A Bundle of Some Importance
"Rachel, wait up!"
She glanced over her shoulder as she cut down the narrow alley between two low slung buildings. Caleb, a boy who did odd jobs for her father, was running with the vibrant energy of most eight year old boys. She had no interest in picking up her pace. Her twelve year old arms carried a bundle of some importance. The last thing she wanted to do, was drop it.
"Where are you off to?" He said upon catching up.
"I have a chore to perform, Caleb. And may I ask if your mother knows that you are out in the street at this hour."
"Your father asked me to run an errand. The streets are very crowded."
"Exactly," Rachel replied. "He's very busy. The main streets are full of people. You need to be careful, Caleb, you could be trampled.
"Is that why you've slipped between buildings? Are you trying to keep from being trampled?"
Up ahead the alley opened. There was a cluster of men, a few women, a handful of unruly children, and a few beasts burdened with weight. They all seemed frustrated and tired.
"So, where are you heading?" Caleb asked again.
Rachel took a deep breath and stopped in her tracks. "I have these warm clothes to deliver for my mother," she answered impatiently, then added, "You, on the other hand, need to go back."
"But I might get trampled underfoot," Caleb pleaded. "You said so yourself. But I know all the ways around the crowds. I mean, I play in these streets all day. I know every alley."
"This isn't like every other day, Caleb. Our little town has never seen crowds like this."
"My father said it's the Roman's fault," he shot back, waving his arms wildly, as Rachel knew was to mimic his father. "The vipers want to count people. That's what my father says. Do you know what I think?"
"I don't care what you think, Caleb, your only an eight year old boy."
"And you're just a twelve year old girl. What value do you have?"
Rachel shook off his attempt to bring her to his level. She could have said many things. Most of it wouldn't have been true. She knew that women had no voice in their culture. Neither did little boys."
"My father's place is full," She began explaining. "It's crazy back there. He's turning away so much business. But he can only hold so many. There was this one couple. My father just wanted to shut the door in their faces. The woman was pregnant. Very pregnant. She looked as if she was about to give birth. That's what these are for." She held up her bundle, as if Caleb's seeing the miscellaneous blankets and assorted wrappings would demonstrate her point with more clarity.
"You aren't a midwife. You know nothing about stuff like that," Caleb managed to spit the words out, despite the looming memory of his father's spotted ewe giving birth, just a few months ago.
"And neither do you."
He hesitated, the vision of the sheep still in his head. Rachel turned away and started toward the next intersection. He ran up to her a second time, and started blurting out directions, "We cross the street out there, and go just a little way. There is another opening between buildings, much like this. When we get to the end of that alleyway we won't be far from the stables."
Without waiting for her agreement, he took off, leading the way, she followed. It was a short cut, one she might have missed. There was a stable, cut into the side of the hill. She heard the sounds of a cow and a donkey. As they grew near, she heard a baby cry.
"We're late," Rachel said with disappointment.
"I'm sorry Rachel, I made you late."
"No you didn't Caleb. You showed me the shortcut. I wouldn't have gotten here otherwise."
They were close enough now to see the baby, lying in the feeding troth. The woman looked up and smiled. She beckoned them closer, saying, "Come, see the miracle."
~
"Perhaps that's what it is," Caleb said as they were heading back.
"Perhaps what is?" Rachel inquired, still thinking about the infant's tiny features.
"The miracle," Caleb answered.
"Birth is a miracle," Rachel replied.
"But perhaps, some day, a real miracle will come. A lot of elders say that. They say it's written in the scrolls. A king will come. That's what they say, and he'll get rid of all these Romans, who want to do nothing more than count us, like we're a herd of sheep."
She rubbed the top of his head. "Perhaps Caleb," she said. "Perhaps tonight we have both seen a miracle, but I have a question."
He stopped, waiting for her query.
"How did you know I was heading to the stable? You asked where I was heading. I guess you were just playing dumb."
"Well, you know how it is Rachel. I listen to the men talk. They talk about the interesting things, like gaining freedom from the Romans. We used to be free. At one time."
"Way before you or I were born," Rachel added.
"But we were. Some of the men can still taste it... passed on by their ancestors of course."
Rachel shrugged. That was obvious. Men of every generation were concerned with the same things.
"But I have also learned," Caleb continued, "that sometimes it is good to listen to women, as well as the men, especially when those women are your mother and my own. I heard your mother mention the couple who needed a place to rest. I heard that the woman was heavy with child. Your father's place was filled to capacity, so your mother went outside and told them about the stable.
"So, you knew where I was going because you snooped," Rachel stated accusingly.
"I'm an eight year old boy. It's what we do."
Rachel turned toward the street ahead. They weren't far from her father's inn. She turned back to Caleb and quietly mused, "And you heard that there was no room in my father's inn."
Caleb nodded and added, "Perhaps a miracle."
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