Mary Magdalene

by Diana Wallis Taylor

  He kissed her and sat back. “I must return to work, there is an order of lumber coming in on one of the ships and I must go with Zerah to check the inventory. I will return later. Are you sure you are all right now?”

  She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak. She had been so foolish. As she rose slowly, Nathan helped her up and she walked with him to the gate.

  “Take care, beloved,” he murmured and left.

  Mary turned to see Rizpah watching her with a smug look on her face.

  “Thank you, Rizpah, for sending Eliab.”

  The older woman shrugged. “He watches over you from a distance. Like a hawk, he is.”

  She should have known that her mother or father would have him keep an eye on her. She began to prepare the vegetables for a bitter herb salad, rinsing and drying the watercress and young dandelion greens she had gathered the day before and kept cool in the storeroom. She put Rizpah to work toasting and grinding the mustard seeds and gathering fresh dill and some grapes. She must concentrate on preparing the evening meal. Yet, she felt so tired, so worn out with lack of sleep. Each time the seizures came, and the nightmares that broke the night seasons, she felt strength ebb from her. What was she to do?

  That evening when the meal was over and Beriah had seen Rizpah home, Mary lay in Nathan’s arms with tears in her eyes.

  “How can you stay with me, Nathan? I am weary from my illness and you are going without sleep also. This is no life for you.” She broke away and sat up, her eyes searching his face. Lack of sleep was affecting him also. Fatigue showed in lines on his face. “Divorce me, Nathan. It is your only hope of a normal life.” She put her face in her hands. “I cannot even give you children.”

  He pulled her down to him and held her fiercely. “I will not do that, Mary. There must be some way to set you free. I will find it. There must be someone who can help you. I don’t want a divorce and you are dearer to me than children. Rest, beloved, we will face this together . . . always, together.”

  She sighed heavily. What more could she say? She lay against the cushions and tears ran down her cheeks.

  Nathan wiped them away gently. “Sleep, beloved, I am here. I shall always be here.”

  In time she heard the soft sounds of his breathing as sleep overtook him. She looked toward the window. An owl flew into the sycamore tree, calling out to his mate. A gentle peace settled over her and she thought of the voice she had heard in the Temple, saying, “It is not yet time.” What did it mean? With questions in her mind, she slept at last and didn’t wake up until morning.

  As the months of her first year of marriage went by, it amazed Mary that Rizpah was on her best behavior and solicitous of her when Beriah and Nathan were around, but when they were gone, Mary felt her contempt. She did what she was asked but many times ignored Mary as though she had not heard her. Mary’s complaints to Nathan went unheeded.

  This morning she sat on a bench in the small courtyard. She’d had a particularly difficult night, and it was all she could do to try to put her thoughts together. The lack of sleep at night made it more difficult to be rational in the daytime.

  She saw Rizpah watching her with a curious look on her face. Finally the woman’s eyes narrowed and she asked, “How do you know when the spells are going to come upon you?”

  Mary thought for a moment and sighed. “My head begins to hurt and I feel a tingling in my body. Then I know a seizure is near.”

  Rizpah shook her head. “It is the evil one who has possessed you. You have been to the rabbi and even to the high priest in Jerusalem. What good has it done you? You will never be free. You trouble this household with your sickness and your husband waits and hopes in vain. HaShem has cursed you. There will be no children.”

  Taken back with the vehemence behind Rizpah’s words, Mary could only stare at her. The words hung in the air, proclaiming aloud what Mary had thought herself so many times. She turned away and went into the house, weeping silently. Rizpah wished to marry Beriah. Mary had discerned that earlier in their relationship. With Mary in the household, there was no need for Beriah to have anyone look after him. Nathan must divorce me, Mary thought bitterly. Rizpah is right. I cannot give him children. Perhaps HaShem has truly turned away from me.

  She had to get away from the house and the woman’s constant condemnation. Gathering her shawl, she glared at Rizpah, daring her to follow as she left the courtyard.

  “I am going to the home of my parents,” she tossed over her shoulder and left before Rizpah could respond.

  She walked quickly, covering her face so no one would recognize her. It was difficult to go out in public, even with Eliab, for the whispers grew louder as she passed—“There goes Mad Mary, the crazy woman. How does her husband stay with her? I hear she is cursed for she bears no children”. . . on and on the words swirled around her like bees buzzing around a hive.

  When she entered the gate, Eliab, who had been carving a small animal out of wood, stood quickly and watched her silently as she walked into the house. Rachel had seen her and hurried to her side.

  “Mary, is something wrong?” She guided Mary to a bench in the shade and sat down beside her. “What has happened?”

  “Why does he stay with me?” Mary cried in despair. “He must be weary and so am I. He will not set himself free from me. He says he does not care if we have children. I don’t believe him. I’ve seen him with the children of our neighbors and he loves them. It would be better if I were to die. He would be free of me and this interminable illness!”

  “Mary, do not talk like this. Nathan loves you. He understood when you were married what he would have to deal with.”

  “But why am I not cured? The rabbi prayed for me, the high priest said all those words over me, yet nothing happened. Nothing has changed. What am I to do? I can’t go on like this. With everything else, I must endure Rizpah’s scorn day after day. She hates me.”

  Rachel looked surprised. “Nathan tells me only good things about Rizpah, how she looks after you and worries about you.”

  Mary waved a hand. “Only when they are present. She wishes to be the wife of Beriah and resents me. When no one is there but the two of us, she barely speaks to me. She tells me I am cursed by HaShem and I am troubling the household.”

  Her mother sat back. “Are you sure? You are not just imagining things because you are tired?”

  “No, it has been going on since the day I came to the household as a new bride. She has made her feelings for me clear.”

  Rachel was thoughtful for a while. “I will speak to your father. It is possible that he can persuade Nathan to choose another companion for you. I will not have my daughter suffer under that woman’s cruel words.”

  Mary sighed with relief. She could not bear to think of having to put up with Rizpah another day.

  She rose and turned toward the gate. “I will await word from Father.”

  Eliab was still standing by his shelter. As she approached him, he smiled at her. “You are well today, mistress?”

  “Yes, Eliab.” She glanced back at her mother watching her. She wanted to ask Eliab about her father, for her mother would not talk about it. She would not be able to ask today either.

  Eliab held out the small figure he had been carving.

  She looked up at his dark face and beamed. “Thank you, Eliab. I shall treasure this. It’s beautiful.” She turned the animal over in her hand, noting the find details of his workmanship.

  “Take care, mistress.”

  Suddenly her heart felt lighter and she walked back to her home holding the little carving tightly. Perhaps someday she would have a child to give it to. She looked down at the figure and wondered why he had chosen to give her this animal. Maybe it signified what she was to him, a lamb.

  15

  Three years passed and there was no change. No child grew within her, and little by little she’d been forced to give up her household duties. She just couldn’t manage.

  This morning Mary sat in
the shade of the sycamore tree, her flowing hair disheveled, for she could not bear the touch of a brush to her head. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep. The dull pain in her head seemed to roll on and on in ceaseless waves. She couldn’t open her eyes, for the blinding sunlight only made the pain worse.

  Mary was grateful for the gentle hands and soothing voice of Keturah, a young widow Huldah found for them to take the place of Rizpah. There was a distinct difference in the household when Rizpah left, which was soothing to Mary. Fortunately Rachel had persuaded Jared to talk to Nathan. Thinking Mary had exaggerated the situation, Nathan returned to the house in the middle of the day out of curiosity and lingered outside the gate, to see what he could see and hear.

  It was unfortunate for Rizpah, who chose that moment to vent her frustration on Mary.

  “You are a useless woman. You cannot even take care of your own household. I can’t imagine what kind of a wife you are to a fine young man like Nathan. This would have been my home had you not interfered and turned them away from me—” She was halted in midsentence as Nathan stormed in the gate.

  “Leave this house and do not return, ever!” he thundered at her as she fled from the terrible anger in his face.

  She covered her head with her hands as she left, as though fearful he would strike her. Her mouth worked, but she could find no words. Mary knew Nathan had heard the abusive words Rizpah said to her.

  Mary began to weep in relief and he wrapped his arms around her. “You shall not endure that woman another moment, beloved. I shall find someone else for you, someone who has a kinder spirit.”

  “Oh, Nathan. How can you keep loving me? I didn’t like Rizpah, but her words were true. What use am I?”

  “You are dear to me, wife of my heart. I want no other. HaShem will hear our prayers, and in his own time, I believe he will heal you.”

  Huldah and Rachel alternated staying with Mary, but Huldah wasted no time seeking Rizpah’s replacement. She told Nathan and Mary that she knew of a young woman, recently widowed, who needed a means of support. She had no family nearby.

  “She is a worthy young woman, but she has a child, a little boy not even a year old. Would that be a problem?”

  Nathan frowned. “I’m not sure if that would be a good choice.” He glanced at Mary. “It might be difficult for a child.”

  Mary put a hand on his arm. “I would welcome a child nearby. Couldn’t we meet her and see how it works out?”

  He smiled down at her. “All right, if you wish, beloved. Let her come for one week and then I will decide.”

  She knew Nathan was apprehensive about how a child would react to one of her seizures. Mary agreed that if it proved difficult, they would find someone else.

  Nathan’s fears were laid to rest the first time Mary saw the baby. Keturah trustingly placed him in Mary’s arms.

  “His name is Mishma,” Keturah said softly.

  When the baby looked up at Mary and smiled, she turned to Nathan, her heart in her eyes, and what could he do? He shrugged helplessly and Keturah joined their family.

  This morning Mishma watched her from across the small courtyard where he was playing with a little wooden cart. He came over to Mary and put a pudgy hand on her knee, looking up into her face. She tried to smile at him, but the pain in her head was a distraction. He patted her arm and settled himself down quietly with his toy, just keeping her company. It was as if he understood she needed comfort.

  So Keturah learned what to do when Mary had a seizure and put cold cloths on her head when Mary’s headaches struck without warning. Somehow with her presence, peace settled on the house of Beriah.

  One day, not long after Keturah came, Mary sat with her, pulling the wool from the spindle into thread for the loom.

  “What happened to your husband, Keturah? I was told he died.”

  Keturah looked down at the ground. “It was an accident. He struck his head on a stone.”

  “How terrible. Did he stumble?”

  “He had too much wine.”

  Little by little Mary learned that Keturah’s husband had been an abusive man, taking his temper out on his young wife. She’d almost lost the baby in one incident. When he died, she learned the house was not hers but a cousin’s and she had to leave. A neighbor had temporarily taken her. The neighbor was a friend of Huldah’s.

  Mary persisted. “How did you happen to marry him?”

  Keturah looked up and gave a slight shrug. “I was a plain girl and my parents were afraid they would not be able to find a husband for me. When Zadok made the offer, that was that. I didn’t meet him until my wedding day.”

  “Oh, Keturah, I’m so sorry.” Mary stopped twirling the spindle. “You are not plain. When you smile, your face is beautiful.”

  A little color tinted Keturah’s cheeks and she bowed her head again.

  “Was there no one in the family to take you in or become your kinsman redeemer?”

  “I did not wish to stay, and there was no one who wished to marry me.”

  Mary put her hand on Keturah’s. “Then we are fortunate that you came to us.”

  Keturah raised her eyes to Mary’s and they were shining.

  When she was able, Mary helped prepare meals, but she had not gone to the market for a long time. Her mother went for her with Eliab and Keturah stayed at the house with Mary. Rachel came more often to help, and as they settled into a routine, the months passed.

  This morning Keturah had prepared a simple breakfast for Nathan and Beriah, and the men had gone to the boatyard to work, Beriah to his bookkeeping and Nathan to oversee the finishing touches on one of the boats. Mary was proud of how Nathan was doing at the boatyard. He had learned the best source of lumber and the amounts needed each month. But working with her uncle had been difficult. He’d gone with Zerah on one of the merchant vessels to purchase wood and managed to maintain his composure in the face of Zerah’s unreasonable animosity. His frustration had mounted until, finally, in exasperation, he told Mary he was going back to work on the boats, the part he loved to do most. Mary could only pray he and her uncle could work together in a more congenial way.

  Mary watched Mishma play with the wooden lamb Eliab had carved years before. She had seen him look longingly at it one day and on an impulse put it in his small outstretched hands. He kept it with him at all times and even slept with it.

  Each day Keturah brought Mary the cup of strong liquid made from special plants, and Mary would reach for it eagerly. When Merab first brought the herbal mixture, she told Nathan it would help ease the pain of the headaches. Mary was grateful for the comfort, but it never seemed to be enough. As each dose increased, it seemed to take more and more to achieve the same peaceful effect and keep the pain at bay. Little by little she’d come to depend upon the medicine to get through the day. She learned it was her father who had suggested it. Dealing with pain himself when his own sickness returned, he knew the relief it brought.

  Nathan was at first baffled by Mary’s behavior. Her times of illness hadn’t changed, but he would come home to find her in a dreamlike state, speaking strangely. Gradually he began to understand what was happening and who had instigated the potion. In anger he went to Jared to confront him.

  “Now along with everything else, must I also live with this? What possessed you to suggest that Merab give her that mindless herb?”

  Jared regarded his son-in-law and shook his head slowly. “Who but one who has endured pain and felt the only relief open to me could know the relief I wanted Mary to feel. You have done what you could, but nothing has changed. The exorcism didn’t work. I could not bear to see her suffer so.”

  Torn between respect for his father-in-law and desperation, Nathan flung up a hand and sat down suddenly on the bench in Jared’s courtyard. “At least she was still the Mary I knew. Now this strange woman greets me at the end of the day, her words jumbled, her appearance unkempt—” Nathan put his head in his hands.

  The silence was overwhelming to Nathan
, and when at last he looked up at Jared, he was startled to see the older man clutching his chest, his face wracked with pain.

  “Sir, are you all right? The illness has returned then?”

  Jared’s reply was cut off by a bout of heavy coughing. He grabbed a cloth from his belt and held it to his mouth. As he struggled to catch his breath, Nathan helped him to the bench.

  The spasm subsided and Jared breathed heavily. He lifted sorrowful eyes to Nathan. “It has returned, and this time I’ll have no reprieve. As to Mary, forgive me if you can. Perhaps if you begin to dilute the amount Mary is taking, you can stop the drug. The aftereffect is terrible to endure, but if you feel you must do this, I understand your fear. She is my only child and I could not bear to see her suffer so. Each year it seems to increase and I have no answers.”

  Nathan’s shoulders sagged. “Nor do I.”

  The two men sat quietly together, each with their own thoughts, and at last Nathan stood up to leave. There was nothing more he could say. What would happen if Mary lessened the potion? As Jared had said, the only thing he could do was try. Whatever it took, he wanted his Mary back.

  Rachel arrived at her usual time to help Keturah bathe Mary and dress her for the day. Keturah put some fruit on the table. Mary stared at it as her mother urged her to eat.

  She looked up at her mother through a haze. The days seemed to speed by, and at times it was hard to distinguish one from another. She knew this was her mother, but she could not recall the woman’s name. Then she looked away across the courtyard and wondered at the sycamore tree that seemed to move in strange ways, though there was no wind. She shook her head trying to clear the fog that dominated her days.

  “Mama . . .” The word rose up from the agony that filled her being.

  Rachel started to speak soothingly to her, but they were interrupted by a commotion at the gate.

  Eliab called out, “Mistress, come quickly. It is the master.”