“Yes.”

“Not rolled to one side?”

“No.”

“It was a man? Of that you are certain?”

He smiled faintly. “I am positive. The moon was bright and there was still some light from the fire. The man’s body seemed to be giving off its own light, but I reasoned that what I saw must have been only a reflection of the moon and the fire upon the stranger’s skin, as if his body had been covered with oil.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I had been in many battles and faced death often but never before had I known what it was to be afraid. I stood still, my feet rooted to the ground, as the stranger approached me without hesitation. When he was within arm’s length he handed me a white linen cloth, a napkin of some sort, and I reached out and took it from him as if I was his servant.”

“Was your dagger still in your other hand?”

“Yes, but it was a good thing I had no need for it because I do not believe I could have defended myself. My arms and my hands were as useless as my feet Soon the man was lost from my sight in the darkness, beyond the trees.”

“Did you see his face clearly?”

“No.”

“Had you ever seen Jesus when he was preaching in the Temple courtyard?”

“Many times.”

“Would you have recognized Jesus in that light?”

“No.”

“Did the person speak to you?”

“If it had been Jesus and he had spoken to me I would have known him. Nothing was said. The napkin was handed to me in silence as if the man expected me to take it—and I did.”

“After he disappeared, what did you do?”

“I tucked the napkin into my girdle and woke the others, telling them everything that had taken place while they slept. One of the guards, an old comrade of mine, told me there was no need for concern since the great stone was still in place, but my long years of service had taught me to take nothing for granted. I had to assure myself that the body was still inside. Two of us went to nearby Golgotha to see if the Romans had left behind any of the crosspieces on which they nail the hands of those who are about to be crucified. We returned with a heavy timber and carried it to the tomb, where I placed a small boulder next to the great one, and using the crosspiece as a lever, the four of us, after much effort, finally managed to roll away the stone.…”

Shobi’s words trailed off. He leaned forward and looked anxiously into my eyes.

“Are you ill, sir? Your face—it has a strange color. Perhaps the sun’s heat has affected you. Come, let me take you back to the house.”

It was an effort to shake my head. “Then it was you and your men who moved the great stone? You? You!”