Zealot by Donna Lettow

willing it to go away. Then his father appeared in the doorway.
    “It’s time, Avram.”
    Avram looked up at his father and nodded, the face of agony. “May we do this privately,
Aba
?”
    “In a moment,” Mordecai said, entering the room. He moved to Deborah and slowly, painfully, knelt beside the mat where she
     sat. He took one of her hands and held it close to his heart. “Thank you for making my Avram happy, daughter,” he said. He
     kissed her awkwardly on the forehead. “God bless you.”
    “Good-bye,
Aba
,” she managed to say, stunned at his show of affection, and then the tears started and she could speak no more. Avram helped
     his father back to his feet.
    “I’ll be outside,” Mordecai said, gripping his son by the arm, willing them both strength to face what must be done.
    As his father left the room, Avram went to the small wooden chest in which they kept their few belongings. He re-moved an
     iron knife, testing its edge as if he was about to carve a shank of lamb. He moved back toward the bed, where Deborah waited
     in her wedding finery. She turned her head away, unable to bear the sight of the knife. He sat beside her.
    “Kiss me, Deborah. Let’s remember each other as lovers.” They kissed—a deep, longing kiss made more passionate by the taint
     of death. “I love you, Deborah,” he murmured.
    “For all eternity,” she whispered back into the kiss, then a small, surprised sound cut off as the cold on of Avram’s knife
     sliced into her throat.
    He pulled her to him even more tightly. He could feel her blood surge over them both, washing them in her life’s essence as
     it ebbed away. He could feel her tighten in panic, then slowly relax as life left her, draining her, leaving her empty.
    When he knew she was gone, he released her and carefully arranged her body on the sleeping mat. Her bridal garments were stained
     in her blood like their marriage bed had once been. He lovingly placed her wedding veil over her beautiful face, so she would
     not be disgraced by the gaze of some lecherous Roman pig.
    Avram heard movement in the doorway. “It’s done,
Aba
,” he said, not taking his gaze oft’ Deborah.
    Mordecai entered the room. With sorrowful eyes he took in his son kneeling by the body of his dead bride, covered in her blood.
     “Avram, I’m so sorry.”
    Avram stood and faced him. “No,
Aba
, I’m the one to be sorry, sorry I ever brought you here. We should have gone to Galilee, or Bethlehem, somewhere we could
     have had a normal life.”
    Mordecai shook his head. “Any life under Roman rule is not normal. You did the right thing. I lived to see my son grow into
     a man, to see him take a bride. at more could a father ask for?”
    Avram looked at his father in amazement. “Then…you’re not angry with me?” Mordecai hugged his son close to his bosom as he’d
     not done since Avram was a child.
    “My little Avram, I have never been more proud of you than I am right now. Yes, we die, but we die free. See, you’ve even
     taught your old
Aba
something.” He reached up to kiss Avram on the forehead—Avram had never before noticed that he was taller than his father.
     Then he picked up the bloody knife and handed it to his son. “Let’s get on with it. The sooner we get this over with, the
     sooner I see your mother again.”
    Mordecai painfully lowered himself to the floor near the sleeping mat and lay down, carefully adjusting his tunic, making
     sure the fringes on the corners of his mantle weren’t tangled. He folded his hands on his chest and closed his eyes in prayer.
     “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, Whose judgments are true.” Then, with a sigh, he tilted back his
     head, exposing his throat. “Strike well, son. Trust in God.”
    Avram knelt beside his father. “Good-bye,
Aba
,” he whispered, then pulled the knife swiftly across his father’s throat.
    Avram didn’t know how long he knelt there, watching the blood rush, then