Lights in a Western Sky

by Roger Curtis

  ‘I really will, Father.’

  She sat and James shifted his own chair to face her.

  ‘Mary, you remember Paul, the envoy who was here last week.’

  ‘No… oh, yes.’

  ‘A good man, and zealous in our faith. The resurrection of my brother – your master – dominates his thinking in ways that are not always easy to understand. Much more so than the message that Jesus preached within the Jewish faith.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, Father.’

  ‘The point is, Mary, that Paul set me thinking about things I’d shut out of my mind. You told me once about certain… events. Would it trouble you greatly if I asked the same questions again?’

  ‘If it pleases you.’

  ‘So, let’s go back twelve years, to when your master died. I remember we established that you, Mary his mother, the other Mary and Salome were all present when he was taken from the cross.’

  ‘We were there all afternoon.’

  ‘Was Simon Peter there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So who took Jesus from the cross?’

  ‘Roman soldiers. They left him on the ground.’

  ‘And no-one did anything?’

  ‘They wouldn’t let us near.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘The women… and John.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Men came.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Two… no, three.’

  ‘You’re uncertain?’

  ‘One was telling the others what to do.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘It was getting dark.’

  ‘But you could still see?’

  ‘Just.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘They carried him to the tomb in the olive trees.’

  ‘The same that we’ve seen many times when we’ve walked there together.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And they closed the tomb?’

  ‘It was dark… but I think so.’

  ‘Were the others still there?’

  ‘No. Just me. John had brought Jesus’ mother back here.’

  ‘To this house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Simon Peter?’

  ‘When I got back he was sitting there, where you are. Scared, he was. He told me to go. John said I could stay. I told them what I’d seen.’

  ‘And the following day… the Sabbath?’

  ‘Everyone just moped around. Then we brought things for his body. It wasn’t allowed, but we did. Next morning we took them there.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘His mother and me. But I got there first. The tomb was open, so I went in. There was someone there, holding up the shroud to fold it.’

  ‘Did this person speak to you?’

  ‘He said Jesus had gone from there.’ Mary’s voice was beginning to waver and James gripped her trembling hand. ‘But he had Jesus’ voice,’ she continued, ‘and looked like him, even in the darkness. I tried to touch him, but he pulled away, and then I knew it wasn’t him. I was so frightened I ran back here.’

  ‘And Mary, his mother?’

  ‘She didn’t dare go inside.’

  ‘What did the others do when you got back?’

  ‘John rushed out like a madman to go there. Simon Peter followed. When they got back they said it wasn’t Jesus, but then thought it must have been, because that’s what he said he would do.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Come back from the dead.’

  ‘Now, Mary, I want you to think very carefully. We know from Simon Peter that the Twelve expected something like this to happen, and that when it did it would herald the coming of the kingdom of God – which I’m sure one day will happen. But when Jesus spoke to you before… privately I mean… did you expect… the same?’

  ‘I’m… not sure. I don’t know that he knew himself. He said he was following God’s will, and was in God’s hands.’

  ‘God having the final say?’

  ‘He was God’s servant – though I never heard him say that to the others.’

  James muttered under his breath, ‘I truly wish Paul could have heard what you’ve just said. And in the days… weeks… that followed, did you experience anything… well… unusual?’

  ‘I heard rumours. But I was no longer with the Twelve.’

  ‘They excluded you?’

  There was resentment in Mary’s voice. ‘They said I was… unclean.’

  ‘And John?’

  ‘He kept apart. But we all worshipped in the Temple together.’

  ‘And then John left Jerusalem for Ephesus, taking our mother with him…’

  ‘That’s when you came.’

  ‘You have remembered well, Mary. I’m grateful.’ He rose and helped her from her chair. ‘Now, for our visitor this evening I’ve arranged for one or two special dishes to be delivered here. Will you serve them… and then join us?’

  ‘Thank you, Father.’

  That same evening Mary drew back the drapes that separated James’ cell from the room in which Jesus had held his last supper. In the distance the lights of the city were becoming visible, but the summit of Golgotha could still be seen in the fading sunlight. James and Thomas entered and moved instinctively to the portico.

  ‘The city is beautiful,’ Thomas said. ‘What a delight, James. But don’t such pleasures conflict with your ascetic life-style?’

  ‘I sincerely hope you’re teasing me. Now, Thomas. I have permitted us a little extravagance this evening – I thought it might facilitate our discourse. I have to admit I’m quite looking forward to it.’

  ‘Mm. Jesus once said to me, that brother of ours – James – there’s purpose in everything he does.’

  ‘Really? It must be a family trait then. Now, sit you down.’ James directed Thomas to a place exactly at the centre of the table, facing the city – and the summit of Golgotha. Thomas, realising the implication that this might have been Jesus’ place at the Passover meal – as James intended – was uneasy.

  James said, ‘Why do you hesitate?’

  ‘I think you know. Why here?’

  James appeared amused. ‘Only because I thought that – with you looking so like our brother – it might help to suggest lines of thought so far neglected. You can move, but for a moment stay as you are. Who knows, for you too it may be an insightful experience. In a while Mary will bring us our food. Then you can move if you want to.’

  ‘Is it coincidence that I can see Golgotha? Where we were this morning?’

  ‘No. No coincidence. I thought it might focus our minds on what we saw there. As I believe it once focused his, our brother’s.’

  ‘The summit is bare.’

  ‘But if you look hard you can see the cluster of olives near the tomb. There, down to the left. Tell me, what were your first thoughts – on seeing it again?’

  ‘That I’d been made to confront something I’d chosen never again to see.’

  ‘Can you explain that?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘Very well then.’ Thomas drew breath. ‘When I saw it – days after the crucifixion – there were many others there. It hadn’t yet been sealed off, you see. Someone had put a folded linen cloth where they thought his head had rested. But there was no feeling of… expectation.’

  ‘That’s about how it was for me.’

  ‘I remember going outside to cry.’

  ‘As did many others, including myself.’

  ‘As a brother I should have known him better.’

  For the first time James showed host
ility towards Thomas. ‘No. I think you knew him well enough.’

  Thomas could not contain a thought he’d tried hard to suppress. ‘Enough to know he was sometimes a misguided fool.’

  ‘Ah. I begin to smell the truth.’

  ‘James. Don’t pursue this. It’s in no-one’s interest.’

  ‘But it is in mine. Faith is one thing, Thomas, but blind faith I cannot stomach.’

  ‘Then in my own time, eh?’

  While they had been talking the room had been getting steadily darker. Far away the city lights shone more brightly. Mary, still wearing a headscarf, entered carrying a tray with plates and cutlery. James motioned her to set a bowl in front of Thomas. As seemed to be her custom she kept her eyes averted.

  Thomas said loudly, ‘James, there’s something familiar about your servant.’

  Mary, on hearing this, put down the tray and stared at him. Then she drew closer to see him better. To James she said, ‘Is this a trick?’ She peered more closely into Thomas’ face. ‘No. It’s no trick.’ She fell to her knees beside him.

  ‘James, the woman’s demented.’

  James knelt beside Mary. ‘Child, what’s upsetting you?’

  ‘Who is this man?’

  ‘Judas. Judas Thomas. Your master’s brother. You’re not alone in seeing a resemblance, if that’s what’s troubling you. Get up, Mary. Thomas means you no harm.’ He guided her to a seat facing Thomas, whose face she continued to scrutinise.

  ‘So like him. So like him.’

  ‘But neither of you have recollections of a meeting? Mary, take off your headscarf.’

  Mary did so, revealing her long black hair. For the first time Thomas could see that she had once been beautiful.

  ‘So, my brother,’ James said. ‘Are you still going to stay silent?’

  It was a while before Thomas could bring himself to reply. ‘I never intended it, James. But events moved so fast, as if they had been ordained. I was too weak to stop it.’

  Mary was staring at him hard. ‘You. In the tomb. Standing there with the white shroud.’ Bitterly she added, ‘As if it was yours.’

  ‘Hardly white, being soiled with…’

  ‘But in the darkness might have seemed so,’ James said.

  ‘You have to forgive me, Mary,’ Thomas continued. ‘I took you for one of the urchins that prowl the graveyards looking for spoils. When you tried to touch me…’

  ‘You pushed me away. He wouldn’t have done that. Even if I had been an urchin… or a leper.’

  ‘Mary, that was the difference between us – me and Jesus. At that moment I failed him.’

  ‘Understandable,’ James said. ‘But what interests me is what you were doing there, Thomas.’

  ‘Simple enough. I’d worked out, you see, what he intended to do in Jerusalem. James knows that, while we were close as brothers, we were as different as rock and clay. And for him that made me a kind of sounding board… for how the public would react to his ideas. If it works on Thomas it will work on them – something like that. The logic was in the bits from scripture that you gave me, James. I didn’t believe it, then… but he did. I knew that death at the hands of the Romans was his intention.’

  ‘But you did nothing.’

  ‘Not so! I followed. But days behind. At each village I heard of his growing band of followers. I reached Jerusalem on the evening of the crucifixion. The faces of people returning, droves of them passing me, ridiculing. It sickened me. So, knowing nothing, I took courage in my hands and went to the procurator’s office.’

  James was astonished. ‘You saw Pilatus?’

  ‘There was a councillor there from Arimathea – well known to him obviously – arguing to move the body. Can you believe that? And at that moment I felt God’s hand – me a sinner – on my shoulder. I told him – this Joseph – who I was. With his friend Nicodemus we went to Golgotha.’

  ‘But why would they want to move it… the body?’

  ‘Because the tomb couldn’t be sealed. The rock wouldn’t close. There were rats… and dogs. Maybe even a child could have crept in.’

  ‘So you moved him to another. Let me guess. About thirty paces away, now hidden behind brambles and tares.’

  ‘How did my astute brother deduce that?’

  ‘I caught you looking when we passed it together.’

  ‘That suggests to me you already suspected…’

  ‘Yes. But for the moment go on with your story.’

  Thomas continued, ‘I had no knowledge of this house, then. Or where the Twelve might be. So I stayed with Joseph in the upper city, and remained there for the Sabbath.’

  ‘But the following morning – why did you go back?’

  ‘We replaced the original shroud when we moved the body, but in our haste stupidly left the first behind. Unscrupulous people might have… found value in it. So at daybreak…’

  To Mary, James said, ‘You almost beat him to it.’

  ‘Had I known who she was…’

  ‘… the course of history would have been different.’

  Thomas walked to the front of the portico and looked out. ‘It took me two more days to discover that my – our – mother was here.’

  Mary began to cry bitterly. ‘Oh, why was I hiding myself away?’

  ‘Decision time, then,’ James said.

  ‘Exactly. Simon Peter – and I think John likewise – already had it in their heads that something… well… extraordinary had happened.’

  ‘And you chickened out of telling them.’

  ‘Yes. I thought it would all blow over – that I’d tell them when they’d come down to earth. Also I needed to get back to Galilee, where there was building work to finish.’

  ‘But you had one more opportunity to come clean, didn’t you?’

  ‘James, as you seem to know everything, just tell Mary.’

  ‘I think,’ James said, ‘that when Thomas left Jerusalem he intended to take the shorter – but more dangerous – road through Samaria. And on the way, by chance, he fell in with his uncle Cleopas and his son.’

  ‘Who’d only known me as a boy. They told me who they were, how ecstatic they were about what Simon Peter and John had told them about the risen Jesus.’

  ‘And again you stayed silent. Oh, Thomas.’

  Mary was now crying bitterly. ‘I waited so long for him to come. Now I know he never will.’

  James placed his arm about her shoulders. ‘That is not necessarily so, Mary.’

  Noises were heard from outside, then below.

  ‘Ah, that clatter in the street could be our food arriving. Mary, would you…’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ Mary said, leaving the room.

  ‘What you’ve told us, Thomas, only raises further questions. You realise that?’

  Thomas was amused. ‘Now what’s passing through that scheming mind of yours, James?’

  ‘That we should complete the picture, as we’re so nearly there.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘I think you never reached Samaria.’

  ‘Hm. I knew it was risky. Just two miles beyond Emmaus I got waylaid. In fact very badly beaten. I made it back to the inn – fortunately no sign of Cleopas – and next day in darkness crept back to the city. I stayed with Joseph until… well… my face was presentable.’

  ‘By which time most of the Twelve had returned.’

  ‘I sought them out, intending to explain. I found them here in this very room…’

  Mary returned with steaming dishes, which she placed on the table.

  ‘I was telling Thomas about when the Twelve returned.’

  ‘I remember,’ she said.

  ‘You were there?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘I watched them sit at the tab
le. How they had when Jesus was with them.’

  ‘But you weren’t there when I came.’

  ‘They hadn’t let me stay.’

  James asked, ‘Was it dark in here?’

  Thomas said, ‘They’d forgotten to light the candles. They seemed to recognise me, then they didn’t. They stared and stared, nudging one another, awed and frightened. They didn’t understand what they were seeing. Only later did I realise they thought I was the risen Jesus.’

  ‘You’d never met them?’

  ‘They never came to Sepphoris, to my knowledge.’ Thomas smiled. ‘There was confusion, I remember, because the only vacant seat was where Jesus must have sat. In my ignorance I took it.’

  ‘They still hadn’t guessed – that you were Jesus’ brother?’

  ‘Why should they? Then a strange thing happened. They offered me food – fish it was – and as we began to eat it was as if a great burden had been lifted and a feeling of joy entered the room. Their faces became transformed… as if…’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I couldn’t cope. I’m afraid I got up and left.’

  ‘Oh, Oh, Thomas. You could have told them. Instead you dug an even greater hole for yourself.’

  ‘I was pleased to be back in Sepphoris. In the real world of workshops and animals and… real people going about their ordinary business.’

  ‘And it never occurred to you to think how it all might have happened?’

  ‘Of course it did. I’d seen it before, you see. Don’t you remember? In our youth it was his party trick. He’d gather us together and go round tapping our shoulders and somehow – I’ve no idea how – he’d seed our minds with an idea, or an instruction. Then, later, something would trigger that idea. One mealtime we closed our eyes and when we opened them – to his delight – there was our sister Salome with bright red hair. You don’t remember?’

  ‘Salome wasn’t the only one.’

  ‘Later,’ Thomas said, ‘I came to realise he put his talent to better use – helping people to come to terms with pain and disabilities. Things like that. It was impressive.’

  ‘A gift from God, would you say?’

  ‘It must have been.’

  ‘I think so too.’ He turned to Mary, ‘Would you pass that dish there?’ Mary placed the dish in front of him and he peered into it. ‘That fish looks delicious.’ Mary, becoming agitated, began to re-arrange the cutlery aimlessly.