Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

I wish I had not come, if it is only to see him dishonored.

  Tales tell that in days of old, there was an evil man, King Herod who was called Magnificent. HaShem made Herod’s man parts shrivel and go rotten, and he died in a big agony. I wish Shimon’s man parts will shrivel and go rotten. I wish Shimon will get the mighty leprosy and have to live in a graveyard. I wish Shimon will get the belly-fever and die in a big agony.

  Marta shakes me. “Miryam Big-Eyes! Miryam Big-Eyes! Wake up from your dreaming and help with the serving.”

  I follow her to the kitchen.

  It is a big feast, for Shimon has money and is not afraid to spend it. He spends much time speaking with his guests, the Pharisees from Jerusalem. He does not spend time speaking with Rabbi Yeshua.

  After the third course of the meal, I see what is Shimon’s purpose. He thinks to gain honor with the men of Jerusalem by showing dishonor to Rabbi Yeshua. We have all heard big tales on Rabbi Yeshua from far away in the villages of Galilee. Some believe the tales and some do not.

  Shimon the Pharisee shows that he does not. He shows that he is a big man and Rabbi Yeshua is a small man. That is why he dishonored Rabbi Yeshua outside his house, where everyone could see. By now, the whole village knows that Shimon the Pharisee dishonored Rabbi Yeshua to his face. Shimon’s honor is more, and Rabbi Yeshua’s is less.

  I wish I were serving at Rabbi Yeshua’s table, but I am serving the women’s table. If I were at Rabbi Yeshua’s table, I would shout on Shimon the Pharisee and make a big rage and call him wicked.

  Marta crooks finger for me to go with her.

  I follow her to the kitchen.

  The servants have opened a new amphora of wine from Shimon the Pharisee’s vineyard.

  I taste some to be sure it has not soured. It is a good wine.

  Marta draws a pitcher, and I draw a pitcher, and we return to the feast. Marta goes to the far end of the courtyard. I serve the women in their alcove.

  When I return to the courtyard, I see a zonah hiding in the shadows near the gate of the courtyard that leads to the street. Of course, the gate is open for the feast, and there are beggars outside hoping for food afterward.

  But this zonah is no beggar. I have seen her many times, for she lives in the next village and comes here to seduce our men. She is young and very beautiful, with large eyes and skin to the smoothness of milk, and she dresses in soft clothing and wears a silk hair covering. I hate her, for zonahs are wicked women and full of lewdness.

  I should throw her out in the street, but I do not move. If this zonah makes a scandal at the feast of Shimon the Pharisee, it will make a big dishonor on him.

  I will laugh to see it.

  The sun has long gone down, and there are torches at spaces along the wall, but the zonah hides in a pool of darkness. She looks as she is waiting for something.

  I wait.

  I watch.

  I hope she takes off her clothes and throws herself naked on Shimon the Pharisee and makes a scandal on him in front of the men from Jerusalem. I would laugh him to scorn. All the village would make a mock on him.

  There comes a moment when all the servants have returned to the kitchen. Even Marta is returned there. She is probably wondering where I am.

  The zonah makes her move. She walks in a crouch, but even so, she is lithe and quick on her feet.

  I watch.

  She is halfway to Shimon’s table.

  I see her weeping.

  She is at Shimon’s table.

  I hear her weeping.

  She kneels at the foot of the couch where Rabbi Yeshua reclines at table.

  My heart seizes. This wicked woman will make a scandal on Rabbi Yeshua!

  I want to run, I want to beat her with fists, I want to tear her away from him. But now I am too late. My legs feel as they are wood, and I cannot move.

  The zonah weeps big tears on the rabbi’s feet.

  All the people look, craning necks to see.

  The zonah tears off her hair covering. Her hair hangs like a great sheet of black silk.

  I cannot believe what my eyes are telling. It is not done, for a woman to show hair in public!

  She wipes Rabbi Yeshua’s feet with her hair covering.

  She wipes his feet with her hair.

  She kisses his feet.

  At last I think to do my duty. My clumsy legs carry me toward the woman. The rabbi trusted me to keep a watch on him, and I have failed. I have allowed this wicked woman to make a scandal on him.

  The zonah pulls out some small jar from her belt.

  She breaks the jar.

  She pours out perfume on Rabbi Yeshua’s feet.

  I stagger toward her, but I feel as I am in a dream, running and running, but never moving.

  I see the rabbi’s face.

  He smiles on the zonah.

  How can he smile? She has done a wicked thing, to dishonor him with her lewdness.

  All the table stares on the zonah.

  Shimon’s face is pale as leprosy, for it is dishonor on him for some lewd woman to make a scandal at his feast. The village will whisper on the matter for a week.

  Shimon sees me, and his eyes shrink to points of rage.

  He thinks I could have prevented the scandal, and he is right.

  The zonah kneads the perfume on Rabbi Yeshua’s feet. She kisses his feet.

  Rabbi Yeshua closes his eyes and breathes deep.

  I see he delights on the smell of the perfume, even though it is bought with the price of her sin. I see he delights on the feel of her hair on his feet. I see he delights on the beautiful face of this lewd woman.

  “Rabbi Yeshua!” Several of his men hiss on him from the far table.

  The Pharisees who came from Jerusalem stare on the zonah, and their mouths hang open like fat fish.

  Rabbi Yeshua does not seem to care that she makes a scandal on him.

  Shimon points finger on the zonah and shouts, “Out!”

  The zonah cringes, but she does not move.

  On a sudden, Rabbi Yeshua looks all around and sees many scowls and knows the woman is making a scandal. She shames herself. Shimon will shame her more.

  I think he does not know what to do.

  His eye catches mine from across the table.

  I kiss my fingers and make a motion as I could touch his cheek from far away.

  I mouth one word. Brave.

  A shudder goes through Rabbi Yeshua’s body.

  Shimon the Pharisee points finger on the zonah again. “Out, you spreadlegs!”

  The zonah weeps for her big shame.

  A light burns in Rabbi Yeshua’s eyes. He holds up his hand. “No, she will not be told away.”

  All the courtyard looks aghast.

  Shimon glares on him. “If you knew who is this woman and what she—”

  “Friend.” Rabbi Yeshua’s face has become calm. And brave. “Friend, I have a matter to discuss with you.”

  All the feast goes silent as Sheol. When a man says he has a “matter to discuss,” he does not mean some small matter. He means some large matter. But I never heard such a thing, to discuss a large matter at a feast. It is not done. Men discuss large matters in private.

  Shimon’s face is tight and hard. “T-tell me this matter … Rabbi.”

  I am more happy than I ever was. Rabbi Yeshua will tell dishonor on Shimon. He will make him small in the eyes of his friends. Rabbi Yeshua will crush Shimon like dust between his toes.

  “Shimon, two men of Tsipori owed money to Honi the silver-man. A poor sheep-man owed five hundred dinars. A rich merchant owed only fifty. When the seventh year came around, Honi the silver-man heard the Torah read, to forgive every man his debts. He went to the poor sheep-man and forgave him the five hundred. Then he went to the rich merchant and forgave him the fifty.

  “When a tree fell on Honi the silver-man’s house in the storm, who do you think worked longest and hardest to build his house back?”

  Shimon says, “The poor sheep-man
who owed the five hundreds.”

  I never heard Shimon speak in such a small voice.

  “You judge the matter correctly,” says Rabbi Yeshua.

  All the guests stare on Rabbi Yeshua.

  “Shimon, when I came to your house, you gave me no water nor towel for my feet. This woman wet my feet with her own tears of repentance, and she dried them with her own hair of shame. You gave me no kiss of friendship, but she has not stopped kissing my feet. You gave me no oil to anoint, but she anoints me with perfume of a big price. You think I do not know this woman, but I do. I met her in the road last week, and she had a mighty evil spirit, and I sent it away. Her sins are great, but her repentance is greater, and her forgiveness is greatest of all, for it comes from HaShem.”

  Shimon’s face is so pale, he looks like a dead man.

  “She who was forgiven much loves me much. He who was forgiven nothing loves me not at all. I tell you the truth, this woman will be higher in the kingdom of HaShem than he who was forgiven nothing.”

  All the feast stares on Rabbi Yeshua, for it is not done to speak so plainly to the man who is host.

  My heart leaps inside me for my joy. Rabbi Yeshua was brave of speech to Shimon the Pharisee. Now Shimon will be his enemy. When Rabbi Yeshua comes into his kingdom, Shimon will have no place. That will punish him for the evil he has done.

  I look across the courtyard for Yoni. He knows how Shimon the Pharisee has ill-used me. Yoni will be happy to see this man dishonored.

  I see Yoni at last, reclining next to Big Yaakov.

  Yoni’s eyebrows pop up high, as they will disappear into his hair. His mouth opens round. He stares on Rabbi Yeshua’s table.

  But he is not looking on the rabbi.

  I hear a loud wailing behind me.

  I know that voice, but I never heard it wailing.

  I look on Shimon the Pharisee.

  He is not reclining on the couch.

  He is not on the couch at all.

  He is on the ground.

  He is on his face.

  He weeps tears of repentance.

  He begs forgiveness of the rabbi.

  I rush out of the courtyard into the kitchen.

  If Shimon the Pharisee repents, Rabbi Yeshua will forgive him, for he is kind.

  That is the problem with kindness.

  It is good when it falls on me.

  It is not so good when it falls on the man I hate.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Miryam of Nazareth

  “Yeshua is coming this way, and he is bringing a woman!” Shlomi Dancefeet rushes into our rented house wearing a big grin. “The woman does not look like a zonah. She looks respectable. Do you think …?”

  I do not know what to think. I have waited long for my son to take a woman. I have asked him many times when he will give me grandchildren, and he always smiles and says it is not time. He never mentions the smirch, but I think that is the reason. Perhaps now it is time. Here in Jerusalem, far from Nazareth, they do not know of the smirch.

  My sons and my son-in-law all went to the Temple this morning, so it is only Little Yaakov’s woman and Yehuda Dreamhead’s woman and me and Shlomi Dancefeet here. I take a deep breath and walk out to meet this new woman.

  Yeshua is deep in talk with the woman. Her mouth makes a thin line and her eyes are hard. Shlomi Dancefeet is right—this woman does not wear the lewd smile of a zonah.

  Yeshua points to me and smiles on the woman and tugs on her hand.

  I wish he would not walk with women in public. I wish he would not talk with women in public. I wish he would not hold hands with women in public. But it is like speaking to a wall to tell him not to do these strange things.

  “Imma!” Yeshua rushes forward to greet me. He gives me a kiss and a kiss and a kiss. He wraps his arms around me. His eyes smile on me as I am a queen.

  For this, I forgive him every strange thing he ever did.

  “Imma, here is my friend Miryam Big-Heart, who lives in Bethany. Her brother Elazar owns a big house where all my men can stay with me, and her sister Marta is a fine woman who is spoken well by everyone. My friend Miryam served at the feast last night, to watch over me. She did me a great kindness.”

  I look on this woman Miryam Big-Heart to see what sort of daughter-in-law she would make. That is a strange nickname, Big-Heart. In our village, we would call her Big-Eyes. She loves my son—any fool can see that by the blush on her cheeks and the way she looks on him. She seems respectable, and I am glad. If Yeshua married a zonah, I do not know what I would do.

  Miryam Big-Heart is not young. I am sure she is past fifteen, and she might be more than twenty. That is too old, but I cannot afford to be choosy. There are tight lines around her eyes that tell she is angry on something. But I also read fear in her eyes, and that is natural, for every woman fears a bad mother-in-law. I lived in dread of my own, for she always thought I played the zonah on my lord Yoseph, and she never forgave me. I must not do such an evil on this Miryam Big-Heart.

  I step toward her and make a big smile. “Shalom, Miryam Big-Heart, I am glad on meeting you. Are you well? Would you like wine? Come in the house and sit with us and talk!”

  Yeshua hugs my daughter Shlomi Dancefeet and kisses her many times. I push him in the house so he will not make a scandal. That boy has no sense.

  Miryam Big-Heart follows us in.

  Yeshua goes to get wine and brings us each a stone cup, filled with goodness.

  I make Miryam Big-Heart sit on the stone bench, and we all sit on the floor.

  Yeshua looks all around. “Where are my brothers?”

  I point up the street. “They went to the Temple to listen to the rabbis expound Torah. Little Yaakov said you should come find them. He said there is a new rabbi he wishes to hear, Rabbi Tsadduk, who follows after Rabbi Shammai.”

  Yeshua sits beside Miryam Big-Heart on the bench. “I … we have a guest.”

  I will never learn anything from this woman with Yeshua hovering like a hen. “Go, go to the Temple! How do you think we can talk to Miryam Big-Heart with some man around? Come back in a few hours with your brothers, and we will have food.”

  Yeshua looks on Miryam Big-Heart. “I wish—”

  “Go!” There is a knife-edge in her voice.

  Yeshua sighs and goes out the door.

  He rushes back in and gives Miryam Big-Heart a kiss and a kiss and a kiss and then hurries out again.

  I look on Miryam Big-Heart with a searching eye.

  She looks on me with a fearful eye.

  “Tell me how you came to know my son.”

  “My nephew Yoni is one of his men.”

  “I know Yoni.” I like that boy, except he is conceited. But he is kind and cheerful, and he is a big help on my son. There are worse things than being conceited.

  Miryam Big-Heart tells about last winter when Yeshua went to tell repentance to Israel by the Jordan River, and how he and Yoni and my son Yehuda Dreamhead came sometimes to the house of her brother Elazar to rest a few days.

  I am glad to hear this Elazar has money, for Yeshua has none. When Miryam Big-Heart says Yeshua’s name, I see a softness in her eyes and a hot glow on her cheeks that tells she loves him. That is good. I have seen a woman marry a man she hated.

  I keep waiting to hear if Yeshua has asked Elazar for Miryam Big-Heart, but she does not say so, and I would not shame her by asking. I am dying to know the facts on the matter.

  Finally, Miryam Big-Heart stops talking. Something in her eyes tells that she has more to say, but I do not know what it is.

  I lean forward. “Yeshua told us yesterday he was going to the feast of some rich man, a Pharisee. Tell us about this feast!”

  Miryam’s face looks as I have stabbed her. Tears well up in her eyes.

  I have stepped in a pit of haryo without knowing.

  Shlomi Dancefeet moves up to sit on the bench with Miryam Big-Heart and kisses her cheek. “You do not have to tell the matter if you do not wish to. Bu
t thank you for making a big help on my brother. He is more kind than any man ever was, yes?”

  Miryam Big-Heart covers her face with her hands and wails.

  That is good. Now we will hear all.

  She tells us all, but her tale is not so good.

  Miryam Big-Heart is divorced! I should have known, for she is beautiful and too old to be a virgin.

  Worse than that, she is barren and cursed by HaShem! She will not be giving me grandchildren after all. I do not know why Yeshua would bring home a woman cursed by HaShem. I will talk sense on him. I hope he has not made an offer to her brother yet.

  Miryam Big-Heart tells how she hates the man who threw her off.

  I hate him too, hearing her tale. Little Yaakov says all Pharisees are good men, but I see it is not so. Here is one who did a cruel thing.

  Miryam Big-Heart tells how this man ill-treated my son last night. How he gave Yeshua dishonor out in the street. How he gave him the worst place at the table. How he ignored him during the feast.

  That is a bad Pharisee, and now I hate him more. I will tell Little Yaakov on the matter. He will be angry when he hears it, for he counts on the Pharisees to help when Yeshua makes his move. The Pharisees hate the Great Satan, and they long for the day when HaShem will free us. Everyone knows the Pharisees will rise up to join Mashiach when it is time. The Pharisees will be the sword in the hand of Mashiach. It is an evil thing to hear that one of them is a bad man.

  Miryam Big-Heart tells how some lewd woman came in the feast and made a scandal on my son. How Yeshua took delight in the woman and thanked her for her kindness. How he shamed Shimon the Pharisee.

  That is no surprise, that he turned aside this sinful woman’s scandal. No lewd woman can dishonor a tsaddik.

  Miryam Big-Heart tells how Shimon the Pharisee repented, and how Yeshua forgave him.

  I am glad on the matter. That is my son’s wisdom, to make a wicked man repent.

  Miryam Big-Heart cries and cries. She is angry on the matter. She is angry on my son. She is angry he forgave this wicked man.

  Shlomi Dancefeet tries to comfort her, but she will not be comforted.

  Shlomzion Lewd tries to comfort her, but she will not be comforted.

  I do not try to comfort her. She is the wrong woman for my son. She is bitter and angry. Yeshua can do better. He should do better.