~~/*\~~ Leahe ~~/*\~~
It had started out subtly enough that Leahe couldn’t even remember when the thought first occurred. It grew gradually enough that it just felt like typical grumbling over the unchanging diet, or the endless marching. But then Hilkiah missed morning worship, and everyone was wondering what had changed.
Later that afternoon, Hilkiah returned, and called everyone in his charge together to hear an announcement.
“Hear me, sons of Israel!” Hilkiah called, his voice rigid with formality. “What I say to you now, I will attempt to say without bias in any direction. Earlier this morning, Korah, the son of Izhar, and of the Tribe of Levi, approached Moses. With him was Dathan and Abiram, sons of Eliab, and Ob, the son of Peleth; all of the Tribe of Reuben.”
Leahe didn’t even notice it when she reached for Takarut’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Hilkiah spoke formally when he was worried… or angry.
“These men, and over two hundred of their supporters, approached Moses and Aaron. They demanded that he step down as leader of Israel, given his failure to lead us to the Promised Land.”
Takarut twitched. Hilkiah said he was sharing the events without bias, but that sounded less ‘impartial’ than he was clearly intending.
“Moses has refused their terms, and says that tomorrow, Jehovah will make clear just who belongs to Him, and who is in opposition to His will.”
There was a loud silence. Everyone knew what that meant. Someone was going to die in the morning.
“Korah and Dathan have called on all that have questions to come and hear the answers right away.” Hilkiah declared. “Those that still support Moses, have been given no instructions. It is suggested that you remain in your tents until after the morning has passed.”
Hilkiah wrapped things up there, and everyone was suddenly moving. Some were going back to their tents, some were going to find supporters of Korah and Dathan, to see what was happening.
Leahe and Takarut went looking for their son. They found him, talking to Sha'al, and the family hurried back to their tent.
~~/*\~~
“Why was he trying to speak ‘without bias’?” Emet asked.
“Because he doesn’t know which side is going to win.” Takarut said grimly. “Which seems foolish to me.”
“It’s coming from the Levites. When they talk, people listen. They’re Priests. When they speak, God listens, supposedly.” Leahe said seriously. “They’re calling for supporters to come, to show Moses that the… well, the ‘people’ are demanding it.”
“Demanding it, or just going with the crowd?” Takarut countered. “Because we’ve seen that before. It rarely ends well. And this isn’t even that big of a crowd.” He looked at her suddenly. “You want to go?”
“I do not.” She said firmly. “I think this is going to end in disaster.” She took a breath. “But… I have my doubts. Questions, really.” She gestured at the group of people who were moving towards Moses’ tent. “If enough people support him, what happens then?”
“Them. He has partners. He has to, if he wants to present himself as a new version of Moses and Aaron.” Takarut gestured over towards the Pillar of Fire. “I was raised in Egypt, where everything comes from the Temples. But I didn’t know what a real Theocracy was until I came with you. A Prophet and a Priest are effectively leading this whole assembly. It’s not a humble statement for Dathan to say that God will have to speak to him if enough people demand it.” He made Leahe look at him. “You have any idea the sort of people who would become Prophets if a popular vote could make the gods speak? Pharoah alone would have been a match for Moses if God made choices by human demand.”
“I know.” Leahe nodded. “And I don’t really think he’s going to succeed. He thinks that if people agree with him, then God is stuck with it. I know he’s wrong. More people were praying to that Golden Calf than are calling for Dathan and Korah to be in charge.”
“Then why are you so unsure?”
“I just wonder…” Leahe whispered. “If Dathan had been in charge of the Assembly after the Red Sea? Would he have ordered my father killed? Or would he have been more… merciful?”
“If Dathan had taken charge at the Red Sea, would it ever have opened for us?” Takarut shot back. “You were there, my love. You saw Moses hold out his staff, and the sea opened. I saw the kids trying that trick themselves before we broke camp on the other side of the Sea. It wasn’t a magic trick. It had nothing to do with the rod itself.”
“My point is, this isn’t just about Korah, or Dathan.” Leahe said quietly. “People are wondering if we need a new leader. If it was one man making a leadership challenge, then it would have faded out on its own right now. People are listening because he’s saying something they agree with. Moses led us out of Egypt, but now we’re literally going nowhere. Moses would say that’s our fault, and I don’t disagree, but… God selected Moses to lead us into the Promised Land, and we aren’t going. Does that mean we need a new leader?”
“People are listening to Korah because he’s saying what they want to hear.” Emet piped up for the first time. He paused, taking in what he just said. “And that’s the point, isn’t it? Some people are just desperate for things to change, but the reason they’re getting somewhere is because enough people wonder what, just like you do…”
“Nobody’s sure of anything anymore.” Leahe nodded, uncertain. “I’m not.”
Takarut took a deep breath, and immediately took their hands in his, bowing his head. Understanding, Leahe and Emet did the same.
“Jehovah God,” Takarut said quietly. “We know You are the ultimate authority over all things, not just ourselves. But we beg You to be patient with us. There are questions we don’t know the answer to, and our lives depend on the answers. The life of our son depends on the answers.”
Leahe sniffed, just thinking about it, imagining her son going the way her father had.
“Dathan and Korah are making an attempt to take charge, and I don’t believe they will succeed, because against You, nothing can stand. I learned that lesson well in Egypt. But this isn’t an enemy. In fact Dathan is admired for His service to You. Does that make him acceptable to You as leader? And if not him, should another lead? Does the leader make a difference? Because some believe that Moses seems to have…” He took a breath. “...seems to have lost direction. Humbly, we ask for clarity on this point; but always we seek to be Your servants. Amen.”
“Amen.” Leahe said, keeping her head down. “Father Almighty, I don’t know what’s going to happen with Korah and Dathan, but I do know that Moses is older than both my husband and I put together, and our time in the Wastelands is destined to end only one way. Sooner or later, someone will have to take over from Moses. When and how are questions that some want answered today. Please, lord. Have mercy on us in our confusion. Amen.” The prayer ended, she lifted her eyes to her husband. “What do we do now?”
“Wait for an answer.” Takarut shrugged.
“How long will that take?” Emet asked blandly.
“Takarut!” A voice called in from outside the tent. “Moses would like to see you.”
A thrill of emotion flew through them all. “Well. That was fast.”
~~/*\~~
Takarut entered Moses’ tent. Moses and Aaron were there, heads bowed in prayer. Takarut stayed close to the entrance, not intruding. After a few minutes, Aaron lifted his head, and waved him over. “Takarut, I’m given to understand that your task in Egypt included more than keeping records. A Scribe would make announcements, and deliver messages, yes?”
“Yes sir.” Takarut nodded.
“We have heard the growing sentiment among some of the Levites.” Aaron said seriously. “And we wish to head it off, before it reaches any further. Would you tell Dathan and Abiram that we would appreciate it if they came to see us?”
Takarut blinked. “Dathan and Abiram? Not Korah?”
Aaron and Moses traded a look. “I believe that time has come and gone.”
Takarut blinked again, feeling sweat break out on his back. “Y-you want me to deliver the invitation?”
“Yes.” Moses piped up. “Because you’ve also been helping me record the history. I need you to deliver the message, to take careful note of what he says in response.” He looked terribly ancient for a moment. “I daresay that if we don’t succeed, then we may be living through an historical event in Israel’s history, right now.”
~~/*\~~
Takarut went over to the Levite’s Tribe portion of the Camp. It was as large as any other Tribe, but as he walked through the Camp, he found he was following the crowd. There was a gathering, and people were threading closer to it, wanting to hear what was being said. Some were shouting support, some were crying out in disagreement. The closer he got, the more clearly Takarut could make out the words being hurled one way or another.
It made him flash momentarily on the way the crowd had reacted when the pronouncement of ‘Exile’ came down on them. It was years past, but Takarut still had nightmares about the sudden mob scene that had formed at that moment.
But as some showed passionate support, and others tried to shout him down, the rest were just… watching, sizing up the rest of the crowd, waiting to see where the majority was leaning before they said anything.
And at the centre of the gathering, making his pitch, was Korah. Dathan stood with him. So did a few others. But they were all letting Korah speak, showing their loyalty to him with their silence, giving him their shared authority.
“This is not a call of treason!” Korah was shouting over his detractors. “I have been a loyal servant of Jehovah, as a Levite Priest, since the day we became a nation of free men! When that cursed Golden Calf was forged, by the hand of Aaron himself, I was horrified. When Moses called for justice, I was one of the very first to draw his spear!”
The crowd roared in support of that.
“This whole assembly is Holy. We know that. Jehovah is in our midst, not just over the tent of Moses.” Korah declared, pointing to the pillar of smoke, still going strong over the tabernacle. “If Jehovah is with all of us, then why do Moses and Aaron set themselves up as exalted ones before the whole Nation?”
The crowd roared again, and Takarut suddenly saw what he was looking for. They weren’t exactly ‘on-stage’. The whole mob was standing around Korah in a circle, with enough space around them that he could turn and talk in every direction. In the ‘front row’, closest to him, were his strongest supporters, including Abiram and Dathan. They were cheering the loudest, with fists raised.
Takarut took a deep breath, and quietly decided he wasn’t about to walk up to any of them right now. In fact, he was starting to turn around and walk away very fast, when a voice somehow cut through the crowd. “You there! Takarut!”
Takarut froze, looking back. Abiram was gesturing for him to come over. The crowd was tightly packed enough that some people saw it. They knew the front row was important to this whole movement, and made sure Takarut had nowhere else to go, caught up in their commands. The crowd ‘closed ranks’ in front of Takarut, and he was trapped.
Korah was still speaking to the crowd, whipping their support. Dathan and Abiram were letting him work the audience, and they neatly surrounded Takarut, putting their heads close to his so they could speak. “We’ve been expecting you. If anyone would be sent to us with a message, it would have to be you. You’ve worked closely with Moses on his writings; and he wouldn’t send an Israelite-born envoy. He couldn’t be sure that anyone he chose was already on our side.”
Takarut hesitated. “I do have a message for the two of you.”
Abiram and Dathan looked at each other. “The two of us? Not Korah?”
“No.” Takarut conceded. “Moses has invited the two of you to come and see him, right away. I think he wants to make an appeal to you, but he didn’t tell me wh-”
Dathan grinned, like he’d just won a challenging game. “HA!” He went back to his spot in the front row of the crowd and waved at Korah. “You were right!”
Korah saw the three of them, and smiled winningly, pulling them forward to be seen by the whole crowd. Korah waved for the crowd to be silent as Abiram and Dathan came forward. “Moses has sent an envoy, inviting us to come away from Korah, and speak with him and Aaron directly.”
There was a hushed response. Nobody was quite willing to jeer Moses’ name, but everyone wanted to hear what their response would be.
“The answer is: NO!” Dathan yelled, half to Takarut, half to the audience, and another cheer went up. “Takarut, you go and tell Moses that he’s not going to drive a wedge between Korah and any of us. Tell him that the people can make up their own mind, and we have!”
“Moses says it is no small thing that Levites are set apart from the others, allowed to approach the Tabernacle, and perform service to Jehovah there, exactly as Aaron limits us.” Korah shouted to the crowd. “Well I say it’s no small thing that Moses has led us around in circles for years in this wasteland!” He turned back to the crowd. “What do you say!?”
The crowd cheered.
“The one question Moses never deigned to ask: What do the people want?!” Korah hollered over them, and the roar got louder.
“Tell Moses, and then tell anyone who will listen that we have given our answer!” Abiram shouted over the crowd to Takarut. “Tell him that we know what he’s doing. The only reason why he would keep us in the Wasteland so long is because his authority over us ends the moment we get to our new homeland!”
“And it began the moment we left Egypt!” Dathan shouted along, whipping the crowd higher. “We had two lands ‘flowing with milk and honey’, and Moses has kept us away from both of them for far too long. Does he think we don’t see that? That he has set himself up as absolute ruler over us?! We aren’t blind!”
The crowd roared again, getting angry now. Takarut could barely hear over their wrathful noise.
Korah got the crowd under control by gesturing for silence. “Behold then, that we have heard the word of the People, and heard it with full humility! Unlike Moses, we intend to do something about it!” Korah looked at Takarut. “Go, messenger. Tell Moses that we are resolute, and united; and the people have spoken; and that Jehovah has surely heard the words of his own Chieftains; even if Moses has closed his ears.”
Takarut took the invitation quickly, almost running away. With Korah’s direction to go, the crowd didn’t try to stop him, goading him to run faster.
~~/*\~~
Takarut delivered the message to Moses and Aaron. They looked as grave as he felt. “I’m sorry to have to deliver the message, my lords.” Takarut said weakly.
Moses shook his head, and gestured for him to go. Takarut collected his stylus, and a half-empty scroll, heading out of Moses’ tent.
“Aaron,” Moses said behind him, looking ancient. “Would you tell our cousin that we’ll see him, and all his supporters, tomorrow at the tabernacle?”
That was all Takarut heard before he got out of earshot. When he reached his own tent, Leahe was waiting for him, eager for news. The official word went out less than an hour later: Moses called for Korah and his followers to come to the tabernacle the next morning.
“The tabernacle is going to be completely surrounded.” Emet said to his parents with anticipation of something exciting happening. “We’d better go early, or we’ll never see what happens.”
“We’re not going.” Takarut said immediately, voice hard.
“We’re not?” Emet seemed stunned. “Why wouldn’t we? You’ve been helping transcribe the official record. Don’t you want to see it with your own eyes?”
“No, he does not.” Leahe said firmly. “And neither do you, son.”
“...why? What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is a rebellion.” Takarut said plainly. “You’re too young to remember Aaron’s sons. You’re too young to remember Moses’ sister having a quick bout of leprosy. You weren’t even born yet when the Golden Calf, and the Rebellion at the Jordan River happened.”
“This isn’t an uprising.” Emet objected. “Korah, Dathan… all their followers are from the Levites. How can Priests be in rebellion to God? Korah’s even related to Moses. He won’t be looking to hurt anyone-”
“And opposition to Pharoah’s usually came from those who had royal blood.” Takarut returned. “Family is more important than anything, except power.”
She considered that, and turned to her son. “Your father is right, Emet.” Leahe said firmly. “We’re all staying here, far away from the showdown, until it’s over.”
~~/*\~~
It was over very quickly. Hidden in their tent, Takarut led the family in prayer to Jehovah, over and over, until they heard the sound of screaming coming faintly from outside. Emet jumped up to look, and his mother caught him by the wrist, pulling him back down again. A moment later there was a rumble that shook the ground underneath them, and they froze, staring at each other with wide eyes as everything they owned rolled with the sudden quake.
There was the sound of hundreds of voices crying out, and then a sudden silence.
There was a long, unnatural silence.
Finally, Takarut spoke, trying to keep his voice level. “Every King puts down uprisings that way. Jehovah has more right to do so than any mortal man.”
Emet looked scared. His mother tried to comfort him, and he shook his head, lowering his voice in terror. “I still have questions. I mean, Korah was talking about how all Levites are Priests, but only Aaron… Moses is over ninety years old now…” He lowered his voice further. “Some of what Dathan was saying seemed… reasonable.”
“Of course it did.” His father said, with a normal voice. “If it sounded outrageous, nobody would have listened to him.”
“But if I ask questions now, do I get…” His son couldn’t say it, making a throat-slashing gesture.
Leahe looked quietly miserable.
Takarut could read her mind after being married so long. “Our son isn’t Deror.”
“Who’s that?” Emet asked.
“Deror was a friend we had, back before your father and I married.” Leahe told him the story. “He’d been a domestic slave, to someone who… well, amused himself by inflicting brutal misery on people who couldn’t fight back. Most of the people we know have one scar or another, but Deror had more scars than skin.”
Emet let out a low whistle.
“Even once he was free, he was… broken. He just couldn’t believe someone with Power would be kind. Apparently, his old master used to play those games. Made him feel like his punishments were his own fault for not being ‘loyal enough’.”
“No matter what we said to him, he viewed God the same way.” Takarut added. “He figured Jehovah was going to kill us all at some point, because we’d never do anything but disappoint him.”
Emet hesitated. His mother could see it right behind his eyes. He was thinking it, but he wasn’t saying it. And she was thinking it too: We’ve been disappointing God plenty.
“One day, our people begged for meat, and God gave it to us. Enough Quail to blacken the skies. Except that some of our people started hoarding it.”
Emet frowned. “Why hoard food? It appears every day. It doesn’t even keep if you store it.”
“See, you understand that.” Leahe nodded. “And that was the point: Jehovah could provide, every single day. But some of our people immediately reacted the same way they did whenever we caught an extra fish, or got any extra ration. They prepared it for… well, for the next day, when we wouldn’t be fed.”
“Why wouldn’t we be fed?” Emet asked, genuinely confused.
“Exactly.” Leahe nodded with a grim sigh. “The Masters in Egypt did that sometimes. They’d give us a feast one day, then not feed us for three. It… amused them, to watch us fight over scraps.”
“I heard about this…” Emet nodded slowly, growing pale. “God brought judgement on people who hoarded, because it was…” He trailed off. “Deror died, didn’t he?”
Leahe nodded.
Emet slumped. “Then… he was right?”
“Son, I can tell you for a fact that Jehovah isn’t a Death God.” Takarut said with authority. “Because when I first came to Israel, with nothing but the clothes on my back, I had nothing but questions. I got answers to all of them. Jehovah wants what every ruler wants: Respect. He’s more deserving of it than any man, and He’s gotten less of it than most. From the Golden Calf, to the River Jordan, I’ve seen that God has been eagerly looking forward to showering us with blessings and love… and we’ve been turning Him down, over and over.”
“Thousands have been judged for their actions. Out of a camp of millions.” Leahe added. “Usually for things like open rebellion. And that’s what it was, son. Korah didn’t have ‘reasonable questions’. He wanted Moses gone, and himself in charge. That’s why we stayed in our tent until it was done. Because we knew exactly what would happen. It’s been happening off and on for your entire life.”
“And in all that time has the Manna ever paused for a day?” Takarut summed up. “Has the water ever stopped flowing? Because I’ll tell you right now: The Manna isn’t part of the wasteland that we just ‘came across’. The water that flows for us and our animals? It doesn’t come from some great hidden aquifer. We’re sustained by miracles, day and night, every day, for our entire lives. Does God sound sadistic to you?”
“...No.” Emet admitted.
Outside, a horn blew. It was the summons to come out and hear an announcement.
~~/*\~~
The next morning, the Tribes were assembled, making their way past the Tabernacle. At Moses’ order, the day before, the Twelve Tribes had each chosen a representative from among their Chieftains, and each had put their names on a Staff. Moses put them out the next morning. With hundreds of leading Levite Chieftains dead now, Aaron’s name had been put on the Staff for the Tribe of Levi.
The whole nation was looking at whatever Moses had set up, in groups. The one downside of the huge assembly was that it took a while to get the entire nation ‘processed’, where it was hauling water, meeting a leader, or…
“Look.” Leahe said.
The twelve rods were each planted in a row before the tabernacle, the names written clearly on each one, visible to the people as they passed.
On the end, the twelfth rod, with Aaron’s name written clearly, was blooming with flowers and almonds. Only his rod was blooming. A clear sign of being special. Something miraculous. Something that couldn’t happen by accident.
“Korah never performed a miracle.” Emet softly. “None of them could.”
“Good choice.” Takarut murmured to his wife.
“Were you expecting another one?” Leahe murmured back.
“Not what I meant. We both knew Aaron was appointed as Priest by God, and if that changed, God would have said so, long before Korah or Dathan tried anything. I meant it was a good choice using the rods to perform the miracle.”
Leahe nodded. Between them, Emet’s head tilted. “What do you mean?”
One of the attendants gestured for them to keep moving, and they did so, moving on so that other families could see for themselves. On the way back to their tent, Takarut explained. “Moses’ symbol of authority was never a sword, or a crown like other Rulers.” Takarut explained. “It was a staff. The kind a shepherd uses. It was a rod that Moses carried when he confronted Pharaoh. It was a staff that stretched over the Red Sea when it parted.”
“In fact, Aaron performed some of those miracles too. It was probably that very same staff that turned into a serpent before the Royal Court.” Leahe added.
“Mm. Jehovah God doesn’t approve of us worshiping icons or symbols, because he knows that symbols have power.” Takarut said, moving them along faster, making room for those who hadn’t come by yet. “That’s why He uses them too.”
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
The political Dissidents weren’t fed for three days. Most of them couldn’t even stand. The Guards had some of the weakest ones removed, and replaced with fresh workers. They never seemed to run out of fresh prisoners for the labor. Oskar noticed that they mostly seemed to have some slight infirmity, or were part of some minority, or were relatively older than average.
All the people unsuitable for military draft. He realized.
There had been rumors that people with disabilities were being euthanized directly. There were rumors that London was already in ruins. There were rumors that all of Europe was being looted of anything valuable. There were rumors of devastating new weapons being used that would wipe out all life on earth in their mad dash to win the war.
But there was almost nothing official, and what came from the Commander directly was blatant propaganda. From the way the soldiers were trading looks at the morning announcements, it was clear that even their guards weren’t believing the Party Line completely. What was meant to be a quick, decisive war had turned into a slugging match, and everyone was in it.
“Just like the Great War.” Oskar murmured as they talked about it one night. “The ‘War to end all war’, and less than thirty years later, we’re having an even worse one.”
~~/*\~~ Leahe ~~/*\~~
“You think this will happen, again and again?” His mother rasped. “Is this cycle of suffering, rebellion, and regret going to be the only thing our people ever feel?”
“It feels like everyone I know is sick.” Emet admitted weakly.
“Time will do worse.” His mother told him. “I grew up a slave. Old age was too much to hope for back then. Of all the ways to go, it’s still my preferred choice.”
Emet poured her a cup of water. The cup was worn, chipped; and looked every one of its decades old. He lifted it to her mother’s lips, and helped her drink. “Dad says that the children walk like we do.” He said quietly. “With their heads bowed, and their faces stony. They learned that way from us. And we learned that way from you. It’s like our children only know one way to be.”
“Then you will have to teach them another way.” Leahe rasped, coughing a bit. “For these forty years, the whole hope of the nation is that our children can make better choices than we did.”
“So far, it doesn’t seem that way.” Emet murmured.
“This isn’t the same thing. There hasn’t been open rebellion since Korah. Years ago. And if this was anything like that, then your generation would be like mine.” Leahe said simply. “This is God flicking us on the nose, getting our attention.”
“He could pick a less painful way.”
Leahe scoffed. “He tried that when I was younger than you. Offering food and water and quail. Didn’t really work out. One thing I’ll admit, pain is a great teacher.”
As if to answer, there was a sharp cry from outside the tent. Emet looked up, wondering what might have happened now. He went out to look.
Moses was calling the rhythm. “Pull! Hold! And… pull!”
Inside the tent, Leahe twitched hard. For just a moment, it was exactly like the foremen of Egypt, directing the workers as they raised a stone upright.
Moses wasn’t raising a stone idol. It was a long pole. Where Moses had salvaged it from, Emet wasn’t sure, but it was tall enough to be seen for a great distance. And wrapped around it was a copper statue, in the form of a huge snake.
Emet stared blankly, horrified. Is it a further judgement? Is it a funeral marker, so that when we’re all gone- God, I thought we weren’t meant to make idols.
“This is what Jehovah has said.” Moses declared loudly to the people, as the pole settled into place. “I Am Jehovah, the source of all life, and thus Life is mine to give. If anyone has been bitten, then he must look upon the Copper Serpent, in order to keep alive.”
It was already working. The people who were spread out around the Pole were already getting up, their bites and fevers healed. There was a slow movement as the unhealthy staggered forward to take the place of the newly healthy.
Emet came back into the Tent. “I can carry you out.”
“I told you: It’s not a snakebite.” His mother scorned. “Aches and pains. I’ve been hiking through the wilderness longer than you’ve been alive.” She waved him off and turned over. “Go find your father. I’m taking a nap.”
~~/*\~~
His father was ‘on guard’, on the edge of the Camp. He was spending more time out there lately. Especially when the Camp was undergoing some kind of trial. As an Egyptian-Born, he never really had a chance at prominence or promotion, outside his one particular task for Moses. But whenever talk about ‘returning to Egypt’ came up, it was usually one of the Egyptian refugees pushing for it; and Takarut made himself unavailable; before getting caught in the middle.
Instead, Emet found his friends. Janshar and Sha'al all found each other at some point during a typical day. Today wasn’t typical.
“So it’s over. Again.” Emet summed up. “Until it starts. Again.”
“People are so bored with the sameness, they seem to keep provoking Jah to violence, just for something to do.” Janshar drawled. “Or so my mother says.”
Sha'al sighed. “Your mother’s frustration itself isn’t wrong. It’s coming from a real place. Our people don’t like constantly being on the move.”
“Then why can’t we just stop?” Emet complained.
“Because the wilderness isn’t our home.” Sha'al told him firmly. “Our exile isn’t our real life. We keep moving. Everywhere we stop, Jehovah is with us. Everywhere we go, our lives depend on Him. If we settled, someone would declare it ‘our territory’.” He shook his head. “This isn’t about land. Or the distance we’ve travelled. It’s about leadership. People don’t like that Jehovah has exiled us, so it’s easier to blame Moses; like it’s his idea to lead us around in circles.”
Emet shrugged helplessly. “The wilderness is my world, Sha'al. I’ve never seen anywhere else. Every time I say something like that, my parents get this funny look in their eyes; but the tent is my home. I’ve never been anywhere without that Pillar of Fire shining over me every night.”
“And I’m the same.” Janshar admitted. “Just between us, I think the reason this sudden frenzy to either replace Moses or to go back to Egypt comes up every few years is because our fathers keep running into the idea that once they’re gone, the only ones left will be us.” He spread his hands wide. “What’s the Promised Land to me?”
“It is usually the older ones that start quarrelling with Moses, isn’t it?” Sha'al observed. “Not exclusively, but I think they’re usually the ones pushing it. And there are fewer of them every year. I remember that when the Spies returned from Canaan, they brought figs, pomegranates, and grapes.”
“I never even tasted them.” Emet offer, unconcerned.
“Neither did I, but last week they were raging at Moses because the wilds out here don't have them.” Sha'al explained his reasoning. “They were the ones that didn’t want to go. Jehovah sentenced them for being ‘rebellious’. Maybe that’s why the younger ones are being spared the snakebites.” He sent a knowing look to his friends. “What’s a fig to us? We’ve never even seen them before.”
“My mother says that back in Egypt, any complaint was met with the whip.” Emet offered. “Maybe that’s the reason. People her age are suddenly able to say what they’ve always wanted to say?”
“Until the snakes come, anyway.”
(Author’s Note: The Story of the Copper Serpent is five verses long, in the book of Numbers. There’s very little detail, such as where the materials came from, how long it took to make, how many died from this judgement, or how long it lasted. Because of that, I’m glossing over the matter a bit myself. This story is about the entire time in the Wilderness, and I’m comparing it to some of the harder days of the modern era. For purposes of this story, the real focus was the conversation between Emet and his friends. Also, there’s nothing in the Bible that specifies where the ‘complaints’ came from. I chose to make it the older ones, for the reasons listed above.)
Emet looked back at the centre of the Camp, where the Pole was put up. “My mother thinks it will always be like this. That our people are just… locked in a cycle of rebellion and punishment. Forever.”
“If we are, then God is cruel for dragging it out this long.” Janshar said quietly. “And if we’re actually capable of getting it right, then what does that say about the fact that at least half of us don’t; over and over?”
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
Slave workers were used everywhere now. It was just easier to get hard labor by arresting people than paying them. There were factories that could make them work faster or easier, but all of them were geared towards the war effort now.
Oskar and Ignaz were part of a large work crew. Today they were taken into a town. Oskar didn’t recognize the place. He’d lived in his hometown his entire life, and never gone anywhere else. This town was larger, but… somehow, completely empty. Empty streets, abandoned shops. Every place that wasn’t boarded up was smashed open, looted and stripped of every conceivable recourse.
Konstantin barked angrily, keeping them all moving into a large building that seemed something like a town hall. It was hard to tell, as it had been stripped bare too. No signs, no windows, not even panelling in the hallways. Everything had been stripped out except the bare walls that held up the roof. The prisoners were marched into the central room, which seemed big enough to hold the entire population of a town that size. The room was bare of furniture, except large storage bins along the walls, each one labelled in German. ‘Textiles’ ‘Clothing’ ‘Lumber’ ‘Metal’ ‘Paper’.
And in the middle of the room was a huge pile of junk.
“Start sorting!” Konstantin barked at them. “Anything useable or intact goes in the labelled bins. Anything torn or damaged gets stripped down for the scrap bins. Personal effects into the refuse pile. The owners won’t need them back.”
Nobody bothered to ask what that meant. They all knew.
Konstantin swung the butt of his rifle into a Prisoner’s back. “GET TO WORK!”
~~/*\~~
The work was constant, but this was actually the lightest labor they’d ever done, at least physically.
“They sent us for this, because they didn’t leave anyone in this town.” Oskar whispered to Ignaz as they sorted through the pile. “What did they do with the people?”
“No idea. Some into camps, some pressed into service, others ‘rescued’ for work in other towns…” Ignaz whispered back. “I think they picked us because none of us have been here before.”
Oskar didn’t understand what that meant, at first.
The pile wasn’t particular. The workers would grab whatever they reached first, identify it as best they could, and dump it in the right bin. But the pile never shrank, as another team of slave workers, actually looking less fed than they were, came trooping in with armfuls of more, dumping it on the pile, then walking out of the building, probably to get more debris for the pile.
“Where are they finding this stuff?” Oskar asked.
Ignaz reached into the pile, and pulled out a photo album, already filled with pictures. “It’s the whole town. They marched the people out, and they’re dragging every inch of it into their factories. Every scrap will be turned into something.”
“Goes in the garbage pile!” A guard barked at Ignaz, shoving him in the direction of the largest bins. The ones that were taken to the incinerator.
~~/*\~~
It continued that way for hours. Oskar came to understand what Ignaz meant. They’d taken all the people away, and wherever they’d gone, they’d have nothing to come back to. Everything that indicated there had ever been a town here was being fed into the War Machine. Whatever personal items they’d found, even the unimportant sundries, were being taken away. The most personal items, which were of no intrinsic value at all, were being taken to the incinerators.
Whoever lived in this town, there’ll soon be no evidence they ever existed.
As he usually did when working a repetitive task, he started to pray. Jehovah God, I try to remind myself that You never promised we’d keep our photo albums. You never promised that we’d keep the same houses. What You promised was that You would remember each and every person. If all these people are dead now, they are safer than they could ever be while alive; protected in Your memory. You promised that You’d raise them to life, because You know even the hairs on their head… even after we’ve had our heads shaved-
“...no! NO-O-O-O!” One of the prisoners suddenly shouted, clutching at a photo in a frame. Oskar didn’t recognize him. He was from a different camp, and his prison insignia said he was Jewish. But it was clear he recognized someone in the picture he was gripping. And whatever it was, it had set him off.
“Butchers!” He yelled at the guards, tears streaming down his face. “You are all butchers!”
The other prisoners had been shushing him, trying to calm him down before he got noticed, but it was too late now, and they turned away, trying desperately not to be seen beside him. Such was the way of survival. Oskar looked away too. It happened at least twice a week. Someone would hit the limit of what they could take and end it all by raging at the guards, who never hesitated to put them out of their misery.
Konstantin caught the prisoner by the collar and dragged him out of the building. Halfway there, the prisoner had hauled off and swung. Konstantin reacted on instinct, catching the hand, mid-swing.
The prisoner held a butter-knife.
Everything. Stopped.
Konstantin’s face was unreadable, but Oskar had seen him in this mood before. He was almost smiling, having a legitimate reason to torment someone. Konstantin took the blade away from him, and threw the Prisoner at the door. “Take him outside, and search him for other weapons. I’ll be right there.”
They took the man out, and Konstantin turned away from his latest ‘amusement’, noticing Oskar looking on, stone faced. “You want to take his place?”
“I do not.” Oskar said, not moving.
“Maybe you wish he’d succeeded, eh?” Konstantin taunted. “Maybe you’d like to take a shot at me?”
Oskar settled. “No, I would not.”
“Not your job, right?” Konstantin smirked at him cruelly. “After this long, it should be clear that God isn’t going to save you.”
Oskar raised a hand and gestured at the cross hanging around Konstantin’s neck. “What about you?” He asked. “Does your church approve of your actions here?”
“I attend church because I’m a good German.” Konstantin waved that off, unconcerned, looking down at the prisoner, and the insignia sewn into his prison uniform. “But before you write me off as ‘pure evil’, just remember that the God you and that man both worship has taken more lives than my army ever will. A lot of them were His own worshippers. Clearly, He doesn’t have a problem with this sort of thing.” Then his face changed. “Why am I talking to you? Get back to work, worm!”
Oskar turned away and headed back to the pile of junk. After a few moments, he noticed Ignaz watching, and it was clear he’d taken the whole thing in. “Problem is, it’s tough to argue with.” He admitted.
Ignaz blinked. “Oh?”
“I remember Brother Matheo once gave a talk and mentioned that if you want to get to know Jehovah, the best way is by considering the life of Jesus. He said that ‘Jesus is as close to God as a flesh-and-blood person could be’.” Oskar winced as his back twinged “But Jesus was in the ‘new’ testament. Jehovah was in the ‘old’ testament. And the two don’t really seem alike. In the early days of the Bible, He was… harsh.”
“Easier to see ‘wrath’ than ‘love’?” Ignaz guessed.
“Right now, it’s hard to see love in anything.” Oskar admitted. As if to answer him, there was a gunshot from outside.
“Then I guess we know what we’re discussing tonight.” Ignaz said immediately.
~~/*\~~ Emet ~~/*\~~
Emet had been part of the ‘transcription’ work with his father for almost a year now. His reading was equal to any Scribe in Pharaoh's court, but his writing skills had taken longer, with little scrap to practise on. Yaldborth had made him a square frame that he could fill with a thin layer of sand. He would write in the sand with a stylus, able to smooth the sand out again to start over. While Moses dictated his words to Takarut, Emet wrote along, though not yet fast enough to keep up.
When they took a break, Emet spoke up. “My lord, may I ask you something… indiscreet?”
Moses smiled a bit. “If you’re anything like your father, I’m not certain you can. But if it’s important, please try.”
Emet flushed bright pink, but said what was on his mind. “You keep saying that the biggest part of Jehovah is Love. Mercy and forgiveness is part of that. But… The entire camp seems to feel that what He commanded on an entire generation is… well, the opposite of a loving act.” He pointed at the scrolls. “I was there when you recounted the discussion between Jehovah and Abraham. If even a few righteous men could be found, a whole city would be spared. If our people are worse than that, then why drag it out? And if they aren’t, why a death sentence?”
Takarut turned to stone at his son’s presumption. He was half waiting for Moses to throw them out. Part of him expected to see his son suddenly struck with leprosy for speaking out of turn.
But the old man didn’t lash out in anger. He didn’t even disagree. Instead, he seemed to sit in silence for several seconds. His lips moved soundlessly, and Takarut realized that Moses was praying. Looking for the right words? Asking for help to answer this question?
Moses opened his eyes and gestured for both of them to come and sit beside him. They did so, and Moses began to speak. “Emet, you’re too young to remember the Golden Calf.”
“Before his time, sir. In fact, it was shortly before his mother and I even married.” Takarut confirmed on his son’s behalf. “But we made sure he heard the story.”
“I ordered the execution of those who took the lead in Idol Worship.” Moses said with gravity. “Was that too extreme a punishment?”
“I think my mom believes it was, sometimes.” Emet offered. “But I think that’s because my grandfather was one of them.”
Moses nodded gravely. “But your father didn’t join him in the false worship.” He looked at Takarut. “Why not?”
“I was in Leahe’s tent. We were rereading the Law of Jehovah. Something that you had just given us recently, my lord.” Takarut nodded.
“The First Commandment was broken, almost as soon as we received it.” Moses sighed. “Nobody’s perfect, but the First Law? That’s not a slip. That’s a choice. That’s not a mistake, that’s an effort being made.” Moses glanced back at the tent entrance, making sure Aaron wasn’t around. “A considerable effort, at that. Jehovah declared war on all the Gods of Egypt, just to show how powerless they were. And in return, his people decided to give the credit to a statue, made from their own earrings.”
“A cow idol, just like Ptah, King of Egyptian Gods.” Takatrut put in, thinking of his lost friend Satau.
“But they’d made this Calf up on the spot.” Moses added. “There was no ‘centuries of tradition’ behind it. They just decided to make something and call it god. They compared a Pillar of Fire that reached into the sky and decided God was actually in a statue they’d just made.”
“Sounds stupid.” Emet said profoundly.
Moses actually laughed for a moment. “Quite.”
“Sha'al says that if they executed people for being stupid, nobody would live past their teens.” Emet added.
Takarut scoffed, despite himself.
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
“So let’s compare the way God treated Ancient Israel to Jesus’ day, and for that matter, our day.” Ignaz counselled those in the camp with him. “The early nation of Israel weren’t ‘sheep without a shepherd’, like the people of Jesus' time. They weren’t ‘fighting the spirit of the last days’ like we are. They were in the direct presence of God, and still they demanded a change in their leadership.” He looked at Oskar. “You haven’t turned against your faith in Jehovah, because of what they put you through. What would you do in the Camp of Ancient Israel?”
“After the Exodus?” Oskar blinked. “With food literally being there to pick up every morning, and a pillar of fire over us every night to show God was paying attention? I’d take that offer right now.”
Ignaz nodded, turning back to the group. “Jesus is our example in this, as in all things. Jesus made no secret of his contempt for the religious leaders of his time, because of their hypocrisy, greed, and lack of compassion for the people in their charge. But even with them, he would reason with their faulty thinking, and set the record straight by giving them the truth, even when he knew they wouldn't change.” He sent Oskar a look. “In fact, Jesus got violent only twice in the Gospels. Oskar? Can you tell us when?”
Oskar nodded, understanding. “With the money-changers in the temples.”
“Using the Temple for not only profit, but price-gouging? This was an act that Jesus didn’t reason with. He drove them out with a whip. See the difference? They weren’t desperate for leadership, and they weren’t caught up in human tradition. The Temple was where heaven and earth met; and they were straight up using God’s House for profiteering.”
~~/*\~~ Emet ~~/*\~~
“The Day they bowed to the Calf, our people turned Apostate.” Moses summed up, and his head tilted, looking at the young boy. “You know this word?”
“I’ve heard it, but I don’t know… exactly.”
Moses nodded. “We are a Theocracy, Emet. I know people act like I’m in charge, but I’m just the mouthpiece. I give the people words that Jehovah gives me to say. This is the only nation in history ruled by Jehovah God directly. To be an Apostate is to oppose that rule after swearing allegiance to it.” Moses shook his head, still sickened at the thought. “Thousands of people, in God’s own chosen nation. We made a Covenant with God, that we would be His people, and that He would give us His special blessing and protection.” Moses sighed hard. “Then, at the entrance to the Promised Land, they chose to surrender to their fear of men.” Moses spread his hands wide. “Not ‘misspeaking’. Not ‘being stupid’. Not even a mere lack of faith. Hundreds of thousands of people, all united in a total betrayal of the truth, and our God. There’s a miraculous sign in the middle of the camp, visible to everyone at all times, to say nothing of the manna. And they wanted to go back to Egypt.” Moses turned to Takarut. “How would any human King respond to open treason from his subjects?”
“Pharaoh would have ordered public executions.” The former Scribe said without hesitation. “Of anyone involved. And their families. And their random acquaintances, just to make sure.”
“And to answer your question, Emet; whatever else this is: It’s not a death sentence.” Moses summed up. “Our people get what they’ve always had. They get a lifetime. Only now they live without a whip, without false gods, without having to work for food, or any risk of starvation. Pharaoh wouldn’t give anyone that, let alone people being punished for treason.”
The boy nodded agreeably at that. “Well… I’ve never seen Egypt, but I hear my mother talking with her friends about the foods they ate.” He shrugged. “It can’t be better than manna, right?”
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
Ignaz spread his hands, summing it up. “It’s the same progression we see with the time in the Wilderness. Food and water to the hungry. A warning message to people with wrong thinking. A judgement on people who were in open opposition. Jesus treated the apostates the same way Jehovah did… But Jehovah had His whole chosen nation of people turning apostate in Moses’ day. And again in Ezekiel’s day. And again in Josiah’s day. And again. And again.”
There was a wry chuckle at that.
“So, you tell me.” Ignaz was speaking to everyone, but he was looking at Oskar. “Looking at it this way, can you reconcile judgement with mercy? Because even in early bible times, Jehovah took them back, over and over again. Even in Bible times, the only thing Jehovah really wanted was for His people to come back to Him; so that he could give them blessings and protection and prosperity.”
~~/*\~~ Takarut ~~/*\~~
“The normal punishment would be execution. Jehovah instead chose time.” Moses counselled. “Time to let Israel raise a whole generation of children who have never been slaves. A whole generation that could live without that stigma that your own mother has, Emet. Nobody will enter the Promised Land with the scars of Egyptian whips on their back-” His gaze softened as he took in father and son. “-Or an arm missing, because the King had a bad day. Emet, when you are forty years old, you will likely have a wife, and children of your own, and you will have land and a home and protection of God. Something you wouldn’t have, if God had decided to wipe us all out immediately.”
“I guess not.” Emet admitted.
“I was raised with Egyptian Gods.” Takarut added. “Very few of them were described as paternal. Of all the words Jehovah could be called, He wants to be known as a Father to us.”
Emet pulled his head in a bit. “Whenever you and mom punished me for doing something bad, the punishment was over once I learned my lesson. This is harder.”
“Yes it is, but I’m betting history will vindicate those who kept the faith.” Moses agreed, wrapping it up. “So, since we still have nothing but time, shall we get to work?”
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
“The Bible describes the Ancient Israelites as ‘a stiff-necked people’ In fact, that was a direct description from God.” Ignaz gestured around the Camp. “Like those people, our only job is to hold on until the exile ends. Unlike that generation, we can’t point to the calendar and say when it will be over.” He paused to make sure he had their full attention. “But it will be over. I know it’s getting harder to remember life before this Camp, but this isn’t normal life. This isn’t real life. This isn’t the real world. Sooner or later, this war will end, and we will be free. And sooner or later, this world will end, and we will inherit paradise, just like those people from thousands of years ago, waiting in exile for their chance to enter the Promised Land. Dream of the day, my brothers. All servants of Jehovah have just been… marking time, until the Real Life began.”
~~/*\~~ Takarut ~~/*\~~
Takarut tested the tip of his stylus for a moment. “Emet?” He said finally. “I seem to have left the bundle with my other stylus back home. Would you mind getting it for me?”
His son nodded and scampered out of the tent, still young enough to have seemingly unlimited energy.
“Your other stylus?” Moses repeated knowingly.
“Too obvious?” Takarut winced a bit.
“No, just a little bit obvious. Emet is young. When he grows up, I hope you'll have better excuses than that.” Moses commented. “So. What did you want to talk about privately?”
“I had a question about the day when the Golden Calf was destroyed… Well, to be honest, it’s a question I’ve had for a while.” Takarut bit his lip. “But...”
Moses sobered. The Golden Calf was not a happy memory for anyone, least of all for Moses himself. “Well, I brought it up, so I suppose it’s only fair.” He nodded, before something occurred to him. “I’ll answer your ‘indelicate’ question, if you answer mine?”
Takarut nodded.
“When the Golden Calf happened…” Moses said carefully. “At my order, your best friend was put to death; as well as others you knew.”
“I wasn’t sure if you knew about Satau.” Takarut put in.
“I think I met him once, but I didn’t know his name. And if you didn’t want to talk about it, I wasn’t about to force the issue.” Moses admitted. “I was told of your… losses, when you came to work for me here, transcribing the histories. Some of the Chieftains were worried you were angling for revenge.”
“On you? I’d never even try.” Takarut nodded. “For one thing, you’re protected by something far more powerful than any guards.”
“I am. But accepting that is one thing, and working closely with me for several years is quite another.” Moses nodded. “My own people have demanded different leaders over Manna. Ordering the execution of people you care about? Why work for me in this, Takarut?”
Takarut took a breath. He’d rehearsed it so many times it came easily. “My best friend was the son of a High Priest, who taught him the ‘magic tricks’ that Priests needed to convince Pharaoh of our gods and their power.” He began quietly. “But when presented with real, actual signs of Supernatural authority, Satau and I both knew right away it was the real thing. Satau helped construct the Golden Calf. He was overjoyed, thinking it was the first indication that he had any value to the service of a real God.” He gestured at the pillar of smoke outside the tent. “I was a Scribe. I recorded proclamations and told others that they were Law. The word of Pharaoh was the word of god where I grew up.” He tapped the scrolls. “And what you said to my son about how a Sovereign allows no treason? I believe that. I’ve seen lesser ‘gods’ demand such things all my life.” He took a breath. “Satau was my friend. He broke the Law. Do I resent you for enforcing it?” He held his breath until the truth slipped out as a weak, shameful whisper. “Sometimes.”
Moses sighed, not surprised, not angry.
“Not often. Most days, it’s just something terrible that’s happened. There are plenty of such moments to go around.” Takarut defended desperately. “My wife has lost more people, more friends to attrition over the years in this Camp than she did to her Egyptian Masters. I can’t deny it… it hurts. Doing the right thing usually does. Whenever I had to punish Emet for breaking the rules, I felt sick to my stomach; seeing him cry, hearing him rage at the ‘unfairness of it all’.”
Moses nodded, sympathetic. “Nobody wants to serve God in a leadership role because they like ordering discipline on anyone, Takarut. If I was the kind that took any kind of pleasure in doing so, God would never have put me in charge.”
“I come and work closely with you, because I wrote down the words of Jehovah. The words you said when you first came down the Mountain. And I knew it was something more fixed than the stars in the sky.” Takarut wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye. “Jehovah is real. I have seen Him make a sea stand upright, and the sun stop shining for days at a time. However it might sting to be ‘corrected’, where else is there for me to go, in comparison to that?” He spread his hands wide. “Satau made the calf because he was looking for a way to be of use to Jehovah God, and the idols were the only tools he had. I’m here because I’m looking for a way to be ‘right’ with Jehovah. I cannot be a Priest, or a Chieftain. An Egyptian-Born can not be of the Levite tribe.” He gestured at the scrolls again. “But this? This I can do. And without wanting to be prideful, I can do it better than most in this Camp. I’ve been trained to do it my whole life.” He smothered a look. “Once I learned how to write right-to-left.”
Moses chuckled. “And you’ve become quite indispensable to me, Takarut. Your faith in Jehovah’s leadership has proven stronger than even some of the Levites.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Takarut said sincerely.
Moses sighed. “So. You have an indiscreet question of your own?”
Takarut nodded. “I have transcribed several of your conversations with Jah, as you tell them to me. I have no doubt that all of them are relayed accurately, or surely God would have said something.”
Moses nodded.
“After the Golden Calf, Jehovah called for us to be wiped out.” Takarut said awkwardly. “He offered you the position of… well, of Jacob. To be a father of nations. A different nation, still descended from Jacob’s line, with you as the Patriarch.”
“He did.” Moses nodded.
(Author’s Note: Jehovah and Moses had this conversation, written in Exodus 32. And while it’s understood that Moses wrote the first five books of the Bible, there’s less information available on when those scrolls became available to the Assembly in general. Moses made an address to his people at Deuteronomy 9, where he related this conversation; so the Nation of Israel did learn about it, if only after the fact. But to make this scene happen, I had Moses keep it largely to himself. In fact, there’s nothing in scripture to suggest he had a Scribe writing anything down for him, or making any copies of what Moses was writing. Since Takarut is my own invention, and I put him to work in this role purely to move the plot forward, I decided to play it out this way.)
“But if He made you that offer, why not take it?” Takarut asked, curious. “I mean, I owe my life to the fact that you didn’t, but… I don’t know that I’d have the nerve to say ‘no’, given the source, no matter how… extreme the command was.”
“I suppose… My hope got the better of me.” Moses drawled. “I have hope that my people will be worthy of their God. Even if it takes another generation. Or two. Or twenty. We all have the same dream: That one day God will bring about an end to all sin and evil. Being a servant of an Eternal God brings the knowledge that you must make plans for Eternity.”
“Leahe taught me about the Prophecy of a ‘Promised Seed’.” Takarut nodded. “Some king, or ruler, who will lead the nation back to Paradise, born of one of these Tribes.”
“Not just the nation, but the world.” Moses nodded. “Though, I admit, there’s much we don’t know about that time.”
“And in the meantime, we seem to be offending Jehovah every five to ten years; which is surely why He wanted to start over. Will it always be this way?”
“That is not up to me. It’s not even up to Jehovah. He will follow His own laws. What happens next is up to our people, and our children.”
“Have you asked?”
“Often. About the coming Seed, about the day when Eden is restored, and many, many other things.”
At that moment, Emet came scampering back into the tent. “I got’em!”
Takarut almost smiled as his son ran over. “If I was able to have a two-way conversation with God, I fear I’d never run out of questions to ask Him.”
“I don’t imagine I will either.” Moses agreed. “But God has His own view of when to reveal things to us.”
~~/*\~~
“To us all.” The Boy murmured.
“That doesn’t bother you?” The Merchant asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Sometimes I wonder if the reason He doesn’t reveal His whole plan is because He’s afraid of us messing it up for Him. After all, if He was so certain, why would He need to keep it from us?”
“Us?” The Boy retorted. “There’s no ‘us’. And if He’s hiding the Plan from you, that’s just common sense. You may not have a chance of winning, but you’re still the enemy.”
“Not the enemy. The alternative.”
“It’s the same thing.” The Boy gestured in the direction of Moses’ tent. “They understand that.”
“They might, but they don’t care. Or aren’t you listening to anyone that doesn’t agree with you already? Long before the forty year sentence is up, they’ll be ready to eat Moses, just for the change in diet.”
The Boy strung his instrument, not looking at him as he started to play. “We’ll see.”
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
At the morning announcements, there was a man in a civilian suit and coat. The way the soldiers gripped their weapons and edged away from him was fascinating to watch. They were more scared of the Gestapo man than any of the prisoners.
That’s why they’ll lose this war. Oskar thought, half musing to himself, half speaking to God in prayer. They’re not even on their own side. Not really.
The Commander stepped forward, and addressed the prisoners. “One of you will have the honor of service to the Reich in a deep and personal way. Our guest, Major Reschke from the Gestapo, is in need of an addition to his personal household staff. It is our hope, that seeing the way a civilised home is run, might motivate you all to work hard, and become honest members of society again.”
They want a slave worker for a Gestapo man’s home, because they don’t dare take the job themselves. Oskar translated in his head.
“That one.” Major Reschke said from behind the Commander. He’d already made his choice… And he was pointing at Oskar.
Oskar blanched. “Me?!”
Konstantin slugged him from behind. “Speak only when asked to.”
~~/*\~~
The deal was done instantly. The Commander could do nothing, of course. They put Oskar into a car, and drove away from the Camp. The Gestapo man was in his towncar, ahead of them on the road. Oskar had the backseat of his own car all to himself. Compared to the rough cot, or the rough-hewn timber of the Barracks, a smooth leather seat so extravagant that it didn’t feel real.
They brought him back to town. The wealthier side of town, in fact. Oskar had been there while witnessing, but had never been inside any of the houses. The car pulled to a halt outside one of the nicest.
Half the houses in the street were dark, or boarded up. One or two had even been burned out. But the house they stopped at was in perfect condition, with a beautiful flower garden in front.
“Why me?” Oskar whispered softly to himself as he gazed up at the house.
“Because you’re a Bible Student.” The Driver said to him quietly, with a wry grin. “They know about your kind. Any other prisoner would be a danger. They’d have some foolish thoughts towards revenge, or resistance.”
“So I’m here because… I’m harmless?”
“Completely harmless, yes. You proved it during that little uprising.” Already at the door, Reschke heard him anyway. “It’s best for everyone, really. The last one spilled some soup on me last week. It was scalding hot, and he insisted it was an accident rather than an attack on me. But his file suggested it was best not to take any chances.” He smiled like a crocodile. “If you mess up like that, I can still have you killed; but nobody will suggest it was a security lapse on my part. The Gestapo never makes those mistakes.”
Oskar found he would rather go back to the Camp. At least there, he’d have his brothers.
~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~
No comments:
Post a Comment