Joy and Confusion, Both (Easter Day)

Note: the following is a fictional short story.

Just as I thought, as soon as we get to the merchant tents, Uriah ignores me and starts talking with the men. He’s getting leather and metal and things for Father’s shop. He’s the oldest, and so he’s been given coins to use as he sees fit, practicing at how he’ll run the shop one day. Uriah is nearly a man; soon he’ll be married to Rebecca. She lives down the street. Her family dyes wool and cloth. She’s super nice to me and one time brought me a scrap of cloth so blue it looked like water.

I stick around Uriah for a while, like Mother told me to. But it’s boring. Uriah just talks to his friends, exactly like Miriam does at the well. My older siblings are always talking instead of playing. I kick some rocks around and find a cool bug, but it runs away. I run away from a scorpion. Eventually, I wander away to where the big garden is.

There are a few places to climb trees close to home. The small garden by the house. A couple trees line the big road. But there’s nothing as good as this garden, and I almost never get to come here because it’s so far away.

There’s no gate keeping me out. Huge trees tower over me, leaning into each other, branches swinging down. Flowers pop up between roots. Grass tickles my ankles and toes. I take my sandals off and leave them by the edge of the garden. If I lose them, I’ll be in even more trouble than leaving Uriah.

I run my hands along the tree bark, tapping my fingers like I’ve seen Father do. I don’t know what I’m listening for. I nod my head at the trees. I find an olive tree but the olives are hard so I spit them out. Another tree looks like it has a round fruit, but I don’t know what kind. Mother has told me many, many times that I can never eat anything I don’t know. I hesitate, shuffling my feet, but eventually I leave the tree alone.

I go further and further into the garden until I find the perfect tree. It’s tall. Good bark for gripping. Wide branches I can reach and leaves to peer through. I start climbing, going higher and higher, until even Uriah couldn’t find me if he came looking. Which he won’t. He’s too busy to bother or play with me. Miriam scolds me a lot, saying I should have more respect for him because he’s the oldest. I try, but it’s hard. I like his almost-wife Rebecca better.

I stop for a moment, sitting on a branch and swinging my feet. I like being high up. It’s my own kingdom, my own place. Most of the family and guests have left the house by now, but there’s still not a lot of space with all my siblings.

After a while, I realize I hear voices. Something that sounds like my name, maybe? I don’t know. I go to a lower branch and part the branches, and I see two people talking. There’s a man, dressed in white, and a woman with a blue scarf around her head. I don’t know what they’re saying, but the man’s voice is familiar. I think I know him from somewhere. He’s shining like he’s got the sun on him.

Suddenly, the woman falls to her knees. The man picks her up and hugs her, and that’s when I recognize him for the third time. It’s the man! The not-prophet who came into the city on a donkey, cried blood, and was arrested. He was up on the stage with the governor while the crowd and Father shouted to crucify him. But if he’s dead…he’s not dead. He’s here, in the garden, hugging a woman who’s crying.

I cling to the tree branch. I now know something Father doesn’t. Should I say something? Father hates this man. He came home just yesterday, or two days ago, sad but firm. “He’s dead now,” Father had said. “I saw him on the cross. That’s what happens when you blaspheme God.”

But the man, who isn’t a prophet—or is one—is alive. What am I going to say? This is very, very big. Father isn’t angry anymore, but he might be if I tell him. I don’t want him to be upset, but he might be even more upset if he finds out I didn’t tell him. I lose my grip on the branch and fall the rest of the way to the ground.

I’ve fallen before, and I land on my feet, rolling onto my back. I lay there for a second, confused. What’s going on?

There’s laughter behind me, high and sweet, and I’m suddenly swept up and moving quickly. The sky and trees pass above me in a blur and I’m squirming into someone’s arms.

“He’s alive! Rabbi is alive!”

It’s the woman. I twist, but she just adjusts me, throwing me over her shoulder and I have a view of the garden going by. We’re running back to the city. She sounds happy, happier than anyone.

“He’s alive, boy, do you hear it! Hallelujah, praise Adonai!” She laughs again and I bounce against her back. She’s running so fast, carrying the both of us somewhere. I realize I left my sandals behind. I’m going to be late getting home. And if I tell Father about the prophet, not-prophet, it’s going to bring back the sad-angry look on his face. So I don’t want to. But it’s so big, coming back alive, that I think I have to.

It’s all so confusing. And I’m going to be in so much trouble.