Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Yeshua takes my hand, and we walk.

  If all I had in the world was my Yeshua, that would be—

  Something strikes me in the small of the back. About the weight of a stone, but softer than any stone.

  I think some small bird flew into me. I turn slowly, on account of the waterpot on my head.

  There is no bird.

  Five boys creep out of hiding. They wear big grins. They hold something dark in their hands.

  One of them draws back his arm and throws.

  I am slow to move.

  The thing hits me in the chest.

  The stink fills my nose and stings my eyes.

  Haryo.

  All my body shakes with a bad shaking. My waterpot falls on the ground and shatters in many ten thousand shards. My hair covering comes loose. My hair flutters in the breeze. I feel naked and shamed.

  “Zonah!” shouts one of the boys. “You should be thrown off the precipice and stoned!”

  Another boy flings his haryo.

  It hits the ground in front of me and spatters my feet.

  Tears of rage jump out of my eyes.

  Another boy draws back his arm.

  I am frozen for my fear.

  His arm moves forward.

  I should make a dodge, but my feet will not move.

  He throws a fistful of haryo.

  I see it flying toward us.

  All my body is a block of wood.

  But the haryo is not flying at me.

  It is flying at my son.

  He starts to move, but he is too slow.

  It hits Yeshua’s face. It explodes in a thousand pieces.

  He falls to the ground with a shout. He claws at his eyes, rolling, rolling, rolling away from me, blinded in a big agony.

  The last boy walks toward me, grinning. The Evil Boy. He knows I cannot run away home, I cannot leave my Yeshua. He runs at me fast. He pulls back his arm. His teeth gleam like a dog’s fangs.

  When he is two paces from me, he throws.

  The haryo smashes on my face.

  My head snaps back.

  Haryo goes up my nose. It goes in my eyes. It goes in my hair. It goes in my soul.

  I fall down clutching my face.

  I hear the hoots and shouts of the boys.

  “Miryam Spreadlegs, if I give you a dinar, will you spread for me?” The Evil Boy squeezes my bosoms with his haryo hands.

  I scream on him with a big scream. The stink of haryo fills my head.

  The Evil Boy tugs on my tunic, but it will not come up. He tries to pull my feet apart. “Spread your legs, you zonah, you!”

  I kick him in the face.

  My son shouts.

  Yeshua is on his feet at last, staggering like a drunkard, rubbing the haryo from his eyes, coming to my rescue.

  The boys run away fast. I hear their footsteps like stones on my heart.

  Now all I can hear is the sound of rushing in my ears, a mighty wind. The sound of my rage.

  Kind hands pull me to my feet. “Imma, come with me.”

  Tears rush out of my eyes. I gag and retch from the stink of haryo.

  My Yeshua pulls me up the path to the spring. He washes my face with his own hands. He washes my hair. He washes my tunic in the front and the back. He washes my feet.

  But he cannot wash my heart.

  Miryam of Nazareth

  The rushing sound fills my ears and my heart and my soul. I will be avenged on that Evil Boy.

  I will.

  When I think on the Evil Boy now, I feel sick in my heart. It was his own haryo he threw on me, I am sure of it. And he was first in the village to call me Spreadlegs, that evil name he nailed to my heart. Now all the village calls me by it.

  I hate that boy. Rage burns in my heart. I wish to kill the Evil Boy. I wish to roast his feet over a slow fire while his skin crackles and turns black. I wish to hear him scream and scream and scream in a big agony. I wish he will beg mercy for many ten thousand years.

  But I will never give mercy. Never, ever, ever.

  “Imma, come with us. Imma!” Little Yaakov’s voice is strong in my ear.

  I weep for my rage. I am blind with my tears and I gag as I will vomit. I smell haryo somewhere far away.

  My sons help me stand. I feel their presence all around me.

  “Yeshua will come back to Nazareth soon,” Little Yaakov says. “He will come, and we will raise up a mighty army.”

  I do not care if he makes an army. I wish he will make a justice, only he does not know how. If Yaakov Mega were still alive, he would make a justice on me. He would use his Ring of Justice to avenge me. That Ring was a Power from HaShem to make justice in the world, only now it is lost. When Yeshua comes back, he should find the Ring. If he finds it, he will know how to use it.

  He should come soon.

  He should make a justice on my name.

  He should come and burn the Evil Boy on a slow fire until forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Yoni of Capernaum

  “Big Yaakov! Shimon the Rock! We are home!” I jump up and down for my joy to see my brother and friend, now that Rabbi Yeshua and I have finished our work for the winter.

  It is morning, and the boats of Capernaum are coming in after a long night of fishing. Shimon’s boat has a hired man in it, and so does Big Yaakov’s. I see they have many fish, and it is good, because it means they did not really need me and Andre.

  Our fathers and Andre stand with me and Rabbi Yeshua on the stone pier, waiting.

  When Shimon’s boat comes alongside, he tosses me the rope.

  I thread the end through a stone tie-hole in the pier and hitch it fast. “Shimon the Rock, you should have come with us! We did a great work with Yohanan the immerser. We told repentance to many thousand men looking for the kingdom of HaShem.”

  Shimon the Rock says nothing and does not look on me or Rabbi Yeshua.

  I think he must be cold from the night of fishing, for spring is only just here.

  Big Yaakov’s boat comes in on the other side. He throws me the rope.

  I make it fast to the pier. “I think more men were coming to hear Rabbi Yeshua than Yohanan. It is hard to know, because Yohanan moved north a week after Purim. He said there was more water in the north. I do not know why he said that, because it is the same river and the same water. Hananyah the nail maker went with him. I was glad, for he was rude on Aunt Miryam.”

  Big Yaakov grunts something in a low voice.

  I think he must be very tired. His face is long and his mouth is set hard.

  Rabbi Yeshua says, “Shimon the Rock, you did well with this catch. You are a loyal son to your father.”

  Shimon’s face makes many expressions I cannot understand. But at the end of them, he is smiling.

  Rabbi Yeshua hands me a leather bucket. “Here, Yoni, help Big Yaakov bring in the fish. He had a mighty catch. What do you think—does he have more fish even than Shimon the Rock?”

  Big Yaakov climbs on the pier, and his mouth is no longer set hard. “Rabbi, it is good to see you. Did Yoni make a big trouble on you?”

  “Yoni was a good help,” Rabbi Yeshua says. “I thank you for giving him to me as helper. And you, Shimon the Rock, I thank for the help of Andre. He did well, and he told jokes that made us smile, only I think Yoni said many more words.”

  The men laugh.

  I laugh too, for it is true I say many words, but they are wise words and not just many. Rabbi Yeshua told me so himself. I learned much from him this winter. I sometimes feel the Shekinah, but I will not tell Shimon the Rock or Big Yaakov. They will say I am getting conceited.

  We brought many buckets to carry the catch. For the fourth part of an hour, we all work hard hauling buckets of fish. Most of the catch goes in an oxcart for the salting house. Some goes in the handcart of the boy from the fish market. We save the best for our morning meal.

  When we are done unloading fish, Shimon the Rock gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss and sa
ys he has missed my foolish prattle these last months. Big Yaakov says I have grown much taller, at least the thickness of a rabbit’s whisker.

  We all go to the House of Yonah for a good meal.

  Rabbi Yeshua and I and our men arrived in Capernaum last night just after the boats had gone out for the night. Imma hugged me many times and asked Rabbi Yeshua if I made a big trouble on him.

  I do not know why everybody asks if I made a big trouble. Rabbi Yeshua asks my opinion often and says he is glad to have the Genius of Capernaum helping him. I am dying to understand the matter of the smirch on his name, but I would bite off my own tongue before I ask, for that is a matter Rabbi Yeshua should raise. Only I hope he raises it soon, or I will explode.

  During the morning meal, Yonah asks the same question I have asked many times this week. “Rabbi Yeshua, why have you come back to Capernaum just now? We will all be going to Jerusalem in a week for Pesach. You walked four days to get here, and now you will walk four days back, to no gain.”

  Rabbi Yeshua shrugs. “Abba said to come back. Therefore, I have come back.”

  “But if you had stayed, you could have done a big work,” my father says. “Just before Pesach, many thousand men will come down the Jordan Way from Galilee. You could have told repentance to them, but you cannot tell repentance if you are not there.”

  Rabbi Yeshua sips his wine. “Perhaps Abba has a new thing for me to do.”

  All my skin feels as it is on fire. I think Rabbi Yeshua should make a move soon. I have asked him many times when he will make a move, but he only smiles and says he will make a move when HaShem tells him to make a move. I think he delays on account of the smirch. But I cannot ask on the matter of the smirch, because I swore by The Name not to speak on the matter.

  But now would be a good time to make a move. I heard from my uncle who lives in Jerusalem that all the city buzzes with talk on Yohanan the prophet. He says the chief priests in the Temple are talking on Yohanan the prophet. I do not think they will like Yohanan telling them repentance. I think they fear the Romans and do not wish Mashiach to come because that will make a big confusion. I think they sent spies to hear Rabbi Yeshua and Yohanan tell repentance. I think that is part of the reason Yohanan the immerser went north.

  I feel happy after a good night of sleep in my own house and a good meal. “Rabbi Yeshua, will your brothers come here before Pesach? We need Little Yaakov if you are to make a move. I never saw such a mighty man. Little Yaakov will be your strong right arm when we go to make a big war on the Great Satan, yes?”

  For a moment, it feels as the room has no air.

  Shimon the Rock’s smile runs away.

  Big Yaakov frowns on me.

  “Yoni, eat your fish and do not talk so much,” my father says.

  I do not understand what I said wrong. Rabbi Yeshua’s brothers are strong men and will be fierce to fight. Also, they are sons of David. Even if Rabbi Yeshua has a smirch forever, he can make a move if he lets Little Yaakov be Mashiach. And he needs me. I am not big and strong like Little Yaakov and Shimon the Rock. But the advice of a genius is worth more than many strong men.

  “I am going to Nazareth today,” Rabbi Yeshua says.

  “But we just got here!” I do not like to complain, but it is long since I slept in Capernaum, and it is hard news that I must leave again so soon.

  “I will go alone with Yehuda Dreamhead.”

  For a moment, I think my ears bring me a lying report. “But … you need me, Rabbi!”

  My father gives me a hard look. “Yoni, you have said enough words for one day.”

  Shimon the Rock whispers something to Big Yaakov behind his hand, and they both scowl on me.

  I think they are just sorry they did not come with us for the winter. They should be sorry, for we did a big work, and they were left out. But they should not worry. Rabbi Yeshua will find a place for them when he comes into his power. Little Yaakov will need them as captains in his army.

  Rabbi Yeshua smiles on me. “Yoni, I thank you, but I wish to see my family. You have been away from your family long. Eat and sleep and allow your mother and sisters to hug you a few days. I will be glad of your help when we reach Jerusalem. You will not forget me before Pesach, will you, Yoni?”

  I feel warmed inside at his words. “Rabbi, we will all be there at Pesach when you make your move.”

  My mother makes a shushing noise on me and gives me a look that says it is not my place to say what we will all do.

  My father clears his throat and looks on Shimon the Rock and on Big Yaakov. “Rabbi Yeshua, you have been gone long. We wish to know if … if you will still be glad of all of our help when you make your move.”

  Rabbi Yeshua’s eyebrows jump up and his mouth falls open and he stares on my father. Then he looks on Big Yaakov and Shimon the Rock.

  They have their arms crossed and they wear frowns.

  I see the matter now. They wish to know who will command Rabbi Yeshua’s armies. They are afraid Rabbi Yeshua will favor Little Yaakov over them. If they knew of the smirch, they would be more afraid.

  Rabbi Yeshua smiles on them. “Shimon the Rock. Big Yaakov. Andre the cheerful. You men are like my own brothers. Zavdai and Yonah, you are like fathers to me. HaShem has great things for you to do. When HaShem calls me to make a move, I will need each one of you. But you spoke true, that I have been gone long. Perhaps you have other things you wish to do.”

  Shimon’s father leans forward. “Rabbi, we know you are the son of David.”

  I choke on my wine.

  Andre gives me a hard look from across the table. He and I are the only ones who know the truth. Yes, Rabbi Yeshua is a son of David. But that is not enough, on account of the smirch.

  Andre will not speak on the matter. I will not speak on it either. It is Rabbi Yeshua’s place to speak on it.

  Only it is a hard thing for me not to speak on a matter when it burns like fire in my heart.

  “Will you make a move at Pesach?” Shimon’s father asks.

  Rabbi Yeshua tilts his head as he is listening. An uncertain smile comes across his face. “HaShem says I will make a move at Pesach. HaShem asks if you will stand by me when I make my move.”

  All the room goes quiet.

  I think I might faint for my excitement. I have been waiting long to hear him say he is ready to make a move.

  “I will stand with you,” says my father. “Even if the mountains shake and the heavens fall, I will stand with you.”

  “And I also,” says Shimon’s father.

  Shimon the Rock and Big Yaakov and Andre all say the same.

  I do not say anything, because I already gave my word earlier, and they shushed me. Now they will not shush me. Now they are following in my steps like sheep.

  I see that Shimon the Rock wants Rabbi Yeshua to tell him he will have first place in his army, ahead of Little Yaakov. I do not know if Rabbi Yeshua sees it. I should explain the matter to Rabbi Yeshua and give him my advice. I think he would be glad on it.

  A fierce grin slides across my father’s face. “The chief priests in Jerusalem will tremble for their fear when we make our move.”

  He is right, for the chief priests in Jerusalem are fat and rich on the money they have cheated from our people. My father hates them, for they used to cheat him of his tithes when he went to serve his week in the Temple. Now he is too old to serve, but he has not forgotten.

  When Rabbi Yeshua makes his move, he will throw out the chief priests who make a cheat on our people.

  If I were one of the chief priests in Jerusalem, I would not wait for Rabbi Yeshua to make a move.

  If I were a chief priest, I would make my own move first.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Hanan ben Hanan

  “There are more of them than we were told.” My brother Fat Yonatan stops and stares north up the river. It is near the going out of the day, and we at last are coming near the place where the false prophet spreads his poison.

&nbs
p; I count with my eyes. We were told there were a hundred fools here, perhaps two. I know the look of a hundred men. This is more. “A thousand sheep. Strike the shepherd and they will run.” I tug on Fat Yonatan’s sleeve and stride forward.

  He follows with a big reluctance. Fat Yonatan is captain of the Temple guard and should be bold, but he is fifteen years older than me and overcautious. That is the reason our father sent me also. Of the five sons of my father, I am the youngest, but men say our father’s blood runs truest in me—the blood of a tiger.

  Our father told us to question the false prophet to see if he leads Israel astray.

  If he leads Israel astray, we are to bring him to Jerusalem to answer to my father.

  If he refuses, we are to flog him.

  If he resists, we are to kill him.

  That would be easy if we had been told the true tale of things. We were told the man had a hundred followers. We were told he was camped across the Jordan east of Jericho by a walk of one hour. Both tales were false. This lying prophet is camped on this side of Jordan, north of Jericho by a walk of two days. And the number of his followers is many hundreds, almost a thousand.

  Now we have walked three days from Jerusalem, sleeping in our cloaks on the ground every night. And we must scatter these sheep and take the shepherd.

  A hundred sheep would be nothing. A thousand sheep are not nothing. But a thousand sheep are still sheep.

  Now is the time to make our move, while many of the men are in the river. A man waist-deep in water wearing a wet tunic will think twice on fighting two Temple guards with iron swords.

  We stride quickly toward the false prophet. I keep my eyes on the men in the river. They make a mock on true immersion. Torah does not say you should immerse in public, wearing a tunic. Torah says you should immerse in private, naked. I have an immersion pool, a mikveh, in my palace. I immerse there as Torah says.

  Not in some vile river.

  Not in a tunic.

  This is abomination. No man of the chief priests would immerse here. This immersion is against Torah. This man is a false prophet, and HaShem has not spoken to him. HaShem only spoke to one man ever, and that was our prophet Moses. Chief priests accept only Torah. We are not fools like the Pharisees, who accept many false prophets—Isaiah and Jeremiah and Daniel. Liars, all of them.