1986

"Now", says Tron, "May I get on with my tale?" "By all means", says Kenny. We were standing, visiting with Thaddai's mother in her grain and bread shop.  She was telling us that some recent droughts had reduced the harvests, she had to raise her prices and there was scarcity.  Thaddai's father was a maker of pots and vessels, one of the finest in Damascus, so that even the Roman proconsul had become one of his most diligent clients.  But with his death, that income completely dried up.  Thera was pausing, hesitating as though she did not know how or whether to proceed, when a dark shadow came in through the awning.  I looked more carefully, and all I could see was someone veiled in a black mantel edged with gold embroidery.  I could see at its hem a green silken garment, emerald green and the exquisitely sandaled foot of a young woman.  The figure said nothing, but handed Thera a small linen purse that appeared to be full of coins.  She left it on the table, then turned and noticed us.  Then, throwing back her veil, revealing a beautiful dark young woman with eyes painted with kohl., she screamed "Thaddai!", and like his mother clutched and clung to him in a tight embrace.  She was weeping silently.