Mary of Nazareth (22 page)

He said this in his usual calm, persuasive tone, his eyes full of kindness.

Miriam did not reply, but simply nodded in agreement.

“We have many reasons to feel anger,” Joseph went on. “More than we can bear. That's why anger can never give rise to anything good. Over time, it works like a poison, stopping us from accepting Yahweh's help.”

On another occasion, he laughed and said, “I hear the handmaids are all thinking of imitating you. Geouel is getting worried. He thinks he's going to see all of you with short hair one of these mornings. I told him he was much more likely to wake up one fine morning without a single handmaid in the house, because you'd have taken them a long way away to start a house for women….”

Miriam laughed with him.

Joseph passed his palm over his bald cranium. It was clear that although he was joking, he was profoundly serious. “It wouldn't be impossible. You already know a lot.”

“No, I still have too much to learn,” Miriam replied, with the same half-serene, half-severe expression. “And I wouldn't open a house for women, but a house for everyone. Men and women,
am ha'aretz
and Sadducees, rich, poor, Samaritans, Galileans, Jews and non-Jews. A house for people to join together, the way that life joins us together and jumbles us up. We shouldn't cut ourselves off from other people behind walls.”

Joseph was taken aback by this. He remained lost in thought and did not reply.

         

T
HE
first rains of winter shook the leaves from the trees, making the paths impassable. Fewer sick people came for treatment. The air smelled of fire from the hearths. The brothers began going out into the countryside around the house, because this was one of the best times to gather the herbs needed for ointments and potions. Miriam got into the habit of following them at a distance to see what they were gathering.

One morning, walking ahead of the others, Joseph found Miriam waiting at the side of the path, sitting on a rock.

“Do you know Obadiah often pays me a visit?” she said. “Not in a dream, but in broad daylight, when my eyes are wide open. He talks to me, he's happy to see me. And I'm even happier than he is.” She laughed. “I call him my little husband!”

Joseph frowned. “And what does he say to you?” he asked in an even gentler voice than usual.

Miriam put a finger on his lips and shook her head. “Do you think I'm mad?” she asked, amused by the anxiety she sensed in Joseph. “Ruth's positive I am!”

Joseph did not have the chance to reply. The brothers had just come into view and were staring at them.

Subsequently, Joseph never displayed any curiosity about these visits from Obadiah. Perhaps he was waiting in his own way for Miriam herself to talk about it again. But she never did. Any more than she answered Ruth when, from time to time, unable to hold her tongue, she asked her, a touch sardonically, for news of her
am ha'aretz.

         

O
NE
snowy morning, a group of people arrived at the house yelling at the tops of their voices. They had brought a very old woman with them. The roof of her house, rotten with damp, had collapsed on her.

Joseph was out gathering herbs, in spite of the bad weather, and it was Geouel who came into the courtyard to examine the woman. Miriam was already bending over her.

Sensing Geouel behind her, she quickly stepped aside. Geouel looked at the woman's face and the many superficial wounds on her legs and hands.

After a moment, he rose to his full height and declared that the woman was dead and that nothing more could be done. But Miriam startled him with the cry, “No! Of course she isn't dead!”

Geouel glared at her.

“She isn't dead,” Miriam insisted.

“Do you know these things better than I do?”

“I can feel her breath! Her heart is still beating! Her body is warm!”

Geouel made a great effort to control his anger. He took the old woman's hands, crossed them over her torn, dusty tunic, turned to those around them, and said, “This woman is dead. You can prepare her grave.”

“No!”

This time, Miriam pushed him aside unceremoniously, dipped a cloth into a pitcher of vinegar, and started rubbing the old woman's cheeks.

Geouel laughed. “Ah, you're determined to have your miracle!”

Taking no notice of him, Miriam demanded more cloths to clean the old woman's body, and asked for water to be heated so that she could be bathed.

“Don't you see that Yahweh has taken her life from her?” Geouel cried indignantly. “What you're doing to the body of a dead woman is a sacrilege! And if any of you help her, you'll be committing sacrilege too!”

After a brief moment of hesitation, everyone set about following Miriam's orders. Cursing, Geouel disappeared inside the house.

The old woman was immersed in a tub of hot water in the kitchen of the women's quarters. Miriam kept rubbing her throat and cheeks with vinegar thinned down with camphor. But there were no signs of life now, and everyone was starting to have doubts.

In the middle of the day, Joseph returned. When he heard about what was happening, he came running. Miriam explained to him what she had done. He lifted the old woman's eyelids and looked for a pulse in her neck.

It took him a little time to find it. He got to his feet with a smile.

“You're right, she's alive. But now we need more hot water. We also need to make a drink for her that could just as easily kill her as wake her.”

He went into the house and came back with an oily black potion made from ginger root and various snake poisons.

Very carefully, a few drops were poured into the old woman's toothless mouth.

They had to wait until nightfall, constantly replenishing the scalding water in the bath, before they finally heard her let out a distinct groan.

The handmaids and the people who had brought the woman stepped back, more in terror than in joy. When she had looked like a corpse, they had clung to the thought that she was alive. Now that they had the proof that she was really alive, they were terrified. One of them cried, “It's a miracle!”

Some of the handmaids started weeping, others repeated, “It's a miracle. A miracle!”

They praised the Lord, rushed outside, and shouted themselves hoarse announcing the miracle.

Joseph, as irritated as he was amused, looked at Miriam. “Geouel's going to like this! In a little while, everyone in the village will be outside the door, calling it a miracle. I'd be surprised if one of them didn't come up with a prophecy to go with it.”

Miriam appeared not to hear him. She was holding the old woman's hands, looking at her closely. She could see her eyes moving now beneath her wrinkled eyelids. From her throat came the spasmodic purr of her breathing.

Miriam looked at Joseph. “Geouel is right. This isn't a miracle. It's your skill and your potion that gave her back her life, isn't it?”

CHAPTER 15

J
OSEPH
'
S
prediction came true.

In almost no time at all, the path leading to the house in Beth Zabdai was filled with a motley crowd muttering prayers from morning to night. Among them were a few men in rags who chanted and shouted more loudly than the rest and unhesitatingly proclaimed themselves prophets of the days to come. The most eccentric of them assured the crowd that they were about to perform genuine miracles. Others harangued the gathering with descriptions of hell so terrible and so precise that anyone would have thought they had just come back from there. Still others stirred up the sick, assuring them that the hand of God was on the Essenes, who now had the power not only to heal wounds and soothe pain, but also to bring the dead back to life.

Furious at this growing chaos, the brothers decided to safeguard their prayers and studies. They sealed the door and stopped admitting patients. Joseph did not agree with this decision, but since he felt embarrassed to be the cause of this disorder, he made no objection. He let Geouel deal with this unexpected closure.

When Ruth told Miriam what was happening, Miriam gave a pout of indifference. The only thing that interested her was the treatment of the old woman, who was making good progress every day, breathing more easily, eating, and gradually returning to consciousness.

Discreetly, Joseph of Arimathea came to examine her every day. His visits were like a ritual. First, he would observe the old woman in silence. Then, bending his head, he would listen to her chest through a cloth. Then he would inquire about what she had eaten and drunk, and whether she had emptied her bowels. Finally, he would ask Miriam to palpate her limbs, pelvis, and ribs. As he guided Miriam's fingers, he watched for any reaction of pain on the old woman's face. In this way, Miriam learned how to recognize any possible fractures and contusions beneath the skin, bones, and muscles.

Five days after death had loosened its grip on the old woman thanks to him, Joseph said, “It's too early to know whether or not the bones in the back and hips are intact, or if she'll be able to walk again. But I doubt that the bones have been affected. For the moment, judging by what you can feel with your fingers, it looks as if only one rib is broken. It'll hurt her for a long time, but she can live with it. The worst thing is when the bones in the chest break and tear the lungs. Then we can't do anything except watch while the patient dies an excruciating death.”

Miriam asked him how he could be certain this wasn't the case with this woman.

“When it happens, you'll know! The patient can't breathe. Bubbles of blood form on the lips. And when the patient breathes out or in, the chest makes a roaring noise like a heavy rainstorm!”

“But if nothing was broken,” Miriam said, surprised, “why did this woman appear to be dead?”

“Because when she was buried under the rubble, she didn't have any air. The effort she had to make to survive weakened her heart. It didn't really stop beating, but the beats slowed down, and there was only just enough blood flowing to keep her alive. That, more than anything else, is what life is: a beating heart that sends the blood all over the body.”

“So your potions made her heart stronger?”

Joseph nodded with a satisfied air. “That's all it was. I just gave God's will a little nudge. Of course, in the end he decides, but that's been our covenant since the days of Abraham: We can do our share to sustain life on this earth.”

There was a hint of irony in his tone; Joseph hated to appear presumptuous. But Miriam knew he was sincere. Man was not born into the world like a stone suspended above a well. He had his own destiny in his hands.

They were both silent for a moment, looking at the old woman. Just as the indelible circles of the seasons accumulate in the trunks of trees, so the whole of this woman's life was etched in the lines of her face: the innocence of the child, the beauty of the young girl, maturity, children, joys and sorrows, the years of hardship and labor that had eroded it to produce, finally, the chaotic mask of old age. This face celebrated life, the power of it, the human craving for it.

In spite of the thick walls, the silence was broken by the cries of one or other of the “prophets” haranguing the crowd. From one man's strident sermon, they made out a certain number of words—
promises, lightning, great uprising, savior, ice, fire
—being screamed now in Aramaic, now in Hebrew, now in Greek.

Joseph sighed. “There's someone who wants to show how learned he is! They must like it.”

As if in answer, there was a sudden clamor outside: two or three hundred voices shouting the words of a psalm of David.

O God, look at the face of your Messiah

One single day in your courts is worth more than a thousand elsewhere

My God, I have chosen to remain on the threshold of Your house….

Immediately, the prophet resumed his resonant diatribe.

“If the Lord hasn't made him a true prophet,” Joseph said, amused, “at least he's given him a voice that could announce good news in the desert.”

“Brother Geouel won't feel any happier when he hears him,” Miriam remarked, half smiling.

“Geouel is a proud and presumptuous man,” Joseph muttered.

Miriam nodded. “If he were humbler, he'd know that those he despises, the women and the weak, are like the people shouting out there. Only our cries make less noise. In my opinion, those people are as much to be pitied as this old woman before us. They're suffering as much as she is. Their pain comes from not knowing where life is leading them. Not understanding why they're here. They see themselves walking without any aim in the days to come, expecting the earth to open beneath their feet and drag them down into the abyss. I feel sad to hear them shouting themselves hoarse like that. They're so afraid that God will turn his face from them that it drives them mad. They no longer feel his hand guiding them to joy and goodness.”

Joseph stared at her intensely, completely stunned. Ruth, who was standing some distance from them, also looked at Miriam as if the words she had just uttered were totally extraordinary.

With a gesture he often made when he felt embarrassed or puzzled, Joseph passed his hand over his bald cranium. “I understand you, but I don't share your feeling, any more than I feel the fear of those who are outside. An Essene, if he conducts himself with justice and purity, and for the good of mankind, knows where life will lead him: to Yahweh. Isn't that the meaning of our prayers, the reason why we choose poverty and communal life in this house?”

Miriam looked him in the eyes. “I'm not an Essene, and I can't be one, since I am a woman. I'm like those people: waiting impatiently for God to spare us those misfortunes tomorrow which overwhelm us today. It's my only hope. And this better future mustn't be only for a handful of us. It must be for all people in the world.”

Joseph did not reply. He gave the old woman something to drink, and then Miriam and Ruth washed her face.

The next day, when Joseph came back to examine the old woman, the commotion was still at its height outside. It was slightly different, though, as a new “prophet” had arrived during the night. This one, who had come with about twenty of his followers, spoke of the joy of martyrdom and expressed hatred for the human body, which was weak and corruptible. Since dawn, his followers had been taking turns to whip themselves until the blood ran, chanting their praises of Yahweh and their contempt for life.

When Joseph entered the bedchamber where the old woman lay, Miriam and Ruth saw that his face, usually so serene and welcoming, was as closed and hard as a stone. He said nothing until the sound of weeping and strident cries from outside made him shudder.

“Those who claim to be prophets are more arrogant than us Essenes, more arrogant even than Geouel himself,” he muttered. “They think they can reach God by getting themselves all burned up in the desert. They spend months standing on columns, eating nothing but dust and drinking very little, until their skin is as tough as old leather. They're drunk on their own supposed virtue. By claiming to love God, they question his will to make us creatures in his image. And the reason they scream and whip themselves to hasten the coming of the Messiah is that they hope the Messiah will free us of our bodies, which are open to temptation. What an aberration! They forget that the Almighty wants us to be healthy, happy men and women, not cankered worms at the mercy of demons.”

Joseph's voice, full of suppressed anger, echoed in the silence. Miriam looked at him and gave him a smile he found astonishing.

“If there are men who hate human beings to that extent, then God must make them a sign. He is responsible for them. And if he wants us to be happy men and women, as you say, then he mustn't send us strange messengers we can't recognize. His envoy must be a man who resembles both us and him. A son of man who would share our fate and help us in our weakness. He would bring love, a love like yours, Joseph, you who give life back to the old and the infirm of body and say that the harmony of words and deeds creates good health.”

Joseph raised his eyebrows. His anger subsided all at once, and he calmed down. “Well,” he said, “you certainly didn't waste your time with Rachel! You've become quite a thinker.” Then, realizing that this was not quite the compliment Miriam had expected, he added, in a conciliatory tone, “You may be right. The man you describe would be the finest of all kings of Israel. Alas, Herod is still our king. And where would your king come from?”

         

I
T
was seven days later. The uproar around Beth Zabdai had not subsided. The rumor of a miraculous resurrection had spread well beyond Damascus. From dawn to dusk, more sick people arrived to join those who came daily to hear the sermons of the so-called prophets.

The Essene brothers feared that the crowd, inflamed to the point of madness by the promises of miraculous cures, would overrun the house. They barricaded the door, and ten of the brothers took turns in mounting guard. Unable to go out into the fields, refusing admission to anyone, the community was soon forced to ration its food. It was like being under siege.

Alas, these measures succeeding only in exciting the false prophets even more, who took them as an excuse to deliver a mysterious and threatening message from God. The agitation did not die down—quite the contrary, in fact.

One stormy day, a large wagon made its way through the crowd and stopped outside the door.

The coachman got down and knocked on the door, demanding to be admitted. As had become their custom during this difficult time, the brothers guarding the door paid no attention to his appeals. For a good hour, he shouted himself hoarse, but to no avail. The cries of the young girl who was with him had no greater success.

But the next day, before dawn prayers, and as an icy rain fell on the village, the voice of Rekab, Rachel's coachman, somehow penetrated the courtyard and reached the ears of Ruth, who, as luck would have it, was just then on her way to draw water. Putting down her wooden pails, she ran to tell Miriam.

“The man who brought you here is outside the door!”

Miriam looked at her, uncomprehending.

“The man with the wagon!” Ruth went on, in an urgent voice. “The man who brought you with poor Obadiah…”

“Rekab? Here?”

“He's calling your name desperately from the other side of the wall.”

“We must let him in at once.”

“How can we? The brothers certainly won't open the door to him. If only we could get out of the house….”

But Miriam was already running into the main courtyard. She made such a commotion in front of the brothers guarding the door that Geouel appeared. He refused point-blank to open the door.

“You don't know what you're saying, girl! Open the door a little way and all those mad people will come flooding in!”

The dispute became so heated that one of the brothers ran to fetch Joseph.

“Rekab is outside!” was all Miriam said by way of explanation.

Joseph understood immediately. “There must be a reason he's here. We can't leave him out in the rain and cold.”

“There are hundreds out there in the cold and rain, and it doesn't seem to discourage them!” Geouel said sourly. “The sick even seem to thrive on it, as far as I can see. Perhaps that's the real miracle!”

“That's enough, Geouel!” Joseph roared with unaccustomed vehemence.

Startled by this outburst, the brothers stood there, numb with cold, and looked at Joseph and Geouel, who were like two wild beasts ready to tear each other to pieces.

“We're trapped here like rats,” Joseph went on in a cutting tone. “That's not the vocation of this house. This closure has no purpose. Or, if it has, it's a bad one. Haven't we gathered in a community in order to find the way of goodness and assuage the suffering of this world? Are we not healers?”

His cheeks were quivering with rage, and his face was red all the way to the top of his bald cranium. Before Geouel or anyone else could retort, he pointed his index finger at the brothers guarding the door and commanded, in a tone that brooked no reply, “Open the door! Open it wide!”

As soon as the hinges creaked, the commotion on the other side ceased. There was a moment of stunned silence. Their feet in the mud, their faces hollow with weariness, all the people who had been waiting outside for days froze, like a collection of clay statues, streaming with rain and with stunned expressions on their faces.

Then a cry burst out, the first of many. In an instant, the chaos was overwhelming. Men, women, children, old and young, sick and healthy, rushed into the courtyard to kneel at the feet of Joseph of Arimathea.

Miriam then saw Rekab, standing in the wagon, firmly holding the reins of the terrified mules. She immediately recognized the figure beside him.