Necessary Heartbreak (5 page)

Michael again felt a surge of panic but tried to keep his tone light. “It's just playacting.” He craned his neck to get a better look and saw one soldier stab the man in the leg, causing him to scream in pain as blood gushed from the wound. The other two soldiers started beating him on the back with the shafts of their spears.

“No!” Elizabeth yelled before Michael could put his hand over her mouth.

“Shh!”

She pulled away from him. “Dad, we've got to do something!”

The soldiers hit the man in his back and legs repeatedly. He lay on the ground trying to cover his head with his hands.

This can't be real
. “Maybe that's fake blood?” Michael suggested. “You know, like the blood you see in the movies and on television?”

“It looks real to me.”

Michael felt helpless. “What kind of play is this anyway? I can't believe the town approved this kind of street play. I'm sure the cops are going to stop it. Those people out there should be doing something. But they're all standing around like nothing is going on.”

“We're doing nothing, too, Dad!”

Michael could see the fear in his daughter's eyes as they watched the soldiers now kicking the man, who was obviously in terrible pain. The look on her face gripped Michael's heart. But love for his daughter—and fear that Elizabeth would get hurt if he tried to intervene—paralyzed him.

He couldn't let anything happen to her. She was his reason to live.

Michael reached into his pocket. Empty. Then he remembered. “Oh, no, I left my cell phone back at the church.”

“I don't have mine with me either, but we have to do something. We can't just watch this and do nothing.”

The soldiers started spitting on the man. Elizabeth screeched in horror. “No, no!” she shouted through the tiny opening. “Stop it!”

“Quiet, Elizabeth!” Michael hissed as he put his hand up to her mouth.

But Elizabeth slapped his hand away and pushed forward against the metal grate. Its frame cracked slightly.

To Michael, the crowd outside seemed to be getting louder and the soldiers' laughter more defined. “No, Elizabeth, stop. Please stop pushing!”

“I have to help, Dad. I have to help him!”

With one last thrust, the grate broke free of its frame, falling out onto the road above. Elizabeth pushed against Michael, hoisting herself through the opening, and dropping her miniature flashlight pen. Getting to her feet quickly, she ran over to the bloodied man.

Michael grunted as he pulled himself up onto the road. “Elizabeth, stop!”

He ran over to Elizabeth and grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the bleeding man. “Sir, are you okay? We need to get you some medical attention.”

He turned toward the crowd. “Someone should really call 911!” he shouted, exasperated.

Several soldiers surrounded them, one of whom pulled Elizabeth away from the man.

“Get your hands off my daughter!” Michael screamed.

“Kατασιγ
ά
ζω!” a soldier shouted.
*

Another soldier waved at the crowd to quiet them, then turned to Michael. “
П
ώ
ς σας λένε?”
*

Michael and Elizabeth looked at each other, unable to understand what the soldiers were saying. One began to scream at him. “ποοκρίνομαι!”
*

“What?” Michael muttered. “Who are you? What is going on here? This guy is seriously hurt!”

The soldier pushed his spear into Elizabeth's chest. “ποοκρίνομαι!”

“Stop! Please don't hurt her!” Michael screamed.

“ποοκρίνομαι! Пώς σας λένε?”

“What . . . what did you say?” implored Michael as he was pushed to the ground.

“Dad!” said Elizabeth weakly as the soldier continued to press his spear near her neck.

Michael reached up with his left hand, grasping at the spear, his ring sparkling in the sunlight. The soldier relaxed his stance slightly and leaned over, grabbing his hand. He pulled at Michael's ring.

“No!” he shouted at the soldier.

The soldier pressed his spear with one hand against Elizabeth's shoulder and reached for the ring with the other. Still unable to comprehend the soldier's demands, Michael hesitated. The soldier took his spear away from Elizabeth and jabbed at Michael's hand, gesturing at the gold ring.

“No,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Not my ring. Please.”

The soldier swung his spear wildly around, whipping it past Elizabeth's face.

“Okay, okay, whatever you want.” Michael looked at the ring quickly, kissed it, and slowly slid it off his finger. “I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry,” he whispered.

He weakly reached up to give the ring to the soldier, who seized it violently. Suddenly a big gust of wind bent the fig trees in the distance,
tossing the fruit in the air and whipping up the dust from the ground. The onlookers in the crowd covered their faces while the soldiers cowered sideways, putting their shields up to protect against the thrashing particles of dirt. Some fell to the ground, coughing, gagging from the soil that was filling their throats and ears. Michael lowered his head to avoid the swirling dust, expecting any moment that he, too, would begin to choke.

A moment later, he glanced over at Elizabeth in surprise. He actually felt fine. A feeling of warmth embraced him, and he found himself breathing normally. Elizabeth nodded at him. She seemed to be having the same experience, while all around them soldiers dropped to the ground, wheezing, and some vomiting. Michael felt as if he were floating, yet his feet remained firmly planted on the ground. The pinging of the sand against their faces didn't sting at all; instead, he found it soothing.

The wind died down as suddenly as it had started, and the swirling dust in the air settled. The soldiers, grimacing and gasping, staggered to their feet and looked around in wonder. Still clutching the ring in his hand, the one soldier wiped furiously at his eyes and assumed his menacing stance.

“How would you like your daughter to watch you die?” he asked clearly.

Michael was stunned. He looked at Elizabeth and saw that suddenly she, too, could understand the soldier's words.

The soldier thrust the metal edge of the spear toward Michael, jabbing him slightly. “What the . . . ? Stop! I gave you what you wanted,” Michael said angrily. “You got my ring!”

He turned toward the man who was still bleeding. “You really hurt him. You need to call an ambulance, right now.”

A soldier rode up to the crowd and quickly dismounted. Michael could hear his flat-soled sandals slapping against the stone road.

“Oh, it's you,” he said coolly. “Tell me what your interests are here.”

Michael turned to the swarming crowd. “Someone call 911, please! Call a cop!
This man is really hurt. Jesus, the poor man is bleeding. Help him!”

The soldier drew near. “So, you are a follower of Jesus. Just like your friend. Do you want to join him?”

Michael looked confused. “What?”

Elizabeth tried to help the bloodied man to his feet. Another soldier cut between them, pushing her to the ground.

“Ow.” She flinched. “My arm!”

“Leave her alone!” Michael yelled.

As she tried to stand, her foot caught in the hem of the T-shirt, tearing it. Michael leaped at the soldier who had hit Elizabeth and struck him on the side of the head. Another soldier hammered Michael with his shield, driving him to the ground.

“Dad, are you okay?” Elizabeth cried, pushing her way past the soldiers.

“I'm okay.” He winced and looked up at her. “I'm fine.”

The crowd was cheering with excitement. The soldier who had crushed Michael down with his shield bent over and picked up the piece of Elizabeth's torn shirt. Laughing, he put it underneath the back of his helmet and turned to Elizabeth with a leer.

“Is she the one, Marcus?” one of the soldiers asked, his eyebrows raised mockingly.

“Yes!” he hissed, with a menacing smile. “She will be mine. Soon.”

Michael was furious. “You put your hands on my daughter and I'll kill you.”

Marcus lunged at him, causing Michael to roll backward. The soldier towered over him. Jamming his spear against Michael's chest, he warned, “The next time you challenge me will be the last time you breathe.”

Another soldier grabbed Michael and roughly pulled him to his feet. The other soldiers began dragging him and Elizabeth through the streets.

“Keep away from her,” Michael shouted angrily.

The hot, dry air around them was stifling as they moved through a maze of dusty streets. Michael noticed that all the buildings they passed had flat fronts and were simply made; it was hard to tell one from another. They were constructed of stone, and many were no more than two stories high. There was a carnival-like atmosphere, people milling around near makeshift tables. The aroma of frying fish and fresh fruit lingered in the air.

“Where are we? What town are we in?” Michael shouted to one of the soldiers.

“Just keep moving!”

The soldiers swung the sides of their spears into his back, and Michael's legs buckled. “Keep quiet!”

He looked around, searching for a friendly face, even someone he would recognize from the parish—perhaps his friends Tom, Karen, Anne, Dennis, or Donna from the soccer league? As he scoured the multitude of people they passed, panic set in.

He couldn't find anyone he knew, and everyone seemed to be mocking them. Tears dripped down Elizabeth's cheeks, which rattled him emotionally. Michael couldn't help but cry, too.

As he tried in vain to wipe his face clean with his dusty hands, a woman in a black veil traveling in the crowd around them gave him a cloth. She looked at him quizzically, while signaling him to clean his face. “I'm so glad to see you. But why did you come back?” she whispered to him. Then she softly kissed him on the cheek.

Michael shook his head in confusion. “Who are you? What do you mean?” But there was no time to hear her answer as the soldiers dragged them on.

The crowd started to thin as the soldiers brought the bloodied man, Michael, and Elizabeth through a gate into what appeared to be a giant courtyard. There was no grass, just stones that paved the massive area. On the far end, a formidable series of steps led to a huge marble building supported by eight stanchions.

This isn't like any building on Long Island
, Michael thought.
Is this a dream?

Elizabeth looked over at her dad. He could tell that she was frightened. Earlier, her desire to help the man had overshadowed any anxiety she might have felt. But now, he could see the fear in her eyes.

Prodded by the guards, the three of them climbed the marble steps. The sun was strong and Michael could feel the sweat splattered on his forehead. His sandals were filthy and the knot in his stomach was growing. He was about ten feet away from Elizabeth. He tried to reassure her.

“Relax, Elizabeth, someone will call the cops.”

She nodded and managed a slight smile.

A man clothed in a heavily embroidered robe strolled out gallantly from the building. His shoulders were lean and muscular. Another man, apparently some sort of servant, approached him with a bowl of water. He dipped his hands in it, then splashed his face.

“Your Excellence,” shouted a soldier standing next to Michael. “We have three rebels. They have committed crimes against Caesar.”

Michael was stunned. “What?” he yelled. “Caesar?”

“Silence!” bellowed the court guard.

“I won't be silent,” Michael shouted back. “This man was being viciously beaten. All we tried to do was help him. I've had enough of this. Where are we?”

The man with the embroidered robe looked at Michael. “Why do you care if this man is beaten?”

“I don't like seeing anyone being whipped or kicked or anything. It's not right.”

“Not right?” the man responded incredulously. “Was it right that this man murdered a Roman soldier?”

Michael's jaw dropped. “Roman soldier? What Roman soldier?”
This has to be a dream
. “I don't think a murder in an Easter play is a crime,” he added sarcastically.

“Easter?”

Elizabeth broke the silence. “Easter. When Jesus rose from the dead.”

“Jesus of Nazareth?” the man asked. “Are you talking about the so-called prophet?” Turning toward his servant, he asked, “Has anyone else heard this? He's dead?”

The servant threw his hands up in the air and shook his head.

“Of course he's dead,” Michael said impatiently.

The man stared at him. “How dare you mock me?” He paused a moment, then continued, “So you're one of his followers?”

Michael wasn't sure how to answer. Then he weakly replied, “No.”

“Good.” The man nodded approvingly. “But your daughter
has
committed a crime.”

“No, she hasn't!” Michael said defiantly. He turned to the crowd. “Hey, can somebody help us here? Where are the cops? We need to get this man to a hospital.”

The man in the embroidered robe looked back sternly at Michael. “Don't you understand that the man you tried to help killed a Roman soldier?”

Again with the Roman-soldier bit
, Michael thought incredulously. He looked up at the sky and realized that he hadn't seen any airplanes, nor had he noticed or heard any cars or motorcycles, for that matter. This certainly wasn't Main Street in Huntington. There were no shops, nor teenagers on skateboards or adults riding bikes.

Where are we?

“I don't know anything about any killing,” Michael said desperately. “My daughter and I were only trying to help this man. We didn't know he was a murderer.”

A soldier stepped forward. “Your Excellence, what would you like us to do with these prisoners?”