“I do not think it wise for you to approach him alone,” Ruth said, eyeing the shadowy figure with suspicion.

Jesus grimaced. “I need to walk,” he said abruptly and left without waiting for her reply.

Ruth shook her head. “I knew you would say that,” she whispered to herself.

Jesus ambled in a wide arc around the olive tree, keeping his eyes averted from its branches. He wandered from one spot to the next, picking up plants and stones, feigning interest. But in his peripheral view, he watched the man’s donkey, tethered to the roots of the tree, as it grazed the dust. He also watched the man’s lurking eyes glaring down between the leaves. He continued to walk, his limp more evident than ever, until he disappeared behind a bank of tall cypress trees.

When Jesus failed to emerge from the trees, the shadowy figure seemed to become curious and peered out. As time passed, his motions grew restless. Not long after, he shimmied down the tree. When he dropped the last few feet to the ground, a hand shot out and grabbed his tunic. The figure struggled to break free, as the donkey brayed and tried to avoid the skirmish. But Jesus held firm.

When the hooded man relented, Jesus demanded, “Who are you?”

The figure said nothing.

“Who are you and why do you follow me?”

The figure maintained his defiant silence.

When the man would not answer, Jesus reached for his hood and threw it back. To his astonishment, a woman stared up at him. He froze, unable to drop his gaze. It was her eyes. They shone like silver disks. Reflecting light like mirrors from within the exotic curves of her face. He released his hold and stepped back, trying to free himself of her spell. “Who are you?” he asked again. But his voice was no longer steady.

She lowered her gaze. “Do you not recognize me?” she asked in a gauzy voice.

Jesus shook his head.

“We met years ago,” she said. “In Jerusalem.”

Jesus blinked in disbelief.

It was she! The one whose remembrance had sustained his lonely journey into The Narrows.

Before he could stop it, the memory rushed upon him like a charging animal. In vivid colors, he recalled the night that he and Peter had found her, a child then, hiding behind a well. He remembered how bravely she had fought to defend the woman in plum-colored robes and then rose again to protect her mother. But more than his admiration of her courage, Jesus remembered the girl’s serene gaze and the deep calm that had overtaken him in her presence. Thinking back, he then recalled her final words.

Remember me.

The woman gazed upward, into his eyes. “You remember.”

Jesus nodded as if in a dream.

“I have never forgotten you,” she whispered.