Eleven

As she returned to the clearing, the group was leaving down the road toward Magdala, with Jesus telling them to go along ahead, that he would come up to them soon.

He turned back. "So," he said, "after all you have been through in the past week, you have finally decided to turn coward."

"Coward? Oh no, Master! I fear nothing. It is just . . ." there was nothing she could think of to say.

"Then tell me why you do not wish to remain with us. Do not be afraid; I will not keep you against your will."

"Do not misunderstand me, Master, please! It has nothing--I mean no ingratitude. It would please me much and much to stay, but . . ." and again she paused, not because she did not wish to state the reason, but because she simply could not think.

Jesus said nothing, and she realized she had to go on somehow, or the silence would be intolerable. "You see, when I came here last night, I was hoping I could begin a new life, and . . . and I discovered . . ."

"And you discovered that Mary recognized herself. I told you that it would happen."

"But I thought that when you forgave my sins--" she thought what? She had no real thought, merely unformulated hope.

"No, Mary, I did not remake you in that way. I merely brought it about that you would not carry the intention to defy God, yourself, and everyone else about forever. I rid your mind of its poison; but your mind still has the effects of the poison; the habits you created remain with you, and will only gradually withdraw--if you wish them to withdraw. Otherwise, you would indeed be a different person now, with no tie to your past. But you did not want really to cease to exist; you wanted to begin again. But one must begin where one is. You see, the son in my story does have an atonement to make; he must work at remaining with his father and not thinking of it as painful and boring."

"But it is not that, really, Master. To say that this is worse than the life I was living! To think of that as an improvement on what I have now! I have been spoken to by that wonderful Matthew as if I was actually a person! For the first time in years! And by you! No, it is--Master, it is the others that concern me."

"They have treated you badly?"

Joanna flitted through her mind, but she shook it off "No, not they--I mean that I might . . . Why do you force me to say it? You know what I might do as well as I!"

"In short, you are afraid of yourself. I told you you were playing the coward."

"But I am not afraid of what might happen to me! I thought you meant that I was afraid of what they might do."

"But what you are afraid of is what you might do. True, you are a danger to them--and a danger in many ways you know not. But that is the reason I wished to speak to you. You cannot keep them from danger; the real dangers they face cannot be avoided; and in fact, I am by far the greatest danger they will ever confront--and some, I am sorry to say," and his face took on a look of infinite sadness, as he continued, more to himself than to her, "will succumb, unless certain things happen . . . and they will not. They could, but they will not."

He recalled himself from his reverie, and said to her, "Have you noticed Judas being 'disturbed' by your presence? You understand what I mean?"

"Yes, Master. No."

"And in fact, it disturbs you that he is not disturbed." She was about to protest, but he said, "Let us not play at games here; I understand. But for your sake, let me ask, do you want to disturb him?"

"Oh, Master, I know not!" she almost wailed.

He gazed down at her face with an amused expression and said, "Look at her! So troubled about whether she intends to seduce Judas or not, and she would cut off her right arm if that would prevent it! In case you wonder, it would not. And here I stand, having cast out seven devils from you by a mere word, and after forgiving fifteen years of sins--of which I know more than you--and you are worried!" He laughed outright.

"I am sorry, Master! I did not mean it in that way! It is just --just that I do not trust myself, that is all."

"And you are perfectly correct and wise not to trust yourself. You trusted yourself for fifteen years, and you see the result. And the way to begin this new life you were hoping to begin is to continue not trusting yourself. And to put your trust in me."

Relief flooded into her. "Yes, Master."

"Do not think it will be easy. In fact, it is the danger I spoke of. Think of the Israelites after their escape from Egypt. They were in the desert, having just seen what the Master did to the Egyptians, and they feared that they would die of hunger and thirst--and they feared that they would not be able to conquer the Anakim. They lost their trust. It is easy to lose trust."

"But you can help me not lose it!" she pleaded, fearing that if it were her task to keep it, it would not last long.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Your trust must be total; you cannot even trust yourself to trust--as you will discover. At that time, think of the seven devils, just as the Israelites were to think of the Passover. I can prevent you from losing it, but I will not, if you wish to abandon it."

"Oh, Master, please let me never wish that!"

He held her chin and looked into her eyes. "We shall see, shall we not? For if I told you now that it would not happen, then you would know, and your trust would be weakened. Trust me that you will finally trust me, and that all will be well."

"I will try, Master," she said, looking away.

"Again, you do not trust yourself. That is as it should be. You are beginning to learn. So stop worrying."

"I wish I could say that I have stopped, Master; but it will take time."

"I told you you were wise. --But there is a task for you that you know not, at the moment, and I wish to introduce it by telling you a secret, one that may help you rid yourself of your worries. You are a little too ready to capitulate. But I have a friend named Lazarus, who has a little sister named Martha--"

Mary looked up suddenly.

"and she especially is not one to capitulate. Her older sister disappeared one day, and she never would believe that she had been killed. She has been praying for fifteen years, and so has her brother, to bring her sister back safe. But it seems that the sister had moved to a land far away, and only recently has found out what it means to eat the garbage she was feeding the hogs. And I must say that it was quite difficult to make her find it out."

"You . . . you made it happen?"

"I told you that it is a secret. Let us say that it was arranged. It had to be something drastic, because you had drowned. But Martha is very persistent, as you know."

She looked at him in terror; she could almost see the black whirlpools behind his eyes.

He laughed again. "First you are afraid of yourself, and now you are afraid of me! Did I ever force you? At any time? All that happened from the beginning was that the circumstances allowed you to see what you were doing to yourself. You made the choices.

"And you are still free. I will bring you back to Martha and Lazarus only if you are willing to go, for all their persistence. And I told this to you now so that you would be able to trust me; you are not by nature or training a trusting soul."

Mary was overwhelmed. Finally, she blurted, "I know not what to say."

"Do you wish to leave us?"

"Leave? Oh, no! If you think I could stay!"

"I think that after a while you will want to go back to Martha; and in some months we will be going back to Judea--but we can concern ourselves with that later. For now, I think it would be useful if you stayed, yes."

"Oh, thank you, Master!"

"Then let us stop being foolish, and find the rest of the students."

When they caught up to the group, a little outside Magdala, Jesus went on ahead, and Mary trailed after the women, who brought up the rear. Joanna came back to her and said in a too-friendly voice, "I see you persuaded the Master to let you stay with us, and I simply wanted you to know that since he allows you, it is not my place to question it--"

"Joanna! How could you? How dare you!" said the extraordinarily ugly woman who had lagged beside Joanna, whom Mary thought she recalled being introduced as Susanna. She had a voice as lovely as her face was hideous, with its five yellow teeth showing out of a withered mouth. "And after the story the Master told!"

"I know," said Joanna. "I was embarrassed for Mary the whole time, being publicly singled out in that way, since the story was clearly about her for those who knew, however much the Master might have tried to disguise it, but of course it is no more, I suppose, than one can expect if one has devoted one's life to sin, and I must say that the Master does not seem at least to me to realize quite--"

"Not realize! Who are--"

"I said does not seem to realize that it is all well and good to welcome home one's son if one is the father, but for a rabbi to have in his company certain sorts of people, that is something else, and if he chooses to consort with tax-collectors, however wonderful they might be as persons, and however repentant, and now with--I cannot name the word--however contrite, there is still such a--"

"This is an outrage!"

"There is still such a thing as a reputation, if one wishes to make one's voice heard, and whether one likes it or not most people believe that a man is known by the company he keeps, but of course, since the deed is done, who am I to do anything but accept it, it is just another one of the mysterious ways the Master behaves, but if I were someone I could name, I would not have put the Master in a situation that, however noble my desires, would be sure to compromise him--but of course, I am no one, and it is not for me to give advice, it is just that I say what I think, and if others do not like what I say, that is their privilege."

At this point, Susanna took Mary's arm, and in disgust turned away with her from Joanna. "Pay no attention to her," she said. "She is too monumentally stupid to realize that the last part of the story was directed at her and people like her, and there is no way that she could ever be made to realize it. I have become impervious to her when she makes allusions to my appearance, as if I could do something about it; but it infuriates me when she practices her 'tolerance' on others. You will see. Having said her little say, she will now treat you as she treats the shepherds and poor Matthew, making certain you see how broad-minded she is forcing herself to be in spite of what she considers her better judgment. You could see that she even 'tolerates' the Master himself! Oh! I become so furious at times I could scream!" She was on the verge of screaming even now.

"But she is correct, really," said Mary. "I ought not--"

"Nonsense!" said Susanna. "Erase all thought of it out of your head! The Master did not think you should leave, did he?"

"No."

"Well then. I am sure that if he chose to look into any one of us and expose what he saw there, none would be able to hold up his head in respectable company again. Your sins were already known, and there was nothing the Master could do to hide them, and so that story was partly for you, I could see, to give you confidence that you were not unwelcome, but mainly for us, to make us realize that we have no place treating you the way Joanna so very carefully avoided treating you. I still cannot overcome it!"

"Really, Susanna--It is Susanna, is it not?"

"It is, child. What a memory you have!"

"It is not that. Every slightest detail of the past few days has been burned into me; I doubt if I will ever forget a single moment. But what I meant to say was that you must not be too harsh with her; she seems to have lived a very sheltered life up to now."

"Of course that is true. Chuza was--is, I suppose--of a very good family, and Joanna would still never have any contact with those who are not 'like oneself,' as she says, if he had not been all but struck dumb one day by something the Master said that he took to heart. And clearly, I must learn tolerance myself, must I not? It is still intolerance not to tolerate the intolerant."

"I suppose one can say that."

"And I can ordinarily make allowances, I hope. It is just that when I actually see what she is doing, and the effect it has on others, I lose the control over myself I ordinarily would have. How dare she! . . . Well. Not to mention that your sins were the more excusable because you are so very beautiful, and would have temptations that Joanna and I could not even imagine. I know myself that I have often looked at men and dreamed of them overpowering me--and the Master said that if a man looks at a woman with lust, he has already sinned with her in his heart. Women look at men also, God forgive me!"

"Oh, Susanna, if you knew what it was like to have a man overpower you, you would think it a nightmare, not a dream!"

"You may say that, child, because it is a danger to you. But for those of us at whom no man would look except with aversion, it is perhaps our greatest temptation. We all want most ardently what we know we cannot have--and even what our minds know would be the very opposite of what we desired, if it were ever possible to have it."

There was profound truth in that, Mary thought, and could find no reply. They walked on without speaking for a while. Jesus was ahead in the van of the little group, telling something to the men as he walked along--and Mary was a little annoyed that she was too far behind to be able to hear, and had to wait until a second-hand report filtered back to the stragglers and the women. If she had not already caused too much trouble, she might have tried to shoulder he way forward to Jesus's side--and knowing herself, she felt that this might indeed be in her future, however shocking others might think it that the men would find a woman in their very midst, actually listening, and perhaps one day even speaking--and such a woman! That thought burst her illusion.

--And then she realized that one of the hidden reasons for her wanting this was that Judas would then be near her. As the crowd parted from time to time, as people do when walking along, she could see him beside Jesus, listening intently to what he said, and offering comments. No, it was better--it was necessary--for her to be here among the women, and not simply for propriety's sake.

Susanna and Clopas's Mary were now having a discussion involving how to provide for the group's evening meal. Mary thought of the money she had back in her house. Perhaps she should go back and get it to give to these people; she had no use for it now--if ever she had.

But the beating of her heart told her that this was another thing that would have to be postponed until this new life, if it was one, took firmer root and began putting out enough leaves to thrive on its own. If she were to return to her house now, there was no predicting what she would do; here, even at the periphery of the Master's influence, she was beset with a new temptation at every breath, it seemed; and if she were too far away for him to come to the immediate rescue, then--it was not to be thought of. Well, if the Master had need of the money, she would trust him that a way would be found. She smiled with amusement at her attempt to practice the skill he had advised her to acquire.

Someone had stopped the Master far up ahead. Word came back that it was Jairus, the head of the local synagogue, and it was something about his daughter's being sick. The people of Magdala had come out with him, and the crowd around Jesus was now oppressive in its mass.

Jesus had started out, with Jairus leading the way, and Mary seized the opportunity of the press of people of both sexes to approach close enough to see what was happening, when Jesus suddenly stopped and looked around. Mary shrank back, certain that he had guessed her presumption.

"Who touched me?" he asked.

The look on his face did not encourage anyone to volunteer, and those next to him hastily denied it. Simon the Rock (Mary had discovered which one he was), blurted, "Master, with a crowd around like this, you get bumped into. What do you mean, who touched me?"

"No, no, someone touched me," said Jesus. "I felt power go out of me." And he kept looking around at the people, and finally an old woman, who looked vaguely familiar to Mary, came cringing forward and said, "It was I, good Master, I think."

Jesus looked at her. "Forgive me, my good Master," she went on. "I meant no harm; it is just that I had had this trouble for such a long time, and my daughter told me--you see, the doctors had eaten up my whole savings and almost everything my daughter could earn--I have not been able to work for years and years, though I once was known as a seamstress inferior to none--"

Mary suddenly remembered with a shock why she looked familiar. This was the face, was it not, of Judith's mother?

"--harm could it do, she told me," the woman was continuing as her voice came back into Mary's consciousness, "and she said I should go and ask you, and I said that we had no money to pay you, and so I felt I had no right to bother you; but it occurred to me that if I merely touched the tassel of your robe, that would be enough, and--you see, it is not that we would not pay you, it is just that we have no money, and I had no idea that it would cause you any distress, and . . ." She trailed off under Jesus's gaze.

"Just what is this trouble you have had?" he asked.

"Bleeding, Master. Twelve years I have been bleeding, every day, not as wom--but always, you understand. Sometimes enough to fill a drinking-cup. You may ask my daughter; she has taken care of me these many years, she is such a wonderful daughter, and has worked also to keep us both alive."

"And you spent all your money on doctors."

"Whenever we could scrape any together, Master. Every mite went to them; everything we have left from food and the barest necessities. But nothing helped. Nothing."

So the money Mary was giving Judith had been poured out as fast as it had come in. And what a temptation it must have been to Judith to see all that money out in the cave that Mary was so careless about--indeed, unconscious of, once she had tested Judith--and never once to take enough home to make a real difference. Or even more enticing, to spirit away just a little for a private trinket she could treasure as compensation for all the agony Mary and her mother put her through daily.

"--you believed that merely by touching my robe, you could be cured," Jesus was saying. The woman started once again to protest that she would pay, and Jesus held up a hand. "You were correct. It was your belief that cured you; you may go in peace."

As the woman held her hand up over her heart in incredulous relief and joy, Jairus, who had been growing more and more impatient at the interruption of his quest by this insignificant woman, but who did not dare to remonstrate, managed to put himself in Jesus's line of sight once again, and Jesus turned anew to follow him, when someone came up to him and whispered in his ear. His face fell, and he looked over at Judith's mother with fury.

His head then dropped in despair. He stood there for a moment, unable to move, and finally began to turn away, when Jesus laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "Do not be afraid. You believe also, and all will be well with her. Rock, I wish only you and John and James to come with me; have the others remain here. There must not be a mob around the house; the girl is very sick."

The four of them left with Jairus and his servant, while everyone else crowded round the woman, who was praising God at her deliverance, and extolling the goodness of Jesus. She was almost jumping up and down for joy.

Mary had been looking for Judith in the crowd, partly to see her beaming face, but more to locate her, so that she could slip away without being seen, when suddenly she heard a voice behind her, which said, "I knew that I would find you here!"

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