Animals We Made

Consider Lily | Part 10

The Sanhedrin had come.

Each of them wore a long robe that trailed the ground, and on their heads were turbans so white the vibrant noon sun appeared to reflect off the fabric.

Peter did his best to keep calm as these religious authorities surrounded him, though he couldn't help but quake with dread as they neared. Their supervisor, Caiaphas, tugged at his enormous gray beard and cleared his throat as if expecting some vague reverence due him by courtesy if not by law. Might he scold the disciple or urge him away from Israel?

A rooster waddled by.

"Cluck," it said. "Cluck. Cluck."

"You won't quiet us," declared Peter, eyeing the bird rather than the men he was addressing.

"We're not trying to." Caiaphas furrowed his bushy eyebrows. "The reason we've sought you out is to ask what your master is doing on the road to Jerusalem. I want to hear what you have to say, and then I'll think about it and tell you what I think. Is that all right with you, sir?"

The rooster hopped onto a log and wailed, "Kuh-kuh-ruhaaaaawwwww!"

Peter swallowed. "Yes. That is fine."

Caiaphas patted dust off his robes. "Why don't you start by telling me why you've agreed to meet with us alone?"

"I . . ." Peter fought for control of his voice which seemed determined to leave his mouth in a nasally octave. "I wanted to make it clear that Jesus isn't a threat."

"Threat?" Caiaphas ran his fingers through the intricate embroidery of his outermost garment. "Why have you assumed we see him as a threat?"

"Some people call him a blasphemer."

"Do you think he's a blasphemer?"

"I don't know if he's a blasphemer or not but he says nice things and so I follow him."

"Kuh-kuh-ruhaaaaawwwww!" screeched the rooster on the log, crowing, bizarrely, a second time, and then a third. "Kuh-kuh-ruhaaaaawwwww!"

Peter flinched and said, "He is no blasphemer."

Caiaphas organized his robes to drape him in precise arcs. "Are you a Zealot?"

"Not in the slightest!" Peter stomped his foot, then spat and huffed. "I hate the Zealots."

"But we've overheard you and your master saying things the Zealots would say."

"I think we've been misunderstood."

"Would you like to explain yourself so I can understand?"

"Might I ask for some water first?" Peter smacked his dry lips; they made it difficult to speak because every time they closed it seemed they wanted to stay closed.

Caiaphas received a goatskin from another member of the Sanhedrin.

Help me articulate myself, Peter prayed in his mind. I will not disservice you.

The rooster flapped off the log and waddled back toward him, and he shooed the bird away, then accepted the goatskin and drank deep, the water trickling into his beard.

"I don't think, um . . ." he started, then paused, wondering if his words would come out decent.

He remembered Lily, the girl who'd been turned away on account of him, and surely, he'd concluded, it was his fault she departed with the women.

Five months she'd been gone and he doubted she'd survived the trip to Karmiel. Now he and the other disciples were headed for Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover with their Lord, and they too might not live to tell the tale.