Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  Over the next hours, many earth-shaking vibrations were heard and felt by Joseph and wife as they tried to sleep in the wagon, while Jesus, using superior strength, pushed down over twenty large trees like a vampiric bulldozer. Using the axe to slice off roots and branches, by three-thirty he had prepared twenty arrow-straight logs and stacked them near the area he thought would be the best place to build the house. The Magdalene pitched in while Jesus harvested the timber, bringing suitable foundation stones from the riverbank, larger ones the size of a modern V-8 engine and weighing in excess of five hundred pounds.

  Jesus dropped the last of the logs from his shoulder to the stack as Mary said, “Look at us Jesus, we’re filthy as dogs from this work.”

  “It’s a good thing the river’s close,” Jesus replied, “Let’s take a dip to wash up.”

  Satisfied with their work, they headed to the Euphrates. Though it was only February, the coldness of the flowing water didn’t bother them at all. Leaving their clothes on the sandy riverbank, they jumped in and washed the grime from their bodies.

  “I like being a vampire,” said Mary, relaxing in the cold water.

  “It’s not bad,” Jesus replied, swimming further out, “I guess the legend of vampires fearing running water is bullshit too.”

  “Evidently,” said Mary, swimming out to join her consort. Enjoying each other’s company in the cold water, Mary said while kissing him on the cheek, “Jesus, though it was a problem for me in the beginning, I want to thank you for bringing me to the realm of the undead.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Jesus, floating toward an eddy near the riverbank, enjoying the feel of the water.

  “I was trying to be romantic you jackass!” Mary exclaimed, swimming after him.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jesus, standing up waist deep in the water, hurt by her remark.

  “You’re so damn unbelievable at times,” she replied, falling into his arms.

  “I’ve never been one for romanticism woman; I love you and all, but I’m not that good at showing it am I?”

  “Not really, when it comes to talking.”

  “I am pretty good at that aren’t I?” Jesus asked with a broad smile, referring to the physical component of romanticism.

  “Yes, and I love you too,” Mary answered, giving him a passionate kiss. Thoroughly cleansed and sated, they stepped from the river near dawn and rinsed out their work rags. Dressing in the wet garb due to Hebrew modesty, they retired to the cave and changed into more comfortable attire.

  “Say, didn’t one of your disciples say you once walked on the Sea of Galilee?” she asked in the privacy of the pitch-black cave, slipping on a silk nightgown acquired during their travels.

  “That was one of John’s hallucinations, I think he was touched in the head,” Jesus answered with a frown.

  “Oh,” said Mary, surprised he would say such a thing about one of his followers.

  “Or maybe it was frozen at the time,” Jesus ventured, looking for a way to defend his friend.

  “In the summer?”

  “You’re right, he was crazy.”

  Spreading blankets over the floor, they retired and settled into well-deserved sleep. His parents woke just after sunup, stepping from the wagon to tend to personal needs and eat breakfast. Walking to the house site after relieving himself, Joseph stared in astonishment at a stack of freshly felled timber and piles of boulders that would become the stone foundation of the house.

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, barely believing his eyes, “They did a month’s work in one night!” Thinking of his son slumbering in his dark cave, Joseph felt a twinge of remorse for what he had said the previous evening, vowing to never again insult Jesus – when it came to manual labor.

  Breaking from his reverie, Joseph yelled, “Mary, come here!”

  “What is it?” asked his wife, walking over.

  “Look at this, there’s enough timber here to build a villa. I think our son has finally learned the virtues of work.”

  “I always told you Jesus was never afraid of working, it’s just he was more of a thinker than anything else.”

  “It also helps when you can lift huge boulders as if they were pebbles and rip trees from the ground with your bare hands,” said Joseph, looking to a pile of uprooted trunks sitting a short distance from the timber. Looking closer, he noted that one gnarled root looked suggestively like a duck, resolving to have a try at carving the no longer forbidden images of man and beast. He recalled a set of fine carving knives he had inherited from his father, tucked away safely in the wagon. “What the hell, there isn’t any lousy god anyway,” he added, reflecting on passages from the book of Leviticus.

  While eating breakfast, he observed that at the rate Jesus and the Magdalene were progressing, he would be able to have a house ready within six weeks. “I certainly hope they leave some work for me to do,” he grumbled while eating leftover soup. Later, he rehitched the horses, taking the wagon into town to purchase rope for moving logs, along with other needed hardware for house building – shovels, picks, sickles, pitch, and nails. The distance was only a few miles, and he arrived in Tibernum shortly after eight. Thinking ahead, he also realized he needed a tarp for covering the drying wood, and a large hammer and iron chisels for cutting stones. Though neither he nor Jesus were trained as masons, he felt that between them they could create a strong stone foundation for the dwelling.

  A local hardware merchant named Drusus the Illyrian set about filling the requests, Joseph introducing himself as Julius the elder, father of B. Julius Chrysippus, placing the order for the products from him in Latin.

  “You’re building a house?” Drusus asked, making a list of Joseph’s order, “You came to the right place, we have most of this stuff.”

  “Yes, I purchased tract twenty-one on the south road,” said Joseph, eyeing other items in the shop.

  “Gavinal told me about you folks, you’re the family of Etrurian wine merchants.”

  “Former wine merchants,” Joseph lied, adding truth to his reply, “I figured I’d try my hand as a farmer, but first I have to build a house.”

  “Have you built one before?” asked Drusus, leaning on the counter, he a skilled carpenter.

  “Several, but not one like this,” Joseph answered, “My son wants to craft most of the structure from wood, lucky for us we’re both carpenters.”

  “As am I, many houses in Tibernum are made of wood. Mine is too, trees are everywhere here.”

  “You’re a carpenter?” Joseph asked, noting that he had better make a serious attempt at farming, for apparently there was no real use for another carpenter in the area.

  “I built my place a few miles west of here about fifteen years ago,” said Drusus, finishing with the list and calling, “Slave!”

  “Yes master Drusus?” a slave answered, walking up.

  “Fill this man’s order and bring it to the loading entrance.”

  “Yes master,” the slave replied, taking the list and walking away.

  “You’ll find there’s a lot of oak around here Julius, perfect for setting as floor beams,” said Drusus.

  “I noticed that, but oak’s tough to work with,” Joseph replied, walking to a shelf stocked with coils of rope.

  “Lay them green, that’s what I did,” said Drusus, “They hardly warped, and oak beams are as strong as Hercules.”

  “That’s an idea,” replied Joseph, placing a length of hemp rope on the counter, thinking that setting oak beams and rafters green might actually work.

  “What’ll you be using the rope for?” asked Drusus.

  “Moving logs,” Joseph answered, perusing other items in the shop.

  “We have iron chain for sale,” said Drusus, “Very strong, made in Anatolia, perfect for moving logs.”

  “I’ll take some, can you
make it the same length as the rope?”

  “I haven’t a blacksmith, it’s only available in lengths of fifteen paces.”

  “That’ll work, make it two,” said Joseph.

  “Coming up,” Drusus replied, looking to another slave and nodding. His efficient slaves placed the order at the loading dock on a wheeled cart, while another loaded the requested items into the wagon. Joseph paid him mostly with orichalcum sestertii to be inconspicuous in his dealings. Bidding the merchant farewell and returning to his farm at eleven, Joseph unloaded the cargo, sitting it in a neat heap just outside the wagon. He unhitched the horses, tying one to a tree, and led the other to the log pile while Mary was washing clothes by the river.

  Fashioning a padded rope harness for the beast, he tied a length of chain to the rope and secured the chain around a log. Placing the harness on the horse, he used it to pull several logs into position in the shade of an oak for splitting and hewing. Using his expertise as a carpenter, he drove iron wedges into the trunks with the blunt side of an axe, splitting them lengthwise, reducing them to rough beams. As late afternoon approached, a sweating Joseph hewed several beams smooth with an adze and dragged the finished beams aside to dry. Satisfied with their quality, he quit for a well-deserved lunch.

  “I’ve split up five trees, that should be enough for the foundation beams,” he said breathlessly, relaxing in the shade, finishing a rough sketched plan for the dwelling on a piece of parchment.

  “Yes dear,” Mary replied, looking to her exhausted husband, handing him food and a cup of wine. “Are you all right Joseph?”

  “Certainly,” said Joseph, putting down the parchment, “I’m just tired, what do you expect after what I’ve been doing?”

  “You’re not exactly a young man, you shouldn’t work so hard.”

  “I’m not exactly dead either,” Joseph retorted, annoyed that she would think that he could not do the work. She relented; knowing it was impossible to reason with her obstinate husband once he had made up his mind. A stubborn man, Mary realized that Joseph would either build them a house, or die trying in the attempt.

  Looking at the cup of wine, he frowned. “It’s much too early for this woman; do you have water?” Joseph asked, eating dried dates. She handed him a leather water bag, which he quickly drained of liquid. Changing his mind, he gulped down the wine. He wiped his face and said, “I have to set up a tent over the finished beams to keep them from splitting in the sun. We’d best start clearing the home site so Jesus and his girl can place the foundation stones tonight, and I can set the floor beams in place over the next few days.”

  Mary nodded, turning from him and walking to the wagon.

  “Do we have any vinegar?” Joseph called, exhausted from the work.

  “There’s some left over from pickled artichokes, what do you want it for?” asked Mary, turning.

  “I need to drink it, for strength, like soldiers do on their marches.”

  “Oh yes, but if you want more you’ll have to head to town, there are other staples we need as well.”

  “Right,” Joseph replied, opening a woven hemp tarp to protect his fresh hewn lumber. Erecting a makeshift tent over the beams, Joseph drank the vinegar, closing his eyes at the bitter taste. Later, his wife assisted him clearing the house site using a sickle while he cleared larger saplings with an axe. The site Jesus had picked was practically level and would require only a small amount of digging where the foundation footer stones would be placed. They finished as the sun moved to the horizon. Tossing the saplings and brush in a pile, with dusk approaching Joseph stoked up the fire, he and his wife sitting down to relax.