Out of the corner
of her eye, Sarah Green saw Professor Johnson bustling into
the computer room waving a sheath of computer printouts. Sarah
grinned as she ignored her superior.
“Sarah, I need you
to run these figures for me. If my math is right, I may have
an answer to why time is directional.”
The young graduate
assistant sat oblivious at the computer with Beethoven’s ninth
blaring in her headphones. Growling, the Professor tapped her
on the shoulder. Sarah slapped at the offending hand and spun
around. “Hey, don’t paw the goods! I heard you. I’ll be with
you in a sec.” Sarah turned back to the keyboard and tapped
in the last line of data. She smiled as old man Johnson fumed
behind her. Let him wait. I’m the best darn programmer in
the department.
Turning to the Professor,
Sarah said, “Okay, gimme!” and snatched the sheath of printouts.
After a moment, Sarah frowned. “This data is from a particle
beam run on the minicyclotron. When did you get funding for
that?”
The Professor just
shrugged. “I didn’t. Professor Hardcourt agreed to modify his
runs to give me some experimental data.”
“Oh. And what did
you give him?”
“He’ll get half
the credit for the discovery if this data proves my theory.”
“Lord!” Sarah snapped. “Do
you have any idea how lame that is? He’s done nothing, and
gets half the glory if this pans out.”
Professor John flushed
and looked away. “Yes, that’s true. But I’ve never been funded
for this. It’s the only way I can.”
Sarah turned away.
The old man was obsessed with this. “The arrow of time,” he
called it. Chuckling, Sarah began punching in the data. Professor
Johnson walked away when Sarah didn’t turn back.
Sarah first met
Professor Johnson at the Physics Department faculty mixer.
“Why is it that
time moves in one direction only? At the level of subatomic
particles, either direction is fine. The math works in either
direction,” were the first words out of his mouth. Oh lord,
Sarah thought as she smiled.
“How could the universe
exist if all reactions ran from beginning to end and back again?” Sarah
replied.
“I’m not saying
that time moves in both directions at once. Hobson’s work with
proton/antiproton reactions proved that. But there must be
some force that causes time to have directionality. Time moves
in one direction because something is pushing it in that direction.”
Sarah laughed. “Pushed?
By who, fairies?”
Professor Johnson
laughed, and launched into an incomprehensible monologue. Sarah
grunted and nodded at regular intervals until she was able
to slip away.
Sarah recalled this
conversation as she glanced back and forth from the computer
screen and the Professor’s printouts. There was a small but
consistent amount of extra energy in the reactions. Small enough
that most experimenters would ignore it if they weren’t looking
for it. But this was the amount of energy predicted by the
Professor’s equations, enough to justify the existence of a
force-carrying time particle. Sarah’s heart thumped as she
ran to find Professor Johnson.
Professor Hardcourt’s
team spent three months trying to detect the time particle
(or chronon, as Professor Johnson named it) before succeeding.
After that, more were found once the particle team knew what
to look for. Shortly, Professor Hardcourt found the antichronon
and the department chairwoman talked of research grants and
awards. Membership on the Hardcourt/Johnson team became the
most envied post on campus.
One Friday night,
Bill Jacobs, the team leader, took Sarah back to the particle
beam lab after pizza and beer. “This will freak you out,” he
said as they climbed the stairs to the lab. “We just got enough
control over the chronon stream to try this.” Giggling, he
set a pencil on the revolving stage where the chronon detector
normally sat. “I’m going to give it a 10 second burst,” he
said. The lights dimmed and an almost subliminal hum filled
the room. In the chamber, the space over the stage wavered
like the air in a furnace, and the pencil was gone. Sarah blinked,
and found two pencils on the stage now. The second disappeared
as soon as Bill cut power. Sarah gripped the edge of the consol,
panting.
“From what we’ve
got so far, you have to apply a set amount of chronon energy
to an object to break it loose from the time-space continuum,” Bill
said. “After that, the more particles that interact with the
object, the further it moves along the time-space continuum.
That was about a three second displacement. Things get really
wild when we bombard a target with antichronons. The target
appeared on the stage before we started the run. That really
scared Hardcourt.”
Sarah just nodded. Jerk.
He’s got no idea what he’s got here!
Sarah felt a glow
in her chest as she considered events. It all made sense. She
always knew she was meant for something special. This is
why I’m here, what I was born to do! So, what should I try
for? Riches? Too easy. The first event has to be something
historic.
At the next beer
and pizza session with the team, Sarah asked the question, “If
you wanted to go back in time and stop the Holocaust, what
would you do?”
The other grad students
hooted and laughed. Bill Jacobs slurred, “Get Hitler! Drop
a bomb in his Reichstag!”
“No! No!” another
shouted. “Hitler didn’t start the persecution of the Jews.
It goes way back. Queen Isabella ejected all the Jews from
Spain in 1492. They lost everything, and most died on the road.
A couple of Popes ordered inquisitions against them before
that. Real nasty stuff with dungeons and torture, all sanctioned
by the Roman Church. You’d waste your time with Adolf.”
“Hey!” Jacobs said. “Why
go halfway? Get the man himself! Go for J.C. in Galilee. Without
him, there can’t be no Catholic Church, no Pope, no harangues
against the Christ-killers.”
“But what would
take its place?” Bill asked as he filled his glass. The discussion
took off on a tangent without Sarah. Her head throbbed as she
considered. Why not? It only involved one man at a well-known
place and time. Even as she considered it, she could see
the math in her head.
Sarah stepped onto
her makeshift stage in the particle lab as chills ran up her
spine. She’d spent six months brushing up on her high school
Latin and gathering supplies. So should I do this? ,
she wondered as she looked about the lab.
Sarah was still
debating when a sound like the rushing wind filled the chamber
as her computer program took control of the equipment and the
platform spun. A flash blinded her, and then she fell onto
bare ground. Standing slowly in darkness, Sarah looked across
a quiet, moonlit hillside and dark buildings below.
“Okay, I went somewhere,” Sarah
muttered. “Where?” There was no light or movement visible.
Sarah jerked around
at the voice calling from behind her. A heavy-set man wearing
a tunic, leather breastplate and metal helm stood there, hand
rested on the pommel of a short sword.
In Latin, Sarah
said, “I am sorry. I don’t understand.”
The fellow grunted
and rubbed his chin. “I asked if you were lighting a fire a
moment ago. I saw a flare up here.”
Sarah smiled. “No,
that wasn’t me. I just arrived myself. Could I ask who I’m
addressing?”
The soldier scowled. “I’m
Septemus Lucius, Legionnaire third class, in the Fifth Legion
under the procuratorship of Governor Pontius Pilate. And I’ll
ask the questions.”
Bingo! Sarah
clasped her hands and bowed.
The soldier nodded. “Who
are you? What’s your business here?”
“My name is Sarah
Green. I’m traveling from the west to visit the holy city during
Passover. I am afraid I’m turned around. Is that Jerusalem?
Am I in time for the holy day?”
The soldier laughed. “You’re
on course. That’s the west gate down there, and your Jewish
feast is still six days off. But, you can’t enter Jerusalem
at this hour, the gates are closed. Settle down here until
dawn. The gates open at first light.”
Sarah nodded. As
the soldier was turning to leave, Sarah called out, “Do you
know if Jesus, the Prophet of Galilee, is in town? I was hoping
to hear him preach.”
The soldier turned
and glared. “You aren’t one of his followers, are you?” Sarah
shook her head.
“Good!” the soldier
said. “We almost had a riot when he arrived yesterday. You’d
be well advised to stay away from him. Every time he speaks,
people get all stirred up. If he keeps causing trouble, the
Governor will find some excuse to cut his stay real short.” The
soldier drew a thick forefinger across his throat.
“I didn’t know he
was a trouble maker. I’ll keep that in mind.” The soldier nodded
and walked off. Sarah sat with her back against a tree and
chuckled.
“En garde,
Jesus of Nazareth. I’ve come.”
Sarah entered the
city the next day with the other visitors to Jerusalem swirling
around her. Nobody paid her any attention. Jerusalem was the
seat of the local government of the puppet ruler Herod Antipas,
the center of the Jewish priesthood and the military headquarters
of the Roman occupational forces. Foreigners were common.
Sarah spent her
first day looking into the movements of the Nazarene. According
to a wine seller at the temple square, the preacher entered
the city the day before surrounded by his followers and spent
the day with the other rabbis at the temple preaching.
Later that day,
Sarah cautiously followed the crowd into the temple square. This
is it, my first contact with the Christ. Leaning against
the wall, Sarah breathed deep to calm her thoughts as she drank
in the chaos. It reminded her of a smelly flea market. The
odor of animal waste and unwashed bodies assailed her. Merchants
shouted and waved their goods. Stalls and tables were jammed
so close together that narrow lanes just wide enough for one
were the only walkways. Grimacing, Sarah pushed into the crowd
and inched down an aisle. She tried ignoring the wheedling
merchants until one thrust a scroll under her nose. “Blessed
by the High Priest himself! Take one home for luck!” Sarah
waved him off.
The aisle grew wider
and the stalls plusher as she approached the the temple entrance,
which formed the rear of the square. A number of speakers already
held forth on the stone steps before the temple, surrounded
by crowds. Most wore the purple-and-gold robes of the priesthood.
But one at the far end of the steps was different. He wore
a threadbare robe of undyed cloth and sandals. His listeners
were even shabbier, many bearing crippling injuries. Sarah
strolled closer, feigning indifference.
Is this my quarry? Pausing
at the edge of the beggars, Sarah strained to hear, then sighed. Damn!
He’s speaking Aramaic. I’d love to know what he’s saying. She
edged into the crowd.
He looked ordinary
enough, tall and dark-haired like most men here, his arms and
chest knotted with muscle from hard labor as he gestured. Then
he looked up, right into Sarah’s eyes. She thought her heart
would stop. His eyes grasped Sarah and held her so she felt
naked and alone in the middle of this clot of people. Does
he know who I am? Why I’m here? The moment passed and
the preacher looked away. What was that! Sarah gasped
for air. The people around her stared. Sweating and panting,
Sarah lurched out of the square.
Sarah later confirmed
this was the Nazarene and shadowed Jesus over the following
days, but he was always surrounded by crowds of disciples.
When Sarah tried to follow Jesus and his entourage out of the
city at the end of the third day, she was confronted by two
burly disciples at the east gate. “Sister, the preacher goes
for food and rest. He will return to the temple tomorrow. Is
there something we can do for you?” Sarah smiled and walked
away.
So how do I get
at him? He’s always in the middle of a crowd. Joseph Caiaphas
and the priests will move against him soon. Passover’s coming,
and history tells us the priests will have Jesus eliminated
before that high holy day arrives. Perhaps once they have
him?
Sarah wandered the
route the Gospel described, from the temple to the Roman headquarters
to Herod’s palace and back, without inspiration. The narrow
lanes were all on main thoroughfares where there would be crowds.
The days rolled by without an answer. Sarah began to feel like
a ghost at the feast, always hovering at the edge of the disciples
as they sang, chanted or listened raptly to Jesus. Their joy
and peace was a tangible thing, but Sarah wasn’t able to join
in it.
Worse, she could
see events hurtling forward despite her efforts. Temple officials
appeared when the Nazarene spoke, their numbers growing as
they stood frowning and grumbling. Temple guards soon appeared
at the edge of the crowd as well, armed and armored. That night
as she lay in the stable where she’d been staying, Sarah could
feel the weight of history towering over this place. No!
I can’t fail this close.
And then Sarah overheard
a conversation in the temple square. “Do you know if Lord Herod
plans to attend temple services on Passover?” a merchant asked
a priest as he served him a cup of wine.
“No, thank heaven!” the
priest replied. “Ever since John’s execution, he stays away
from the city. The priests threatened to riot the last time
he tried to enter the Temple. I heard our mighty King is staying
at his estate near the river for the holy season.”
Sarah grinned. There’s
nothing in the Gospels about this! Sarah got directions
to Herod’s estate north of the city. And that was it.
Sarah’s weapons
gleamed in the hot sun as she watched the road. She’d hiked
out of Jerusalem just ahead of the priests and their prisoner
after they’d left Pilate’s Hall of Justice. And they have
to come this way. Sarah loosened the .38 on her belt and
glanced to the air gun and anesthetic darts on the ground.
Overnight, everything
had gone as written. The city was aflame with wild rumors about
the Carpenter of Nazareth; that Jesus and his disciples had
stormed Herod’s palace and claimed the throne, that Jesus had
assassinated Ciaphas and declared himself high priest, or that
he and his men had been slaughtered attacking the Roman barracks.
Sitting with a group of pilgrims at the temple square, Sarah
laughed as each new rumor circulated. At dawn, a priest strode
out the main door to the temple steps and proclaimed, “Jesus
of Nazareth, son of Mary and Joseph of the House of David,
the so-called prophet of Galilee, was examined by the Counsel
of Priests and admitted to the sin of blasphemy, to the High
Priest himself. A sentence of death shall be requested of the
Proctor-Governor.”
Sarah jerked alert
at the sound of a horse’s whinny and snatched up the dart gun.
Pushing aside a branch, Sarah stared up the road. Riders cantered
around the bend. In the lead was a priest sweating under the
blazing sun in his formal robes. Behind him, Jesus rode on
a donkey with his hands tied to the saddle horn, swaying with
the motion of the animal. Bringing up the rear was a temple
guard in full armor. Sarah raised the dart gun as they passed.
The gun coughed
and a dart slapped into the guard’s thick neck. He yelped and
snatched the dart out. Clutching the feathered missile in his
fist, the guard swept the heavy brush with his gaze.
“What ails you,
man!” the priest shouted. The guard just shook his head. By
the time the priest rode back, the guard was swaying in his
saddle.
“This thing stung
me,” he slurred and fell off his horse. The priest glanced
around as he dismounted, then bent over the fallen man. Sarah
slid another dart into the gun, aimed and fired.
“Aiiee!” the priest
screamed when the dart thunked into his left buttock. He yanked
it out with one hand and yanked out a short sword from under
his robe. “Where are you?” he shouted. “Come out and face me,
coward.” Sarah sat still, patient. Still glaring into the bushes,
the priest collapsed with a sigh.
Sarah threw the
dart gun into her pack and stood. Down the road, the horses
whinnied, staring. Nearby Jesus sat on the donkey gazing at
her with a puzzled frown on his face.
Sarah pulled the
cloth from her face and smiled. “Rabbi, I’ve come to rescue
you. Wait there and I’ll free you.”
Jesus’ frown deepened
as she approached. “And who are you that comes to me unasked?” She
freed his hands with her knife.
Sarah shouted over
her shoulder as she walked up the road to catch the horses. “I’m
Sarah Green. I heard about your dilemma and decided to save
you. Now, help me corral those horses, we’ll need them if we’re
going to get away.”
Jesus slid off his
little mount, but walked up the road toward the guard and priest. “I
would that you had not harmed these men in my name. Such violence
grieves me.”
Sarah turned when
she saw Jesus wasn’t following. What is he doing? We need
to be gone!
“Rabbi, don’t concern
yourself about them. They’ll wake up tonight. Now, please help
me. We’ve got to get moving before someone comes along. This
is the main road from the city to Herod’s palace. Someone’ll
be along sooner or later.”
Jesus was kneeling
beside the fallen priest as Sarah ran up and grabbed his arm. “I
don’t think you understand. These people were going to kill
you. They still will if they recapture you. Now please, we
must go!”
Jesus pulled free
and glared. “You obviously do not know my teachings if you
can say that about these men. I intend to move them out of
the sun. I then will go seek aid in the city for them. I would
recommend you take one of the horses and leave. The Temple
guards will arrest you otherwise.”
Sarah stared as
Jesus dragged the priest off the road into the shade of a tree. “Are
you insane? I’ve gone to incredible lengths to save your life,
and you don’t want to go because you disapprove of my methods?
I’ve been planning this for months and I’m not going to let
you screw it up.”
Jesus glanced at
her before turning to the guard. “You should consult with those
for whom you are planning before you decide their fate. I am
well aware of the risk involved in my mission. Your plans do
not interest me. I have been following the path laid out for
me for years. How can I turn aside now? Please, go away! I
do not need your help.”
Sarah jumped in
front of him, blocking his path. “Look, Rabbi, I’ve seen the
future. They’re going to flog you until your skin is stripped
away, torture you with thorns, and then drive spikes through
your hands and feet so they can hang you on a big piece of
wood. You don’t want to stay.”
Jesus brushed past
her. “Sarah, I have long ago decided I will do what needs to
be done. I have come to Jerusalem for that purpose and I will
not be driven away. These things I must do, whether I will
it or not. Truly, I have no choices available to me.” Jesus
grunted as he dragged the guard toward the shade.
Sarah drew the .38
and fired, shattering a branch next to Jesus’ head. “Enough!
You’ll come with me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you.”
Sarah saw only surprise
in the man’s eyes when he turned. Slowly, Jesus stood and walked
toward her. “I have told you what I intend to do. If you mean
to kill me in order to save me, then do so.” Jesus stopped
a few paces away and waited. Sarah could see no sign of fear
in his face.
One shot! That’s
all it’ll take. One bullet and the architect of Christianity
will be gone. There’ll be no showy execution, no symbol of
sacrifice to drive the Christ-lovers to madness and murder
down the centuries. He’ll disappear, just another of the
would-be messiahs that came and went during this era.
They stood face
to face, frozen. Sarah found she could not pull he trigger,
confronted the image of herself standing over this man as his
blood ran into the sand, and her hands began to shake. Can
I kill him like this? Watch him fall and die right now? Will
I be any different from the Nazi butchers if I do?
After a moment,
Jesus pulled the gun from her hand. He turned it over several
times frowning, then hurled it into the bushes behind her.
“Rabbi, you don’t
understand,” Sarah said. “The image of you dying on the cross
will drive people to kill millions in your name. All because
of what happens today.”
Jesus put his hands
on her shoulders and leaned close. “I do not understand this
vision of yours. I can tell you this. Anyone who performs such
acts in my name does not understand who I am. There will always
be those who use others for their own purposes. That does not
mean I am in error. The people need me badly. I cannot ignore
that. Go home, Sarah Green. I cannot give you what you seek.”
Jesus climbed onto
one of the horses and galloped away toward Jerusalem. Sarah
stared until he disappeared. What do I do now? She
watched the other horse cropping grass on the side of the road. Maybe
I should write a book for the Bible. The Gospel according to
Sarah! At least it’ll be accurate. Sarah ran to catch
the horse before it got away.
For the third time,
Pontius Pilate read the report from the tax collector of Northeastern
Judea. He could see that the numbers were wrong, but couldn’t
find the error. A soldier rapped on the open door and saluted.
“Well, what is it,
Lucius?”
“Sir, the Jewish
prisoner you sent to Herod Antipas is back.”
“Damn it! What do
I care if he’s back? Can’t you see I’m busy? Did Herod sign
the death warrant those bloody-minded priests wanted?”
“No, sir, he didn’t.
But, you don’t understand. The prisoner never reached Herod.
He rode in on his own after the third hour claiming his party
was waylaid on the road. The squad I sent out managed to capture
one of the bandits.”
“Wait! Wait!” Pilate
set down the scroll and glared at the soldier. “This carpenter
fellow just rode in after escaping his guards to report an
attack? Is that what you’re telling me?” The soldier nodded.
Pilate sighed and shook his head. “Lucius, I will never understand
these Jews, not if I live a thousand years. I’ll bet he even
has some high minded reason for coming in on his own.”
Pilate rubbed his
bald scalp as he stared at the ceiling. “Well, I’ll be happy
to oblige him if he wants a taste of Roman justice. Frogmarch
his butt down to the cells and lock him up. If Herod won’t
sign the death warrant, I will. I don’t need any more trouble
with these priests. What about this other prisoner?”
“I can’t get much
sense from her. She speaks gibberish mostly. She’s a foreigner
from the western lands. The squad caught her near the ambush
site riding a horse stolen from the temple guard.”
Pilate nodded. “A
foreigner? Okay, that means she’s mine to deal with. I don’t
have to turn her over to the temple for judgment. And she was
riding a stolen horse? That makes her a thief, so I don’t need
proof of her being part of the ambush.” Pilate frowned and
pulled gently on his ear. “Fine! Lock her in the cell with
that other thief. We’ll take care of both them with that carpenter
fellow after the sixth hour today. That’ll put a kink in the
priests’ guts. A woman nailed up with their two prisoners.
Draft the proclamations and bring them for my signature. Now
get out and see to it that I’m not disturbed until then.”
Lucius saluted and
strode from the room, as Pilate began rereading the tax records
for the fourth time.
# # #
On the Road
from Galilee by James R. Stratton
originally
published in the Fall 2011 print edition
