Nine

"How does one begin in the middle of one's life?" she asked. "I feel--as one just born. Totally helpless and ignorant. As if I must learn to live totally anew. I know nothing, nothing. Barely how to breathe."

"It is supremely unsettling, is it not? One would think that one would be full of joy and hope for the future; but hope requires a base to hope from, a person who hopes. And one wonders who that person is."

"That is exactly it!" she cried, looking up at him. But he was not looking at her at all, but staring off into the distance, remembering, it seems, his own experience. "I know not who--" she said, and corrected herself, "No, I am so terrified that I do know who I am, and that person must die--has died. I so hope she has died! And yet, then I am erased."

"No, she has not died," he said. "She is not, but she is--you are. It is very strange." He added, "And if what the Master says is true, who we will be will be stranger still."

"You speak as if we must go on rejecting this self we have rejected."

"Oh, yes; it does pursue us. Always it beckons. But he has said not to be concerned, and to trust him." Again he thought for a while. "It is not easy."

Mary was anything but certain she wanted to go through with this. But then, what else was there to do? Go back to what she had been? But how could she do this, knowing what she now knew? For an instant, a bit of the old hatred welled up in her, but now it was hatred for this man who had forced the revelation of the truth upon her. Forgive her? He had destroyed her. But she realized that her loathing was really for herself, and shame once again replaced the hate. What evil had he really done to her? She was nothing but evil, and that was what had been destroyed.

But having been destroyed, she must go on existing. --And was that what would have happened had she managed to kill herself? Perhaps going on now in this way meant being able to escape an eternity of just the despair she felt now. In any case, she must go on, because apparently there was no way to avoid it.

"--nowhere to go," broke into her consciousness. She could see that he was looking down at her with a good deal of concern. "then perhaps you would consider staying here with us. For a time, perhaps, at least."

"Oh, do you not think they would--mind?"

"He would not, of that I am certain. Others might. Others would. They would not say anything--openly, that is. Particularly some of the women. But you know how women are." He suddenly turned red again.

"I know a good deal how certain types of women are," she answered. "But I have had little contact with oth--" she suddenly thought of Judith and her mother.

"Let me put it thus:" he replied. "I suspect that wherever you go, you will encounter the same difficulty, and so that is not a reason for not staying here. In fact, it is the opposite, because the Master will see to it that no harm comes to you from it; and who knows? You may be an occasion of good for others who have never had to face their own reality."

She wondered what he meant by that. It seemed obvious to her that he himself had not encountered unqualified acceptance.

"But it is a good deal easier with him nearby," he added.

"Who is he?" she asked. "I know nothing of him except the two times I saw him. My servant told me he is a prophet who has done wondrous deeds. That last I now know of myself."

"He is certainly a prophet, but much more than a prophet. In fact, once he asked us what we thought he was, and some answered that he was a prophet, and some that he was John, the one who preceded him and bathed people in the Jordan for a change of heart--who was killed by Herod, poor man. But Simon Rock said what everyone knew in his heart, that he was the Prince--and he added, the Son of the living God."

"The Prince?"

"You know. The anointed successor to David, who was prophesied to come and rule forever."

"That Prince? But I always pictured him as a warrior like Judas Maccabeus, who would drive out the Romans."

"As did most of us. In fact, Simon the Revolutionary still does. He expects him to start making a secret collection of swords and to take us up into the hills somewhere to train us."

Mary tried to picture this gentle man with a sword--or for that matter, the Master, sword in hand, leading them. From the little she had seen, it seemed incongruous. What need had the Master of swords, if he could command devils? And what chance had swords against the Romans in any case? Even when she was very young, and she heard overheard her father speaking with his companions about driving out the Romans, she could tell by his voice that all knew that it was hopeless. To break the silence, she asked, "Why do they call him Simon Rock?"

"Simon the Revolutionary? Oh, no, that is another Simon. It is a bit confusing. There are two Simons, two Jameses, and two Judases even among the Twelve. One must distinguish them somehow. We call one of the Jameses simply James--the one who is the brother of John--John was the very young man who had his face slapped--and the other is 'Little James,' though he is the taller of the two. And some of us are called by two names. Bartholomew is also Nathanael, and most call Thomas the Twin, even though we have never seen his brother; one of the Judases is called Thaddeus most of the time to distinguish him from the other, and I myself am sometimes called Levi, though generally they use my name Matthew. These things happen when people have been very close together for a long while. You will be able to sort them out gradually through time."

"I hope so," said Mary dubiously, trying to memorize the name "Matthew" so as to spare herself the embarrassment of having to ask him again. She felt she knew him well already. But then she reflected with something of a pang that she would probably not have much to do with any of the men. The women would doubtless try to see to that, she could predict. She went back to her original question. "But why is it that the other one--the other Simon--is called Simon Rock? Such an odd name. Yet he seems to be some kind of a leader, from what I heard."

"Actually, it is from just the incident I spoke of--the one where he said that the Master was the Son of God. When the Master heard him, he looked at him rather in surprise, and said, "Good for you, Simon Bar-Jona! Flesh and blood did not reveal this to you; it was my Father in heaven. And I tell you that you are rock, and on that rock I will build my community." It was as if he heard confirmation of something he had in the back of his mind, but was a little surprised that it was Simon who confirmed it."

"He looked thus when I came into the room when--" she let it hang, feeling once again overcome by the shame of her position.

He looked at her. "It does happen to him, upon occasion. In any case, the name stuck to Simon, and we have--with a certain reluctance, I must confess--taken to calling him The Rock, and thinking of him as a sort of second in command--insofar as there is a command among us. Of course, if the Master is the Prince, I imagine eventually that will take place."

He went on, "But I hope that the Master never leaves--and of course if he is the Prince, he never will--but the Rock is given to impulses, and some of us wonder what it would be like if he were in complete charge of us, not to mention all of Judea, or the whole world, if the prophesies mean what they seem to mean."

"Do you really believe that he will become King of the whole world?"

"I know not. He is a very strange person. And whatever this Kingdom of his is--and he calls it the Kingdom of God, not his own--it is a very strange Kingdom indeed. Would you consider it a good thing to be poor?"

"Poor? How could that be a good thing?"

"Almost at the beginning, he was explaining the Kingdom, and he said that it was good for us to be poor, because then we were members of the Kingdom of God. I asked him about it later, because--well, because I had been very poor when I was quite young, and I have seen many curse God for their poverty and misery, and I myself found it anything but a blessing, and he said, 'What I meant was to be poor and to accept it, to realize that what is in this world as it is now has no importance; one's poverty must reach to the spirit, and not simply be a lack of possessions that one desires.' In fact, he also said that it was a blessing to suffer, because then the consolation would be in the Kingdom. As nearly as I can comprehend, it means that these things--poverty, suffering, oppression--make one realize that this life we now live is not the real life, and that the Kingdom is where we should place our interest. But is the Kingdom in another place? After death, perhaps? But he seems to be saying that there will be no death. And perhaps he even means it literally. Certainly it is not simply out of the question if he can cure any disease with a word and drive out--" He stopped, wondering if this was indelicate. "It is all extremely strange."

They were both silent for a while. "It is true," she said finally, "that if I had not suffered so much that not even death could solve it, I would not be here."

"That is perhaps what he was saying. But I can tell you, this that we have now is not the Kingdom he was referring to. Perhaps later. He keeps saying that it is near; but from my experience, it has not yet come, whatever it is."

"What does he do?"

"Do? At the moment, at least, he talks--and performs marvelous cures, and so on, which seem to demonstrate that what he is saying is true. One thing he does not do: he is not starting to gather an army, I assure you. For the past year, since I have known him, and I gather for a year before that, he has been roaming through the country--mainly through Galilee here, but also in Judea, especially for the feast days--and preaching about this Kingdom. At least, that is what he did at first, except that no one, including ourselves, could make head or tail of it. After a while, I took to making notes of what he said, to ponder during the long nights when I could not sleep and was wondering why--well. But lately, he seems mainly to be telling stories--yes, David."

A young lad had come up from behind; a rather short child, perhaps fourteen or so, barely having gone through his bar mitzvah. He was fairly handsome, a little shorter than Matthew, who was slightly below average height, with the typical black hair and eyes and a rather less than pronounced Hebraic nose. His beard was just beginning to show. He said, "They are preparing the meal. I saw you with--"he left out the word--"and wondered if you would have me keep two places for you."

"That was very thoughtful of you, David. Yes, do, if you please." And the boy ran off toward the light of the campfire.

"Who was that?" asked Mary.

"David seems to have adopted me, for some reason. It is almost as if he wished to become my servant, though we are all, if you will, servants of each other here, you will find--well, perhaps in your case not. You will have a great deal to overcome. David must have noticed that I was in the situation I expect you will be in, and undertook to be a kind of companion to me. I must confess, it is a bit of a nuisance; but I do not want to deprive him of what he must regard as a penance of charity. As far as I am concerned, I find it can sometimes be as charitable to receive as it is to give. And as burdensome, at times."

"--But you were saying something about the Master telling stories?"

"Well, analogies, really. They sound like stories, many of them, but they are like the stories of that Greek called Aesop--do you know of Aesop?"

"I never heard the name."

"He lived many centuries ago--well, it is of no consequence. But these are different even from those. You will doubtless hear many if you stay. They have a way of striking home, if one listens."

Mary remembered. "Ah, yes; he told a story of men who owed something, when I--But it had many meanings, I could see. Then he is a kind of teacher."

"That also. But it is all about that Kingdom he is referring to, which apparently is to be instituted among us somehow, though I cannot for the life of me see how, if he does not drive out the Romans. But then, of course, if it is the Kingdom of God, God can do anything. Look what he did to the Egyptians; and the Israelites were hardly an army at the time."

"Do you honestly think it will really happen? It sounds like a dream."

"The whole thing is like a dream. But it is not simply that he explains what the Kingdom is, and tells stories about it. He does things like--like what happened to you--obviously to prove that nothing God wants through him is impossible. I have seen things that I would never have believed--a man with a shriveled arm simply stretch it out, and it was as healthy as his other, many sick people cured with a simple word or touch--you--and others, many others, like you. And the demons themselves call him the Son of the Most High God, though he silences them immediately. And, as you saw, they grow silent."

Mary remembered the vortices she had first seen when she looked into his face and saw them through the eyes of those who possessed her.

"I even saw him bring the dead to life," he said simply. "In fact--"

"Of a truth? My servant mentioned something like that, although I think she said it was a girl. I was certain she had been deceived."

"No, it happened. In fact, as I was about to say, David was the one he did it to. It was not very far from here. A widow was walking along in the funeral procession with her only son and support--David--lying on the bier being carried behind her. Jesus stopped the cortege and took the boy by the hand, and he sat up. It was that simple. And he acted as if it was nothing unusual."

"Who, David?"

"Well, David was quite bewildered, of course, at being wrapped up as a corpse and carried along. I meant Jesus. David seemed not to know what to do with himself; and when his mother decided that she was going to join us, David perforce came along with her--and, as I say, for some reason found a kind of meaning in his life by attaching himself to me. I confess I do not fathom it, but there it is. We have not actually talked much about his being dead and coming back to life; he acts as if it is something quite--something no one would be able to understand."

"He must not have been really dead. I have heard that there are people who appear dead for a long time, and yet revive. Is that not why we watch the corpses?"

"I suppose it is conceivable," he answered. "I must say, he looked dead. And he had been through the watch, after all. Of course, the Pharisees, who hate him, claim that it was all a trick, and that Jesus was in collusion with the woman. But he was not. As far as I know, he had never seen her before that moment. He just stopped, and stroked his beard the way he does when he sees something that--that he seems to recognize. You remember, as I told you. It is as if he is waiting for events."

"Is that what his name is, Jesus?"

"Yes, Jesus. From Nazareth just down the road a bit. He was a carpenter until not too long ago. He and his father worked on my house some years back. His died recently, though his mother is still alive. I expect that you will see her if you stay with us long enough."

"Does she not come along with you?"

"No, she has remained in Nazareth. None of his relatives, actually, are in our group. They cannot seem to get it into their heads that he is actually something remarkable."

"Even his mother?"

"Oh, no! It is obvious she knows perfectly well what he is. It is just that--I know not, she does not wish to take any attention away from him, and she is an amazing person in her own right."

"In what way?"

"--One cannot say, exactly. You will recognize it when you see her. Like him, she seems perfectly unremarkable, and yet is--how shall I put it?--almost superhuman. No, that is too much. In both their cases, one feels that this is what a man or a woman should be--was meant to be. I am not expressing myself well."

"But why did you say the Pharisees hate him?"

"Well, he does not always adhere to the strict interpretation of the Law--that is, I have never seen him actually violate anything that was written in the Torah itself; but he certainly violates some of the interpretations that have been given of it. For instance, a good many of his cures have been on the Sabbath; but he always cites things like circumcision's being allowed on the Sabbath, and that it is legitimate to pull an ox out of the ditch on the Sabbath--and he says, then why is it not permitted to cure someone on the Sabbath? Besides, he does no work, really, in performing these cures; he simply speaks, and it is done."

"How odd."

"But I do not think that this is the real problem. I think that many of the Pharisees and authorities are bothered by this Kingdom he keeps referring to. They are afraid, I think, that he is going to start a war with Rome, and that all this means for Judea is untold suffering and destruction."

"I know. Everything is political with some of them--I mean, some people" she hastily caught herself, to prevent this man from asking how she knew anything about Pharisees. "My father, for instance, never said anything except to utter his dreams of getting free of Rome. He was a banker, and had everything that anyone could have wanted. But he would rant and rant about having to pay taxes--" she broke off, realizing who it was she was talking to.

"I know. I had simply bowed to the inevitable, and decided to take advantage of it. And I must say that the Pharisees, if that is what they are concerned about, have a point, from every rational perspective. We have no chance against Rome--especially," he laughed, voicing Mary's earlier thought, "if we are to be the generals in this new army. And he gives no sign of choosing anyone else. If the Kingdom is to be inaugurated, it will be by a pillar of fire, or some such thing, I suppose. --Or there is always the possibility that the Kingdom itself is somehow like one of his stories. I do not even pretend to understand it. I am simply here, as I think you are, because where else can one be?"

He looked down at her, as if suddenly coming to himself. "But it is beyond time to eat. You cannot have eaten for a long time. Have you?"

Until that moment, Mary had not realized that she was ravenous, and in fact rather weak and giddy from hunger. "I do not believe I ate anything at all yesterday," she said. "I did not notice it until now."

"We must go back. They are still eating, I am sure, and if not, David will have saved something for us. I had become so engrossed that I had forgotten about eating myself. You will stay with us, of course?"

"I--know not what else to do." She caught herself. "I do not mean that as it sounds," she said. "I would be very grateful if you would allow me to stay; it is just that--I feel as if I contaminate everything I come near."

"I think I also understand that," he said. "I felt much the same; but if he can tolerate tax collectors and eat and drink with them--and he even chose me to be one of the Twelve!--then there should be no difficulty with your joining us. As I said, he must have realized that this was what would have to happen."

"What are these Twelve you have referred to?"

"Early on," he replied, "when the people flocked to him to be cured and to listen, and he was overwhelmed by it--we had not even time to eat at all, let alone eat in peace--he realized that he could not do his work alone. So he chose twelve of us as what he called his "Emissaries" and sent us out two by two into the towns and villages nearby to announce that the Kingdom of God was about to be inaugurated. And Lo! We too found that we could cure the sick, and even sometimes cast out demons in his name! We would return periodically and report to him what had happened, and he would send us into other places.

"Lately, we have been with him more often than not; we have a great deal to learn, it seems, and what we learn seems to be growing stranger and stranger. None of us, of course, can make analogies and stories like his; and it seems that lately, now that most of his teaching is by stories, he wants us with us so that he can explain things more clearly to us."

"Is he deliberately being mysterious in these stories?"

"I would not say exactly that. No, I think it is the opposite, in a sense. It is true that the stories prevent those who want to arrest him and have him killed--"

"No!"

"Ah, madame, yes. I told you that he does not follow the Law as the Pharisees would, and they are worried about Rome. Oh, yes, they would like to see him dead. Very much so. But of course, he is always surrounded with crowds of people who are convinced that he is a prophet, and are beginning to believe that he really is the Prince who was to come. It would not be politic to do him in. And the stories prevent his enemies from having a definite charge they can bring against him. The only thing they can accuse him of is violation of the Sabbath, and even that is easily answerable--and has been answered already, several times.

"But I think there is more to it even than that. The stories seem to allow different people to take out different meanings, and for anyone with an ear, there is something personal to him. This is another strange thing."

Mary thought of the story of the debtors, and how it clearly applied to her and also to Simon the Pharisee. But it could have had other applications, a different one for each person who heard it.

"But we must eat," he said, as he entered the clearing round the campfire, where David beckoned.

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