Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb)

by Mandy Hager

  The song came to its end and Father Joshua rose, beaming as he gestured for his men to bring Maryam and Lazarus forward. As soon as they were before him, the servers pushed them down onto their knees, crouching close behind them so neither could forget what lay in wait should they resist.

  Father Joshua inhaled dramatically, his lips pursing as he rested his steely gaze on Maryam. His voice boomed out, flying to the very back reaches of the maneaba, perfectly pitched to reach each and every ear.

  “Tell us, Sister, before the Lord and His faithful congregation—and before I give you in marriage to my only son—tell us all truly, when your bridegroom cometh, will your robes be white?”

  Maryam was so shocked that he'd proceeded straight to this she couldn't answer, knowing she was trapped no matter what she said. Mother Lilith was right: if she told the truth, they'd prove her wrong regardless, yet if she admitted to defilement the villagers would tear her into tiny pieces like dogs scrapping over their kill.

  She could feel the expectant hush build and begin to turn feral as she remained silent. The warrior in her railed against such public entrapment. Why was it even relevant that her maidenhood remained intact? Surely it was vastly more important that her heart was pure?

  Beside her, Lazarus nudged her with his elbow, his eyes imploring her. “Say yes.”

  The nervousness layering of his voice prompted her on, but Maryam was determined to tell the truth as it appeared to her.

  “I am pure,” she said at last, projecting her voice so everyone could hear.

  There was a collective letting out of breath as Father Joshua's face erupted in a triumphant smile. “As you hear our Sister's claim, my children, remember this from Proverbs in the Holy Book: Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” He stepped toward Maryam and Lazarus now, and held out a hand to each of them. An infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes warned them to play along or pay the price. “Come together then, my children, and let me join you in our Holy Rite.”

  Maryam placed her hand into his, a shudder trickling through her as their two skins met. It felt as if she was ensnared in an awful dream, unable to break free of it no matter how she tried.

  Now Father Joshua proceeded with the marriage rites, calling on the Lord to bless the marriage in His Holy Name. “Let us be glad and rejoice, and give honour to Him: for the marriage of the Lamb is come, and His wife hath made herself ready.” He passed between them the sacrificial cup, insisting that they drink the toddy that slopped inside. Maryam took the bitter drink into her mouth but spat it back into the cup under the cover of her veil. Lazarus had no such option, his father's hawk-like eyes upon him as he swallowed down another mouthful of the intoxicating toddy.

  After Father Joshua had led the congregation in singing Blessed Lamb, he stood over Maryam, his stale putrid sweat mingling with the reek of vomit emanating from her hair and veil. “Remember, Sister, the Holy Book instructs us: A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent. For Adam was formed first, then Eve. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner.”

  Always the woman deemed at fault, Maryam thought. What happened to male self-control?

  Father Joshua now turned to Lazarus, inclining his head as though gifting his son great wisdom. “But women will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety. It is your duty, my son, as the upholder of this propriety and next in line to my Holy self, to implant a child this very night, and to rout out any deceptions and sins you may suspect of your newly endowed wife—and should you find fault you must swear before the Lord to denounce her in the Apostles’ sacred name. Will you do as you are bid?”

  Lazarus worked his mouth but made no sound. Furious, Father Joshua stepped in close to him and subtly lodged a brutal kick into the cap of his knee.

  Lazarus startled, grunting from the pain. “I…I will.”

  “And will you, New Daughter, promise to serve your husband and obey him, all the time adhering to The Rules set down by Father Saul after the Tribulation did its worst?”

  As the words rang through Maryam's head and every cell inside her fought to disavow his words, she felt Brother Luke press close behind, reminding her that the knife still waited at her back. If she resisted now, the game was over—she had no doubt he'd take her life if Father Joshua gave the word. Was it worth the stand, or more prudent to bide her time? Struggle would only bring death all the faster, just as it did for fish trapped in a net, and she knew she was not yet ready to give in. They were only words, after all, forced from her under evil duress.

  “I will.”

  She saw Lazarus turn to her in amazement, and she could not resist the tiniest shake of her head to signal her defiance. He must understand she had no choice but to concede the words.

  “Praise be to the Lord!” Father Joshua declared, and from the congregation Maryam heard the resounding cry, “Amen!”

  While the last of the rites passed in a blur of ritual, Maryam tried to draw her scattered thoughts together so she could plan ahead. Soon she and Lazarus would be man and wife, ordered to the loft above to consummate the union. Would he be strong enough to resist the temptation his father had condoned? She fixed her gaze on him, noting the beads of perspiration that slicked his top lip and the way his dilated pupils swam as he looked at her. What was he trying to tell her? She could see the lump of his larynx race up and down, and realised that he, too, struggled with the nausea the toddy induced.

  Then, at last, Father Joshua declared the marriage made, and ordered them both to rise and seal the union with a kiss. Maryam eased herself up to her feet, careful not to shock her head, while Lazarus stumbled beside her as he rose too fast. He teetered at her side, then lifted the veil so that it masked their faces from the crowd. He leaned in toward her, his lips puckered and ready—but as he drew close she saw him crinkle up his nose and turn away.

  “Vomit,” he muttered, sending a fire of heat up to her face.

  “Kiss her,” Father Joshua hissed, placing an arm around each of their shoulders. He raised his voice to encompass the expectant crowd. “Let us hope that in the sanctum of their bedroom they are not so coy!”

  Laughter rippled up around them as he pressed their bodies close. Maryam had no choice but to kiss Lazarus, knowing that her breath was vile. His lips were rough, as though he'd gnawed at them. Their connection was devoid of any feeling except shame.

  Behind them the congregation exploded into noisy celebration, stomping feet and loud applause interspersed with spontaneous outbursts of song. While toddy was distributed, Brother Luke took Lazarus by the arm and guided him toward the wooden ladder. Unbalanced by the double dose of drink, Lazarus struggled to negotiate the rungs, and had to be supported as he staggered toward the top. Then Father Joshua called forth Mother Lilith from the crowd, directing her to escort Maryam to the loft. Behind him, Maryam could feel the cold presence of Mother Lilith at her back. She had to concentrate on every step, knowing this woman would have no qualms about leaving her to plunge from the ladder should she miss a step.

  A sleeping mat had been prepared for them upon the floor of the loft. It was covered in a neat white sheet, and blood-red bougainvillea petals were strewn across it like fresh drops of blood. Maryam felt Mother Lilith's fingers fiddling with the button of her gown at the nape of her neck, and before she could grasp what was intended, Mother Lilith tore open the seam to leave the garment gaping. Maryam tried desperately to trap it around her nakedness before it slipped onto the floor.

  “Leave it!” Mother Lilith ordered, tugging the fabric from Maryam's fingers and wrestling it free.

  Maryam shot past the sleeping mat, wrapping herself in one of the drapes that formed the makeshift walls as Mother Lilith thrust the shredded gown through a gap, to be received by the salacious cheers of those who waited down bel
ow.

  Now Lazarus was in Mother Lilith's sights and she stood calmly before him, Brother Luke unyielding at his back. She stripped him of his shirt and pants, leaving him hunched over, his hands spread in protection over his private parts. His clothes, too, were flung down to the revelries below, another rousing cheer greeting their fall.

  “If you try to escape you will be caught,” she warned them both, not a shred of sympathy or doubt evident on her hard-lined face. “You have one hour and then the consummation must be proved.” A slow smile animated her lips as she addressed the cowering Lazarus. “You may as well enjoy it while you can, my boy.”

  With this, she and Brother Luke descended the ladder, leaving Maryam and Lazarus naked and alone.

  The drapes blocked out a good part of the subdued light that washed the maneaba, leaving the loft so gloomy the untanned patches of Lazarus's skin glowed a ghostly white. He lurched over to the sleeping mat, hampered by his protective stance, and slipped his hand under the mat, running it around until he gave a muted cry. “Yes!” He unearthed a knife, flourishing it at Maryam. “Perfect! I knew he'd somehow come up with the goods.”

  A terrible foreboding overpowered her. Her pulse beat so fast, each seemed to piggy-back on the one before. Lazarus took a step toward her, brandishing the blade. Oh Lord, was he going to force her to succumb?

  “Please,” she said, feigning calm so as not to incite him. “You don't have to do this…”

  For a moment he just stared at her, unfocused, and all her old dread of him flooded back. “You think I'm going to force you to lie with me?” He curled his lip as though he'd met with something foul.

  “I hope not,” she said. Her hands were trembling as she tucked a wisp of vomity hair back behind her ear.

  “I can't believe you. What on earth do I need to do to make you trust me?”

  “Try putting down the knife.”

  He pointed at her with the blade. “You really think I'd use this on you?”

  “What else am I supposed to think?” Her head was pounding again, her stomach sick.

  With a sudden lurch he reached forward and grabbed the sheet, using the knife to pare off a strip of the fabric to cover his crotch. Then he tossed the rest of the sheet to Maryam, who needed no further encouragement to wrap it tightly around her like one of Aanjay's sarongs.

  Feeling a little less exposed now, she left the protection of the drape and hovered near the mat.

  “I asked Hushai to get someone to plant the knife—it was the only way I could think to shed some blood.” He turned the blade on himself then, driving the tip into the fleshy pad of his palm as he clenched his teeth to bite back pain.

  Blood welled from the wound, and he pressed it to increase the flow before he reached over and smeared the sheet Maryam wore with red.

  “You didn't need to do that!” She was staggered that he'd wound himself for her—and swept by a wave of relief that his intentions were so honourable after all. “I still have my Bloods!” Had he forgotten her quest for sea sponges as they set off for the Judgement? Either that, or he wasn't quite as worldly as she'd once thought.

  “You do?” This seemed to derail him for a moment. “Oh well,” he shrugged. “Better my blood spilt than yours.” He slipped the knife back under the sleeping mat before sinking his face in his hands to rub his eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I'd kiss you if I didn't stink of sick.”

  “Another time!” He grinned for a moment, before a toddy-laced belch erupted from him and he grew more sober. “I'm sorry I scared you. I just didn't want the blood to be a problem. I know that you and Joseph—” His words petered out as he watched her through lowered lids.

  “But we didn't!” she told him. “I thought you knew.”

  “But that last night on Marawa Island—”

  “I lay beside him, nothing more.” The memory detonated in her mind: Joseph's struggle to accept her decision not to join with him; the sense of peace as, later, they dozed nose to nose. “In truth, I wish we had now, but in fact the only person to defile me was your mother, with that speculum…”

  “That what?”

  Had the toddy so fuddled him he'd not heard or comprehended his mother's words? She could feel herself blushing now. “Never mind,” she said. It seemed he merely sought to protect her, believing she had slept with Joseph. Amazing! No moral judgement. No accusations that she was a whore. She sidled over and sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around his naked shoulders while making sure her mouth was nowhere near his nose. “Bless you, Lazarus. I owe you much.”

  He brushed his fingers down her back, clasping her tightly to him as he gently rocked them both. The gesture was so soothing and comforting she didn't feel compelled to pull away, instead tucking her hand into the warm line of his neck, twining her fingers in his fine silky hair.

  He pressed a dry kiss onto her bare shoulder, turning his face toward her as if he sought her lips, but then he snorted and pulled away. “Sorry, but you do really stink!” Still, he refused to let her go, stroking the centre of her back in a mesmerising circle beneath her thick fall of hair. “I wish we'd found ourselves here without coercion,” he murmured. “There's no one I'd rather be here with than you.”

  She didn't know what to say to this, and her silence amplified the revelries below. His touch did not repulse her now—in fact it radiated warmth, like one tiny speck of light igniting in a blackened room, rekindling some semblance of love and hope. She leaned over, toppling him so they lay together on the mat, and squirmed around until her shoulders pressed against his chest. Little by little his arms wound around to cradle her in his protective embrace, and she melded with the curve of his body as he sank his face into her unbound hair, feeling how he stiffened beneath the two scant layers of sheeting that separated him from her.

  There was wild dancing going on below, the whole structure of the maneaba reverberating with the stamping of feet on the timber floor. Various obscenities, punctuated by loud drunken laughter, drifted up toward the loft—all variations on what Lazarus should do to his new wife. He cupped his hands over her ears, so everything was muffled now and tempered by the knocking of her heart. If only they could stay like this, suspended here forever above the unpredictable world seething below. Why, oh why, was I so adamant to return home?

  She must have dozed, still affected by the toddy, for the next thing she registered was such loud clapping and cheering that it drowned out the approach of Father Joshua and Brother Luke, who kicked her foot to rouse her, startling her so that she jerked free of the sheet. She clutched it back around herself, curling into a ball beside Lazarus who, dishevelled and slightly confused, was rising to place himself between her and her tormentors.

  “How touching,” Father Joshua said to his aide. “It almost looks as if he cares.” He nodded his head once, clearly a signal, and Brother Luke drew out the gun, aiming it at Maryam's heart. “My darling wife has many gifts…her initiative in wielding my ancestor's weapon has put me to shame. I plan to take her lead. Therefore, if you so much as blink an eye when not instructed to by me, you will die.” He jerked his hand toward Lazarus. “And then your traitorous husband too.”

  He stepped forward and secured a handful of fabric, tumbling Maryam over as he stripped her of the sheet. The slash of red, clearly visible even in the gloom, drew from him a whistle as Maryam cowered in the shadow of Lazarus's back.

  “My, my. Didn't you do well.” His sarcasm was underlined by the rhythmic clapping and chanting that had erupted from the crowd below, a taunting call to show the blood and confirm the match.

  He let the sheet fall to his feet as though it had no meaning, and snapped his fingers at Brother Luke. Still aiming the gun, Brother Luke edged over to one corner of the drapes and fumbled around within their folds, removing from them another immaculate white sheet. He shook it out, never once taking his gaze off his two prisoners, and handed it to Father Joshua with an ingratiating smile. “Holy Father?”

&nbs
p; Father Joshua raised his hand to his mouth in mock surprise. “Oh no! What have we here? Don't tell me our little bride has proved herself a liar and a slut.” He spat the word at her, the loathing in his voice so barbed it stung her cheeks.

  “How dare you?” Lazarus was shaking as Maryam placed a calming hand on his arm, but he was so fired up he shook her off. “If there was a Lord, he'd strike you down.”

  Father Joshua's eyes widened before he lunged and cuffed Lazarus hard on his ear, sending him sprawling over Maryam in a tangle of arms and legs. “You doubt the Lord as well? This little witch is even more powerful than I thought.”

  As Maryam scrabbled to help Lazarus and wrap the bloodied sheet back around herself, Father Joshua strode across to the drapes and flung open the central panel. A roar of excitement came from the crowd as he gazed down on them, the unsullied sheet resplendent in his hand. He drew himself up to his most imposing and motioned for silence. Only when every last voice had stilled did he begin to speak.

  “My children, we gathered here today to celebrate what was to have been a miraculous joining in Holy wedlock…” A stir rippled through the crowd, as subtle as an inhaled breath. “Remember, We are tasked by the Lord to be entrusted with the teachings in the Holy Book, not so as to please mortal men, but only Him. We seek not glory as the Apostles of the Lamb, but are gentle among you, even as a nurse cherisheth her only child. Remember, brethren, our labour and travail: we would not be chargeable unto any of you, we merely preached unto you the gospel of the Lord.”

  What does he mean? Words of great pomp and majesty, stolen from Thessalonians in the Holy Book, yet to Maryam they made little sense except to bolster Father Joshua's rule.

  “Therefore it grieves me all the more, true believers, to have to tell you that this girl who wove such exciting tales to seduce us is nothing but a liar and a whore. There is no sign of blood—see for yourselves.” He flourished the unused sheet.