I, Saul (10 page)

“My friends have come?” Paul rasped.

“One has,” Luke said, as Timothy dropped into sight.

Paul stood and tried to approach the younger man, but the chain quickly reached its limit, and Luke leapt to keep Paul from falling.

“Timothy, my son! Come to me!”

They embraced and Paul pressed his face, tears streaming, into the taller man's chest. “I knew you would come! I knew it! And Mark?”

“Maybe in another week,” Timothy said, his voice thick. “Wonderful! And you brought my things?”

“Only your cloak, Paul. Mark is hoping to bring everything else.”

Paul pulled back and looked both Timothy and Luke in the eyes. “The parchments—.”

“We know,” Timothy said, digging out the cloak and wrapping it around the old man. Paul hummed with pleasure as he found his way back to the bench. Luke was stunned anew at how much weight Paul had lost.

“Timothy, son,” Paul said, “come sit with me. Tell me everything of the brethren.”

Augie found himself nervous calling his beloved. Though they were engaged, the diamond was on layaway. He hoped to give it to her in Athens late in the summer at the most romantic place he could find. Neither wanted a long engagement. He hoped they could be married during his fall break, then he would bring her to live with him in Texas.

She answered immediately, her fluent English beautifully laden with the consonant-rich Greek accent.

“Oh, Augie,” she said, “I wish you were here. I'm so worried.”

“I'd ask you to meet me in Rome, but I don't know what I'm getting into.”

“Don't tempt me.”

“I won't leave Europe without seeing you.”

“You'd better not.”

He loved the longing in her voice. But he had to bring her up to date on his father. She asked about how he and his mother were doing.

“Fine, just worried about leaving now, but there's nothing I can do here.”

“I need to get your new number to Roger, and your ETA.”

He recited it and told her he should arrive in Rome by eight Saturday morning.

“I don't like living apart, Sof.”

“I don't either. And I'd love to talk with you all night. But let me get back to Roger and let's talk tomorrow. Give Marie my love.”

Augie felt light-headed as he made his way back down the hall. He'd never known anyone like Sofia, never loved anyone this way. After so many years of texting each other, the day had finally come when she joined another of his tours. She had tried to make that a surprise. But after replacing his father as the tour leader, Augie made it a practice to know the name of everyone in the group.

He was taking just over sixty tourists into Egypt and Jordan, ending at the famed red-rock city of Petra. He had seen her name and those of her parents on the manifest and found himself strangely excited about seeing her again after six years. He was thirty-six and she twenty-eight.

The tour group met in Cairo, and after a few days in Egypt flew to Amman. Her parents had greeted him with appropriate enthusiasm, her mother adding, “And you remember our daughter.”

Augie reached to shake her hand. “Yes, your name again?”

Sofia had punched him. “Helen of Troy,” she said. “How are you, cyber pen pal?”

“You failed your assignment, Dr. Knox,” Mr. Trikoupis said, smiling.

“You were to get Sofia to see the light and join my business. But she's happy, and that's all I care about.”

Augie and Sofia had sat with each other at a meal here and there, and he noticed her rapt attention when Roger answered a question from one of the tourists.

“Impressive, isn't he?” Augie said.

“Fascinating,” Sofia said. And when she smiled Augie melted inside. What a wonderful person she seemed to be, and so magnetic.

“These trips are all about emotion,” Roger told Augie for the umpteenth time. “Move the people, inspire them, give them memories, and always save the best till last.”

On this trip, that meant Petra.

On the final day, Augie found a heavy-eyed Sofia in the seat behind her parents near the back of the bus. Mr. and Mrs. Trikoupis appeared to be napping, so he slid in next to Sofia.

“Wait till you see Petra,” he said. “Roger knows this place like the back of his hand.”

“He knows every place like that,” Sofia said, and Augie noticed their bare arms touching, yet neither pulled away.

“I probably won't see you till dinner tonight,” he said, “but I hope you come to love Petra as much as I do.”

“I'll save you a seat and let you know.”

Petra had the desired effect on the entire group, which Roger insisted was due to its beauty alone. “This is one place where the guide is mostly in the way,” he told them as they gathered at the eastern entrance to the long, narrow gorge that eventually spills into the city carved in stone. He quickly outlined the history of the place a famous poet once called “a rose-red city half as old as time.” Inside, Roger told them, they would
see the treasury, the monastery, a Byzantine church, a temple, rock-cut tombs, a street of facades, and dozens of other breathtaking works of architecture, all cut directly out of the rock.

“You can climb all the way up to what they called the high place,” he said, “but I recommend that for only the most fit. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Before they all split up to explore, Augie chose to tell the story of his own spiritual journey, recounting how he had gone from an angry teenager to a man who had come to love the Land of the Book, the Book, and the Author of the Book.

Roger went over his heat- and sun-avoiding tips, pulling a gadget from his pocket that told him the temperature was already well over 110 degrees. “Dangerous,” he said. “Hydrate. Take frequent breaks. And enjoy.”

Augie caught sight of Sofia here and there throughout the day. Once, when she was shopping at a trinket stall, she said, “I want to climb to the high place and see the altar.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Augie said. “You're in shape, but this is as hot as I've ever seen it here.”

“I won't forgive myself if I don't do that. When would I ever come back here?”

“Tell you what,” Augie said. “Promise you won't do it this afternoon and I'll personally climb it with you later.”

“Seriously? When? After this it's the pool, dinner, and bed.”

“Not for you and me,” Augie said.

She seemed to study him. “All right,” she said slowly. “Let's see if you're a man of your word.”

Back at the hotel Augie wanted just one dip in the pool before dinner. As he climbed out he was surprised to see Sofia stretched out on a chaise lounge. He knew she was trim and in shape, but he had not expected the spectacular body he found shaded by a huge umbrella. It was all he could do to keep his eyes on her face.

“Remember your promise,” she said.

Luke was impressed that Paul was so warmed by Timothy's visit that he ignored the bread and cheese Luke put into his lap. While the old friends reminisced about their experiences on Paul's missionary journeys, Luke busied himself pawing through the bag Timothy had brought, sorting trinkets and gifts and a scarf. It pleased him to hear Paul and Timothy laugh, recounting their years of adventures. Luke found himself cheered by Paul's enthusiasm. “You act as if you haven't seen each other for ages! It's been only a few months.”

“It seems like years,” Timothy said.

“It does,” Paul said. “Now, the work at Ephesus ….”

Timothy brought him up to date, asked advice on conflicts, thanked him for his letter—”which, with your permission, I would like to copy
for several of the other pastors”—and said it was a gift he would always treasure.

Paul seemed to puzzle over the suggestion. “I suppose it's all right. But it was intended for only you. I'll trust your judgment.”

Eventually Timothy got to the question Luke knew was coming. “What is so crucial to you in your parchments?”

“I do pray Mark finds them and can bring them,” Paul said. “When might we expect him?”

“A week or so. Unfortunately, I must be in Corinth when he's here.”

“But he knows where to look.”

“If they're there, he'll bring them. You know he still feels bad about the falling out between you two.”

“Oh, please, no! We have been over that and over that! It was so long ago. And he has since proved himself so many times.”

“But he feels he was wrong.”

“He
was
wrong! But that is not the point. No one has been wrong as many times as I, yet the Lord is patient and forgiving. How can I be otherwise?”

Timothy chuckled. “You weren't patient at the time.”

“That was not the time for patience. He had to face his error. But we must not revisit painful pasts. I have never held it to his account.”

“So, the parchments ….”

“Merely personal things, Timothy. Forgive me.”

Timothy leaned close. “You know that makes me only more curious.”

Paul threw an arm around him. “I know, beloved. But listen, my fate is sealed. The brothers I have mentioned in my parchments must be allowed to choose for themselves whether they are willing to die for the cause of Christ. I dare not expose them to the Empire through my writings.”

Later, at the entrance to Flavia Sabina's excuse for an inn, Timothy whispered, “You will be with him at the end, Luke?”

“How could I not?”

Timothy nodded. “His biggest fear is dying before—.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. As you might imagine, he has made that quite clear.”

Timothy grinned through his tears. “Perhaps looking forward to Mark's visit will help.”

“No question. And your having been with him has likely been the best medicine.”

“I assured him all the churches are praying for him, but of course that prompted him to ask where the other brothers have been. He wanted to know, could not anyone else have found their way to him? ‘Only Luke, Onesiphorus, you, and soon Mark.'”