Fiction Snippet

First, I would like to give a shout out to frequent reader and occasional commenter OldAFSarge. Do yourself a favor and go checkout his WWII historical fiction posts. It's very good stuff especially for a history geek like me. 

As many of you are aware, My Sister...The Devil is the aspiring smut serious romance with fantasy elements author in the family. My dad has written a book or three as well though he has not yet, to my knowledge, published any to date. I, too, have been bitten by the writing bug (duh...that's why this blog exists), and I've had a novel idea kicking around in my head for the better part of a decade. 

The idea started back in the dark days of The Queen's Mystery Illness when she found comfort in "treasure hunt" novels. She had a particular affection for Clive Cussler novels which I find interesting as well. I also am a huge SciFi fan, and I once read a book by Mike Resnik called Ivory. This idea is taking those two elements, stuffing them in a blender along with a heaping liberty or ten with certain Biblical elements, hitting the puree button and walking away to find the right setting and characters for the story.

Since this idea was hatched, several snippets have been drafted. Some of which are temporarily detained on a crashed hard drive that I have not had opportunity to get to a competent computer geek to seek retrieval. What I am about to offer up to you is the "prologue" of what I hope will be a novel length story. Only a few people have seen this since it was first written. I'm going to try to crank out more snippets as time allows. Feedback, comments, constructive criticism and gentle corrections are welcome in the comments. Be kind. I've been nurturing this baby for a long time.

So, without further adieu, I give you the "prologue" to what I am tentatively calling "The Garment": 

Prologue

Cana in the province of Galilee during the reign of Emperor Tiberius

Walking through the marketplace of Cana is always a challenge for anyone. The crush of humanity all around can be overwhelming at times. There are people everywhere going about their business whatever that business happens to be. The bustling crowds make a vibrant background noise that is an ever present rumble of conversations, arguments, negotiations, meat sizzling over open fires, footsteps on cobblestones all punctuated by frequent shouts of vendors hawking their wares. Fortunately, the stables and animal pens were at the other end of town. Otherwise, the already confusing mix of aromas made up of equal parts produce, cooking food, flowers, spices, human sweat, bad breath and dry, dusty air would be impossible for him to breathe.

The stench of animal excrement would have ruined the lovely, mouth watering smell of the roasting lamb coming from one of the many merchant stalls in the market. Which stall in particular was not readily apparent, but he was certain he could follow his nose to the source were he so inclined.

For him, walking in the market was even more of a challenge than for most. Not that he stood out in a crowd. His appearance was unremarkable looking every bit the part of a Jewish carpenter that he had been to this point in his incarnate form. Those who did not know him barely gave him a second glance, a trait that would serve him well on occasion in the near future. The reason he had to exercise great care was to avoid leaving a trail of miracles in his wake before it was time for his true nature to be revealed. 

Just last night, his mother had asked him to turn water into wine at a wedding feast. Fortunately, the servants weren’t paying enough attention to what he was doing to remember that little feat. He had more to be mindful of now that the baptism his cousin John gave him a few days ago had resulted in a small group of disciples. They followed him everywhere he went, hung on his every word, and he had to see that their needs were taken care of as well as his own in addition to teaching them the things his Father had sent him to teach.

As he made his way through the market, he came upon a garment maker’s tent and heard the unmistakable voice of his Father once again.

“Go see the garment maker.” The Father’s voice said.

The life of a carpenter is hard on garments. His own garment, which covered his well muscled frame and tanned skin, was tattered and threadbare. As he reflected on this, he instantly knew the reason for his visit to the garment maker. His time was coming soon, and he needed to look less like a carpenter and more like a teacher.

He turned to his small gathering of disciples as they stopped behind him and spoke. “Cephas, I must see the garment maker. You and the others continue on the road to Capernaum, and I will follow soon.”

“Are you sure, Rabbi?” replied Cephas. Simon, a brash man with the worn hands of a fisherman and all the subtlety of a Roman Legion laying siege to a single house, still didn’t understand why he called him Cephas (meaning “stone”), and Simon wasn’t sure he was prepared to know the reason why since stoning was still a very popular punishment in Israel, Roman occupation or not.

“I am sure Cephas. Go.” he said.

As his disciples continued on, he stepped up to the garment maker’s tent. He took a moment to examine the garment maker’s work before turning to the garment maker herself. The garments were very well made, and he could tell that the maker had been at her craft for a long time. The garment maker was a woman not unlike his own mother though maybe a few years younger. She had dark hair that would have accentuated emerald green eyes had her head not been bent down over her work. She addressed him without looking up as she continued her work on a tunic.

“Your tunic will be ready before the sun goes down, Lord.” she said with the understated confidence of someone who knows her business.

“You do excellent work, but are you sure that garment is for me?” He answered to test her.

“Lord, I am quite certain this garment is for you.” She said emphatically. “You are the Messiah, and this is the garment that I was commanded to make for you.”

“Tell me how you came to know this.” he probed.

The garment maker answered him humbly saying, “Lord, an angel visited me in a dream four Sabbaths ago and told me to make a garment like no other. He said I should weave a tunic of the highest quality, of one color with neither spot nor blemish, simple in style but woven without seam from the top. He said that the tunic would need to last a lifetime and that it would be worn by the King of Kings. I was told to come to Cana, set up my tent and wait until the day after the wedding feast. He said that I would see only one person today, and this garment would be for that man.”

“You did this all because of a dream?” he asked.

“Yes, Lord.” She answered in a whisper.

“What is your name?” he asked her gently.

She seemed to ignore him for a short time as her hands continued about their appointed tasks. Finally, she stopped her activity for a moment, took a deep breath and heaved a tired sigh.

“Lord, I am but a simple garment maker, and my name is not worthy to pass your lips.” She said as she once again continued her work.

He was amazed by the intensity with which she worked. Her movements were precise. No effort was wasted. Her eyes were focused on the garment, and he realized that she had yet to look at him at all.

“Nonetheless, please tell me who you are and where you come from so that I can give you a blessing.” He said.

“You are too kind, Lord. I am of the tribe of Benjamin, and I come from Tarsus. I have a son, Saul, who is about your age. He is a tent maker and student of Gamaliel. I ask no blessing for myself, but I pray you will remember my son.” She answered.

“Your faith and humility are rare in Israel woman of Tarsus. Because of your faith in performing this service for me, I will remember your son as you prayed. If it is the will of God The Father, I will call your son and raise him up to perform a great work to spread the Word of God far and wide even to Rome itself.”

Tears began to form in the garment maker’s eyes as she whispered, “Thank you, Lord.”

She took a moment to wipe her eyes with a scrap piece of fabric and compose herself. Taking another deep breath, she finished stitching the hem of his garment. With a look of contentment that comes with a job well done, she straightened herself and held the garment out to him saying, “It is finished, Lord.”

He took the garment in his hands and examined her handiwork closely. The color was perfectly uniform with no stray threads of darker color mixed in nor any spots or blemishes just as she had said. The weave was tight and strong. It felt soft to his skin yet he sensed that it was more durable than the rough carpenter’s garment he was wearing. He knew instantly that the garment would fit Him comfortably.

“Your work is excellent, Susanna, daughter of Benjamin. I have never seen a garment of such high quality. It will serve me well. Thank you.” The Lord said.

She was momentarily stunned to hear her name spoken from his lips; but, just as quickly, she relaxed and reminded herself that she should have expected him to know everything about her. “A higher compliment I could not ask for, Lord.” She answered. “I must go now and return to my people. There is one other thing, Lord.”

“Yes?” he asked.

“The angel said that you would wear that tunic on the day you die three and a half years from now. I pray that the angel is wrong, Lord.” She said with a heavy heart.

“Angels are only messengers who speak the words they are commanded to by God the Father. Nevertheless, I too pray that my Father will spare me the suffering that has been foretold. Go, and peace be with you.” He said knowing that she had not told him everything of her dream, but the parts she had withheld were not about him or his future.

The day was coming to an end as the sun was getting low in the sky. The garment maker began packing her things for the long trek home after he had taken the road to Capernaum on the trail of his little flock of disciples. Just as the sun set, she lifted her burden and stood. As she straightened, the angel from her dream appeared before her. There was no mistaking him as his white robe was immaculate and perfect in every way gleaming as if in the full sunlight of midday despite the both of them being in the deepening shadows of sundown. He said nothing and merely tilted his head as if he were listening for a distant sound. Suddenly, he nodded once and took the garment maker’s hand. She trembled slightly at his touch both out of fear and awe. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen the two of them standing there one moment and gone the next as if they had never been.

 

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