Ten

I spoke to no one and went immediately to my room, in complete, utter, black despair.

Pray? I could not pray. I almost could not breathe; it was as though there were ropes around my chest, keeping all the air from entering. I simply sat, dumbly, on the edge of my bed, and watched the day darken into night, and the night prolong itself into eternity, and then begin to brighten into dawn, and the dawn glow into morning, and the morning creep toward noon, and the noon fail into afternoon--without a single thought.

Toward evening, I began to be conscious once again, and learned that I could not find it in myself to blame her. Whatever had happened, she had not been at fault; she could not have been at fault and been able to speak to me thus. No one could be that devious.

--But the incomprehensible thing was that she seemed so delighted--no, not delighted,, triumphant! transported! ecstatic!--about it somehow. And yet it had nothing to do with the mad happiness of one who has done wrong. It was a holy happiness, somehow; she had no problem speaking of the Master, and asking me to trust him. Trust him! In this? But how could it be that she had not done wrong, and was not outraged by what had happened to her? It made no sense at all.

(He looked down at his hands, for some reason, and went on, as if talking to them.) I finally gave up trying to understand it. The fact was that she was going to have a child--and she was somehow convinced that it would be a son, was she not? That in itself was strange. How could she know? They say women sometimes have intuitions of such things, but so early?

So that was another thing that I had to put aside trying to understand. The problem that faced me was what was I to do? Trust, she said. Trust what? She would give birth, and then what? If I married her, they would call him my son, and the people would all wink at me that we had anticipated the wedding a bit, as people sometimes do.

--And was I still bound not to touch her? And could I touch her after this? It was impossible; I could not do it! How could I, after agreeing to such a great sacrifice as a--a barren marriage, which could only be tolerated by knowing that she was making the same sacrifice, tie myself to one who had, even if not through her fault, broken her part of the bargain. I would soon begin hating her! To see her every day, and to see her child every day, and--(He looked pleadingly over at Matthew) I simply did not have the virtue. I could not bear to contemplate it!

And yet if I did not marry her, she would be called a slut, and her child a bastard. Unthinkable! She!

My mind went back and forth along these two paths, hitting the wall at the end every time and bouncing back, growing more bruised each time I traversed the futile alternatives.

And then, I thought that it might be the case that at least she could escape the worst. If I did not marry her, provided I did not publicly divorce or repudiate her--if I simply never got around to marrying her, so to speak, people would assume the child was mine, but that she had displeased me somehow, and if I said nothing, nothing at all, refused to explain myself in any way, then perhaps she could weather the storm, because people would think me incapable of making up my mind, or some such thing. They would blame me, for leaving her with my child, of course, but I suppose I could have supported him without actually living with them.

So the child would be regarded as legitimate, though I would be thought of as a reprobate, a deserter, and a shirker of responsibility. But Mary would be pitied, not censured. They would think I took advantage of her innocence, that is all.

Still, it was completely unsatisfactory, but I could see no other way. I simply could not bring myself to marry her under these conditions after what I had agreed to, and yet I did not want to expose her to people's thinking she was what I was absolutely certain she was not, whatever it was that had happened.

Well, it was then that I became able to pray. I told the Master that I had reached a decision--I thought--and I prayed that my decision was the right one, or if it was not, that somehow I would be shown the right thing to do. I said to the Master that just as she had said that she did not want to refuse him, no more did I, if I could know what he truly wanted; but left to myself I knew not what to do, and that what I had decided was what seemed best--or least bad.

All of this took me almost to the middle of the night; I had not eaten since the morning of the day she appeared at the door, nor had I slept the whole previous night. I was still not hungry, but I was totally exhausted, and, still in my carpentry robes, I fell back on the bed where I had been sitting, and slept.

That night, I had a dream, and someone--perhaps it was merely a voice, or was it even a voice?--told me, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. She is to have a son, and you are to name him 'Jesus,' because he will save his people from their sins."

It woke me immediately, as one awakens from a nightmare. The first thing I felt was a joy so immense I thought my chest would burst! It was true! She had not been violated, even though she was to have a son! No wonder she looked so--so luminous! How could it be?

And then it occurred to me that she must be the mother of the Messiah, and the Prince we have been hoping for all these years--these centuries--has finally come! And he will not only save us from Rome, he will somehow save his people from their sins!

But I soon thought, "It was a dream, after all, was it not? And were you not aching for some solution such as this? How could such a thing be possible?" That threw me immediately back into the depths of despair.

But then the answer came to my mind that with God everything is possible.

"Yes," I answered myself, "but wishing can make the false seem real."

That was true, I admitted, but it still might be that the dream was not merely a dream. In fact, it seemed far too vivid to be a mere dream, even though I could not say who was speaking or whether he even used words.

--It was the strangest thing. I knew exactly what he said, but there were really no words there. I could even remember it, but it still was not words, exactly. How could I have dreamt that?

--And she had said that I would have to trust. What alternative was there? One trusts, I suppose, when it is either trust or face unspeakable torture. I would trust!

I leaped up out of bed--it was in that dark before dawn--and nearly fell over from weakness, and then realized how ravenously hungry I was. I went to the lamp we kept burning to preserve our fire, and took it out to the cold cave behind the house we used to store food, hoping to find a scrap or two-- and then saw some bread and meat that my poor mother had laid out left for me the day before. As I saw it, I seemed to remember having heard her speaking, pleading, as if it had happened years ago or to someone else.

(At this point, Mary entered the house, put down her jar of water in the other room, and stood silent in the doorway.

"Come in, Mary, come in," said Joseph.

"I will not disturb you?" she said.

"Not at all! Jesus had asked me to tell Matthew here all about us and himself, and I have been going through the story. I know how you enjoy remembering it, and you will perhaps be interested in how things looked through my eyes."

"You are not overtiring youself, I trust."

"On the contrary, I have not felt so well in days! This is the best physic imaginable!"

"Well, drink a little. You must not allow yourself to become too dry."

Joseph looked over at Matthew. "It seems I now have a mother instead of a wife," he said; but he picked up the cup and took a drink. "It is over half water, you know," he told Matthew as he set it down. "She does not wish me to become a drunk."

"Really, Joseph!" He laughed.)

Where was I? Oh, yes, I had just had the dream about what had happened, and was in the cave where my mother had left the food. Well, I wolfed down what was there along with a huge draught of water. No one was yet stirring, and so I did not wake them. I dashed to the stream and plunged in, and afterwards felt a bit more human, if half frozen. I could not wait to see Mary.

As soon as I dared, I appeared at her house, almost before it grew light, and knocked softly on the door, which she answered herself immediately, as if she had been waiting behind it. She had quite clearly not had a great deal of sleep herself, but as soon as she looked up and she saw my face, it was as if the sun had escaped from the horizon and leaped behind her eyes.

I said, rather slowly and hesitatingly, "I had what I think was a message last night that you are to be the mother of the Messiah--and that I am to be your husband."

"I knew he would tell you!" she cried, and fell into my arms. I held her for a while, feeling somewhat frightened, wondering if, like Uzzah steadying the Ark of the Covenant, I would suddenly be struck down dead. But I survived, and she seemed to think it normal and proper, and so we remained thus in heaven for a small eternity.

(After a reflective pause, Mary broke in, "Is that what that was all about!"

"What?" said Joseph.

"Well, when I first held you, I felt you stiffen, and I wondered whether you thought I was too--too forward, or something, and were angry with me. But you relaxed, and I knew it was all right."

"Too forward!" Joseph laughed. "Forward! You!" He shook his head and looked at Matthew. "Matthew, if ever you think you understand women, remember this, and realize that we men are condemned to total ignorance!"

"Well, what was I supposed to think?" she said. Joseph simply looked at her.)

Anyway, finally, I held her out at arms length, and said, "So it is true! I cannot believe it! How did it--what happened? Did you hear a voice also--or a something?"

"I was alone in my room after the evening meal," she said, "and someone came to me, someone terrifyingly great, and greeted me. I nearly fainted. He told me I was God's favorite, and that the Lord was with me. I was stunned, and did not know what to make of this, and then he told me--and--did you hear words that were not really words also?"

"Yes. I knew what they meant, but it was not words as we know them."

"Then you understand me. He told me that he was Gabriel, one of those who stand before the Lord, and that I had been chosen, if I consented, to conceive and give birth to a son, whom I would call 'Jesus.'"

"That was also the name I heard," I said.

"You see? You looked as if you were not certain about your vision, but it is true. It is true, Joseph, it is true! And then he said--he said that my son would be great and would be called--called the Son of the Supreme Being, and the Lord God would give him the throne of his ancestor David," Her voice broke, in tears, and she took a few moments to recover. "And he would be king over the house of Jacob forever, with a reign that would never end."

(Matthew looked over at Mary, dumbfounded.)

"The Son of the Supreme Being Himself!" I said, awestruck. "How could such a thing be?"

"I could not understand it. I could not take it in. Especially after what I had just promised. Could the Lord ask one to do opposite things? Because I knew that he had asked me to remain a virgin.

"But there would be some way. The Lord could do anything; but still, I felt I had to ask, 'But how can this be, since I am not to have relations with a man?' And the angel answered, 'The Holy Spirit will come--'" her voice broke again-- "'upon you and the power of the Supreme Being will cover you in its shade; and that is why the holy offspring to be born from you will be called the Son of God.' From me! And who am I? But it is true!"

(This was almost too much for Matthew to take in. It certainly explained Jesus' power. But it was impossible! Joseph went on:)

I could say nothing, and she was silent also for a great while.

Then she added, "It was then that he told me about Elizabeth, who was already in her sixth month, in spite of her old age; he said it as a sign that what he was telling me was true. But he had answered my problem. I was to be a virgin, so that the Lord Himself could be my bridegroom. How can one even say it? How could anyone even think it? I almost cannot believe it myself, even after it has happened! And you were to marry me so that it would not seem as if I had been--as if everything was normal.

"So I told the angel that I was merely the Lord's slave, and that what he had said should be done to me.

"And I am sorry, Joseph, but I simply could not tell you. Or anyone, or my parents. Who would believe me? If you had not been told, would you have believed me? How could you? But I had to tell someone at least something, and I had the idea that I might tell Elizabeth, since she had been pointed out as a sign to me, and had had a wonder happen to her. Besides, I realized that Elizabeth would need help, and so I left, thinking that the Master would inform you also, but he did not until--and she did have a son, and Zechariah had been dumb until he was born, and had also had a vision, and they were to call him 'John,' and he leaped in her womb when I first saw her, and he was to be my Son's forerunner, somehow, and--it is all very confusing, but--and he is a beautiful child, Joseph, we must go to see him sometime and--"

And she went on thus for a long time. My mind was in such a whirl that I could make head or tail of only about half of it. And everything was spilling from her like water in a wadi in the desert after a sudden storm. She had had these wonderful, astounding things happen to her, and had no one really she could speak to of it, not even, as it turned out, Elizabeth, who did seem to know in some way that she was to be the mother of the Prince who was prophesied, but who had not been told the whole truth. She felt that I would have to be the first and possibly the only one to know everything. So she tried to tell me everything all at once, and I understood barely two words of it.

But it did not matter. All was well. We married immediately.