Blind Bartimaeus

"Blind Bartimaeus."
Sometimes the moniker was mocking.
Sometimes compassionate.
Sometimes matter-of-fact.
The epithet fit; after all, he was blind. 

He had not always been blind.
He had known sunlight - not just through the warmth seeping into his skin.
He had known the whiteness of milk - not just the taste of its richness.
He had known a time when darkness heralded the advent of night, not its perpetual presence.
He had known what it was to see. 

But now,
"Blind Bartimaeus" begged for charity -
       for compassion
       to be seen, though he could not see
- on the side of the road. 

"Blind Bartimaeus"
used his ears to see the commotion of the crowd coming up the road.
Used his smell to see the ripeness of the bustle on the highway outside Jericho.
Used his touch to see the sun beating down, the dust clinging.
Used his ears to decipher the cause of the commotion.

"Jesus of Nazareth!" "Rabbi!" "Master!" "Healer!"

Healer?
Could a blind man be healed of his malady? 

"Jesus!" Desperate. Hopeful.
"Jesus! Son of David!"
Feet shuffled by and kicked him.
Voices reprimanded - "Hold your peace!"
He cried all the louder
"Jesus! son of David! Have mercy on me!"
Please.
Please. 

A pause in the whirling currents eddying around him.
A voice.
"Bartimaeus."
The blind man held his breath within himself.
"Bartimaeus."

Not "blind Bartimaeus."
Simply Bartimaeus.
He sat perfectly still, unbelieving.
Unsure. 

"Get up, man! Take heart!
He's calling you."

He scrambled to his feet.
Cast aside the cloak that tripped him.
Groped his way to the center of the crowd's energy. 

"What do you want me to do for you?"

Blind Bartimaeus caught his breath again.
Could he dare to ask?
Could he do it?
All at once:
"Rabbi, I want to see."

Silence. 

He strained his ears and heard nothing.
The sensation of touch vanished.
Even the pungent smell of the crowd evaporated. 

But he saw.
The Rabbi.
The Master.
The Lord.
He saw. 

Blinked his eyes.
Squinted at the harsh sunlight.
Stepped back from the awed faces.
Looked back into the face of Jesus. 

"Go." He said.
"Your faith has healed you."

Bartimaeus had not always had sight.
He knew what it was
To not be quite whole.
To decipher the world through the testimony of taste, touch, sound, smell.
To put together a simulacrum in his mind.
A poor excuse for sight. 

And now the world was dazzling. 

***

"Blind Bartimaeus."
The moniker seemed a joke.
No one who knew him had ever known anyone else who relished sight so ravenously.
The man was more observant than anyone around him.

And he had eyes for only one man:
Jesus of Nazareth.

The One who called him by name.