Seeker Of Stars: A Novel Part 8

I was silent, feeling the grief. I felt a throb in my bad hand.

"It's one thing in a foreign land where everything is different and when we've been running for our lives, but now that we've made it, the ache rises up," Hasin said. "My father should be with us-or at home to hear our stories."

I wiped a tear. Balzar had been a father to me among the cabal, a force of laughter and love. There would be a huge hole in my life. I considered how much more Balzar's son would miss his father. The intimacy I had envied was now gone. I looked over and saw tears streaming down his face.

I had never tried to embrace anyone from a horse or a camel, and the task struck me as impossible now. Still, as we rode on in silence, I didn't want Balzar's son to interpret my silence as indifference. A tune Balzar had sung drifted into my head, and without thinking, I began to sing, remembering Balzar's rich voice as he sang it. I glanced over and saw a rainbow: tears pouring down Hasin's cheeks and across his smiling mouth, into his beard. When I finished, he said, "That was my mother's song. My father sang it to keep her memory alive. And now you have kept his memory for me. Thank you, my friend."

I bowed across my reins.

"I'm taking his name," Hasin said. "I'm to be called Balthazar from now on. It really is my first name, but my mother insisted on calling me by my middle name to avoid confusion. She never could say my father's full name correctly."

"She was half-Jewish, I think?"

"All Jewish actually."

"But Balzar said-"

"It was my parents' joke. That she was Jewish at home and Gentile in the world, so that made her half-Jewish."

I smiled, thinking of Reta, who played essentially the same game.

"So it is you who are half-Jewish ... like my child waiting for me."

Now Balthazar was intrigued. "Your child? Your wife ... she is a Jew?"

"Half-Jewish, your mother would say, but yes, Reta is an Israelite, and she will have borne my child while we have been on this journey."

"A good reason for you to hurry back!" Balthazar said, smiling. Then, setting his face toward the city, he said, "My hurry is pointless. I have no family waiting for me. Since my mother's death there has only been my father and I."

"I envied your closeness," I said.

Balthazar looked up with the unconsciousness of a child with a loving parent-to him, such a father was as natural and familiar as breathing, and he presumed it to be the rule.

"It is no consolation now that Balzar is gone," I said carefully, "but I think he was a rare treasure of a father. He taught me much about the kind of father I mean to be."

Balthazar took this in quietly. "I'm lost without him," he said.

"Come home with me," I said impulsively.

Balthazar shook his head with a laugh. "A new baby and a guest? I don't think so. You'll want to see your family."

"With all my heart, yes! And I mean no sacrilege to the infant king we have worshipped, but I suspect every baby needs as many admirers and lovers as possible. My brother will not be there to praise my son. Perhaps you could stand in."

Balthazar smiled again.

"I will warn you," I said, my light heart returning, "to be prepared with compliments for my child. And that I may not be an attentive host at all times."

Balthazar laughed again. "Your wife won't mind?"

I laughed. "Reta is a jewel. This will not trouble her!"

"As long as all is well then," Balthazar said. A brief jolt of anxiety ran over me but was soon gone again, serving only to increase my impatience to be home.

"Let's be there for dinner!" I took the reins in both hands and raced ahead of the servants, who hurried to keep up.

By the time we approached the city gates, the sun was low in the sky. We had ridden a three-week journey in nine days. We were worn, dirty, and exhausted. Our horses were weary. Balthazar and I left the horses in the care of the servants at the city gate. As we took leave of them on wobbly legs, I put an arm around each of the two faithful men who had served us well and without questioning; they had been pleasant and useful companions, and I told them so. I told them I would tell the chief astronomer and urged them to go home as soon as the horses were tended and word of our arrival was sent to the astronomers.

My legs were heavy on the ground and my bad hand twitched at intervals, but I was eager to be home. We met several people who greeted us, but no one spoke either of our journey or of my wife. It was good that way. I wanted no intermediaries.

The door to my home was opened by one of the Hebrew midwives, who smiled at my ragged appearance and pointed upstairs. I took the stairs in three bounds and ran into Reta's room, where she reclined on the bed, and I flung my head into her lap.

"Melchior! You're filthy!" The voice was my sister's. Reta's hands stroked my hair, unmatting and untangling it. I did not raise my head. For once, Daria would not be obeyed. Sensing either her own defeat or perhaps that she was intruding, Daria retreated down the stairs.

I looked up at last at Reta's face and marveled that I could ever have lost sight of who she really was. Her eyes were large and shining with joy and love. Our letters had pa.s.sed and the journey had stripped our hearts bare. I could tell I had been forgiven, though I still needed to ask it. In reply, Reta bent her head over mine and kissed me deeply.

"Now, Melchi, isn't there anything else you wanted to ask about?" she said, voice bursting with delight.

"The baby! Oh, Reta! The baby has come! I shouldn't-are you all right? The baby-is it-is he-it is a-"

Reta smiled and pointed to the small woven basket on the floor. There, nestled among soft blankets, was a tiny face whose beauty took my breath away. My eyes grew wide, and tears coursed down my cheeks.

"Our son," Reta said. "Just as we thought."

"And when?"

"Three days ago. I couldn't wait any longer for you. I'm sorry, Melchi."

"No. I'm sorry I wasn't here." I looked at my hands. "I can't pick him up. I'll ruin him."

Reta pointed to a basin and towel on the table, and I washed my aching hands and sand-etched face. Then I felt afraid to lift my son, afraid I would hurt him. I lifted the basket instead, and Reta scooped him out. Then the baby-my son-began to wail. Reta loosened her robe and offered a breast to the baby. I was filled with longing. She was more desirable than ever, and I remembered the Reta who had met me after another feverish journey so many years before. What was it about suddenly seeing this woman that destroyed my defenses? This time I would not forget. I would learn to savor this wife of mine so that familiarity would not become a barrier between us.

I stroked the baby's foot with a finger and then his hand, and his fingers curled around mine. I thought of that other baby holding my finger and my realization of who he was.

"I saw another baby, Reta."

"A baby?"

"The star led us to a king as we had thought, but he was just a baby-bigger than this, but still a baby. Reta ..." I paused, and she looked at me. "Reta, I think he is the one from your prophecies."

"The Promised One," she mouthed.

"The Messiah who will save his people," I said. "Reta, I worshipped him." Her eyes betrayed surprise. "I did. Reta, have I ever told you about my dream?"

She shook her head.

"You know the unmoving star-the one in the north? For as long as I can remember-before my accident, before my mother died, and Omar-I have had a dream where I reach up and touch the unmoving star and hold it with my hand and move about it in the dance of the night sky. Reta, when our baby holds my hand, I feel a sense of belonging-that my father and his father and I-all our blood is in his veins. I feel proud. But when this baby king held my finger, Reta-I was suddenly spinning around the stars. He was what I had sought all my life. I knew, Reta-I knew. You asked me once if I believed in my father's G.o.ds, if I worshipped them. I thought I did in my own way, as much as I could. But it has been the stars that have-they have been the object of my worship. Only now it is what is behind the stars. Who, I should say. Your G.o.d, Reta, has been leading me all my life to this journey. I have no idea why, but he dazzled me with his beauties, and now he's shown me his face. All I know, Reta, is that this is true, and I want you to teach me more about this G.o.d-me and our son."

My finger was numb in my son's powerful grip. I slipped it out and wrapped my arm around Reta, who sat taking it all in, much as the young mother in Bethlehem had. I could feel her smile against my arm and heard her whisper again, "The Promised One." She shifted and looked at the baby's face, as if to tell him the news, and said again, "The Promised One."

A knock came. Daria had returned and was standing in the doorway.

"Well, Melchior," she said, in her laughing, imperial manner, "it seems you have brought an equally grubby guest with you."

"Balzar's son," I explained to Reta. She nodded, an expression of pain and remembrance crossing her face, then smiled. Daria crossed her arms.

"Strange sense of hospitality, Melchior," she said, feigning petulance. "I don't know how Reta puts up with you. I hope your friend cleans up well."

I suddenly had a vision of this Balthazar in Daria's apartment, and the thought made me smile with possibility. "I think he will. And I think you'll like him."

She rolled her eyes, but she blushed.

"I'll clean up soon too, I promise. But Daria, how did you come to be here?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Someone had to deliver your letter to Reta. When Salvi came home with your letter, he wanted to stay at home for a while, he said, and he would help Leyla with the looms and would learn more about the trade. And Leyla and I both felt badly for Reta being here alone, so I invited myself to come and take care of things."

"There was never a more welcome guest," said Reta, smiling grat.i.tude at my sister.

I reached an arm out to Daria, but she snorted in disgust and headed downstairs.

The baby was now gazing around in wonder with his black-bead eyes.

"Hold him, Melchi," Reta said. She lifted the baby into my arms. I held my breath as I felt the gentle weight of him, the soft rise and fall of his chest under my hands. His head began to wobble to the side, but I caught it quickly. His eyes, bright dots illuminating them, searched the contours of my face.

"You have stars in your eyes," I whispered. "I'll show you all the stars, little one."

Then I gasped, realizing that I had righted my son's head with my bad hand. I thought quickly back and recalled pain and use of the hand on my trip home. We had been in such haste that I hadn't paid attention. With an electrifying chill, I became aware that I had been healing since the infant king held my hand. "I'll show you the unmoving star," I whispered to my own son.

I turned to Reta, who was smiling at us. "Does he have-we didn't talk about names," I said.

She shook her head. "I don't know what name is appropriate here. And I couldn't name him without you. I just call him my yalud-my own lamb."

I looked at him and flexed my hand. The idea forming in my head was too audacious. I felt self-conscious to say it even to Reta, and I could not think how my family or the cabal would respond. I stretched my hand once again and took the leap.

"The baby in Israel, the infant king, they called him Yeshua," I said. "Reta, I'd like to name our son after him."

Reta did not speak. I did not know how to read her silence, so I filled it with words. "I don't mean to be disrespectful. And I'm not sure what it means. It's just-I think I want to declare myself as a follower of your G.o.d, this Yeshua, the unmoving star."

Reta sat perfectly still as she spoke. "It means 'the Lord is salvation.' It was my own father's name." A smile dawned on her face. "Oh, Melchior, I can feel the stars dancing!"

If you enjoyed Seeker of Stars, I would be honored if you would tell others by writing a review. Go here to write a review on Amazon.

Thank you!

-Susan Fish.

References.

Cahill, Thomas. The Gift of the Jews. New York: Anchor Books, 1998.

Hoppe, Leslie J. A Guide to the Lands of the Bible. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1999.

Johnson, Paul. Civilizations of the Holy Land. New York: Scribner: 1979.

"Magus," TheMystica.org, February 14, 2012, http://www.themystica.com/mystica/articles/m/magus.html.

Meilsheim, D. The World of Ancient Israel. New York: Tudor, 1973.

Moss, Carol. Science in Ancient Mesopotamia. New York: Children's Press, 1998.

Service, Pamela F. Mesopotamia. New York: Benchmark Books, 1999.

Smither, Ethel L. A Picture Book of Palestine. Nashville: Abingdon-c.o.kesbury Press, 1947.

Thesiger, Wilfred. Desert, Marsh and Mountain. New York: Flamingo, 2001.

SEEKER OF STARS.

Published by David C Cook 4050 Lee Vance View Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.

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This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-4347-0727-7.

eISBN 978-0-7814-1102-8 2013 Susan Fish The Team: Don Pape, John Blase, Caitlyn Carlson, Karen Athen Cover Design: Nick Lee Cover Photo: Shutterstock First Edition 2013 Photo by Matt Fish SUSAN FISH is a writer, wife, and mother living in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada.

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