Unholy Night

through their fingers.

When Herod had been told the details of Hebron, he’d known. This was no longer a simple matter of old prophecies and ancient superstitions. This was the God of Abraham taunting the King of Judea. Laughing in the face of Herod’s power. Of Rome’s might. There could be no more doubt: The child was indeed the Messiah. And if allowed to live — if allowed to reach Egypt and disappear beyond the eyes of Judea and Rome — then he would topple the kingdoms of the world. Perhaps even the empire itself.

The emperor won’t believe a word of it, of course. No matter what the evidence is, or how many miracles deliver the fugitives from the hands of his troops. But I know… and it’s time I got directly involved.

Herod thought about his next steps, lying beside a girl who would never know the miseries of age. He would honor her memory somehow. When this was all over, he would do something to make up for his outburst. Perhaps he would order a statue of her made and added to the collection in his courtyard so that he might enjoy her beauty again whenever he went for a stroll outside.

But first, he would enjoy her body one last time.

V

The cool light of early morning invited itself through the windows, the house still quiet and asleep. Balthazar sat alone at the large table downstairs, a knife in his hand. The wound on his chest had finally healed enough for his stitches to come out, and he was carefully cutting them one by one. Pulling the loose threads from his skin, until a shadow cut across the table in front of him, drawing his eyes up.

Sela was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, her hair a mess and her eyes half asleep. But still so beautiful it isn’t fair. She was quick to look away and continue in, as if she’d expected to find him sitting here so early, bare chested and knife in hand. Balthazar, for his part, had been quick to resume cutting his stitches out, pretending she wasn’t there at all.

It had been this way for three days. No words had passed between them since their painful reunion. Balthazar had made a point of avoiding her, keeping mostly to his room upstairs, nursing his swollen eyes and cut lips. Coming down only when he knew she was away or asleep and relying on Joseph to bring him his meals. But with today’s departure weighing heavy on his mind, he’d tossed and turned until it’d become useless to resist. And so he’d come downstairs, thinking he’d be the only one up at this hour.

She probably thought the same thing. And now here we are.

Balthazar had experienced these tense silences with other women. Silences where the air seemed to become flammable. Where a single spark could ignite it all. That’s why it was best to say nothing. No good could come of words. Not when a single misplaced syllable might spark, might light the air on fire and get you blown to pieces.

Balthazar watched as she walked to the opposite side of the room, toward a water jug that sat on the sill of an open window. Pretending to cut away at his chest, he stole little glances at her as she wet her hands, washed the sleep from her face, and smoothed her hair over her scalp — all in unfairly beautiful silhouette against the fluttering curtains.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her back to him. “You know… about your face.”

He was surprised to hear her voice at all. Let alone hear it issue what sounded like a genuine apology. But Balthazar said nothing in return. He just sat at the table, half stitched. No good can come of words.

“It’s just… seeing you was a little… ”

What, upsetting? Surprising? So unbelievable that you needed to kick and punch me a few times to make sure I was real? Wait, why are you talking? Don’t you know the air in here might catch fire and kill us both?

Sela shook the excess water from her hands, opened the drapes, and stared out into the empty streets of Beersheba.

“After you left,” she said, “there were days when I would go and stand on the banks of the river. Stand there for hours, looking out into the desert. Wondering if you were out there. Wondering where you were, what you were doing. If you were even alive. Sometimes… sometimes I would hold my hand out in front of my body… lean forward and close my eyes. My arm stiff, my palm facing out — listening for you. I would stand there… as if I could feel you with my body. As if I could send you a message. Send a thought through that outstretched hand and ask you to come home. And it was so stupid, all of it.”

She turned. He saw tears massing in the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall.

“It was so stupid and naive, but I’d go out there, day after day, convincing myself that sooner or later one of those thoughts would reach you.”

They did… I thought of you every —

“You destroyed me, Balthazar.”

I know.

“You showed me how good life could be, and then you left.”

And you of all people should know why I had to.

“You left, and over time… I forgot. I forgot that feeling. I even forgot your face.”

What was there to say? How many times had he been over this in his mind? How many times had he imagined having this very conversation, on the remote chance he ever saw her again? And now, here he was, and there was nothing to say.

“Your mother is dead, Balthazar.”

It took him a moment to hear this. When he did, he swore he heard the hissssss of all that dangerous air seeping out of the room.

Oh, don’t be so surprised, Balthazar. Don’t you dare get all weepy eyed, as if you didn’t already know. Of course she’s dead. You knew she would be by now. You chose this, Balthazar. You knew you could never see her again — not after Abdi. Not after you left.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Balthazar found tears threatening to fall nonetheless. He couldn’t help but think of his mother alone at the end of her life. All alone, with so many unanswered questions, so much grief over the things she’d lost. He couldn’t help but picture her face. “Promise me… promise me that our happiness doesn’t come at the expense of another’s.” But of course it had. It had come at a terrible expense. Her expense. And now I’ll never get to see her and tell her how sorry I —

Balthazar turned away, not wanting her to see the tears that had made good on their threats. Sela walked closer to the table, wiping away tears of her own. He half expected to feel her hand on his shoulder. Even a kiss of condolence on his forehead. He wanted those things more than he knew how to express, but only if she was willing to give them. They weren’t his to take.

“Balthazar… if you still care about me at all, you’ll promise me something.”

He wiped his eyes and looked up at her.

Anything.

“Promise me that after you leave, I’ll never see your face again.”

With that, she left him to pull the last few threads from his chest.

VI

Morning was giving way to midday, and still no sign of Gaspar or Melchyor. Balthazar paced back and forth, his face and lip almost completely healed now, his movement enough to stir the curtains that had been drawn to ward off the sun. Where the hell are they? They’d gone for food and supplies shortly after breakfast, leaving their fellow fugitives with Sela to pack up the camels and prepare for their departure. They