Secret Magdalene (39 page)

There are two here who stiffen suddenly in surprise. I am one of them. Did Yeshu say that the teacher greater than himself was a
she
? And the other is Seth, for Yeshu has just quoted him as I once quoted him. He means that the greatest teacher of all is Seth! How Theano, who once told Philo Judaeus that Seth could one day be a great philosopher, would preen! And if Theano would merely preen, I inflate with pride.

Yeshu now says this, “For the Father so loves the world that he would not condemn nor would he judge, such as these are the doings of ignorant fearful men. But rather would he call all to his Kingdom. For I tell you, that if you knew the Kingdom, you would not and could not do harm, or imagine the Father did harm. So how would the Father condemn, knowing that all harm is done from ignorance?”

I love how Seth looks upon Yeshu as Yeshu speaks. I love the awe and the pleasure in his eyes as he listens to these words, knowing he listens to a man after his own unusual heart.

Martha has come to stand by Jude at table. She is setting down her bowl, uncovering it, allowing its odor to escape. She busies herself with removing an empty jug; she busies herself with something else and with something else. She darts dark glances at one and all from lowered eyes. I would swear that she would say something, but as she is a woman, she can say nothing. Besides, what would she say?

“Sir!” Martha’s voice carries across all else that is being said here, and as it does, all other voices fade away. I am amazed she would hush Yeshu. The men are quite as amazed as I. In surprise, they turn to her; they cannot help turning to her. What does this woman who serves them, this po-faced niece or daughter of Josephus, want? “Sir,” again says Martha, and she says this not to Father whose table this is, but to Yeshu, “do you not care that my sister leaves me to serve alone? Bid her to help me.”

I cannot help myself. I am overcome with admiration for Martha. She will speak her mind no matter what. And how Father scowls while all other faces but Addai’s are varying degrees of red surprise, even Seth’s. But then I remember myself, and by this I forget Martha on the instant. Like Eleazar, she has brought attention to one,
me,
who does not seek it, who would actively wish it away. I sink where I sit.

“Martha, Martha,” says Yeshu, “you are careful and troubled about many things, save the one thing that is needful. But your sister Mariamne chooses the good part, which no one shall take from her.”

I hear no more for I have bolted from my place and am gone.

“John!”

I have taken refuge in Father’s
caldarium,
yet am I found. Slipping away from a bench near the pool where I have huddled into myself, I seek steamier shelter. How is he here? I have thought that the heat and the thick steam in the air would hide me; for all that concerns me, all that
consumes
me, is that I should not be seen.

“John. You must not run from me a fourth time.”

There is nowhere farther that I can go, being already at the farthest recess of this huge room. There is no exit here, no further room, and I, Mariamne Magdal-eder, must finally turn and face Yehoshua the Nazorean.

I stand and I wait for him to appear from out of the clouds of steam. As I thought he never would, Yeshu has come after me. As I thought he never would, he has come alone.

“Have you forgotten your promise, John? Did you not say you would walk with me?”

My voice is as small as my courage. “John would walk with you, Yehoshua, but I am Mariamne.”

“And where is the difference?”

Yeshu walks forward, very slowly, one small step and then another, and I see he thinks he must be careful of me. He thinks me a wild thing. He thinks if he should do or say that which would frighten me, I will be gone. Yeshu is right. Though his voice is as beautiful as the steam, I would flee it on the instant.

As he comes, he says, “I would tell the truth for John the Less would have no less than the truth.” Yeshu takes one step forward, and I one step back, coming close now to the edge of the pool. He stops, and by his stopping, I stay in place. “I would have you hear me, John. I would tell you that when first I learned the name Mariamne, the daughter of Josephus of the Sanhedrin, I felt a great anger. Were you not Eve? Had you not tempted me? Had I not been deceived? For days after, though Jude said nothing, and though I said nothing to Jude, how disgraced I thought myself. To be tricked in this way. To think you a man, and therefore like myself and like other men, worthy of regard, and believing this, to speak so to a woman. I would shudder to myself. Had I not told you that which I had told no other?”

I can hear no more of this. Why would he hurt me so? Is it not enough that we see each other no longer? Yeshu must sense this, for he puts out his hand, and though he is not close enough to touch me, yet he is close enough to allow me clear sight of his face. I see the steam become dew on his red beard, see it gather on his brow. I see myself reflected in the soft brown of his eye. I am frightened.

“Mariamne, as you love me, hear me. With this last unworthy thought, I knew my true folly. I had told you what I would tell no other, and why? Because you were a man? If this were my reason, I should have told most of those I meet, for are these not also men? I spoke my heart to you because you were
you.
” He steps closer, I step back. I feel the edge of the pool. “Only a man is worthy of my regard? I could think this of my true mother, Anna, and of my sisters? And how was Mary, who bore me in suffering and nursed me in suffering, less than myself? Rather, I should bless her and worship her, for she is my one support on earth. And where came such thoughts of my friend, John, who is Mariamne? Where
came
these thoughts of women? Were they
my
thoughts, and had I come by them through my own fine reason or through my loving heart? I answered myself in this way: they were not mine, but came from others. Repeated by men, generation after generation, they come not with thought, but without thought; I was no more than an echo. And my punishment for such witless presumption? That I would lose my beloved John, to whom I could speak my heart. To lose she who understood me as I could not understand myself. You have not harmed me, Mariamne who is John; it is I who have harmed you.”

“Harmed me?”

“I come here to Judaea, where I am not loved, to seek you out.”

I have heard him. He has said what I would have him say, and yet I would push him away. Is this my error of cruel pride, as his was the error of cruel thoughtlessness? Would I hurt him for his hurting me? Without humor or pity, I cry out, “Then you know I am called demon ridden?”

By all the stars and by the pure black skin of the goddess Nut they are affixed to—there is his smile! He attacks me with his beautiful smile. I have no defense for this.

“As am I, John. As I am demon ridden. I am ringed round with scribes and with Doers of the Law. I am stalked by the Pharisee who face me, and by the priests who do not meet my eye, but who instead send their spies. And so many of these proclaim that I do what I do not only with the help of demons, but by the power of Beelzebub, which is to say by the very Prince of Demons. They say with the help of Beelzebub, I cast out demons.”

In my surprise, I forget my wounded pride. “But where is the logic in this!”

“Exactly! And do I not say as much? I say to them who say this to me, how can Satan cast out Satan, and why? I say that if a kingdom is divided against itself, it cannot stand, and if a house is divided against itself, it cannot stand. If Satan should rise up against himself, and be divided, he too cannot stand. And if Satan cannot stand, there is an end to him.”

“And what do they say to this?”

“Their reply is always very elegant. They seek the biggest stones.”

And there it is. I am Mariamne, and I laugh. In sweet and honest eagerness, Yeshu also laughs. He takes my hand and he presses it and, through his laughter, says this, “I entreat you. You will walk with me, John?”

Through my laughter, I say, “I will walk with you, Yeshu. But I walk as Mariamne Magdal-eder, named this by Seth, though he has never said why.”

Yeshu’s grip becomes painful. “It matters not if you are called Mariamne Magdal-eder or if you are called John the Less. What matters is that you will walk with me, for by your loss I have learned this great and terrible thing—no other is more beloved of me.”

THE FOURTEENTH SCROLL

Lost in Pity

M
onth follows month
as we walk, until the seasons come full round again, and the fame of Yehoshua the Nazorean, already grown large in Galilee, grows larger still, until no matter how secluded the place, crowds await our passing. Everywhere the people are near hysterical with the thought they live through the End Times, become all the more hysterical as prophets, competing in holiness, shout, “Repent, or suffer the Wrath to Come!” Yet still they come, many and many more, to hear Yeshu talk of gnosis.

And if fame grows, so too does infamy. There can be no doubt that those in high places are aware of Yehoshua and must lay their plans accordingly. For if John was a danger to the unsound throne of Herod Antipas, so too must this one be. And if John was a danger not only to the high priest Caiaphas but also to the Law itself, this one is equally a danger. And if the people call him messiah, by which they mean king, he threatens even Tiberius, for Rome claims this land, and Rome is Tiberius who is not only called an emperor but a god.

It is through this that Yeshu walks, talking of mustard seeds and marriage feasts, of lost sheep and lost coins, of salt and pearls and the leaven in bread, but always offering his peaceable and perfect Kingdom of Inner Glory to those who might
hear
him.

But it seems to me that those who hear him, hear him only with their ears; and these in their numbers panic that worldly kingdoms fall, and they with them, unless they first be saved by the Messiah.

And if he is met by such as these, so too he is met by those who would be saved in other ways. No matter the season, the ill are taken from their dark and airless homes and laid side by side in the streets so that Yeshu might see them. The crippled and maimed work themselves near us. The deranged and the “possessed” are held up by their kin, while the hysterical or the distraught wail on their knees. Little children, or the very old, are sent to plead a case. The rich and the powerful come to respectfully beg we enter their homes. By the memory of John of the River, there are so many, so many, that no one man can bless them all, and by blessing hope they will know they might heal themselves. It becomes truer by the day that those who come to us come not to enter the Kingdom or to be raised into the Life but to be healed in body or mind. They come to be saved from grievous affliction, not to be delivered into divinity, which, though they know it not, is their natural state.

But who could turn them away?

We are overwhelmed with the blind and the deaf and the mute; with weeping sores and festering boils and with palsy and seizures and with stiffness unto death. Flesh rots from bone, muscle withers away, teeth turn black, and eyes turn yellow. If it can be imagined, it can be found among all these. And above the sight, the stink! Above both sight and stink, there is the utter pathos. The supplications made, the piteous begging, the shame they feel for their own misery. If one does not turn away, one can drown with pity. Yeshu cannot turn them away. And as more come, Yeshu speaks less, for who can hear over the clamor of the supplicant?

And still, we walk. For neither the furious nor the desperate will stop Yeshu. In pity, he heals, and in hope, he counters the accusatory, but never ceases his efforts to teach. Accordingly, we go from village to village: Beth Hakerem, Sekhakha, Naim, Harobah, Duq, Kohlat, Milham, and more, and more, so that I know this land better than I know Judaea, and in the villages of Galilee the Torah is loved. We enter also into its cities, Scythopolis, and even unto Sepphoris, where the Greeks are loved more. But no matter if it be city or village or a crossing of roads, not knowing they heal themselves, the people have come to believe that by the mere touch of his robe in passing, his glance their way, a gesture, breathing in the very air Yeshu breathes out, that this will cure them or save them.

Even those who know him best are not immune. Seeing that so many are “cured,” Helena of Tyre would touch the hem of his robe, explaining to Salome, “I would that I too were made whole.” And such is the power in Yeshu, the very same he would have others find in themselves, that Helena’s need for
rosh
is less, as is the blood that has flowed unceasingly these past twelve years.

In no time, if he takes refuge in a home, people tear holes in the roof to lower down their loved ones. If he begins to speak by a well, the market square will grow so raucous, none can hear him. If instead we choose an open place, so many come and push forward, and push forward, he is in danger of being trampled underfoot. And even should he do what he would do privately, if he will eat with one or two, or if he will sit quietly with his mother, meek Mary, and his sisters, the unmeek Maacah and sweet and solemn Miryam, all of whom he has come to see anew as he sees all anew, or if he would sleep, or seek to be alone in other ways, they will find him. He has taken to rising each day before dawn so that he might have time on his own and so that he might attend to the Father. But there is this, and for Mariamne this is a wonderful thing: the monstrous pain has left Yeshu’s head, his eyes remain unbroken. I watch for it every day as a fox at a burrow. So far, it does not return.

Y
eshu, and all who follow Yeshu come in time to stop by the sea of Galilee. For it is only by standing in the fishing boat of the brother-in-law of Simon Peter and Andrew, and having that boat pushed away from the shore, that Yehoshua can speak at all. Jude or Simeon, or any number of others, must climb into Joazar’s boat with Yeshu and me and be taken by sea to where the people wait, and there Joazar and Simon Peter and Andrew hold steady the boat while Yeshu speaks to the people. Even then, those on the shore will strain so to hear and to be near him, many are toppled into the water. The Sons of Thunder and their sons are forever fishing them out again.

And so it goes. Each day the teaching grows less and the healing grows more. And so it goes. And so it goes. Now, when Yeshu comes near, a deep awe falls on the people. They call out, saying that with John the days of the prophets are come again, but that now a greater prophet has come among them. As they did John, they call out, naming Yeshu king. If he is touched once a day, he is touched a hundred times a day, and the touching becomes more than this, and more, until Jude must gather his brothers around him, and the brothers gather cousins and friends. So that Yeshu must move now in the center of a group who so love him they will put their own bodies between him and harm, even if the harm is meant only to be healed by the new prophet or to honor him.

I look about me and I wonder, does Salome, who walked with John, not resent Yeshu? As we are as we were, I ask her this and am pleased with her reply. “Is it not possible that Yehoshua is as Herod fears, John risen?” In that case, I say, does she not fear for Yeshu? I know I fear for Yeshu, and my fear, like the Hydra, has many heads, as many heads as those who harbor ill toward Yehoshua the Nazorean.

But as I am Mariamne Magdal-eder, and the beloved of Yeshu, who is beloved of me, I walk where Yeshu walks, and by my side walks Salome, and by hers, Helena. Near Salome and me trots Eio, who goes burdened by Salome’s cuttlefish ink and her iron pens and her papers and reeds and waxed notebooks, a great burden, but not weighty. Eio is often companioned by an irritable yellow-brown jack that Tata has come by. Tata’s animal carries Tata’s
panarion,
a medicine chest so full it must be strapped down to shut it. It is about the use of this chest and its contents, and of the proper dosages, which is learned through the workings of the heavens, that Yeshu and Tata hold intense conversations whenever he can find the peace to do so. As he says, there is much to be said for many of these and a great deal to be said for a select few of them. With them speaks also Salome who talks as she talked to John, and though Yeshu knows she is Simon Magus, he makes no comment. All other women walk behind us in a great and talkative group, but they do not walk as inferiors to men because this Yeshu will no longer allow. Man or woman or child, rich or poor, the clean and the unclean, the learned and the unlearned, Gentile or Jew, would walk how and where he or she will. In this way, Tata, who would not enter Father’s house, walks openly with Addai, and Thecla with Dositheus whom she has come to value. Now that he is born again, my cousin, Eleazar, runs after Yeshu as I once ran after Seth on the road to Alexandria, tripping over rocks and asking questions, always asking questions, for Father has allowed Eleazar, ill no longer, to follow Yeshu.

I wonder at this. Josephus of the Sanhedrin cannot follow but imagines he might and therefore sends Eleazar in his stead—is this possible?

As ever, Simon Peter strides as near Yeshu as he can, and if Peter loathed me before as John the Less, what must he feel now that Yeshu prefers the company of a female? I make light of his glares and his growls but make sure that there is, if not Yeshu, then Jude, between the person of Simon Peter and myself. Jude makes no remark, but then neither does he speak to me…and yet, there is a comfort near him I did not expect. As for Jacob the Just, who hates the sight of me at least as much as does Simon Peter, he keeps a great distance between his person and mine. Simeon walks with the wife of his heart, bitter Bernice, and Joses walks with Babata. Even Jude, on occasion, walks with Veronica and with his small daughter, Norea, who can walk but must still be carried.

In this way, for the whole of one day, I walk with Mary.

I have fallen away from the chatter of bright Babata, and from earnest Miryam, who are become my favorites, just as Tata is become their favorite. I am near now to the mother herself, mounted, as ever, on a large donkey amid baskets of bread, for Mary tires easily. Her son Simon is, for this rare moment, not with her, and her sister, Martha of the Goiter, is deep in talk with the tedious widow Salome. This elder Salome is the daughter of Zebedee the rich fish merchant from Gennesaret who married her off to Judas of Galilee who would birth the Zealots, not that the father could know this beforehand. It seems this Salome and Martha complain of something or other, but as both are masters of complaint, my small efforts among them would go unnoticed. Accordingly, I turn to the mother of Yeshu, and I open my mouth so that I might say something of value, though what it is I would say, I have as yet not one idea.

But Mary speaks first, and speaking, says this, “Have I you to thank, Mariamne who is called Magdal-eder?”

Surprised, I answer, “You confuse me, Mary. What is it you thank me for?”

She touches my sleeve, the slightest touch, before taking back her small hand. “Have you brought my firstborn to me?”

I stare at her. I do not know my answer, for I cannot say that I have not, yet I know truly it was not I who caused Yeshu to love women, and so I think I will answer one way, and then I think I will answer another way, but Mary, watching my struggle, takes pity, saying only, “I thank you and I bless you.”

And with that, we walk and talk together until the evening comes down, and I am content for this one day.

Y
eshu thinks to enter the country of the Gadarenes, for perhaps there, he shall be sought by someone, be it man or woman, Jew or Gentile, who has ears to hear and eyes to see. So it is that we set out by the boat of Joazar for the far shore of the Sea of Galilee, and come along Andrew and Simon Peter and Yeshu’s brothers, Jude and Joses. Come Yeshu’s cousin Simeon and the two Sons of Thunder: Jacob and Simon bar Judas, and the sons of the Sons of Thunder, James and Menahem. Come also Zaccheus, Pilate’s collector of taxes, and the once-follower of Eleazar the Bandit, Timaeus, also a bandit. And as I have never seen Gadarene, I must come as well, which makes me the twelfth of these, and I so squeeze myself between the two who do not hate me, Jude and Simeon, that there is little room left in Joazar’s fishing boat. In truth, there is barely room enough for Yeshu. But by dint of much to-ing and fro-ing, space is made in the prow.

And then, in the exact moment we would push off from shore, comes running, breathless, “Lazarus” who pleads to join us, and pleads so long and so winningly that Timaeus is caused to laugh and to give up his place to my importunate cousin, saying as he hikes up his clothing and wades ashore, “I have seen enough of the Land of Hippos. Have I not, in my time, robbed it from one end to the other?”