Thieves by Othoniel Ortiz
THIEVES
by
Othoniel Ortiz
Copyright 2016 Othoniel Ortiz
Table of Contents
Preface
One: The Marketplace
Two: Eber
Three: The Prophet
Four: The Theft
Five: Prison
Six: A Week Earlier
Seven: Barabbas
Eight: Crowds
Nine: Shem’s Trek
Ten: Paradise
Afterthought
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Tony’s Other Books
Preface
The hustle and bustle of the marketplace in Jerusalem is the setting for this story. Two inseparable friends, a pickpocket and a pincher, are going to become part of an unforgettable narrative in history. It takes place during a time of religious, political, and social uneasiness that rocked the nation of Israel, a nation governed by a foreign power.
The events are well known from the scriptural accounts, but the characters of the thieves are mentioned only in passing. I just wanted to bring to life what might have been and why. The young men are confronted with the most important decision of their lives, and their responses are poles apart.
The Marketplace
It was their favorite hangout. When the monotony of their small village became unbearable, they would amble to the town market for some excitement. The village was not far from Jerusalem, fortunately, which made it an easy walk. Eber and Shem were always together, and occasionally others from the village would join them in their ventures at the bazaars and food courts.
When younger, the two fellows eagerly anticipated market day, and they never missed the chance to go with their parents. Bartering was an exciting way of life at the market. As kids, the two were a rambunctious, inseparable pair.
Getting older and being able to go by themselves just added to their enjoyment of being right in the middle of all the hubbub. Eber’s character trait was to be in charge at all times. He was loud and strong-willed.
Shem was a quiet introvert and routinely followed Eber out of habit. They were diametrical opposites when it came to character and worlds apart in thought, yet they could still enjoy each other’s companionship.
Such were their diverse temperaments, and such was their friendship.
***
The marketplace was always noisy with bleating, braying, and mooing coming from the makeshift corrals. The shouts and loud negotiations endemic to such a gathering place made a perfect setting for Eber’s modus operandi. People of every stripe came from surrounding towns and villages to trade, swap news and rumors, haggle, gossip and delight from it all. Under the canopies lining the street, vendors made every attempt to lure the passersby and get shekels.
The scent of garlic and spiced food from cooking pots filled the air. The collective aroma of flowers and animals saturated the ambiance. Makeshift corrals with goats, sheep, and lambs dotted the dead-end alleys. Kids ran everywhere. With raucous enthusiasm, merchants hawked their wares of silks, jewels, perfumes, trinkets, fruits, fish, wine and livestock. Baskets resting on heads rushed to and fro full of fruits, nuts, cloth and a thousand other articles.
In the middle of the commotion walked the religious leaders. As was their custom, they kept their distance from lesser mortals as they ambled through the crowded streets. They arrogantly strolled through the mayhem with chins held high and eyes taking in the commotion. Everyone ignored the haughty Pharisees, Sadducees, and scribes and went about their business.
The entire city seemed to gravitate to this part of town, except on the Sabbath. A profuseness attended the place – a cornucopia of affluence, excitement and life. Roman soldiers, temple guards, government workers, farmers, shepherds, thieves, women of ill repute and tax collectors, even the governor on occasions, became part of the scene.
People from neighboring nations brought goods and with them the attendant customs, dialects and idiosyncrasies which were part of each ethnic strain. Cultures clashed on occasion, and for that the presence of Roman soldiers became necessary.
Eber and Shem loved it.
Eber
Eber, the older of the two, with his mane of black hair and deep brown eyes that gave him an aura of authority, was peevish, controlling and scheming. His beard had grown out before Shem’s, giving him a more mature look. He took full advantage of it.
Shem had short, curly brown hair, an unimpressive beard, dark completion, and an innocent look. He always did what Eber told him to do.
Eventually, the small village became too confining for Eber’s imaginings and ambitions. He could not get away with anything because everyone in the village knew him. As a teenager, he was the first to grasp the many opportunities to be exploited at the Jerusalem marketplace. He was fascinated with the colorful, energetic, and varied surroundings.
Eber loved the challenge at the marketplace, and for him it was a game of daring-do. It was an unquenchable thirst for what was not his, the banality of vice. Shem just wanted to be part of his friend’s shenanigans; he thought it was fun.
It all began with a dare at young age, and it was a thrilling, heart pounding experience. At first it was just stealing a handful of nuts or some fruit. Shem would distract the owner so Eber could carry out his larceny.
It was exciting when they got away with pilfering, but stealing fruit was small time stuff and ultimately got boring. So, as they got older, their thefts progressively became more reckless.
Eber honed his skills through the years. He could mark a target and expertly lift a shekel or gold gera from some unwary traveler’s purse. On the spur of the moment, he would work out a plan to walk off with his victim’s goods. It all became second nature to Eber.
Shem was amazed at how easily Eber operated, and, compliant as always, would lend Eber a hand. Eber could do whatever he wanted and hardly ever get caught. If apprehended, he would come up with the right alibi. He would only get yelled at, hit with a broom and told to get out. The punishment never fit the crime.
The Prophet
Jerusalem was a hodgepodge of Romans, Greeks, Ethiopians, Jews, Arabs and visitors from surrounding cities and nations, all of them rubbing shoulders at the market. The locals loved it when something newsworthy happened and got everybody talking up a storm. News traveled fast at the bazaars.
Lately, some extraordinary events had transpired that could only be described as miracles. Shem and Eber were just as curious as everyone else when the report reached their ears.
“Want to go hear a so-called prophet who’s stirring up some much needed excitement in town?” Eber asked. “I hear the local Pharisees and Sadducees hate him.”
“Yeah, I’ve got nothing better to do, let’s go,” Shem replied.
He followed Eber who, as usual, ran ahead of him.
As they passed the temple, Shem slowed to gaze on the majestic structure where pious Jews and proselytes worshipped and sought peace for the soul. He loved to watch the smoke from the sacrifices rise into the sky and listen to the chants, prayers and moans flowing from the openings of the structure and smell the sacrificial lambs and perfumes that filled the air.
Shem put out his hand as he walked by to reverently caress the stones of the structure. Strong emotions came back like heavy rain.
In his memories, he was a boy again, following his now deceased father up the steps and moving through the large doors into the sanctuary. The visits were a weekly event, Sabbath and holy days. Now, he could count on his hand the times he had returned to visit on his own.
They promptly arrived where all the din was taking place. Sure enough, there stood the mystic, right in the middle of a large assembly. All eyes were on him. Unable to get any closer, the two climbed up some fig branches
“What’s he saying?” Shem asked.
“Quiet, man, I’m trying to hear!” Eber responded, turning toward Shem. “Something about resurrection and life – or something like that.”
“Eh, well, what’s the guy’s name?” Shem asked.
“The guy next to him called him ‘Jesus’ or ‘Master’ or, something,” Eber replied. “I don’t know, strange eh? And another guy over there called him ‘Rabbi.’”
Eber turned back to the scene before him.
“Why would he call him that?” Shem asked. “He doesn’t look anything like a scribe or rabbi to me.”
“Yeah, he looks like a normal guy to me, too,” retorted Eber. “Wow, look at that, I can’t believe it! The old man, Anamin, who sat begging at the temple wall with the other vagabonds – he’s running around screaming, ‘I’m healed, I’m healed!’”
Shem strained to see over the heads of those who oscillated back and forth blocking his view. He jumped up and down, stood on his toes, then reached out to a