Lamb

by Christopher Moore

  “Out of the way, I need to talk to this fellow. Move, you oaf, you need to take a bath.” She bonked Bartholomew on the head as she passed and his doggy pals nipped at her heels. “Look out there, I’m an old woman, I need to see this Joshua of Nazareth.”

  “Oh no, Mother,” John wailed.

  James got up to stop her and she threatened him with the staff.

  “What can I help you with, Old Mother?” Joshua asked.

  “I’m the wife of Zebedee, mother of these two.” She pointed her staff to James and John. “I hear that you’re going to the kingdom soon.”

  “If it be so, so be it,” said Joshua.

  “Well, my late husband, Zebedee, God rest his soul, left these boys a perfectly good business, and since they’ve been following you around they’ve run it into the ground.” She turned to her sons. “Into the ground!”

  Joshua put his hand on her arm, but instead of the usual calm that I saw come over people when he touched them, Mrs. Zebedee pulled away and swung her staff at him, barely missing his head. “Don’t try to bamboozle me, Mr. Smooth Talker. My boys have ruined their father’s business for you, so I want your assurance that in return they get to sit on either side of the throne in the kingdom. It’s only fair. They’re good boys.” She turned to James and John. “If your father was alive it would kill him to see what you two have done.”

  “But Old Mother, it’s not up to me who will sit next to the throne.”

  “Who is it up to?”

  “Well, it’s up to the Lord, my father.”

  “Well then go ask him.” She leaned on her staff and tapped a foot. “I’ll wait.”

  “But…”

  “You would deny a dying woman her last request?”

  “You’re not dying.”

  “You’re killing me here. Go check. Go.”

  Joshua looked at us all sheepishly. We all looked away, cowards that we were. It’s not as if any of us had ever learned to deal with a Jewish mother either.

  “I’ll go up on that mountain and check,” Joshua said, pointing to the highest peak in the area.

  “Well go, then. You want I should be late for the Passover?”

  “Right. Okay, then, I’ll go check, right now.” Josh backed away slowly, sort of sidled toward the mountain. Mount Tabor, I think it was.

  Mrs. Zebedee went after her sons like she was shooing chickens out of the garden. “What are you, pillars of salt? Go with him.”

  Peter laughed and she whirled around with her staff ready to brain him. Peter pretended to cough. “I’d better go along, uh, just in case they need a witness.” He scurried after Joshua and the other two.

  The old woman glared at me. “What are you looking at? You think the pain of childbirth ends when they move away? What do you know? Does a broken heart know from a different neighborhood?”

  They were gone all night, a very long night in which we all got to hear about John and James’ father, Zebedee, who evidently had possessed the courage of Daniel, the wisdom of Solomon, the strength of Samson, the devotion of Abraham, the good looks of David, and the tackle of Goliath, God rest his soul. (Funny, James had always described his father as a wormy little guy with a lisp.) When the four came back over the hill we all leapt to our feet and ran to greet them—I would have carried them back on my shoulders if it would have shut the old woman up.

  “Well?” she said.

  “It was amazing,” Peter said to us all, ignoring the old woman. “We saw three thrones. Moses was on one, Elijah was on another, and the third was ready for Joshua. And a huge voice came out of the sky, saying, ‘This is my son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

  “Oh yeah, he said that before,” I said.

  “I heard it this time,” Joshua said, smiling.

  “Just the three chairs then?” said Mrs. Zebedee. She looked at her two sons, who were cowering behind Joshua. “No place for you two, of course.” She started to stagger away from them, a hand clutched to her heart. “I suppose one can be happy for the mothers of Moses and Elijah and this Nazareth boy, then. They don’t have to know what it is to have a spike in the heart.”

  Down the riverbank she limped, off toward Jerusalem.

  Joshua squeezed the brothers’ shoulders. “I’ll fix it.” He ran after Mrs. Zebedee.

  Maggie elbowed me and when I looked around at her there were tears in her eyes. “He’s not wrong,” she said.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Well, ask his mother to talk him out of it. No one can resist her—I mean, I can’t. I mean, she’s not you, but…Look! Is that a seagull?”

  Part VI

  Passion

  Nobody’s perfect…. Well, there was this one guy, but we killed him.

  ANONYMOUS

  Sunday

  Joshua’s mother and his brother James found us outside of the Golden Gate of Jerusalem, where we were waiting for Bartholomew and John, who were looking for Nathaniel and Philip to return with James and Andrew, who were off trying to find Judas and Thomas, who had been sent into the city to look for Peter and Maggie, who were looking for Thaddeus and Simon, who had been sent to look for a donkey.

  “You’d think they’d have found one by now,” Mary said.

  According to prophecy, Joshua was supposed to enter the city on the colt of a donkey. Of course, no one was going to find one. That was the plan. Even Joshua’s brother James had agreed to be part of the conspiracy. He’d gone ahead to wait inside the gate, just in case one of the disciples had missed the point and actually came back with a donkey.

  About a thousand of Joshua’s followers from Galilee had gathered on the road to the Golden Gate. They had lined the road with palm fronds for Joshua’s entrance to the city, and they were cheering and singing hosannas all afternoon in anticipation of his triumphant entrance, but as the afternoon wore into evening, and no colt showed, the crowd gradually dispersed as everybody got hungry and went into the city to find something to eat. Only Joshua, his mother, and I were still waiting.

  “I was hoping you might talk some sense into him,” I said to Mary.

  “I’ve seen this coming for a long time,” Mary said. She wore her usual blue dress and shawl, and the usual light in her face seemed faded, not by age, but by grief. “Why do you think I sent for him two years ago?”

  It was true, she had sent Joshua’s younger brothers Judah and Jose to the synagogue at Capernaum to bring him home, claiming he was mad, but Joshua hadn’t even gone outside to meet them.

  “I wish you two wouldn’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Joshua said.

  “We’re trying to get used to it,” I said. “If you don’t like it, then give up this stupid plan to sacrifice yourself.”

  “What do you think we’ve been preparing for all of these years, Biff?”

  “If I’d known it was this I wouldn’t have helped. You’d still be stuck in a wine amphora in India.”

  He squinted to see through the gate. “Where is everyone? How hard can it be to find one simple ass?”

  I looked at Joshua’s mother, and although there was pain in her eyes she smiled. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “No one on my side of the family would ever sacrifice a straight line like that.”

  It was too easy, so I let it go. “They’re all at Simon’s house in Bethany, Josh. They aren’t coming back tonight.”

  Joshua didn’t say a word. He just climbed to his feet and walked off toward Bethany.

  “There is nothing you can do to stop this from happening!” Joshua screamed at the apostles, who were gathered in the front room of Simon’s house. Martha ran from the room crying when Joshua glared at her. Simon looked at the floor, as did the rest of us. “The priest and the scribes will take me, and put me on trial. They will spit on me and scourge me and then they will kill me. I will rise from the dead on the third day and walk among you again, but you cannot stop what must happen. If you love me, you will accept what I’m telling you.”

  Maggie got up and ran out of the house, snatch
ing the communal purse from Judas as she went. The Zealot started to rise to go after her but I pushed him back down on his cushion. “Let her go.”

  We all sat there in silence, trying to think of something to do, something to say. I don’t know what everyone else was thinking, but I was still trying to formulate some way for Joshua to make his point without giving his life. Martha returned to the room with wine and cups and served each of us in turn, not looking at Joshua when she filled his cup. Joshua’s mother followed her back out of the room, I presumed to help her prepare supper.

  In time, Maggie came back, sliding through the door and going directly to Joshua, where she sat down at his feet. She took the communal purse out of her cloak and from it she pulled a small alabaster box, the sort that was used to store the precious ointments that women used to anoint the bodies of the dead at burial. She tossed the empty purse to Judas. Without a word, she broke the seal on the box and poured the ointment on Joshua’s feet, then untied her long hair and began to wipe the oil from his feet with it. The rich aroma of spices and perfume filled the room.

  In an instant Judas was on his feet and across the room. He snatched the box of ointment off the floor. “The money from this could have fed hundreds of the poor.”

  Joshua looked up at the Zealot and there were tears in his eyes. “You’ll always have the poor, Judas, but I’m only here for a short while longer. Let her be.”

  “But…”

  “Let her be,” Joshua said. He held out his hand and Judas slammed the alabaster box into it, then stormed out of the house. I could hear him shouting out in the street, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Maggie poured the rest of the oil on Joshua’s head and drew patterns on his forehead with her finger. Joshua tried to take her hand but she pulled it away from him and stepped back until he dropped his hand. “A dead man can’t love,” she said. “Be still.”

  When we followed Joshua to the Temple the next morning, Maggie was nowhere to be seen.

  Monday

  On Monday Joshua led us through the Golden Gate into Jerusalem, but this time there were no palm fronds laid on the road and no one was singing hosannas. (Well, there was this one guy, but he was always singing hosannas at the Golden Gate. If you gave him a coin he’d stop for a while.)

  “It would be nice to be able to buy a little something for breakfast,” Judas said. “If the Magdalene hadn’t spent all of our money.”

  “Joshua smells nice, though,” Nathaniel said. “Don’t you think Joshua smells nice?”

  Sometimes you find yourself grateful for the most unlikely things. Right then, when I saw Judas grit his teeth and the vein stand out on his forehead, I said a quick prayer of thanks for Nathaniel’s naïveté.

  “He does smell nice,” said Bartholomew. “It makes one want to reassess one’s values regarding the material comforts.”

  “Thank you, Bart,” said Joshua.

  “Yes, there’s nothing like a good-smelling man,” said John dreamily. Suddenly we were all very uncomfortable and there was a lot of throat-clearing and coughing and we all walked a few paces farther apart. (I haven’t told you about John, have I?) Then John started to make a great and pathetic show of noticing the women as they passed. “Why, that little heifer would give a man some strong sons,” John said in a booming and falsely masculine voice. “A man could surely plant some seed there, he could.”

  “Please shut up,” James said to his brother.

  “Maybe,” said Philip, “you could have your mother come over and tell that woman to cleave unto you.”

  Everyone snickered, even Joshua. Well, everyone except James. “You see?” he said to his brother. “You see what you’ve started? You little nancy.”

  “There’s a nubile wench,” exclaimed John unconvincingly. He pointed to a woman who was being dragged toward the city gates by a group of Pharisees, her clothes hanging in shreds on her body (which indeed appeared to be nubile, so credit to John for working outside of his element).

  “Block the road,” Joshua said.

  The Pharisees came up to our human blockade and stopped. “Let us pass, Rabbi,” the oldest of them said. “This woman has been caught in the act of adultery this very day and we’re taking her out of the city to be stoned, as is the law.” The woman was young and her hair fell in dirty curls around her face. Terror had twisted her face and her eyes were rolled back in her head, but an hour ago she had probably been pretty.

  Joshua crouched and began writing in the dust at his feet. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Jamal,” said the leader. I watched Joshua write the man’s name, then next to it a list of sins.

  “Wow, Jamal,” I said. “A goose? I didn’t even know that was possible.”

  Jamal dropped the adulteress’s arm and stepped back. Joshua looked up at the other man who was holding the woman. “And your name?”

  “Uh, Steve,” said that man.

  “His name is not Steve,” said another man in the crowd. “It’s Jacob.”

  Joshua wrote “Jacob” in the dust. “No,” said Jacob. He let go of the woman, pushing her toward us. Then Joshua stood up and took the stone from the man nearest him, who surrendered it easily. His attention was focused on the list of sins written in the dirt. “Now let us stone this harlot,” Joshua said. “Whoever of you is without sin, cast the first stone.” And he held out the stone to them. They gradually backed away. In a moment they had all gone back the way they had come and the adulteress fell to Joshua’s feet and hugged his ankles. “Thank you, Rabbi. Thank you so much.”

  “That’s okay,” said Joshua. He lifted her to her feet. “Now go, and sin no more.”

  “You really smell good, you know that?” she said.

  “Yeah, thanks. Now go.”

  She started off. “I should make sure she gets home okay,” I said. I started off after her, but Joshua caught the back of my tunic and pulled me back. “You missed the ‘sin no more’ part of my instructions?”

  “Look, I’ve already committed adultery with her in my heart, so, you know, why not enjoy it?”

  “No.”

  “You’re the one who set the standards. By those rules, even John committed adultery with her in his heart, and he doesn’t even like women.”

  “Do too,” said John.

  “To the Temple,” Joshua said, pressing on.

  “Waste of a perfectly good adulteress, if you ask me.”

  In the outer court of the Temple, where the women and the Gentiles were allowed to go, Joshua called us all together and began to preach the kingdom. Each time he would get started, a vendor would come by barking, “Get your doves. Get your sacrificial doves. Pure as the driven snow. Everybody needs one.” Then Joshua would begin again and the next vendor would come by.

  “Unleavened bread! Get your unleavened bread! Only one shekel. Piping hot matzo, just like Moses ate on the way out of Egypt, only fresher.”

  And a little girl who was lame was brought to Joshua and he started to heal her and ask about her faith when…

  “Your denariis changed to shekels, while you wait! No amount too large or small. Drachmas to talents, talents to shekels—all your money changed while you wait.”

  “Do you believe that the Lord loves you?” Joshua asked the little girl.

  “Bitter herbs! Get your bitter herbs!” cried a vendor.

  “Dammit all!” Joshua screamed in frustration. “You’re healed, child, now get out of here.” He waved off the little girl, who got up and walked for the first time in her life, then he slapped a dove vendor, ripped the top off his cage of birds, and released a cloud of doves into the sky.

  “This is a house of prayer! Not a den of thieves.”

  “Oh no, not the moneychangers,” Peter whispered to me.

  Joshua grabbed a long low table where men were changing a dozen currencies into shekels (the only coin allowed for commerce inside the Temple complex) and he flipped it over.

  “Oh, that’s it, he�
��s fucked,” Philip said. And he was. The priests took a big percentage from the moneychangers. He might have slid by before, but now he’d interfered with their income.

  “Out, you vipers! Out!” Joshua had taken a coil of rope from one of the vendors and was using it as a scourge to drive the vendors and the moneychangers out of the Temple gates. Nathaniel and Thomas had joined in Joshua’s tirade, kicking at the merchants as they scampered away, but the rest of us sat staring or ministered to those who had come to hear Joshua speak.

  “We should stop this,” I said to Peter.

  “You think you could stop this?” Peter nodded to the corner of the courtyard, where at least twenty priests had come out from the Inner Temple to watch the fracas.

  “He’s going to bring down the wrath of the priests on all of us,” Judas said. He was looking at the Temple guards, who had stopped pacing the walls and were watching the goings-on below in the courtyard. To Judas’ credit, he, Simon, and a few of the others had managed to calm the small crowd of the faithful who had gathered to be blessed and healed before Joshua’s tantrum.

  Beyond the walls of the Temple we could see the Roman soldiers staring down from the battlements of Herod the Great’s old palace, which the governor commandeered during feast weeks when he brought the legions to Jerusalem. The Romans didn’t enter the Temple unless they sensed insurrection, but if they entered, Jewish blood would be spilled. Rivers of it.

  “They won’t come in,” Peter said, a tiny note of doubt in his voice. “They can see that this is a Jewish matter. They don’t care if we kill each other.”

  “Just watch Judas and Simon,” I said. “If one of them starts with that no-master-but-God thing, the Romans will come down like an executioner’s blade.”

  Finally, Joshua was out of breath, soaked in sweat, and barely able to swing the coil of rope he was carrying, but the Temple was clear of merchants. A large crowd had started to follow him, shouting at the vendors as Joshua drove them out of the Temple. The crowd (probably eight hundred to a thousand people) was the only thing that kept the priests from calling the guards down on Joshua right then. Josh tossed the rope aside and led the crowd back to where we had been watching in horror.