Sunset in Paradise Read online

  Sunset in Paradise

  by Paula Freda

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright July 21, 2012

  by Dorothy P. Freda

  (Pseudonym - Paula Freda)

  Bookcover front & back Licensed photos - iStockphoto.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof.

  Except for documented biblical passages, references and legends, the names, characters, places and incidents in this book are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  +

  JMJ

  With thanks to my Dear Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, and to Saint Joseph, and my guardian angels, guides and protectors.

  I dedicate this book to my husband, Domenick, whose love, patience and kindness over the past 40 years have kept my dreams and view of the romantic alive and vibrant.

  Paula Freda

  SUNSET IN PARADISE

  by

  Paula Freda

  CHAPTER ONE

  The high pitched call of a small desert bird passing overhead stirred the sleeping young man. Lambs bleating as they followed their mothers wove into his dreams of tables laid out with meats and nuts and fruits, and olives marinating in fine oils, all there for him and his brother.

  The rude clanging of bells that hung around the neck of the flock's lead wether led by a shepherd youth jarred and shook him awake. He hugged tighter the decaying fibers of the coarse woolen cloak that barely covered his thin lanky form.

  In the center of the mountainside cave the meager firewood had burned to a crisp and no longer gave warmth. That would now be the work of the Sun as it began its ascent into the whitening sky.

  Dismas hated sunrise. It brought him back to another day of belly aching hunger. Another day of scavenging and thieving with his companions, hungry like himself. His body ached from his bed of dry stony earth, and though only seventeen years of age, he felt more like an old man with brittle aching bones and parched throat. His hunger impelled him to sit up. Further in, slept his brother and the older members of their band of five thieves.

  Gestas, their leader, and the others, were already awake, sitting on their heels, crouched in a circle, whispering among themselves as they counted the coins they had robbed from a lone traveler unfortunate enough to have crossed their path late last night. The man had been a stranger to these parts, so there had been no need to kill him, as he would not be able to identify them, although he might already have died from the blows that Gestas had delivered with no remorse.

  Jehiel had intervened in time to possibly save the stranger's life, warning that killing him might bring the stranger's kin back asking questions, or seeking revenge. The real reason for his intervention was too charitable for the others to understand. But Dismas knew his brother's weakness. He had his mother's heart and her gentleness, though he hid it well. Dismas, himself, had no memory of his parents. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father had died shortly after of a desert fever. Both he and five-year-old Jehiel had been sold into slavery to a rich merchant. The merchant had appointed one of his slave women to rear them until they were old enough to handle hard labor, and then sold them to a wealthy farmer. There had not been much love lost parting from the slave woman. During the few years under her care she had been cold and aloof, doing only what was absolutely necessary. She had told them on the very first day, that she had no desire to develop any closeness which might cause her distress when they were resold.

  Yet despite her aloofness, Dismas had grown from babyhood under her care and in his childhood ignorance had called her Mother. Perhaps Dismas the baby had awakened some maternal caring in the slave woman, for she had allowed him to call her mother, although she had never acknowledged any affection to either him or his brother.

  Hard labor had proved the appropriate description for working in the farmer's orchards and grain fields, pushing and pulling heavy loads of olives, collecting and stacking bundles of wheat, picking fruits from the trees in the farmer's orchards, and loading them by the bushels into open carts ready for the market. They knew hunger and illness, yet they survived, when so many others didn't.

  When Dismas was fourteen, a new slave was brought in, Gestas, belligerent and defiant. The more the slave master beat him and starved him, the more defiant and combatant he grew. Finally, uncontrollable, he was sold to a Master Gladiator for use in the arena. But on the evening before the actual transfer, Gestas, Jehiel and Dismas managed to escape to the mountains where they hid. They never stayed long in one place. Gestas was resourceful and ingenious. Jehiel idolized him. Dismas followed where his brother went, but he did not see Gestas as a hero; rather a man whose desperation for freedom was equal to his obsession for power, even if it was only to lead a gang of thieves.

  There were days when Dismas wished they had never met Gestas, and evenings when he would leave the cave and wander over the lands where sheep and goats grazed. During one of those sojourns he had befriended a local shepherd, a young man of his own age, named Haim.

  Dismas rose to his feet and strode over to the cloistered group of men. He waited for one of them to address him. Jehiel beckoned to him and he drew near enough to catch the coin his brother tossed him. Enough for a small loaf of unleavened bread. Dismas knew better than to ask for more. He knew what Gestas or the other two would reply. If you want more, go steal it. Apparently today they had no plans for robbery as a band and it was every man for himself.

  Dismas put the coin inside the fold of his girder and slipped out of the cave.

  It was a clear, hot day, and the marketplace was crowded. The acrid smell of perspiring bodies and the dry musty smell of grains and a variety of dried beans, mixed non too gently with the pungent scent of nuts and olive oil and the overly sweet smell of fruits ripening in the open air under the sun. Vendors plowed their wares with raised voices, especially the fruits, hoping to sell them before they spoiled. Dismas walked slowly down the aisles between the stands, his hands tucked under his tattered cloak. He greeted with a smile, the group of women gathered at the bread stand. The baker had just completed frying some honey doughnuts and set them out to cool on the shelf below the breads. Dismas, all the while exchanging small talk with the customers and the baker, used his right hand to take out the coin from his girder, pay the baker, and select a loaf of bread. And with stealth of hand learned through years of practice, he used his left to pilfer one of the honey doughnuts and tuck it unseen under his cloak. Wishing all a good day, he moved along leisurely, feigning interest in other market stands, until he reached a row of small clay baked homes with outside staircases that led to flat roofs. Quickly he climbed an unattended staircase and made his way over the rooftops to the city walls, climbed over, and headed out toward an oasis adjoining the pasture that his shepherd friend and flock of sheep frequented.

  Hunger and thirst slowing his pace, it took him over two hours to reach the oasis. He drank from the small water pond, then sank down beneath a shady palm tree and after a few moments of rest, took out the bread and the honey doughnut held safely in his waistband and ate, slowly, savoring each bite. Then he drank a little more. The water was muddy, but cool. Outside of a few fruits he might steal from an orchard left momentarily unguarded, today's meal was complete. If he was lucky, he might come across an old ailing lizard that he could outrun and kill with a rock, and bring it back to the cave to skin and cook over the fire. He would have to share it with the others, but even those few bites were a feast to a hungry stomach.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dismas remained at the oasis until late in the afternoon until he heard the bray of camels in the distance, along with the tinkling of bells and singing, no doubt to alleviate the boredom of a long trek across the desert. A caravan. It was time for him to leave. He avoided strangers — possible slave traders who would find a lone young man in tattered robes, tempting merchandise for sale. He set out toward the pasture where his friend usually brought his sheep to graze. Tonight, he would sleep under the stars.

  He reached the stony outcrops by evening. Grass and shrubbery grew in patches where the earth had retained moisture from the rainy seasons and was not as dry. The sheep grazed and drank the water the shepherd had drawn from the nearby well and poured for them into the stone troughs.

  Haim sat by a small boulder, one knee raised to support his arm, his hood and cloak thrown back. His staff lay alongside him on the ground. Tonight the sky was clear and the moon full. From this vantage point, he could see his whole flock as they grazed, and in the distance, the small town of Bethlehem, but at the moment he was gazing up at the sky. Dismas saw him and headed toward him, calling to him. Haim glanced down and saw him. Grabbing his staff in hand, he leapt to his feet, arms widening to give his friend a brotherly embrace. "Dismas, I'm glad you're here."

  The two embraced, then shared an arm clasp, and laughter.

  "What is it?" Dismas asked. "You seem enraptured by the stars."

  "Not all, just that one." Haim pointed to a particularly large and bright star.

  "It's beautiful," Dismas said.

  "Look at the light it casts, like that of an enormous candle. It glows," Haim said.

  Dismas added, "The light appears poised over some buildings on the outskirts of the town."

  "Strange," Haim marveled, "a light from heaven, perhaps."


  Dismas controlled the urge to laugh. Haim was a deeply religious young man, who attended the Synagogue regularly and studied with the Rabbis. He did not wish to hurt his friends feelings. "So, how goes it with your father. Has his health improved?"

  Haim lowered his gaze, the answer already written on his saddening features. "Not well, my friend; not well at all. The physicians give him no more than a few months to remain with us. It's his heart. It is weary of our people's subjugation to foreign rule. And ever since our mother passed, he has lost what happiness he knew since the day he set eyes upon her."

  "I am sorry, friend," Dismas consoled.

  Haim pressed on, "In his weariness, even his faith suffers, his belief that a Messiah will come soon to deliver us from the rule of foreigners."

  "If a Messiah came at this time, the unbelievers would crucify him, before giving over their power," Dismas said.

  "Not the real Messiah, they could not stand against his strength."

  "And could he stand against the cruelty in men's hearts?' Dismas asked despondently. He knew all too well the cruelty in men's hearts.

  "The strength of the Messiah will not be of this world," Haim declared.

  They sat and talked for a while more, until Dismas, tired from his long day on foot, fell asleep. Haim continued to gaze at the sky, and wonder about the unusually bright star.

  Sometime during the deepest part of the night, a clamoring of excited voices roused Dismas. He blinked until he could see clearly the group of shepherds surrounding Haim. He rose and drew near. The men were relating some exciting event.

  "Dismas, do you hear," Haim beckoned to him. "The star, it is a light from heaven — to herald His birth. He is born."

  "Who is born?" Dismas asked.

  "The One the prophecy foretold—There shall come forth a star out of Jacob, And a sceptre shall rise out of Israel — I must see Him! I must!" He turned to the others. "Will one of you take my post so I may go?"

  More than one offered. Haim beckoned to Dismas, "Will you come with me?"

  Not sure of what Haim expected to find, Dismas agreed, "Of course, dear friend."

  As they hurried toward the little town of Bethlehem, Haim recounted to Dismas what the other shepherds had related to him. "They were tending their sheep, when an angel appeared to them. In a triumphant voice, the angel said, Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."

  CHAPTER THREE

  They reached the outskirts of the little town of Bethlehem just as the sky was beginning to lighten. The star's light though weakening in the coming dawn, still shone over a stable attached to a poor man's inn. A group of shepherds and their dogs, and three well-dressed men, giving the appearance of wealth and breeding, stood in front of the opened stable doors. Dismas and Haim joined the group to wait their turn to look inside the stable and see what everyone was staring at. They were all smiling, dazzled by something.

  The shepherds made way for the three men of distinction. Dismas whispered to the shepherd closest to him and Haim, "What's going on? Who's in there?"

  "Have you not heard? Did the angel not come to you?" And when Dismas shook his head, "He is come; the child is born, our Redeemer, who will free us from the heavy yoke." He moved aside so that Dismas could see better inside the stable. The three distinguished men were kneeling in front of a manger where an infant lay wrapped in a piece of cloth bound by strips of cotton to form a protective cocoon. Beside the swaddled infant, a beautiful young woman wrapped in a plain cloak sat on a haystack. Beside her an older man in simple robes and a walking staff, stood protectively, his eyes trained benevolently on mother and child.

  Despite the smell of cow manure and donkey and horses and chickens. surrounding the small family, Dismas could not discount a certain air of solitude and peace; the fetid smell of animal waste did not detract from the beauty of these three people.

  The child's eyes were wide open — unusual for a newborn babe — and focused, as though they could see and understand.

  The three men on their knees before him, each carried an ornate gilded box. One after the other, they spoke reverently to the child and his parent. With voices heavily accented, yet steady and confident, each spoke in turn reverently to the child and his parents. "We have followed the star for many months, from the moment it appeared in the heavens, studied the prophecies left to us by prophets from centuries past. I am Melchior, of Arabia, and I offer you gold, a symbol of kingship." The gold coins inside the box rattled as he placed it in Joseph's hands.

  The second man spoke. "I am Balthasar, of Saga, and I bring you frankincense ― incense to burn, a symbol of your priestship.

  The third man spoke. "I am Caspar of Tarsus, and I bring you myrrh, oil to sweeten bitter smells, a symbol of your sufferings foretold by the prophets centuries past in our sacred texts."

  Dismas knew that myrrh was used as an embalming oil, and very costly. With infant mortality, the norm rather than the exception, the family would be grateful for this gift if the child did not survive.

  The child's gaze rested on the three wise men, for that was what they must be, Dismas surmised; astrologists perhaps, or emissaries from kingly courts. The mother of the baby thanked them with a smile so beautiful, so filled with peace and benevolence, that Dismas held his breath. The father thanked them as well for himself, and his wife, Mary. So that was her name ― Mary. Yes, it fit her.

  Of all three gifts, he appreciated the gold the most. It would buy the family food, and shelter, and wool and cotton for clothing. But it was a dangerous gift to give a family on the move. He thought of Gestas and the other thieves. For sure, word of what was transpiring would reach their ears. He felt afraid for this beautiful child, and the sweet lady and kindly man.

  His gaze moved to the child, and as if it felt his fear, the baby's gaze met his. Dismas blamed the long hours he had spent on foot the past hours for the sudden haziness he felt, and the thought that entered his mind unbidden. Kind spirit, protect us on our journeys. My time has not come yet."

  Dismas shook his head to clear it. He needed to rest before he began his journey back to the cave where his companions hid. He determined to say nothing of what he had witnessed. Hopefully, by the time word of mouth reached his companions, this holy family would be well out of their thieving region.

  Haim also had entered the stable and was on his knees, his eyes fixed adoringly upon the child. Dismas withdrew so that others could pay homage. He waited outside and when Haim finally rejoined him, his face was radiant with joy.

  "I must return to my sheep, but tonight I know is the beginning of new era. I may not live to see its outcome, but my heart is filled with hope." He clasped Dismas' shoulder warmly. "Will you return with me?"

  Dismas shook his head. "I'm tired and hungry. The hunger I can stave off for another few hours, but the tiredness in my bones, even at my young age, that I need to deal with now. Perhaps the family won't mind if curl up in the corner of the stable out of view of the visitors and the landlord." He did not dwell on the other reason, at least not in his conscious mind, that he wished to remain near this precious family for a little while longer, because the child had asked him.

  * * * *

  Dismas slept and dreamt he stood at the bottom of a hill, looking up. At the top were three crosses. Three tortured forms hung upon them. He wished to know who they were and began to climb the hill. Just as he reached the top, a noise behind him intruded upon the dream and he woke, startled. He began to rise and realized a wool-spun blanket covered him. He stood up and moved quietly toward where the family of three slept. He smiled warmly as he saw that the blankets that covered them matched the one that had covered him. It was clear to him that this precious family were very kind and caring.

  Again his hearing, well trained over the years he had spent running and hiding from slavers and Roman Centurions, alerted him to someone else's presence in the stable. A donkey stabled near the sleeping family, shifted nervously.