Читать книгу The Rabbi’s Daughter - Alan Sorem - Страница 7

Adam and Benjamin came running up the hill as only young children can run. “Grandmother, Grandmother, men are coming!”

She rose from the garden and called to Elizabeth inside the house. “Our visitors are arriving.”

Elizabeth appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Yes, yes, Mama. All is prepared.”

The two youngsters circled Mary, excited with their news.

“Papa is keeping their horses by the gate to give us time to come tell you.” Benjamin exclaimed.

“There are three of them,” stated Adam.

“Two are simply dressed,” continued Benjamin.

“The other has a fine cloak,” shouted Adam.

“And a sword this long!” Benjamin stretched his arms out wide.

Mary peered down the path. “They’re walking up. I’ll go wash my hands and put on my apron. Now, calm down, you two.”

She made her way toward her small house as the boys ran back down the path to greet the three men.

Mary, wearing a new apron, was standing outside the door alongside Elizabeth as the trio approached. The two plainly dressed men stopped into the clearing and bowed to Mary. The swordsman wore a military cloak. He gave Elizabeth a smile and a nod. His eyes turned to survey the area surrounding the cottage.

“Shalom,” said the younger of the two men. He then addressed Mary in the old tongue.

“Mistress, we are grateful for your kindness in receiving us. Shall we speak in the old language or in Greek?”

She realized she was staring at the other man. He closely resembled her second son, James, who had died in Jerusalem five years before.

She responded in Greek to the older man. “Forgive my rudeness. You bear the likeness of one of my sons.”

“I am honored. I knew your son James in the early days. I regret his death.”

He bowed. “I am Barnabas.” He gestured to his companion. “Mark. I am his cousin and scribe.” His cousin bowed again. “And our watchful guardian from the Chief Elder’s household is Felix.”

The swordsman gave Mary a nod and his gaze returned to an inspection of the surrounding woods.

“Why is a guardian needed?” Mary asked.

“These are troubled times,” Mark answered.

Mary gestured toward the doorway. “My daughter Elizabeth. Please come in. Elizabeth has prepared refreshments for us.”

“Thank you,” Mark replied as they walked to the house. “Felix prefers to wait outside to prevent interruption by unwanted visitors.”

Her grandsons had edged closer to Felix. He smiled at them and drew his sword from its scabbard and displayed it to them.

“Adam. Benjamin. That’s enough. Back to your father now!” Mary clapped her hands and they ran off, Benjamin almost tripping as he turned for a last look at Felix. The swordsman laughed and gave him a fierce look before he sheathed his sword.

Bread, cheese, and fruit were set on the long table. Elizabeth offered a bowl of water and a towel for the two men to wash their hands.

They sat on benches by the table and exchanged pleasantries for a period deemed long enough by Mary.

“We rarely have visitors nowadays,” she noted. “I am not clear as to why you have chosen to visit me.”

Mark began. “Holy Mother—”

“Please.” Mary held up a hand. “I have no use for such titles. I said as much to Paul when he visited years ago.” She snorted. “Strange little man. He was so sure of himself when he persecuted apostates. And then so sure of himself when he preached and taught the Way.”

“He was transformed by your son,” protested Barnabas. “And the change was sincere, as we can attest. We both have traveled with him.”

“Paul had his own time in the wilderness,” Mark added mildly, watching Mary. “Much longer than your son Jesus did.”

Mary raised her hand again. “Enough. Tell me why you wish to see me.”

Mark responded. “Mistress, we are returning to Antioch soon. We stay a short while in Ephesus. We simply wish to pay our respects.”

“Fine words. The Chief Elder in The Community here sent news of your coming. I sense there is more to this matter than paying respects.”

Mark and Barnabas exchanged glances.

“Oh, come, come,” Mary exclaimed. “I am near my eightieth year. If all we are to do is bandy words about, you may see me in my grave before all is done.” She turned to her daughter. “Elizabeth, fetch the wine and cups. Perhaps the drink will loosen their tongues.”

Mark chuckled as Elizabeth brought the ewer and poured from it into three cups.

“You have a reputation in The Community for frankness. I am glad to see it is true.”

“Too frank by far. That is why it was arranged for me to live here.”

“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“Daughter, it was before you came.” Mary turned back to the men. “Now, speak to me plainly.”

“Very well,” Mark replied. “You know of Peter’s death?”

“Ah, Peter. Simon by birth name. Strong as an ox from pulling the nets on the Sea of Galilee. Peter the rock, my son renamed him in Greek. He had a hearty laugh, as I remember. A man of strong passions but possessed neither of courage or a great mind.”

“Mistress, I must protest! His faith was firm to the end, crucified by soldiers on Nero’s order.”

Mary pursed her lips. Eyes narrowed, she peered at Mark.

“It was long ago but I have not forgotten the story of what happened. Peter and his comrades snoring in Gethsemane instead of keeping watch with my son as he prayed. And later Peter denied three times that he was a follower. Myself, I would have cursed Peter for his dereliction and rejection.”

“But the Master did not.”

“My son had a weakness in that way.”

“You cannot believe this!”

Mary leaned back. “There are things that are mine to believe.”

“I tell you truly,” Mark retorted, “that Peter himself spoke of the shame of that night. He also told me how the Master forgave him later, by the Galilean Sea.”

“So you say.”

Barnabas could contain himself no longer at the end of the table.

“Peter was a tremendous witness. In Antioch he brought many to faith in the Master. There and in Rome, in other cities as well, I have heard his witness. He spoke with passion in a fisherman’s rough tongue. Many people flocked to hear him.”

Mary nodded. “They were all direct in their discourse. Country folk. The sons of Zebedee, Mary of Magdala, the others. No hidden meanings to puzzle out. But now he’s gone.”

“Yes,” nodded Mark. “By Emperor’s order after the fire that killed so many of The Community in Rome.”

Mary snorted. “Ephesus is still groaning and paying the taxes that Nero levied to construct new quarters for the Senators and other men of wealth on the ruins of the old.”

“And the death of Paul? You have heard of that also?”

“Yes. No crucifixion for him, they tell me. A Roman citizen rather than a Galilean bumpkin.” Mary gave a sarcastic laugh. “Killed decently by hanging. Rome has strange ways.”

She thought for a moment and then continued.

“Paul came to see me when he was in the city below teaching the Way of my son at the School of Tyrannus. Oh, I could tell you a story about him, if that’s why you’ve come. Proud of his learning, Paul was. Studied under Gamaliel in Jerusalem.”

“As did I,” Barnabas murmured.

Her eyes grew angry. “Jerusalem!”

“Mistress,” Mark quietly continued, “Peter and Paul both faithfully followed the Way of your son.”

“Does that excuse Peter his denial? Or Paul—his persecution of others in the name of God?”

“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She turned to Mark and Barnabas. “Please. Those days long ago sometimes are like yesterday to her.” To her mother she said, “Calm, Mama. Calm, calm.”

“I’m perfectly calm!” Mary snapped.

There was quiet for a moment. Mark took a sip of wine. He spoke quietly.

“I am sorry if we have offended you. Peter and Paul—their story is done.”

“Enough! Tell me plainly why you are here.”

Mark and Mary stared evenly at each other before the man replied.

“I am writing an account of your son, our Master. It is compiled from many sources and is near completion. Most of it concerns the last week in Jerusalem.”

Mary nodded. “The week that began with high hopes and eager expectations but ended in horror.”

“And then joy on the morning after Sabbath,” added Barnabas.

“So some say.” Mary glanced at Mark. “Is your account a glorification of him, as the pagans do?”

Mark was silent as Barnabas responded, speaking bluntly. “No, not as the pagans do. It is not the history of an Alexander or an Augustus. It is the true tale of the Son of Man, who died a cruel death as the rejected Messiah. The Master was destined for death. He knew his teaching of a new Way, the Way of God the Father, would bring a confrontation with religious and political leaders who wanted no challenge to their power and status.”

“Enough!” Mark told his cousin firmly. He turned to Mary. “Please, I need your help.”

“My help! You who have traveled with Paul and listened to Peter? What help can a tired old woman give you?”

For a moment, Mark’s eyes watched her face filled with anger.

“It was a very difficult time for you,” he said softly. “To lose a son in such a way.”

“I do not wish to speak of it,” retorted Mary. “Events long ago and far away. I have found peace here.”

“Forgive us, Mary. I wish to speak to you of earlier times.”

Mary erupted, her speech hurried. “The brutal mockery of it all! Innocent of charges against him! Executed between two thieves instead of Barabbas, that murderous criminal. Over his head a pine board that proclaimed him King of the Jews. A warning to other upstarts that this cruelty is what awaited them also.”

Her eyes flashed. “And what have you?” Her head turned from one man to the other. “Do you have sons who are willing to die for him as my James did?”

“Calm, Mama, please!” Elizabeth cried.

There was a tense silence, broken at last by Barnabas.

“Peter and Paul were willing. I pray that Mark and I also will be willing if we are put to the test.”

Mark raised a hand to silence him. He addressed Mary.

“Please. We are not here to speak of Jerusalem long ago. Please. We need your help with much earlier years.”

His voice was calm and soothing. The tension evident in Mary’s face subsided.

“I will state again why we are here. Your son learned so much from Joseph and you. His knowledge of scripture began in his childhood. That is why we have come, to hear stories of his growth to manhood before he went to his kinsman, John the baptizer.”

Mary sighed. “Ah, the old stories. Others have come to question me. I kept my silence.”

“Before Peter’s death.” Mark went on, “we heard so many stories from him. And other events were told to us when we recently visited Galilee.”

Barnabas spoke. “From Paul we learned what he had heard of the Master’s teachings. Paul was very clear with us that stories of the childhood of Jesus might be helpful among the Gentiles.”

Mary replied with a voice filled with sarcasm.

“Oh, yes. Let us bring more Gentiles in. A whole world of Gentiles! You can tell them this from Mary, his mother. My firstborn was always exceptional. Every day was filled with blissful peace and joy. Of course, there were six other children along the way, accounts to keep for a busy husband with an expanding trade, wash to get done, meals to prepare, animals to be fed as well, the cow milked, and the stalls cleaned.” She snorted again. “Holy Mother, indeed.”

She held her gnarled hands up and turned them from front to back. “What tales do these hands relate, hmm?”

Mark glanced from Barnabas to Mary. “Please, you two.” He nodded to Elizabeth. “Your daughter is right. Calm yourselves. Let us breathe normally.”

He laid his hands palm down on the table.

“I will begin again. I have a commission from Peter.”

“Peter is dead, as is Paul.”

Mark smiled. “Perhaps we call it that but I believe they live among the blessed now.”

“As does Joseph, my husband. A righteous man.”

Mark nodded. “Please, hear me out.”

Mary leaned back as Mark continued.

“Peter and I had long conversations in Rome in the weeks before he, like your son, was crucified. There are revolts brewing all around the Empire for reasons more than the taxes Nero has levied to rebuild inner Rome after the fire. Peter believed a double test of faith is upon us. One is that believers are falling away among those who believed the Master would return quickly. He has not. Among the Thessalonians, the Cappadocians, even in Antioch and Alexandria, skeptics have arisen who are bold to say the Way is based on falsehood. The ambitious striving and self-assurance of such men seems to answer the doubts of a significant number of the former faithful. Their new masters of faith attract them to ways contrary to the true Way.

“The other test arises from places of renewed rebellion within the Empire. In Judea, Galilee and elsewhere, false messiahs have sprung up, calling anew for the overthrow of Roman rule. Such men scoff at the Way of the Master. Many of those who formerly were faithful are now joining the militants, whose lives are bent on destruction and ruin rather than on patient endurance in affliction.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth spoke up. “I have heard such talk in The Community in Ephesus from those who question the Elders.”

Her mother eyed Mark. “And the commission you have been given?”

Mark leaned closer.

“I composing an account. Barnabas is my scribe. But almost nothing is known of the Master’s life before his baptism, an old ritual given new meaning in turbulent times. All the events that Peter and the others experienced occurred after Jesus called them to follow him. We have many details from Galilee and Judea of those events, but I need your help with the earlier days.”

“It will not be a glorification, then?”

“No. It will be the beginning of my account. The coming of the Good News. I mean it to inspire those who are new in faith and to support those who believed from the beginning.”

“An account of my son’s life and death.”

Mark gave her a long look before continuing.

“An account of his life and death and life again.” He turned his hands on the table palms up. “It has been more than thirty years. Many of the faithful believed he would return in triumph by now, leading all the angels of heaven to form the Kingdom of God on earth.”

Barnabas nodded and spoke. “Peter said a clear account of what happened is needed in these troubled times. It will remind the weak and fainthearted that we may trust the Master and know him truly as the Son of the Most High.”

“My son,” said Mary.

“Yes, fully human,” agreed Mark. “But one sent from God to free us from the barriers that separate us from one another. He helps us to see all people with the eyes of God.”

Mary pursed her lips. “Quite an undertaking, this account of yours.”

“It is almost finished. I wish to keep it brief enough so that it may be read out at The Community meetings, here in Ephesus and elsewhere. To be read wholly, or in successive parts before the Meal of Remembrance.” His eyes were serious. “I need your help with the beginning.”

He paused before continuing. “But first there is one matter in which your clarification is essential. You have spoken of your husband. Joseph.”

“A holy man. A good husband. A devoted father.”

Barnabas spoke. “There are some who say—” He paused and glanced at Mark. Mark nodded.

Barnabas continued. “There are some who say Joseph was not the father of Jesus. Some other man. Perhaps a Roman soldier.”

“Rubbish,” Mary muttered.

“We must be truthful, you see.” Mark said.

Barnabas nodded and spoke emphatically. “One example. We have been told that your betrothal to Joseph extended far longer than usual. The reason? Allegedly a long visit to your kinswoman in Jerusalem. When you returned your womb was large with child. The child of a man of Cana or of someone whom you met in Jerusalem.”

Mary slapped both hands on the table and scowled. “Rubbish!” she repeated.

“I will speak plainly,” Mark calmly continued. “We do not fear what is true. What matters is the open tomb on the day after Sabbath. The beginning for us is the inner meaning of your son’s baptism by John. Perhaps he was a bastard son, adopted at the Jordan River to be the Son of the Most High.”

“No!” hissed Mary. “That is falsehood!”

No one spoke.

“Mama?” Elizabeth reached for her mother’s hand but Mary moved it away. She raised her head and glared at Mark and Barnabas.

“Such lies! Very well, I will tell you the true story.”

Mark smiled. “Thank you.”

“But not today. Today there has been too much excitement. I must rest.”

Mark frowned. “But we have barely begun.”

“I need to think the old matters through. To be able to speak of them in an orderly way for the account that you propose to write.”

“Of course,” Mark nodded. “We did not wish to burden you so. But the truth of these matters is important.”

“I agree.”

The two men rose. “We will begin in late morning tomorrow if that is all right.”

“Yes.” Mary did not return Mark’s smile. She was remembering those days so long ago. “Tomorrow.”