My dear sisters worked so hard to prosper the feast, guiding our servants in their duties. It was obvious by all of the loud chatter, merry laughter, and heated political discussions that my feast was a success. I offered the new governor and Caiaphas the seats of honor. I had my servants attend to their every need. I sat with Mary and Jesus on my left and Martha on my right. My sisters came and went as the need arose and it was during a time that Mary was away that the governor excused himself from the tight grip of Caiaphas and seated himself next to me. I gave the appropriate greeting and allowed Pontius to lead our conversation.

“Rome greets you, Lazarus,” he said without a smile upon seating himself.

He wore casual Roman attire. Over a white linen tunic, he wore a woolen toga colored in an eye-pleasing violet. He was a comely man with brown eyes and short brown hair. I could see from his red cheeks that he had been getting some unaccustomed sun. Before we could speak further, Mary came from behind and pressed a goblet of wine into the Prefect's hand. We waited for her to refresh our drinks and when she had turned away, Pontius sipped his wine and, at last, smiled.

“I commend you,” he said. “The wine is excellent. I hear,” he said clearing his throat and turning to business, “that your imported stone and wood are of the best quality. Naturally, I will want to talk with you later. However, I really wanted to meet your brother-in-law.” He turned to Jesus and lifted his goblet in salute. He said casually, “I have heard that you are quite the thorn in the flesh of the powers that be.”

Jesus sipped his wine and answered, “I am a simple man who speaks the truth.”

It surprised me that Pontius laughed. He replied, “You are a Rabbi of note. The consternation you cause among your peers amuses me. I am not as well versed in local customs as some of my associates but I do follow the news. Your so-called truth is causing a stir.”

Jesus said to the Prefect, “In how we treat our brothers, our Father calls us to be perfect. If we bring our deeds and motives into the light, there is no reproach. Only darkness is troubled by the light.”

Pontius replied to Jesus, “On the whole, I have found you Jews to be wound too tightly. I know of no other people who spend a greater part of each day in the pursuit of such minor squabbles. You bandy about your truths like hot stones you fear to touch but fear more to be seen dropping.”

Jesus smiled and answered, “Truth is the substance of life.”

“Yes,” said Pontius, “but death is just as true.”

“Death is certain,” said Jesus. “For you Romans, it is a constant companion. Many who live are dead before they die. I seek to imbue life with life.”

“Well said, my friend.” Pontius finished his wine and stood. “I will continue to follow the news with great anticipation. I wish you the best as you trouble the darkness with your truth. I know my truth. What interests me is the spectacle of you Jews as you conquer yourselves. What a game! You are an admirable player.”

The Prefect returned to Caiaphas, and I was dumbfounded as I watched him walk away. I turned to Jesus with my mouth still open. I guess I had hoped he would say something to help me understand what had just been said. I found the Prefect's words to be filled with contempt. Yet, his demeanor was friendly and accommodating. Suddenly, the future of our people seemed to be overclouded. Jesus leaned toward me as if he might whisper some word in my ear to put my heart at ease. Instead, he reached out with his hand and raised my chin to close my mouth.

That evening after the feast, the air was crisp and bracing. It cleared my head of the wine I had drunk. We stood in the gate. I would have wrapped something about my shoulders but, as if he knew my chill, Jesus stepped inside to retrieve a cloak and place it around me. He kissed Mary and drew me away from the house. Quietly, he led me up the hillside through the trees. There was an opening at the top not far from the graveyard. We stretched our bodies out on the grass and propped our heads upon the rocks. For some time, we just lay there and watched the fleeting clouds as the last traces of light ebbed from the sky. Jesus was at rest with his hands clasped above his belly. It was peaceful there. The chill had left me and I felt refreshed and calm. Then Jesus turned his head to me and looked into my eyes.

“Do you feel it?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I feel it.”

There was a soft hum, an energy at play between the chirrups of birds and crickets. It was palpable. We shared a smile, just like in the old days, and then we settled for a time back into our lazy reverie. It felt really good to have my childhood friend by my side. He was always the smart one among us. Jesus always had something wise to say. I recalled the days of innocent play with friends. John was there. He, too, had become a Rabbi. James was there. We pretended to be our fathers and conducted business between us. Jesus had dragged a small tree into our secret camp and we worked a full week to cut it into four pieces. They were the base of a walled city we never got to build.

“I have begun my Father's work,” he said softly.

I turned to look at him. He seemed at peace. I envied his constitution. He had always been tall and strong. His energy and zeal were admirable. I, on the other hand, had always been sickly and weak. Everything affected me. I cannot count the times that Jesus came to my sickbed as a child when he should have been at play with the others. He always came. He came and sat with me. He told me the stories from the Torah and brought comfort with his words.

I asked him, “Will I have a place in your Father's works?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Oh, yes.”