Food was scarcer, but that was fine. It was easier to fast when there was nothing to eat. After a few days, he didn't even feel hungry anymore, though his jaws still felt restless at mealtime for want of something to chew.
When the unremarkable man wanted companionship or conversation there was an Essene settlement that he could visit, and when he wanted to be alone, there were caves around the desert where one eventually could sleep if not deeply then at least adequately. On those nights the unremarkable man would light a fire with whatever fuel he had, and then keep it alive both for warmth and for safety from the eyes that gathered and watched from the darkness.
The desert was what speakers of Greek called a chora, a vast expanse between two places, a fancy way of saying that it was the middle of nowhere and no one lived there. Now as anyone can tell you who has lived in the middle of nowhere, the problem with living near no one is that as long as you stay there no one will talk to you, and if you stay there long enough, eventually you start to listen.
The unremarkable man knew better than to get into those conversations, but as the days pressed on, it became harder and harder to ignore the whispers. It was disconcerting at times, but the unremarkable man knew that the prophet Elijah had gone into the desert once and had heard a whisper that he had recognized at once as the quiet voice of God. These voices sounded nothing like his.
“You'll have to do better than that,” he said to no one in particular one afternoon, and at the sound of his own voice the other voices faded away.
It was about four in the afternoon when he heard another, unfamiliar voice nearing his cave. It belonged to no one he recognized, and it was humming a song in a mix of Greek and Latin. Curiosity spurred the unremarkable man forward and as he stepped out from the cave he found himself looking at an older man in a thin robe as he was walking past.
“Hello father,” the unremarkable man called, “you are headed the wrong way!"
The older man started, and turned back to face him. “I am a traveler with nothing of value on me, no money or weapons,” he said. “All I have are some dried dates, and if you are planning to rob me, I will save you the trouble and give them to you now without a fight.”
The unremarkable man laughed.
“I'm no brigand, father,” he said. “I'm just a hermit living here for the time being, and as I'm fasting, I thank you for your offer of dates but must decline with respect. But I repeat: you are going the wrong way.”
“I see,” said the old man. “And how do you know I am going the wrong way, when you do not know which way I am going?”
“Because you are going that way,” the unremarkable man said, and pointed. “In another mile or two, that way ends abruptly, with a cliff on every side. But by the time you discover that and turn around, it will be growing dark and you will be unable to reach any destination until well past sunset.”
“I see.” The older man looked where he had been going, as if he could see so far down the road and was evaluating the truth of what he had been told. “Well, it seems you have saved me a wretched evening of wasted travel and an even more wretched night of sleeping in the open. What would you recommend I do, young hermit?”
The unremarkable man laughed again, enjoying the company, and waved the older man to his cave.
“Come rest your feet a while, father. I won't break my fast with you, but come break yours with me, and I will gladly share a cup of cold water with a guest for a conversation, if you consent.”
And so he did. Soon the two were seated in the mouth of the cave. The old man had unwrapped a cloth that contained a half-dozen dates. After he had offered to share them and his host had declined, the old man had given thanks and eaten them one after another, drinking from the cup that the unremarkable man offered.
“I confess you surprised me, my young friend,” he said once he had finished his meal. “You appeared so suddenly and caught me by surprise when you spoke, I thought at first you must be one of the spirits that inhabits this place.”
“No, father,” the younger man said. “I'm no spirit,” and as if to prove it he took a mouthful of water himself.
“I can see that,” the old man said. “But the loneliness of these places draws them. You can feel them sometimes in the air. Azazel takes the scapegoat offerings we send from our towns, and there are others out here that are far worse than he. It's not a safe place, and not just because of the robbers. What brings you to be a hermit in the desert?”
“I'm looking for answers,” said the unremarkable man, “and I'm determined to get them. What brings you out here?”
The old man smiled and stretched out his arms expansively. “I go wandering about the earth, here and there,” he said. “I've been to Egypt and I've been to Rome, and today I had hoped my feet would carry me to Jericho, but it seems they have led me here instead.” He fell silent and gazed at his host. Already the desert fast was showing its toll on him His hair was wind-blown and crusted with dirt, and the days of want had begun to show on the burnt and tightening skin of his cheeks and arms.
“It must be something important that draws a man as young as you out into a place like this, where unclean spirits dwell,” the old man said at last. “A man doesn't do that just to decide whether to follow his father's footsteps or even whom to marry, but only for the deepest reasons of all. He does that when he's questioning everything.”
There was a long silence. “Do you believe in the messiah?” the unremarkable man asked at last.
“I know what the rabbis teach about the messiah,” the old man said cautiously. “That he'll come from the eternal line of David, and that he will lead Israel into war like a new Maccabee. When he finishes we will be free, and all nations will know the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.”
The old man's eyes flicked from the sandals on the feet of the unremarkble man to the dust and dirt on his forehead, and then flicked to his large working man's hands.
“And you think you might be he,” he said. “You hardly look like the warrior type.”
So the unremarkable man began, falteringly at first but with growing confidence as he spoke, telling the old man the peculiar stories he had overheard his parents whispering to each other when they thought he was still asleep. He spoke of the stirrings of eternity that he felt in his heart to mend the world, while the old man sat like a stone, unanswering and serious. At last the unremarkable man described the words he thought he had heard in the thunder the day of his baptism, when the dove had flown from the tree by the Jordan and landed, its wings still flapping, on his shoulder.
“I thought at first you might be a spirit here to drive me mad,” the old man said at last. “Now I see that you are but a man yourself, and one I have arrived too late to help. The spirits of this place have driven you mad.”
The unremarkable man nodded, and closed his eyes as if he had expected such a response. “That's why I'm here,” he said quietly. “All my life I've wondered who I am, and what my purpose is. What did that voice mean, 'my son?' If I am God's son, what does he expect of me?”
“We're all the sons of God,” the old man said, and he recited the old scrolls. “'The sons of God were called before him, and Satan also was with them.' 'Go and tell Pharaoh, Israel is my one and only son.'”
“But what --”
“I can't tell you that, young hermit. I don't know.” The old man stood, and folded his cloth, and returned it to the bag that he kept beneath his robe. “I'll be back this way in a couple weeks. I'll make sure I drop in to see how you are doing.”
With that he stood and stepped out of the cave into the gathering darkness. The unremarkable man stood and followed, and found the pathway barren. No one else was visible as far as the eye could see.
All around the air began to buzz with a thousand whispers.
Copyright © 2019 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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