of thought.
As long as it was politically correct diversity of thought.
Lang had also read the professor's curriculum vitae. Son of Dutch Jews, he had spent part of his childhood in a series of Nazi death camps. After the war, he had immigrated to Israel, where he studied Hebrew history at several universities and gained a scholarship to Oxford. There he had completed his postgraduate work in Judaic- Christian thought and taught, before moving to Atlanta to be with his married daughter and a number of grandchildren. He had published several books, the titles of which were in Yiddish or Hebrew and unintelligible to Lang. Many of his articles, however, had English titles, although Lang had heard of few of the publications and assumed they were journals largely serving those who must submit to the academic imperative of publish or perish.
Another look at his watch told Lang he would be right on time. Opening the car door, he withdrew the ignition key. Immediately, the car's theft alarm squawked, a wail Lang was certain would filter into every classroom on campus. Reinserting the key did no good, nor did cranking the engine.
Defeated, he looked around to make sure no one could identify the perpetrator of such a racket and slunk away like a thief in the night.
Leb Greenberg was a small man with a strong handshake and brown eyes that sparkled as though he had a joke he was about to share. Other than the yarmulke from under which sprigs of gray hair sprouted, he could have been anyone's favorite grandparent.
'Thank you for seeing me, Professor,' Lang said as he stepped across the threshold of a small office.
'Leb, please,' he said, indicating Lang should sit in one of two uncomfortable-looking chairs arranged in front -of a desk. 'All day, it's Professor Greenberg this, Doctor Greenberg that, usually complaints about grades.
Let us skip the honorifics, shall we?'
Lang recognized a British accent, one without the dropped h's, the voice of the upper class. He often wondered why everyone who had lived in England, no matter how briefly, adopted that enunciation.
Greenberg sat behind a desk empty of clutter other than a cup and saucer and a stack of papers Lang guessed was a manuscript. 'Francis tells me you're interested in a specific bit of ancient Jewish history as it might relate to Christianity. Wouldn't say exactly what.'
He glanced down at the cup. 'Oh dear, forgive me. I was just having tea. Might I pour you a cuppa?'
He lifted an electric coffeemaker from behind the desk.
'Sure, thanks.'
Agency training. Sharing a meal, a beverage, increased whatever bonding· might take place. Defectors from Communist regimes had been more likely to share information with debriefers who joined them in eating and drinking.
The professor produced another cup and saucer, one not matching his own. 'I'm afraid you'll have to settle for concentrated lemon juice, no milk, no sugar.'
'That's fine, thank you.'
Lang watched his cup fill with a liquid as dark as coffee and took an experimental sip. He fought back a gasp. The stuff was tart enough to make his teeth itch.
'Specially blended for me,' Greenberg said proudly. 'I get it through a merchant in Beirut.' Lang had never previously viewed Lebanon as a terrorist country. Licking his lips in pleasure, Leb sat back in his chair, arms behind his head. 'What can I do for you, Lang?'
Somehow mollify the taste of this tea that was sour enough to pucker his mouth like a green persimmon.
But Lang said, 'Francis and I were looking at a Latin inscription, fourth century. It referred to a 'king of the Jews,' the title put on Christ's cross. I always thought it was derisive. Francis wasn't so sure, said you might have some historical thoughts on the matter.'
Leb was silent for so long, Lang thought perhaps he didn't hear. Although the professor was looking straight at him, Lang was certain he saw something else.
Finally, he sat up, his hands cupping his tea as though to keep it warm. 'I think you can understand the problem here. We Jews have a very different perception of the Christ and of the Gospels of your New Testament. That difference frequently leads to misunderstandings. For two millennia it led to the shedding of blood. Ours.'
Lang put his cup on the desk. 'Leb, I'm seeking history, not a religious argument.'
The Jew smiled. 'In many ways, that's unfortunate. We Jews dearly love to argue points of religion and law among ourselves.' He grew serious. 'Exactly what is it you think I might know?'
'King of the Jews. Was Jesus a king or was he simply being mocked?'
Leb offered the coffeepot to Lang, who declined a refill, before concentrating on refilling his own cup. 'I can give you historical fact. You have to supply your own spiritual significance.'
'Fair enough.'
Leb held his cup in both hands, gently blowing across the top. 'Let's start with Judea of the first century. It wasn't the pastoral place the Gospels might lead you to believe. Instead, it was a defeated country, seething with an undercurrent of nationalism. Most Jews of the day were less than fond of the occupying Romans. Think France 1940 to 1944.
'There were basically three political groups: The Sadducees, the wealthy landowning class who profited from Roman occupation, somewhat like the collaboteurs in France during World War Two' Then there were the Pharisees, priests and those who stuck to the strictest Jewish law. Then we have the Zealots, those who intended to restore the Promised Land to its intended inhabitants. You may recall these folks fomented the rebellion that resulted in Rome leveling the temple and sacking Jerusalem in seventy or seventy-one C.E., only thirty, thirty-five years after Christ's death.'
'The siege of Masada?'
'Yes, that was the last battle, the Little Big Horn of ancient Israel.' Leb took a long sip, his eyes fastened on something Lang couldn't see. 'Except the nine hundred plus Zealots killed themselves rather than surrender. Anyway, at the birth of Christ, many Jews were looking for a man from God, a man to deliver them from foreign rule just as the Maccabees had a hundred years before and Moses centuries earlier.'
''A messiah,' Lang volunteered.
Leb nodded slowly. 'Perhaps. But remember, Lang, messiah simply means 'one anointed' in Hebrew. The Greek word christos means the same.'
The professor took another sip, placed his cup on the desk, and continued, still gazing at something Lang was sure was far away. ''Your Gospels tell us Christ was of the House of David. That would be the royal family, the equivalent of the English Windsors.'
There was a pause.
''A potential king born in a stable?' Lang asked.
Leb shook his head slowly, not moving his eyes. ''A stable, perhaps. Luke says so, but Matthew tells us Christ was born an aristocrat in the family home in Bethlehem. In fact, he also tells us Christ was of royal blood, a direct descendant of Solomon and David. Pretty heady stuff, a legitimate contender to the throne of a united Jewish State.
'Luke has the birth attended by poor shepherds, Matthew by kings from afar. John and Mark are silent on the subject. But then, your Gospels weren't contemporaneous accounts. They were written anywhere from sixty years after the crucifixion to nearly a century later, probably taken from other accounts. Hardly an assurance of accuracy.
'At any rate, no one tells us much about Christ's early life other than a single account of a young man arguing with elders in the temple. When we next see Christ, he is at a wedding in Cana, a very fancy wedding where so much wine is consumed, more has to be brought in. Or created. The first miracle.'
Leb inspected Lang's barely touched tea. 'Don't like it?'
'I was so interested in what you were saying, I forgot about it.' The 'professor smiled. 'Perhaps you are a capable lawyer, Lang, but a very poor liar.'
'Okay, so it's a little… unusual.'
Leb poured the contents of Lang's cup into his own. 'An acquired taste. Now, we were talking about…?'
'The wedding at Cana.'
'Oh yes. Not only is there copious amounts of wine, but Christ and the hostess order servants about. Unlikely
