Chapter Five

Verse One

At twenty years of age, Jesus and I were skilled stone-cutters. Joseph, on the other hand, could hardly shape a decent block, and even then his corners were never sharp. When the services of my brother and I were contracted for, Jesus would bargain to get a common laborer’s job—fetching water and stone, holding planks as they were sawed—for our father. The first time he did this, I questioned him.

“Why can’t we just leave him home? I’d rather be away from him and, if anything, he slows us down.”

“He is still our father, Thomas. You know nothing makes him as irritable as being out of work. He is a proud man. Wouldn’t you rather put up with him at the job site than come home in the evening and find he’s been brooding all day?”

“No. That’s ten hours at work but only maybe two hours at home.”

Jesus raised an eyebrow and made a slight frown, like a teacher suggesting disappointment in a student. “What are you forgetting, Thomas?”

I thought for a moment. “He’s with Mother all day.” I realized how selfish I’d been, but I was relieved to think that Jesus was more concerned with Mother than with Joseph. We tried to keep these arrangements secret from him, but I suspect he must have known.

Occasionally, when things were slow, contractors could not hire both Jesus and me for the same job. That meant, of course, that they also could not hire Joseph.

Once, a man named Zebulun stopped me in the street as I was on my way home from the market. “Why are you here?” he asked. “I just left you to work at my house.”

“That was not I,” I said. “It’s my twin brother. You’re Zebulun, right? Jesus told me that he was to begin working for you today. Now I must take this flour and oil to our mother.”

“You lie,” he said. “I recognize you.”

“Take me to your house and you’ll see.”

We arrived at Zebulun’s home shortly, but Jesus was not there. “You liar! Do you not want to work?” Zebulun asked. “I’ll tell others not to hire you, for you do not honor your duty.”

“Sir, my brother is not like other men,” I said. “He shall do the work he promised you, but sometimes he honors duties that other men do not know. If he is not about, then he has found a higher duty for the moment, or at least as it seems to him. Show me what you had him do, and I’ll do the work until he returns.”

The truth was that Jesus sometimes wandered off on his own. It wasn’t that he was easily distracted, but that he liked spending time alone. Usually, he never let this penchant for solitude interrupt his work, though, and I worried that maybe that day he had.

Just then we heard voices from the outside. We left the house to find Jesus by the man’s back gate talking to beggars. “Away from here!” Zebulun yelled to the beggars. They stood, but Jesus gestured for them to sit.

Zebulun said to me, “So, you tell the truth. You have a twin, and he is not like others, for he attracts dogs that other men kick and scorn.” He turned to Jesus and said, “Why have you called these thieves to my gate?”

“They hunger,” said Jesus.

“So do thousands more,” Zebulun said. “You can spend your whole life feeding the hungry, and do you know what you’ll get? Even more of them! Let them feed themselves.”

“I have flour and oil,” I said. “We can make bread for them.”

“My employer is right, Thomas,” said Jesus. “They should feed themselves, but bread is not enough.”

“But we have no other food,” I said.

“There is food for the body, and there is food for the soul,” Jesus said.

Zebulun laughed. “Not satisfied with empty bellies, are you? You have to feed empty souls, too? Ha!” He curled his face into mock curiosity. “How is this food for the soul prepared?”

Jesus talked to the man about many things: about the soul that dwells in the body as we dwell in our land, about how one can become lost in one’s own land, about how one can give up one’s land to invaders or roam about the land seeking nourishment from leaves and roots. As Jesus talked, Zebulun became quiet and serious and sat with the beggars. After a few minutes, he went into his house and returned with bread, figs, and olives for all. “You have fed our souls, young man,” he said. “Now I shall feed our bodies.”

When all had eaten and the beggars had thanked Zebulun and left, I helped Jesus with his work. We finished by sundown, and the man paid us handsomely. “How did you become so wise, young man?” Zebulun said to Jesus.

“What is wisdom?” Jesus asked. “Is it not finding what one already has?”

Jesus spoke almost constantly in this strange fashion. The more cryptic his words, the more his listeners seemed fascinated. Some came to our house to hear him, to try to understand what they believed to be his subtle wisdom, and they called him a prophet.

Others snarled and said he spoke in mere riddles and called him a trickster.

To me, his voice became like beautiful songs, and I called him a poet.

I looked deep into my breast to try to find those words within me, but could not. We were two hatchlings from a single egg, but one soon flies and the other falls to the ground. Who can explain why they differ?

*

When James was about twenty-eight years old, he left home to live in Jerusalem. I was happy to see him go. He had become increasingly ill-tempered, starting political discussions but becoming furious with anyone else’s opinion. I suppose he was right to be impatient with the fatalism of most of our fellow villagers.

Our father was both pleased and worried. He’d encouraged James to be studious, and was happy that his son wanted to be close to the Temple. Joseph believed that the Temple should lead our nation, but he also said that the leaders had lost their piety. The Lord would restore things by and by, he said, but for now, we could only pay our taxes, cause no trouble, and wait for the Lord to rebuild his house.

James argued that our people suffered not from impiety but impurity. He was angry at the Romans not so much for being invaders as for being Gentiles. “They cover our land like boils,” James said. “As long as they walk our ground, we are like lepers of the spirit.”

“We are not the lepers, James,” I said. “The Temple cult collaborators whom you admire so much—they’re the afflicted ones. They’re the traitors.”

“Those you call collaborators,” said James, “are our only protection for our Jewish identity. Were it not for the Temple, you ignorant Galilean, you would now be wearing a tunic and carrying Tiberius’ shield.”

“Is Tiberius’ shield worse than the Temple’s coins?” I asked. James leapt from his chair to strike me, but Joseph, for whom age had been most unkind and now walked with a cane, reached out to stop him and fell.

Jesus helped our father back to his chair. “Fools!” Jesus said. “You think you can instruct each other when you have misled yourselves! You are more interested in bickering than in seeking the truth. Perhaps our father is right. Nothing can be done if I am to rely upon you to do it.”

“Forgive me, oh my wise brother,” I said, “oh my king who thinks he knows all that is best for people. You can rely upon me. Tell me what is to be done. Just tell me. Who are you today? Amos? Isaiah?”

I’m sure I hurt Jesus’ feelings, but when I was caught up in a moment of anger, the very confidence I often admired in him seemed more like sheer smugness.

“Watch me now, and you will know,” said Jesus, but then he said no more and went out into the night. When he returned the next morning, James had already left.