16. Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
T he warm scent of fresh ground beans wafted its invitation into Eliza's nostrils, immediately alerting her senses. Her mouth watered for what she knew would be the most delicious cup of coffee she'd ever tasted. Watching from the marble bar separating the kitchen from the common living space, she admired Judas's agility as he expertly crafted the perfect brew.
Passing her the cup, his face was pensive, "You like it straight if I remember."
"That's right," she whispered gently, slowly sipping. There was delicious wizardry in the cup.
Eliza cradled the warmth in her hands and stared at him. Her mind swirled with questions about what kind of story he wanted to tell her. It concerned her that his demeanor had changed so quickly the second she mentioned the whip hanging on his bedroom wall. As he completed his mug of magical brew, the scattering of scars on his back didn't go unnoticed. He gave her a shirt and shorts but he dressed only in a pair of thick athletic pants; it was his home after all and Eliza had come to cherish his form.
Judas turned to face her. Eliza thought he looked sad and uncomfortable and it was so far out of his personality that it made her concerned for his mental health. She wondered if that protective childhood he spoke of was a euphemism for an abusive one. It wouldn’t be the first time she heard a similar story.
Clearing his throat, Judas' voice broke their tense silence, "So…what I'm about to tell you—" He paused. "I know it's going to sound fantastic and believe me, you're going to think I'm a lunatic. But… I hope… by the end…" Another pause. "You can look past it and still… care for me because I really care about you," his dark caramel eyes misted with tears.
"Judas," reaching out, Eliza took his hand, "Nothing you can say will ever change the way I feel about you."
Judas closed his eyes, nodding.
"You asked about the pictures on the wall? It's not my family in those pictures, Eliza. I don't have any family… at least, I don't think I do.” He mused for a moment in serious contemplation. Did he have relatives out in the world? He wouldn’t know them, but surely his DNA was out there. Judas refocused, “Those men that resemble me? The reason they look like me is because… they are me," his voice soft and fearful.
Eliza was confused, "So, you had old pictures made to look like family photos? Can I ask—"
"No," shaking his head emphatically, "No… those pictures are old. But, they're of me. I'm in those pictures… all of them."
Walking to the wall, he pointed to the target of Eliza's interest, "This was taken October 3, 1862, the morning after Mr. Lincoln arrived at the Union camp in Antietam. I was working for the photographer, Alexander Gardner at the time. I set up the picture while Alex tested the lighting when he took this. It was so sunny that day and we had to move the officers several times because the President was so tall, he cast a shadow on some of the faces. After it was developed, Alex gave it to me as a gift."
Eliza narrowed her eyes on him in thought. There was absolutely no way what he was telling her was true. Did he just say he had his picture taken with the sixteenth president of the United States… over one hundred and sixty years ago?
"Judas," she chortled, "You can understand why that sounds absurd. I mean, that would make you, what? Over one hundred ninety years old? That's impossible."
" Khara ," Judas growled under his breath.
"That! What is that word? I hear you use it a lot. It sounds… Hebrew," she exclaimed.
"Because it is Hebrew. I told you I speak many languages. It just means shit… right now it means shit, what do I do now to convince you I'm telling the truth."
"I forgot you know Hebrew." Eliza was impressed again, recalling how he had called her har?r shli, his treasure.
He rolled his eyes, sighing, "French, Arabic, Spanish, Hebrew, Greek…and.." He took a breath. "Aramaic."
Her shock was immediate, "Impressive…but, I mean…you come from Israel, so it stands to reason…" She stopped, narrowing her eyes on him once more, "Wait. Did you say Aramaic? As in the language of Jesus? That's certainly different."
Judas, relieved he was possibly making headway, latched onto the opportunity to move forward. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the sofa.
"You asked me about the whip hanging in my bedroom… it's real as is the blood it's stained with… but the blood isn't mine. It belongs to a friend of mine… someone I followed and learned from. Someone I loved who asked me to do a terrible thing that changed history as you know it. Something that I, in hindsight, would not do again."
"Who does the blood belong to?" Eliza shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her heart racing as fast as her mind. It was crazy to think about what he was going to tell her, but the clues seemed to put themselves together like a completed puzzle. She was the child of a lifelong evangelical.
Israel. Aramaic. A teacher and a terrible act.
"I called him Yesh… but you know him by his common name, Jesus."
Eliza thought she might vomit. Shaking her head violently, she wanted to scream that he was insane, but what came out of her open mouth was near maniacal laughter. He had to be delirious if he thought she would believe that he was Judas Iscariot.
"There's no way. Judas… c'mon. Stop being ridiculous! You're trying to tell me that you're the Judas? The traitor?" Her laughter bounced off the walls of the apartment. When she finally got control of her lawless amusement, she found Judas not joining in the obvious joke, but sitting stoically, the tears streaming from his bitter eyes. The guilt of her childish delight poured over her like a cold shower. She half expected him to throw her out of the apartment but when he opened his mouth, the most beautiful song fell from his lips.
Abun D'bashmayo, Neth Q'adash Smokh
Tithe Mal kuthokh, Nehwe Sebyonkh
Aykano D'bashmayo, Oph Bar'o
Hab-lan lahmon D'sunqonan Yowmano
Wa-sbuq lan, Hawbayn, wa-htohayn
Aykano dof hnan, Sbaqan l-hayobayn
Lo ta 'alan l-neyuno, Ela faso lan Men biso
Metul d'dilokh hi Malkutho
W'haylo, W'thes 'buhto
L'olam 'olmin
Tears fell in streams from Eliza's flushed cheeks as she sucked in a shuttered breath. She felt the beauty, the longing, and the pain in Judas' hauntingly crystal voice. It was as if her soul was splitting from her body as his lilt sliced a chilly knife through her. Her bones rattled. She wanted to believe him and she was sure he needed her to, but her brain still overrode her heart and logic screamed of the impossibility.
"That was beautiful," choking, she clumsily swiped at the falling rivers, “What was it?”
Judas opened his eyes, "The Lord’s Prayer…in the language of my people.”
He paused.
“I am no traitor." He touched her face tenderly, " Ahava… I didn't mean for you to cry."
"I want to believe you… but, how? And…what are you?" Eliza asked with caution. Ridiculous ideas of vampires and Hollywood monsters flooded her mind. She still wasn't sure if he was serious or just mad.
His voice, chipped with derision, chortled, "This is a gift… given to me by my best friend, Yeshuda." Looking skyward he yelled, "Something I have asked for him to take back!"
Judas looked down into Eliza's questioning eyes, " Judas , he said, ' Judas…I need a favor. If you do this for me, I will grant you something that all of the others would be jealous of… because you, Judas, are truly receiving of the message of my Father. You and Mary, my only family. ' I told him he didn't need to repay me for a favor… I would give it willingly. Anything he needed, I would provide!" Judas became angrier with every word. "I'm sure you can guess what favor he asked of me. To turn him in! Give him to the priests… allow him to be humiliated and murdered. He said ' It's the only way, Judas! ' You have no idea what it's like to watch someone you love be tortured in front of you."
His words ripped Eliza's heart. She empathized with the feeling because she was watching it firsthand. She saw agony fill him as he spoke and her heart swelled with painful sorrow, "You were…there?"
He nodded, the ravenous tears threatening to burst from his eyes, "I was."
"But…I thought," her voiced trailed into silence.
"I killed myself?" his eyes rose to meet hers as the rivers ran into his beard. "I found that man hanging…I don't know why he was there or if he did that to himself and it didn't matter. The rumor of my betrayal was already circling but I couldn't allow Yesh to be alone. I needed to stand by his side. I took the man's clothes and replaced them with my own. By the time he was found by others, no one recognized him anyway."
Reaching out, Eliza took Judas' hand.
"I watched them tear my brother apart," a sob caught in his throat. "That Scourge on the wall? It was his. I stole it so no one else would be given the same fate." He huffed a small chuckle through his falling tears, "Symbolically, of course. The Romans had multitudes at their disposal. I wanted to save him, Eliza. But he said it was the only way. So, I stood in the crowd…cloaked and hidden. I watched as they nailed his wrists to that wood…my soul tore from me as they lifted him into the sky and I wailed like a child when he whispered his last words! My friend died and I helped him do it."
She moved to sit next to him. She still wasn't sure if she wholly believed him, but recognized that his grief was real. Judas had been through something traumatic. Reaching out, she gently touched the small scars on his back. When his eyes met hers, her question was asked without words.
"No," he wiped his face. "I got those while serving on a British navel ship. They were starving a prisoner… I thought it was cruel, so I gave him some of my bread."
Eliza didn't react but her insides were spinning. He spoke of this other life so calmly, so convincingly that a part of her was starting to believe the outlandish. His skin was warm under her hand and she had felt his breath on hers just hours before. He was real, that was unequivocal, but she had to know.
"What was his gift for you?" she whispered. "Yesh, that is."
Lifting his chin, he looked down at her with unfocused anger, "Eternal life. Immortality. I never age. I can never die."