Fifth Gospel (20 page)

WATER AND WINE

M
ariam saw the form of a man come over the rise. At first, she thought him a shepherd walking ahead of his flock until she saw that his flock was not so many sheep but so many men.

She saw
Jesus shield his eyes to look at her, and in that moment she too shielded her eyes, but not from the sun, which was behind her, but from what seemed to overflow from him. She did not know yet what it was but she was full of comfort to see it.

Now came a shy greeting
, full with intimate expectation. Jesus had brought home her other sons, Jude and Simon and Jose, and she was also glad to see them. After meeting those others who had followed him, her daughters set off to prepare the water for their libations while she and Salome took themselves to the house to prepare a simple repast. Later while they shared the meal in the cool of the evening, she heard of Jesus’ doings, of his baptism by John the Baptist and of his travels with his followers in the wilderness of distant lands. The fishermen took turns in telling how in every place, men, women and even children, had recognised Jesus and had sought him out for a blessing or a healing.

W
hen the guests, weary from their long travels, retired to sleep, she looked for Jesus, desirous to speak with him alone, and to learn what lay in his heart. She found him in Joseph’s workshop tinkering with an old chair. From the shadows she observed him working in the half-light of the oil lamp and recalled the many times she had come here seeking solace. A desire swelled to go to him and to hold him like a mother holds a son, but he seemed so different. Much had passed since that night long ago when he had left to seek out the Baptist. The time in between seemed to her like a vast ocean and she only a weary boat looking for a shore. And so she hesitated.

Sensing her presence he
looked up. ‘This chair needs mending.’

‘Chairs break
from too much sitting down. I let those, who sit to mend the chairs.’

Jesus made a smile
at her playfulness, and a smile grew on her face to see his. She had brought a pitcher of water with her and now poured him a cup. ‘Are you thirsty?’

‘Like a camel!
’ he said, ‘You see, I haven’t forgotten your words.’

‘
No…I see that you haven’t.’

He
drank a little and paused to observe her, and in that pause she saw him change before her eyes. In a flicker, both a tempest of pain and the most expanded lightness of being became apparent. He seemed like those Nazarites who returned from their caves having battled with the devils in their souls. He must have fought and overcome something and now this overcoming had generated that great effulgence she could see spilling out from him.

‘
It seems I am always seeing something in you!’ she said.

‘What do you see?’
His eyes held hers.

T
o look at him near blinded her and so she looked away. ‘I don’t know what to tell you…I see a dazzling glory!’ she looked again, ‘Praise be God! I see…’

‘What?’

‘I see the
Son of God!’
Immediately she put a hand to her mouth as if she had blasphemed.

‘
Don’t be afraid, you have committed no wrong…’ he said, ‘trust in your heart.’

T
ears came into her eyes. ‘I feel joy!’ She lost her balance then and she was shaking. He steadied her and held her face close to his.

‘
This is heaven expressing itself through you, for this is the first time my mother in heaven sees the Son who long ago departed from her…she sees me through your eyes!’

A
gain she felt she would faint, and to forestall it he held her with one hand and took the cup of water and brought it to her lips. ‘Drink this,’ he said, ‘it will sustain you.’

When
she took a sip she was full of confusion. She looked into the cup trying to decide whether she believed it.

She stared at him,
‘How does this taste of wine Jesus?’

Jesus nodded.
‘It is only water…but what lives between you and me can make even water taste of wine.’

S
he had heard these words before; they echoed the words spoken by the Anchorite in Egypt so many years ago.

‘
This is a mother’s love for her son,’ she marvelled.

‘And his love for his mother
,’ he replied.

B
efore she could say more the storm of light that had surrounded Jesus ebbed away. So swiftly did it go that she wondered if she’d seen it at all.

Re
turned to those eyes was the calm expression she knew. ‘You look tired…’ he said to her, ‘Tomorrow is another busy day.’

She hesitated, ‘
I have been saying fare-thee-well to you all your life Jesus, and now I find myself not wanting to leave you, lest you disappear into thin air!’

Jesus
nodded. ‘I know. But this is a new season, and we must not say fare-thee-well, we must say,
Shalom.
’ Fixing her with his eyes he let his face open in a smile. ‘Shalom, mother…shalom!’

He hugged her
and she hugged him and embarrassed and happy closed her eyes, settling this word into her heart.

Shalom.

When the moment was over she took the pitcher and cup from Jesus and turned around to walk out of the workshop, feeling the swelling of a love so great in her heart that she could neither contain it, nor properly express it.

‡

‘But it was only days later,’ Lea explained to me, ‘at a wedding of a relative that she realised how destiny had fashioned that moment with Jesus for her understanding.’

‘You are speaking of the Wedding at Cana, aren’t you? Where t
he water tastes of wine,’ I said, to her. ‘This has always bewildered me.’

‘You see,
pairé
,’ she said, ‘the love of a heavenly mother for her heavenly son is a love beyond earth and blood. Such a love can inspire a feeling of
good will
that is so strong that it can make water taste of wine, that is, that it can make all men feel like kin!’

‘But this
love, Lea…is it magic?’

‘
It is wisdom, a wisdom that works like magic in the soul. To one, this wisdom is as sweet as honey,
pairé
, while to another, it is bitter. This
good will
enabled those at the wedding to see what lived in Mariam, and they never again called her the stepmother of Jesus. They called her…the Mother of God.’

Now, a
s I walk in this darkness, those words ring in my ears and I remember how a rush of understanding had washed over me.

‘
Oh my! This is the Mother of God!’ I said to Lea, ‘This is how the Sophia of our faith, the Sophia of the Greeks and the Gnostics, is one with the Mary of the Catholics!’

‘Yes,
pairé
,’ she said simply. In her eye there was a look I had seen before, the look of a mother observing a child experiencing the simple joy of discovery.

A GOOD WIFE

A
s Claudia Procula entered the large court on her husband’s arm she sensed his muscles tense.

This night he wore a red cloak over the insignia of his military office
, and it did much to temper the paleness of his face, held in check to appear calm and relaxed. She watched him scan the open court of the pr
ae
torium, decorated with plump cushions and silks, lighted candles and flowers. Beyond it the sun was setting and a hint of coolness had come to rescue the heat of the day. All seemed harmonious. Only Claudia knew the reason for her husband’s discomfiture and perhaps, because of it, she walked beside him with calm and poise, her back straight, her chin raised so as to accentuate the length of the neck, the curvature of the cheeks and the groomed hair that cascaded in browns over gold combs.

She
had chosen a regal dress that moved in long volumes of white and yellow silk around her legs. There was no jewellery to accompany it, save a necklace of gold, a present from her grandfather, Caesar Augustus. Yes, Claudia was a creature of politics, accustomed to intrigues and machinations, and she knew she must not seem grand, she must exude a simple grace and charm, and her smile must make even the most difficult person melt to the soles of his sandals.

For t
his was an important night.

The previous week
, after a disturbance at the Temple, her husband had cancelled his family’s return to Caesarea. He wasted no time in dispatching messages to Herod Antipas and the High Priests, requiring them to attend a banquet, over which they would discuss the disturbance. This would not only redress the imbalance of power, which had existed since his posting to Judea, but it would also give him the opportunity he had long sought, to see what friendship and alliance, if any, existed between priests and king.

Claudia had made it her personal task to see to all the practical arrangements
and had spent the entire week before the banquet attending to the smallest detail. She had the pr
ae
torium appropriately cleansed of idols and representations of the gods of Rome. In her kitchen, Roman cooks and servants were traded for Jew counterparts, and all utensils, dishes and trays, everything down to the smallest knife, was discarded and bought anew to ensure no unintentional contamination by forbidden substances. She allowed a handful of priests to come then, to inspect every corner of her home for anything that might be seen as unclean – anything that might contradict Hebrew law. In truth, it had been a monumental task, for even their son’s playthings had to be removed from the house, lest they injure the priest’s sensibilities. But she understood the reason for these measures. She did not wish to give any opportunity to those who would cast her husband in the mould of a man insensitive and dishonourable, a desecrator of Hebrew law, and a hater of the people of Israel.

Now, as her husband led her to the tables where sat their guests
, she greeted them cordially and gave a command for the servants to bring in the food: the best fish cooked in garlic and spices, fried locusts, fresh vegetables and fruits, pastries and sweetmeats. One servant after another came and went, serving food and pouring Galilean and Judean wine, while from the galleries wafted the sounds of drums and flutes.

The high priest Caiaphas sat at the
table on her right. The short, portly man was too small for his garments and his towering mitre, which threatened to topple from his head. He sat scratching his back and looking discomforted, as if he had left something of himself behind at the Temple and would now need to return for it. Beside him sat another priest, a taller and thinner man, who appeared to be the senior of the two. His sour-eyes were those of a man who is dragged to a place foul and suspicious, fraught with hidden desecrations.

Conversely, on the table to Claudia’s left, the family of Herod were to the priests like night
is to day. Herodias, entirely dressed in red, seemed comfortable and confident, and nodded with an air of amusement in Claudia’s direction. Claudia returned the nod with cool urbanity, acknowledging also Herod Antipas, wearing robes of Murex purple threaded with gold. He sat between his wife and Salome, his stepdaughter, who was adorned in a silken dress of azure blue embroidered with silver. She appeared the opposite of her name, for there was nothing tranquil about her. When her eyes touched on Claudia the impression they made was of stagnant ponds full of insects. Her mouth was curled in scorn, as if Claudia had been a promise of entertainment, which had failed to meet with her approval. Claudia, for her part, ignored it.

A
Roman citizen in the provinces had to endure the contempt and hidden hatred of the conquered peoples. However, nowhere was it seen more openly and plain to the eye than in Judea, where the Jews considered themselves the chosen ones, while all other men they deemed heretics, heathens and idolaters. Against this, she reminded herself: that Herod was disdained by his own people for not being a pure Jew, that his marriage to Herodias was unlawful, and that rumours abounded of his lust for his stepdaughter.

She turned her eyes
to the priests. They also despised Rome but on principle only, for they had grown fat and wealthy on power and indulgences which had come to them through peace and the quelling of revolt. Having measured disdain against advantage they had found it wanting.

This group might be displeased
at being forced to come to the house of an idolater, but neither Herod nor his priests would risk insulting a prefect of Caesar, at least not to his face.

To her mind
, these were not real Jews, those she had, time and again, encountered in the streets of Jerusalem. For it was her habit to revel in the colour, the noise, and the smells of the places she lived whenever it pleased her, and she thought nothing of speaking with the local women in their own language, eating their food, and delighting in their children. After all, were women and children not the same in every place? Differences existed only in a man’s world. This was her first philosophy.

Her husband did not understand her adventurous nature
, and often scolded her for her foolhardiness. She always listened and promised to be more cautious and yet the world, again and again, enticed her. In the end, her husband had ordered a man to follow her every move, which would have annoyed her had the centurion not provided her with entertainment. Having sensed that his eyes worked poorly, she toyed with him, hiding in the crowds, or in dark corners, deriving an unusual pleasure from the frustration and bewilderment of a hardened soldier over so small a thing as a woman’s whim. No, she did not take danger seriously, for she did not wish ill on any person, and it did not seem possible that ill would come to one who wished only good.

Ill attracts ill.
This was her second philosophy.

During
the meal, a mood of introspection descended over the group, and it was only some way into it that the conversation turned to the matter at hand, the occurrence during the Paschal week, which had so raised the ire of the priests and caused a stir among the Jews.

‘
I want to know something of this man, Jesus. How can he so easily create havoc in my city?’ her husband asked.

Caiaphas
’ face turned quizzical. ‘Why do you bother with an insignificant man like him? He is only a follower, not a leader…’

Her husband
kept his tone polite, but she could tell that impatience lay beneath his words, ‘Insignificant? So insignificant that he can enter the Temple and threaten its priests and moneychangers? This would not happen in Rome, I assure you. Who is his leader?’

‘John the Baptist, the
blasphemer!’ Ananias said, ‘But don’t be fooled, it is my estimation that this man from Nazareth may yet cause havoc for us.’

H
er husband moved a cold eye to the other priest. ‘I repeat my question therefore, who is he?’

A shiver seemed to whisk through
Caiaphas. Claudia realised the two priests were joined but in conflict, for beneath their common purpose there ran a longstanding quarrel of opinion.

‘
When I mean he is insignificant,’ Caiaphas said, ‘it is because he is of the line of David…a descendant from David’s son, Nathan, and not from his other son, Solomon.’

Pontius
paused, awaiting elucidation. When it did not come, he leaned forward and said, ‘Well? What does this mean
,
not from Solomon?’

Caiaphas
was the model of paternal indulgence. ‘I beg your pardon, Governor,’ he said, ‘of course…how could you know? King David had two notable sons, Solomon and Nathan. You see, to Solomon he gave the kingdom, to Nathan, the priesthood.’

‘
So?’ her husband said, looking from one priest to the other. ‘What of it?’

‘If Jesus of Nazareth had been born in Bethlehem
, of the lineage of Solomon,’ Ananias said, ‘well, procurator, Caesar would have much to worry from such a man…for he might be the expected king
…
the Son of Man, destined to bring the Kingdom of God to Israel, and to resurrect its power!’

Her husband
seemed puzzled. ‘So…this is your Messiah, the man from the line of Solomon?’

Herod turned from his task of enticing Salome with fruits
, since something in the conversation had caught his attention. ‘Solomon…Nathan…The sun that falls on Israel breeds prophets like weeds, procurator! They spring up all over the place, telling of a Messiah who will come to put the poor in the place of rich, and the rich in place of poor; to topple kings and to bring about a consolation of all of Israel’s troubles. And if the
Sicarri
are to be believed, he will do it by taking for himself Caesar’s crown. But, as it is said, that he will come from Bethlehem you have nothing to fear from this man, Jesus of Nazareth. It is well known, no good has ever come out of Nazareth! In my opinion he is only a harmless madman!’ He flashed a condescending smile.

‘Your father was a madman…’ Pontius pointed out. ‘Would you have called
him
harmless…?’

H
erod’s smile grew less big.

Caiaphas
seemed amused by this exchange, or perhaps it was the terrible Galilean wine, which had begun to work its wonders on him, for when he spoke now his voice was indulgent and calm. ‘Let us not waste time on the Messiah…but rather, direct our faculties to what we are to do about the troublemaker, John the Baptist…already he has aroused people to burn idols, and to ransack the houses of the pagans. Who knows what they will do next? Jesus of Nazareth is only one, out of thousands of followers!’

Ananias’ temper was
grimly cast by the light of his fellow’s merriness. ‘Yes, Caiaphas, but don’t forget, Jesus of Nazareth has Zealots…members of the
Sicarri
who travel in his train…men who may be using him to incite sedition against Rome!’

Her husband
leaned back, seemingly mining for wisdom in his wine cup. When he looked up, there was a fire in his eyes. ‘I do not need to look far to see conspirators, one fool tells me he is harmless, and the other fool tells me he is a danger!’ He set his wine cup down loudly and made them bend before the wind of his anger. ‘I do not know whom or what to believe, in this cursed place!’ He gathered to himself a measure of restraint before adding, ‘What is the name of the man who inspires Jesus of Nazareth, again?’

Ananias, having weathered the storm
better than his younger counterpart, said, ‘John the Baptist, procurator.’

Herodias
would add her own part to this and sat forward. Her entire mien was autocratic and impatient. ‘I was insulted by that man! He is an animal, a degenerate and an insurrectionist. Someone should arrest him and have him executed!’ She threw her husband a significant eye.

Her daughter
laughed and said, ‘Poor stepfather! Your people hate you and so you are jealous of this man who is loved. In truth, you would kill the man for this alone, were it not for the hope that he could cure you of your father’s curse!’

‘Salome!’ Herod said to her
, in vacuous astonishment.

She ignored him
and continued, ‘But in my opinion, you should be more afraid of my mother…who is a witch, and can turn a man into a toad!’

‘
Shut up, Salome! Have you no shame?’ Herodias barked.

Claudia saw a spark move from
daughter to mother, mother to husband and back again, in a triumvirate of disdain, dislike and discomfiture.

H
erod took to being cheerful and clapped his hands. ‘Salome, my dear, why don’t you delight us with a dance!’

Salome
narrowed her eyes and shook her head. ‘No, I should think not.’

U
nabashed he enticed her further, ‘Our hosts have not seen your marvellous dances! Your twists and turns that defy the eye! Music!’ he shouted, ‘Music!’

The Jew musicians paused their present song
, and after a momentary hesitation, began a hurried tune with cymbals and drums.

Salome’s face
moved in a snarl. ‘I said, no!’