather bags, and animal skeletons — all the things that the celebrating masses had dropped or thrown into the water. It passed through Uri’s head that this was the river in which tens of thousands of people yearning to cleanse themselves took a dip.

On the other side of the river they trudged up to the top of the Mount of Olives, proceeding past well-kept gardens, with small houses built of timber and stone dotted about at wide intervals.

They reached one cottage, where one of the workers rapped on the door. An elderly lady looked out before throwing up her hands in astonishment.

“You people already? So early! You should be ashamed, such loafers!”

This was the canteen Joseph had mentioned. Three tables of roughly-hewn timber stood in an unfenced garden. The cistern was empty, so the workers washed their hands in a bowl. They waited for something to happen. Uri grew restless.

“I was told that the week’s wages were paid in advance,” he said.

They confirmed that indeed they were.

“All the same, I didn’t get any pay today,” he countered.

“We get paid on Sunday,” they said.

Uri tried to work out what day it was. The Sabbath he had spent in the village, so it must be Tuesday or even Wednesday. It was in fact Wednesday. His companions insisted he would get no pay until Sunday, so he shouldn’t hold out any other hope. Sunday was the day the cashier came; he wasn’t in the habit of coming any other day.

“But I’ve got no money,” said Uri.

They were astonished. How could that be? Uri was in no mood to go into any details and instead asked them what they thought the chances were that the elderly woman would give him supper on credit until Sunday evening. They hemmed and hawed again but gave him no answer.

When the woman brought out plates of bread and cooked meat and placed them on the table, the workers reached for them without saying any prayers or even washing their hands. Uri stepped up to her, politely introduced himself and laid out his difficulty.

“One more hungry mouth to feed! That’s all I needed!” she exclaimed in an unfriendly tone. “Pity they didn’t warn me in time. It can’t be done, it just can’t… We make no profit as it is, and now we’re expected to pay for being big-hearted!”

On that note she went back indoors to fetch the broiled greens. The aroma assailed Uri’s nostrils.

The workers tucked in, with Uri standing by watching.

Judas growled at one of his brothers to give Uri some bread. The brother flared up in anger and went red in the face, but he still tore off a crust and set it down on the table. Uri did not touch the bread and walked farther off.

What Joseph had referred to as a hut might have originally stored tools but had since been renovated. Uri felt quite at home there, as it was not much different from a stable. The workers were still eating outside when Uri rubbed his hands clean on the earthen floor of the hut. Uri turned west, where he suspected the Temple was located, recited the short version of the Sh’ma, lay down on the sparse straw in one corner, and spread out over himself his sole possession, a blanket that Master Jehuda had given him, with fringed tassels along each of the four hems. He lay on one side, his legs drawn up so that the stomach cramps would be less distracting. After all, he had eaten twice that day, breakfast at Joseph’s house and then again at noon in the palace under construction. If he did not have to do any work, he would last on one meal a day until Sunday. He would be moving around less and eating a lot. The palace was already connected to a water supply, and he had taken a drink, which tasted fine.

He woke at daybreak to find he was freezing and the air was smoky.

He sat up and searched around in the gloom for his blanket but could not find it. His hand struck a sleeping man, who groaned. He felt in the other direction and again knocked against somebody else. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He realized that if he were to go out right now he was unlikely to find a space to fit back into, and outside it might be even colder. At least the smoke was giving a bit of warmth, and anyway he was not going to find the blanket right now. He lay back down and, humming to himself and rocking as if he were praying, managed to slip into a light sleep.

It was morning, and the others had gone out to have breakfast. Uri got up from where he lay prone, and looked for the blanket. He searched the whole hut without coming across it. It had undoubtedly been stolen, and if he had any money, that would have disappeared too. Good thing he had no money. If he had a pair of sandals, those would have been slipped off his feet. Good thing he had no sandals.

He set off after the voices fading into the distance and caught up with them at the plank crossing over the brook. They were engrossed with one another and joked with full bellies; no one spoke to him.

The dark blocks of the city wall, the Temple, the palaces and towers now sparkled with a golden color as the morning sun shone on them from the east, the direction of the Mount of Olives. Uri had trouble mapping out the buildings’ boundaries but could see the color well. He was lost in wonder that such a color existed.

The workers did not have to pay at the city gate; they were known to the guards. Uri wormed in among them, his head bowed, and was not noticed.

The foreman arrived at the palace late that morning. Uri stepped up to him, greeted him and asked whether he could be given an advance on his wages.