Stephanas said, “If you are both full, I hope you will excuse me as I get on with my evening prayers.” He turned to one side of the hut where a small window opened in the direction of Bethlehem. He got down on his knees facing the window. He drew the sign of the cross on his forehead with his finger and then stared silently out the window. He did not invite either of the two Nicholases to join him, so they sat waiting. Not a word was said.
Both Nicholases looked about the hut, not sure what to do. After a while, the older Nicholas bowed his head in prayer, but soon he raised his head again and looked to see if Stephanas had finished. At this, young Nicholas rose and went outside. His uncle followed. Down the hill, young Nicholas asked, “How long do you think he will be?”
“I do not know,” said his uncle. They sat and watched the last glow of sunset fade, then returned to the hut. Stephanas remained kneeling, silently staring out toward Bethlehem. The two Nicholases found some reed mats, rolled them out and lay down for the night.
Young Nicholas couldn’t recall Stephanas laying down to sleep, but he was certain he did because some time before sunrise, he awoke to hear Stephanas rising and rolling up his mat. In the gray twilight, his form returned to kneeling at the window. Nicholas drifted back to sleep and finally awoke some hours later to the smell of boiling lentils.
After they ate their breakfast of lentil stew, Stephanas excused himself to his work. The two Nicholases joined him. He busied himself weeding his field of lentils, where he introduced them to his fellow hermits with whom he shared it. The “brothers” as Stephanas called them, were, like him, men of few words. They spoke only what was necessary to be polite, but otherwise labored in silence.
Stephanas then returned to his hut and set about weaving a basket. There was a stack of baskets beside the hut. Old Nicholas asked, “Can we be of help?”
“I’m happy to share in the labor,” said Stephanas. “Have you done this before?”
“No.”
“Ah... Then perhaps it would be better if for now you merely watch and learn.” He continued to weave in silence as if they were not there.
Young Nicholas asked, “Do you sell the baskets?”
“No. I give them away. The blessing is in the labor, not the profit.”
His hands danced about the lines of the basket so quickly that young Nicholas could not completely follow what he was doing. His uncle seemed to be trying to take it in, but Nicholas tired of the exercise. Finally, he said, “Would it be all right if we saw the place where Christus was born?”
“Yes, of course,” said Stephanas. “You are welcome to go as you wish.” He then returned to his weaving. The answer left Nicholas puzzled whether he should go, but since his uncle didn’t rise, he resigned himself to wait until later.
Both Nicholases looked about the hut, not sure what to do. After a while, the older Nicholas bowed his head in prayer, but soon he raised his head again and looked to see if Stephanas had finished. At this, young Nicholas rose and went outside. His uncle followed. Down the hill, young Nicholas asked, “How long do you think he will be?”
“I do not know,” said his uncle. They sat and watched the last glow of sunset fade, then returned to the hut. Stephanas remained kneeling, silently staring out toward Bethlehem. The two Nicholases found some reed mats, rolled them out and lay down for the night.
Young Nicholas couldn’t recall Stephanas laying down to sleep, but he was certain he did because some time before sunrise, he awoke to hear Stephanas rising and rolling up his mat. In the gray twilight, his form returned to kneeling at the window. Nicholas drifted back to sleep and finally awoke some hours later to the smell of boiling lentils.
After they ate their breakfast of lentil stew, Stephanas excused himself to his work. The two Nicholases joined him. He busied himself weeding his field of lentils, where he introduced them to his fellow hermits with whom he shared it. The “brothers” as Stephanas called them, were, like him, men of few words. They spoke only what was necessary to be polite, but otherwise labored in silence.
Stephanas then returned to his hut and set about weaving a basket. There was a stack of baskets beside the hut. Old Nicholas asked, “Can we be of help?”
“I’m happy to share in the labor,” said Stephanas. “Have you done this before?”
“No.”
“Ah... Then perhaps it would be better if for now you merely watch and learn.” He continued to weave in silence as if they were not there.
Young Nicholas asked, “Do you sell the baskets?”
“No. I give them away. The blessing is in the labor, not the profit.”
His hands danced about the lines of the basket so quickly that young Nicholas could not completely follow what he was doing. His uncle seemed to be trying to take it in, but Nicholas tired of the exercise. Finally, he said, “Would it be all right if we saw the place where Christus was born?”
“Yes, of course,” said Stephanas. “You are welcome to go as you wish.” He then returned to his weaving. The answer left Nicholas puzzled whether he should go, but since his uncle didn’t rise, he resigned himself to wait until later.
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