Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Miryam Big-Heart creeps to the door and slips out. A moment later, she is back. “The street is empty. Must you leave so soon? Can you not eat and drink?”

  “Perhaps another time.” I give her a smile, for she looks like a frightened rabbit.

  She blushes and looks only on the floor.

  A moment later, we are all outside in the street and the door is shut behind us.

  My brothers scowl on the house.

  Thin Shimon says, “Herod will not come here. This Hananyah the nail maker sounds like a liar. He is a liar, yes? Who told him the matter of the smirch?”

  Yehuda Dreamhead nods. “A liar and a coward and always grinning on other people’s troubles.”

  Thin Shimon scowls. “I think he ran like a woman when his master was taken and then told Elazar a fearful tale so he could have excuse to beg food on his way.”

  Now that I think on the matter, that is a good logic. That is why Yoni refused to run.

  “We are not afraid.” Little Yaakov fingers the short blade he keeps hidden in the cloth belt around his waist. “Now is the time for us to make a move.”

  Yosi nods. “We will not run like women. Shimon the Rock ran like a woman. Andre and Big Yaakov and Yoni ran like women. We do not need cowards. We came here to make a move with our brother. Yeshua, we will stand with you.”

  Thin Shimon says, “But who told them the matter of the smirch?”

  Yehuda Dreamhead says, “When will we make a move, Yeshua? You said we would make a move at Pesach. Where will we do it and when?”

  I open my mouth to say I do not know when we will make a move.

  But when I speak, my words are not the words I meant to say.

  The words are the words of HaShem, speaking through me. “We will celebrate Pesach here next week. On Shabbat after Pesach, we will go to the Temple. And while we are there, HaShem will make a move more mighty than any we ever imagined.”

  Yehuda Dreamhead grins a big grin.

  Thin Shimon grins a big grin.

  Yosi grins a big grin.

  Little Yaakov’s mouth is set tight. He does not believe I will make a move.

  I do not know what move I will make, but I know HaShem will show me.

  But before Shabbat, there is a thing I must know. It is the thing that has burned in my heart all my life. It is a thing only Imma can answer. It is a thing she has never told me.

  She must tell me the truth of the matter, who begat me, who is my blood father. All my life, nobody would speak on the matter. Now we must speak on the matter.

  And then I must ask HaShem how to remove the smirch on my name.

  I can never redeem Israel while I have a smirch.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Miryam of Nazareth

  My heart weeps within me, for my son is so sad. He went out with joy this morning with his brothers to find his friends. When he came back, he was crushed more than any man ever was.

  Little Yaakov’s eyes burned with fury, but he would not tell what is the matter. Yosi would not tell. Yehuda Dreamhead would not tell.

  Thin Shimon told me all. Yohanan the prophet is taken. And Yeshua’s men know the matter of the smirch on his name.

  Only they do not know the matter. Even Yeshua does not know the matter. No living person knows the matter, because I never told. Yaakov Mega shut my mouth on the matter. But even if he had not, I would not have told, because who would believe?

  After Thin Shimon told me the matter, Yeshua asked me to come walk with him, and now we are walking. He will ask who begat him. I will not tell, for then he would call me a fool and a simple.

  I never told one pair of ears.

  I tried to tell once and learned a hard lesson.

  I will never tell one word again.

  Never, never, never.

  “My friend Elazar owns this place,” Yeshua says. “It is good, yes?”

  I look all around me. We are in the valley between Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives. To our left, the Temple Mount rises above us, a hard stone fortress, angry on me for my sins. To our right, the Mount of Olives. We are in the middle of an olive grove. Ahead of us, I see an olive press and a cave. Beside the cave is a stone bench. It is a peaceful place. You would never know that a hundred paces behind us is the road that comes down the Mount of Olives and leads into the city, with many thousand people tramping down it each day. Here, all is quiet and calm.

  Yeshua leads me to the stone bench, and we sit. He holds my hand. Now he will try to worm out my secret.

  I will not tell. I will eat haryo before I tell. He will make a scorn on me if I tell.

  Yeshua’s voice cracks when he speaks. “What did your father say when you told him you were with child?”

  My eyes flood with tears. That was the worst day that ever was. It was four months or five after the day I went to the village spring and saw the Messenger.

  I remember how surprised I was to see a man there at the spring. I did not know at once he was a Messenger. How was I to know? People in olden times saw Messengers, but people in these times do not. I do not know why.

  So I thought the Messenger was just some young man, a beautiful man, more beautiful than any man I ever saw. All my thoughts ran away. I dropped my waterpot and stared.

  He smiled on me and greeted me and told me my name. In those days, my name was Miryam Beautiful.

  I wished to run away, for I was not in the custom of speaking to strange men, but my legs had no strength.

  The Messenger said I was favored by HaShem.

  I could not think what it meant to be favored by HaShem. I was only a girl of twelve, the daughter of a village farmer, and I never thought I was anything. Here is what I knew of favor—two men asked to buy me from my father. Some girls had no man ask to buy them, and I had two! That was what I thought it meant to be favored.

  I did not like the way the Messenger looked on me, for I could not look away from his face. His eyes saw inside my heart, and I was terrified.

  The Messenger said I should not be afraid. He said HaShem promised I should have a son.

  I was glad, for every girl wishes to give her lord a son.

  The Messenger said my son would be the son of HaShem.

  I was more than glad. My son will be king of Israel!

  The Messenger said my son would take the throne of his father David.

  I thought how glad my lord Yoseph will be, for he was of the House of David, and now his son was to be Mashiach.

  The Messenger said my son would rule over Israel, and there would be no end to his kingdom.

  I asked the Messenger why he told me, and not my betrothed lord Yoseph, for this was a mighty honor on him.

  The Messenger said my lord Yoseph would not beget my son. He said no man would beget my son.

  I told the Messenger that was a big foolishness. I was only a girl of twelve, but my father owned sheep and goats, and I knew how lambs and kids are begotten. I knew a son is not born unless a man begets him.

  The Messenger said the power of HaShem would overshadow me, and the son to be born would be a gift from HaShem.

  I could not think what to say. My mind was all a big confusion, and my heart filled my chest with a mighty hammering.

  The Messenger came toward me, and his eyes burned bright.

  All my body was cold for my terror.

  The Messenger said HaShem did not command. He said HaShem asked permission. He said HaShem would not give me a son unless I said yes.

  I did not think what that would mean.

  I was a foolish young girl, as simple as a stick.

  I never thought how I would tell the matter to my lord Yoseph.

  So I said yes.

  The Messenger came nearer and looked in my eyes and smiled on me with kindness.

  I think I fainted.

  I do not remember what happened next. When I came to myself, the Messenger was gone, and my body was warm with the heat of the Shekinah, and my heart was full with a big gladness. I would h
ave thought it was all a dream, only my waterpot was beside me, broken in shards.

  All the way home, I tried to think how to tell the matter to my mother. When I reached our house, I still did not know how to tell the matter.

  Before I could open my mouth, my mother asked where was my waterpot.

  I told her I had broken it.

  She made a big rage on me and shouted me for a fool and a simple.

  I could not think how to tell the matter of the Messenger, for Messengers are not seen in these days, and I knew my tale would sound foolish. I thought I would tell her tomorrow, but the next day, I could not think how to tell the matter. Days passed, and still I could not think how to tell the matter. Weeks passed. Months. The matter burned a hole in my heart, but still I could not think how to tell it.

  But the matter did not stay hidden. There came a day when my mother saw the roundness of my belly and asked hard questions. Had my monthly blood come lately? When had it stopped? Had some man forced me to spread my legs?

  I tried to explain the matter of the Messenger. I said I met a beautiful young man by the spring.

  Imma cried out for her fear.

  I said the man told me I should have a son if I said yes.

  Imma cried out for her shock.

  I said I told the man yes.

  Imma cried out for her rage. She screamed on me that I was a fool and a simple and a wicked zonah. She would not listen to my tale.

  My heart felt as it was burned. That was the day I knew no one would ever listen. They would say I told some idle tale. They would never believe.

  That was the day I clamped my mouth shut with my tale inside. I vowed a vow to HaShem that I would never tell it, and I never have, and I never will. Never, never, never. The village says I am a wicked zonah. If I tell my tale, they will say I am a wicked liar also.

  When my father came home, my mother took him aside and made pained whispers with a dark face.

  I never saw him so angry, his face so hard, like stone. He would not look on me for his rage. He did not ask how it befell. I would not have told if he asked, but he did not even ask.

  He went to my betrothed lord Yoseph to ask after the matter, for he thought my lord Yoseph took me into the chamber before the time.

  My betrothed lord Yoseph came to our house, and his anger was hotter than my father’s, for he knew he was righteous in the matter. His words bruised my heart as stones crush a flower. He said he would go to Tsipori and find a letter-man to write me a bill of divorce quietly. As if the matter could be kept quiet.

  I cried and cried, but there was nothing I could say that he would believe, so I said nothing.

  If I had known how it would be, I would have told the Messenger no. I should have told the Messenger no. That was a burden more terrible than any girl of the age of twelve should ever bear.

  But the next day, my betrothed lord Yoseph came back and said he had changed his mind, and now he would take me as his woman as soon as might be. A Messenger had come to him in a dream in the night and explained the matter. But he did not tell my parents that, for he knew they would not believe.

  My father thought Yoseph begat the child, and said at least he was an honorable man, if not righteous. My mother called my father a fool, for she remembered my lord Yoseph’s face when he heard the news, and she knew my lord Yoseph did not beget my son. But she never learned why he chose to take me, so she thought he was a fool and a simple until the day she died. My father thought him an unrighteous man all his life.

  Some in the village believed my father, that I enticed my lord Yoseph before the time.

  Some in the village believed my mother, that I enticed some other man of the village.

  All the village hounded after me to tell who I enticed, but what could I say? Farmers know a child is not begotten without a man to beget it.

  My lord Yoseph claimed Yeshua for his son. But my lord Yoseph was a tsaddik. He would not make a lie, to say he begat Yeshua. And now my lord Yoseph is dead many years. Every year, the village hounds after me more, to tell who I enticed.

  If I tell the truth, they would shout to stone me for a liar. But I tell them nothing, so they shout to stone me for a zonah.

  “Imma, what did your father say when you told him you were with child?”

  I wipe my eyes and try to look on Yeshua, but he is blurred. “My father said my lord Yoseph was not a tsaddik.”

  “My father was a tsaddik, yes?”

  “He was righteous in the matter.” My voice is thick in my throat.

  “The man who redeems Israel must be son of David.”

  I seize his hands. “Your father is Yoseph the tsaddik, son of Yaakov Mega, son of David.”

  “The man who redeems Israel must have no smirch on his name.”

  “The smirch is unjust.”

  “I would still love you if—”

  “There is no smirch in the eyes of HaShem. We will not speak more on the matter.”

  Yeshua kisses my tears away. He kneels before me, looking in my eyes.

  He has bright, shining eyes.

  I never saw such bright eyes on a man.

  He has eyes like the Messenger.

  He leans in close and looks deep in my eyes.

  He sees all the way into my heart.

  He reads my tale like a man reads words on a page.

  I cannot turn my head. I cannot blink my eyes.

  He reads my tale all to the end.

  He looks on me in wonder for many ten thousand years.

  “Imma?”

  I cannot breathe. I cannot speak.

  “Imma, you did well to say yes.”

  I do not think I did well to say yes. But if I said no, I would not have my Yeshua.

  “Imma, I believe your tale.”

  My eyes are nothing but tears. My body is nothing but heat. My mind is all a big confusion.

  I never thought anyone would believe my tale.

  My son Yeshua believes my tale.

  I love him more than I ever did.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Yeshua of Nazareth

  ‘So the village is right, you son of a zonah.’

  ‘The village is wrong.’

  ‘Do not be a fool and a simple like your mother. She met some stranger at the spring. She saw he was beautiful. What can that mean, but that she desired for him? And so she spread—’

  ‘You lie. Imma is innocent.’

  ‘She desired for him, and she spread her legs, and he begat you.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘Some fine-faced stranger is your blood father, fool.’

  ‘Imma says I am the gift of HaShem.’

  ‘That is a bad gift, if it is true, for see how much sorrow it caused. But you do not believe this foolishness, yes? No more than you believe the ancient tales of wicked spirits who came to earth and lay with the daughters of men and begat the Nephilim, yes?’

  ‘Those are idle tales.’

  ‘And you do not believe the tales the Greeks tell, how their gods came to earth and lay with women and begat heroes, yes?’

  ‘Those are idle tales.’

  ‘And you cannot believe this idle tale, that HaShem came to earth and lay with your mother and—’

  ‘That is not her tale. HaShem has no body, that he can lie with a woman.’

  ‘Then what is your mother’s tale?’

  ‘The Shekinah came upon her—’

  ‘She spread her legs for the Shekinah?’

  ‘That is not her tale. The Shekinah has no body. The Shekinah does not lie with a woman. Her tale is that HaShem did a mighty wonder.’

  ‘A woman does not beget a son on her own.’

  ‘I did not say she begat a son on her own. That is not the way of things. If that was the way of things, I would not call the matter a mighty wonder.’

  ‘How did it come about then? Explain the matter.’

  ‘One does not explain a mighty wonder.’

  ‘Why should you believe there was a m
ighty wonder? Why not rather believe some stranger begat you? You have only the word of your mother, and why should she not lie to save herself?’

  ‘She did not lie to save herself. She never told this tale. Never once. She held it in her heart.’

  ‘She was afraid to tell it, for it is foolishness.’

  ‘Now you change your accusation. First you said she lied to save herself. Now you say she did not, for she knew it was foolishness. These cannot both be true. What is your accusation?’

  ‘You are a fool if you believe this tale.’

  ‘I am not a fool.’

  ‘Do you believe this tale?’

  ‘I must think on the matter. Leave me.’

  Silence.

  My body is all a big sweat. The Accuser tells lies, always sweetened with truth. This is a matter hard to understand. I do not understand the matter. I do not think I will ever understand. If I were a philosophos, perhaps I might understand. I built a house once for a philosophos in Tsipori, and I spoke with him often, for I know a little Greek. He said that for any matter, there is a logic to understand it.

  I do not see a logic to understand this matter.

  The village asks what man begat me. Who did Imma entice to sin? Was it Yoseph the tsaddik or some other man? They hate Imma because she will not tell the name of the man. Some whisper they can guess the man, for there were two men who asked to buy Imma. Her father accepted Yoseph the tsaddik and rejected Yonatan the leather-man.

  Some say Yoseph the tsaddik begat me. Therefore, my mother was wicked to entice a righteous man before the time. That would be a good logic, only I do not look like Yoseph the tsaddik.

  Some say Yonatan the leather-man begat me. Therefore, my mother was wicked to entice a man when she was betrothed to another. That would be a good logic, only I do not look like Yonatan the leather-man.

  Some say some other man of the village begat me. Every woman of the village gives her man sideways eyes, wondering if Miryam Beautiful enticed him. Only I do not look like any man of our village.