jefflong.yearzero-第70章

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f　the　courtyard　walls；　for　their　captivity　and　the　voices　on　their　inters；　for　their　bouts　of　depression　and　uncontrollable　anger。　It　was　not　something　they　could　turn　on　and　off。
　There　was　a　theory　that　consciousness；　the　idea　of　self；　didn't　develop　until　two　or　three　thousand　years　ago。　To　that　point；　the　human　brain　hadn't　been　wired　to　distinguish　between　self　and　being。　The　Year　Zero　clones　straddled　that　psychological　divide。　For　them；　or　most　of　them；　demons　and　spirits　were　everywhere。　The　Bible　talked　aboutgo'el；　or　guardian　spirits。　Dreams　were　alternate　realities。　Their　innermost　thoughts　were　the　voices　of　invisible　creatures。　Back　then…a　hundred　generations　ago…people　could　look　at　a　burning　bush　and　believe　they　were　hearing　the　voice　of　God。
　〃We　start　over；〃　said　Nathan　Lee。
　〃Why？〃　said　Izzy。　〃Why　put　them　through　it　again？　Maybe　they're　better　off　buried　in　their　cells。〃
　〃No；〃　said　Nathan　Lee。　〃They're　not。〃
　They　tried　to　lead　by　example；　walking　past　the　clones'　open　cell　doors。　〃You　see？〃　Izzy　told　them；　〃It's　safe。〃
　〃No；〃　men　insisted。　〃The　demons　are　waiting　for　us。〃
　Near　the　end　of　the　day；　as　the　shadows　turned　purple；　Ben　came　out　into　the　yard。　Nathan　Lee　was　squatting　by　the　fire。　A　cold　front　was　passing　through。　The　yard　looked　bleak；　like　an　arena　with　its　walls　blackened　with　smoke。　Leaves　swirled　on　the　circular　breeze。
　Ben　stood　above　him。　〃Where　is　that　thing？〃　he　asked。　He　meant　the　cross。
　Sparks　rose　among　the　pine　boughs。　〃In　the　fire；〃　said　Nathan　Lee。　Part　of　it　had　fallen　into　the　dirt。　He　jabbed　at　it　with　a　stick。　〃There。〃
　〃Why　aren't　you　afraid？〃
　Nathan　Lee　reached　for　the　words；　something　suitable　to　his　role　as　a　scribe。　〃God　writes　our　life。〃
　〃If　we　let　Him；〃　Ben　said。　Or　perhaps　he　said；　〃Not　if　we　don't　let　Him；〃　or　something　like　that。　Nathan　Lee's　Aramaic　was　elementary。　Ben　continued　standing　for　another　minute。　Then　he　hunkered　beside　Nathan　Lee　at　the　edge　of　the　fire　pit。　He　found　a　stick　of　his　own；　and　poked　at　the　embers　and　flames。
　Izzy　appeared　in　the　doorway　and　came　hurrying　over；　his　sandals　flapping。　〃Here　you　are；〃　he　said。
　〃Here　we　are；〃　said　Nathan　Lee。　He　motioned　with　his　eyes　for　Izzy　to　join　them。　Izzy　took　his　station　to　one　side。
　Ben　pointed　his　stick　at　Nathan　Lee's　missing　toes。　〃They　say　you　tried　to　escape；〃　he　said。
　〃Like　you；〃　said　Nathan　Lee。　He　gestured　with　his　own　stick　at　Ben's　scars　and　the　missing　tip　of　his　ear。
　Ben　grunted。　〃We're　alike；　I　think。〃　The　seams　on　his　ripped　face　were　purple　from　the　cold；　or　the　flames。　They　lay　on　his　skin　like　vines。
　〃Two　handsome　men？〃　said　Nathan　Lee。
　Another　grunt。　〃That　must　be　it；〃　Ben　said。
　Izzy　looked　from　one　to　the　other；　trying　to　catch　up　with　them。　Or　slow　down。　There　was　a　rhythm　here。　He　waited。
　〃I　see　you　listening。　And　listening；〃　Ben　continued。　He　plucked　at　sparks　as　if　they　were　insects。　〃Once　that　was　me。　Throwing　my　net　in　the　air。　Pulling　the　stories　from　the　wind。〃
　Nathan　Lee　didn't　say　anything。　He　let　Ben　draw　himself　out。　It　was　him　who　had　searched　Nathan　Lee　out；　for　some　reason。
　〃I　used　to　gather　stories；　too；〃　he　said。　〃From　men　like　these。〃
　〃Our　poor　brothers？〃　said　Nathan　Lee。
　Ben's　eyes　glittered。　〃Damned　men；〃　he　said。　〃Men　on　their　trees。〃
　The　crucifix。
　〃At　the　age　of　fifteen；　I　left　my　family　to　go　wandering；〃　said　Ben。　〃You　know　how　young　men　are。　Full　of　questions。　Impatient　for　the　world。〃
　〃Ask　him；〃　Nathan　Lee　said　in　English。　〃Where　did　he　go？〃　Time　to　bring　Izzy　into　the　loop。　He　didn't　want　to　miss　the　story。
　Izzy　made　himself　transparent。　He　had　bee　the　best　of　translators。　Their　words　flowed　through　him。
　〃I　roamed　along　the　River；〃　said　Ben。　〃I　meandered　south　to　the　Dead　Sea。　It　took　me　years。　Along　the　way；　I　would　stray　for　a　week　or　a　month；　sometimes　alone；　sometimes　working　in　a　village。　There　were　many　people　on　foot；　going　here　and　there。　Sometimes　I　would　join　one　band　or　another。　I　studied　with　Pharisees　and　Saduccees。　With　heretics　and　pagans。　I　saw　magic。　Wandering　Stoics　shared　their　campfires。　A　colony　of　Essenes　took　me　in。　They　fed　me　and　taught　me　to　read　and　write。　At　the　end　of　three　years；　I　left　them。　My　teacher　wanted　me　to　stay。　He　was　angry；　not　without　reason；　I　suppose。　But　I　had　my　own　path　to　find。〃
　He　fell　silent。　Nathan　Lee　added　another　log　to　the　fire。　He　poked　it　to　a　blaze。　〃What　path？〃
　〃Through　the　emptiest　place　I　could　find。　Into　the　desert；〃　Ben　said；　but　he　patted　his　heart。　〃It　was　a　dangerous　place；　crawling　with　bandits　and　prophets　and　wild　animals。　I　thought　such　a　bare　land　could　not　possibly　hide　the　truth。　But　I　found　no　answers。　And　so　I　climbed　out　from　the　valley。　I　went　up　into　the　land　of　the　damned。〃
　Izzy　finished　quietly。　They　waited　some　more。　When　Ben　spoke　again；　there　was　no　need　for　translation。　〃Golgotha；〃　he　said。
　Nathan　Lee　felt　his　blood　racing。　He　glanced　up　at　the　walls；　and　every　camera　was　trained　on　them。　He　could　almost　see　them　through　the　lenses；　three　men　perched　by　a　fire　melted　into　a　parking　lot。
　〃Have　you　been　there？〃　Ben　asked　lightly。
　Nathan　Lee　met　his　eyes。　〃A　long　time　ago。〃　He　didn't　offer　details。
　Ben　went　on。　〃I　made　it　my　home。〃
　〃Jerusalem？〃
　〃No；〃　said　Ben。　〃In　the　garden。　Among　the　trees。〃
　Golgotha？Nathan　Lee　was　careful。　He　kept　his　eyes　on　the　fire。　What　was　Ben　telling　him？
　〃I　lived　there　for　an　entire　year。　I　slept　in　empty　tombs　that　had　been　carved　and　were　waiting　for　their　wealthy　owners。　When　one　was　filled；　I　would　find　another。〃
　〃You　slept　in　tombs？〃
　〃You　couldn't　stay　in　the　open。　It　was　cold。　There　were　dogs。　I　learned　to　sleep　with　stones　near　at　hand。〃
　〃To　throw　at　the　dogs？〃　asked　Nathan　Lee。　He　remembered　Asia。
　Ben　nodded。　〃And　also　at　the　women。　The　widows　and　mothers　of　crucified　men。　They　were　possessed　by　demons　and　roamed　at　night。　Even　the　soldiers　were　afraid　of　them。〃
　The　flames　made　images。　Resin　hissed　and　snapped。
　〃It　was　a　different　kind　of　wilderness；〃　Ben　said。　He　spoke　in　bursts。　〃Further　along　the　path　stood　the　walls　of　Jerusalem。　But　you　know　that。〃　He　stopped。
　〃Not　like　you　are　telling；〃　said　Nathan　Lee。
　Ben　grunted。　He　flicked　at　the　fire。　〃At　night　you　could　hear　the　sounds　of　babies　crying　and　people　talking　and　laughing。　The　smell　of　food　drifted　over　the　walls　on　the　breeze。　You　couldn't　see　the　cook　fires　and　lamps；　but　they　cast　a　light　as　gold　as　butter。
　〃The　crucified　men　would　think　they　were　dreaming。　But；　of　course；　they　were　not。　To　sleep　was　to　die。〃
　He　meant　it　literally。　The　process　of　dying　on　a　cross　had　bee　lost　in　the　mists　of　time。　In　the　centuries　after　crucifixion　fell　from　use；　artists　had　begun　depicting　Christ　in　heroic　poses　with　a　nail　through　each　palm。　Even　after　Leonardo　da　Vinci　experimented　with　cadavers　and　learned　that　the　weight　of　a　human　body　would　have　torn　the　palms　free；　the　nail　through　the　hand　had　remained　a　popular　fiction。　In　the　same　way；　misled　by　artists　and　storytelling　priests；　people　had　e　to　believe　death　came　from　the　bleeding　and　torture；　even　from　a　broken　heart。　Not　until　a　twentieth…century　physician　conducted　a　medical　reconstruction　was　it　realized　that　death　resulted　from　asphyxiation。　Once　your　legs　gave　out　and　you　hung　from　your　arms；　the　diaphragm　was　quickly　overtaxed　and　you　suffocated。
　〃When　the　moon　came　up；〃　Ben　continued；　〃their　shadows　were　like　a　forest。　I　remember　lightning　playing　along　the　faraway　sea。　I　remember　a　man's　dog　that　came　and　lay　at　his　feet　and　starved　there；　guarding　his　body。　Sometimes　they　would　sing　to　each　other　on　their　crosses。　Village　songs。　Prayers。　It　could　be　very　beautiful。〃
　He　stopped　again。　He　squinted　as　if　peering　into　a　deep　hole。
　〃Why？〃　asked　Nathan　Lee。
　Ben　noticed　him　with　a　start。
　〃Why　did　you　live　with　the　dead？〃
　Nathan　Lee　already　had　a　hunch。　He'd　visited　the　burningghats　along　rivers　in　India　and　Nepal。　Since　long　before　Siddhartha；　ascetics　had　gathered　like　vultures　around　the　sick　and　dying　and　dead　to　meditate　upon　impermanence　and　suffering。　Two　thousand　years　ago；　it　wasn't　only　spices　and　silk　that　flowed　along　the　trade　routes；　but　philosophies；　too。
　〃Not　the　dea