Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Rabbi Yeshua catches me before I can fall. He gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss and speaks softly in my ear. “They are not who you think they are. You are free from them for as long as you will. Do not ask them back, or it will go worse.”

  I feel more lonely than I ever did.

  I pull away from Rabbi Yeshua and stagger to my couch.

  I thought I was strong.

  I am strong.

  I have strength to deal with honorable men.

  I do not have strength to deal with a man of scandal. When a man is so low that he cannot be dishonored, what power do I have on him?

  I slide onto my dining couch. My body is hot, and I am sick to my bones with emptiness, and I do not know what to do. Rabbi Yeshua has sent away my familiars. If I ask them back, they will make a rage on me.

  The silk merchant’s woman leans close to my ear. “Why did you slap the rabbi? He loves you like his own mother. He kissed you many times. What did he say to you? We tried to hear, but he spoke his secrets softly.”

  Yes, softly, while he ruined my life. Now I am alone, forever and forever. I am naked without my lord and my son. Rabbi Yeshua is at blame for this.

  I hate him more than I ever hated any man.

  I do not wish to see Rabbi Yeshua ever again.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Yoni of Capernaum

  Rabbi Yeshua is a paradox, and I mean to solve him.

  Before the feast, I saw him talking with the zonah we met two weeks ago. She lives here in Magdala, and she brought other zonahs to see Rabbi Yeshua. It turned my face hot to look on them. But Rabbi Yeshua’s face did not turn hot when he spoke with them.

  Also, he laid hands on one of the zonahs and healed her. A man of honor does not speak to a zonah, nor look on her. How is it that Rabbi Yeshua laid hands on a zonah’s belly in public, and nobody said no? Then he kissed her, as she is a man and a friend.

  Just now, I saw him talking with the old woman I led to the feast. Our tax-farmer says this woman is the wealthiest woman in Magdala, which is a big town. Rabbi Yeshua kissed her also, as she is a man and a friend.

  Rabbi Yeshua treats a wealthy woman as a man. He treats a zonah as a wealthy woman. He treats a leper as a clean man. He treats a tax-farmer as one of us.

  That is a paradox, and I do not see the meaning of it, but at least Shimon the Rock and the others see it too and agree it is a paradox.

  But there is a deeper thing. Lately, I saw another paradox.

  I wish I could ask Rabbi Yeshua on the matter, but he reclines at the main table with the host, and I recline at a side table with Shimon the Rock and all our other men.

  I am very pleased with the matter, for it is a mighty paradox, and I have seen it first in all the world. I saw it in a loose word Shimon the Rock said on the way to Bethsaida. I hope it was a loose word. I would be shamed to think Shimon saw this paradox before me. I must know for certain.

  “Shimon the Rock!” I poke him hard, for he has eaten and drunk much tonight and is sleepy.

  He gives me a groggy eye. “What now, Yoni? I saw you staring on that serving girl who brings our wine. Did you frighten her away with your lewd eyes? If we get no more wine, we will make a blame on you.”

  The other men around our table laugh.

  I do not think it is funny.

  I say, “No, I told her you are a wicked man who pinches the hind parts of serving girls when you have drunk too much. If we get no more wine, we will make a blame on you.”

  The other men roar.

  Shimon the Rock laughs too. “Well said, Yoni. You have given me back double. Now what thing did you wish to ask me? If it has to do with women, I will not tell you. If it has to do with the deep things of HaShem, you should ask Rabbi Yeshua, and he will also not tell you. Whatever you ask, there is someone who will not tell you.”

  I shake my head. “You asked once if Rabbi Yeshua’s tales are part of the kingdom of HaShem.”

  Shimon the Rock peers into the bottom of his wine cup. He is deep into that cup tonight. “I never asked on the matter. Why would I ask such a big foolishness? When did I ask it? Was I drunk on a bad wine?”

  I never felt so happy in all my life. I was afraid Shimon had seen this deep thing first. But he does not even know what he said, so I am sure he did not see it first. Therefore, I saw it first.

  Toma Trouble looks on me with hard eyes. “Yohanan Talk-Talk, why are you grinning and not talking?”

  I make a shrug on my shoulders. “I made a mistake on the matter.”

  Toma Trouble’s eyebrows crowd together. “I doubt you made a mistake. If it was true you made a mistake, you would never admit. Therefore, you did not make a mistake. Do you deny my logic? What did you see and what do you know?”

  I make a big scowl on him. Toma Trouble has more wits than all the others together, but even so, he is no more than the village fool, and why should I explain the matter to the village fool?

  Big Yaakov returns to the table. He was talking to the serving girl, and now he wears a fat grin.

  I think his woman will twist his ears off when I tell how he made words with some serving girl who is a big-eyes and a slim-waist.

  Shimon the Rock calls to the girl for more wine.

  I know he is trying to distract me. I will ignore the girl, although she is very beautiful. I like to watch her walk, for she is graceful.

  She comes to our table and pours wine for Big Yaakov very skillfully.

  She pours wine for Shimon the Rock very skillfully.

  “And more for Yoni, also.” Big Yaakov points on me.

  I do not want more wine. My head will ache in the morning. I take my stone cup away from the table so she cannot pour more.

  The girl smiles and comes around behind the dining couches and stands at my feet and stretches her hand for my cup.

  I do not give it.

  She stretches more and leans toward me.

  I shake my head.

  She stretches more and leans far over me.

  I am angry. “No! I do not want—”

  Her foot slips.

  She falls forward.

  She falls on top of me.

  All my body is in a big shock.

  I try to push her away.

  She laughs on me and tries to kiss me.

  I push harder on her.

  She leans on me with all her weight. Her body is soft and warm.

  My arms lose their strength.

  She presses against me, pushing her bosoms in my face.

  The men shout with a big laughter.

  I wish to die of my dishonor.

  The girl takes long to climb off me, and all the time she smiles and winks on Big Yaakov.

  My heart thumps in my chest, and my face is so hot I could light fire with it.

  She has not spilled a drop of the wine from her pitcher. That is the proof it was no accident.

  My mind is numb with the shock of it. My hands still tingle with the feel of her softness. I often have wicked thoughts when I look on a woman. Now I will have more wicked thoughts, for now I know the feel of a woman.

  The girl goes around on Big Yaakov’s side of the table.

  He passes her a bronze coin and makes a big smirk on me.

  Shimon the Rock laughs so hard I think he will choke.

  I hope he sucks his tongue down his throat and dies.

  I should put haryo in Big Yaakov’s ear while he sleeps.

  My yetzer hara shouts in my ear that I should find some zonah and pay her a dinar and learn what it is to lie with a woman.

  I think I am further than ever from solving the paradox of Rabbi Yeshua.

  Yoni of Capernaum

  “Rabbi Yeshua!” shouts a voice. “Please, you will come to our aid!”

  I know that voice. We are coming out of Alexander the tax-farmer’s house, staggering with full bellies, sleepy with wine. And now that terrible man has come, begging for help.

  Hananyah the nail maker falls on his knees before Rab
bi Yeshua. “You must help us, Rabbi!”

  Rabbi Yeshua’s eyebrows rise high. “Who must I help, and why must I help them?”

  Two other men come forward and stand beside Hananyah the nail maker. They were with Yohanan the immerser last winter when we told repentance to Israel.

  Hananyah the nail maker says, “We have been fasting and praying that HaShem will release our master from prison. We heard tales that you were doing mighty works in Galilee, so we came to Tiberias. People there said you were doing mighty works in Magdala, so we came here. You must come with us and throw down Herod’s fortress at Mikhvar and bring out Yohanan the prophet.”

  “Why must I?” Rabbi Yeshua says.

  Hananyah’s lips press into a thin line. “Because he is your master.”

  “HaShem is my master.”

  “You follow after Yohanan the prophet.”

  “I follow after HaShem.”

  “Ask HaShem how you are to bring out Yohanan.”

  “I have asked HaShem already.”

  “Then why have you not brought out Yohanan?” Hananyah the nail maker narrows his eyes. “Do you think to take his place?”

  Rabbi Yeshua sighs. “I have asked HaShem many times how to set Yohanan free. I have not heard an answer.”

  “You must ask again! You must come with us to Herod’s fortress at Mikhvar. You should command the walls to be thrown down, and they will be thrown down.”

  “You will not tell me what I must do. HaShem tells me what to do, and I do it. I have asked after Yohanan, and HaShem has not told me what to do. Therefore, I will do nothing.”

  I am sick to my death of this Hananyah the nail maker. I push forward through the people gathered around Rabbi Yeshua, and I point a finger on Hananyah. “You are a hypocrite. When Yohanan was arrested, you ran like a woman to escape Herod’s men.”

  “Yoni,” says Rabbi Yeshua.

  I am angry and I do not wish to listen. “Rabbi Yeshua, this man could have fought and defended Yohanan, but he ran. Now he thinks he can make you fight—”

  “Yoni.”

  I stamp my foot. “If he wishes to fight, let him go fight. But he has no right—”

  “Yoni.”

  I am dizzy with my rage, and I fear I will vomit. I lean forward and put my hands on my knees. My belly is angry on me. It feels like a storm on the Lake of Ginosar. It feels—

  I retch. A great stream of wine-mixed food comes rushing out of my mouth. I retch and I retch until everything I ate lies on the ground.

  Hananyah the nail maker stabs his finger at me. “I know you. You are that wicked boy who speaks with lewd women and thinks he is a genius and talks overmuch. And here you are feasting and drinking wine, when your master is in prison. For shame! Rabbi Yeshua, tell him shame!”

  “His master is not in prison,” Rabbi Yeshua says.

  Hananyah puts his hands on his hips and glares on Rabbi Yeshua. “Does he deny his master now?”

  “Yoni follows after me,” Rabbi Yeshua says.

  Hananyah’s face turns pale as the moon. Rage curls his lip. “He follows after you, and not Yohanan? You think you are greater than your master Yohanan?”

  “Yohanan is not my master. HaShem is my master. Yoni and these other men follow after me. They feast and drink because I feast and drink. I feast and drink because HaShem calls me to feast and drink. HaShem calls me to feast and drink because the kingdom of HaShem is breaking in on us.”

  “And you leave your master to rot in prison, when you could come and do a mighty wonder?”

  Rabbi Yeshua sighs. “I told you many times already, Yohanan is not my master, HaShem is. If HaShem tells me to do a mighty wonder, I will do a mighty wonder.”

  “You should ask him again,” Hananyah the nail maker says.

  Rabbi Yeshua closes his eyes.

  I see the Shekinah all around him.

  People are still coming out of Alexander the tax-farmer’s house, talking loudly, shouting. Three of them had too much wine and are singing a song about smiting the Great Satan.

  Their voices grate my ears.

  Hananyah the nail maker scowls on them.

  Rabbi Yeshua opens his eyes. “I heard a word from HaShem.”

  Hananyah rubs his hands together. “So you will come with us and destroy Herod’s prison and bring out Yohanan the immerser?”

  “I will stay in Galilee and destroy the works of the Accuser and bring in the kingdom of HaShem. You will go to Yohanan the immerser in prison and give him comfort and tell him the kingdom of HaShem is beginning. Take him food and drink, for he is hungry.”

  “But … we would be killed if we went to his prison.”

  “HaShem says you will not be killed.”

  “We would be put in prison.”

  “HaShem says you will come away safe.”

  “You should come with us.”

  “HaShem says I will do what he has called me to do, and you will do what he has called you to do.”

  Hananyah’s mouth hangs open like the mouth of a fish.

  One of his friends says, “The fortress Mikhvar is far from here, a walk of six days or seven.”

  “HaShem says if you start now, you will come there safely in a week. Give Yohanan a kiss and a kiss and a kiss, for HaShem loves him and I love him.”

  I am glad Rabbi Yeshua did not tell me to visit Yohanan the immerser in prison and give him a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

  He has been there three months now, and I think he will smell worse than a camel.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Yaakov of Nazareth

  “Little Yaakov, stop! There is some man to see you.”

  I do not stop to speak to the elders in the village gate. My brothers and I worked hard all day in Tsipori, and we are tired. If that vile leper has come back—

  “Little Yaakov, the man brings a letter from your brother.”

  I stop. We have waited long to hear news from Yeshua. “Where is this man?”

  Old Yonatan the leather-man leers on me. “At Shimon the baker’s house. He asked for Little Yaakov the tekton of Nazareth, but we did not send him to your house, because only women are there.”

  My brothers and I hurry to the house of Shimon the baker.

  He grins on us when we arrive. “Little Yaakov, if you do not wish to give hospitality to the stranger—”

  “We will give hospitality. Where is he?”

  “Taking his ease inside. He walked from Magdala today.” Shimon the baker shows us inside his house.

  A filthy beggar sits on a wooden bench in the courtyard, eating dried figs and sipping beer from a stone cup.

  Shimon says, “Here is Little Yaakov the tekton of Nazareth.”

  The beggar stands. “My name is called Theudas, and I was in Magdala this morning. A man asked who goes to Caesarea who would carry a letter for two dinars.”

  My face feels hot. I never sent a letter, so I did not know it costs two dinars to send. The news must be a big news if Yeshua paid so much. “Where is the letter?”

  Theudas pulls a rolled papyrus from his cloth belt. “Where are the two dinars?”

  My heart thumps hard in my chest. I must pay the two dinars? I did not know that is how it is done. I worked hard all day and got a dinar for my labor. My brothers worked hard and each got a dinar. We brought home four dinars, and this man should have two?

  Thin Shimon steps up beside me. “How do we know this letter is from Yeshua?”

  Theudas shakes his head. “Did I say it was from Yeshua? I did not speak to any Yeshua. It was sent by an old woman, almost fifty years old, who said her name was called Miryam of Nazareth.”

  Thin Shimon says, “Our mother cannot write.”

  “Did I say this woman wrote the letter? She was with some man. He wrote the letter and put it in my own hands this morning in Magdala. If you do not want the letter, I can give it to this baker who showed hospitality—”

  “Give me my letter.” I reach out my hand.

  “Give m
e my two dinars.” Theudas reaches out his hand.

  I shake my head. “Prove to me the letter is from my mother.”

  Shimon the baker steps forward. “Little Yaakov, give me the two dinars to hold. Then take the letter and read it. I swear by The Name that if it is a false letter, I will return your two dinars, but if it is a true letter, I will give the dinars to this Theudas. This is fair to both of you, yes?”

  I study Theudas.

  His forehead gleams, and he does not look my eye.

  I think there is a fish in the matter. I take out a dinar from my belt. Yosi takes out a dinar from his belt. We give them to Shimon the baker.

  Theudas scowls on us and Shimon the baker. At last he gives me the letter.

  The wax seal bears some impression, but it is so crushed I cannot read it.

  I peel off the seal and unroll the papyrus and hand it to Thin Shimon. “Read it to us.”

  He reads in a loud, clear voice, “Miryam, mother of Yeshua the tsaddik, to Little Yaakov, Yosi, Thin Shimon, and Yehuda Dreamhead, shalom!”

  “There, you see?” Theudas says. “You four men, are you Little Yaakov and Yosi and Thin Shimon and Yehuda Dreamhead?”

  We all nod.

  “Then give me my two dinars.”

  Shimon the baker gives him a hard look and closes his fingers on the dinars. “I had a letter once, and the price was told at the tail of the letter. Read the last words.”

  Thin Shimon scans down to the end and reads it aloud.

  “I, Mattityahu, a tax-farmer of Capernaum and friend of Rabbi Yeshua of Nazareth, write this letter with my own hand. Pay the bearer of this letter one dinar and give hospitality one night, for that is what was promised.”

  My whole body is in a big sweat and my hands shake and I think my heart will pop in my chest. I never felt such a big rage. Yeshua is friend to some tax-farmer?

  Shimon the baker frowns on Theudas. “You are a liar and a thief. Here is the dinar you were promised. Little Yaakov, here is your other dinar. Do you still wish to show him hospitality?”