prominence, like The World Observer Gazette, would even show interest in our cause, but we want to make sure that you see and hear the truth of the facts. There are detractors out there that don’t want word of the truth getting out. They are, of course, people in high places for which the Meshiach will unseat as he comes to power. They don’t want to acknowledge his existence because that spells the end to their wicked ways.” Ashar suddenly began to sound like a scholar.
He continued, “Furthermore, Mr. Stanton, we are a blessed nation, and these are blessed times because the blessed one has chosen now to arrive!” He almost sounded as if he were lecturing me. I believe he may have thought that to himself too as he concluded, “Er, sorry, Mr. Stanton. I, as Amal does, get very emotional about our future, especially since it was foretold to us for so many generations now . . . and here we are, living in the midst of it! Praise be to Jehovah for taking care of us.”
Amal interrupted, “Ashar, please, when those guys have cleared the hallway, head to the Bethlehem Inn and confirm to them that Mr. Stanton has arrived and that they need to prepare his room.” Ashar nodded in agreement.
Amal looked at me and said, “Mr. Stanton, when we heard you were on your way, we took the liberty of reserving a room for you at the Bethlehem Inn. Usually, travelers that arrive here in the late afternoon can’t find a room, so we pre-booked it for you. We trust it will meet your accommodation needs?” Without waiting for my response, Amal slipped over to the door and leaned his right ear against it. Apparently the men in the hallway had left, as Amal carefully unlocked the door and peered through the slit that appeared between the door and the jamb. Without saying a word, he motioned to Ashar to leave. Ashar looked at me and whispered, “I will meet you in the lobby of the inn in ten minutes. I will tell them to make sure there is plenty of hot water.” He made a motion to poke me in the ribs, but I lurched out of his way to avoid his bony finger. With that, he broke into a huge “gotcha” grin, and stealthily slipped out of the room and disappeared.
“I will make arrangements with my friends to meet you for dinner tonight, is that ok Mr. Stanton, or would you prefer to wait until morning?” Amal asked.
“No Amal I don’t want to wait until the morning, I am interested in meeting your shepherd friends. They sound intriguing, and it also sounds like they will have plenty of the background information that I still need in advance of my article. But I feel I must shower first, get this grit off of me and allow the adrenaline to level out.”
Amal turned to me with the utmost serious look on his face. “Very well then, we will see you there at seven o’clock. But, Mr. Stanton, you have never been here in this room! Do you understand that? No one must know that you have been here, even among my closest friends. Not all my friends are aware of our headquarters, and they shouldn’t know because not all of them can keep their mouths shut. It’s a shame, I know that we are such a tight group, but we can’t trust all of them. I hope that doesn’t give you the wrong impression of our people or our cause, Mr. Stanton?”
In an almost conciliatory tone I responded, “No Amal, I don’t have the wrong impression at all, as a matter of fact, it is an all too common concern with journalists.”
“Okay, now you must head down the hall and back up the stairs we came down, do you remember?” Amal had a deeply concerning and ominous tone again. Cautiously I responded, “Yes, I . . . I, remember.” The fleeting thought that flew through my brain, like a flash of an adrenaline rush was, “what am I doing here?” I always hate it when that hits me like that. “What are my concerns Amal? The guards?” I asked as if I didn’t really know the answer.
“Actually, no, Mr. Stanton, you will easily explain to the guards that you are a tourist who got lost down below. I am more concerned about the synagogue security team. They are tougher on strangers in the hallways near the synagogue. They are not afraid to detain people for days. Why? Because they are jerks! Now, when you get to the top of the stairs, go left and stay along the inner wall. Once you are ten to fifteen meters away from the entrance, you’ll be all right if anyone stops you. Tourist, remember! Not a journalist! Now, God speed, and I’ll see you at seven o’clock.”
I began to whisk by him as he concluded, “And,” with his index finger pointed at my face, “Listen to all the shepherds say to you, don’t ask a lot of questions until they are done. They are blessed because they were the first people that God told to go look for the messiah in the manger. Ask all you want, but wait until they’ve told you their story. You will be blessed too! Shalom, Mr. Stanton.”
With that, I ran down the hall, up the stairs and at the door, I peeked around the doorframe. I looked for conspicuous movement along the rows of bazaar tables. It appeared that no one had seen me come up the stairs, so I inched out onto the walkway. As moments went by, and distance in feet slipped under my shoes, my gait began to increase. The more distance I could make from that door, the better I would feel. Then I heard a voice coming from behind one of the pillars that I had been using to block the view from the bazaar.
“So, you still think you have a story here, Mr. Stanton?” came the words from a familiar voice behind me.
“Er, sorry sir, I don’t believe I understand what you mean.” I began to say as I slowly turned to face the voice. It was Eshek! “Please excuse me, Mr. Eshek. I think that was your name. I am headed to my hotel for a shower and some rest.” I tried to sound as indignant as I could.
“You may continue sir, I am not here to keep a fellow traveler from his shower or rest. Have a pleasant evening, forgive me for interrupting your stroll.” I shuddered. I couldn’t stand him, and I almost got the impression that the feeling was mutual. I wanted to get as much distance from him as I could. As I worked my way to the Bethlehem Inn, I couldn’t figure out why he had so much interest in me.
Waiting in the lobby was Ashar, just as he said he would be. He took me to my room, bid me a speedy “shalom,” and backed out the door. Instantly I found my shaving kit, the shower, and started the water. Checking my watch, I found that I had three hours before my meeting with the shepherds, and I was tempted to spend all three of those hours in the shower. But I knew that I had some typing to do and to strategize a storyline around what I have just learned. As the shower drenched me with grit-rinsing water, my thoughts were of this upcoming evening meeting, leaving me to wonder what in the world would the importance of these shepherds be to this unfolding assignment.
3
As I approached the entrance to the restaurant, I was met at the door by the pungent odor of stale tobacco smoke, mingled with the aroma of spoiling ale. It was quite evident that I was strolling through the less savory part of town. The tavern was only a few blocks from the hotel, but obvious indications were that the neighborhood did not reflect the same pride of ownership that homeowners enjoyed just a few blocks away.
I was barely a meter from the entrance when Ashar threw open the door to greet me. Holding the door open for me, he stood there with a huge grin on his face, as if I was the only important person in his life. Instantly, I wondered, how does that guy get around like that? How is it that he always seems to arrive somewhere before I do? Doesn’t he have family? Doesn’t he have a life? I shrugged it off as soon as Ashar held his hand out to greet me and to usher me inside.
“They are here. They showed up just like I told you they would,” Ashar enthusiastically spouted as he began to verbally pat himself on the back, flashing that big grin. His smile all too often brushed aside his bushy mustache to reveal the many gaps in his brownish teeth. As I neared him, he made a motion to poke me in the ribs, but I intercepted his bony finger.
“Let’s not start that again,” I said in a terse, “I mean it” tone, as I grabbed his wrist. The noise in the tavern consisted of clanking earthen mugs and less than subdued voices. It made it difficult for Ashar and me to understand each other, but I knew, by the look on his face, that he knew what I meant when I grabbed his wrist. The look was classic.