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Scene Three: Moshe
Scene Three
Rufus found Moshe where Moshe had said he would be.
That was one of the differences between them. Rufus went wherever the day took him. Moshe generally went where he was supposed to go.
He was carrying a covered basket in both hands and watching every step.
“Moshe.”
“You’re hungry,” Moshe said.
“I’m always hungry. That’s not news. I’ve got news.”
Rufus fell into step beside him.
“Tomorrow. The horses. Titus is working at the stable, and he can get us in. Right up by the rail, Moshe. You’ll feel them go past.”
“I can’t.”
Rufus stopped. “Why not?”
“It’s the Sabbath.”
Rufus knew that. He had known it before he asked.
He asked anyway.
“Nobody would know.”
Moshe shifted the basket to his hip. “I’d know.”
Rufus opened his mouth, then closed it.
That wasn’t the same thing.
Except to Moshe, it plainly was.
“Is it written down somewhere?” Rufus asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“It isn’t about the horses. We don’t, on that day. That’s all.”
“But why?”
Moshe thought about it.
“I don’t know.”
“You really don’t?”
“I know we keep it.”
“But not why.”
Moshe shrugged. “It’s ours.”
That explained nothing.
Moshe seemed perfectly happy with it.
Rufus wasn’t, but he looked at his friend and understood that he wasn’t going to change his mind.
“Plan’s off, then.”
“For tomorrow.”
“We’ll do it another day.”
“A day that isn’t the Sabbath.”
“A day that isn’t yours.”
Moshe nodded. “A day that isn’t mine.”
Rufus reached into the basket and took a fig.
“Rufus.”
“What?”
“My mother counted those.”
“So did I.”
He bit into it and kept walking.