Azriel or the silence complex

Part Two: The Blessed Child

  Azriel grew up surrounded by love, joy, and tenderness—especially from his mother and the palace servants, but also from his teachers. He often sought to bring peace among the adults, love among people, and to defend their freedom and their right to happiness. Endowed with a radiant aura, he possessed the gift of making happy those who stood in his presence. The words he chose, inspired by God, stirred the curiosity of all around him. How could he truly possess such wisdom? How did he know so many things?

Azriel was gentle and nonviolent, beautiful as an ephebe—a name that would later be given to him by one of his companions. Exceptionally skillful, he had astonishing reflexes and a capacity for listening that bewildered those who tried to corrupt him. He always emerged unscathed from missteps and dangers, laughing and playing endlessly—a demi-god in his youth, pure and noble.

His father could not tolerate the conduct of a child whom he believed less fit to govern than his own first counselor. Though he loved him, the contradiction upon which this judgment rested lay in the fact that the queen had never succeeded, after the birth of their son, in erasing the evil she had brought into being through her lust during the king's long and exhausting absences. As king, he struggled to reconcile the loving and respectful mother she had become with the visions and mockeries that had been reported to him. Thus his love for his son became divided. He loved him truly, as a father may love his child, yet with reserve—and above all he lived haunted by the doubt sown by the evil spirit that possessed him.

And yet, the two of them had ridden together across many lands on horseback, gone hunting, and shared countless bursts of laughter. Such moments came naturally between them. Still, his father often remained silent in Azriel's presence, and when the queen was near he tried to conceal his disapproval.

One day, while a sumptuous feast was underway, his mother took the child by the hand and led him to the library. There she wished to give him a book in order to speak to him of his divine origin. She seated him and took up The Book of Great Revelations, as though guided by intuition, to begin her speech.

"Azriel, my angel, do you know what book this is?"

"No, Mother. I do not know this one."

His mother knelt before him and looked at him with a sincere smile, hiding tears as she gazed upon her son. Her throat tightened when she tried to speak.

"I... must tell you something."

But at once, memories of moments of debauchery rose within her mind, and she turned her eyes away.

"Mother, what is it? I see your face grow red. Are you afraid that something might happen?"

She looked at him again, revived with hope by the perceptiveness of her child.

"No... nothing. Read this book. We shall speak of it afterward."

Azriel, filled with boldness and trust, wished to begin reading at once. His intense thirst for knowledge was so beautiful to behold that his mother burst into tears as she moved away from him.

She could not find the courage to tell him that God Himself had taken the place of a lover and had conceived their child. That lover had been a man handsome, tall, and strong, but also intelligent, skilled with words and refined in his manners. The queen had been captivated by his gaze and his bravery. Their love had been brief, yet their feelings had been born from a shared understanding of their youth. Both had endured trials among their classmates when they were young—mockery for their behavior, for their way of writing, or simply for not always being right. They understood one another through the echoes of feelings they had both known in childhood.

She returned to her chamber, lay down, and wept, begging God to grant her the courage to reveal the truth. Hearing her prayers, God was moved with affection. He sent an angel to tell her that things would soon return to their proper course. The queen fell asleep upon those words, filled with a sense of relief.

Yet the very next day she again found herself unable to say what she must.

It was not that the queen was wicked—far from it. Rather, she listened too much to her emotions and her feelings to find even a fragment of courage that might allow her, as she believed, to tell the truth without betraying it with vain thoughts. The Lord admired this about her, and He watched as the queen desperately searched for the moment when she might finally act according to her vows and the prophecy.

And so it continued for many long years.