Thirty

As John tried to sleep that night, he finally resolved that he would have to trust Jesus and wait for him to clarify what he meant. He was clearly testing their faith in him; he wanted them to realize that he was not mad, and to trust that what he said would make sense, but at the proper time.

Well, what else could he do?

The next day, he was looking around for someone to talk to, but everyone seemed (understandably) preoccupied, trying hard, like him, to believe, because "to whom else shall we go?" The Rock had made the perfect response, John had to admit.

Ezra, whom he had not seen for a while, happened to be nearby, and John, who had not seen him in the synagogue, asked if he were there.

"I was indeed," answered Ezra. "There is something very mysterious underneath all this."

"So you do not think he is mad."

"Mad? If he is mad, who is sane? No, he means something that makes sense--somehow. But he wants us to wait and see."

"That was what I thought."

"By the way," said Ezra, "I happened to notice you that night a while ago when Judas brushed against you. I expected a fight, but you showed remarkable restraint."

"Well, I suppose he did not even realize he had done it."

"Ah. Still, you did not respond as you did to that clod who confronted Mary Magdalene."

"Oh, that. I am not proud of myself there, mainly for what I said to Andrew."

"True. Poor Andrew! It hit a little too close to home."

"But Andrew is a great man. We had a little talk, and he even said he admired my self-control."

"Well, I am glad it ended not badly. I was a bit worried."

"Thank God! I was frantic that night! I would that James had come and grabbed me as he used, before I could have done any damage!"

"Grab you?"

"Well, I was much worse when I was younger, you see. I would become frustrated with a toy or something and simply lose control and smash things. James could see it coming, and he would get behind me and put his arms about me, keeping me from moving until I calmed down. Jesus, in fact, found us thus when he called us. I was about to cut up the nets that had become tangled."

Ezra looked at him quizzically, and said, "You mean, thus?" and went behind John, putting his arms rather tightly around him.

A shock went through John, seeing those huge, muscular black arms crossed in front of his chest, and feeling the heat of Ezra's body against his back. "Yes," he said huskily, and cleared his throat.

Ezra let him go, but as he did so, one of his hands brushed against John's stiffening member. He went in front of him again, facing him, with one of his brilliant smiles; and then his pink tongue came out of his mouth and moistened his lips. They gleamed like polished brown leather. John did not know what to do. "Master, help me! Help me!" he breathed--or rather, panted, to himself.

Ezra smiled again. "That is not how I would have done it," he said. "I would have done this," and he came up to John and hugged him from the front--and then brought his face to John and kissed him with those soft brown lips--and then John, whose mouth had dropped open in surprise, felt Ezra's tongue pressing against his, and playing with it.

He thought he was going to faint.

He then felt Ezra's hand cover his now completely stiff member, and then Ezra took his hand and put it over his own absolutely colossal maleness. The heat of it under his tunic startled him. "Please help me, Master!" he thought, desperate.

By what seemed a superhuman effort of will, he took his hand away and put it against Ezra's chest, pressing--feebly, it must be said, secretly hoping Ezra would resist and show him more of this subject about which he seemed to know all there was to know.

But Ezra began to back off. When his mouth was freed, John whispered--because he could not talk--"Please, Ezra, no!"

And to his great disappointment, Ezra took a full step back, and held up his hands, his tan palms facing John in a gesture of surrender. "What?" he said.

"I am sorry, Ezra--I--I cannot."

Ezra looked at him, puzzled. "Why?"

It occurred to John, not for the first time, that he did not really know why. "I know not," he said, "but it--but it is wrong."

Ezra dropped his hands, and said, "I see nothing wrong with it. You like it, and you can see that I like it. What is the problem?"

John could not think of a reply, and just stood there, panting. He could not take his eyes off the enormous bulge in Ezra's tunic.

"In fact," Ezra said, "my first owner--the slave trader, you know--used to train us in how to give all the different kinds of pleasure, particularly to men, because many men bought us just for that purpose, and we had to know what to do so that we did not get hurt."

John, shocked, said, "You mean, Talmai--?"

Ezra laughed. "Good heavens, no! I made a few overtures to him, and it was perfectly clear that he not only had no idea what I was doing, but would have been horrified if he did. And in case you are wondering, Bartholomew had no interest in it either. But I did find out later that some of the slaves of the neighborhood needed to learn what I knew, and so--but that is a different story."

He put one hand over his maleness, John thought at first to cover it, but it was to caress it. John stared, fascinated. "But what I meant to say was that my first master was a devout Judean also, and he had no problem with it either. I was even a favorite of his; he once told me that he could not wait until I grew up and could do to him what he was doing to me." He smiled again, one of his dazzling smiles.

John did not know whether he was more excited or horrified by what Ezra said, and by his attitude, and what he was doing. Finally, he was able to answer, "But I cannot believe it is not wrong. I am sorry, Ezra, but--" he could think of no way to finish the sentence.

"You are not angry with me?" he asked.

"Angry! Oh, Ezra!"

"We can still be friends, I hope."

"Of course we can! You know I would dearly love to--but I simply cannot."

"I cannot say that I understand, but I respect you. I would hate to have lost a friend because I misinterpreted--you see, my master told us how to read subtle signals people gave, and you--but I see it was not--but no damage has been done, thank God!"

"No damage at all, my good friend."

"I am so happy to hear that!" and he added, as a kind of afterthought, "I have so few friends."

John went over to him and gave him a very brief hug, but without a kiss. It was hard--very hard--to withdraw. It would be so wonderful to--but that was not to be thought of. "But I think I need to be by myself for a while. You understand?"

"I understand. Peace, my very good friend." Was that not what Daniel said?

"Peace," said John, thinking, "They say, 'Peace, peace," but there is no peace."

Certainly, there was none for him, for quite a while. His whole being was cursing him for not exploring the whole thing further, and his mind was thanking God that he did not. He was sure that if he found out anything more, he would be trapped. Even now, his mouth and tongue tingled for a full hour afterwards.

He presumed that he had won a victory, but everything in him told him it was a defeat. Why had he not gone forward? Why? What harm would it have done?

"It would have trapped me," he repeated to himself, not believing it, even while he knew that it was true.

Fortunately, he soon had a distraction. Jesus and the students were, as usual, in a synagogue, and John was surprised to find that the incomprehensibility of what he had said did not seem to diminish his popularity among the people, because he continued to perform cures that were increasingly amazing, and so the synagogue was as packed as before. After a short while, there was a stirring from outside, and eventually word came through to the front that Jesus's mother and relatives were at the door, wanting to see him.

"Who is my mother?" said Jesus when he heard this, "and who are my relatives?" He raised his hand and waved it over the congregation. "Here are my mother and relatives. Anyone who listens to what God says and acts on it is my mother and my sister and my brother." So now his relatives were "spiritual" relatives. There was more spiritual significance to everything as the hours went on. John only hoped that what had passed between him and Ezra could be spiritualized somehow. He almost laughed at the thought.

But he would have to see Jesus to find out what was wrong with what Ezra wanted, because the more he let himself think about it, the less he could find against it. And if there really was nothing wrong with it, he knew now where to find a teacher--and such a teacher! "Stop that!" he said aloud to himself, and then looked around to see if anyone heard.

Jesus, having heard the news about his relatives, curtailed his discourse and went outside, where he found his mother and a number of people John had only seen in passing: Jesus's cousins.

"I would not disturb you," she said in calm voice, "but they insisted that they wished to speak with you as soon as possible--and finally, I told them I would see what I could do."

"They understood well the best approach," said Jesus. Then he turned to a group of two or three others who were with her. "But you knew that there was no necessity for this. I am still what I was; I have not changed from the time we played at castles and soldiers in these very streets. I am not some Caesar, who grants audiences."

"True," said a thin, pale man, half a head taller than Jesus. He was a little younger, it seemed, perhaps in his late twenties. He fingered his robe nervously, and temporized, "It was the crowd. We tried to get by them to see you, and could not force our way in--and we thought that if you knew we were outside, you would come out to meet us."

It was obvious that this was a half-truth, perhaps even a little less. At least in this man's case, the fact that his playmate had become a miracle-worker and a preacher of such intense power had intimidated him.

"Actually," said a very brown man whose beard was beginning to be grizzled, though his hair was still black. He had enormous eyebrows and a nose rather more sharp than most, "I was the one who wanted to see you before I left to go back to Alexandria. We are both too busy, are we not?"

"I do seem to be rather occupied at present, James," replied Jesus. "I am sorry I did not make more leisure to have a long chat. You leave soon?"

So this James did not live in Nazareth. What did he say? Alexandria? Was that not in Egypt? The world seemed to be full of Jameses.

"--morrow, I fear. Business. But I have heard much about you--in fact, there are a few stirrings as far away as Egypt, would you believe, and not simply among the relatives you have there, either. Not much, you understand, but your name begins to be mentioned now and again. And that was my real motive for speaking to you. You must leave this place for Judea so that you will have an audience for what you do. People do not do great deeds in secret, they want to be noticed. If you are a magician, you must go show yourself to the world."

A "magician!" Obviously, this James did not really know what was going on. He seemed to be a merchant of some sort, perhaps just passing through.

The others nodded, and the first one said, "The Festival of the Booths is near. You could come down with us. We would be delighted to have you."

Jesus smiled at them, and said, "Thank you for your concern, Joses--to all of you," with a special nod at James, "but the right time has not come for me yet. For you, any time would be a good time, because the world does not hate you. But the fact is that it hates me, because what I do proves to it that its deeds are evil."

James tried to make a demurrer, and Jesus answered his thought, "No, I am deadly serious. You go down to the festival; I cannot accompany you, I am afraid. It might be dangerous."

They made polite noises of insistence, but they were short-lived. The rumors of Jesus's wild statements had doubtless reached them, and these last remarks of his tended more than anything to confirm suspicions that he might indeed be mad.

"Well," said James, "I thought it a good idea to propose it; but I can see that it has already occurred to you, and doubtless you have good and sufficient reason for what you are doing. As to me, of course, I must go and make myself ready for the journey. Some one of these days, we must get together and talk. And if you ever do come down to Alexandria, my house, as always, is open; and you can be sure that I will put in a word in certain circles and see to it that you are well received. From what I have been hearing, if you continue as you have been doing, there will not be a sick person left in Galilee or any of the surrounding countryside."

The others murmured assent, and each found an excuse to leave. They clearly did not know what to make of this new person, for all of his protestations that he had not changed.

Finally, only Jesus' mother remained, greeting all the students. John was especially happy--and relieved--to see her. She walked back with them to the place where they were staying, which was not an encampment this time, but various houses in and around Capernaum. She was staying there also, not in Nazareth.

She remained with them the night and the Rock and John prevailed upon her to stay for most of the next day also. It passed with little fanfare, like a day in the middle of Spring, which one does not notice while it is passing, because it is a kind of paradigm of what a day should be, and only afterwards reflects on its peace and contentment, wishing it could have continued forever.

Everyone had already been gone for two days to the celebration in Jerusalem before Jesus said that he had decided to go after all, and the group left, going along the Jordan once again.

On the trip, John found the opportunity to take Jesus aside--he suspected that Jesus had made the opportunity. He said, "I had a--a talk--with Ezra a couple of days ago."

"And you did well again, John. I am proud of you." Of course he knew all about it. Well, that saved descriptions.

"Then you know that he asked me why I thought it was wrong, and I had no answer for him."

"And you want one. Not just what Leviticus said, but why it was said."

"You see, it occurred to me that if we can talk to animals, who cannot understand us--"

"Why can we not have relations with men, who cannot conceive."

"That was what occurred to me."

"It is a subtle thing, but essentially, it is a lie, John."

"But how?"

"Well, first of all, as to the analogy you gave, you must realize that we have no organ of speech as such; we simply have an organ that makes noises, and we use that to communicate. But we also communicate with our hands, as when we write or make signs. The point is that there is no organ dedicated to communication."

"And so?"

"So if we make sounds that to us mean something and to an animal mean nothing, then we are being perfectly consistent with our ability to make sounds. Lies in communication occur only when one tries actually to communicate as a fact something that one knows is not a fact. Then the very act of factual communication contradicts itself, and so is wrong."

"But this is not the same with the organ we are talking about."

"No. You see, that organ, is, among other things, dedicated to a human being's most noble physical act: that of cooperating with the Father in producing a being with a spiritual soul, one who is free and eternal, who can decide for himself what it is to be himself. And so, this act that this organ induces us to perform is far, far beyond the capacity of the unaided human being; it enlists God's help."

"I never thought of it in that way."

"I say this because with this act, we are not playing games. It is by its nature a sacred act. True, it gives pleasure, and intense pleasure, as you and everyone else knows, because the responsibility of seeing to the rearing of a child is enormous and a severe trouble, and the incentive to have one must be great, or the human race would quickly die out."

"--I guess I can see that."

"And also, that organ normally is such that one is attracted to those with whom one can perform the act of producing a child. And it tends to attach oneself to that other person, so that the child can be properly reared. The Father has not been remiss in designing the organ and its act.

"But human beings are, of course, not perfect. Some, as you are aware, have a defective attraction, just as some people are crippled, either from birth or because of some accident."

"Very good. I see that also. How well I see that!"

"But the point is that it is wrong to try to exercise that act as if it had only the function of pleasure or of expressing one's love for another. Because it is also the act of possibly producing a child. And, of course, if a man uses his organ with another man, his exercise of it has nothing to do with there being a child--he uses it as if it were a different kind of act altogether, or as if the whole were only part of what it is. But it still really is the act that is intended to result in a child, as can be seen from the act when it reaches its completion. You understand?"

"You men when--when it is--what happens at the end? I see."

"And so, to exercise it under these circumstances is always in fact a lie, however natural it might feel, because it is not merely something that gives pleasure or even expresses love. It is more than that; but it cannot be more than that between two men. Or women, of course. So it is dishonest when exercised in this way."

"Also,--and I realize this does not apply to you, but it may occur to you--if a man exercises the act with a woman and tries to block its action so that no child will result, then this too is pretending that the organ and the act are only part of what they really are. Once again, they are really more than that, as the completion of the act even there shows. Here, it is even clearer, because when the blocking of the act fails, the act succeeds--because that is what it is. But of course, the person wants the act, but not its success; he wants a failed act. Hence, he does not want the act to do what it does. Thus, to use the organ in this way is also a lie. I mention this because there are multiple ways to be dishonest with this most noble physical act we can perform; and some involve a man and a woman."

"But then why can old people use their organs? They cannot succeed in having children."

"Ah, well, with old people, or in general infertile people, the act they perform is the same act as the act that produces a child; it is just that either the man or the woman is not fertile. What they are doing is not a lie. After all, not every act, in fact only a minority of acts among healthy men and women do not result in a child, because the faculty is not constructed so that it produces a child every time it is exercised. Thus, what an old couple is doing is consistent with what the act is in itself.

"It is only when the act is such that either it can have nothing to do with a child--as with you and Ezra--or when one tries actively to prevent it from doing what it does, that the act is a lie. In the one case, one exercises a child-producing act in such a way that it cannot even be thought of as such; in the other case, one exercises the act but tries to make it not what it is. Do you see?"

John paused. "I will have to think about it, but what you say makes sense. But I have no idea how I could convince Ezra, or Daniel, of this."

"Ah, well, It is not your task, John, to get into philosophical discussions with others, or even try to persuade them--except by being what you are. Secretly, because facts tend to make themselves known, they have a suspicion that they are doing wrong--that they are not really being honest--but they do not let themselves think of it, because the attraction, as you are painfully aware, is so strong--and you were very wise not to experience it yourself for that very reason--but when they see you, who clearly would like to join them, but will not let yourself, that is your way of preaching to them, if you will; you need do nothing further. Your being and your actions tell them what they are already secretly aware of. Of course, if they ask you, you can tell them what you know."

"I am relieved to hear that. And you think I need not stop being friends with them."

"Unless the temptation becomes too strong. One must be prudent. I would not try to be alone with them for any length of time, for instance. But if you can remain just friends, you can, as I said, do them good simply by being their friends."

"Well, thank you, Master. You have given me much to think upon. Much."

"Never hesitate to come to me, for any reason. Remember, you are the student I particularly love, because you are the student who needs me most."

"Thank you. I am so deeply grateful."

"And do not be afraid, because of all this, to love me. Do not be afraid to love anyone, in fact. Or to express it by a hug, for instance, but not as David would wish you to."

John did not know what to reply. It had never occurred to him to think of the Master as anything but the Master. He was in awe of him, but for the first time realized that he did love him, deeply, but as one loves a kind and understanding father.

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