Читать книгу Time - Alan Sorem - Страница 6

Two months earlier it had not been an easy death for his father.

Yosef had purchased a cartload of quality cedar wood in Selame at an excellent price. As he and his pony made their way south to Nazareth, the bright sunshine gave way to a gathering storm. Yosef urged the pony onwards, but they could not outrace the steady cold rain that soon fell.

Finding no shelter nearby, Yosef struggled onward with his valuable purchase. He and the pony at last reached home. Both were soaked and chilled to the bone. The pony was taken to the stable at the side of the house and rubbed down. But warm towels did not calm Yosef. His chest rumbling with a deep cough, he took to his bed and did not rise from it.

Through day and night his wife and seven children took turns keeping vigil at his bedside. Now, on the eighth day, the oldest son, Yeshua, watched over his father in the early hours before dawn. Miriam had wanted to stay but he quietly urged her to go his sisters’ room. She went. He slipped into the chair his mother vacated.

“Call me if there’s a change,” Miriam whispered. He nodded and turned to Yosef. The raw gasping for breath had begun two days ago. Tonight the mixture in the tea had helped Yosef to sleep but the gasping was increasingly labored. His once-muscular frame was drawn in and shrunken.

Yeshua shifted in the chair for a more comfortable position. Years ago Yosef had made the chair and all the other furniture in the room: two chests for clothing, a simple bed frame, and a small table on which the single oil lamp illuminated the room. “He has a gift with wood,” Miriam had often remarked.

The gasping changed, modulating to a quieter, less desperate sound. Yeshua wondered if it was a positive or negative sign.

The only other family member he had watched in death throes was his uncle. Cleopas was chasing a maverick ram when he fell in the field against a sharp rock that sliced through his cloak and cut his chest open. The shepherd ran to the village. Yeshua and others had hurried back to the field and carried Cleopas to his home. He, too, had had rasping breath before he died, just after sundown.

The breathing changed. Yeshua leaned closer and saw the twitching eyelids. His father was dreaming again. The mixture in the tea had not been strong enough to release him from his dreams.

Yosef’s body jerked suddenly and his eyes opened, focused on his oldest son.

“Help me up.” Effort at speaking cast spittle on his beard.

“Father, you must calm yourself.

“Help me up!”

The chair creaked as the son leaned forward and slid an arm under Yosef’s shoulders and tilted upward. His father’s eyes filled with tears.

“My beloved son.” He paused for a moment, gathering more breath to speak. “Tell me again. The wonderful words of the prophet Micah.”

Yeshua nodded. “‘What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly in the way of the Lord.’”

Yosef stretched out a trembling hand and laid it on his son’s head. “I give you my blessing.” His hand fell back to his side. Yosef’s eyes closed.

“Help your mother,” he said weakly. “She has been a good wife.”

The curtain at the doorway rustled as Miriam rushed in. Behind her, his two sisters peered into the room.

“I heard voices.”

“He is struggling to speak,” Yeshua replied. “I fear he is near the end.”

Miriam knelt by the bed and began kissing her husband. “Yosef, oh my dear Yosef!”

His eyes opened. “Miriam,” he said and cleared his throat. “Miriam.” He paused for breath. “I was never the one to speak of it.” He glanced towards Yeshua. “You must tell him.”

Yosef’s hands clutched at her as he tried to pull himself further up. His eyes implored her. “It is your story.” He fell back. “Your story.”

At the doorway, sisters Elisheva and Rebekah held the curtain to one side as their brothers poured into the small room. Yaakob, the next oldest to Yeshua, was the most alert, his eyes focused on his father. The face of Yosa, “Little Yosef,” was grim. Yehuda rubbed sleep from his eyes as Shimeon, the youngest, limped into the room, his eyes moist with tears.

Yosef’s gaze rested on the faces of his children and he mustered strength to speak.

“I love you all. You have been a blessing to me.” He coughed harshly. “Listen to Yeshua.”

The voice faded. Yosef gasped twice more. The eyes that had shone in the light of the lamp turned dim and cold.

Yeshua lowered him to the bed.

“He trusted me,” Miriam said softly. “May the Lord bless him forever.”

Yeshua glanced at her, puzzled by her words. She turned to him.

“Say the prayer,” she murmured fiercely. “Say it now, while he is still warm.”

There was no puzzle about these words. Yeshua nodded. He lifted his hands upward and spoke.

“Heavenly Father, our help in every time of trouble. May your great name be exalted and sanctified in the world, which you created according to your will. Establish your kingdom; may your salvation blossom and your anointed be near. Receive now your servant Yosef. May he hear your words of welcome, ‘Come, O blessed faithful. Enter the joy of my heavenly home and rest from your labors.’” Yeshua paused. “So be it, now and forevermore.”

Miriam and the others said in unison, “Dominion and fear are with him; he makes peace in his highest heaven.”

Yeshua’s hands lowered.

“Thank you,” Miriam whispered. His sisters began the keening ululations of mourning. Beneath the sounds of grieving, she turned to Yeshua and spoke, her voice heavy with emotion.

“You are the head of our house now.”

“Yes. But what is it you must tell me?”

“Not now. Once all has been done according to our ways.” Miriam raised a hand to caress his face. “Yeshua,” she whispered. Then she turned and fell across her husband’s lifeless body, her cries mingling with those of her daughters and her tears falling alongside theirs.