Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Rabbi Yeshua smiles on me with kindness. “The men of violence, the men of this generation, they are like children in the market who think to make the village do as they wish. The children play their flutes and are amazed the village does not dance. Then they sing a dirge and are amazed the village does not mourn.”

  “But—”

  “Yohanan the immerser fasted, and they said he had an evil spirit.”

  “But—”

  “The son of Adam eats and drinks, and they say he is a glutton and a drunkard and a friend of tax-farmers and sinful women.”

  I do not know what to say. Rabbi Yeshua is a friend of tax-farmers and sinful women. Every time I think he will make a move, he makes a scandal instead. Our families are coming to Jerusalem a day behind us, only because they think Rabbi Yeshua is a scandal, and they do not wish to be seen with him.

  “Blessed is the man who is not scandalized on me.”

  I think my eyes will bulge out of my head. Sometimes I think he hears the words I say in my heart before I do.

  Rabbi Yeshua smiles on me. “Are you answered, Yoni?”

  I am not answered. I am more confused than I ever was. I do not see what making a scandal has to do with the kingdom of HaShem.

  We are close to the last village before Bethany, and I am eager to see Aunt Miryam and tell her all that has happened since Pesach, when we ran like fearful women from King Herod. We do not run like fearful women now. We went all through Galilee this whole summer, and King Herod never—

  “Rabbi!” A woman shrieks and runs toward us from the village.

  My heart flutters for fear for a moment. Then I see it is only some zonah. A zonah is nothing to be afraid on.

  The woman falls at Rabbi Yeshua’s feet wailing. “Rabbi! Help me!”

  The village is two hundred paces away. I hope it is too far for them to hear her big noise.

  Rabbi Yeshua squats in the dust beside her and speaks softly to her.

  The woman screams louder than any woman ever did, more than six wild dogs barking on the moon.

  I wish to beat her with my fists. She will make a big scandal on us, and then how will Rabbi Yeshua make a move?

  Rabbi Yeshua strokes her head gently. She wears a silk hair covering. It is bought with the wages of her sin, or I am Mashiach.

  The woman weeps and wails, and her head flops around until her hair covering comes off. Her hair is very long and beautiful.

  Rabbi Yeshua says, “Yoni, place hands on the woman’s head.”

  I wish to run away. Shimon the Rock and Big Yaakov will mock me to scorn if I touch a zonah’s hair.

  “Yoni, place hands on the woman’s head.”

  I squat beside Rabbi Yeshua.

  Big Yaakov says, “Yoni, think on what you are doing.”

  I wish to do what Rabbi Yeshua said. But I am terrified to do what Rabbi Yeshua said.

  Rabbi Yeshua says, “Yoni, place hands on the woman’s head.”

  I reach forward and place hands on the woman’s head. Her hair is soft and warm. For a moment, I cannot think.

  Rabbi Yeshua says, “Tell the spirit of adultery to go.”

  My whole body feels hot. I never touched a woman’s hair before. I never touched a zonah before. I feel as I am unclean.

  “Tell the spirit of adultery to go,” Rabbi Yeshua says.

  My voice is a ragged whisper. “You … you spirit of adultery, go away.”

  The woman screams with a big scream.

  “Tell it away, Yoni.”

  “Go, you spirit of adultery.”

  The woman pulls and rips at her tunic as she will tear it off.

  “Speak with authority, Yoni! Quickly!”

  For a moment I do not see a zonah. I see a small girl, screaming and screaming while some big man holds her down and does a wickedness on her. I feel her terror. I know her heart. I am enraged on this man of wickedness.

  “Go!” I shout. “Leave this daughter of HaShem in peace! I command it by The Name. Go!”

  She stops screaming in the middle of a big scream. She stops tearing at her tunic. She smiles.

  All my body is in a big sweat. I placed hands on a zonah. If I never do that again, it will be too soon.

  The woman begins crying, softly at first, then louder, then a big wailing. It is the wailing of repentance, and I think she has much to repent.

  Rabbi Yeshua leans down and whispers in her ear. “HaShem says your sins are forgiven. HaShem says he loves you like his own daughter. HaShem calls you to come home to Abba.”

  The zonah cries and cries and cries.

  Shimon the Rock and Big Yaakov and the others are standing in the road, making a wall between Rabbi Yeshua and the village. In case there are idle eyes, they will only see a group of men standing in the road. That is not a scandal.

  At last Rabbi Yeshua stands. That is not a scandal.

  The zonah stands. That is not a scandal.

  Rabbi Yeshua gives her a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

  That is a scandal.

  The zonah smiles on me and gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

  That is a mighty scandal. All my body feels numb from the scandal.

  If Big Yaakov makes a joke on me later about this zonah, I will put my thumb in his eye.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Miryam of Bethany

  I am in the kitchen piling rounds of bread on a platter when I hear Marta’s voice in the courtyard.

  “They are here! The rabbi and his men are here. Miryam Big-Eyes, be quick!” Marta bursts in and clucks tongue at me and seizes the platter and scuttles out.

  I take a bowl of crushed chickpeas and hurry after her.

  It is not quite dark yet, and we have been expecting the rabbi and his men all day, and now they are here, and I am sure I will make a fool on myself. But little Yoni will be with him, and I would make a fool on myself ten times if only I can see him again. I wonder if he is grown any since Pesach.

  The men sit on benches against the wall in our large receiving room. We have a big house with many rooms. The rabbi has eight men with him, but they are not too many for us.

  Marta offers bread to the rabbi.

  He takes and gives her a large smile. “Marta, you outdo yourself!”

  Marta blushes and does not look on the rabbi, but I know she is pleased. She offers bread to the rabbi’s men and last to little Yoni, who is youngest.

  I offer chickpeas to the rabbi.

  He dips bread and eats.

  I do not know if he smiles on me, for of course I do not look a man in the eye.

  “Miryam Big-Heart, you are beautiful as my own mother, who is also called Miryam. I thank HaShem, who made you more beautiful than all the flowers of the field.”

  My hands feel numb and my heart dances like a drunkard. I was not sure if the rabbi would even remember my name. It is long since he was here, more than five months, but it is longer since any man said I was beautiful.

  I do not feel beautiful. The women of the village look on me as I am haryo, for I am barren and cursed by HaShem and divorced. I feel as I am ugly.

  Marta clucks tongue at me and hisses. “Miryam Big-Eyes, the serving!”

  Of course. I am a fool. Marta will say I am making a scandal, to make words with the rabbi, but it is not my fault. I did not speak to him. He spoke to me.

  I offer chickpeas to Shimon the Rock, who is a friend on our family.

  Shimon the Rock dips bread and eats and does not speak to me.

  I offer chickpeas to the other men.

  Each of them dips bread and eats and does not speak to me.

  I offer chickpeas to Yoni.

  He dips bread and eats. “Aunt Miryam, you will not believe what happened this summer! Rabbi Yeshua healed a man with the mighty leprosy! I saw it with these eyes. And he healed a blind man, several of them. And he sent away many evil spirits, more than I can count, and I can count past a hundred. He healed a boil on the arm of an old man, and it was more vile than—”r />
  Marta hisses again. “Miryam Big-Eyes, some wine for the rabbi, yes?”

  My face feels as I have been sitting next to the firepit. I hurry to the kitchen and pour wine in stone cups and bring them out on a great platter. I walk carefully, for if I drop the platter, Marta will skin me with her teeth.

  I offer wine to Rabbi Yeshua.

  He takes and sips.

  I dare to look on him.

  He smiles on me. “Blessed be HaShem, who lights up this house with your kindness, little sister.”

  I cannot breathe. I have a brother, Elazar, but he does not call me little sister, and he does not say I light up the house.

  I offer wine to Shimon the Rock.

  He takes and sips, but he does not speak to me.

  I offer wine to each of the men.

  They take and sip, but none of them speaks to me.

  I offer wine to Yoni.

  He takes and sips. “Aunt Miryam, when Rabbi Yeshua makes his move, HaShem will return to Israel and live again in the Temple, and men of Israel will feel the Shekinah, as in days of old! I think even women will feel the Shekinah. Rabbi Yeshua, what do you think? When HaShem comes back, will women feel the Shekinah also, and not men only?”

  I long for this to be true, but I know it is a big foolishness.

  The other men mutter behind their hands.

  Marta clucks tongue. “We must eat soon! Miryam Big-Eyes, I need you in the kitchen!”

  Rabbi Yeshua stands and goes to Marta and gives her a kiss and a kiss. “Marta, there was never a woman like you for excellence in hospitality. I think King Solomon wrote of you in the book of his proverbs.”

  Marta blushes like a sunrise, for he kissed her on each cheek, like a man, like a friend. I never saw her so confused. All the words are frozen in her mouth. She hurries to the kitchen like a fluttering hen.

  Marta has forgotten me for a moment.

  Rabbi Yeshua looks on me.

  He smiles on me.

  He walks to me and gives me a kiss and a kiss.

  And a kiss.

  All the strength goes out of my knees.

  “When the kingdom of HaShem comes, you will feel the Shekinah every moment in the day, Miryam Big-Heart. You will bathe in it. You will swim in it. You will hold the Shekinah in your heart like a secret fire, and it will never leave you.”

  If I had any cups of wine left, I would drop them all on the floor.

  I look on the rabbi.

  He looks deep in my eyes, deeper than any man ever did.

  He pierces my heart.

  I come to my senses and see that I am a fool, and I hurry to the kitchen.

  I am more foolish than any woman ever was, for now I have done a thing no respectable woman ever should.

  If anyone finds out, I will be a scandal in the whole village, until forever.

  I have fallen in love with Rabbi Yeshua.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Miryam of Bethany

  I am bringing more wine to serve the men when I see Yoni begin choking.

  It is four days since Rabbi Yeshua came to stay with us, and tonight we are having a feast with many guests. We have five whole tables, with nine dining couches at each one, and I am run off my feet trying to serve my table, which is the fifth.

  I look to see if my little Yoni has enough.

  He is talking to his brother, but Big Yaakov ignores him. Yoni makes a loud jest and bites off a piece of choice roast kid and laughs too hard on his own joke, and the meat catches in his throat.

  I see it all in an instant that seems like an hour.

  Yoni clutches at his throat, and his face pinches tight, and he writhes on the dining couch, and nobody sees.

  I drop my pitcher of wine and run to him, screaming for my fear. “Yoni!”

  Big Yaakov turns and nudges him with his elbow. “Spit it out, Yoni. Spit, spit, spit!”

  That is foolishness. Tears blur all my eyes, for I know Yoni cannot spit, and he will die if I do not do something.

  Shimon the Rock leaps off the dining couch and pushes past me. “Yoni!”

  My heart feels as I am running off a cliff, and my mind spins like a great top, and I do not know what to do, and I cannot catch breath. I wring my hands and scream in a big despair.

  Now all the feast is in a roar.

  Yoni’s face turns blue. He rolls wildly and beats his hands on the dining couch.

  If he dies, I will die also. I scream louder than I ever did. “Rabbi Yeshua!”

  Feet come running on the flagstones of our courtyard.

  “Fools, out of the way!” Marta seizes Yoni’s feet and pulls with a big pull.

  Yoni slides almost all the way off the dining couch.

  Marta tries to lift him, but he is too big for her.

  She screams on Shimon. “Lift him by the feet, fool!”

  Shimon the Rock seizes Yoni’s ankles and raises him in the air upside down.

  Yoni flops like a fish, and his face is purple.

  Marta hits him hard on the back, once, twice, three times.

  A chunk of meat pops out of Yoni’s mouth.

  He sucks in air.

  I can breathe again, but I can hardly see for my tears.

  Shimon the Rock puts Yoni on his feet.

  I push past them all to Yoni and smother him with a hug. “Little brother! You are alive!”

  “You did well, Marta. That was quick thinking and quick work.” It is the voice of Rabbi Yeshua. He was reclining far away at the head table with my brother Elazar and the important guests.

  Marta’s face cracks into a smile.

  I am so happy, I kiss the top of Yoni’s head many times.

  “Is the boy well? You lewd woman, you, stop crushing him against your bosoms. You will shame yourself and dishonor Elazar.”

  I know that voice, and it turns all my joy to ashes.

  My ears turn red. I push Yoni away and turn to look on the man I hate most in all the world. The man who divorced me and sent me home in a big shame.

  He scowls on me with mouth turned down and eyebrows knotted and lips curled. His name is called Shimon, and people say he is a good man, for he is a Pharisee. He is a man of honor and has flocks and vineyards and olive groves, and people said HaShem smiled on me, to marry such a man.

  At the time, I thought so, for he is rich as my brother Elazar, and he can read and write. Most men of the village cannot read, and those who can must labor over each word before they say it. But Shimon the Pharisee can read the Torah straight off as fast as a man can talk. I have seen him do it. He can even write, not only with a wax tablet, but also with a reed pen. He does not hire a letter-man to write his letters for him, like my brother Elazar.

  If only I was not barren, I would have been happy with such a man.

  But I am barren, and a man of honor needs sons, so Shimon the Pharisee was not happy with me. He sent me back home with a writ of divorce and married some other woman of good family. That was six years ago, and now that other woman is already nineteen, and it seems she is barren too.

  I am glad on it.

  I hope Shimon the Pharisee never has sons.

  I hope his vineyards get the blight and his sheep die of the hoof disease and his olive trees wither in the summer sun.

  I would make haryo on his meat. I would piss his wine. I would serve it to him on a gold platter.

  Rabbi Yeshua looks from me to Shimon the Pharisee and back to me. His face tells that he must have heard something on the evils Shimon the Pharisee has done on me, for his eyes are sad.

  Rabbi Yeshua smiles on me. “Miryam Big-Heart, you love Yoni like your own son, and you saved him, for you were first to see him choking.”

  I wonder how he knows this, for he was far across the courtyard when it happened. Rabbi Yeshua sees much.

  Yoni’s eyes shine. “Aunt Miryam, I am glad you will be at the feast tomorrow, in case I will choke again.”

  I do not know what he is talking on. “What feast?”

&
nbsp; Marta takes my arm and pulls me away. “Come, Miryam Big-Eyes, there is work to be done. You dropped a pitcher of wine, and we must—”

  “What feast?”

  Marta pulls me fast toward the kitchen. “There is to be another feast tomorrow at another house, and the host has need of help. Elazar promised our help.”

  “What feast? Who is the host?”

  Marta pulls me as fast as she ever did. “A friend of Elazar.”

  My heart feels as it is crushed in a fist of iron. “What friend of Elazar?”

  But I know what friend of Elazar. There are not many men of wealth in Bethany.

  Marta pulls me into the kitchen. “There is to be a feast to honor Rabbi Yeshua tomorrow. Pharisees from Jerusalem wish to meet the rabbi. It is a big honor for him to meet Pharisees from Jerusalem, yes?”

  Pharisees. Yes, it is a big honor. Pharisees are men of honor. If I had a son, I would wish him to grow up to be a Pharisee, for they are the most righteous of all men.

  Except for one.

  Bile rises in my throat.

  Shimon the Pharisee will hold a feast tomorrow.

  And I am required to serve at it.

  I will not do it.

  I would rather eat my own haryo than serve at a feast given by the wicked man who sent me away in shame.

  Chapter Seventy

  Miryam of Bethany

  “Aunt Miryam, Rabbi Yeshua wishes you will go walk with him!” Yoni’s face shines.

  It is the morning, and I did not sleep all night for my rage on the matter of the feast that will come tonight.

  “I …” My face feels hot, and something makes wiggles in my stomach, and my heart wishes to climb up out of my throat and fall on the stone floor of our kitchen and shatter.

  “Miryam Big-Eyes is busy,” Marta says. “Yoni, tell the rabbi she is busy. We must go soon to see to the preparations for the feast.”

  “I am not going to the feast.” I set my mouth in a thin, hard line. Never will I go to the feast of Shimon the Pharisee. Never.