Twenty-One

They stepped into the edge of 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.

Mary stopped, as if remembering something, and then after a time shook her head.

"I bring a new student," Matthew said as they approached the fire. "Her--" he turned to her, and realized that he knew her name only by hearsay. Perhaps she did not wish to use it in this new life she was to live. "You have not told me your name."

"Mary," she said in a small voice, overcome by shyness. 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 after a while someone said 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 rather rotund 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 the likes of me."

"Now now, Joanna, he is no snob; it is just that he is constantly preoccupied with keeping us all in bread."

"Well of course," she said "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. Matthew noticed how she had looked at Judas as Joanna pointed him out with a nod of her head, looked away, and looked back at him as he ate with little James. He had given a glance in her direction, and then continued eating paying no attention to her at all, almost as if it were deliberate.

Suddenly, Mary seemed to realize that she had been trying to catch his eye, and hid her burning face in her hands. Matthew thought, "She discovered the old Mary once again," and felt a mixture of pity and--anger at Judas, of all people! How absurd! What cause did he have for resenting Judas?

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 had not 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 and continued her stream of talk, leading Mary and Matthew to another grassy area sheltered by a number of oaks, and surrounded by brushwood.

Matthew, not finding a space to break into her monologue, bowed his leave and went off leaving them to themselves, hoping that Joanna would not completely overwhelm Mary with words and drive her off. He returned to the clearing and then went over to the other side where the men were to sleep, feeling at once elated and disturbed. He wondered if Mary would be able to tolerate the subtle and not-so-subtle abuse that she was bound to take, and if not, how dismal everything would seem without that beautiful face blossoming in the group.

What was he thinking? Of course, he realized, he would not see much of her, because she would find her place among the women, and in any case, what did he have to do with her? She had obviously looked at him as a kindly--old!--gentleman, a sort of uncle. And that was what he was, was he not? His interest in her was nothing but avuncular, with a kind of aesthetic appreciation of her physical perfection, that was all.

And how else could she see him? True, they were both pariahs, and so might possibly be friends on those grounds, but on what others? And why would he expect, let alone desire, that they should be friends? Still, she was pleasant to talk to; she seemed so naive, blushing and looking demurely down, almost as often as he had done..

Naive? Mary of Magdala?

He saw her look back once again at Judas, as Lot's wife must have looked back--and he noticed Judas give her a look as if of recognition, immediately followed by one almost of loathing. Could he have been one of her clients? Yet she did not seem to have known him; if she had, would she not have been more discreet? One in her previous situation did not keep clients by allowing any indication that she knew them. No, it was simply that she was--understandably--attracted by his good looks, her old self tugging at her against her will, Matthew could see.

Still, he could not help again feeling anger at Judas for causing her so much turmoil so early in her attempt to form a new life. But then, he considered, how could Judas help being as handsome as he was? Certainly, the look he gave her was enough to freeze any attempt at friendliness. But still . . .

Absurd! Mary could take care of herself; she did not need Matthew as her champion. They had simply met and he had tried to help her over the painful process of being born again.

That was all. He was a benevolent uncle, nothing more. What more could he be?

He lay down to sleep, thinking of her, and noticed David once more gazing at him, now with a very enigmatic look on his face.

The next morning, Matthew noticed that Mary was nowhere to be seen, and was contemplating finding Joanna and asking what had happened, when she came up to him.

"Your friend is not yet awake, I assume that she is not accustomed to rise early in the day, because her nights must have been rather occupied previously, and so I suppose I should go and wake her, because we live a rather different life than she has been accustomed to, and she will have to get used to it sooner or later if she is to remain with us," And she went on talking, but Matthew lost whatever thread of thought she was following in the realization that she had discovered who Mary was. Clearly, she did not approve.

Ending her remarks to Matthew with a comma, as was her wont, she left to wake Mary, talking now only to herself, since there was nothing but trees to hear her. Matthew regretted that she of all people was the one to have come up to make Mary feel at home last night; but the damage was done, and there was no way to repair it. Presumably Jesus foresaw this also, Matthew hoped, and would see to it that it did not lead to disaster.

He seemed to hear some rather loud female voices from the thicket, and then Jesus' deep tones. Joanna emerged in consternation, and went to the rest of the women, not even glancing at Matthew.

Jesus, followed by Mary, looking still disheveled from sleep, emerged into the clearing, where the group had gathered, evidently told by Jesus to expect something.

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; Matthew heard Mary's 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 seemed taken aback, and Matthew wondered if she was thinking that Jesus was hinting that he had "arranged" her encounter with him as the father was waiting for the son to return. He saw her face burn once again. She looked around, as if searching for someone. Judas? Matthew felt a pang at the thought, especially as he saw her wrench 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 others 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 Matthew 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.

Mary was also looking at the group, and finally found Judas in the crowd, his eyes closed in pain. She forced her eyes away, and Matthew pitied her, but at the same time was proud at the command she was trying to exercise over herself.

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. Matthew assumed that she was loath to remain with the students, whose reaction to the story indicated how they felt about her, and Jesus wished to forestall having her flee in fear. He hoped he would be able to persuade her to stay; she deserved a great deal of help at the start of such a complete transformation--and she was trying, he could see, fighting with her impulse to seduce Judas.

Of course, Judas gave no sign that he was at all willing to be seduced, but one never knew; Mary must have been an expert, since she had the reputation for corrupting the best of the priestly and Pharisee class. Matthew wondered how Judas could see her and not at least try to be civil; he supposed it was the consequence of being superlatively handsome oneself, and brilliant and talented as well. Briefly, he hated Judas for this, but caught himself, thinking that Judas could not help what God gave him, and never traded on it. It was not his fault.

Then the thought came to him that perhaps 'not trading on' his gifts was an extremely subtle--and effective--way of trading on them, since one disarmed the carpers by in effect saying, "I? What have I done?" Matthew cursed the fact that he was no longer rich, because now he had no ammunition to use in competing with him.

Competing?

How ridiculous! He was a friendly old uncle, nothing more. Old, and, thank God, poor. And he thought of the jewels in their secret chamber, and was filled with confusion. Here he was pitying Mary as she fought with her former self, and he had only conquered his former self outwardly; those jewels were his demon disguising himself as his salvation, when he knew that his salvation--if there was to be any at all--was not in a thing but a person. But he still could not bring himself to go back and get rid of them once and for all.

Well, Mary was perhaps reproaching herself for "giving in" to her impulses, when Matthew could see that she was in fact fighting against them with all her might and main. The fact that she did not vanquish them spoke nothing against her--yes, virtue--but spoke volumes about the strength of her enemy.

And perhaps it was the same with Matthew. He had not conquered--as yet. The enemy had been technically defeated, but was not demolished, and continued in a kind of guerilla warfare against him; but he had not given in. He had not gone back to the chamber and taken out the jewels and handled them--as he so longed to do!--and removed them to a place where they would be available at a moment's notice and not even technically belong to anyone else.

It was all he had the strength to do at the moment, just as Mary had no strength to avoid looking back at Judas, even though she had made no move in his direction--and suffered the scornful rebuff he was sure Judas would have delivered.

Well, people who have suffered a severe sickness cannot expect to resume everyday activities as if nothing had happened; they spend days, and sometimes months and years, tottering weakly about, day by day growing infinitesimally stronger; and it is only after a considerable lapse of time that they can look at the state they are now in and see how much improved it is from the time immediately after the danger had passed.

So perhaps there was hope for him yet. The time might come when either he could rid himself of those jewels, or forget about them--though at the moment, he could not see how; any more, he supposed, than Mary could see how she would be able to free herself from attraction to Judas.