Eleven

But of course, all was not well, not really. Mary was already in her fourth month, and soon it would be obvious that she was going to have a child. Did we want the Messiah to have the reputation of being a--shall I say--somewhat irregular baby? And if he was to save his people from their sins, how could he himself be thought to be a child of sin, even if everyone would believe that it was a very minor sin?

And then, as we talked, it occurred to us that it would be difficult to convince anyone that the Prince prophesied to lead all of Israel would come from Galilee. The Judeans consider us Galileans to be almost Gentiles, as you are well aware, Matthew. True, both Mary and I are direct descendants of David, but who would believe it? Who does believe it? That is why Jesus told me that he must gradually lead them on to believe that he is the prophesied Prince.

But I have thought about it, and I realize that what he must also convince them of, Matthew, is that when he speaks of the reign of God, he is speaking of himself as King. And that he means it literally. How can he persuade any true descendant of Abraham that he, a man, is the same as the one who spoke to Moses from the burning bush, and who would not even let Moses see his face?

--Well, it is his problem, not mine, thank God. And if there is anyone who can solve it, it will be he. But it will not be easy. Perhaps this "agony" that he wishes to spare me means that he will be rejected by his own people. And what then?

(All were silent, each lost in his own thoughts. Matthew wondered if that would mean that he would be once again enmeshed in his sins.)

In any case, after a good deal of discussion, we decided that it would be best if we moved to Bethlehem, so that Jesus--we had already begun calling him Jesus--would be born there. Then the question of whether he was David's descendant or not would not even arise. I had also heard rumors that the Emperor was thinking of having a census of the whole world, and we thought that if we were in Bethlehem when it occurred, then he would be registered as having come from Bethlehem, and not from some place like Nazareth in Galilee no one had ever heard of.

--After all, if I understand the prophesies correctly, he will become King of the whole world. One wonders if there will be a complete transformation of everything, and lions will actually lie down with lambs and all that. You see, once you accept what did happen, then what could happen, however fantastic, might happen.

As to the census, you perhaps do not remember that as it turned out, the census of that area did not take place until Jesus was ten years old or so, and by that time we were no longer in Bethlehem. The Master has his own way of doing things--he does, indeed. But that was a large part of our reason for going there.

Well, I had a number of commissions that I had to finish; I was building a house for Jacob and his family, and had agreed to make some furniture for three or four other people. I did not think I should simply abandon what I had promised, and so I completed the work before I left--which was a good thing, because it gave us enough money to move there and find a small place to live while I bought land and collected materials and built our house. But it did delay us for a considerable time.

Meanwhile, Mary stayed inside. At first, people understood that she was making our house ready, and then when we let word get out that we were going to move--as we had to do, if for no other reason than that I was refusing new work--they thought she was busy preparing for that. And then, of course, they thought that she was as all women are a few months after marriage. The result, in any case, was that no one saw her, but no one was surprised.

One evening, we simply left. It was very late in her time, but I could not finish my work sooner. She assured me that the journey would not cause her any harm, and by that time I had learned to trust a bit more than previously.

(At this point, Joseph looked over at Mary, as if to invite comment, but she was sitting pensively, and said nothing, and so he continued:)

The trip itself was uneventful, but it was clear when we arrived that the baby was due that very day; she was already experiencing the signs when we were in sight of Bethlehem. I went to the inn and asked if they had private quarters; it was unthinkable for her to be giving birth in the common room with everyone milling around. They told me that there were no such accommodations available.

I knew not what to do. I was desperate. But as I turned away, I noticed the stable by the side of the inn; it seemed secluded, and was practically empty, with only the inn's ox there. I took Mary with me and returned and asked if we could use the stable for a night or two until we could find a suitable place, and the innkeeper took one look at Mary and understood all, and told us that he had no difficulty with that--and that he would not even charge me for the space. He seemed to think that he had done us a very great favor--as he had, I suppose, to be honest, though at the time, for some reason, I resented it. I suppose I was distraught.

Be that as it may, I went into the stable and cleaned it up as well as I could. There were two rooms in it, and I put the ox and our little donkey in one, with a low door between them and us that they kept looking over, and spread clean straw upon the floor and made a bed of sorts in the corner. I was chagrined. I was supposed to be their protector, and the best I could do was a stable! But there was nothing else, so we had to make what we could of it.

I then asked Mary, who had begun labor, but did not seem yet in any distress, whether I should go now for the midwife, and she laughed at the concerned look on my face and told me, quite calmly and matter-of-factly, that she needed no midwife, that everything would be fine; that I was to heat some water over a fire to bathe the baby, and not to worry.

"I must trust," I said with a touch of bitterness. She smiled and answered, "Of course."

(Here, Mary looked over at Joseph, with a knowing smile on her face, which Joseph returned.)

It was obvious that she was working hard, but was quite calm about it. I asked if the pain was very bad, and she answered, "There is no pain, Joseph. It is hard work, but I am used to hard work." She asked if she could grasp my arm to help her do what she was doing, and naturally, I was overjoyed to be at least of some help. I could tell the effort she was making by how firmly she squeezed my forearm. But she kept saying that there was no pain. Finally, she told me to be ready and to take the baby in my hands when he emerged.

And then--then I held the Son of God, the offspring of the Supreme Being, in these hands! These hands were the first to touch the Messiah, the Prince who was to save the world from its sins!

(He held out his hands, palms up, in front of them, and looked down at them, almost as if they were jewels.)

It was--well, nothing one can say can describe it. And there was no blood. No blood at all, though he was of course completely soaked.

--And then there was the cord. I am no midwife; I had barely heard of such things. I panicked. Mary looked over at me, laughing at my consternation, though feebly because she was exhausted, and said, "Cut it--no, no, not there--" I had taken out my knife--he fit into one, single hand!--and was about to cut the cord next to his body, and she said, "Here; bring him here to me." I brought him over and she showed me where to cut the cord--this was the first drop of blood that was shed, as I live--and she said, with a twinkle in her voice, "Here, let me tie it. It is better for hands that sew to tie the cord than for hands that carve planks."

So she tied the cord, and then handed him to me, and I took him over to the warm water and cleaned hm up as well as I could. I brought him back, and she wrapped him in his little blanket, and then began to feed him.

--Not even in heaven could there be a sight more beautiful! That whole night was one wonder after another!

But she was tired, and when she had finished feeding him, she gave him back to me, and lay back on the bed and slept. I took him over and put him in the manger, which I had filled with the softest hay I could find, and simply sat there the rest of the night, listening to Mary breathing, and looking at him.

And he looked at me. I swear he did.

A little before dawn, I happened to glance out the entrance of the stable, and there on the eastern horizon was a star brighter than any I had ever seen. I rose and went to the doorway, and said to the sky, "So it is really true, then," because I still did not really believe it, not really, not completely. One believes and does not believe, somehow, even when one sees. I had trouble believing it my whole life, partly because everything was so normal.

You will doubtless find this yourself, Matthew, if you stay with Jesus long enough. Be not concerned. Year later, I mentioned this to Jesus, and he told me himself not to let it bother me; and so I do not, but--well, there it is.

(Matthew interjected, "He has already told me that my problem is that I do not believe that I believe. He laughed about it."

"Well, you see?" answered Joseph.)

Toward dawn, some shepherds arrived, with the story that they had seen a vision of angels as they were out in the fields, telling them that the Messiah and their Master had been born in Bethlehem--which was about an hour's walk away for them--and that as a sign of this they would find an infant lying in a manger; and then, they said, the angels chanted songs giving glory to God.

They said--they were not paragons of intelligence, you know, in the way of most shepherds--that they discussed what they had seen for quite a while and then decided that they had probably been told to come and see for themselves. And of course as soon as they saw Jesus in the manger, they were convinced that something great had happened, and went away and told everyone they met about it. No one believed them, of course; they thought that they had had a bit too much wine to warm themselves during the night, because it was quite cold, though the stable was comfortable enough with the little fire I had made.

We stayed in the stable for the next two days, as I remember, while I went out to find some place that would take us in while I bought land and began to build our own house. It would be difficult, starting over from nothing, but a carpenter can always find something to do, and my work on the house turned out to be a good advertisement of my skill.

A month after Jesus was born, Mary told me that we should go up to Jerusalem to present him to the Master in the Temple, and for her to be purified. I said, "Present him! He is the Master! And if there is anyone who does not need purification, it is you!" I was objecting mainly because I had in the back of my mind that the farther we stayed away from the King, the better. One does not walk up to the lion's mouth.

But she answered that while that might be true, it would be wise to keep up appearances; we did not want to people to talk, and they would talk if we seemed to be disobeying the Law. She had reason there, of course. So we had to risk the lion's mouth after all. King Herod certainly would not take kindly to a hint that a rival had been born practically under his nose.

But Mary prevailed, saying that there was nothing extraordinary for anyone to notice about us, and in any case when we arrived at the Temple, no one would know where we had come from, and so I acquiesced.

But sure enough, as soon as we entered the inner courtyard with our two pigeons, an old man, a kind of prophet, came up and made a huge fuss over Jesus as the prophesied Savior, fulfilling my worst fears; and several other people also came to see him and made dangerous remarks.

But of course, King Herod was not one to frequent such places as the Temple, and Mary was correct in saying that no one knew where we were from; and apparently there were things similar to this happening among various fanatics from time to time, so no one of any consequence took notice, and we were able to return to Bethlehem without incident.

("You are growing tired, Joseph," Mary said, with a look of concern, and Matthew immediately arose and said, "I am overwhelmed; but I would not fatigue you. I can return later."

"No, no, no, I am fine. I have actually not much more to say--and truth be told, I want to make sure that I have said it all while I am still able to speak."

"If you are certain," said Matthew, and looked over at Mary.

"If you feel that it will do you no harm," she said.

"I will be fine," he answered, and continued:)

It took several months to have the house ready, but finally we moved in and life seemed to be settling down to a kind of normalcy. Nothing came of the what was said in the Temple or of the stir the shepherds made, and Mary and I thought it was all for the best, given the kind of man King Herod was. The star was still there, steadily higher rising earlier and earlier in the night, but no one, of course, thought it had anything to do with us. We were simply a new family that had moved in.

But when Jesus was a year and a half old, suddenly some sages appeared out of nowhere, arriving nearly at midnight, long after Jesus had gone to bed, but while we were still awake, discussing something or other. They were looking up at the sky, where the star was now directly overhead. They knocked, waking Jesus, and as we hastened to open to them, they took one look at Mary, who had brought Jesus in her arms, fell to their knees at the sight of him.

We hastily invited them in, hoping that none of the neighbors had noticed their gesture, and they explained that over a year ago, they had seen the star in the east, and after discussing it at length as clearly a portent, they had pored over their books and come to the conclusion that the King of the Jewish People had been born. Their sources indicated that he would be the salvation, somehow, of the whole world; and so they had decided to come and pay him homage.

We did not know quite what to say. They were a bit taken aback when they saw nothing but an ordinary house, with no one but a carpenter as its master, and not even a slave to answer the door. For a brief few moments, they said, they thought that they might have made a mistake, but they had made inquiries in Jerusalem--which made me a bit nervous--and learned that the Messiah was to come from Bethlehem. They then found that no one else had been born in Bethlehem at the precise time that seemed indicated by the star (it is a small town, after all); and as they inquired further, they heard people telling of the fantastic tale that the shepherds had spread (which had already acquired all sorts of embellishments), but they were told not to believe a word of it.

They looked around a bit, as I told them that they were welcome to stay the night, wondering how we could fit the three of them and all their servants in our tiny house, and to my relief they insisted on not troubling us. I was about to tell them that it would perhaps be wise not to return through Jerusalem, when one of them informed us that they had already been advised to use a different route. They had perhaps seen through the King's eagerness to find out where Jesus was, since his reputation was rather widespread, and his tale that he wished to come and give him homage himself stank to heaven.

In any case, as they left, they opened the chests they were carrying--it was clear that they could find accommodations wherever and whenever they wanted--and offered us--him --gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, asking us to be sure to tell him what they had done once he was old enough to remember it. "And we are certain," they said, "that he will favor us when he comes into his kingdom." And then they went away.

The neighbors, of course, all crowded around, asking what they wanted, and we told them that they were looking for someone and had made some inquiries of us, and apparently found out what they wanted to know, because they had left. Everyone was curious as to what they were asking about, which again made me a bit nervous, because of the King.

And, in fact, that very night, I had another one of those dreams, and was told to leave immediately for Egypt, because King Herod was going to try to kill Jesus. I woke Mary and told her what had happened, and as we hurriedly gathered our things together, Mary happened to remind me of her brother who had gone to live in Alexandria, and would probably take us in, at least for a while. "It will not have to be for long," I answered, looking at the gifts we had received. We were suddenly quite wealthy. The Master manages to provide for necessities he creates, it seems.

So once again we left, and I faced the prospect of starting over for the second time. Fortunately, we were able to use the gift money to find a suitable house after staying with Mary's relatives only a day or two--where Jesus made the acquaintance of his cousin James, almost the same age--and hire a language teacher and someone to instruct me in Egyptian carpentry, which is rather different from what we practice here. I learned a great deal there, though I must confess I did not actually do much work. I was too busy studying.

Jesus, who was beginning to speak, began using double words for everything: the Hebrew followed by the Egyptian; he seemed to think of one as the "home" word and the other as the "outside" one. Of course, we realized that our stay was to be only temporary, since Jesus was to save our people, after all.

We remained in Egypt for two years, I think it was, and I was just beginning to establish myself once again, when word came that Herod had died, and I had yet another dream telling me to go back to the land of my ancestors. So we said goodbye to our new friends and relatives, and Jesus to James, and returned, planning to go back to our house in Bethlehem, using our money to buy it back.

But when we heard that Herod's son had taken over from his father, and that he was as bad as the first Herod if not worse, we thought it better to stay out of Judea altogether, and return to Galilee and Nazareth, where Mary and I were already known, and I would not have to begin life over once more.

The people welcomed us back, of course, and we were able to buy back our old house, using the last of the gift money, and settled in quite comfortably.

Jesus must have been four or five by that time, and as it happened, no one bothered to wonder whether his birth might have been a bit too early. They were all too interested in his command of Egyptian. So it all worked out for the best, at least from my point of view, though Jesus now has to cope with being called a Galilean. I have always liked Nazareth, and never felt at home in Judea, still less in Egypt.

--Well, that is about all, except that you might wonder what it was like acting as the father and teacher of the Son of the Supreme Being himself. It was a daunting task to contemplate. Would he know everything before I told him? Would he be telling me what I should be teaching him? But, as I said earlier, it turned out to be startlingly normal--almost.

I say "almost." I soon found out that he had to learn, more or less like everyone else--but not quite.. It is difficult to describe. It is not that he knew things beforehand, exactly, but he--how shall I say it?--he recognized things. You may notice this yourself, Matthew when you are with him. He sees something new, and in some way knows what it is, as we do sometimes when we have a new experience and it is as if we had had it before.

For instance, I would show him some new technique in handling wood, and his eyes would light up as if to say, "Ah, yes, that is what it is!" And if I happened to try to pass on to him a bad habit I had acquired, he would look at me politely but quizzically, never actually saying anything--he was always perfectly respectful. I suppose he kept making allowances for my stupidity--but asking with his expression, "Do you really mean that?" and I would go over what I had said and realize that I had to rethink it.

I actually learned a great deal from him thus, not by being taught, but by being steered, as it were, by what I might call the taste he had for what was true and false. I suppose it is his Father's influence. I understand very little about him, truth be told--even less, of course, now than at first.

A good deal less, in fact, now that he has started on his journey toward this reign of God. You know, it is odd. I feel, in a sense, somewhat like Moses--not that I am on a level with him, by any means--but he, you will recall, was allowed to see the Promised Land from afar, but not to enter. And I see that the reign of God is about to begin, but I will have left before it happens. Ah, well.

But I suppose that too is for the best. At least he said so, and by this time I can trust somewhat more than I did at the beginning.

--But now, Matthew, if you do not mind, I really do feel that I need a bit of a rest. I dislike pushing you out, thus, but Mary will be angry with me if I continue. I can see it in her face already.

"I will not deny, Matthew," she said, "that it would be well if he should be alone and sleep, though I am sure that his tale has done him a world of good. Let us go." And she took a couple of the pillows out from behind him so that he could lie back, and left with Matthew, as the sun began to dip below the mountain to the west.