“You have never lost that gift,” Efah said. “You were always the best, and I daresay you’re as fast and accurate now as you have ever been.”
Levi shrugged. “I take pride in not having to go back and rewrite any of it.”
“That is the wonder of it. To be so proficient and legible besides. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I try not to think about it,” Levi said. “I don’t want to study it for fear I might lose it.”
“After all this time? Not likely.”
“I like to think I can record an entire conversation and not miss a syllable.”
“Remarkable.”
Levi stored his records and doused the lamp. “I have a freshly butchered lamb at home,” he said. “Enjoy it with me and we’ll take some of my best wine as well, just the two of us.”
Efah hesitated. “Normally I would embrace that opportunity; you know I would. But my wife has a meal waiting for me. And I must be back here tomorrow evening.”
“On a Saturday? Why?”
“Two of the fishing families have asked for a meeting.”
“Who?”
“The sons of Zebedee. John and—I forget the other’s name . . .”
“James, my brother’s namesake. And?”
“Simon and Andrew.”
“Boat owners all. What do they want?”
“Need you ask?”
Levi snorted. “I suppose not. Are they representing the others again?”
“Of course. They always claim to speak for the lot of them. I could recite their arguments before they begin.”
“Perhaps you should. Take some of the wind from their sails.”
As the men stepped out into the chilly evening air, Efah said, “That’s a good idea. I’ll ask if they have anything new since last time or are they going to begin their litany of why all the fishermen of the Sea of Galilee should be given special consideration. ‘The less we pay in taxes, the more we can put into our equipment, then our businesses will be more profitable, and in the long run Rome will make even more money from us.’”
Levi chuckled. “You know that makes some sense.”
“Sure it does. But they should make such concessions from their own margins. Why should we lend them money by easing their taxes?”
“We shouldn’t,” Levi said. “Unless they are ready to make us partners. The question is whether they really speak for the lot of the fishermen. If the whole of the industry is threatening to revolt, I must inform the financial procurator. I want no surprises.”15
Efah shrugged. “If history serves, what’s the worst they can do? Stop paying, stop fishing, and get the rest of the populace up in arms over the dwindling supply.”
“Talk sense to them, Efah. It could take them years to make up for lost profits if they tried a scheme like that.”
Efah nodded. “I’ve found I can reason with Andrew. Simon not so much. He can be forceful.”
“And the sons of Zebedee?”
“They amuse me.”
“How so?”
“They grow angry and incoherent as soon as they recognize that I will not budge.”
“When are they coming?”
“After three stars appear in the sky tomorrow evening.”
“I have no plans,” Levi said. “How about I come and record the meeting for you, implying that I am doing this for the sake of Rome? That should alarm them.”
THE LONGTIME ASSOCIATES agreed on the plan, and Levi found himself eagerly anticipating it, if for no other reason than that he was alone and bored. His staff prepared the fresh lamb and he ate by himself. Normally fresh lamb pleased him, but with no one to enjoy it with him, the pleasure was gone; he ate too much and was then uncomfortable. When he found sleep elusive, he wandered his vast estate.
Something was nagging at him, something he had not concerned himself with for years. The fact was that he had succeeded at everything he had set his hand to since the moment he decided to turn his back on his parents and their God. Short of finding some pleasure in but missing the satisfaction of having been in any way responsible for Herod’s horrible end, Levi had made of himself exactly what he wished. He was the best at what he did, and he had succeeded in plying his trade, seeking vengeance for the loss of his brother by misusing the so-called children of God and by also exploiting the Romans who employed him.
It had all worked perfectly. The rub was that it had fallen so short of accomplishing what he hoped it would that he barely remembered what that was anymore. Levi had wished, he supposed, that perfecting his craft and building his own wealth off the income of others would somehow bring about a feeling of contentment. He had assuaged any guilt over his actions by reminding himself daily that he deserved every coin he could exact from his victims. Yet any feeling of vindication, vengeance, or justice eluded him.
For months he had been sleeping less, thinking more, growing more restless. What had he made of his life? What had he really accomplished? Certainly he was the envy of every other publican in Israel. They were jealous of his role as chief publican on the Via Maris, the main trade route between Damascus and Egypt. But what had that brought him? He had been estranged from his now late parents, from his brother James, and naturally from God.
Whatever he had achieved—and he couldn’t imagine what more he could have done—it was not enough. All the diligence, all the study, all the work, the perfecting of his skills—it all led to emptiness. And he was convinced it was way too late to change his ways now.
The night sky was clear and star-filled, so Levi rested on a small outcropping of rock, allowing his feet to dangle as he took in the expanse of the heavens. How much easier this all would have been, had he been able to push from his mind and heart the very existence of God. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. Deep within he knew it would have been easier to accept the capricious nature of the awful end of his precious baby brother if he could simply decide there was no God, no Supreme Being who cared.
Unable to shake free from that last vestige of his childhood—the infuriating deep-seated belief that there was one true God—Levi had mired himself into an ugly opposition to the creator, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. As he tried to take in the breadth of the heavens, he was only reminded of what a lonely, bitter battle this was.
Levi suddenly stood and drew his cloak more tightly around him. He was shaken by a sudden inclination to pray, to talk to his chief enemy, to tell Him what he really thought. But what would be the profit in that? God would not answer him, nor was He required to. Levi cast his eyes down and hurried back to his home and to his bed, determined to evade the urge by no longer gazing at the stars.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Levi was still out of sorts. He had barely slept, and though his staff prepared his favorite breakfast, nothing appealed and he left his plate largely untouched. He spent much of the rest of the day wandering his gardens, watching his staff, and dozing in the sun.
But the naps could not make up for the solid hours of sleep he required, and he was left feeling logy and frustrated. Was this to be his life then? A vague empty feeling that he had wasted his best years doing what he had set out to do, only to find that in the end it added up to nothing?
Levi looked forward to the evening meeting with Efah and the fishermen, if for no other reason than it would give him something else to think about. Self-loathing was hardly profitable. He had to set his mind on other things—like recording the meeting so thoroughly that the fishermen would fear the report getting back to Rome.
LEVI WAS NOT used to being defensive. Normally it was he who intimidated the other party—unless it happened to be Roman dignitaries or specifically Leontius, the Roman knight to whom he reported. But as soon as he arrived at the tax office and was confronted by the four fishermen, his plan to unnerve them was quickly foiled.
“My name is Simon, Levi, and I’m glad you’re here.”
“I know who you are, sir, and I need to tell you that my role this evening will be to—”
r /> “Your job is to record this meeting, Levi,” the plain-speaking man announced. “You are known as a man who writes quickly and accurately, and we need to know that our ideas will be heard and passed on to Rome.”
“Sit, gentlemen, sit,” Efah said. “There is no need to involve Rome. That’s why we are here. We will hear your concerns and—”
“We have been told that before,” James said, joining his brother John and Simon’s brother Andrew on a long wooden bench. “Now we really must insist that you make note of—”
“I will record the meeting,” Levi said, spreading out his papyrus and writing implements. “But I will decide what is communicated to Rome, not you. Is that understood?”
The fishermen glanced at one another, glowering, and James began to speak again before Simon cut him off. “Friend, we agreed I would do the talking. Now, let me. And I should say, Levi and Efah, when I talk, I am speaking for—”
“All the fishermen,” Efah said. “We know.”
“They’re waiting for a good word from us,” Simon said. “And you know as well as we do how many there are and how much of the local trade depends on us.”
“Because poor people eat fish,” Levi said, beginning to write.
“Is there something wrong with being poor?” Simon said.
“Come, come,” Levi said. “You are business owners. Surely you do not number yourselves among your customers.”
“Of course we do!” John said indignantly before Simon shushed him.
“Yes, we do,” Simon said. “Unlike you, we don’t brag about our profits. We worked for years to build our businesses and own our boats. And now, because of all that Rome and you and the temple demand of us—”
Levi looked up sharply. “Don’t lay on us any burden the Pharisees place on you. That is between you and them. If you want to revolt against taxes, revolt against those.”
Simon lowered his voice. “The Pharisees think less of you than you do of them.”
Efah laughed aloud. “No doubt, though that would take some doing! Now, Simon, let me ask that you direct your comments to me and allow the chief publican to concentrate on his work. Tell me what it is that brings you to our office tonight, and please spare me the usual list of grievances and unacceptable suggestions for solutions.”
“But that’s the problem, sir,” Simon said. “We are humble, hard-working men. We do not work to line our own pockets. We try to serve our fellow citizens and provide for our families. It’s good for Capernaum if we succeed.”
“It benefits Capernaum if you pay your taxes.”
“At cost to our businesses? How does that help anyone but you?”
“You would be advised to not make this personal,” Efah said.
“It’s personal to us!” James thundered.
“John,” Simon said, “take your brother for a walk, would you?”
“I don’t need to be treated like a child!” James said.
“Apparently you do. Now go.”
As John tugged his raging brother toward the door, James hissed over his shoulder, “You had better succeed, Simon. Don’t let them put you off again. Don’t believe their empty promises.”
“I’m sorry, Efah,” Simon said. “Both sons of Zebedee have short tempers. But I must also say that they are right. This is personal. We and our fellow fishermen are the lifeblood of this region. We feed the masses. We know what we’re doing and we keep trying to get better at it, but our sails are old and worn and our nets are mostly in shreds. By the time we pay taxes on our property—”
“An obligation that is none of our business,” Efah said. “That is a direct tax paid to the royal treas—”
“It all goes to Rome!” Simon said. “But, all right, forget the direct taxes, though they can sometimes account for twenty-five percent of our assets. Paying you for every catch, every trip to the market, and even for the use of the sea leaves us with barely enough to feed and clothe our families and provide them shelter. All we are asking for is a short break. We promise to use every bit of it to fix our equipment and make us more productive. That will mean more business for us and more taxes for you!”
“For Rome, you mean.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I did not realize you were on fixed salaries regardless of the amount of taxes you collect.”
Even the otherwise silent Andrew laughed at that.
“You know full well we take no salary,” Efah said. “So what you are asking is for us to lend you money, to take it from our own pockets to your benefit.”
“To your benefit in the long run,” Simon said.
“Perhaps we are not interested in the long run,” Efah said. “Perhaps we are interested in the here and now.”
“A true pagan,” Simon muttered.
“What did you say?” Levi said.
“Nothing.”
“I heard that.”
“Gentlemen,” Simon said. “We don’t want to have to stop fishing. Surely you don’t want Rome hearing that the fishermen of Galilee have shut down their businesses. The people will go hungry, and it won’t be long before they rise up. What will you do, feed them meat from your rich tables?”
“Do not threaten us,” Efah said. “Now, as we are on record and as the chief publican has said that he will decide what is communicated to Rome, let me speak my piece. Your request is denied, your threat is acknowledged, and my suggestion to Rome will be that they send their best and most industrious fishermen to replace you and fish these waters. Your buyers will have grown hungry enough to not care who puts the food on their tables.”
Levi was impressed. Efah had come up with a capital plan, and it was clear from the shock on Simon and Andrew’s faces that he had got their attention. Rome would leap at such a prospect. Future-thinking young businessmen would invest in such a scheme and Romans would strike out for the Sea of Galilee to make their fortunes. The problem was, despite the brilliance of the plan, it was just wrong. Such enterprising men would not pay taxes to Levi but directly to Rome, so besides putting the fishermen out of business, the plan would cost him money. It would destroy families who had been fishermen for centuries. Their income would dry up, their families would go hungry. It was almost as despicable as sending armed horsemen out in the middle of the night to slaughter innocent children.
“Excuse me, Efah,” Levi said, fully aware that he was about to embarrass, perhaps even humiliate, his subordinate. “Allow me to reason with Simon here, as he speaks for the fishing trade. If your taxes were to be suspended for two months, would that provide enough income to mend your nets and repair your boats?”
“It would, sir.”
Levi held up a hand. “And would you then be willing to pay back the temporary savings by having your taxes increased by twenty-five percent for each of the following four months?”
“Levi!” Efah cried. “Surely, you’re not—”
“Well, I—”
“You said yourself that the improvement to your equipment would increase your business to higher levels than ever.”
“Yes, we would be willing to take that risk.”
“And if we agree to such an arrangement, may I inform Rome so they will not feel compelled to take action due to a temporary drop in tax revenue?”
“Certainly,” Simon said with a wary tone, as if he knew he shouldn’t believe this.
Efah stood. “Levi, surely you’re not actually going to—”
“As always,” Levi said, “I am going to do what I decide to do in the best interests of this region and Rome. And what I have decided is that this makes sense. Simon, we have you and your compatriots within sight every day. We will know at once if you seem to be taking advantage of my good graces and fail to uphold your end of the bargain.”
Simon nodded, still plainly wary. “Can I tell the others?”
“With one caveat. The public at large must know nothing of it.” “That will not be easy. The men will want to tell their wives and close friends.”
“They must not
. If word gets back to this office that others want a similar consideration, the arrangement is rescinded.”
Efah sat and then stood quickly again when Levi rose and thrust out a hand to Simon. “You’re actually going to do this,” Efah said.
Again Levi silenced him with a gesture and a look. Simon shook both their hands vigorously and said, “You won’t be sorry! Thank you, gentlemen! You’ll see that this is good for all.” Andrew merely nodded as they left, and Levi heard excited talking among the two sets of brothers as they headed away.
Efah sat heavily on the bench and crossed his legs and arms. “Well?” he said.
“Well what?”
“I’m waiting for an explanation, Levi.”
“And where did you get the notion that I am required to explain myself to you? I have to answer to Rome for this decision, so—”
“You certainly do! And if you do not report it accurately, I will.”
“I need not remind you, Efah, that you do not report to Rome. You answer to me. I answer to Rome.”
“They are not unaware of my role here, chief.”
“That’s because I inform them.”
“That’s not the only reason.”
“Oh, you inform them too? Well, fine. You should know by now that they listen to the jangling of coins, not the breast-beating of proud birds.”
“I remain stunned by what you have done.”
“Spend the rest of the evening with me, and we will talk it through.”
Efah ran his hands through his hair. “I told my wife not to expect me home before the midnight watch. But I confess I am not happy with you just now.”
“That’s plain. I did not invite you to be charming company but rather so that we can dine and talk.”
Efah rose and strode past Levi into the night, and as Levi bent to douse the lamps, he realized that he had not noticed before that his old classmate’s hair was already turning gray. It wouldn’t be long before his own did the same. And again he was stabbed with the knowledge that his life was passing with little to show for it beyond what he had tried to accrue for himself. There had been no satisfaction, no relief, nothing gained by shaking his fist in the face of God.