A camel sank to the ground beside me, eying me, begging for kindness. Trumpets blared.
Crowds circled the temple, some chanting, some bearing fruit, some waving palm fronds. Flares burned. On two giant candelabra, perhaps eighty feet high, torches smoked, guttered.
Shall I be able to help the people of Jerusalem? Shall I remain? My loneliness here was so unlike the loneliness of the desert.
I was to meet Judas who was to take me to friends. When he did not come I bedded down in a booth of branches, with cattle nearby.
I slept and woke to their animal sounds, without dread. Someone roused the oxen, then the sheep; the beasts wanted to be fed and watered. Nobody disturbed me. Probably I was considered a herdsman. I dreamed until a child brought me a cup of water: holding it out prettily she asked: “Are you thirsty?”
“Yes,” I said.
“My papa is taking care of the oxen.”
Opening my pouch I offered sugared dates to the girl.
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