Faith of My Fathers (2 page)
“That’s because I’m the king. You’re not supposed to beat me.”
“No, it’s because you’re faster than I am.” Joshua was still puffing hard from the race. His lungs made a rasping sound like a shutter hinge blowing in the wind.
Manasseh stared at the meadow, where he knew the spring had once flowed. “Too bad my father buried the Gihon Spring. I could use a drink of water.” An olive grove and half a dozen almond trees coming into bloom surrounded it now. He tried to imagine how the spring would have looked with serving girls lining up to lower their jars into the clear water, but it was too difficult to picture—as difficult as picturing his father’s face.
“Do you miss your father?” Joshua asked suddenly. Manasseh glanced at his friend, wondering how he had perceived his thoughts, then turned away. Across the Kidron Valley, clouds gathered above the Mount of Olives once again. The small patch of sunshine overhead wouldn’t last much longer.
“What do you think, Ox,” he answered sullenly. He knew he wasn’t supposed to grieve forever. To continue to mourn was to doubt God’s wisdom, the high priest had told him.
“Well, if it were my father—I guess I would miss him a lot,” Joshua said. “I don’t know how I could stand it.”
“Then what makes you think I want to talk about him?” The dampness from the ground began to seep through Manasseh’s robes. He stood, brushing off the loose grass, and sat on the wall beside Joshua. The cold stones weren’t much drier than the ground.
“Don’t you need to talk about him, though?” Joshua asked. “Otherwise, if everyone is afraid to say his name around you, after a while won’t it be like he never existed? I would hate that. It would be much worse if everyone just
forgot
my father.”
“No one around here is likely to forget King Hezekiah, the greatest king since David. This valley is where the miracle happened. Yahweh answered my father’s prayer and 185,000 Assyrians died in the night.” Manasseh’s voice had a mocking tone, almost as if he didn’t believe the story. Joshua stared at him in surprise.
But Manasseh believed the story all right. It was the greatest achievement of his father’s reign and the event that worried Manasseh the most. How would he ever live up to such a spectacular performance? He was Hezekiah’s son. The nation expected even greater miracles from the heir to such a great king. But what if God didn’t listen to Manasseh’s prayers?
“If it was my father,” Joshua said, “I wouldn’t miss him because he’s a famous man—the palace administrator and all that. I’d miss him because he’s my abba.”
A flood of longing overwhelmed Manasseh, and he jumped to his feet, hurrying down the path so that Joshua wouldn’t see his sudden tears. He remembered how his father would remove the heavy mantle of his reign at the end of the day and for a few moments he wouldn’t be the king of Judah anymore; he would be Manasseh’s abba. He missed the way his father looked at him, the pride and the love he saw in his eyes, and the pressure of his strong hand on his shoulder. Then Abba would listen patiently to his childish tales as if they were the most important news he had heard all day.
Yes, I love him and I miss him and it’s just not fair,
Manasseh longed to shout like an angry child.
Abba was too young to die! He loved God
and he obeyed all His laws, and I don’t understand why God punished him—
why He punished all of us—by taking him away!
But Manasseh didn’t shout. He was the king of Judah, not a twelve-year-old boy. There would be no childish tears and questions.
By the time Joshua caught up with him, Manasseh had his emotions under control. “Why are you still puffing like a long-distance courier?” Manasseh asked him.
“I don’t know. . . . I can’t . . . catch my breath.”
“Is it one of your breathing attacks?”
“Almond blossoms . . . They give me trouble sometimes.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah . . . in a minute.” Joshua stopped and bent over double, resting his palms on his thighs as he struggled to exhale.
Manasseh had seen his friend have attacks like this before, since the boys had grown up together. He tried to act concerned, but secretly he enjoyed witnessing his friend’s weakness. Joshua was superior to Manasseh in almost every other way: brighter in his academic studies, able to memorize long Torah passages, quicker with the answers to the rabbi’s questions about the Law. Joshua had his father’s brilliant intellect, and every aspect of the nation’s government fascinated him. One day he would take Eliakim’s place as palace administrator, serving in Manasseh’s court. That was why their fathers had decided to educate them together. Only in their military training, which required the speed and physical agility that Joshua lacked, could Manasseh outshine his friend. Joshua was old enough to take part in the Temple services, too, beside his father. But even though Manasseh would soon be old enough, as well, he would never be able to stand on the royal platform and worship beside his own father.
At last Joshua stood upright and started walking again. “It’s clouding over,” he said, still wheezing. “I think it’s going to rain.”
“So what? I don’t care if I get wet. Do you?”
Joshua shrugged off the challenge and ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture so much like Eliakim’s that Manasseh couldn’t help grinning.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, Ox.”
It would be natural for Joshua to take his father’s place someday, seated at the king’s right hand, continuing his father’s work. But when Manasseh thought about taking his own father’s place, sitting on King Hezekiah’s throne, his smile vanished.
They reached a fork in the road. One path led in a winding route up the Mount of Olives; the other curved to the right and eventually veered back toward the southern gates of Jerusalem. The sun was gone, now, and the air had turned cold. Manasseh felt a few drops of rain and turned right.
“Alms . . . alms for the blind . . .” An oldwoman sat in the middle of their path, calling out to them in a feeble voice. Her gray hair, matted like a bird’s nest, stuck out from beneath her widow’s shawl. Her lined face reminded Manasseh of a dried fig, and the thick, gray film that covered her eyes turned his stomach. She stretched out her hand, as gnarled as an olive branch, and grasped Joshua’s robe as they passed by.
“Kind child, can you spare a mite for a poor blind widow?”
Joshua stopped and looked down at her, his face filled with concern. He patted his sides beneath his outer robe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring my silver pouch.”
Manasseh grew impatient. “Come on, Ox. It’s starting to rain.”
“Wait—do you have any silver with you? I’ll pay you back. The Torah says, ‘He who is kind to the poor lends to the Lord.’ ”
Manasseh heaved a sigh to let Joshua know how aggravated he was, then dug out his money pouch. He chose the smallest silver piece he could find and bent to place it in the woman’s outstretched hand, careful not to touch her. But she suddenly grabbed Manasseh’s wrist in a viselike grip with her other hand and drew his palm close to her face until it was only inches from her filmy eyes.
“Open your palm, boy. I’ll read your future for your kindness.”
“No, don’t let her do it!” Joshua cried. “The Torah says—”
“Calm down, Ox. It’s only for fun. It doesn’t mean anything. Go ahead, old woman. Tell me all about my future.” He gave Joshua a sharp look, warning him to keep quiet about his identity. The woman would have no idea she was studying the king of Judah’s palm. She pulled it closer to her face and moved her head from side to side as she examined it.
“Ah . . .” she said, her voice hushed with awe. “This is a hand that will wield great authority one day! You will hold the lives of many people in this hand!”
“You shouldn’t let her do this,” Joshua mumbled, shuffling his
15
feet.
“Oh, be quiet. What else do you see, old woman?”
“I see a long life with many sons. And power! Enormous power! You are destined for great renown, boy!” She seemed reluctant to release his hand, as if some of his power might rub off on her while she held it.
“Okay, let’s go now,” Joshua said. But Manasseh grabbed his friend’s gangly hand and thrust it beneath the woman’s face.
“What about his future? Read his, too.”
“No! I don’t want her to!” He tried to pull free, but Manasseh and the old woman pried his palm open and held it tightly. She pulled it close to her eyes and studied it for a moment, then suddenly dropped it as if it had burned her.
“What? Tell me what you saw,” Manasseh said. The old woman shook her head fearfully and motioned for them to get away from her. “We’re not going until you tell us what it said,” Manasseh insisted.
“Danger!” she cried, still shooing them away. “Great danger!”
“My friend is in danger?”
“No! He is a great danger to
you
!” She fixed Manasseh with her blind-eyed stare, and he couldn’t turn away. He stood frozen, pierced by her voice and her filmy eyes. “Your lifeline and his take opposite paths. Warring paths. The authority belongs to you, but he will be much more powerful. The forces that are in him will be too strong for you!”
“She doesn’t know anything,” Joshua said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“He’s not your friend, boy!” she told Manasseh. “He’s your enemy! He’ll try to destroy everything you do!”
“The Torah says, ‘Do not turn to mediums or seek out spiritists, for you will be defiled by them’!” Joshua shouted at the woman. He grabbed Manasseh’s arm and pulled him back the way they had come, breaking the old woman’s spell. The rain was falling hard now. “I’m sorry I made you give her the silver,” Joshua said, shivering. “She’s evil.”
“But how did she know my future? How did she know about all my power?”
“She doesn’t know anything! She said I’d have more power than you, and you know that’s not true. You’re the king, not me.”
Manasseh recalled the fear he had seen in the old woman’s scaly eyes as she looked into Joshua’s hand and the way she had dropped it as if it were a hot coal. He stared at his friend as if at a stranger, then quickened his pace.
“Don’t look at me like that, Manasseh. You know I’m not your enemy.” Joshua was panting as he hurried to walk beside him. “She’s lying! We’re best friends, aren’t we?”
“That’s what I used to think.” Manasseh broke into a run as the rain suddenly poured down. Joshua couldn’t keep up with him.
“Manasseh, wait for me!” He began to cough, trying to expel the air from his lungs so he could draw another breath. “Wait!”
Manasseh ran on, the rain stinging his face, until he could no longer hear Joshua’s footsteps or his wheezing breaths behind him.
When he reached the first bend in the steep ramp Manasseh finally stopped and looked back. Joshua stood in the pouring rain near the almond grove. He was bent double again, coughing and gasping for air.
“Wait . . .” he called. “Help me . . .”
Manasseh had only seen Joshua this sick twice before, and both times he had been bedridden for days afterward. The rain and cold air might make the breathing attack worse. Joshua was his best friend— his only friend—and Manasseh knew he should go for help. Joshua’s father would know what to do. But then Manasseh would have to see the tenderness and love in Eliakim’s eyes when he gazed at his son.
“Please . . . help me. . . .” Joshua’s voice sounded weaker.
Manasseh turned away from him and slowly walked up the hill to his palace as rain and tears coursed down his face.
Hezekiah rested with his fathers. And
Manasseh his son succeeded him as king.
Manasseh was twelve years old when he
became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem
fifty-five years. His mother’s name
was Hephzibah.
2 KINGS 20 : 21; 21 : 1
“W
AIT HERE
,” K
ING
M
ANASSEH
told his servants. “I would like to be alone for a few minutes.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
He left his entourage of palace guards and servants standing by the cemetery entrance and walked forward alone, toward his mother’s tomb. It was the close of a warm, spring day, just after the evening sacrifice, and Manasseh knew he would have only a few more minutes of twilight. Once night fell he would need a torch to make his way among the tombs. The graveyard was deserted and peaceful; the mourning doves in the distant trees grieved with him.