CHAPTER 8:

THE ASSIGNMENT

Life is something like a trumpet.  If you don't put anything in it, you don't get anything out.

—-W.C. Handy

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IT HAD BEEN ANOTHER long, tiresome ride, and he was hot and thirsty, as were his horses.  He had just drained the last of his water from its container.  Thus, as he pulled his horses up to the hitching post and murky watering trough close to the blacksmith shop, he was hoping the smith would have some clear cold water.  Some customers were just leaving the shop as he entered.  He nodded coolly to them and they returned the gesture, some staring at his strange appearance.

Barabbas looked up from his work to see who was entering his shop.  As he caught sight of the mysterious stranger, his face brightened.  He stood up and extended his hand in greeting.  “Well, well! We meet again!”

“Did I not tell you we would?  Incidentally, may I trouble you for some water?”

“No trouble at all.”  The blacksmith disappeared and soon reappeared, carrying a large jar of water. “Excuse the container. It’s all I have.”

As he sipped the water, Manaheem glanced toward the door, hoping that no one else would enter. Having drunk a sufficient amount, he placed the jar on the counter.  Then, leaning with one elbow, he sighed and smiled at the blacksmith.  “Thank you, friend. I needed that. It was a long ride and my supply just ran out.”

“That’s all I have, but glad I could be of help.  But, you should be able to get some for your journey back at the well outside the market.”

Manaheem picked up the large jar, took another big gulp of the water and set jar down again. “Thanks again! Now, tell me, how has business been?”

“Not all that good, really.  Seems people aren’t travelin’ as much as they used to – to wear out their horseshoes, I mean. And there’s just no call at all for these fancier items.  I do hope you came back for that sword.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, friend, but I certainly couldn’t afford it right now.  Things are bad for me too. I probably should get my horses re-shod pretty soon, but I can’t afford that right now either.”

“I certainly know what you mean,” agreed the smith.  “Seems times are just bad.  Seems like th’ little profit I do manage to make gets eaten up by them confounded taxes.”

“That’s this government for you– tax the poor man to death!”  Manaheem gulped down some more of the water, set the jar down again, and added, “And then, they don’t do anything useful with the money!”

“They sure don’t, do they?” agreed Barabbas.

“Seems to me,” ventured Manaheem leaning in over the counter, “like it’s that fellow, Pilate who’s the cause of it all.”

“He and Herod are both tyrants and puppets of Rome.”

“True, true.  But I heard that lately Pilate has been acting more or less on his own.  He’s trying to raise more revenue locally, so that he will look better in the eyes of Caesar.”

Barabbas stroked his beard.  “Really?”

“Oh, he’s a tricky one, that Pilate.  Rumors are he’d like to have Herod's position as well as his own.  Then things would really be bad.”

“Indeed!  I wasn’t aware of all this.  But anyway, like you said th’ last time you were here, something oughta be done.”

Now it was Manaheem’s face that lit up.  “So, you’ve been thinking about what we talked about last time?”

“I have indeed. And th’ more I think about it, th’ more disturbed I get, and th’ more I realize something must be done!”

“You’re absolutely right, my friend. Something must be done!  And you’re just the man to do it.”

The smith drew back in amazement.  “Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“But I’m just an ignorant blacksmith!”

“You are the one– perhaps the only one in this city at this moment who has caught the vision so strongly and sees so clearly the desperate need for action.”

“But, you said there are probably many more here who feel this way.”

“True,” agreed Manaheem, picking up the water jar again.  “But they do not, as yet, feel strongly enough to act.”

“B-but, what can I do?”

“Talk to people– your friends– your trusted friends only.  Find out their true feelings, and try to enlist them in the cause.”

“The cause?”

“The cause of revolution, or insurrection, against the ever expanding menace of Pilate’s tyranny.  When you have gained a sufficient group, you must train them and prepare them for an attack on Pilate’s Jerusalem praetorium when he comes here for his usual visit during Passover season.  I’ll give you whatever advice and help I can.”

“You mean—?”  His words were slow and halting.  “You really mean you want me to form and train a group of insurrectionists?”

“Exactly!”

“But, why wouldn’t you be the one to do it?”

“I’m from out of town.  I traveled a great distance to come here.  You live closer to the situation. And besides, you probably know more people than I do.”

At this point, the door opened and some would-be customers entered. Manaheem finished his water and set the jar down again as they were approaching.  In a voice all could hear, he said, “Thanks for the water, friend, and the conversation.  I really must be going.”

Then, in a quieter voice, directed only to Barabbas, “But, do think about what I told you. And, do be careful.”  In a moment he was gone.