“Mary.”
“Good. Joseph? Mary? My name is Balthazar. This is Gaspar…this is Melchyor. We don’t want to hurt you…we’re just looking for a place to rest. But, Joseph? If you don’t put that pitchfork down, I’m going to take it from you and stab you to death in front of your wife and child. Do you understand?”
Balthazar watched the carpenter think it over for what seemed an eternity. Hard, isn’t it? If you give up the pitchfork, you’ll be defenseless. If you don’t, you might have to kill all three of us. So…what’ll it be? As if answering Balthazar’s thoughts, the carpenter threw the pitchfork to the ground. Gaspar was quick to make a move for it, but Balthazar held his hand out and stopped him. He needed peace.
“Good,” said Balthazar. “Now, let’s all sit and talk for a minute.”
The wise men tied their camels up, sat in the hay, and leaned their weary bodies against the stalls. Joseph and Mary sat, too, keeping to the opposite side of the stable, which was a scant ten feet away. Mary held the baby close to her body, still reeling from the shock of seeing her husband beaten and the embarrassment of being seen in such a private, indecent state. Joseph sat beside her, still pinching his nose shut.
“What business,” asked Mary after an extended silence, “do three men have barging into someone else’s stable in the middle of the night?”
“ Your stable?” asked Gaspar.
“Our stable. We were here first,” said Mary.
“We just need a place to rest our heads for a little while,” said Balthazar.
“Well you can rest them somewhere else,” she said.
“Afraid we can’t.”
Mary looked them over. Their robes were among the more expensive she’d seen. They were adorned with gold jewelry, and she could smell the frankincense they were carrying.
“You’re obviously noblemen,” she said. “Go and force one of the shepherds from their homes. Better yet, go to Jerusalem and force one of the other nobles out of theirs.”
“Our situation is…complicated,” said Balthazar.
“He’s the Antioch Ghost,” said Melchyor.
Balthazar had to suppress the urge to break the little Greek’s jaw. How could anyone be so stupid? Here they were, in disguise and running for their lives, and he casually offers up the one piece of information that could get them all killed faster than any other. Now, the moment they fell asleep, the Jews sitting across from them would go running to the nearest soldier and give them up. Sell them out for whatever reward Herod was offering. Now he’d have to tie their wrists. Gag them.
There was no going back now. It was out in the open. Balthazar waited for the familiar wide-eyed reverence to wash over their faces…and waited, until it became clear that Joseph and Mary had no idea who or what the Antioch Ghost was.
This aggravated him even more. Everything aggravated him: his aching head, his weary body, the bleating of goats in the stalls behind them—everything.
“I go here and there,” he said at last, “taking what I can from the Romans and those who serve them, then disappearing. Some people have taken to calling me ‘the Antioch Ghost.’”
“So…you’re a thief,” said Mary.
“Not just a thief,” said Gaspar. “The best thief who ever lived.”
Balthazar allowed himself a private swell of pride. Obviously there was no way to know if he was “the best thief who ever lived.” But at the same time, there was no way to prove he wasn’t. Either way, it was nice to be recognized.
“Whether he’s the best or not doesn’t matter,” said Joseph through a pinched nose. “Stealing is a sin.”
“Really?” asked Balthazar. “And trying to kill three unarmed men with a pitchfork—is that a sin?”
Joseph looked at the weapon in Gaspar’s hand. Before tonight, he’d never so much as raised a fist in anger. It wasn’t in his nature. He looked away, suddenly frightened by how close he’d come to committing the sin of
“Good. Joseph? Mary? My name is Balthazar. This is Gaspar…this is Melchyor. We don’t want to hurt you…we’re just looking for a place to rest. But, Joseph? If you don’t put that pitchfork down, I’m going to take it from you and stab you to death in front of your wife and child. Do you understand?”
Balthazar watched the carpenter think it over for what seemed an eternity. Hard, isn’t it? If you give up the pitchfork, you’ll be defenseless. If you don’t, you might have to kill all three of us. So…what’ll it be? As if answering Balthazar’s thoughts, the carpenter threw the pitchfork to the ground. Gaspar was quick to make a move for it, but Balthazar held his hand out and stopped him. He needed peace.
“Good,” said Balthazar. “Now, let’s all sit and talk for a minute.”
The wise men tied their camels up, sat in the hay, and leaned their weary bodies against the stalls. Joseph and Mary sat, too, keeping to the opposite side of the stable, which was a scant ten feet away. Mary held the baby close to her body, still reeling from the shock of seeing her husband beaten and the embarrassment of being seen in such a private, indecent state. Joseph sat beside her, still pinching his nose shut.
“What business,” asked Mary after an extended silence, “do three men have barging into someone else’s stable in the middle of the night?”
“ Your stable?” asked Gaspar.
“Our stable. We were here first,” said Mary.
“We just need a place to rest our heads for a little while,” said Balthazar.
“Well you can rest them somewhere else,” she said.
“Afraid we can’t.”
Mary looked them over. Their robes were among the more expensive she’d seen. They were adorned with gold jewelry, and she could smell the frankincense they were carrying.
“You’re obviously noblemen,” she said. “Go and force one of the shepherds from their homes. Better yet, go to Jerusalem and force one of the other nobles out of theirs.”
“Our situation is…complicated,” said Balthazar.
“He’s the Antioch Ghost,” said Melchyor.
Balthazar had to suppress the urge to break the little Greek’s jaw. How could anyone be so stupid? Here they were, in disguise and running for their lives, and he casually offers up the one piece of information that could get them all killed faster than any other. Now, the moment they fell asleep, the Jews sitting across from them would go running to the nearest soldier and give them up. Sell them out for whatever reward Herod was offering. Now he’d have to tie their wrists. Gag them.
There was no going back now. It was out in the open. Balthazar waited for the familiar wide-eyed reverence to wash over their faces…and waited, until it became clear that Joseph and Mary had no idea who or what the Antioch Ghost was.
This aggravated him even more. Everything aggravated him: his aching head, his weary body, the bleating of goats in the stalls behind them—everything.
“I go here and there,” he said at last, “taking what I can from the Romans and those who serve them, then disappearing. Some people have taken to calling me ‘the Antioch Ghost.’”
“So…you’re a thief,” said Mary.
“Not just a thief,” said Gaspar. “The best thief who ever lived.”
Balthazar allowed himself a private swell of pride. Obviously there was no way to know if he was “the best thief who ever lived.” But at the same time, there was no way to prove he wasn’t. Either way, it was nice to be recognized.
“Whether he’s the best or not doesn’t matter,” said Joseph through a pinched nose. “Stealing is a sin.”
“Really?” asked Balthazar. “And trying to kill three unarmed men with a pitchfork—is that a sin?”
Joseph looked at the weapon in Gaspar’s hand. Before tonight, he’d never so much as raised a fist in anger. It wasn’t in his nature. He looked away, suddenly frightened by how close he’d come to committing the sin of
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