Secret Magdalene (32 page)

He knows.

He has heard the words of Ananias. He has heard the name Mariamne. His skin made ashen by his discovery, his eyes made bleak, he opens his mouth to speak, and I would join his mind to save myself, but I am pushed away. Yeshu pushes me away! He takes an awkward step toward us; I take an awkward step back. I do not know what Seth does, or what Ananias does, but at this very same moment, a moment that spans the eternal and in which I see that the look-alike Jude has heard as well, a name is called: “Yehoshua!” Someone among those below has seen him. And when this one has called out his name, it causes others to look up, and then others, and looking up, the tribes massed below us find him, see that he who they await is come. As one, they see Yeshu, head of the Nazorean, cousin of John, and son of Joseph of Japhia, he who has called them here, and whose call they have heeded, and there begins a murmur which grows into a singing, which becomes louder and louder, until the valley below is filled with his name: “YEHOSHUA!”

It is Simon Peter who reaches us first. It is Simon Peter who races up the hillside, massive legs leaping up through the rocks and the shrubs like a marathon runner, massive arms pumping for balance and for speed, black hair and black beard and brown robe streaming out behind him. Behind Peter runs Andrew, bald as last I saw him. Behind Andrew come more and more, and more. First the Sons of Thunder and then Simeon and the sons of the Sons of Thunder. Then comes Old Camel Knees; Jacob the Just walks up the hill, he does not run, and the skin of his blue head is freshly shaven. I should be astonished to see him, for when John was taken, Jacob was one of those who went missing. Yet here he is now, and he is merely a beginning. If not stopped, would the whole of the five thousand leap up the hill after Peter?

Yeshu steps back at the sight. So too does Jude. I think they might have mind to flee.

But now sounds three sharp blasts on a ram’s horn. Even though Bethsaida sits a mile away, the
hazzan
blows clear and insistent. The Sabbath has finally come, and the coming of the Sabbath stops the rush for Yeshu in its tracks. All save the front-runners. Nothing would turn Simon Peter from Yeshu, unless it be John. But John is not here; only Yehoshua is here. I know what Peter now thinks; he thinks that if not John as king, then perhaps Yeshu’a?

And I know what it is I think. There has finally come a thought into my roaring head, the first to visit since all thought fled. Get away! Get away from these men and from this life, Mariamne; hide yourself, make yourself small. No! Not small. Make yourself over. Reclaim yourself. You will not grieve and you will not weep. You will be as the women you have known. Brilliant Theano the Therapeutae, lover of Pythagoras and friend of Philo Judaeus. The long-lived Sabaz, doctor to the last of the Ptolemies, who died in the arms of the slave who adored her. Julia, the exquisite and poet, who loved Seth but made no show of it, rather fusing her love into art. Fierce Tata,
zonah
and storyteller and runaway slave. Beautiful Helena of Tyre, silently suffering, as innocent as a lamb, as strong as a lioness. Even the handsome headstrong Thecla of Shechem, who boasts five husbands and has come away from the last of these to follow she knows not what.

While all the world seems centered on Yehoshua, while there is such a confusion of voices and of faces, I turn. I take one step, two. Now I am quickly walking, and now I walk even faster, and here it is that I run. As I have run before, I run now, and as before, I do not know where I go. But this time I know who I am.

Or will be again.

I run straight into Tata.

F
or those who consider such things, and there are many, Yeshu waits throughout the whole of the Sabbath before addressing the multitude who have gathered to hear him. Great hairy men with curved knives under their cloaks, men with fierce looks and fierce words, men whose blood burns hot enough now to march against Rome itself at his bidding. They have come from barren Judaea and from forested Ituraea, from the low coastal plains of the Great Sea to the farthest high deserts of eastern Peraea. With Jude, Yeshu secludes himself in the tent of his brothers, Joses and Jacob. There is much coming and going, but not once until the Sabbath ends, and it is a long Sabbath, gray and cold and wet, does Yeshu appear openly among the tribes.

As he secludes himself this entire time, so too do I.

I hide in the tent of Addai.

I rejoice to see that Addai thinks himself well enough to come here, though I see his doing so distresses Tata terribly, just as it does Dinah and Rhoda, who hover near him, Dinah almost without sleep. He is careful of his arms, careful of his jaw, cannot use his hands, his voice is still no more than a whisper, and he eats
rosh
as he would eat bread, but he lives.

In every way I know, I have shown them how beloved they are of me, how it moves me to see them again. Though I am numb of heart, still I fuss and chatter of where I have been and what I have seen. They are amused at the idea that people talk of Yeshu raising up a dead child. They are interested in Thecla and her many husbands, especially Tata, and they wonder as I do, at the blind man in Bethsaida. Has he bathed in every pool yet? If so, does he see? And Addai, who has not come near the city of his birth for many long years, listens to what I know of Shechem as I would listen to someone newly come from Alexandria. I have told them of Yeshu’s discovery of me, and I have told them of my discovery of Seth.

All this I do as a sleepwalker. From the moment when Yeshu saw me, I have acted as I would require myself to be, as Mariamne, a woman of maturity and learning. This
will
be the truth of things. This woman will be born no matter how hard and how long I suffer her birth.

Already, I dress in some of Tata’s clothes, putting away the clothing of John the Less in her traveling basket. I shall keep with Tata and with Addai as befits my unmarried state, but I will not become quiet in the presence of men. Nor shall I act as if I know nothing, feel nothing, am nothing unless as a reflection of my use as a woman: mother, wife, daughter, mistress. I will be as Tata and Thecla and I will do as I please, and if I am shunned, then I am shunned. I will go to the Temple in Jerusalem and there I will ask for the ear of the high priest Caiaphas. From him, who has always feared me, and who will be happy to get rid of me as quickly as he can, I will claim my mother’s inheritance so that I am better protected by my wealth from men, and from their terrible hurtful beliefs. And finally, I will not place myself in the way of any of the brothers, the sons of Anna and of Joseph; I will not further shame them, and I will not further shame me. As for Salome…by all that breathes, I do not know what I shall do about Salome.

But even as Mariamne, I swear I shall think of something.

Late on the day of this interminable Sabbath, Seth joins us. I am heartened that he does, though his beloved presence brings the blood to my skin, and I flush yet again from top to toe. Seth is quiet and composed. He makes no mention of what was said before. As ever, I am impressed by my friend’s dignity and self-possession. And as I sit quietly, talking with those I love who love me, these three who know who I am, I now know I will return to Alexandria. It is decided. I tell them when next Ananias has business there, I shall go with him. Perhaps I will begin a school.

The Sabbath is over. Outside, there are people stirring, speaking in louder voices. Great numbers pass close by our tent as they make their way to where Yeshu will speak. We hear the dull clatter of metal bells hung round the necks of sheep and of goats, we hear the bright chatter of children, for this is not only a gathering of fierce Sicarii come to show their knives and call down curses on all who are unrighteous, this is a gathering of whole families. The arrest of John of the River and the scattering of his followers have caused distress to entire villages. They come here to hear what it is that will now be done. They would hear prophecy.

I look at Seth, at Addai, at Tata. Shall we go hear Yehoshua? I look into one after the other of their beloved faces, faces I have known full half my life, and I settle at last on Seth’s. Now that I have babbled of my intention to return to Egypt, and now that I no doubt wound him again, I must finish the deed. It takes courage to hurt one you love and who is fond of you, but if it must be done, it must be done quickly. I intend to say that if I would marry, there is no man I could better marry than he, but that I would not burden him with such a wife as I would now make. In all the usual ways of women, is it not true, I intend asking him, that what I have made of my life, has unmade me for a wife? I know he will hear me. Yet all this sticks in my throat, and I can say none of it. Seth sits and he looks upon me, his face composed, his body still. I open my mouth in the hopes that something will come from it that will soothe him, or solace me for my cruelty. This is what I finally say, “Please. Go. Hear him speak. I will stay here, as suits me.”

Tata would laugh. I snap, “Why is this cause for merriment, Tata?”

“Oh, my daughter,” says she, rising to help Rhoda with Addai. “You are as the moon or the sun. There is no other.”

I take no comfort in this. The moon and the sun are alone.

I sit unmoving as they take their leave. I hear them join with others who greet them. I hear the assembling of thousands on the hillside near the valley floored with tents. The clamor of this competes with the meeting of the Street of the Soma and the Canopic Way for noise, or for standing on the steps of Temple at Passover. As laughter would spring up from the belly of Tata, grief would rise as bile from mine. Mariamne, who cries, will not cry. I know Yeshu stands now at the top of the hill, and with him stands Jude and all the others. I see it in my mind, the tribes of all Palestine sitting in ranks, fifty of these, a hundred of those. They talk among themselves, ask each of each what it is Yeshu might say as they finger their curved Persian knives, hush others for making such noise, nibble on the barley bread and the salted fish they have brought with them.

And I should be John the Less and have taken my place at Yehoshua’s side. As John, I would take precedence over Peter and over the brothers of Yeshu and over the Sons of Thunder. Even Addai and Seth and a king of the Assyrians would stand behind me. And this, by the wish of Yeshu.

But all has changed and can never be again.

I try to banish Yeshu from my mind, as I am certain he has already banished me. He cannot do other. What is, is. What I am, I am. Better he should know it now than to know it later. Better he alone should discover my name and my true sex than for all others to discover it with him. Jude will say nothing. Those who know me will say nothing. There has been no true harm done. Surely, I have harmed none but myself. And Seth. In certain ways, I have harmed my friend Seth.

The tears fall from my eyes and wet the cloth of Tata’s plain brown robe. I cannot stop them falling.

Comes a great noise from the hillside. Yeshu must be speaking. By the sound of those who call out to him, he has surely said something that heartens them, makes them roar their approval. I cannot hear him, but I can hear those who can hear him.

I cannot bear it. I must see Yeshu again. As I breathe, I must see him once more. And then I will leave him as I must leave him. I swear to Isis and to Osiris, I swear even to Yahweh who so loves the blood of a woman’s heart, that it shall not be my doing if I should see him again in this world, just as I know, and how this knowing tears at my flesh, it will not be his doing should he see me.

Picking my way through the righteous of all Palestine grouped by family and by tribe on the grass of Gaulanitis, stepping over baskets and mats and feet, and around the tumbling excited children, I work my way up the hillside. I am a young woman, one of a number of young women. No one takes note of me, other than to be briefly irritated by my passing. Dressed modestly, I move modestly, willing myself to walk as a maiden, to hold myself as a maiden would, to keep my eyes averted from the bold gaze of men, which was only yesterday
my
bold gaze. I make sure my person and my skirts touch no part of them. I am as yet so unused to Mariamne, I feel odd in my skin.

In this way, I come to within twenty cubits of Yeshu, and I quickly sit where I might, and where it is fitting, near a family of grandmother, mother, and three daughters. I hold my head cloth over my nose and my mouth. By this, my hair, unbound and uncomely as well as too short for a female, is hidden, as is most of my face. I cover my hands and my feet. By this, I think not even Tata would look my way.

Addai and Tata and Seth have taken their places behind Yeshu. Behind them, Dinah and Rhoda take humbler places. But who is near them? By the moon, Dositheus! Some part of me that still lives feels pleasure to see my old friend. Was he with Jacob the Just, and did they escape? Dositheus is no longer an Egyptian, nor is he an actor. Scent and curls and posturing are long put away. He looks thin and he looks tired; more, he looks possessed by pain. The pure melancholy of his nature seems deeper, darker, and I wonder at his adventures since John was taken, though I shall probably never learn them.