Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Once there was an evil tale

  And Miryam was her name.

  Do not be an evil tale

  An evil tale

  An evil tale.

  Do not be an evil tale

  Like Miryam the zonah.”

  A woman shouts from inside her house.

  The two girls see me and run away fast, shrieking.

  Tears hide in my eyes, ready to run out again. I try so hard to be brave of the village, but always they find a way to put a knife in my heart.

  Yeshua’s hand is strong on mine all up the street.

  We pass the leather-man’s house and go out of the village. We were gone long from Nazareth, and I forgot the bad stink of his piss-pool.

  Yoseph the leather-man wades at the far end, tanning his hides. Two new calfskins hang on a rack, dry from the strong sun.

  Yoseph the leather-man makes a cruel grin on us.

  I am an evil tale all over again.

  Yeshua squeezes my hand to make me brave, but I will never be brave of Yoseph the leather-man.

  We go through the narrows. We trudge up the path toward the spring.

  My lips quiver. I cannot find my next breath.

  Yeshua wraps his strong arms around me. “Imma.”

  I hold him tight for many thousand years until I stop my shaking.

  We walk and walk until we reach the spring.

  I dip my waterpot in the spring and set it on my head.

  Yeshua takes my hand.

  We walk back down the hill. We walk through the narrows.

  At the far end, we stop.

  Someone has thrown haryo in the path. Not the haryo of sheep or goats or cows. The haryo of men. Fresh from the day.

  It is spread thick all across the narrows so we cannot walk around it. Yeshua could jump over it, for he is a strong man, but I cannot jump so far, even if I had no waterpot. I will have to walk on the haryo.

  I am so angry I think I will drop my water.

  All my body shakes.

  Black spots dance in my eyes.

  “Imma.”

  I have such a big rage on me, I shout on my son. “Haryo again! You should smite the Evil Boy. You should smite him so he dies. If my lord Yoseph were alive, he would curse the Evil Boy with Yaakov Mega’s ring.”

  Yeshua says, “Imma, the Ring of Justice has no power to curse a man. The Ring is only a sign that the man who wears it makes a righteous justice. The man has the power, not the Ring. And anyway, the Ring is lost.”

  “Then find it! Find it and make a justice on me. If you love me, you will look in every place under heaven until you find it.”

  Yeshua says, “I love you, Imma.”

  “Not enough!” I scream.

  Yeshua cringes as I have slapped him.

  That is a worse knife in my heart than the song the girls sang.

  “Wait here, Imma.” Yeshua backs up a dozen paces and runs toward the haryo. He leaps over it and keeps running, straight and fast.

  My heart pounds in my chest. He left me undefended.

  A moment later, he runs back, carrying two calfskin hides.

  Yoseph the leather-man chases after him, shouting and shaking his fist.

  Yeshua throws the hides on top of the haryo and walks on them to my side. He takes my hand.

  I walk on the hides together with him.

  Yoseph the leather-man glares on us with hate in his eyes. “You ruined my hides!”

  Yeshua releases my hand and strides toward him.

  For a moment, I think he will smite the leather-man. I wish he will smite him so he dies.

  Yoseph the leather-man takes a step back. “You ruined my hides!”

  “You ruined your own hides,” Yeshua says.

  Yoseph the leather-man spits the dust. “Son of a zonah.”

  Yeshua takes a step toward him.

  Yoseph the leather-man runs away fast.

  Yeshua comes back for me. He takes my hand. His hand is hot and he is breathing hard and he reeks of sweat. A big anger shines in his eyes.

  Today I love my son more than I ever did.

  We walk together through the village, the whole long street. I am brave of the village all the way.

  When we reach our house, Yeshua lifts the waterpot down from my head.

  “Imma.”

  I feel as I might cry again.

  “Imma, I swear by The Name that I will make a justice on you. How I will do it, I do not know. When I will do it, I do not know. But I will make a justice on your name.”

  I throw my arms around him and cry for my joy.

  If my son says he will make a justice on me, he will make a justice on me.

  Blessed be HaShem.

  Part 2: The Evil Boy

  Fall, AD 29

  Do not be an evil tale

  An evil tale

  An evil tale.

  Do not be an evil tale

  Like Miryam the zonah.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Miryam of Nazareth

  My heart is full today, for it is the wedding feast of my daughter Shlomi Dancefeet.

  We made Shabbat in Nazareth, and I felt safe all the day long. Then we stayed one day more, and still I felt safe. My sons and the new men spent all that time arguing on who is the first Power. Little Yaakov asked Yeshua many times when he will make a move. Yeshua said he will make a move when HaShem tells him to make a move.

  Today is the third day from Shabbat. If he makes a move today, I will scratch his eyes out.

  Yeshua reclines on a dining couch with the father of the bridegroom. He is laughing and feasting and drinking wine. He does not look like a man who will make a move.

  Yesterday we walked from Nazareth to the village of Cana. This morning, Thin Shimon read the wedding contract aloud and the witnesses signed it. The bridegroom is named Eliezer, a man of honor in his village. He is a peasant, so he will inherit land from his father, though not much, for he is the second son. His father owns a stone house with a large courtyard and many rooms, but he does not have much land, for he was the second son of his own father.

  I wish one of my daughters had married a wealthy man, but Yeshua has done all he could do to find them men. Not all men are willing to marry the daughter of a tekton.

  Today my daughter Shlomi Dancefeet is a married woman. I recline on a couch with her at a table with the other women. I am glad and I am sad, both at the same time. That is the way of a wedding feast. It has been a fine feast, but I think Eliezer spent many more dinars than he had. We drank wine and ate a fattened calf and drank more wine and ate spiced beans and chickpeas wrapped in bread and drank more wine and ate dates from Jericho. It has been long since I ate so well.

  Eliezer hired women to make music. Three sisters play the flute, and their mother plays a harp, and three of their cousins stand behind and sing psalms of joy.

  It is very good.

  The steward of the feast approaches Eliezer and crooks his finger. He wears an angry face.

  Eliezer rises from his couch and follows the steward out.

  It is none of my business, but Eliezer is now my son-in-law, and I am curious. A mother-in-law has a right to be nosy on her daughter’s wedding feast. I rise from my couch and follow them out of the courtyard into a large room.

  At the far end, five manservants stand around a great puddle of red wine. Two large clay amphorae lie broken on the stone floor.

  My heart thumps in my chest, and I think I will cry. The fools broke two vessels! One, I could understand, for everyone is clumsy sometimes. But two?

  Eliezer points to the wine cellar and says something in a choked voice.

  The steward shakes his head.

  Eliezer asks another question and still I cannot hear him.

  A manservant shakes his head. “It is the last of the wine, my lord.”

  Now I am crying. They are fools and simples. I would beat them with a stick if it would make any matter.

  All the wine for the feast is lost, and there are s
till several hours before the going out of the day. The wedding feast is ruined, and my son-in-law is dishonored.

  Now I cannot see for the tears running out of my eyes. A wedding feast happens once in a woman’s life, and if it is ruined, there is no repairing it.

  This is worse than if my son had made a move today.

  Yeshua of Nazareth

  “And when will you take a woman?” Eliezer’s father asks.

  We are reclining on the couch enjoying the music.

  We were enjoying the music.

  I do not know how to answer him. Every man wishes to take a good woman, but no man of my village will give me his daughter, on account of the smirch. Each one says he does not believe the smirch himself, only someone else in the village might, and then his grandsons would have the smirch, and so what can he do?

  The smirch has been a big harm on me all my life, but now that I think on the matter, perhaps it is good I have no woman. I do not know the way ahead. I know it is dark. Yohanan’s word from HaShem lies heavy on me. I must smite the four Powers, but I do not know what are the four Powers. I would have guessed that one is the Accuser, and perhaps it is true, but perhaps it is not. Are there Powers more mighty than the Accuser? The scriptures do not say. The scriptures do not even speak of the Accuser. They do not speak of any Powers. The scriptures tell how to live a good life filled with joy, but they do not tell how to bring in the kingdom of HaShem. I must find my own way through deep darkness, with the Shekinah as my only light.

  The way forward will be a road of horrors, and no man would wish to walk it alone, but no man would wish to endanger a woman on such a road. I will go alone with Abba, and he will guide me.

  Eliezer’s father makes a big sigh. “My cousin took in a girl when she was an infant. She is asufi and soon she will come of age, only no man will take her. She is healthy and a good worker, and it is a big sadness on me. If you knew of some man who would take her, that would be a kindness on me.”

  He is being polite. An asufi child is a foundling. No man of Israel may take an asufi girl, for that is not fitting, to take a girl whose parents are unknown. It is not done. A convert may take her. Also a freed slave or a son of a zonah or an asufi man. Or a mamzer.

  I smile on him. “I will make inquiries on the matter in Tsipori.”

  He means well, but I cannot take this healthy girl, not if she is the best worker that ever was. To take her would be to say yes to the smirch on my name. And to say no to redeeming Israel.

  Imma calls my name from across the courtyard. Her face is tight, and there is a damp streak on her cheeks.

  In an instant I am on my feet and rushing toward her. “Imma, are you well?”

  She whispers in my ear. “They have run out of wine.” She leads me into the house.

  Two broken amphorae lie on the floor, and all the wine is spilled. The steward is shouting on the servants. They cringe before him like beaten donkeys.

  For a moment, my mind is frozen and my hands feel damp. How has this happened? My sister’s day is ruined, and there is nothing I can do. Nothing.

  I look all around for the bridegroom, but he is not here. “Where is Eliezer?”

  Imma tilts her head toward the village. “He went to see if the wine merchants will give him credit for two more amphorae.”

  That is useless. The merchants already gave him more credit than they should have. They will dishonor Eliezer now, and he will be angry when he returns.

  Imma clutches my arm. “You must do something. You are a man of honor.”

  There is nothing I can do. I did not bring money, or I would give it all. I cannot get credit, for I come from a different village, and they do not know me here. I cannot make the merchants give Eliezer yet more credit when they already gave too much.

  Imma weeps.

  My heart is crushed, but there is nothing I can do. “Imma, please, my time has not yet come. I am no king, that I can take tribute.”

  She thinks I can snap my fingers and do anything because I am a tsaddik. I love her much, but she does not know how the world of men works.

  Imma pokes her finger on my chest. “You will do something, please. Go to the village and get more wine.” She points to the servants. “You men! Go with my son to get more wine. Do what he tells you.” She turns and marches away.

  I follow after her. “Where are you going?”

  “To see what my son-in-law can do in the village. Bring the servants and follow me.” Imma hurries toward the village.

  I could never say no to Imma, but I do not know how to say yes.

  The steward is still shouting on the servants.

  Yoni pokes his head around the corner. “Rabbi Yeshua, what are you going to do?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Yoni of Capernaum

  I should not have spied on Rabbi Yeshua, but I was curious. I saw his mother beckon him out, and she had the look my mother wore when I was a small boy and ate all the Jericho dates before the evening meal.

  So I followed them, and I saw and heard all. I think Rabbi Yeshua’s mother expects much.

  I wait for Rabbi Yeshua to answer my question.

  But he does not speak. The Shekinah is on him.

  When I first saw Yohanan the immerser, he had the Shekinah on him, and I thought it was strong. But the Shekinah is stronger on Rabbi Yeshua than on Yohanan, as the sun is stronger than the moon. Rabbi Yeshua is deep in the Presence of HaShem. There is a big wisdom here, and I wish to know this wisdom. I watch and I watch, but I do not see anything happen.

  Then the Shekinah is gone, and Rabbi Yeshua smiles on me with a fierce smile. The danger in that smile makes my heart tingle, as Rabbi Yeshua is going to battle against some mighty warrior. I do not understand, for there is no mighty warrior here, and it is only a matter of some spilled wine.

  Rabbi Yeshua laughs a great laugh.

  The steward stops shouting on the manservants and stares on Rabbi Yeshua.

  Rabbi Yeshua points to the puddle and tells the steward, “Friend, you will call some girls to clean up the wine.”

  The steward looks as he does not wish to obey, for he is the master of the feast and Rabbi Yeshua is not.

  “Friend, you will do it now,” Rabbi Yeshua says.

  The steward goes away grumbling.

  Rabbi Yeshua leads one manservant outside and points to a row of stone barrels as tall as my waist that stand along the back wall. “Are any of these empty?”

  I think it is a foolish question. They are heavy, lathe-turned barrels for holding waters of purification. Stone is not susceptible to any impurity and it is good for holding water, but it is useless for carrying wine.

  The manservant checks each of the barrels. “Rabbi, these four have water and these six are empty.” He smirks behind his hand, because it would be foolish to go to the wine merchant carrying such heavy barrels. Even a strong man would stagger under such a big weight if it was filled with wine.

  I think Rabbi Yeshua is making a joke. I think he will go out now to find a wine merchant. I do not think he will take these stone barrels.

  Rabbi Yeshua smiles a big smile. “Bring some servant girls to me here with waterpots.”

  The manservant looks on Rabbi Yeshua with large eyes.

  Rabbi Yeshua raises a fierce eyebrow.

  The manservant runs to obey.

  I wish to run and hide. This is a big foolishness. I do not see what joke Rabbi Yeshua is making. There is water enough in the other four barrels for any washing needed for the rest of the feast. But one does not drink water from purification barrels. There is no reason in what he asks. There is only foolishness.

  I am alone with Rabbi Yeshua. “Rabbi, what are you doing?’

  He gives me a terrifying smile. “I heard from Abba to fill the barrels. Therefore, I will fill the barrels.”

  “But it is foolishness.” I do not like foolishness. I came to this village with Rabbi Yeshua to learn wisdom, when I could have gone home to Capernaum. If he is a ma
n given to foolishness, I will go home and learn Torah with the village hazzan until my father sends me to Jerusalem to learn with a sage.

  Rabbi Yeshua’s eyes burn into mine.

  Fear scalds my heart. I do not think Rabbi Yeshua likes me to call a word of HaShem foolishness, even if it is foolishness.

  Soon a dozen servant girls come, each holding a waterpot.

  Rabbi Yeshua greets them with kind words and asks them to fill the barrels of purification.

  All of them walk out of the gate in a long line.

  I step out into the dusty street and watch them. Cana has a good well, fed by a natural spring. The girls walk to the well and fill their jars and return. It is a thing I have seen every day of my life—girls carrying water. It is a thing I never saw in my life—great foolishness.

  Each girl pours her water in the first of the stone barrels, until it is full, and then in the next. They walk to the well three times before all the barrels are full and covered again with their stone covers.

  Rabbi Yeshua has been watching the whole time. The Shekinah is strong on him. He sends one girl to find the steward. The others return to their chores at the feast.

  I am dying with my curiosity on this paradox. “Rabbi Yeshua, what are you doing?”

  Rabbi Yeshua wears a cryptic smile. “I am doing what Abba tells me to do.”

  I like it when Rabbi Yeshua calls HaShem Abba. It has a good sound, and I feel warmed inside, but still I do not think Rabbi Yeshua knows what he is doing.

  I lift the lid on the first stone barrel and dip my finger in the water. It is good water, fresh and clean, but it will not please guests who expect wine. And it will make them very angry to be served out of barrels made for washing hands. I cover the barrel and wait.

  Rabbi Yeshua has the Shekinah on him still. I wish I could have the Shekinah like that.

  Shortly, the steward arrives, along with the manservants and the bridegroom. The steward’s face is red. I think the bridegroom has been shouting on him.

  Rabbi Yeshua bows to the bridegroom, then points to one of the servants. “Fetch a pitcher and cup and draw from one of the stone barrels.”