for something you are passionate about; to me it lends credibility to what you are telling me. It’s from your heart and it speaks of truth, honesty, and a definite bedrock of credibility. Yes, I would like to meet these men and develop more background.”
Again, we could hear footsteps, accompanied by voices, bearing down on our meeting room. I asked, “Why is there so much interest in this room?”
Amal wrinkled his brow and motioned to hush up. It was obvious that he heard noises in the hallway. It was voices he heard, and they were getting closer. There were at least two men, maybe three. A distinct sound of armor clanking echoed in the hallway. One of the men apparently told a joke, as laughter filled our room as if the door were open. With a mixed look of fear and anger, I stared directly into Amal’s eyes and, in a low but terse whisper I asked, “Who are those guys, and what do they want with this room?”
Amal responded in a low, conciliatory voice, “They want to eat their lunch.”
With an incredulous look, and another quick scan about the room it suddenly made sense where we were. “Do you mean to tell me,” I began in a slow, wishing I were wrong, tone of voice, “we are in a Roman soldier break room?”
“Well, “Amal responded, “I must speak the truth. Yes.” His eyes sort of dropped away from my face, and once again were fixed on the door. He continued, “But not to worry Mr. Stanton, they always go away. They fiddle with the lock then curse it for its fickleness. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. That’s usually because we’re in here. Then they go somewhere else to eat their lunch, or take their afternoon naps. Not to worry.” And with the wave of his hand he dismissed the idea of being discovered by Roman soldiers.
“Not to worry?” I exclaimed. But Amal shut me down with another, “Shh—they are right outside the door. They’re laughing so loud they don’t hear us in here. They’ll go away soon.”
As Amal predicted, the keys stopped rattling in the door, and one of them cursed the lock as predicted, and in unison, they began to walk away. Their clanking armor sounds began to dwindle down the hall.
Turning to me with a broad grin and arms outstretched, Amal gloated, “There, see, I told you not to worry, Mr. Stanton.” His white teeth glowed brilliantly in the candlelight. I wasn’t as gleeful as he was.
“You mean to tell me, Mr. Amal, that you have brought me into a Roman soldiers break room where they eat their lunch, and place their spears in those racks, and sleep on these cushions, and we could be considered enemies of the state if we were caught talking about this subject, and we simply walk in and take over the place?” I wasn’t sure if I was angry, out of pure fear or just spouty because of the adrenaline coursing through me. Instantly, I threw a glance at Ashar, who had sat there all that time without interjecting even a peep.
“Are you worried about your newly found friend here Ashar?” Amal asked as he gently reached over to Ashar and pulled him over to his side. Then, plastering on that big grin of his again, Amal said, “Ashar is one of us, well Mr. Stanton, I mean, one of our group, my group, believers of the messiah of Judah. The very one that you know to come from Nazareth. Ashar is a special friend; after all, it was I who sent Ashar to find you at the Shepherds Bazaar. Did you think he really just helps strangers through Bethlehem?” Now it was his turn to be sarcastic.
“I really don’t care about who all your friends are right now, Mr. Amal,” I spouted back quite indignantly. Actually, I did care who his friends were, especially if they were in the same room. We were in a rather precarious place, and knowing that we were all on the same page helped me. Amal could tell from my surly reaction that I was certainly not pleased at this moment. In a calmer voice I asked, “How could you possibly think that you could get away with this for very long?”
Amal responded, “Mr. Stanton, if word got out that there were those who were scheming to overthrow the Roman government in Judah, where would you begin to look for them?” Without giving me a chance to answer he blurted out, “Would you look for them in your very own lunch room? No, probably not. You would begin out in the hills and search caves. So, we thought that we would be the safest right here in their own camp.” There was almost a sense of arrogance in his voice, that tone that emanates from someone who has used logic that was difficult to refute.
“How many does us represent?” I started to ask, “How many do you think there are that believe the messiah is alive today and is here to end Roman domination?” Ever since my education, I couldn’t take comments at face value. I always had to ask questions. Now was the time we needed to get out of there, and fast, and I was performing an interview!
“There are literally thousands of us Mr. Stanton,” Amal responded, “We are scattered all over the country, and we are excited.” Amal looked to Ashar for affirmation of his statement.
Ashar finally spoke up, “Mr. Stanton, we know that you have come here to write articles about the Meshiach, that’s the word Jews use, you use the word “messiah.” And we are grateful that someone of your stature and a publication of such world renowned prominence, like The World Observer Gazette, would even show interest in our cause, but we want to make sure that you see and hear the truth of the facts. There are detractors out there that don’t want word of the truth getting out. They are, of course, people in high places for which the Meshiach will unseat as he comes to power. They don’t want to acknowledge his existence because that spells the end to their wicked ways.” Ashar suddenly began to sound like a scholar.
He continued, “Furthermore, Mr. Stanton, we are a blessed nation, and these are blessed times because the blessed one has chosen now to arrive!” He almost sounded as if he were lecturing me. I believe he may have thought that to himself too as he concluded, “Er, sorry, Mr. Stanton. I, as Amal does, get very emotional about our future, especially since it was foretold to us for so many generations now . . . and here we are, living in the midst of it! Praise be to Jehovah for taking care of us.”
Amal interrupted, “Ashar, please, when those guys have cleared the hallway, head to the Bethlehem Inn and confirm to them that Mr. Stanton has arrived and that they need to prepare his room.” Ashar nodded in agreement.
Amal looked at me and said, “Mr. Stanton, when we heard you were on your way, we took the liberty of reserving a room for you at the Bethlehem Inn. Usually, travelers that arrive here in the late afternoon can’t find a room, so we pre-booked it for you. We trust it will meet your accommodation needs?” Without waiting for my response, Amal slipped over to the door and leaned his right ear against it. Apparently the men in the hallway had left, as Amal carefully unlocked the door and peered through the slit that appeared between the door and the jamb. Without saying a word, he motioned to Ashar to leave. Ashar looked at me and whispered, “I will meet you in the lobby of the inn in ten minutes. I will tell them to make sure there is plenty of hot water.” He made a motion to poke me in the ribs, but I lurched out of his way to avoid his bony finger. With that, he broke into a huge “gotcha” grin, and stealthily slipped out of the room and disappeared.
“I will make arrangements with my friends to meet you for dinner tonight, is that ok Mr. Stanton, or would you prefer to wait until morning?” Amal asked.
“No Amal I don’t want to wait until the morning, I am interested in meeting your shepherd friends. They sound intriguing, and it also sounds like they will have plenty of the background information that I still need in advance of my article. But I feel I must shower first, get this grit off of me and allow the adrenaline to level out.”
Amal turned to me with the utmost serious look on his face. “Very well then, we will see you there at seven o’clock. But, Mr. Stanton, you have never been here in this room! Do you understand that? No one must know that you have been here, even
