“Jerusalem? Jerusalem?” starts Noha. “When have you spoken of Jerusalem?”
“All these years in the land of Moses and you have not spoken of a return to Jerusalem,” says Isaiah. The two boys nod in agreement. Samir puts his arm tightly around Rachel’s shoulder.
Expressions of gratitude and regret, anticipation and sadness appear on our family’s faces. I gaze at them one at a time. “Let us listen to Joseph.” My voice is strengthened by the inevitability of his resolve. “He has something important to tell us.”
“That is so,” he says, “that is so.” He explains the morning’s visit from the Roman soldiers and the conscription of our oldest son.
The rage that has been simmering in James all though the Passover dinner now explodes. He blurts out, “I won’t report to the Roman army! We need the monies I earn at the canal. Father needs my help!” His face reddens as he speaks, and he grips the wooden spoke as though it is a weapon.
Samir adds sympathetically, “They came to our home too. I am to be taken into the Roman army within the week.”
Startled, Rachel says, “I didn’t know. Why did you not tell me, Samir?”
“Being with child is a great joy for both of us, I didn’t want to spoil these moments with unhappy news.” Rachel begins to cry.
Samir glances at our oldest son. “Might we move to Alexandria?” he asks. “There is a large Jewish community there, and I have many family members who would welcome us. We would be invisible to the Romans there . . . it’s a big city.”
“And I hear of a great lighthouse and library,” Jesus says, eyes wide with the wonders of this remarkable vision. He claps his hands, and then quickly places them into his lap when he notices that his brother’s rage hasn’t abated. More softly, he says, “The Rabbi told me our Holy Scriptures are being translated into Greek there.” He looks around the table, expecting others to rally to Samir’s idea.
James seems even more troubled. “I heard a story at the canal this week.” He seeks everyone’s attention before continuing. “At the Alexandria theater there is a play with music. As part of the entertainment, actors dressed as Jews are brought on stage, and they pretend to be hung up, bound to a wheel. Mauled. They are marched through the orchestra. All the while, the dancers, flute players, and mimes continue to perform, to the delight of the audience.” He takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair, smoothing the fine linen tablecloth.
We are horrified to hear that persecution of our people is beginning again, this time in a community with such a large number of Israelites, many of whom are well-respected scholars.
“Why is that, Father?” asks Jesus. “Why would our people be treated like that? Why would people find it funny?”
Innocence is a wonderful gift. It asks explanations of us we might not otherwise want to consider. Are we trapped by both the Romans and the Alexandrians? I wonder. Will our people ever be at peace?
Joseph hesitates for a moment, then replies, “We are a special people, my son. We keep our own laws and do not participate in many of the pagan and Roman celebrations. By separating ourselves, we raise suspicions and distrust. We make people uncomfortable. It is the price we pay for keeping to ourselves.” Isaiah and Noha nod in agreement.
“These pagans want us to pollute ourselves,” Noha says, smirking. “They want us to prostrate ourselves to strange, animal-like gods. Better that we keep to ourselves.”
Joseph flinches at the raw truth of Noha’s comment. “We must return to Palestine soon. I have heard that Herod Antipas is much like his father, capricious and unpredictable, so we can expect the Romans to cause their armies to swell with Palestinians as well. Yet the Romans have been in Palestine much longer than in Egypt, and there are certain agreements there.”
“Our Rabbis have more authority over our people in Palestine, it is true,” adds Isaiah. “Egypt is being treated as a land subject to the whims and desires of the Romans. We may be safer among our own people.” Isaiah yearns for the support of the larger family and familiar customs in his advancing years. He thinks that Noha might be happier there as well, although he is doubtful.
I have known this moment was near. I will miss Egypt so. In Palestine, women are often thought unclean and unable to do many things men do. In Egypt, I have seen women sell in the market, work in the fields, make beer, pilot boats . . . and when they die, their property is granted to their children as they will it. My grandmother and mother would have been pleased with this land. Perhaps the goddess Isis created such freedom. Yet even in a land of freedom, my duty is to my family. I will not make my own thoughts known. Not now.
“There is a further reason,” begins Joseph, his tired eyes glowing with newfound energy. “I was visited by a dream.”
I am shaken out of my private thoughts. Grasping my chair tightly with both hands, I rest my eyes on this man I have learned to love. His declaration draws rapt attention from everyone, for we all know well that a dream is a revelation from God.
“There are wolves, many wolves,” he begins, his brows furrowing. “They are chasing a group of young men and biting at their legs, trying to kill them. Our sons and their cousin John are among them. The fangs of one of the wolves takes hold of John’s leg, cutting deeply into his flesh, but James pulls him away. Suddenly a figure, a guide, in a long white tunic and golden girdle appears, holding a lantern to show them the way out. He comes out from among the hills, and I can see the skyline of Jerusalem in the background. As the young men follow the guide, the wolves fall away. I look closely at the guide.” He turns his gaze on our youngest son. “His face is that of Jesus.”
I hear a gasp and realize it is my own.
“I’ve had this dream three times. We must return to Palestine,” Joseph concludes. “This is what God wants, Jesus.” My youngest son nods, already at peace with this revelation.
The knock at the entrance to the cave comes suddenly, violently. No one moves.
CHAPTER 22
FORTUNATELY, NASSER WASN’T IN JUSTINE’S apartment when she arrived home. She’d forgotten that he was involved in a Nazarene conference in Port Suez today and tomorrow. Just in case he might show up early, she sent him a text message saying she would be very busy, tied up with meetings for a couple of days. She had no intention of running into him before she had sorted out what she would say to him about his deception.
Waking up the next morning, Justine stretched, but failed to get out of bed. Through the tall Victorian windows, she methodically counted the television satellites on the building facing the street behind her as she reflected back on the dream she’d had on her first day in Cairo. What will be my impossible choice? Choices? Nasser? The codex?
It was early, and she had time for a run before the 10 a.m. meeting at the Museum. It would clear her head.
As her feet pounded the earthen path on Roda Island, her heart was a miniature pendulum setting the rhythm of her run. The morning was clammy, a warm and humid harbinger of June. Above her, the rising sun, made deep orange by Cairo’s omnipresent smog, cast a distinctive glow. Her chest tightened and her heart sped up as she sank into her hips with each footfall. The more she thought, the more her pace became uneven, erratic.
The Red Sea. Mornings on the Corniche. Nights in her apartment. Nasser. She halted her run at the crest of the hill, breathed deeply, and shook her head to clear it of decisions ahead. This morning, I’m with Mary of Nazareth. She pivoted on the balls of her feet and ran back to her apartment to shower and dress for the challenging day ahead.
“I have an announcement,” began Mostafa, standing before the group with uncharacteristic diffidence. It was nearly 10:00 a.m. and everyone had shown up early, a historical event in Egypt. He was sweating profusely; his tight voice struggled to sound casual. “The codex has been stolen. It was taken from our safe yesterday morning, or the night before.”
Al Rasul grunted like an annoyed camel. Andrea and Justine, wide-eyed, stared at each other, while Amir’s pencil broke under the pres
sure of his shaking hand. Only Ibrahim and Isaac gazed hazily at the front of the report, as though they didn’t quite understand what was being said.
“Not quite sure when it was taken?” challenged Andrea. “How could you not be sure? What kind of security do you have in your office, Mostafa?” Her tone dripped contempt.
“Excellent security, I assure you, Dr. LeMartin. But the guards don’t open the safe during every shift to examine its contents,” he said defensively. “Laser beams surround the safe, but the electricity had been turned off, and the generator failed to kick in.” The Great Man twisted the large gold ring on his right hand. “The codex will show up on the black market.”
“Great comfort,” said Al Rasul acidly. The two men had known each other since their days at Cairo University. This would not be the first time, nor the last, that Al Rasul had found reason to admonish the famed Omar Mostafa. “It may or may not show up in the market, but someone will buy it at a trumped up price. You should be more careful, my friend.”
Amir couldn’t contain himself; he lashed out at his boss. “This isn’t the first time, Mostafa! Why did it take years to translate Nag Hammadi fragments? You kept ‘losing track’ of them.”
Obviously stung by Amir’s embarrassing comments, the director continued: “This isn’t my greatest problem at the moment. I—we—have more at stake here.”
“You have a greater problem than the theft of the codex?” Justine was incredulous. “I think we would like to know what it is.”
“How am I going to explain this to National Geographic? We have, let me say, a financial agreement.” Mostafa said this with the reluctance of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“A financial agreement? With National Geographic? Are you telling us you sold the rights to the codex without consultation?” asked Ibrahim, finally provoked to respond. The tone in the room grew increasingly hostile. The Supreme Minister of Antiquities cringed.
“Such an arrangement is not unusual,” Mostafa protested, allowing himself to be briefly distracted by the arrival of the Chinese tea service. “I didn’t sell the codex. It belongs to Egypt, only to Egypt. The arrangements concern publication and co-hosting the entry of the codex into the world of religious history. Not ownership.”
And controlling its release. “These are major arrangements, Dr. Mostafa,” insisted Justine, emboldened. “Ones that should have been made in consultation with those of us involved in the discovery and translation of the codex!” She held his stare, refusing to relinquish further authority over the codex. “Fortunately, we have the photographed images of the pages made last month, which clear the way for continued translation. At least, I assume the copy has not been stolen as well.”
“The copy is still in our possession,” affirmed Ibrahim, his classic Semitic features moving in on themselves, extending the nose, narrowing the eyes. “It will have to do for now. But this is such a blow to credibility, I don’t know if the results will mean anything. First we have an unprovenanced find, then no find at all.”
“This may be merely an academic exercise,” said Amir, thoroughly disgusted, “without any validity in the field of archeology.”
“I’d suggest we proceed with our agenda,” said Mostafa, although charges continued to fly, the group dividing into side conversations. “Ibrahim?”
“I think it would be wise to take a break before we continue,” said Ibrahim. The other team members were already pushing back their chairs from the table as though to unbridle themselves from the debacle and speculate on the theft.
“Professor Ibrahim. I believe you have something for us.” The group had settled down, patience bought with tea and chocolate. It was anticipation that now tensed the air as the elder man sorted through a pile of xeroxed pages, cradling them gently, and handed four to each person at the table. Careful hands received the pages as though they were touching a divine tunic.
“I believe they’re in order,” said Ibrahim, pulling at his nose. “We’ve selected four entries from the period immediately following Mary’s marriage to Joseph. History tells us that her parents were older and that they chose to entrust her to a good man, an older man, someone who was trustworthy and could be counted on to take care of Mary and a family. In the diary, Mary verifies these assumptions herself. The pages you have before you are meant to answer your questions about Mary’s relationship with Joseph.” He was surprisingly matter-of-fact.
Justine wondered whether Ibrahim was numbed by the events of these two days or resigned to the revelations he was presenting, the very pages he had stolen and returned. Her anger toward him had diminished; she now redirected a part of it toward herself. Two men, two deceits. Just a coincidence? Or am I losing myself in the chaos around me?
An air of rapt attention pervaded the room. Each person, even those familiar with the pages Ibrahim had just handed out, quietly devoured the sacred words before them.
Al Rasul appeared pleased, even as he struggled to keep his features noncommittal. The muscles on either side of Mostafa’s mouth quivered. Andrea and Isaac were quietly engrossed in a side conversation. Amir closely observed his grandfather.
Justine looked down at the pages, still amazed by what she held. She read again the four entries translated from the opening pages of Mary’s diary:
Three nights have passed since Joseph and I became husband and wife. Each day he sits with me, talking, telling me his stories. He speaks of his wife Zeinab, who is with God, and his dreams for son James. He speaks with me as a wife, but with the voice of a loving father. Joseph is a kind man. I am learning to trust him.
It is now four nights since we made our vows. Joseph touches my hair and holds my hand. He tells me stories of the House of David. I fear he does not want me, but thinks of me as a child to be cared for. At first I feared his touch, now I fear he does not look at me with desire, that he does not want me as his wife.
Five days since we were married. Joseph comes to me dressed in beautiful new clothes with small golden buttons on the girdle. Will you travel? I ask. Perhaps he came to tell me goodbye, that he would leave me. Joseph laughs and cradles my face in his rough hands. He says, today I come to make you my wife. I am not afraid, for my heart is glad. He kisses me on my face, neck, and hand with tenderness. I feel a stirring inside . . . a desire for something with no name. He lies beside me and unties my tunic. He does not hurry. On this day, we know each other. I am a married woman. Thanks be to God.
After his colleagues had read the entries several times, Ibrahim said: “Although there are no dates in the diary, we believe the fourth entry that you have in front of you was written about three months later.”
I am with child. Joseph and I thank God that a child is given to us. I am well and able to take care of Joseph and James. I pray each day that my mother will be well again so I may stay with her. If she is not well, when I grow larger, I will find help from cousin Elizabeth. Joseph wants me to think of Elizabeth as my mother. I say to Joseph: If the child is a girl, I will call her Elizabeth.
“There’s no mention of an Annunciation? No diary pages between entries three and four?” demanded Al Rasul.
“There are a few pages of daily life, preparing a household, discussions of the life ahead together, but no mention of an Annunciation,” affirmed Ibrahim, patting the report softly, pain flashing through his watery eyes. “She didn’t write every day, but it seems unlikely she would leave out a visit by the Angel Gabriel.”
“The entries leave little reason to doubt a sexual relationship between Mary and Joseph,” observed Isaac. “After the initial consummation, they continued to grow closer. Keep in mind that being ‘older’ then was different. Joseph may have only been in his forties.”
“We seem to have little basis to doubt her word if we’re confident that the codex authorship and content are authentic. Is that how the rest of you see it?” asked Mostafa, attempting a blustery and commanding performance once again.
Everyone began speaking at once. Mo
stafa held up his hand and turned to Ibrahim. “Coming to know each other, knowledge of a man and a woman, this is code language for sexual congress,” admitted Ibrahim. “Based on the validity of these entries, we have no reason to assume a virgin birth.”
“It could still be a fraud, written by a cult of heretics like the Gnostics. Not many of the devout accept the Gospel of Thomas,” said Al Rasul mockingly. By the third century of the current era, the Church had soundly rejected Gnosticism, a doctrine asserting that divinity could be found within each person and claiming a Teacher of Righteousness who spoke like Jesus Christ.
“You’ll find a range of opinions in this room about the Gnostics, but I’m convinced we have the genuine diary of Mary of Nazareth before us,” said Andrea. “As you know, a number of ancient religions, including Greek polytheism and Christianity, have packaged virginity and divinity together. Breaking that bond doesn’t necessarily mean Jesus wasn’t divine. But, of course, we are all free to explore different theories of origin.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Andrea, but we Muslims have never found it necessary for Jesus to be understood as the son of God in order to worship him,” Mostafa reminded her.
“I understand that. My objective is to draw our attention to the idea that nothing about this information need undermine basic beliefs about Jesus Christ,” said Andrea, tilting her head so that a golden earring lay on her cheek.
“It’s presumptuous of you to protect our tender beliefs, Andrea,” Mostafa exclaimed with an air of condescension. “No one in this room is fragile. We’re scientists.”
“Your criticism is heard.” Andrea ignored the insulting tone. “I trust you will all forgive my ‘protectionism’?”
Amir glanced at Andrea and grinned before returning to his persistent doodling.
The Cairo Codex Page 28
