For the next few hours, we had nothing to do but wait. We watched the priests perform the evening sacrifices as our servant brought in an oil lamp, along with more bread and wine, a plate of boiled vegetables, and a chunk of meat that looked like the breast of a duck.
The air had grown chilly, so Lavon draped another blanket over a sleeping Markowitz. Then he returned to his window and stared out toward the southwest, lost in thought.
As the twilight began to fade, he turned to us and directed our attention the same way.
“At this moment, right over there, Jesus and the disciples are getting ready for the Last Supper.”
Before Bryson or I could react, Lavon walked back to the table, took a piece of bread, tore it into three pieces, and handed one to each of us. Though he knew Bryson wasn’t a believer and probably had his doubts about me, it just seemed like the thing to do.
“On the night in which he was betrayed, he took the bread and broke it, saying ‘this is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’”
After we ate, Lavon took the wine jug and refilled our goblets.
“In the same way, he took the cup, saying ‘this cup is the new covenant, in my blood, which is poured out for you.’”
We each took a sip of our wine and stared once more to the southwest, in silence.
“I can scarcely believe this is happening,” Bryson said after a few minutes had passed. “I wish we had some way to follow him around.”
“Knowing the exact location wouldn’t help us much,” Lavon replied. “It’s not like any of the parties involved would let us stand to one side and observe.”
The archaeologist shook his head. “It’s just as well, anyway. I’m not exactly sure how I would react.”
To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I would, either.
A few minutes later, Markowitz rolled over and belched. I heard him mutter an obscenity, though he made no move to stand up. I went over to check on him, but by then he had gone back to sleep.
“Nothing to worry about,” I said.
“What are we going to do about him?” asked Bryson.
Lavon shrugged. “The two of us aren’t going anywhere tonight, so we can be sure to keep him on his side. As long as we don’t give him any more wine, he should sober up by morning.”
“No, I meant after we get back. Given what he’s been through, he’s going to need counseling.”
I didn’t think so. As it turned out, neither did Lavon.
“Whatever issues he has, he’s going to have to work them out himself, or with us,” he said.
“We have no professional qualifications in that field,” said Bryson.
“That doesn’t matter. How is he going to explain to some shrink that Pontius Pilate forced him to kill a man in an impromptu gladiatorial contest? If that doesn’t get him locked up in a padded room with a box of crayons, I don’t know what will.”