SNEAK PEEK: Chapter Excerpt from Novel-in-Progress

Yeshua ben Joseph

Banks of newly plowed snow, twice the height of my Volvo, lined the perimeter of the parking lot of the building where I had my office. The stairs and handicap ramp had been shoveled. However, the shovel had been propped against the outer wall next to the entrance allaying any hopes I had that the Nor’easter would blow through quickly. 

In the pre-dawn hour snowflakes whipped through the porch light’s beam as I struggled to see the numbers on the door’s code bar.

I turned my back to the wind, shoved the thermos under my arm and gripped the duffle between my knees, and with my right hand punched in the code. When the door opened I stepped inside where the building’s warmth embraced me. As I shook the snow from my coat and stomped my feet I noticed the path of snowy footprints leading to the stairwell. Who could that be, I wondered. According to my phone it was only six thirty-five, almost a half hour before my seven o’clock appointment and too early for the other offices to be open.

Maybe I’m not the only one coming to jumpstart the day, I thought, get tedious paperwork out of the way and beat storm-traffic. I shrugged. Unlikely that Bette’s here early. To her, a no-nonsense first grade teacher, being on time is a virtue. Being early is an imposition, she’d admonish her students, and being late is inconsiderate.

My curiosity increased when the footprints stopped at the entrance to the second floor.

Before opening the door, I removed my gloves and newsboy cap, shook the remaining snow from my coat and entered the well-lit second floor hallway. As I the inserted the key to unlock the door to my office, I felt someone else’s presence. It was not an uncomfortable feeling, just an awareness of not being alone. I looked over my shoulder and that’s when I saw him.

A dark-skinned man sat huddled in the corner between the exit to the stairway and the wall on which my office sign hung: Robert Thompson, Ph.D./Clinical Psychology. The open door into the stairwell would have blocked him from my view, but nonetheless I thought it strange that I’d not seen him. His legs were drawn into his chest, his head resting on his arms which were draped around his knees. The black woolen watch cap, snug around his head, buried his face and kept all but the end curls of his brown hair from showing around the collar of his tattered shearling overcoat.

He appeared to be asleep.

“Good morning, Dr. Bob,” he said raising his head and making eye contact.

Though softly said, the sound of his voice startled me, and I teetered backward, hitting the back of my head against the wall and dropping my thermos and duffle bag.

He sprang like a cat across the space that separated us and caught me as my knees buckled then gently lowered me to the floor.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, “you surprised me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with a smile and in the same soothing voice, “I didn’t mean to. It is a trait I’m told I have, unsettling people.”

He retrieved my thermos, offered it to me but when I didn’t respond he placed it on the floor by my feet.

I rubbed my head and winced.

“Take your time,” he said, “catch your breath and footing, then when you’re ready we can talk. I’m Yeshua. You may know me as Jesus.”

Though I felt no threat from him, I wanted the safety of my office, alone time to prepare for the day’s appointments, and a getaway from this stranger who’d disrupted my comfortable routine.

He bent over, extended his arms toward me, and helped me to my feet.

Once upright the absurdity of who I thought he’d said he was registered.

“Jesus?” I said.

“Yes,” he replied.

I placed my left hand on the wall, bracing myself as disjointed and absurd thoughts swirled around in my sore head.

He’s a homeless man seeking shelter from the storm.

I reached into my pants pocket for the change leftover from my morning coffee.

“That’s not why I’m here, Dr, Bob.”

“If you’re not here to ask for money, why are you sheltering in the hallway?”

“I’m waiting to see you,” he said.

I could feel my knees shake as I tried to steady myself and gain control of my thoughts and the situation. His clothes were worn and soiled, ratty around the edges, but his face exuded warmth and he had a strength that surprised me.

He extended his right hand which I took in mine without hesitation. The rough callouses on his palm and his gentle but firm grip calmed me, assuring me that though shaken I was grounded. Nonetheless I was speechless, dumbfounded and off kilter as I stood outside my office face-to-face with a strange man named Yeshua.

“Bette Rawlings will be here in ten minutes.” He paused, tilted his head and let go of my hand. “I can come back later or another day.”

“Oh, do you know Bette?” I asked, wondering how he would know she was coming let alone what my schedule was.

“Yes. I know many struggling souls.”

Who is this guy and what could he want?

I wanted to tell him to go away, hide my apprehension and questions, but in addition to being rattled, I was curious. Does he believe he’s the Christ, God’s Incarnate Son, or is he “nuts?”

I opened my cellphone, checked the time, my schedule, and thought, No, Bob, don’t, you’ll regret this, but it’s a good mystery, and maybe he’s looking for help, that’s what you do, help.

“Come back at noon,” I said after clearing my throat and before I fully realized what I was saying, “I’m free until one o’clock.”

“Thank you for seeing me,” he replied and paused before continuing, “and giving up your noon pickle ball time.”

“How could you know how I planned to spend my free hour?” I asked but wondered if I really wanted to know.

He grinned and looked at the open duffle bag on the floor then turned to the exit, but before leaving pointed to my pants pocket, “and I can pay for your time.”

He was out the door and down the staircase before I could respond. I assumed that he’d been joking about paying me.

After he’d left, I went down to the first floor to check for mail. As I opened the mailbox, Margaret, the dentist’s receptionist, burst through the doorway. Driven by a gust of wind and snow, she stumbled toward me dropping one of her bags in the process.  

“Good morning,” I said, grabbing her arm as she started to fall. “That was close. Can I help carry your bags?”

“That would be great,” she said while catching her breath, “thank you, and much appreciated.”

I retrieved the fallen bag, and as I leaned into the outside door forcing it shut, she said, “That man looked familiar.” Her voice sounded inquiring, but she wore a shocked expression on her face. “Who was that?”

“The man who just left the building?” I asked.

She pointed to the closed door and nodded.

“That was Jesus.” I began with a hint of sarcasm, “The adored plain-spoken carpenter from Nazareth.”

Before she could reply I turned to the stairs and left her wide-eyed and puzzled in the middle of the hallway. As I opened the door into the stairway I turned to Margaret and in a loud whisper said, “Just kidding, you know, client confidentiality.”

Mail in hand, I returned to the second floor.

Once inside my suite I turned on the lights in the waiting room and office then considered taking a few minutes to calm myself with a mindful exercise. I rejected the idea and instead raised the Venetian blinds and watched and listened to the swirling snow and howling wind, welcome distractions from the unsettling events I’d just been through. Bette would be on time, and I wanted to be prepared for our session.

Throughout her visit, my thoughts returned to the encounter I’d had with the stranger in the hallway.  Had that been Jesus? Impossible. A homeless vagrant seeking shelter from the storm. Probably. Maybe I’m working too hard. Nonsense, I thought, shaking my head. Would he return? He said he would. Maybe it’s a prank, college students up to some harmless mischief.  If he did show, what would he say, prank or no prank, what was I going to do?He seemed to know things. If he knew everything about me…I shuddered at the thought.What would I say?

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