...We had been walking for some time behind the various park building facades. Most were only empty shells, intended to be seen from one side only. I could distinguish the shapes of ziggurats here and there, but mostly from the back the features were unidentifiable. We descended along a rocky slope until Hani raised his hand and glanced back at me. "Now, this is our first stop. This is where the little passenger train comes out and the tour guides meet everyone. We've actually taken a shorter route."
Hani led me around an enormous outcropping of rock that became an overhang beneath which were what looked like three cave entrances. Within the nearest one, a small fire burned. Hay was strewn across the floor and there were some blankets, woven mats that might have been for sleeping. "Mind you, we don’t actually hold with this story, which I'll explain in a moment, but this is your manger tale."
"But it’s a cave."
"Very incisive of you. It is a cave. The so-called manger of that derived tale would have been like this. We copied these from real caves that probably were used in this manner."
"But you don’t hold with them?" I prodded.
"Not really. The 'poor carpenter and family tossed out on their ear' story is unlikely. In the first place, 'carpenter' was the equivalent of ‘builder’ to us. Do you know any starving builders?"
"Well, no, actually. My brother--"
"Precisely. Most likely, he was a well-to-do kid. Not impoverished at all. Carpentry and rural images run through all his teachings, you know, which indicates he knew how to plant and feed. Only when he got to Jerusalem would he have been regarded as a second-class citizen."
"Why?"
"Well, it was the voice, the accent. He sounded like a hick come to the big town. Jon Voight in Midnight Cowboy, that sort of thing."
We walked past the last of the caves and up the hill on the far side while I chewed on that notion--the idea of Jesus the Geek being made fun of by the local toughs. It wasn’t too hard to imagine.
Next we descended even further, to the edge of a broad stream. It hooked around a hogback hillside and out of sight, all apparently natural but of course serving Hani’s goal of surprise, for when we rounded the bend, the stream broadened into a river. On our side a sandbar hooked out, forming a huge pool. In the center of that pool about twenty naked people stood up to their bellies in the water, their faces turned from us. They were watching a single, bearded figure who stood with his eyes closed, his hands on the head and one shoulder of a dull-looking youth. The bearded man was muttering something, the people hardly moved. Then all at once the baptist shoved the lad underneath the water.
"John the Baptist."
"Jesus' mentor. Many of Jesus' sayings were derived from those of John. He was quite popular--something like 5,000 followers, whom Jesus inherited when John was executed."
"Salome?"
"More likely Herod Antipas, who didn’t care much for criticism."
I was watching the event in the center of the pool. "He seems to be keeping that kid under for an awfully long time."
Hani’s brow furrowed. He watched for a few more seconds, then took out a folding cellular phone and tapped out a code. "Ernie," he said, "get someone to reset John the Baptist's timer, would you?...Yes, he's just drowned Jesus."
. . . .