By Angelika Rust
It’s pitch dark. Small wonder, as it’s the middle of the night. The lamps have long been extinguished, and not a ray of light shines through the narrow windows of the paltry huts lining the streets.
Nothing moves. No, wait, something does…there, at the back of a small alley. A lanky, coltish figure. A boy, with long, hazel hair and a pale face, around twelve years old. He stoops down to pick up a pebble. He aims carefully, then throws it upwards. With a resounding clatter, the missile bounces off the wooden window frame and drops back down into the sand. The boy waits for a moment, hoping for some kind of reaction. When nothing stirs, he picks the tiny stone up again and lifts his arm, squinting, aiming for another shot.
It takes three tries before a sleepy, ruffled face appears. Another boy, roughly the same age. His hair is distinctly darker, as is his skin. He stares down, unbelieving, and rubs his eyes.
“Jesus!” he blurts out. His hand flies up to cover his mouth. He hurriedly turns around to steal a glance at the room behind him.
“Whom did you expect?” The boy in the alley stands completely unperturbed, hands on his hips, an insolent expression on his gentle features.
“Shush, not so loud! Shouldn’t you and your parents be on your way to Jerusalem already?”
“Sure. Only it’s taken them so long to find me. And then it was too late to leave, which is why we’re staying another night. Come on. I’ve hidden a bottle of wine for us.”
“You’re nuts. I’m grounded.”
“Why?”
“Why?” the boy at the window repeats incredulous. “Because you and me disappeared for three days?”
“So what?”
“My mother cried her eyes out and my father gave me a spanking, I can hardly sit down. My parents are absolutely hopping mad, that’s what!”
The boy in the alley snorts derisively. “Well, so are mine. Is that supposed to impress me?”
“You’re not grounded?”
A mocking laugh sounds up in reply. “No.”
“Why not? You’re half a year younger than me! That’s not fair!”
“You’re not the son of God, that’s why. Oh, do come on, John. I’m bored.”
“You’re…” The boy at the window groans exasperation. “Wait.”
A scant moment later, the end of a rope hits the ground. John climbs down nimbly. He drops down the last few feet and lands next to his friend, burying his bare toes in the warm sand. They exchange a grin. [Read more…] about The Son of God
