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I was walking alone and had just turned the corner of a building when I heard a familiar voice.
“So you don’t have your bodyguard with you today, eh?” I turned and saw Chuza, the boy who led the gang that accosted me previously. We were both alone.
I steeled myself to keep my voice steady. “No. And I see you don’t have your gang to back you up either.”
Chuza drew within a few steps and jutted out his chin. “Are you saying I couldn’t beat you by myself if I wanted to?”
I felt a nearly uncontrollable quivering in the backs of my legs, but Jesus had warned me not to show any fear. “I’m not saying anything. You’re the one who had to bring along four friends the last time you saw me. And you’re the one who backed off when just one guy showed up on my side. So I guess you know better than me whether you could take me by yourself.”
The other boy pointed his index finger toward my face. “Well, I could, and just you remember it. I could make you —“
But his remarks were cut short by the sudden bark of a man’s voice. “Hey, I thought I told you to get back out in the fields and pick more grain. What are you doin’ here makin’ polite conversation?” The man, who resembled Chuza so closely that he must be his father, grabbed Chuza by the arm with one hand and forcefully struck the side of the boy’s head with the open palm of his other hand.
I felt a jolt of shock. My own father had never once struck me in all my memory. The strength of Dad’s voice and logic were enough to keep all my siblings and me in line. Sure, I took the brunt of some minor roughhousing at the hands of my brothers, and a bit of bullying from boys like Chuza and his friends. My parents had often warned me that other kids didn’t have it as good as me, that they suffered beatings and forced labor, but I had never witnessed it first-hand.
The man was raising his hand to strike another blow when I suddenly cried out.
“No — wait, sir. He only stopped because I asked him something. Please don’t hit him on my account.”
The man turned on a pivot, his hand raised to lash out at me if need be. I remembered Jesus had referred to the man as Dov. He paused as he took in the richness of my tunic. “You’re calling me ‘sir’?”
“I always call my father sir, and he taught me to show the same respect to all my elders.”
Dov asked cagily, “And just who might your father be?”
“My name is Simon bar-Joseph. I think you’ve done some work for my father, so you probably know him well,” I said, grasping at the straw that Jesus had used to stop the gang of boys in that earlier episode.
The ploy apparently worked. The man lowered his hand and his voice, and relaxed his stance. “Why yes, I know your father well. He thinks good of my work and said he wants hire me on some of his projects again. You tell your father that Dov the carpenter said hello and that I look forward to workin’ with him again soon.”
“I will, sir.”
“So what are you talkin’ to my boy about? If he’s done you harm or owes you a debt, you just let me know. I’ll beat him to within an inch of his life.” To emphasize the point, he grabbed Chuza’s arm again and shook it so violently that the boy fell to one knee. I could see an expression of fear — coupled with resignation to the inevitable blow to come — in the other boy’s face.
The prospect of witnessing more violence, even against a boy who had picked on me, caused my stomach to knot up in terror. My mind raced for a plausible story.
“I — I was asking him to study with me.”
Dov gave his head a little shake as if he had not heard correctly. “You what?”
I continued with the thread that had leapt into my mind. “My father is making me learn to read, but I’m having trouble. I told Chuza that I’d teach him what I’m learning if he could help me study.”
“I can’t afford to pay for that.”
“It wouldn’t cost you anything.”
“And I need the boy out working in the fields to support his family.”
“We’d only study after he finishes his work, sir. He could come to my house. We’d only study two or three afternoons a week.”
Dov swung Chuza around to face him. “You gonna do this, boy? You gonna learn to read and get all fancy on me?”
Chuza’s bewildered eyes darted from his father to me and back again. “I — I...”
“Quiet, boy!” Dov turned back to me. “All right then, but if he doesn’t work hard and learn something, you let me know. He’ll have to answer to me. In fact, you can take him right now. If he’s going to learn to read, I’ll give him time off from his work.”
Shaking Chuza’s arm violently again, he barked, “Hear that, boy? This fine young man is giving you the chance of a lifetime, and you’d better not screw it up. I expect you to read something to me when you get home tonight.” He released Chuza and stormed off down the path.
In the wake of his father’s departure, Chuza took several moments to recover. Slowly, he turned to me. “So now what have you gotten me into?”
“I just didn’t want him to hit you, so I made up something really fast.”
“But now I have to learn to read or else he’ll really hurt me.”
I shrugged and held my palms out to my sides. “I have to learn too.”
Chuza nearly howled in rage. “You have to learn? I thought you already knew how to read. How are you supposed to teach me?”
I shrugged again. “I know some, but there’s still a lot more. Come with me to my house. We’ll start with the Greek alphabet, because that’s easier than Hebrew. I can teach you some simple words that you can show your dad tonight.”
When we entered the gate to the estate, Chuza stopped to gaze in awe. I guess my house and the surrounding buildings were more than he was used to.
“Are you home, Simon?” Mom called out as we entered the house. She stopped short when she saw Chuza. “Oh, you have a friend. And what is your name?”
“Er, Chuza, ma’am.”
“Welcome to our home, Chuza. Susanna,” she called through the doorway behind her, “bring a cup of water and some bread for our guest, Chuza. Joanna, bring a wet towel so Chuza can wash his feet. Hurry, girls!”
The boy looked like he felt awkward. Though it was customary in every household to offer hospitality to guests, I bet he was never on the receiving end and certainly not in surroundings like these. “That’s not necessary, ma’am. My feet are okay.”
Mom smiled but would not accept no for an answer. “You are a guest in my home and I insist on making you comfortable. Simon, what brings you and your friend home at this hour?”
“He’s going to teach me to read,” I blurted out. “I mean I’m going to teach him to read. I mean we’re going to help each other.”
Mom laughed. “Well, that sounds like a lot to accomplish, so you’d better get busy.” At that moment my sisters came into the room carrying a small portion of bread, a pitcher, a cup and a towel. After setting down the bread, Susanna filled the cup and offered it to Chuza, while Joanna poured some water onto a small towel and handed it to the boy.
“Hey, don’t I get a cup and a towel too?” I asked.
“Look, Mister, I’m not your servant. You know where to find them,” Joanna smirked, sharing a grin with our guest. “Chuza, you call me if you need anything, okay?”
The boy was flustered but managed to stammer, “Um, sure. Thank you.”
Joanna and Susanna both smiled at him before turning and leaving the room. Chuza gazed after them in silence, as if star-struck. I don’t think any girl had ever given him water before.
“Your sister, um, speaks out a lot for a girl, doesn’t she?” he commented.
I glanced toward the doorway they had just exited. “Oh, her? Yeah, but don’t ever cross her. She looks sweet, but if you ever make her mad, she’ll rub your face in the dirt and make you eat it. And as long as we’re on the topic of the women in my house, let me warn you about my mom. If she gives you any advice, or if she corrects you on anything you say or do, the easiest thing to do is just say thanks and do what she says. Don’t argue or else you’ll be sorry.”
“But she seems so nice.”
“She is. And if you ever give her a reason to get mad at you, you’ll wish she would beat you just to make the pain stop.”
I came across the room with some parchments and spread several of them out on the table. I also brought two quills and a small jar filled with a dark paste.
“Okay, I’ve go an idea,” I said. I pointed at one sheet on the table that bore a series of symbols. “This is the Greek alphabet. I think most of the people who hire your dad would probably speak and read Greek rather than Hebrew. Every single Greek word is made up by some combination of these symbols. If you can master these symbols, you can read anything.”
Chuza peered at the page and saw a little more than two dozen symbols. He obviously had no idea what any of them meant. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do that by tonight when I’m supposed to read for my father.”
“No, you won’t. I’ve been working at it for a long time and I’m still not very good. But today we’ll just go over the letters and I’ll teach you how to pronounce each one of them. You won’t be able to remember all of them on your first day, but I’ll help you write something that you can read to your father tonight. Maybe that will satisfy him. I’ve got a couple extra pieces of wood we can write on when you’re ready. I’ll help you draw each letter, and we’ll keep the message short so you can remember how to read it to your father. But the next time you come to my house, we’ll work harder on the rest of the alphabet.”
Chuza told me later what happened when he got home. His father roared at him as the boy entered the small house. He had one of his work partners with him, and they had already finished their first cup of wine and were starting on their second. Chuza’s stepmother, whom Dov had married after his first wife died, was quietly setting food out on the table and trying to stay invisible to avoid her husband’s attention. Chuza told me Dov might hit her if the food didn’t please him or he just felt like impressing his friend.
“Boy!” he roared again. “Come here.” Turning to his friend, he bragged, “My boy is learning to read with Joseph’s son. Boy, show us what you learned today.”
Chuza nervously approached the table. A wrong move or word could result in a beating. He spread out the parchment and said, “These symbols are the letters of the Greek alphabet. Simon told me that if I master these symbols, I could read anything.”
Dov peered at the symbols, impressed. “Then you’re damn well going to learn these symbols, like he said. Have you done so yet?” he asked menacingly.
Chuza and I had made sure he would be prepared for this, and he set down the piece of wood he had scrawled on. “I haven’t mastered them all yet because that will take much more time. But I wrote this with my own hand, and I can read it to you now.”
The father was beginning to slur his words as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Hear that? My boy’s learned to read! Go ahead and read to us, boy.”
Chuza pointed to each symbol as he worked his way through the sentence, to pace himself as he recited.
“Hear, O Israel. The Lord our God, the Lord is One.”
Chuza was greeted with a sudden silence that was almost ominous. In the stillness he was unsure whether to cower in fear or just wait patiently for whatever may fall. Then his father’s face took on a somber expression. “You wrote that? And you read it.”
“Er, yes. I’m sorry, it’s all Simon could teach me in one afternoon.
Dov wore a strange look on his face. He sat up straighter and it was a moment before he could speak. “Boy — Chuza, I should say — today you’ve brought honor to our family. My father’s fathers, wherever they might be, are smiling. You keep studying with Joseph’s son. You’re going to make us important.”
With that, Chuza started to gather up the parchment to leave. “Not so fast,” his father roared. “Those words you wrote and read to me —is that this piece of wood?”
The man looked at it briefly. “This one stays here. We’re going to nail it to the wall, and you’re going to read it to us every day before supper.”