An Easter Story (1)
The cold March winds blew gently off the Susquehanna River and crept through the rotting walls of the old abandoned shack as easily as the bugs crawled through the floor. Carol huddled in the corner of the dark empty building with her little brother, hiding under the thin blanket she had stolen from a clothesline a few days earlier. The pang of quilt returned, knotting up her insides as she admired the beautiful floral design that covered their only hope of warmth against the cruel cold winds that meant them harm. She knew taking the blanket was wrong. It was against everything her mother had taught her, but she had also promised to look after her brother and that meant finding something to keep him warm. She thought of her mother as the tears ran down her face leaving tell tale streaks across her dust covered cheeks. " Where are you mother?" She cried to herself. " How could you do this to us?" Carol knew her mother was a recovering alcoholic, but since she found the courage to leave their abusive father she had sworn off drinking and stayed with it. But Havre-de-Grace, Maryland was a long way from Houston, Texas for a job interview. " Maybe the job fell through and she couldn't take the pressure." Carol thought. " She probably went on a drinking binge with the money we had to hold us until she got a paycheck." The second thought caused a small twinge of anger. Carol felt Stephen starting to shiver so she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. " Don't worry Stephen." She said as she gently stroked his hair. " Mom will come looking for us and everything will be alright." Carol knew there were people that she could contact that would provide her and Stephen with food and shelter. But she also knew these same people would never allow their mother to take them back. Worse they would probably separate her and Stephen, and the three of them would never see each other again. Stephen was an adorable well-mannered little five-year-old with thick black wavy hair and beautiful pale blue eyes. Some young couple would give anything to adopt a little boy like him. But she knew she was a different story. She was fourteen. Which meant even a foster family may not want her. Plus, she knew she was a plain Jane. She was skinny as a rail with stringy mousy brown hair and plain old brown eyes, and she knew she had a tendency to speak her mind, which had resulted in more backhands from her father then she cared to remember. (But also gave her mother the encouragement to leave him). Carol heard Stephen quietly starting to snore and closed her tired tear filled eyes. The next morning brought the sun, warmth, and the sound of strangers. " What's that?" Stephen asked as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. " Shh." Carol cautioned, putting her finger to her lips as she got up and walked to the rear of the shack to peek through the cracks. The shack was well concealed from sight by the bushes and the woods thickery, but by straining to look through the breaks in the overgrowth she could make out the clearing by the water about fifty yards behind the shack. She saw what appeared to be an old man trying to lift himself up with what looked like an oversize walking stick, but everytime he lifted himself halfway up three teenage boys would push him back down which in turn would cause them to start laughing. " Hit them with your stick." Carol said quietly. " What?' Stephen asked, thinking she was talking to him. " Shh." She warned again. At first she thought about minding her own business and sneaking away with Stephen before they noticed the shack. But it wasn't in her nature to ignore someone being tormented and the thought left as quickly as it had come. Thoughts of what to do without endangering Stephen raced through her mind and within minutes she knew what she had to do. " Wait here and be quiet, understand?" She told Stephen as she pulled the blanket back around him. " Yes ma'am" Stephen answered as tears started to fill his eyes. " Such a young thing to be put through all this." She thought to herself. Thoughts of her being too young had never entered her mind. The years of watching her mother being beaten by her father and finally feeling his wrath herself had made her older then her years. Carol left the shack and carefully closed the squeaking door behind her. " Man I hope this works." She said quietly as she made her way through the trees and bushes so as not to draw attention to the shack. When she was sure she was far enough away that the shack would be safe she made as much noise as possible as she ran out of the brush and into the clearing. " Dad! Uncle Bob! I found grandpa. Some boys are picking on him." She shouted as she pointed in the direction of the boys. The boys looked at Carol, then in the direction of the woods and sure that they had seen two men they took off running. Carols heart stopped as she saw one of the boys running in the direction of the shack, but the boy must have realized that he was alone and quickly changed direction to followed after his friends. Carol ran to the old man, and to make sure the boys didn't stop to see what was happening she shouted her location to her imaginary father and uncle. A dirty face with sad blue eyes looked up at her as she reached down to help him to his feet. She had seen enough homeless people back home in Houston, but being from a upper middle class family she had never been this close to one before and was appalled at the smell, and realized if she and Stephen didn't get a bath soon they would smell just as bad. " Are you alright?" Carol asked as the old man got to his feet. " I am fine now. Thank ya missy." The old man said smiling. " That was some mighty quick thinking that father bit. Mighty quick." " My father and uncle really are coming." Carol said not wanting him to know she was alone. " No need to try an fool old Cort missy." The old man said as he tried to steady himself with his stick. " I already knows you an yer bother been staying in ma shack." He saw the worried look on her face and frowned. " Now don't ya fret none. That's why I been sleeping on this here beach. I didn't want to scare you two younguns." The old man started coughing which caused him to drop his stick and almost fall over. " Are you alright sir?" Carol asked again as she picked up his stick and handed it to him. " Just got a little leftover winter in ma lungs that's all." The old man answered hoarsely. Carol wasn't to fond of the idea of stranger knowing about her and Stephen, never-the-less knowing where they were or staying with them, but apparently the old man had known about them for some time and not only didn't bother them but was sleeping out in the open air just so he wouldn't . Which was probably how he caught his cold. Therefore she felt it was her fault he caught his cold and almost got beat up by those boys. " Let's get you inside." She said as she sucked in her breath and took his free arm. If Carol had any doubts about the old man they were soon dispelled, for as she draped the blanket over his shoulders he pointed to the floor-boards in the front right corner of the shack and instructed her to pull them up. Which she did reluctantly. With the removal of the first plank she saw a large blue bottle which she recognized immediately as spring water. Not the bottles that you bought at 7 - 11 but the big bottles that sat on the coolers she used to see in the doctor’s office. (Which thanks to her father she had seen all too often). The removal of the next two planks gave access to the water plus revealed a hot plate, a pan, and three cups. " I don't believe it. " She said smiling. " All the times we wished we had something to drink and there was water here all the time." " Sorry missy. But I was afraid if I approached ya, ya’ll would run off. An old Cort couldn't have ya roamin the streets all night." The old man said as he took a cigarette from somewhere inside his coat. He put the cancer stick between his lips, looked at the boy, then changed his mind and put it back into his coat. " Why don't ya brew us some tea missy while I entertain the boy with a story." " Tea?" " Lift up the next two boards there an ya'll find a box with provisions and an 'lectrical' cord already plugged into some juice." The old man answered as he looked at Stephen. " Ya like stories boy?" " Yes sir." Stephen answered shyly. " Then listen up boy and old Cort will tell ya a story that is true. A story of a time when I was a much younger man then I am now..." Carol went through the box and not only found tea but powdered milk, sugar, another pan, and a wide assortment of can goods. While she boiled the water she listened as the old mans story unfolded and found herself drawn into it as easily as Stephen, and although she knew he was making it up she found herself almost believing it. The old man talked of a time before the new, a time before the planes and automobiles, before trains and cowboys. Even before a land called the Americas. A time when the land was young and cities were made of stone and called by names such as Par-a-go-mas and Caes-a-re'-a. A time when he first became a gunslinger, only then they called him a barbarian. He told of how he had fought his way through a dozen guardsmen to a city called Jerusalem to kill the thief that had stolen his share of their quest. As much as she hated to interrupt him Carol broke in to ask how he liked his tea and noticed he no longer looked like a feeble old man but more like an old cowboy from an old western she had seen on television. She handed him his tea and he continued his story. "....I had taken the long way so's I could enter the city from the fer side. I knew I still had a few enemies in that region that would do me harm and would rather see them before they seen me. It had just gotten dark and the cold was beginning to pierce ma skin by the time I walked ma horse through the back entrance...." " How come you didn't ride your horse Mr. Cort?" Stephen asked excitedly. He had always loved horses and even had a couple back home, so just the mention off horses was enough to get his attention. " Good question boy." The old man called Cort answered. " It came from a lesson I had learned long ago just as yer sister learned. If ya don't want strangers to notice ya then don't appear a stranger. Walking ma horse into the city gave the appearance of a man out excersizing his horse and not a stranger riding into town." The old man took a sip of his tea and continued. " I had been to three stables before I found one with an empty stall to bed ma horse, which was surprising since most folk avoid the city lessen they had to, or at fair time, and then only so's they could trade their wares. That was cause of Pontius the Governor and his guardsmen. Ya see, the Governors guardsmen did mostly what they wanted and the governor looked the other way, and if ya got in their way or they got bored then they would either kill ya or throw ya in the dark place. So.’s I was quite surprised and a little nervous about the going ons. The stable master told me the inns were all full and with the trouble I had finding shelter fer ma horse I had no cause to call him a lair. So.’s I gave him another gold piece to let me bed with ma horse. I needed to know what was going on but I didn't want to draw attention to maself by asking questions, so I laid ma bedroll out by ma horse and went to the nearest ale house." The old man stopped and took another sip of tea. " Ya make a great cup of tea missy." " Thank you." Carol answered. Carol sat patiently watching the old man roll the cup of tea back and forth between the palms of his hands and noticed how strong they appeared and wondered if she had indeed made a mistake by bringing him here. After all, he apparently wasn't as weak as he seemed and she was beginning to think he really believed he was the man in his story. But at the same time she was compelled to hear his story. " Well?" She asked when she could wait no longer. " Well what missy?" " Did you find out what was going on?" " That I did missy." The old man answered, pleased that they were interested. " It seems they had scheduled a crucifix fer the following morning, in case yer wondering back then it was their way of punishing folk that they considered did crimes against god or country. Course back then most crimes were considered against god or country. Anyhow, it seems ma thief was one of them. Wasn't much I could go at the time so's I went back to the stable fer some sleep." The old man sat his cup down and reached for his cigarettes again then remembered the boy. " Couldn't you go visit him?" Carol asked. " Wasn't like it is now missy." The old man answered. " There was no jail and visiting days. There was the dark place and the cross. The dark place was a room under the palace where the catacombs of the sewers connected. Ya lived on what ever scraps were dumped down the kitchen drain and drank from the sewer. The dark place was death. And as bad as it sounds the cross was worse. For in the dark place there was always a chance ya could escape through the sewers, though I know of no man that ever had, but it was hope. The cross held no hope. If ya were sentence to hang on the cross then ya would go to Gol-go-tha. The place of the skulls. Then they would nail ya to your cross with large spikes and left ya to hang in the hot sun until ya died of dehydration, pain, or loss of blood. Whichever claimed ya first, and the people and guards was aloud to torment ya anyway they wished. Long as they didn't kill ya quick, or try to help ya. I had even heard of men being castrated by their tormentors. That's where my plan came in. I knew I could not talk to him before the hanging, so I figured I would hide ma horse near the place of the skulls and as soon as the crowd died down I would make ma thief a deal." " What kinda deal?" Stephen asked excitedly, his eyes staring widely in wonderment of the old man that no longer seemed so old. Even Carol was beginning to think he was getting younger as his story continued. But of course she knew it was her imagination. " Like I said, ya could torment them anyway ya wanted and folk love to torment those that can't torment back, so the cross was a slow and agonizing death, both physically and mentally. So I figured I would offer him a quick death in exchange fer the whereabouts of ma gold." " Weren't you afraid of getting killed?" Stephen asked. Usually there was only a couple of guardsmen guarding the crosses after they crowd left which was usually a couple of hours after the hanging. I figured I could kill them easily. But, as it turned out it wasn't your usual hanging." " Why was that?" Carol asked. " Because they had hung a man accused of blastemy and impersonating a king. So it turned out to be a very unusual day indeed." As Carol and Stephen listened the old man talked of the streets filling with more people then he knew to exist in one region to watch the "death walk". Only instead of referring to them as people he called them "dung heap vultures", and of watching one "foolish man" the guards called Ba-rab-bas suffer the wrath of the guardsman's whip while he helped one of the con-demned men up after he had stumbled while carrying his death cross, and since he had no interest in watching the condemned men carrying their own instruments of death through the streets he gathered his belongings and took his horse to the "safe place" by the hill and spent the rest of the afternoon sharpening his sword and arrowheads while he waited for the sun to get high in the sky and drive most the crowd back to the shelter of the city shade. As the old mans story continued Carol found pictures starting to form in her mind until it was like she was in a dream, only she was aware she was dreaming and was powerless to stop it. In her dream she saw herself surrounded by people wearing what appeared to robes like she had seen in the movie "Animal House", only she was still wearing her faded blue jeans and sweater, and as she watched the strange looking people crowed around her she realized that no one seemed to see her. After a few minutes of having fun making faces and waving her arms in front of people that could not see her she turned around. And her heart sunk. She supposed she knew all along who the king impostor was in the old mans story but to actually see him (or believe she did) was almost more then she could bear. She had seen movies about the crucifixion of course but they had always shown a handsome young man hanging on the cross with a peaceful look on his face with a thinly thorned crown on his head and a little cut on his side, usually with a few trickles of blood, but this man looked sad and in agony. He looked as if he was bearing the whole world upon his shoulders, even as he hung upon that cross. The crown he wore was thick thorns intertwined and placed snugly on his head, which cut into his forehead and left streams of dried blood all over his face. The cut on his side looked wide and deep, and had a constant flow of blood running down his side and as tears flowed down Carols face she could swear he looked at her and smiled. Then, from the corner of her eye she saw a tall man walking from a small cluster of trees from the left of the hill. Unlike the others he wasn't dress in robes but wore what looked to her like a towel around his waist. Crisscrossed on his bare chest were two wide leather straps, one held a quiver of arrows, the other connected to a large heavy sword. Across his back sat a long handmade bow and in his left hand he held the walking stick of the old man called Cort. As he walked to the hill of crosses she saw a strong, young version of the old man, and she found herself in total awe of him. As he walked up the hill and started talking to one of the men on the cross she saw herself hurrying through the gathering to be close to him, wanting, no, needing to her what was being said. The young barbarian stood in front of the crosses and looked up at the thief that hung before him. " Awake thief!" The barbarian shouted as he gently poked him with his staff. The thief opened his eyes and the barbarian saw pain that he would not care to experience. " I knew thou would come my brother." The thief said hoarsely. " Even a thief doe's not steal from his own brother." The barbarian answered. " I know thee not as my brother but as a dishonorable thief." " Do not judge me my brother, for I have been judge for my sins and forgiven. What I did I did for thee." " Explain!" The barbarian commanded as he noticed the shifting for the guards behind him. " Thine wars and thou quest have kept thee from the family for many years and the world has moved on." " I hath promised to return once my riches were made." The barbarian said with a sound of remorse. " Gold is not what thou family needed my bother. Were thoust aware thou's wife gave birth six months after thou left?" The barbarian started to say something but was cut off by the thief. " A beautiful little girl that grew to bear children of her own. She had wed a merchant from Ra'-ma who had moved to Jerusalem and became rich and influential with the high Priest and government. He had also become mean spirited and evil, twice he hath beaten my niece to but an inch of her life."
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Copyright © 1998 Clifton L. Martin |