Son of Mary

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Now I wonder what will happen next.

  All the village was silent today. When they came back from the precipice, they walked past Rabbi Yeshua’s house on silent feet, wearing terrified faces.

  They should be terrified. I think Rabbi Yeshua called down fire from heaven on the leather-man and made him repent. All the men were on their faces when I got there, quivering for their fear.

  They will fear him all their lives, and that is good. They know if they do a wrong thing on him ever again, he will call down fire from heaven and destroy the whole village. Only I do not think they will join his army when he comes into his power, and that is not so good.

  At least they will not raise a stench in the other villages of Galilee when he makes his move. They are too afraid on him to do that. They have a big terror of Rabbi Yeshua, and that is enough.

  Fear is a greater Power than rage.

  Rabbi Yeshua has put the fear of HaShem in them, until forever.

  They were so terrified, none of them went to the village square at the going out of Shabbat. Little Yaakov’s woman went out to see, but she came back and said all the village was silent as Sheol. She looked sad when she said it, for I think she likes going to the village square.

  I was not sad to hear it. I was glad, for it means the village lives in fear. They should live in fear all the rest of their lives.

  I should sleep more.

  It is too quiet to sleep.

  There is a mighty stillness in the street below.

  I do not like the sound of such a stillness.

  Slowly, slowly, I sit up.

  Slowly, slowly, I crawl to the parapet.

  Slowly, slowly, I peer over the edge.

  Men stand in the street holding hammers and stones and chisels.

  For an instant, I think they came to kill us all, only they look small and frightened and weak. They look like the sails on the boats when there is no wind.

  Women stand in the street holding oil lamps. Also baskets. Also brooms.

  That old leather-man, the one who is president of the synagogue, points people where they should go.

  Fear is written all over their faces. They move toward the house on silent feet.

  Soon I hear the sound of stones grinding against plaster, very light.

  I hear the crunch of iron hammers crushing plaster.

  I hear the hiss of chisels scraping.

  I hear the whisper of brooms sweeping.

  They work slow, for they are terrified to make a noise.

  I go back to my place and roll up in my cloak.

  I try to sleep, but it is impossible when you can just hear a faint noise at the edge of your hearing, grinding and crushing and scraping and sweeping.

  It is the sound of a smirch being erased.

  It is the sound of an agony of fear.

  Rabbi Yeshua has won a mighty victory, to put such a big terror on the village.

  Now that he knows he can do it, he will put a big terror on the first Power, and the second, and the third, and the fourth.

  Last of all, he will put a big terror on the Great Satan, and that will be the kingdom of HaShem.

  That will be the mightiest victory of all.

  I sleep.

  Miryam of Nazareth

  I go out early with my son and Shlomzion Lewd to get water. When we see how the wall of our house is scrubbed clean of the smirch, my son smiles.

  Shlomzion Lewd smiles.

  I do not smile. They took away the smirch from Yeshua’s name. But he still has not made a justice on me.

  When we walk up the long street to the spring, it feels as we walk through a village of dead people. Shimon the baker makes a weak grin on us, but then looks shamed and puts his eyes to the ground. Two small girls playing in the street see us and run away fast. The leather-man treads hides in his piss-pool, wearing a fearful face.

  We come home and eat our morning meal. Little Yaakov and Yosi and Thin Shimon and Yehuda Dreamhead go away to Tsipori for the day to look for work.

  Yeshua takes a walk with Shlomzion Lewd and little Yoni. They go south toward the precipice and are gone long. When they return, Yeshua comes in the house and tells me I am beautiful and sits with me and tells me tales all the day.

  Shlomzion Lewd does not come in the house. She goes to the village wearing that look on her face.

  Yoni and the rest of Yeshua’s men sit in the courtyard doing nothing. Yoni wears a big grin, enough to make Big Yaakov scowl for a week.

  The house feels as it is ready to explode.

  Late in the afternoon, my sons came home from Tsipori with grumpy faces. They found work, but only half a day, so they earned two dinars for the four of them. I think that is a good money, only they do not think so.

  We eat the evening meal in a big gloom. It feels as there is a mighty cloud over the village.

  “We should go to the village square tonight,” Yeshua says.

  Little Yaakov stares on him as he is a fool. “Tonight is not a good night to go to the village square. Nobody will come.”

  “They will come,” says Shlomzion Lewd.

  Yosi says, “We saw the look on them when we came in the village gate. The elders looked fearful and shamed. All the village looked fearful and shamed. They will not come.”

  “They will come,” says Shlomzion Lewd.

  Thin Shimon says, “That is a big foolishness. Why should they come to the village square when they are terrified on us?”

  Shlomzion Lewd says, “They will come because I told them Yeshua son of David commands that they should come. All the village will be there. And all of us will go also.”

  Yehuda Dreamhead says, “That is a wrong thing, Yeshua. We should not leave Imma alone in the house while we all go to the village square.”

  “Imma will come with us.” Yeshua looks on me and smiles. “Yes, Imma? You will come to the village square and hear the judgment I make on the village?”

  My head feels light and my heart leaps in my chest. I do not think I will ever breathe again. My son will make a justice on me!

  I smile back on him. “Yes.”

  All my sons look on me in amaze.

  They do not understand yet that I am brave of the village now.

  And I want my justice. The village made a scorn on me all my life. Now my son will make a scorn on them.

  So we go. All my sons. All their women. All their children. All Yeshua’s men. And me.

  The villagers sit huddled in the village square.

  Yehuda the sheep-man sits with his woman and seven children, looking fearful and shamed.

  Shmuel the iron-man sits with his children and that new woman he got from Yodefat, looking fearful and shamed.

  Old Hana the cheese-woman sits with her daughters and their lords and their children. Old Hana does not look fearful and shamed. The rest of her family does, but she smiles on my son with a hopeful look in her eye. My son will be kind on her when he makes a judgment on the rest, for she was always kind on him.

  Shimon the baker sits with his woman and his daughter and his sons and all his grandchildren. They all wear fearful faces, except the youngest grandson, who is too young to be afraid.

  We all take places in the very front.

  Yeshua stands to face the village.

  Shimon the baker’s little grandson runs to my son and smiles on him. “Run with me in circles!”

  My son grins and takes the boy’s hand. “Show me how fast you can run, friend!”

  The boy runs around my son fast. He runs fast and faster. He runs until he loses his feet. My son makes him fly and fly and fly. The boy shouts for his big joy. He would not shout for joy if he knew what is to happen.

  When my son sets him back on his feet, I see that the boy is still blind in one eye. That is a good justice. My son should make him blind in both eyes. That would be a better justice.

  My son looks all around the village square as he is looking for someone.

  He waits.

 
From far up the street, the last family is coming.

  Yonatan the old leather-man walks slow with his woman. Also, Yoseph the leather-man walks slow with his woman and three daughters. They all look fearful and shamed. They take place at the very back of the crowd.

  My son looks all around the village square. There is a look on his face of a mighty judge, come to make a judgment on a wicked people.

  “Tell us a tale, Yeshua!” says Shlomzion Lewd.

  I am shocked she would say such a thing. Now is not a good time for a tale. Now is a good time for a justice.

  “What tale shall I tell?” Yeshua says.

  I cannot believe he would even think of telling a tale. That is a wrong thing. He should have more sense than that.

  Yoni says, “Tell that new tale we heard from the Babylonish traveler last winter when we told repentance to Israel. The tale of Shoshanna.”

  I never heard any tale of a woman named Shoshanna. I do not wish to hear a tale. I wish to hear a judgment on the village. I wish my son will make a justice on me.

  All the village stares on Yeshua in amaze. They came to receive their judgment. They wish to receive it quickly and endure their punishment, for they deserve it. They did not come to hear some Babylonish tale of a woman they never heard of.

  Yeshua grins and nods. “That is a good tale, the tale of Shoshanna Beautiful.”

  I think it must be a tale of judgment. A tale of vengeance. If that is the way of this tale, that will be a good tale.

  The village will think it is an evil tale, but that is what they deserve.

  Yeshua waits until all the village is silent.

  My heart thumps.

  Yeshua says, “In the days of Daniel the prophet, there lived in the city of Babylon a great and wealthy man named Yeho-Yakim. He married a woman more beautiful than any woman ever was, and her name was called Shoshanna Beautiful.”

  My son looks on me, and I see in his eyes he thinks I am beautiful. When he looks on me with those eyes, my heart feels full. I feel as HaShem thinks I am beautiful. I feel as men think I am beautiful.

  I feel as I am … Shoshanna Beautiful.

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  The Tale of Shoshanna Beautiful

  My name is Shoshanna, and all my people call me Beautiful.

  I live in a great house in Babylon, and my lord is a rich and mighty man, a judge over Israel, which is in exile.

  My lord holds court in our great garden every morning in the week except Shabbat. Men of Israel come from every district of Babylon to bring their cases before the elders. My lord presides over them all. Whenever he hears a case, he wears a Ring of Justice as a sign that he will make a righteous justice.

  In the afternoon, in the heat of the day, all go home to sleep, for the heat of Babylon is more fierce than the heat of any land.

  One afternoon, the heat is too fierce for me to bear. I call my maidservants to shunt in fresh water to the bathing pool in our walled garden. They bring me sweet resin of the mastic tree to soothe my heart. I send them away so I may bathe alone in peace.

  I take off my hair covering and shake out my hair, which hangs to the level of my knees. I lay aside my tunic. I recline in the water, enjoying its coolness. The sun beats down on me. I feel free and calm and alone.

  Only I am not alone!

  Two men leap out from behind a tree—two elders, judges in my lord’s court.

  My heart seizes in my chest. All my head feels light as fog. I cannot breathe. I spring for my tunic, squeaking in my terror.

  They are too quick for me. Before I can cover myself, they seize hold on my arms and tear away my tunic. They grin on my nakedness and squeeze my bosoms.

  I catch my breath.

  I open my mouth to scream for help.

  They cover my mouth with my own hair covering. “You will lie with us, you zonah.”

  “Never!” My voice is so muffled I can hardly hear myself. I shake my head.

  They pinch my hind parts. “Lie with us, or we will accuse you before the court of playing the zonah with some young man.”

  “Never and never!” I struggle to pull free.

  They are too strong.

  They force me to the ground.

  They stuff my hair covering between my jaws.

  One pins my arms.

  The other tries to spread my legs.

  I kick and writhe and bite at my hair covering.

  They say, “Lie with us now, or we will accuse you in the court, and the court will condemn you, and you will be stoned.”

  I shake and cry for my rage. They have me in a box. If I say no, they will accuse me, and I will die. If I say yes …

  No, never. To live in guilt is a death that never ends. Rather I should die innocent than live guilty.

  I kick with my legs harder than I ever kicked. I tear my hands free. I pull away the hair covering that gags my voice. “Never! Help! Evil—”

  Their thick hands cover my mouth again. “Zonah! Wickedness! Sin! Men of Israel, come and see this great sin!”

  They shout their lies many times.

  My maidservants come running.

  Our manservants come running.

  My lord comes running.

  They all stare on my nakedness and hear the evil tale, how I played the zonah with some young man.

  Rage fills my lord’s eyes. He was always a jealous lord, and he believes the evil tale.

  The next morning, my lord holds court in my garden.

  I stand trial for my life.

  The evil elders bear false witness on me. “We think this is the woman we saw, but we cannot be sure, on account of her veils.”

  My lord says, “Remove her veils.”

  The bailiffs rip away my veils.

  The evil elders stare on me and say, “We think it is her, but we have a doubt. The woman we saw had long hair that hung to her knees.”

  My lord says, “Remove her hair covering.”

  The bailiffs tear away my hair covering.

  The evil elders grin and say, “Still we cannot be sure. The wicked woman we saw had a mole on her left bosom.”

  My lord says, “Remove her tunic.”

  The bailiffs slit the seams of my tunic with a knife and tear it from my body.

  I try to cover my bosoms and woman parts with my hands.

  My lord says, “Pull away her hands.”

  The bailiffs seize my hands and stretch out my arms on both sides.

  I hang my head and shake out my hair in front of me to cover my nakedness.

  My lord says, “Pull back her hair.”

  My own maidservants gather my hair and pull it back.

  All the court leans forward to see my nakedness.

  All the court grins and points with long fingers. “She has a mole on her left bosom!”

  I cry and cry for my shame.

  The evil elders say, “We saw this wicked woman spread her legs for some young man under a tree in the garden. We shouted zonah and tried to seize them both, only we are old men, and the young man was too strong for us, and he ran away fast. Ask this zonah, and she will tell his name.”

  I stamp my foot for my fury. “They lie. There was no young man. These men came on me unawares while I bathed and begged me to lie with them.”

  “She lies! We are elders in Israel and honest men. We swear by The Name that we saw the matter just as we have told. Some young man used her for a pleasure under a tree in the garden. We see it clear in our minds. Such a big sin can never be unseen. We name her Shoshanna Spreadlegs, and we say she deserves death.”

  All the judges gather together with my lord. They speak long in soft voices.

  My lord’s eyes fill with anguish, for he loves me. They fill with rage, for he is dishonored.

  At last my lord raises his right hand to show his Ring of Justice. “Here is my judgment, and it is a righteous justice. The woman played the zonah, and she will die.”

  All my breath is stolen away. That is not a righteous justice!
The Ring of Justice is twisted into evil. The lies of my accusers have made it a Ring of Vengeance.

  The bailiffs seize my hands to take me away.

  I beg for my clothes, so I can cover my nakedness.

  The judges refuse. They say I will be thrown naked in the stoning pit, and the witnesses will drop the first stones on me.

  I weep and scream for my shame. Nothing is more terrible than this.

  Nothing except that I should have sinned.

  They drag me out of the garden. They drag me down the street. They drag me through the city market.

  All the while I scream and cry for my shame.

  People point fingers on my nakedness.

  I wish I will die quickly.

  A young boy runs to stand in our way. His face looks more angry than the face of our prophet Moses when he saw the golden bull-god. “Stop, you fools! What is this madness?”

  “Who are you to say stop, you conceited boy?” My lord’s face is purple for his rage.

  “My name is called Daniel, and I am a prophet of Yah. Why are you shaming this woman?”

  “She played the zonah with some young man.”

  “Where is the young man?”

  “He ran away fast.”

  “Then how do you know she played the zonah?”

  “We have witnesses.”

  “What witnesses?”

  “These two elders.”

  The boy Daniel looks on my accusers. He looks on me.

  I shake and cry for my shame, that a prophet of Yah sees my nakedness.

  But the boy looks only on my face. “Yah says there is a big evil here. Yah says to put clothes on the woman. Yah says I will make a justice on the matter.”

  A light burns in Daniel’s eyes, more fierce than I ever saw. He is only a boy, but his voice is command to all the judges.

  “Put clothes on her,” my lord says in a thick voice.

  The boy Daniel snaps his fingers at the merchants in the market.

  The merchants come running with clothes.

  My maidservants put a tunic on me. They wrap my hair in a hair covering. They put veils on my face.

  At last, I am clothed again. But still I cannot breathe. My accusers have Torah on their side, and Torah says that any matter is proved at the word of two witnesses who are men. The word of a woman is nothing. I am dead unless Daniel can find three witnesses who are men. And there are no witnesses except the trees of my garden.