Thought Tapestries

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The rain was back and running down Walt’s kitchen window. The maple outside stood bare and black against it. A pot of barley soup sat on the back burner, a loaf lay sliced on the board, and Walt had his bad knee propped on a second chair, which nobody mentioned.

Tomás was there first, his sandwich bag of colored cards beside his mug. Denny came in shaking water off his cap and hung it on the chair. Amara came last, scrubs under her jacket and her hair still wet, and she had her Bible open to chapter twenty-five before she sat down.

“I checked,” she said. “Twenty-five. I’m in twenty-five.”

“Nobody said a word,” said Denny.

“I could hear you thinking it.”

Walt set the jar of pencils in the middle of the table, with the old cards beside it and Denny’s DENNY’S card on top, its corners gone soft as cloth. “Twenty-five,” he said. “Verse one.”

Amara propped her phone against the bread board and went fast and flat. “Festus arrives in the province. Three days later he goes up from Caesarea to Jerusalem. The chief priests and the leading men lay out their case against Paul and ask him for a favor. Send Paul to Jerusalem. They’re planning an ambush on the road to kill him.”

“Three days,” said Denny. “He doesn’t even unpack.”

“Two years went by in a clause,” said Tomás, “and the new man gets three days.”

“Verse three,” said Walt. “Read it as it stands.”

Tomás found it. “‘And desired favour against him, that he would send for him to Jerusalem, laying wait in the way to kill him.’”

“Favour,” said Amara, and wrote it in her margin.

“Hold that word,” said Walt. “Where have we seen this plan before?”

“Twenty-three fifteen.” This time she did not have to hunt for it. “Ask the commander to bring him down, and they’ll be ready to kill him on the way.”

“Same road,” said Tomás. “New governor.” He turned back a page. “Last time the plan came with a reason attached. ‘As though ye would enquire something more perfectly concerning him.’ That’s one of the four from last week.”

“Luke one three,” said Amara.

“Later,” said Tomás, and wrote it down.

“Last time it was forty men and an oath,” said Denny. “They went to the chief priests and elders and told them straight out.”

“And now the chief priests are the ones asking.” Amara’s pen stopped. “The forty swore not to eat or drink until Paul was dead.”

“That was two years ago,” said Tomás.

“A person lasts about three days without water,” said Amara. “Five if things go well for them. So either they ate, or I don’t want to think about it.”

“They ate,” said Denny. “Man swears off lunch until the job’s done, he’s had a sandwich by Thursday.”

“That’s Denny’s,” said Walt.

“That’s Denny’s,” Denny agreed, and wrote it on the fourth card.

“Does Luke say what became of them?” said Walt.

Amara ran her finger back through twenty-three and forward again. “After the nephew, they’re gone. He never mentions them again.”

“Text,” said Tomás. “And it’s a gap.”

“There’s a section of the Mishnah on vows,” said Amara, scrolling. “Nedarim. How a man gets released from one. It was written down a century or more after this.”

“Outside,” said Tomás, and laid down a pink card, then frowned at it. “A late one.”

“It shows that people were asking the question,” said Walt. “What these forty did, nobody wrote down. Verse four.”

Tomás read four and five. Festus answered that Paul was being kept at Caesarea and that he himself was going back there shortly. Let those among them who were able go down with him and accuse the man, if there was anything wrong in him.

“Two reasons,” said Amara. “Paul’s already in Caesarea. And Festus is headed back soon.”

“Luke gives us those two,” said Walt. “Verse six.”

“‘And when he had tarried among them more than ten days, he went down unto Caesarea; and the next day sitting on the judgment seat commanded Paul to be brought.’”

“Mine says ‘no more than eight or ten days,’” said Amara.

“The old copies split on that one,” said Walt. “Whichever way you land, count.”

They counted. Three days to Jerusalem. Eight or ten there. The next day, the judgment seat. Amara ran her finger on down the page. “Certain days later, Agrippa and Bernice. ‘Tomorrow,’ says Festus. And the morrow after that, the hearing.”

“Everything’s the next day,” said Denny. “Felix took two years to decide nothing. This one runs on a schedule.”

“Text,” said Tomás. “It’s all on the page. Two years in a clause back in twenty-four, and here a single day gets a verse.”

“Why does Luke slow down?” said Walt.

“Because the story’s getting close to the part he wants,” said Denny.

Walt only looked at the fourth card, and Denny wrote it down without being asked.

“Seven,” said Amara. “The Jews who came down from Jerusalem stand around him. Many serious charges. They can’t prove them.”

“Which charges?” said Denny.

“Luke doesn’t list them.”

“Tertullus got a whole speech last chapter,” said Tomás.

“And now it’s one line,” said Denny. “‘Many and grievous.’”

“Eight,” said Walt.

“We’ve had this one,” said Amara. “Law, temple, Caesar.”

“Text,” said Tomás, and touched the yellow card from last week. “Three charges, three answers.”

“Now go back to Jerusalem,” said Walt. “The steps. Twenty-two. What word did they stop listening at?”

“Gentiles,” said Tomás at once. He found it and read. “‘And they gave him audience unto this word, and then lifted up their voices, and said, Away with such a fellow from the earth.’”

“Twenty-two twenty-one,” said Amara. “‘I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles.’”

“Look for it in twenty-five,” said Walt.

They looked. It took longer than it should have. Denny went down the page with his scarred thumb, then went down it again.

“Not in my chapter,” said Amara.

“Not in mine,” said Denny. “Checked twice.”

“Not in twenty-three or twenty-four either,” said Tomás. “I went back.”

“The word that stopped the crowd,” said Amara, “and nobody in the Roman half of the story says it.”

“Text,” said Tomás, and laid down a yellow card. “The absence.”

“Hold that,” said Walt. “Nine.”

Tomás read it. “‘But Festus, willing to do the Jews a pleasure, answered Paul, and said, Wilt thou go up to Jerusalem, and there be judged of these things before me?’”

“Mine says ‘wishing to do the Jews a favor,’” said Amara.

“Pleasure,” said Denny. He had flipped to a colored tab in the binder. “I’ve seen that one. Twenty-four twenty-seven. Felix. ‘Willing to shew the Jews a pleasure, left Paul bound.’ Last line of last week.”

“Same phrase,” said Amara. “Felix leaves wanting to do the Jews a favor. Festus starts out the same way.”

“And verse three?” said Walt.

“Favour,” said Tomás. “‘Desired favour against him.’”

“Three times, two governors,” said Amara. “Does Luke tell us why Festus asks Paul that question?”

“He does,” said Denny. “Wanting to do them a favor.”

“Text,” said Walt. “Keep it. Ten.”

Tomás read it slowly. “‘Then said Paul, I stand at Caesar’s judgment seat, where I ought to be judged: to the Jews have I done no wrong, as thou very well knowest.’”

“As thou very well knowest,” said Denny. “He tells the governor to his face that the governor knows.”

“Keep going,” said Walt.

“‘For if I be an offender, or have committed any thing worthy of death, I refuse not to die: but if there be none of these things whereof these accuse me, no man may deliver me unto them. I appeal unto Caesar.’”

“‘I refuse not to die,’” said Amara, slowly. “He puts his own life on the table.”

“Hold that,” said Walt.

“‘Deliver,’” said Tomás. “‘No man may deliver me unto them.’”

Amara had her phone up and was squinting at it. “The verb there comes from the same root as favor. Mine says ‘no one can give me up to them.’ It’s the verb for granting a favor.”

“Say it plain,” said Denny.

“A man can’t be handed over as a favor,” said Amara. “Verse nine, verse eleven. Same root.”

“Suggested,” said Tomás, and laid down a green card, “until somebody checks the Greek properly.”

“So the governor offers Jerusalem as a favor,” said Denny, “and Paul says nobody gets handed over as one.”

“You’re reading it close,” said Walt. “Keep it on green.”

“Paul’s cards,” said Denny. “Tarsus in twenty-one thirty-nine. Citizenship in twenty-two twenty-five.” He tapped the page. “And this?”

“Luke never writes ‘citizen’ anywhere in this chapter,” said Amara.

“So we don’t know it’s the same card,” said Tomás.

“Green,” said Amara. “That it comes out of the same pocket.”

“Twelve,” said Walt.

“‘Then Festus, when he had conferred with the council, answered, Hast thou appealed unto Caesar? unto Caesar shalt thou go.’”

“He talks it over first,” said Amara. “Then he says it.”

“Twenty-three eleven,” said Walt. “Who said Rome?”

Tomás turned to it and read it off the page. “‘The Lord stood by him, and said, Be of good cheer, Paul: for as thou hast testified of me in Jerusalem, so must thou bear witness also at Rome.’”

“Two years ago,” said Amara. “In the barracks.”

“And now a governor says Caesar,” said Denny.

“The Lord says Rome,” said Tomás. “Festus says Caesar. Different mouths, one road.”

“Does Luke say Paul had the promise in mind when he appealed?” said Walt.

They checked. “No,” said Amara.

“Suggested,” said Tomás. “That the two line up.”

“It’s tidy again,” said Denny. “I’m starting to think Luke likes tidy.”

“Luke writes the sequence,” said Walt. “You supply the adjective.”

“Thirteen,” said Amara. “Certain days later, King Agrippa and Bernice come to Caesarea to pay their respects to Festus.”

Denny set down his pencil. “King.”

“Kings?” said Tomás, mildly.

“Nine fifteen,” said Denny. “I’ve had that question mark in my binder since nine.”

“Read the verse,” said Walt.

“‘To bear my name before the Gentiles, and kings, and the children of Israel.’”

“Gentiles, kings, Israel,” said Amara. “In that order.”

“And the first one’s gone from this chapter,” said Denny.

“Thirteen has the king coming to see Festus,” said Amara. “Paul isn’t on the guest list.”

“Keep the bet,” said Walt. “Don’t print it.”

“Is Agrippa one of the Herods?” said Amara. “He’s got the right kind of name.”

“Luke calls him Agrippa,” said Tomás. “In twelve there’s a Herod who kills James. Luke calls that one Herod the king.”

“Josephus has the family tree,” said Amara. “Agrippa’s father is the Herod in twelve. Bernice is his sister.”

“Outside,” said Walt, and Tomás laid down a pink card. “Luke doesn’t draw it. He gives us two names.”

“Fourteen,” said Amara, and read it clipped. “‘A certain man left in bonds by Felix.’ Priests and elders asked for judgment against him. Festus told them Romans don’t hand a man over until the accused meets his accusers face to face. The next day he sat. The accusers brought no charge of the kind he supposed. They had questions about their own religion, and about one Jesus, who was dead, whom Paul said was alive. Festus was at a loss about such questions and asked Paul whether he would go to Jerusalem. Paul appealed to be kept for the emperor’s decision.”

“Left in bonds by Felix,” said Denny. “Like walking onto a job after the last crew. Every line on the punch list says ‘left by the previous guy.’”

“Twenty-four twenty-seven,” said Amara. “‘Left Paul bound.’ Left.”

“Both say left,” Tomás agreed.

“‘Face to face,’” said Walt.

“‘The accusers face to face,’” read Amara. “Who’s supposed to be standing in front of Paul?”

“The Asian Jews,” said Tomás. “Twenty-four nineteen. ‘Who ought to have been here before thee.’”

“Where are they?” said Walt.

“Still not here,” said Amara.

“And Lysias?” said Denny. “He was coming down.”

“Twenty-four twenty-two,” said Amara, and looked through the verses. “Not a word.”

“Eighteen,” Walt said. “Read me the middle.”

“‘They brought none accusation of such things as I supposed.’”

“What had he supposed?”

“Luke doesn’t say.”

“Something worse,” said Denny, and the fourth card took it.

“Nineteen,” said Walt.

Tomás read it. “‘But had certain questions against him of their own superstition, and of one Jesus, which was dead, whom Paul affirmed to be alive.’”

“Mine says ‘religion,’” said Amara.

“Superstition,” said Tomás. “Seventeen twenty-two has a relative of that word. Paul at Athens. ‘Too superstitious.’”

“Mine says ‘very religious,’” said Amara. “Same family. It can run either way.”

“Luke picked a word that runs either way,” said Walt. “Leave it there.”

“Green,” said Tomás, “for the Athens link.”

“‘One Jesus,’” said Denny. “Everything’s about the name this month.”

“Don’t start,” said Amara.

“I’m not starting. I’m pointing.”

“That’s Walt’s job.”

Walt smiled into his soup and said nothing.

“He never says resurrection,” said Amara, her pen going. “Look at it. Paul’s word is resurrection. Twenty-three six. Twenty-four twenty-one.”

“Festus says dead,” said Tomás. “Then alive.”

“So the Roman remembers a dead man and a prisoner who says he’s alive,” said Amara.

“Text,” said Tomás. “Yellow.”

“Twenty,” said Walt. “Why does Festus say he asked about Jerusalem?”

“Because he was at a loss about such questions.”

“And in verse nine?”

“Wanting to do the Jews a favor.”

“Both are in the text,” said Walt.

“Tell the king you were confused,” said Denny. “Leave the favor out.”

“Card?” said Amara.

“Mine,” said Denny, and wrote it.

“Fourteen through twenty-one,” said Walt. “Festus talking to Agrippa. Who’s in the room?”

“Festus. Agrippa. Maybe Bernice,” said Amara.

“Who told Luke?”

“He doesn’t say.”

“The ‘we’ stopped back in Jerusalem,” said Tomás.

“Luke’s still in the boat,” said Denny.

“Twenty-seven one,” said Tomás. “That’s where he climbs out.”

“On a job site everybody knows what the owner told the architect by lunch,” said Denny. “Somebody in that house talked.”

“Write it down,” said Walt.

“Twenty-two,” said Tomás. “‘Then Agrippa said unto Festus, I would also hear the man myself. To morrow, said he, thou shalt hear him.’”

“Twenty-three,” said Walt. “How many words for the king’s entrance?”

Tomás read it. “‘And on the morrow, when Agrippa was come, and Bernice, with great pomp, and was entered into the place of hearing, with the chief captains, and principal men of the city, at Festus’ commandment Paul was brought forth.’”

“All of them,” said Denny. “And Paul?”

“‘At Festus’ commandment Paul was brought forth,’” said Amara. “One clause.”

“Text,” said Tomás.

“Twenty-four,” said Walt.

“‘Crying that he ought not to live any longer,’” read Tomás.

“Twenty-two twenty-two,” said Amara. “‘It is not fit that he should live.’”

“The shout from the steps,” said Denny. “It carried all the way to Caesarea. Nobody carried the reason.”

“Twenty-five,” said Walt.

“‘But when I found that he had committed nothing worthy of death.’”

“Lysias said death or bonds,” said Amara. “Twenty-three twenty-nine. Festus says death.”

“Hold that,” said Walt. “We’ll be back to it.”

“Twenty-six,” said Tomás. “‘Of whom I have no certain thing to write unto my lord.’”

“Where else does ‘lord’ show up in this chapter?” said Walt.

They looked. Nobody found it.

“Twenty-three eleven,” said Walt.

“‘The Lord stood by him,’” said Tomás.

“Same word,” said Amara, phone in hand. “In the Greek.”

“Green,” said Walt, and Tomás laid the card down. “A governor writes to his lord about the prisoner. The Lord already told the prisoner where he’s going.”

“Twenty-seven,” said Amara. “‘For it seemeth to me unreasonable to send a prisoner, and not withal to signify the crimes laid against him.’ Commentators say a governor was expected to send a written statement of the case along with an appealed prisoner.”

“Outside,” said Tomás.

“Festus gives his own reason in the verse,” said Walt. “Unreasonable.”

“He’s got to send a bill and there’s nothing to put on the lines,” said Denny.

“That’s Denny’s,” said Walt, and this time Denny only nodded.

The rain had thickened against the window. Tomás squared his cards and tapped the edges flat on the table. The soup had gone down to a ladle’s worth in the pot, and nobody had touched the last slice of bread.

“Who hasn’t said a word since verse eleven?” said Walt.

They did not answer at once.

“Paul,” said Amara. “Nothing after eleven. Not one word to the end of the chapter.”

“And in those last verses?” said Walt.

“Everyone’s talking about him,” said Tomás. “He’s standing right there.”

“End of the chapter,” said Amara. “Honest break?”

“The king hasn’t said a thing yet,” said Tomás. “It’s mid-hearing.”

“Not honest,” said Denny. “Still two.”

Amara’s thumb had gone into the pages past the end of twenty-five. Walt looked at it.

“Don’t,” he said. “Next week.”

“I didn’t.”

“Your thumb did.”

She took it out. She folded the napkin back into her Bible at Acts nine, and shut the cover over it. Denny stood, found his cap on the chair, and held it a moment without putting it on.

“Kings,” he said.

“Keep the bet,” said Walt. “Bring a pencil.”