“I saw you bouncing through the bazaar. You appeared to be by yourself. Foreigners shouldn’t be at this bazaar alone, at least if you want to keep your money, watch and even clothing. It is very dangerous. And that laptop you think you are hiding, everybody within Bethlehem can see that you have it. You’re lucky it’s still in your possession.” Immediately, I felt my hands reach for my side where the computer was hanging. Thank goodness, it was still there. I was beginning to warm up to him. He had an air of innocence that was alluring. Yet, he appeared to be quite astute to the situation and the surroundings. There is a difference between innocence and naiveté, and he came across more on the innocent side.
“So, what is your name anyway, Shorty?” I responded without thinking. I really couldn’t resist. His face was so disarming and friendly that I felt as if I had known him for a long time, and I could poke at him without thinking it would hurt his feelings.
With a scowl he responded, “I think I have made a poor choice, I think I will just leave you to the bazaar wolves and go about my own day. I have plenty of things to do without having to put up with a strangers insults.” Dropping his look from my face, he lowered his head and began to make a left turn away from me. I reached out, placed my hand on his right shoulder and exerted enough negative force to prevent him from fully turning from me.
“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “Let’s start over.” This man could be a godsend and perhaps even a great asset if I work it right. Perhaps he can lead me to Amal, and the additional resources that I was going to need if I was to get the background information for my assignment.
“My name is Steve Stanton, I am a journalist for the World Observe Gazette. I am here on an assignment.” Pointing my index finger at him, I asked, “And you are . . . ?”
“I help foreigners. They usually slip me a little help in the form of coins.” He still spoke in a pouty tone and stared down at his feet. He was definitely playing on my conscience and was doing a good job. It was obvious that his drama was designed to elicit a few more “sympathy” coins, a sort of penance for my offence, and he was working me well.
Reaching into my pocket, I felt for some coins and retrieved them. Without counting the amount, I reached my closed fisted hand out to him and offered the un-audited amount to him, “Okay, here are a few Drachmas for your assistance.”
His open right hand reached out to intercept my gift. The rattling of the coins dropping into his hand appeared to have a direct electrical connection to his face, as it lit up at the clinking sound, like people in Vegas when a jackpot is paying out. He now turned full-faced towards me and asked, “Where would you like to go my friend?”
“Well, for starters, ‘my friend,’ friends usually know each other’s names. You know mine, now, what do your friends call you?” I felt a bit smug, and even a little more in control.
“I am Ashar. I live here in Bethlehem, and I work wherever I can. Right now, I am working for you. What’s next? Where do we go? Who do we see? When can we get started? You know the meter is running now, and the coins you gave me will soon run out.” With that he reached his hand out to my arm and grabbed hold of my sleeve as if he were going to guide me through the throngs of shoppers. But I had not given him directions of any kind to go anywhere yet.
“Whoa, Ashar, hold on!” I shouted as I stopped him short of pulling me over. My voice attracted a number of sets of eyes to look my way. All of the sudden I felt extremely uncomfortable. “Ashar, I need a shower. Help me find a hotel room. Then I will spell out our plan.” Cracking half a friendly smile, I looked at those who were staring at me. It seemed to assuage their concerns, and they went back about their business. Just then I felt a tug on my sleeve again, and we were off through the crowd with Ashar in the lead.
“Come on Steve, I know the right place for you to clean up,” he said with assurance.
“Ashar,” I shouted as I tried to regain control of our gait. The more I resisted his pull, the more he grabbed hold of my sleeve and tugged harder. “Ashar, I need to find someone first. I should have told you why I was even here in the Shepherds Bazaar in the first place. Slow down. No, stop! Let me explain.”
With that, he stopped so fast that I nearly ran over the little guy. Turning to me he said, “Who is it that you are looking for?” The look on his face almost scared me. His chipper attitude, that happy-go-lucky smile, turned into a grim, extremely concerned dour expression. Clearing my throat, as if I felt I was in trouble, I said, “I’m looking for a fellow named Amal. He is the brother-in-law of Kahan, the maitre’d at the King Herod Hotel in Jerusalem. Apparently, Amal has some information that I need to inquire about. Do you know of Amal?”
His face lightened up a bit. “Sure, I know Amal, everyone here knows of Amal.”
I found myself whispering under my breath, “Geesh, is everybody in this country connected to each other somehow?”
“What did you say?” asked Ashar. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Nothing Ashar, I was told that he had a booth here at the bazaar. Is that correct?” I know I sounded exasperated, but I was hot, tired and on a mission.
“We are not very far from him. Turn around Steve!” he exclaimed in a loud voice.
Quickly I turned, and standing only inches from me was a tall, bearded fellow, stopped in his tracks, staring directly into my face. His hands were folded into fists as they rested on his hips. The scowl on his face proved that he wasn’t necessarily having a nice day, and now it was being interrupted again, apparently by me. I looked him in the face and said, “I’m going to go out on a limb with this one, I presume you must be Amal?” His expression changed from the scowl to a nondescript wry smile, and his hands left his side, unfolded from fists, and with both index fingers pointing at me he said, “Yeah, I am, and I hear you’re looking for me.”
With a rather bedazzled tone of voice I asked, “Now, how in the world would you know that I was looking for you?”
His response took me by surprise, “Your friend Eshek told me.”
Instantly I blurted out, “Eshek is not my friend. I merely met him on the road. He tried to strike up a conversation with me, but I didn’t bite on it. His is no more my friend as you are sir.”
“Did not Kahan send you to see me?” he asked. Once again I was taken back. “How did you know before I got to you that Kahan referred me to you?” Now this was getting too weird, even for me.
“You have questions about things of the Torah, I have answers for you. If you would like them, then you must follow me, this is not a good place to talk.” With that he waited for half a second for my facial response. Denying him what he was looking for, I turned and looked at Ashar, who responded to my glance with a quiet, reassuring, nod of his head. He was silently telling me that it would be all right to follow Amal. Additionally, I also took it as saying that I was going to get the information I was looking for. As I was preparing to answer Amal that we’d follow, he said, “We cannot talk publicly about your subject. The Romans don’t like it and neither do the Pharisees, or Herod for that matter.” With that he pivoted his burly frame away from me, and with a barely audible voice said, “Well then, follow me. Let’s get out of the bazaar.”
His giant strides made it difficult for me, but I followed as closely as I could. It was wonderful making such headway at this time of day in the bazaar. He acted as a snowplow for me, moving people aside by his huge frame, and all I had to do was walk in his wake. We strode to the end of the courtyard that served as containment for the bazaar and made our way through a colonnade of pillars to a doorway that lead to a stairwell.
Amal was graceful in his movements. He was tall and strong, but he moved swiftly. Without breaking stride he glanced over his shoulder at me to make sure I was still with him, and at the same time, was able to look over and past my shoulder to see if any uninvited guests were accompanying us. Once assured, he began to descend down the darkened stone steps. This was certainly a building that the Romans