Katya - part 5

To read Katya  Part 1
                        Part 2
                        Part 3
                        Part 4

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            I traveled many more days without event or cause for alarm.  My pursuers seemed to have been thrown off the trail, for which I was thankful.  My money supply was holding out well, and I was confident in my ability to get to the Holy City, of which I was sure I was close.

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            One day, I was trudging along, and it suddenly occurred to me how filthy I was.  My clothes, sodden with the travel of quite a number of weeks, were stained and clung to me quite unnaturally.

            Just as I had that thought, a stream could be heard away in the trees, a small diversion from the path.  It was sheltered from the road and when I scrambled over the bank, it was wide and sparking and altogether inviting.

            I hurried down and quickly removed my tunic.  I dug around in my bag, and pulled out another robe which I had been saving.  I bathed quickly, not wanting to be caught trespassing if this was someone’s private field and private river.  I had brought no soap, but the stream was enough to make me cleaner than I was before.  I dunked my head in several times, scrubbing my hair with my fingers.  When at last I felt clean enough, I put on my spare robe and proceeded to wash my soiled tunic.  The jewellery clanked in the hems as I washed it, but I doubted the water would do them any harm. 

            I scrubbed away for probably an hour or so before I was any change in the color of my cloak.  It had been white, gradually changing to a dark grey/brown.   Now it was restored to a light shade of grey.  I surveyed it with pride. Even if it wasn’t as clean as it had been to start with, I was more than satisfied.

            Then I sought a young tree with which to dry my cloak upon.  There was one nearby, and I swung to cloak over the branch. I decided to find somewhere to relax and have a rest.  I found a clump of trees behind a rock that provided shade, and almost immediately fell asleep.

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            I woke some time later, to the sound of horse hoofs beats.  My thoughts immediately went to my cloak, still hanging, with its hems stuffed full of jewels.  I almost jumped up to grab it, but ducked down again, realizing the thieves were already at work

            Then I froze, because I recognized one of the thieves.  Without a doubt, I knew that this company of soldiers were Marx’s and Uncle’s men.  I had been so sure they had lost me.  And here they were, not only within a few feet of their quarry, but also robbing me of my only income and support.  My stomach was in my throat, and I tried to calm my hammering heart, lest they hear it pounding.  But it was no use.  I was freaking out, absolutely terrified, and my body was going into panic mode.  I opened my mouth to scream my terror, even thought I knew my only hope was in remaining total silent.  I stuffed a corner of my cloak into my mouth and bit down, hard.  I had to stop from screaming, and I focused on that thought, my fears subsided enough and I knew that I was once again in control of myself.  

            By that time, the soldiers had ripped apart my tunic and had stolen all my jewellery.  They hadn’t recognized it as mine, and were content to move on

            They rested awhile, and hung out by the river for ages.  Something was suspicious, they felt, but they weren’t going to push the matter, because, after all, they were the ones with the stolen jewels in their pockets.

            They moved on late in the afternoon, and it was not until then, that I realized my loss.  My second tunic was gone, ripped to shreds, and more importantly all my jewels were gone, leaving me almost ruined.  My other gold sack, which I had been dipping in frequently, knowing I had the extra jewels, was almost depleted, and I knew that I was in a very bad state.

            The only good thing that occurred throughout this episode was now I was behind my pursuers, which gave me the advantage. 

            But without money, or means of getting any, I knew my situation was a dire one.  Hopefully I wouldn’t be too far from Jerusalem and hopefully I’d have relatives who would take me in.

            It wasn’t until later that I realized my precious scrolls were gone as well.  This final blow was enough to strip all the pleasure of the world from me.

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            For many days afterwards, I walked with the air of one who had lost everything.  I had no money, nothing to sell, and no scroll.  The small sack of gold, containing only a few pieces left, was all I had.

            I didn’t know really if I was going in the right direction or not.  But I knew that I just had to keep moving because if I didn’t, I would lose all sense of purpose.

            My money ran out five days after I was robbed, and I was reduced to begging for my bread.  And I suddenly learnt that people's hearts and food boxes were not so easily and readily opened as when I had a purse full of coins jingling in my hand.

            I went hungry many nights, and survived on less during the day.  My clothes become ragged and torn, and as I lost weight due to my lack of food, they also became baggy and way too big for me.

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                                    Three months later…Jerusalem.

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            I arrived in the Holy City today, but it was not as I had expected at all.  Instead of being exalted, I was overcome with grief and despair.  The city was just like home; soldiers everywhere, busy market stalls, people milling about, trying to barging and haggle for the best price possible.  There was also an air of expectations as if there was going to be an event that some people cared about, whether they agreed to it or not, was looking forward to it or dreading the moment.  It gave a supreme feeling of unrest and fear to the already crowded and restless multitude. 

            But I didn’t really care or care to stop and find out.  I knew that I needed to get food and shelter because I hadn’t a thing to eat since three days ago and I hadn't slept in a house or even somewhere with a roof over my head in ever so long.  I thought I might have had relatives in this holy city, but I wasn’t sure, and had no idea where I could find them anyway,

            My thoughts flicked towards my stolen manuscripts.  The temple was supposed to be a place of worship and where poor people could find help and solace.  So I made my way to the city center where I was sure the temple would have to be.

            Sure enough, there it was.  It wasn’t the quiet peaceful spot I had envisioned, however.  There were stall selling produce, and a lot of twigs, leaves and other debris scattered around the ground.  It looked like there had been a riot in here only a few days ago.

            I made my way to the inner courtyard of the temple.  There were less people here, and they were all dignified looking, sitting around in a half circle.  One of them addressed me, “What do you want?  Who are you?”

            “My name is …Katya.  I think I have relatives in Jerusalem.  Please help me.  I’ve had nothing to eat for…”

            “Get out,” he said in a bored, tired tone.

            “But please, sir," I cried, “I’ve just walked from Rome and am starving."

            “Get out!” this time he shouted it, throwing his cup at me.  I dodged it, and ran out, past the temple door, back into the busy thong of people.

            I felt shattered and betrayed, for even my precious temple ideals had rejected me.   I didn’t have much time to dwell on my misery, however because I had greater problems to attend to - like finding food.  I had no idea where I could find some people to help me in the search for my relative, nor did I know any useful crafts with which I could utilize and earn some money.  Growing up in a rich man’s house had it certain disadvantages, I though bitterly.  I couldn’t even use my skill of reading and writing, because here, in a foreign land, only Hebrew was required.

            Another thing that had captured my mind and heart at the temple was the closed off area, secret and aloof from all the hustle and bustle of the city.  I knew from my readings, that this was the Holy room, and if I were to see beyond that curtain, there would be another closed off section, called the Holy of Holies.  Inside should be the Ark of the Convent.  Inside that was the Jew’s God.  He remained distant from me, and yet, I felt Him close, had read that He loves us; of us Jews, intensely and equally, and I had assumed that his priests would love everyone else the same.  After all, in Rome, the priests for the god of war were generally stem and foreboding, while the priests for the goddess of love and music were open and friendly.  The priests represented their god here on earth.   I had expected no less from the priests of the Most High God. 

            But I was wrong, and now I was paying for my mistake by starving in a street, alone and with no food or shelter, and no prospect of attaining any.  Exhausted, I slumped down in the street, and cried bitter tears over my harsh discovery, and the prospect of dying now, here - in the Holy City. 

                                                                                        ...to be continued.....