Chapter 11:   He Who Hath Eyes

Zebulon lay on the hard stone floor, cloak a pillow under his head, hands folded across his chest, thinking well into the night. Next to him slept Jeshua. In the meager starlight that fell through the high window, he studied the carpenter’s features. Zebulon had never seen such a man. He wasn’t handsome or educated, but there was something about him. As he ministered carefully to the injured traveler, Zebulon had asked him if he was a doctor. Jeshua had laughed and said, no, he was just a carpenter. Zebulon was the last person to denigrate a laborer; he’d been one most of his life, but he’d never really been proud of it and when things changed and he found himself a merchant traveling the roads of Judea, he had relished the improved stature his position had given him.

But the way Jeshua had said, "I’m just a carpenter," had filled Zebulon with a kind of sweet envy. When he walked outside during the night to relieve himself, he surveyed the stone foundation Jeshua was working on. Hard work, indeed. Though there was no moon, he could see well enough to tell that this young man was a competent builder. Apparently, he was working alone, moving the huge sandstone blocks by himself.

Lying there, Zebulon looked at Jeshua’s hand, draped over his chest. It was rough and calloused, a long cut on the forefinger just now scabbing over. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that this was not the hand of a common laborer. It was the hand of a nobleman or a king. Zebulon almost laughed then, turned it into a low cough, and wondered how he knew this. Still, he was rarely wrong about people—That comes from people being so wrong about me, he thought, staring once again at the ceiling.

Another reason he knew something was different about Jeshua was when he was talking with the Innkeeper about payment, his eyes had caught the young man leaning over the injured traveler, gently sponging the blood from the man’s face. Jeshua had placed his hand over the man’s empty eye socket and had whispered something. Then he wrapped the man’s head in a long strip of cloth, covering the damaged eye.

Zebulon looked at the injured man lying on Jeshua’s pallet. His face was white in the low light, but he seemed to be resting peacefully. Something had happened, right before Zebulon’s eyes. He had ministered with wine and oil to the traveler, had carried him a dozen miles to the Inn, but more healing had occurred in the moment Jeshua had cupped his hand over the man’s eye than in everything Zebulon had done. Much of the day, as he carried the injured man, not knowing if he was alive or dead, he had wondered what he would do next. He badly needed to be home again after his long absence. Where could he leave the traveler? And who would care for him? He had no answers.

But as he lay there, looking at Jeshua, he knew his steps had been guided today. The carpenter with the nobleman’s hands would see to it that the traveler was cared for; there was no doubt of that, and Zebulon could continue his journey with a clear conscience, knowing he had done what he could for the poor man.

Then Zebulon’s eyes once again lit on Jeshua’s hand and he knew the injured man would live, and more than that, he would be healed, body and soul. The carpenter’s hand, calloused and injured itself, had healed the traveler with a touch. He would see again. Zebulon had witnessed something miraculous, and as he drifted off to sleep, he reminded himself to not forget what he’d witnessed today. Somehow, he knew he would have cause to remember it in the future.

* * *

"Take care of him," said Zebulon as he handed over five gold coins to the Innkeeper. "And whatever you spend more, when I return, I will repay."

Caleb scowled at the money. He looked over at Jeshua, who was chiseling on a block of limestone. Jeshua had implored him to accept the Samaritan’s money, and he had finally given in. He knew the Samaritan’s money was as good as anyone else’s, but the truth was he just didn’t want anyone to see him accepting it. But since the injured man was Jewish, and the money was meant to help him, Caleb saw no conflict. Plus, they were alone out here in back of the Inn. No one was around to see the transaction. He put the coins in his apron pocket.

"If you don’t return, I’ll dock your friend’s pay," Caleb said, nodding at Jeshua, who, he knew, was pretending not to hear.

Zebulon shook his head. "I will return. You can trust in that."

Caleb shook his apron, the coins jingling in the pocket. "I will trust in this," he said, and turned away.

Jeshua came over to Zebulon. "Travel safely."

Zebulon nodded. "And you. Work safely." He pointed at Jeshua’s cut finger, which was bleeding again.

Jeshua sucked on the cut. "I’ll try, but of the three, the stone and the chisel and me, I’m afraid I’m made of the softest material."

Zebulon shook his head. "I don’t believe that for a minute, young man." He walked toward his camels, then turned back. "We will meet again, Carpenter."

Jeshua waved back. "I don’t doubt it at all.