Judas combed his fingers through his beard. “Well. I don’t understand. Something’s happened to him. I wonder whether what I’ve heard from my sources is true. No matter. No sense standing in the doorway. My wife’s off at the market otherwise I’d offer you something. Meantime, why not just bring him in?”
“What do we do with him?”
“Follow me. I’ve got the perfect place for him.”
They dumped Saul in the room behind the kitchen, shut and barred the door.
When they came to the house on Straight Street, they gave Saul wine to drink with water but he refused. Then they sat him down and kept watch over him. They carried him into the house, the companions, one on his left, the other on his right. Saul remained in darkness for three days. He rolled himself into a ball, shriveled in the corner, his knees tucked up into his chest. He slept all afternoon, and awoke after dark. He attempted to stand up, but settled for kneeling, and he groped around the walls, searching for the door. Cold and alone, he realized there was a reason why he was there, locked into this room, in the house of a stranger. Who was this Judas? What happened to have brought him to this lowly state?
He picked himself up from the dust and rose to his knees. Light shone through the cracks in the shades and the dust from the ceiling filtered and sparkled as it floated through the air and rested upon the floor. The light. He remembered it now. Light. Silence. Then pain. He gripped the soil and the voice of the man—whoever he was—was calling (“Saul! Saul!”) in Hebrew.
It was a crisis for Saul, this sudden blindness for three days. He neither ate nor drank anything, for his appetite was gone as often happened following a crisis of the soul. These were days of terrible stress and strain.
He waited, kneeling in the dark, waiting for somebody to come and tell him what to do. So he did the only thing he could do: He prayed.
The End of the Excerpt
Visit Tucker Cordani's blog at http://tucker-cordani.blogspot.com
Showing posts with label Tucker Cordani. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tucker Cordani. Show all posts
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
"Paul in Arabia: A Novel" by Tucker Cordani, Part Three
Judas was Paul’s contact in the city. He worked as a merchant but he had been contacted by the high priests. He anxiously awaited the arrival of this man, Saul of Tarsus, of whom he had hear such ill repute.
Saul vaguely knew of Judas, had heard little of him. He agreed to harbor Saul but had severe misgivings because of the Pharisee’s reputation as a man filled with violence, anger, and hatred. He feared of the livelihood he might have lost, and for his family. But he liked to listen to the Christians in the market squares preaching on the Word. It bothered him that they talked as they did in the synagogue, their speech skirted the blasphemous. Judas remained a devout follower of the Law.
The others arrived with Saul at the house. The stood beneath the awning, long spears in their hands, horses trolling the soil behind them, sweaty and combative in the early afternoon.
Judas met them at the door. He was very tall and talked down at them, scratching his beard as he mumbled at them.
“Well?”
“Saul. I bring you authorization from Annas and Caiaphas.”
“So I see. Where have you been?”
“Something happened on the way into the city.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Saul stood before Judas in the doorway; he was shrunken, silent, cowed.
Judas was sizing Saul up. So this is the great Saul of Tarsus, he was thinking. Not at all like I envisioned him.
“What happened?” he asked. “He get scared by a gnat or step on a scorpion? They say you’re the man that led the charge against the Christians in Jerusalem. Now here you are, fearful and trembling like a kitten. What happened? Say something. How is it you are presented to me speechless and trembling as a waif who can’t look another man in the eye?”
The Jew from Tarsus couldn’t hear any better than he could see; his head continued ringing. He could hardly make sense of his own mind. Why was this man—a fellow Pharisee—mocking reviling him for having been punched into the ground by a man from another world? Jealously. That’s what it was. It wasn’t my problem that I was advanced in wisdom and learning beyond my years. That’s how God created me to be: a genius who will save the Jewish nation from the scourge of this new uprising. The old gray-grizzled jackals are jealous because I am where I am at twenty-five where they haven’t gotten their entire lives.
One of the guards was looking over his shoulder. The parades through the streets clamored up and down the alleys, with music and noise. “What’s the commotion?” he asked.
“Aretas, king of the Nabateans, who controls this city. He’s appointed some new governor to rule over the city while he’s in the desert capital, a place called Petra, so-named because it is a great rose-colored city hewn out of rock in the badlands of Arabia. It is said that Petra is a city so glorious God himself could not have hewn it from the rock. Now there’s all this festooning all over the city. Everybody’s drunk, rioting, dancing and cavorting in the streets. The new governor lives by the temple of the all-power God of the Romans, Jupiter.”
“Make up your mind, Judas. Do you want him or not?”
Visit Tucker Cordani's blog at http://tucker-cordani.blogspot.com
Saul vaguely knew of Judas, had heard little of him. He agreed to harbor Saul but had severe misgivings because of the Pharisee’s reputation as a man filled with violence, anger, and hatred. He feared of the livelihood he might have lost, and for his family. But he liked to listen to the Christians in the market squares preaching on the Word. It bothered him that they talked as they did in the synagogue, their speech skirted the blasphemous. Judas remained a devout follower of the Law.
The others arrived with Saul at the house. The stood beneath the awning, long spears in their hands, horses trolling the soil behind them, sweaty and combative in the early afternoon.
Judas met them at the door. He was very tall and talked down at them, scratching his beard as he mumbled at them.
“Well?”
“Saul. I bring you authorization from Annas and Caiaphas.”
“So I see. Where have you been?”
“Something happened on the way into the city.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Saul stood before Judas in the doorway; he was shrunken, silent, cowed.
Judas was sizing Saul up. So this is the great Saul of Tarsus, he was thinking. Not at all like I envisioned him.
“What happened?” he asked. “He get scared by a gnat or step on a scorpion? They say you’re the man that led the charge against the Christians in Jerusalem. Now here you are, fearful and trembling like a kitten. What happened? Say something. How is it you are presented to me speechless and trembling as a waif who can’t look another man in the eye?”
The Jew from Tarsus couldn’t hear any better than he could see; his head continued ringing. He could hardly make sense of his own mind. Why was this man—a fellow Pharisee—mocking reviling him for having been punched into the ground by a man from another world? Jealously. That’s what it was. It wasn’t my problem that I was advanced in wisdom and learning beyond my years. That’s how God created me to be: a genius who will save the Jewish nation from the scourge of this new uprising. The old gray-grizzled jackals are jealous because I am where I am at twenty-five where they haven’t gotten their entire lives.
One of the guards was looking over his shoulder. The parades through the streets clamored up and down the alleys, with music and noise. “What’s the commotion?” he asked.
“Aretas, king of the Nabateans, who controls this city. He’s appointed some new governor to rule over the city while he’s in the desert capital, a place called Petra, so-named because it is a great rose-colored city hewn out of rock in the badlands of Arabia. It is said that Petra is a city so glorious God himself could not have hewn it from the rock. Now there’s all this festooning all over the city. Everybody’s drunk, rioting, dancing and cavorting in the streets. The new governor lives by the temple of the all-power God of the Romans, Jupiter.”
“Make up your mind, Judas. Do you want him or not?”
Visit Tucker Cordani's blog at http://tucker-cordani.blogspot.com
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
"Paul in Arabia: A Novel" by Tucker Cordani, Part Two
Saul looked up to the precipice to see a man in white, a lone figure silhouetted against the sky, looking down at him. Saul saw the glorified body of Jesus of Nazareth alive forever after he was crucified and died and resurrected.
He did not believe what he was hearing. Who? Jesus of Nazareth is dead. He was crucified in Jerusalem two years ago. Caiaphas and Annas confirmed this, that this Jesus died on the cross during Passover. They buried him in the sepulcher but then the disciples came in the night and stole the body so they could say he rose again. Pilate let it happen. He never should have washed his hands of this ordeal. That was two years ago and I wasn’t there when it happened. Then what am I doing on my back with my arms outstretched to the sky?
“Jesus of Nazareth is dead,” Saul said.
“Get up and go into the city and there you will be told what to do.”
“What then?”
“It is hard for you to kick against the goad,” the Lord said and then he went away.
Saul was blind. Not a blackness, but twilight, a state of grayness and oblivion. He couldn’t hear very well and for some time remained speechless.
The men traveling with him looked like trees, grayish figures against the murkiness, some standing over him like trees. They glanced nervously around, hands on their scabbards, ready to draw and despoil the marauder.
“What happened to you, Saul?” one of them said.
“We heard the voice but didn’t see anybody. Who was it that was speaking to you?”
“I didn’t hear anybody,” the other said. “But I saw the light. It was as bright as a thousand suns.”
“Are you okay, Saul?”
“I’m blind. I can’t see. Help me from the ground.”
He lay on his back, arms toward the sky, his cape sprawled around him, blind eyes suckling the last of the light, which had faded away with the Lord. He clutched handfuls of sand to maintain a grip on reality.
The soldiers looked on him. It was pathetic to see the masterful Saul, victorious and vicious persecutor and conqueror of the disciples, now helpless as a child.
They helped him from the ground and then led him by the hand into the city. They entered through the western gate into an alley that led to the agora. The temple of Jupiter towered over all the buildings, constructed by the fearful Romans when they held the city. Before Aretas, the Nabatean. Now he had some governor holding sway but things were about to change again. The new governor wasn’t working out very well and the king wanted to replace him.
They continued their procession through the city. They walked—or, the soldiers walked; Saul followed as they led him by the hand like an old blind beggar.
Like an animal, Saul’s sense became more acute. He could hear things he ordinarily couldn’t hear: the magnificent sounds of the bustling agora. Instead of going to the synagogue, they turned and traveled south down a small side street, and then onto the Street called Straight, the city’s thoroughfare. Why go to the synagogue? Saul was too shocked to pray and he could not read the scrolls.
A man approached offering a bowl of something stewed and aromatic but the other guard, Demetrius, pushed him away. “Get away, you toothless, bearded maggot.” Saul felt too scared to make any moves or even to speak. He knew the situation, simply ignored the merchants who tried to push on him their wares. The noise from the nearby Agora—the music, the vendors, the monkeys screeching, and elephants trumpeting as they moved slowly through the streets—frightened Saul, because though he could distinguish between the noises he remained disoriented from the fall.
Visit Tucker Cordani's blog at http://tucker-cordani.blogspot.com
He did not believe what he was hearing. Who? Jesus of Nazareth is dead. He was crucified in Jerusalem two years ago. Caiaphas and Annas confirmed this, that this Jesus died on the cross during Passover. They buried him in the sepulcher but then the disciples came in the night and stole the body so they could say he rose again. Pilate let it happen. He never should have washed his hands of this ordeal. That was two years ago and I wasn’t there when it happened. Then what am I doing on my back with my arms outstretched to the sky?
“Jesus of Nazareth is dead,” Saul said.
“Get up and go into the city and there you will be told what to do.”
“What then?”
“It is hard for you to kick against the goad,” the Lord said and then he went away.
Saul was blind. Not a blackness, but twilight, a state of grayness and oblivion. He couldn’t hear very well and for some time remained speechless.
The men traveling with him looked like trees, grayish figures against the murkiness, some standing over him like trees. They glanced nervously around, hands on their scabbards, ready to draw and despoil the marauder.
“What happened to you, Saul?” one of them said.
“We heard the voice but didn’t see anybody. Who was it that was speaking to you?”
“I didn’t hear anybody,” the other said. “But I saw the light. It was as bright as a thousand suns.”
“Are you okay, Saul?”
“I’m blind. I can’t see. Help me from the ground.”
He lay on his back, arms toward the sky, his cape sprawled around him, blind eyes suckling the last of the light, which had faded away with the Lord. He clutched handfuls of sand to maintain a grip on reality.
The soldiers looked on him. It was pathetic to see the masterful Saul, victorious and vicious persecutor and conqueror of the disciples, now helpless as a child.
They helped him from the ground and then led him by the hand into the city. They entered through the western gate into an alley that led to the agora. The temple of Jupiter towered over all the buildings, constructed by the fearful Romans when they held the city. Before Aretas, the Nabatean. Now he had some governor holding sway but things were about to change again. The new governor wasn’t working out very well and the king wanted to replace him.
They continued their procession through the city. They walked—or, the soldiers walked; Saul followed as they led him by the hand like an old blind beggar.
Like an animal, Saul’s sense became more acute. He could hear things he ordinarily couldn’t hear: the magnificent sounds of the bustling agora. Instead of going to the synagogue, they turned and traveled south down a small side street, and then onto the Street called Straight, the city’s thoroughfare. Why go to the synagogue? Saul was too shocked to pray and he could not read the scrolls.
A man approached offering a bowl of something stewed and aromatic but the other guard, Demetrius, pushed him away. “Get away, you toothless, bearded maggot.” Saul felt too scared to make any moves or even to speak. He knew the situation, simply ignored the merchants who tried to push on him their wares. The noise from the nearby Agora—the music, the vendors, the monkeys screeching, and elephants trumpeting as they moved slowly through the streets—frightened Saul, because though he could distinguish between the noises he remained disoriented from the fall.
Visit Tucker Cordani's blog at http://tucker-cordani.blogspot.com
Monday, March 23, 2009
"Paul in Arabia: A Novel" by Tucker Cordani, Part One
Chapter One: A Street Called Straight
Saul was impatient. He could see the walls of the city, the overarching of the Jupiter temple, cutting into the desert skyline. He wanted to reach the synagogue soon so they could pray. It was about noon.
His zeal as Saul the persecutor increased with success. The more he killed, the more he wanted to kill, felt entitled to kill. Threatening and slaughter had become the very breath he breathed, like a warhorse that sniffs the smell of battle. He breathed on the other disciples the murder that he already had breathed in from the deaths of the others. He exhaled what he inhaled. Jacob had said: “Benjamin is a ravenous wolf; mornings he devours the pray, and at evening he distributes the spoils.” The greatest son of Benjamin was fulfilling this prophecy.
The taste of blood in the death of Stephen was pleasing to Saul, and now he reveled in the slaughter of the saints, both men and women. He was exceedingly mad against them.
He wanted to kill more Christians, to stamp out this sect. Filled with heresy, it defiled the sanctity of the Temple. In his rage Saul prayed to the Lord to take vengeance upon the malefactors, the men and women who followed the Way.
The leather pouch slung around his shoulder bore the letter written by Caiaphas authorizing Saul to take these interlocutors back to Jerusalem in chains.
Saul remembered the sight of the crucifixion, the criminals hung high on cross set against the sternness of the sky. There they stood along the roadsides between Jerusalem and Damascus, dozens of corpses fixed upon the crucifixes, the sight of Roman-style justice deserved for offenses committed against the Empire.
Suddenly Saul was thrown to the ground. A great light flashed in the sky and he heard a voice calling his name.
“Saul! Saul!”
“Here I am, Lord,” Saul said.
“Why are you persecuting me?”
The voice spoke to him as a man reprimands his son. He spoke to Saul in Hebrew, called him by his Hebrew name.
Saul held his hand before his face, to shield his eyes from the sun. Too late. The light continued to ring inside his head and he knew he could do nothing.
“Who are you, Lord?”
“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”
The Lord looked upon Saul from his seat in the sky, loving him, pitying him, but wanting him to understand his message and to know he was the truth by the very sound of his name.
Visit Tucker Cordani's blog at http://tucker-cordani.blogspot.com
Saul was impatient. He could see the walls of the city, the overarching of the Jupiter temple, cutting into the desert skyline. He wanted to reach the synagogue soon so they could pray. It was about noon.
His zeal as Saul the persecutor increased with success. The more he killed, the more he wanted to kill, felt entitled to kill. Threatening and slaughter had become the very breath he breathed, like a warhorse that sniffs the smell of battle. He breathed on the other disciples the murder that he already had breathed in from the deaths of the others. He exhaled what he inhaled. Jacob had said: “Benjamin is a ravenous wolf; mornings he devours the pray, and at evening he distributes the spoils.” The greatest son of Benjamin was fulfilling this prophecy.
The taste of blood in the death of Stephen was pleasing to Saul, and now he reveled in the slaughter of the saints, both men and women. He was exceedingly mad against them.
He wanted to kill more Christians, to stamp out this sect. Filled with heresy, it defiled the sanctity of the Temple. In his rage Saul prayed to the Lord to take vengeance upon the malefactors, the men and women who followed the Way.
The leather pouch slung around his shoulder bore the letter written by Caiaphas authorizing Saul to take these interlocutors back to Jerusalem in chains.
Saul remembered the sight of the crucifixion, the criminals hung high on cross set against the sternness of the sky. There they stood along the roadsides between Jerusalem and Damascus, dozens of corpses fixed upon the crucifixes, the sight of Roman-style justice deserved for offenses committed against the Empire.
Suddenly Saul was thrown to the ground. A great light flashed in the sky and he heard a voice calling his name.
“Saul! Saul!”
“Here I am, Lord,” Saul said.
“Why are you persecuting me?”
The voice spoke to him as a man reprimands his son. He spoke to Saul in Hebrew, called him by his Hebrew name.
Saul held his hand before his face, to shield his eyes from the sun. Too late. The light continued to ring inside his head and he knew he could do nothing.
“Who are you, Lord?”
“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”
The Lord looked upon Saul from his seat in the sky, loving him, pitying him, but wanting him to understand his message and to know he was the truth by the very sound of his name.
Visit Tucker Cordani's blog at http://tucker-cordani.blogspot.com
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