Twenty-Three

There followed a period of several weeks of what might be called routine; but only in a sense. Life was far from boring. Jesus continued telling stories which seemed to become more and more enigmatic, while performing acts which made the wildest story dull by comparison: curing lepers with a mere touch (people gasped when they saw his hands about to do so), giving sight to the blind, and once even driving out a "legion" of devils in one of the pagan towns on the other side of the "Sea" of Galilee, which entered a herd of hogs that promptly ran off a cliff and drowned.

Mary had, as Matthew expected, joined the group of women who kept themselves apart from the men, and so Matthew only had a glimpse of her now and then. He contrived to have as many glimpses as possible, justifying his efforts to himself by the fact that as a kind of patron of hers, he had a special interest in her, and not really noticing the increase in his heartbeat when one of his attempts was successful. She was beautiful, after all; still more now that she was not making conscious efforts to be so--rather the opposite, in fact.

He was aware, however, of how many attempts she was making to catch a glimpse of Judas, but drew no connection between what she was doing and his own efforts at seeing her. We have clear eyes for faults in others when we would be shocked if anyone had the temerity to point them out in ourselves, however blatant they might be (which is why Jesus' analogy of the board in one's own eye falls so often on deaf ears). Perhaps it is our own propensities that allow us eyes to see them--but only in others, as we sometimes can look at a reflection of the sun in water, but looking directly at it blinds us.

He noticed also how Judith kept trying to act as Mary's servant, and how Mary kept trying to wean her away from this, not only, Matthew assumed, because she was a nuisance, as David was to him, but for Judith's sake, whose reputation and therefore suitability as a wife would not be enhanced by her association with a prostitute, "however reformed," as Joanna might put it.

Her association with Mary, on the other hand, did not seem to deter David, who had noticed her with interest from the beginning, not only because Matthew and Mary had been together so much at that time, with the two youngsters perforce brought together because of this, but because she was a pretty little thing, even in the shadow of Mary's loveliness, and full of life--at least at the outset. Lately, she had taken to moping, since Mary really did not need her and made this clear, and her mother had left the group to lead what must now have been a life of leisure at home with Mary's gift.

David was trying to lift her out of her doldrums, and so was spending less time with Matthew, to Matthew's relief; but she seemed to have no use for him, for some reason. Matthew suspected that what accounted for her depression was that she had made it her life's work to serve Mary and care for her mother, and now no one needed her, beyond the usual work the women shared, which anyone could do. Her life had lost its reason for being. And David was more interested in serving her at the moment; he had no special need (except the obvious one) that required her attendance on him.

And, of course, he was a farm boy, nothing more, and doubtless Judith (or perhaps it was Mary) thought that she could do better than a mere worker--and a lowly one at that--because of her associations with cultivated people. Whatever the reason, she made David's life even more miserable than Matthew's was with respect to Mary--but of course Matthew was not miserable in this regard, because what did he care about Mary's attitude toward him? She treated him like an old uncle, and was that not what he was? What had he to complain about?

One curious event occurred. Mary one day came up to Matthew and said, "Matthew, I know not quite how to say this. Do you have any reason to doubt David's friendship for you?"

"No, not really. Why? I know not why he would be my friend, but he attached himself to me for some reason."

"I only mention it because I saw him looking at you once when he was behind you, and the look seemed to be one of pure loathing. You turned around, and he was as friendly as ever."

"Indeed? I did notice that earlier--before Judith--he used to watch me closely, but I took it that it was because he felt lonely. He has never acted badly toward me."

"It may be nothing. But I would be a bit wary of him, if I were you."

"Well, thank you for telling me. I will keep it in mind."

After a while, Mary seemed to have become disgusted with consorting with the women. She probably had had no experience with what were called "womanly interests," and there was no question that she was extremely bright and intellectually curious, not to be satisfied with long discussions about what to do for the next meal, and what herbs went better with lamb roasted and lamb boiled and so on.

In any case, she began tagging along after the men, listening to Jesus as much as she could, and even talking when anyone would listen--as Matthew always would, of course. Most of the men did not know what to make of her. Jesus did not seem to have any objection to her being there, and even directed a word or to to her from time to time; but the other men had no idea how to talk to her. Men in general did not converse with women--except their wives, of course; but that was different. But in this culture, men were men and associated with men and women were women and associated with women.

So Mary took on the role of a kind of woman-man--which said nothing against her femininity. It was merely that she cared about things which women tended to shun. Jesus' stories, for instance, fell on deaf ears by and large to the women unless they had an immediate reference to them--as the one of the widow who lost her coin and swept up the whole house until she found it--even though the application to the Kingdom went completely by them, not because they could not understand it, but because they did not care to do so. As Mary did, to Matthew's prideful delight.

Matthew noticed that part of Mary's desire to join the group of men was that she would have more opportunities to look at Judas--but of course, he was not happy about her presence because he could observe her more often. He was merely interested. And annoyed at Judas for distracting her from what Jesus was saying.

One day, however, Mary herself seemed to become aware of what she was doing (she had been ostensibly listening to Jesus while staring at the back of Judas's head the whole time), and avoided the men for a while. But Matthew heard numerous complaints, carefully made by some of the women to each other while he was in earshot (as if he had any influence or even special interest in Mary), and more or less by mutual consent, she drifted back among the men.

Matthew saw that her attraction to Judas was very much against her will, and there was really no question of her trying to carry her desire into action. She never deliberately sat close to him or tried to call his attention to herself. She seemed to think that his nearness eased somewhat the ache she clearly had, just as her nearness to Matthew eased whatever ache he might have had in her absence--which he did not have, of course; why should he?

And the women made it clear that the new situation was by far the more satisfactory, once they had had a taste of her; and so she was more or less left alone to tag along after the men. Partly out of altruistic pity, and partly because of his avuncular concern, Matthew befriended her and would often talk with her, and a few others would even come to speak with Matthew while she was there--though since most were uncomfortable in her presence, and for practical purposes ignored her, more or less politely. Matthew, on the other hand, simply regarded her as another person, and an interesting one at that, who in addition was an outcast like himself, though he had nothing really more in common with her. But the fact was that they had many profitable conversations together.

Mary, it seemed, had taken a kind of interest in young John, especially since she found out that he had simply been a fisherman. Matthew saw her noticing him one day as he looked at her from a distance, in an objective kind of way, studying her, as it were. She did not let him see that she was aware of him, and studied him in her turn. It looked as if he were trying to find out what made her attractive, and she almost gave him The Look in return, but quickly caught herself and blushed and hid her face from him--and then seemed to realize how attractive this was to men. She turned about in disgust at herself, and John shook his head and went away pensively. Matthew thought it interesting that John could be so detached about the whole thing.

And then Judas walked by between them, and caught the attention of both.

Later, she asked Matthew about his being a fisherman, and he said, "Well, he was a fisherman, true, but his father owned the fishing business, in partnership with the Rock and Andrew; and they had quite a few hired hands. Zebedee is actually a rather prominent person in Capernaum's social circles, and John, I understand, was being groomed for some kind of a career in Judea. They know the family from which they say the next high priest--a man named Caiaphas--is to be named, and I gather that, after a certain apprenticeship as a worker on the boats, John was to go to Jerusalem to study. In fact, as I remember, he had taken some time off last year to go to Judea with Andrew and the Rock to meet a new prophet--also named John, as it happens--to find out what his bathing people in the Jordan meant. And that was how he met Jesus, actually."

"Then why are both he and his brother James here?" she asked, not to mention both the Rock and Andrew?"

"Ah. Well, you see," answered Matthew, "shortly after that little excursion into Judea, John was back helping the family, and they were sitting in their boat one day mending their nets with their father Zebedee when Jesus showed up in Galilee, and, looking straight at the father, told the two of them "Come now and follow me, and it will be human beings you catch from now on." Zebedee, who had heard of him from John, was rather expecting it in John's case, and you could see that he thought it rather much that he was to be deprived of both of his children. But there it is. When Jesus says something, who is to say nay? Besides, he had just done the same thing with both the Rock and Andrew (he wasn't "the Rock" at the time, of course), and so the whole business looked as if it were defunct anyway. But Zebedee is a resourceful man. He found others, and the business is still going, though quite reduced from what it was--and certainly what it would have been. But he told them last week as they passed by that if things did not work out here, they would have something to fall back on. But in point of fact, it is easy to see that he expects that they will be very high officials in this new Kingdom the Master is forming. He expects them to be second and third only to Jesus himself; he can see how fond Jesus is of John, in spite of his age--and frankly, if Jesus were to choose him, it would not be an unwise move."

"I know not," said Mary. "It seems to me from what I have seen that he would make a better poet than chancellor."

"Ah, but you know very little of John. True, he has a temper. So does James, for that matter, and he cares for words--as I do, I must confess, though he is a better writer in Aramaic than I, though of course, I surpass him in ability to write Greek--but he is extremely sharp, and a good judge of men. He might be another David, in fact, he is so versatile."

"I had not noticed that in David, particularly."

"Oh no, I meant King David, not young David over there. He was originally merely a shepherd, you remember, but quickly became a great warrior, poet, and king. I know not John's prowess in war, but his physique argues in favor of it, and he certainly has a way of expressing himself."

"That is a great compliment indeed. You must like him a good deal."

"I do, in fact, but that is beside the point. He is an outstanding young man; and he will make a considerable mark in the new Kingdom, you may be sure--though, of course, I do not think as the second in command, because it rather looks as if the Rock has been chosen for that post, as I mentioned."

"That is really quite peculiar," said Mary. "He is certainly not the one I would have chosen."

"Nor I. --Nor, in fact, the Master himself, if it comes to that. I told you that he seemed quite surprised that it was the Rock who evidently gave him the sign that the one he calls the Father had singled him out. As I say, we took it as a joke at first, and that is why he has the nickname; but it seems that the Master was perfectly serious."

"Yes," said Mary, reflecting. "From what I can see, he jokes, but his jokes are never just a joke."

"Perhaps Simon is Gideon's men who lapped the water like dogs. That is what I think."

"Gideon's men? What do you mean?"

"Do you not recall? Gideon was told to take his men to the water to drink, and the Master chose only the three hundred who lapped the water like dogs, and it was those few who won the battle, so that the people would know that it was not by force of arms but by the Master's power. I think Simon made a statement that meant something true that went far beyond what Simon understood it to mean--because I think that Simon, frankly, has never really had a remarkably clear notion of much of anything--and the Master picked him to show that, even if he leaves us, he will still be with us, because we will know that what the Rock does he does not do by himself, because it will be something the Rock could not do of himself. --Either that, or the Master is a poor judge of men, and that I find impossible to believe."

"It does seem that it must be something of the sort," said Mary. "I would have singled out James, myself."

"He certainly would make a good leader. Or Andrew, since he has a commanding presence about him, as doubtless you have seen by now--though Andrew perhaps rather lacks imagination. But this is consistent with the way the Master acts. You notice, for instance, that I am not our group's treasurer."

"I wondered about that. One would think that you, of all people, would have experience with money."

"I have handled it all my life--and a good deal more than we have here, also. And I have had to keep very careful track of it, you may be sure. But, of course, there are reasons why it is not necessarily in my best interest that I be treasurer."

Mary fell silent, evidently thinking that she had touched upon a sensitive subject. "Who is the treasurer?" she said.

"Judas." He could see Mary's eyes widen with pride. "Yes, and it was a wise choice, I believe. He is by far the most intelligent among us; he can analyze the Master's stories and actions better than anyone else. I would not say he is always correct, but he is certainly always profound. He agrees with me, by the way, about Simon--and about me and him. He knows that I am better qualified to be treasurer than he, because his mind is of the theoretical type, not the rather dull kind one requires to keep accounts. But he thinks he was chosen to demonstrate the Master's idea that money is not to be thought of as of any importance--since he himself never gave a moment of thought to it before now--and that the task, whatever it is, that the Master wants us ultimately to do is so far beyond the powers of any human being that it is of no consequence whom he chooses for what duty. We are all totally incompetent."

Mary laughed, and then there was another silence. "Even if he chose a woman," she said finally, almost to herself.

"To be one of his Emissaries? I had not thought of that." He looked at her. She was an amazing person. "I suppose it would depend on what we are in fact being ultimately chosen for. Simon the Revolutionary thinks that it is for being commanders of an army, when the time is right; in that case, the analogy with Gideon's men is singularly apt--or rather, not, because the three hundred chosen at least knew how to use a sword. In our case, it would obviously demonstrate the miraculous powers of God, because nothing short of a miracle could make most of us into anything that would not be as likely to chop our own legs off as anything else."

"But even in that case," she answered, "they say that women fight somewhere north of Greece, I believe it is. And if he is going to transform us all miraculously into warriors, what difference would the sex make?"

"You are serious, are you not?"

"I know not whether I would call it 'serious.' I am merely thinking."

"You must remember that all of this supposes that Judas and I are correct in how he chooses people. And, now that you have brought the matter up, were he to choose you as one of his Emissaries, I, for one, would have no problem; you have a mental capacity that is probably second among us only to that of Judas. --Though I confess, many would see it as upsetting the proper order of things. But then, what is the proper order of things in this new Kingdom, if there is to be no disease or death in it, as he certainly seems to be implying? 'Change your way of thinking' indeed!" he laughed. "If it involves something like this, it is no wonder he is approaching it gradually! --But seriously," he continued, looking down at her earnest face, "I think he chose us Twelve, not because we would make the best Emissaries, but because it would be best for us to be his Emissaries, however competent or incompetent we were--and because we happened to be in the way at the proper moment. Some such thing."

"It is a strange way to begin a Kingdom."

"Everything is strange. But it makes sense, in a way, that if we are to demonstrate God's working in us by the fact that we are in ourselves unsuited to the task he assigns, it really is not much of an honor to be part of the inner circle."

"When you put it in that light," she laughed, "it is almost a sign of competence to be left out."

"There may be more to that than you--or I, for that matter--are aware," he replied. "But of course, if that is indeed the case, then it puzzles me why Judas is one of the Twelve. He is exactly the kind of person one would choose for the ideal follower of a great new religious leader: learned in the Law, intelligent, astute, an excellent speaker, good looking, hard-working--everything."

Mary's heart glowed as she heard Judas praised. "Perhaps," she said, "it is to show that the competent are not necessarily to be excluded."

"That may be. In fact, it might explain something that puzzled me in the very first story he told, about a farmer sowing seeds. Some fell on good ground, he said, and these multiplied themselves thirty or sixty or a hundredfold. The ground, as he explained, were the listeners to the seeds of his sayings; but what I found odd was that he did not seem concerned about the different yields. I asked him about it afterwards, and he said I was correct."

"What is this that you are so intent on discussing?" said a voice.