Ten

When Mary saw the clearing in the woods, lit partly from above by the moon, which was now far up into the sky, and from below by the lambent firelight, with men sitting on the ground on one side eating and talking, and women on the other, some cooking fish, others supervising and washing, and still others eating, she was certain she had been here before.

That, of course, was impossible; but it seemed as if she remembered just such a night, with a few light clouds dimming the moonlight from time to time, the noises of the people, like the sound of a far-off river. But when could it have been? Not in her young life with her father; he would never have put up with such primitive conditions--and since then, she had always been alone--she assumed, and realized with a shock that many and many a time she had woken up after days or even weeks of living apparently as a different person. Was it one of those times?

But how could it have been? This felt familiar in the sense that home feels familiar; she could remember the sensation from her young days, when she would nestle against her father before being put to bed--the sense of being safe and belonging. How could that have been part of her demonic life?

She wondered what gave her this feeling. It was not that anyone was welcoming; no one but David had noticed her and Matthew as yet. It was just that this was her place, somehow. She hugged the feeling to herself, wishing it could go on forever, but fearing that it was to be all too momentary.

"I bring a new student," Matthew was saying as they approached the fire. "Her--" he turned to her, again embarrassed, "I know not your name."

"Mary," she said in a small voice, overcome by shyness, something that she could barely remember having ever felt.

Several asked what she had said, and Matthew repeated her name. "Is this not--?"

"It is," broke in the enormous Andrew, before Matthew could speak. "I suspected that the Master wished her here, and if so, then we welcome her. He will doubtless speak to us on the subject when he returns. Until then, madame, you must be wanting something to eat."

Matthew escorted her over to the edge of where David was, the place where the men and women began to separate, and sat her down on the grass, while he and David went over to the fire and returned with some bread, wine, and fish, resting on grape leaves. She took it gratefully and began to eat while David went back to supply himself; and she thought she heard someone say in an undertone, "Appropriate, is it not, that Matthew should be her patron." She glanced over to where the sound was coming from, and saw one man look in her direction with surprise; but when they suspected that she had overheard, the conversation between the two of them stopped.

David came back and sat down, silently eating, with a not totally friendly sidelong glance at Mary every now and then. A woman came over, whom Matthew introduced as Joanna, and she immediately began, "I am the wife of Chuza, who is in town with the Master, but we stayed behind because we did not want there to be too much of a mob when he was going to a respectable place to dine--and there are some of us here who, I am sorry to have to say, are a bit lacking in refinement and manners--of course," looking at Matthew, "I exclude present company, and I must say" looking back "that your dress and comportment bespeak a good upbringing, but that, of course, makes no real difference, because it is the beauty of soul that is what is important, but still, one does feel rather more comfortable when one knows what to expect of others, but of course we have no ceremony here, or any artificiality, really, and it is quite a friendly place, and it would not do to be over-fastidious in any case, living a nomadic existence as we do, however inspiring it might be, but there it is, some of us are nobles, and some--even the most prominent among us--are people like fishermen, and, of course, one is a tax-collector" looking at Matthew again with a smile "as I am sure he has told you, of course he is not really proud of it, in fact rather ashamed, truth to be told, but does not want to make any pretenses--and that is what is so--how shall I say it? Refreshing. No, not refreshing, but, I suppose genuine is the word I am searching for--about this place, no one pretends; for instance I am a chatterbox, as I suspect you have gathered and say whatever comes into my head, and yet people tolerate me, and some even like me, because they know that they will hear just what I think, but of course there are others, particularly those who are of the very highest class, who find me just a little bit difficult, for instance, there is even one of us who is a priest, and he seems not to want to have anything to do with me."

Mary was looking at her fascinated, wondering if she was ever going to take a breath, and she paused briefly as she indicated a strikingly handsome man on the other side of the fire, while Matthew made noises about his not being snobbish, but preoccupied with concerns about how to keep the group in bread.

"Well of course," she began "I never intended to say that he was deliberately ignoring me, but still--" and she continued rattling on, while Mary's attention turned to the man. Embarrassed, she glanced back, and found that Joanna had not even observed that she was no longer paying heed. Apparently she was used to having people more or less ignore her--and it was remarkably easy to do so, Mary found. Since everything she said was a single sentence, if one once lost the thread of it, one found it a bit like seeing the leaves on the forest floor in the autumn, no longer in any kind of order, as they were on the trees, but simply scattered about in overwhelming profusion. And the sound of her voice, which was pleasant enough, encouraged distraction, and even sleep.

And so without being aware of it, Mary looked back at the priest, who was leaning over discussing something with a smallish dark man beside him, eating rather daintily, exhibiting the obvious upper-class manners that Joanna had indicated--and paying absolutely no attention to Mary at all.

She realized with a shock that she had been trying to catch his eye as soon as she saw him--and she hid her burning face in her hands. Again! And not an hour had passed since she had abandoned forever her past!

Joanna noticed her consternation and splashed into the brook of her words with, "What is the matter? I hope it is nothing I said! I intended no personal slight when I was referring to being careful who one was seen with, and you must make allowances for me because I do tend to say whatever occurs to me at the moment, and sometimes it is apt to sound rather different from what I meant, because you see, my thoughts sometimes get ahead of me and I am actually not exactly thinking of what I am saying but what I am about to say, if you understand what I mean, but I--"

"No, it was nothing," said Mary, realizing that there was no hope of answering her without interrupting. "I suppose I am tired. I did not sleep last night."

"Ah, poor thing!" said Joanna, looking at Matthew as if he was the one who had kept her up. She did not seem to have been in the group that surrounded Jesus when he had cast the devils out of her. "Let me take you to where we sleep apart from here, because sometimes they stay many hours discussing things, especially when the Master is not here and they are waiting for him, as now, and since the Master is at a dinner with a very prominent person, it is likely that he will remain for a considerable time, since the Master does seem to love a lively discussion, do you know him well? because he is a fascinating person to listen to, of course, though most of us cannot fathom an iota of what he says, which is understandable since he is so wise and we are only ordinary folk, but he is extremely holy, and no one can find fault with that, I am sure, and as I was saying, he is not only fascinating when he speaks, but quite willing to listen, and in fact he even listens to me sometimes, though I am quite tongue-tied when I speak to him, and often make no sense at all even to myself!" She tittered gently as she said this, leading Mary and Matthew to another grassy area sheltered by a number of terebinths and oaks, and surrounded by brushwood. She continued her monologue, but Mary was too tired to hear it. She rose and began stumbling after her, and then caught herself once again looking back--like Lot's wife!--at the handsome priest, who this time glanced up at her for an instant almost as if he recognized her. The look was immediately replaced with one of loathing, as if somehow she had betrayed him personally. This too lasted but an eye-blink, and his attention went back to the man he had been talking to all this time.

She had never felt so filthy.

Feeling a despair even greater than that she had experienced in the last few days, she stood stock still, barely able to draw a breath. Joanna, who was finding a blanket and looking for a place for her to lie down, did not seem to notice. So she would have to struggle with this self of hers for who knew how long if she were to make a new life for herself--and the self was aching for that man with a longing far greater than any she had experienced and interpreted as hatred and the desire for revenge; it was now pure desire, and fierce as the summer sun. She felt a pull back to the clearing even stronger than the force which compelled her to grovel at the Master's feet the previous night; and if she had not been so tired and so much in agony that she could not move, she would have turned and retraced her steps--to be spurned by him, she knew, though it mattered not an iota. She would have begged, and let him spit on her, if he would but notice her.

She realized with part of her mind that if she did turn to walk back, the spell would be broken, and she would be able to stop herself. The question was whether she wanted to. True, it was a new life she was living; she was under no illusions, and could see lust now for what it was, though its strength surprised her, who had thought herself immune all these years. But what did she know but this? Not an hour after being born into this new existence, here she was trying to--yearning to, aching to--seduce one of the Master's students, and still trying to keep in practice with that kindly man who had befriended her--and who had, she realized, left her with unanswered words of farewell when Joanna had begun to lead her off. Poor--Matthew, was it?--who had been so gentle with her, and not even to receive a nod for all he had done.

What would the Master say? How could she face him? True, she had made no move to turn and go back, but the "victory" felt like total defeat: a loss greater than anything before in her life. She was less than nothing; her emptiness had to be filled, and what could she use to fill it except the life she had abandoned?

And how could she stay here? How could she ever be anywhere near that priest and be sure that she would not do something not only foolish but profoundly evil? She had to leave--it was necessary to kill herself after all. But she was so tired!

Joanna, who, she realized, had been at her side talking all this time, finally put her hand on her arm, and brought her to herself. She could not make out what she was saying in her confusion, despair, and fatigue, but she gathered from her tone and gestures that she was showing her where to sleep--and since nothing else was physically possible, Mary sank down on the grassy earth and lost consciousness.

When she woke, the sun had already climbed rather high into the sky, and some of the people she could see off in the distance had evidently already finished breaking their fast, and were bustling about making things tidy and ready to move the camp, packing the blankets on a couple of donkeys. Joanna was standing above her, tugging at her blanket to wake her up. Mary got to her knees and looked at her, as Joanna spoke, as if she had not stopped all night,

"--it is time to move on soon," she said, in a new tone, "because the Master has been ready to go since dawn, and we cannot wait longer, and so I had to wake you if you are really to join us, because if you are, I am afraid that you will have to put up with our ways, because we use our nights for sleeping and are accustomed to rising early."

As she was saying this, she was folding Mary's blanket, and Mary stood up and looked in her now totally unsympathetic face having made this last remark. She had obviously found out who Mary was. Breaking into the flood of words, which was continuing, Mary said, "I--must find somewhere to wash," thinking that she would use the privacy to slip away unnoticed, and go--where she could rid the world of this contamination which she was.

Joanna's answer filtered into Mary's consciousness, lagging behind the actual words she was hearing. "Yes, I suspect that you are accustomed to having to wash in the morning, and I think you will find a place to your liking down that path, because it is quite concealed, but you are not to delay, because the Master says he wants to see you as soon as possible."

"Me? To see me?"

"Should he not? There was some discussion about you last night, you should know, and a few of us asked if he intended to have you stay with us."

"And you were one of them, I gather," said Mary with some asperity.

"I make no secrets about who I am or what I am," she answered; "I always say just what I think, because one must be honest and not try to hide things from other people, and the fact is that I did see the way you looked at Judas last night, though I did not think anything of it at the time except that it was a bit peculiar, even though Judas is a very handsome person, but I suppose you would have recognized that, would you not, and so I felt it was my duty to mention it, and--"

Mary grasped her by the shoulders and shook her into silence. She could not stand it. The two stood there, looking at each other, Joanna totally shocked, and Mary with fury in her eyes.

Nothing was said for what seemed an eternity, and finally Mary, realizing that Joanna was in the right, and that she had merely confirmed Mary's growing conviction that she had no business being part of this group, said in a voice that reeked of despair "I see. --Well, you may tell the Master not to trouble himself over me. I had made up my mind before ever you spoke that I would--" There was a long pause, as she gazed into Joanna's terrified eyes "--would go back and take up life where I left it yesterday." She let her go and turned aside. "What is the sense of it?" she told the trees along the path.

"No, you must not!" shouted Joanna following behind her. "He said to be sure that you did not leave before he had a chance to speak to you!"

"He did, did he?" she said, turning back, some fire coming back into her eyes and voice at the thought that she would be resuming her familiar life of defiance.

"It does seem the least you could do in return for disgracing him in public--"

"I disgrace him!"

"While he was good enough to forgive the sins you had already committed."

"Thank you, Joanna," said a deep voice, as Jesus emerged behind her. "I would speak with Mary for a moment or two."

"Yes, Master, of course," she said in confusion, backing away toward the path leading to the clearing, down which she fled.

"You are awake, I see," he said.

"Yes, Master. I slept late. I was just going to wash."

"Would it be inconvenient to you to postpone it for a few moments? You heard me tell a story last night, and I would like to tell everyone another. I think you should hear it also." He turned partway to go down the path and stood, inviting her to accompany him.

"Of course, Master, if you wish. It is the least I can do." She added mentally, "And then I can leave causing no more trouble."

"Not quite the least," he said, and she realized that if the demons did not know her thoughts, he probably did. They walked the short distance to the clearing, where the group was seated. He motioned to Mary, and she went over; Matthew beckoned to her, and shyly and gratefully, she took a seat beside him.

"I told you that there was something I wished to say," he began. "There was a man who had two sons; and one day, the younger asked the father to give him his part of the inheritance; and so his father divided the estate between the two.

"A few days later, the younger son took his whole share and moved to a land far away, where he spent his wealth in wild living. And when he had got through the whole of it, there came a severe famine on that land, and he began to suffer from it; so he went to one of the citizens of that country, who hired him to go into the field and tend to his hogs. And he would gladly have eaten the carob-pods the hogs were feeding on, but no one gave him any.

"Finally, he came to his senses, and said, 'Look at all the hired hands my father has, who have more than enough to eat, and I am dying of starvation! I will leave here and go back to my father, and say, "Father, I have disobeyed heaven and you; I have no right to be called your son any longer. Simply take me on as an employee."'"

There was a murmuring in the group, and eyes turned toward Mary. Jesus waited until they had quieted down again, and then resumed, "So he left and started back to his father; and while he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him and his heart went out to him. He ran to meet him, hugged him round the neck, and kissed him.

"Then the son began, 'Father, I have disobeyed heaven and you; I have no right to be called your son any longer--'

"'Hurry!' said the father to his slaves, 'bring my best robe and put it on him! Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet! Bring in the calf we have been fattening and kill it and we will celebrate! My son was dead and has come to life! He was lost and is found!' So they began to celebrate."

The conversation in the little crowd became animated at this point; Mary heard her name mentioned several times, and it seemed obvious that those closest to her, at least, thought that the father's reaction was excessive. Mary herself was taken aback; Jesus seemed to be saying to her that he had known about her before he met her, and was looking for her on that road, almost as if he had gone to meet her--and that he was happy to treat her as one of his followers, even though she thought herself no better than the lowest of his slaves--which was the true situation, she realized, even if the father chose to ignore it.

But what about what happened between her and that priest? Had he been there when Joanna blurted it out in front of everyone? Her face burned with chagrin, thinking that if he did not know it, for a certainty everyone else did. What was his name? Judas? She almost searched the group for him, and with what seemed a physical force wrenched her eyes back to keep them on Jesus, who was patiently waiting for everyone to settle down once again. The breeze blew his hair in front of his face, and he tossed his head slightly to keep it out of his way. He held up his hand to let people know that the story was not over.

"The older son, however," he resumed, looking now, it seemed, at each of them in turn, "was still out in the field; but then, as he was coming home, he heard music and the sound of dancing. He called to one of the house slaves and asked what was going on, and was told, 'Your brother came, and your father had the calf we had been fattening killed because he got him back safe and sound.'

"The brother then became enraged, and would not go in."

He looked around at his students again. Some got the point immediately, and hung their heads; others kept looking at him with interest, until their eyes met, at which they averted their gaze, some with shame and other with puzzlement.

He went on, "His father came out to ask him in, and he answered, 'Listen! I have slaved for you all these years and never refused to do one thing you asked me, and you never gave me so much as a goat to have a party with my friends! But when that son of yours eats up all your money with whores and then comes home, you let him have the calf we have been fattening!'

"'Son,' said his father, 'you are with me all the time, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and have a party, because that brother of yours was dead and came back to life; he was lost and has been found.'"

This time there was no talking in the little crowd. Everyone realized that it was a rebuke, though as Mary glanced round at them, she could see that some of them did not quite understand what they were being reprimanded for, while others burned with shame.

She saw Judas in the crowd, his eyes closed in pain. Her heart gave a lurch, but she forced her eyes away.

Jesus stood up, and the spell was broken; the others began once again to talk to each other, and to resume what they had been doing, some shaking their heads and trying to fathom the depths of what they had heard, others somewhat relieved because they were released from a tense situation.

Jesus beckoned Mary to him once again, and said, "We will be leaving here soon; it would be good if you would wash quickly. But remember, I would speak privately with you for a few moments afterwards, if you could arrange it."

She hung her head. He must know what she had been planning and wanted to forestall it--to forgive her again, she supposed, for this new slight. Well, she owed it to him. She turned and went down the path Joanna had indicated earlier, and found the icy stream.

Once she had got over the initial shock of the immersion, she wondered if the story really applied to her. True, she had gone to a far country and been feeding hogs for fifteen years, but had she really come to herself? He seemed to be saying that she had, but what of Judas?--and he must have heard, if not have known of it without hearing, since he seemed to know everything about her. But the problem was whether the son would stay with the father who celebrated his return, was it not? If the father was so forgiving, would he not leave as soon as he was comfortable again?

As she dried herself off, she wondered at this simple forgiveness with no conditions required. Had she not a great deal of damage to make up for? But perhaps he analyzed the sin as she had the previous night, that the damage was not the point; in her case at least, it was the misplacement of the act into an impossible context, pretending that it was not what it was. It was her sin itself which was the damage, from which she needed to be rescued, and which was--how well she knew it now!--a punishment far above any atonement she could perform afterwards.

Perhaps she had come to herself. But still, it was not the past that plagued her now, it was the fact that she could not bring herself, even this morning, even in the midst of the story, to keep from looking with longing at Judas.

Well, she would speak with him, and go. Not kill herself, probably, unless things became impossible, but go and manage somehow. She must not let him persuade her; it was unfair to everyone.

She dried herself off, realizing that her hair needed a good deal of attention--and then reflected that there was no real reason for such concern about her hair and her appearance any longer. She ran through it a comb that Joanna had left for her, and tied it up in what she hoped would be a reasonably unattractive knot in the back. It would be interesting, from now on, to pay attention to not looking beautiful.

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