Once I'd caught my breath, properly mourned the loss of both my winnings and the coins stolen by that little street rat, I made a new notch in the bark of my brain: one recruit down. Onward.
Hopefully.
My legs were still attached. Barely. But they moved.
So I limped to the edge of the alley and crossed an invisible threshold, stepping into yet another dried-out vein of this godforsaken city. Still narrow, but a little lighter. The clay houses were pressed up against one another, stripped down to their brick bones. And then — I saw a crushed pomegranate.
After vomiting up the cheese I'd eaten back at the artist's place, I realized I was starving. And right next to the pomegranate was a dead pigeon.
No, no, dear World. You won't make me boil that into soup. I'll find a trader instead, and— Oh right. I'm broke.
The thought of my lost money shoved me back into the pit of despair. Somewhere nearby, a dog howled, and I followed suit. Much quieter. Far less convincingly. That's when I noticed two pairs of eyes watching me with interest.
Before I could get a proper look, a lunatic lunged at me, arms raised, grabbed my neck, and shouted twice:
It's coming! It's coming! It's almost here! Dark times, my friend!
Then he let go and sprinted off down the alley to preach at a group of drunken, pissed-off thugs. Oh for fuck's sake… am I being followed by these freaks?
But I remembered the other two watching me.
Sure enough, there they were — two boys tucked near a column, looking like misery incarnate, draped in tunics down to their ankles, cinched with bits of rope. One of them wore sandals ten sizes too big, tied at the ankles, and I instinctively checked my own feet — just in case.
Their hands were supposed to be stretched forward, like beggars do, trembling with hope — if hope could still tremble. But they didn't even have the strength for that. Just two hungry ghosts, standing there, watching me like I might toss them a bone. Even a gnawed one.
Poor souls.
Maybe it was the beating in the alley, or maybe something just snapped in me — but for some reason, I suddenly really wanted to give them alms.
I swear to you, I've never done that before! Never stooped so low! Everyone's got their own path down the sloping scale of shittiness, and I never made a habit of interfering with gravity.
Still, I squatted down and whispered:
Boys… I would give you something… but I got cleaned Gutted like a fish. I've got nothing. Come back here tomorrow — I'll get you food. I'll help you out. Is that so? Has your path already ended?
I flinched. Couldn't help it. They'd caught me off guard again.
It seemed that Thomas (that's me) was getting a little less jumpy, which meant losing my edge — and possibly getting mugged even more than today.
There, standing to my left, was a man of extremely exotic appearance. Never seen anything like him in Capernaum or Cana. Though, I mean, after yesterday's meeting with Philip, I shouldn't be shocked by anything anymore.
Yellow robes draped over one shoulder. Okay. People wear all kinds of things. Dark-skinned? So am I — more or less.
Hair done up in a fancy knot on top of his head — now that was stylish. I made a mental note: if I ever manage to grow it out, I'll try that.
What else have you got for me, sir? Mysterious smile? Eyes full of hidden meanings?
Please. I've run into more mystical types this week than a preacher at a mushroom farm. You'll have to try harder.
The stranger reached into his sash and pulled out a handful of coins, placing them gently in the outstretched palms of the hollow-eyed boys.
Not everything that comes to you is meant to And not everything that leaves… is lost. Oh great. Another quote I have to carve into the damn bark of my brain.
Then he turned to me and said:
Do you see the mist over those hills? Can you see it? So far, I've only seen mist in your Could you maybe speak plain? Also — thanks for helping the kids. You probably saved those little boys' lives. So yeah, I'll listen to your sermons. But not too long. I've got a sermon limit, you know. Then I've come too early… – the stranger whispered, tracing a line from his eyes with his index finger. – They misled me… mixing past and future.
No point in lingering, then. My path hasn't yet revealed itself. And Sujata… she's already started cooking rice with milk. Somewhere under the fig tree. I'm off to find her. Give my respects to Jesh, traveler. From Siddhartha.
And with that, he left, barefoot heels gleaming in the dust.
Everyone's searching for something. He's got his path, and I've got mine. Not as elevated as his, sure, but truth is truth.
I probably should have chased after him — asked how the hell he knew Jeshu. But from experience, I knew these types. He'd just drown me in metaphysics and then give me some "task" to open my "third eye."
And I haven't even mastered the first two. Still seeing blurry from all the head trauma.
The boys were still standing there, frozen, just staring at the coins the stranger had given them.
Come on, kids, buy yourselves What are you standing around for? You'll just get robbed again.
My logical advice had zero effect. Figures. I was about to leave when it hit me — street rats always know what's going on in the city. Maybe they'd know where Matthew was?
I carefully described his appearance. They thought about it, and one of them finally answered, barely opening his mouth (yep… life had not been kind to these little wretches).
He's at the I can tell you where it is.
Are you sure it's that Matthew? Not exactly a rare
Sure-sure. He's one of the rich We know him. Spends a lot of time there. Likes to have fun. Alright, but go get yourselves something to eat. – I wasn't exactly spouting the wisdom of the sages, but my advice did have an ounce more practicality.
After parting ways with the beggars, I crashed on a park bench for about an hour, half-melting under the blazing sun.