“Why,” I asked anxiously—my breath bated.
The hard tears poured down. I hadn’t seen it. Peter had just come in and replayed the news to us.
“They killed him!” he had just said. “They killed him.”
No one really said anything. There aren’t really any words for times like these. I just sat and wondered. Didn’t he realize his teachings about another kingdom would upset the Roman rulers? Didn’t he realize that claiming the title “son of God” would upset the Jewish rulers? He kept talking about change he wanted to bring, but what change can he bring now?
Peter locked the door.
“Three fucking years,” Andrew said. “Three years. And now there is nothing left.”
Andrew through one of the water pots against the wall.
He was angry. Andrew always had been like that. I think it runs in their family, but who can blame him? John followed him to the trial. He told us how unjust it had been. How they treated him like a common criminal. Peter got up.
“How are you going to pay for that!” Peter asked angrily.
“I’ll find a way,” Andrew responded.
“You’ll find a way how? You just spent three years with no money begging and hoping someone would provide food for us. You just spent three years with a man who promised us everything and left us with nothing. How, in the name of God, are you going to pay for this?”
“I will find a way!”
Andrew pushed his brother to let him now he felt. Brotherly comrades. Peter didn’t push back.
“There is no way to fix this,” Peter said simply sitting down against one of the cold walls.
He is right. There is no way to fix this.
There is nothing good about this Friday.