Ten

Jesus and what must have been Simon were engaged in earnest conversation when they approached, with his mother contributing a remark here and there.

Thomas had a good while to study them as they came up. The mother was a striking woman, he noticed, the fitting mother for such a son, though, like him, there was nothing superficially extraordinary about her. She was good-looking, with one of those faces that could be any age except old; she must have been, judging from Jesus' age, somewhere in her forties, but could just as easily have been less than twenty. It was only if one looked at her a second time, carefully, that one would have called her beautiful; there was a glow about her, it seemed, and a graceful peace.

Thomas wondered what it was that gave this impression. Perhaps it was the fact that her face was almost unlined, except for what one would call the "smile" lines in the eyes and the mouth; but even they were not pronounced. Then it came to him. Here was the face of trust, the face that knew that, whatever happened, it was for the better; it was a face that was totally foreign to worry.

Not even her son's face was that serene. It was as if he saw that in the future there would be obstacles that might be overcome, perhaps, but only by paying a great price; and he showed that he was prepared to pay the price, whatever it was, and knew that the obstacle would ultimately collapse. Rome? Perhaps he realized that the Prince he was supposed to be would have to overcome Rome. There was an obstacle. Not only free the people from Rome, but conquer Rome itself. How else could the people be freed?

But Thomas was letting speculation run away with him. The fact that Jesus was in control of things made him extrapolate into being in control of the whole world--which was too fantastic to contemplate. Well, he would see. And if things did not work out, he could always walk away--and return to the life the bladder at his side would give him. He shuddered--and at the same time longed for it.

John ran up as they came near, and told them that they had met Thomas, and Thomas heard Jesus say, "Yes, we are nearly complete now. There is one more, but I think that it will be some time before he joins us."

"But are we going to the wedding-feast? Or will you go by yourself?" asked John.

Jesus's mother answered, "You were never slow, John, in getting to the point. Give us a moment to breathe. Who is this new member you have?" John took her arm and all but dragged her to meet Thomas, who bowed.

"I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Thomas," she said. "My son speaks highly of you?"

"He does?" said Thomas in amazement. "I cannot think on what grounds." He blushed in embarrassment.

"Oh, he sees what is inside a person," she answered. "I imagine you were a bit--shall we say taken aback?--by some of the rest of the group. Their outside in some cases is not prepossessing."

Thomas immediately thought of Philip--and lazy Nathanael also came to mind, though he clearly had talent--and reflected that shortly before, he did not think that they were prime candidates for a Prince's entourage, Not to mention himself. "He told me that I must trust him. I personally have no choice, but as Judas, I think it was, said, he seems to know what he is doing." He had better, thought Thomas.

"Have no fear on that score," she said, "though of course, I would say such a thing, being his mother. But precisely because I am his mother, I can claim to know him better than anyone else; and I assure you, he is eminently worthy of your trust."

"I hope so, my Lady," It was almost impossible not to call her "My Lady"; she could have been a queen, though she put on no airs. "I myself am the person I am afraid to trust. I fear I have no capacity to do 'great things,' as people seem to be predicting of me."

She laughed. "Fear not. If he thinks you will do them, then you will do them. You will see. Fear not. Consider what you have done already."

Thomas wondered how much she knew. Clearly, Jesus had told her something about him, for some reason. But when it came to that, he had done nothing, really, except kill Samuel, nearly destroy his father and mother, and come close to killing himself. The only positive accomplishment had been Jesus's removing the curse from him--if he had done so--and his only part in that was reluctantly letting him do so. "I find it not full of accomplishments, I am afraid," he finally answered.

"But you are only looking at it from a certain point of view. He looks from all points of view. You will see. Fear not."

"I will try, my Lady."

"He asks no more." She turned from him to say something to John and then turned back, "Not even success."

Whatever that meant. Failure was acceptable if one tried? She was an enigma--or no, she was perfectly understandable and transparent, given the premise that she had absolute faith and trust in her son. Thomas decided to cherish the thought she left him with: He does not ask for success, but that one try. Then if he failed, as he felt he inevitably must fail, perhaps it would be enough that he tried.

But what did that mean? That Jesus would accept the failure if he had tried to avoid it? Or that he would somehow take the failure and do with it what he had done to the curse: turn it into something positive? Work it out so that one could look on it, somehow, and be glad?

But then, would he some day be able to look on what he had done to Samuel, and be glad of it--even for Samuel's sake? Now That would be the miracle of miracles: somehow to see that his murder--well, his killing--of Samuel was just what was needed for Samuel to reach the goal of his life. Impossible. No. It must be that he would be resigned to Samuel's short life, somehow. But even that seemed impossible.

John had by this time captured Mary, and had elicited from her that indeed all were to go to the wedding-feast on the day after the morrow, and so things must be prepared for this influx of ten or eleven people that had not been planned. Simon (who was with John and Mary) seemed to think that there would be no difficulty, but Mary was not quite so sure. "I will keep my eyes open," she said. "It would not be just if we turned a happy day into an embarrassment."

As Simon was speaking, John saw Thomas out of the corner of his eye, and said, "Simon, you have not yet met Thomas, who now calls himself 'Didymus,' in honor of his brother, who died, you know, in that tragic accident."

"I have heard much about you in the past," said Simon, "though as rivals at the time, we never met. I am happy to see you here."

There were a few nuances of voice that Thomas caught. A slight emphasis on "in the past," which (since he had just come from a meeting with Thomas's father) implied that he heard nothing about him in the present--and that it would be better not to bring up the subject--and another, greater emphasis on "happy" to see him here, implying relief that perhaps the curse was destroyed. Thomas certainly hoped so, and answered, "I had also heard of you and Andrew, not to mention John and James. I was astonished at seeing all of you."

"Almost as astonished, I imagine, as we ourselves are at being here. But he knows what he is doing."

Another one. If nothing else, Jesus was very good at convincing people that he knew what he was doing.

John said, "Then matters are settled? My father is mollified?"

"Well, at least not discontented. The joining of our hired hands and--and another person--makes the business viable and even perhaps somewhat better than either of ours was by itself. He still grumbles, but I think he sees it and accepts it. Of course, what else can he do?" Thomas wondered how his father was faring, now that he was a partner--he supposed--rather than the owner of his own business. But perhaps he had lost the drive to be his own master, and would welcome being with others. He sent up a silent prayer for his father, whom he could never see, and did not even dare to ask about.

Andrew came up, "I am delighted to hear it," he said. "I was sure that you could work something out."

"I would that you had been there, Andrew," returned Simon.

"No, it is as well I stayed," he said. "You have the tongue, and my appearance there would only have emphasized what they were losing."

"True," said Simon. "Zebedee did mention it, in fact, more than once; and the sight of you might have tipped the scales in the wrong direction."

Andrew did not look completely convinced of what his own words said, however, at least as it seemed to Thomas. But perhaps Thomas was picking out nuances that really were not there: resentments in Ezra and now here in Andrew. He certainly seemed pleased at the outcome. But not at who was the negotiator?

Thomas turned to John, who was standing beside him, talking (interestingly enough) to Ezra. "Which of the two is the older, Simon or Andrew?" asked Thomas.

"Simon, of course."

"Ah, then that explains it."

"What?"

"Why it was that Simon did the talking. One would have thought, just from looking at them, that Andrew would have done a better job."

John laughed. "Muscles do not necessarily mean diplomatic skills."

"No, what I meant was that Andrew seems--how shall I say it?--in control of things."

"Oh, he is. But it is true, Simon has the tongue. Sometimes a bit too much of it. But it seems to have been adequate to the task this time at least."

Ezra remarked, "It is difficult not to judge on first appearances, but the problem is that is difficult to judge correctly on first appearances. Or on appearances at all." Thomas thought that Ezra was thinking of himself and his appearance.

"That is true," said John, "and it means that I will have to get to know you better. There is much beneath your appearance." So John caught the undertone.

"There is much beneath it," answered Ezra, "that I myself know not."

"I hope that is true of me also," said Thomas. "All of you seem to detect something in me that I have never been able to discover."

"That, if I may say so," replied Ezra, "is because you have also been a slave right up to this very morning, whether you realized it or not."

Thomas thought for a moment. "A different kind of slave," he admitted, "but I see your point. I was a slave, obeying the orders of drink. It is a new way of looking at it."

"I suspect that most people are slaves to something or other, and only think they are free, when they are actually led on by this or that. I was lucky, in that sense. It was obvious I was a slave; but when one is enslaved by something inside oneself, one probably thinks of oneself as free."

"That was certainly true in my case. I had no idea how much my vice was making me do things, and ruining my life and the lives of those around me. If I could but undo it!"

"And Bartholomew wishes the same thing," said Ezra.

John nodded, "And so do I, indeed."

Thomas laughed. "Perhaps we have all been chosen because we were all slaves to something, and Jesus wished to set us free."

"There may be something in that," said John. "And as to that, if there ever was a free man, it is the Master--and possibly Judas Iscariot."

"Think you?"

"Why, do you see something in him?"

"No, not really."

"I think," said Ezra, "what Thomas is referring to is what I have noticed from what I have seen of him. Judas is too perfect. He is exceedingly handsome, and brilliant--he is a priest, you know, Thomas."

"No, indeed?"

"Indeed. So in addition to being intelligent, he is very learned. And he is graceful, and apparently strong, and almost anything else you can name--and humble, in the sense that he makes no boasts of his qualities, though he does not deny them. And yet . . . And yet I feel as you do. With the Master, it is different. He is all that Judas is--of course, less strikingly beautiful as a man--but it sits well on him. He is above us, and he knows it, but--how shall I say it?--it does not please him, particularly; it is but a fact. With Judas, it is a fact, and he is quite happy about it."

"Come now, Ezra, you are being unjust," said John.

"Am I? Thomas feels it. Is this not what you feel?" he asked Thomas.

"I have barely seen him, so I could not say. Perhaps we are being unjust, but the vague impression I got was something along the lines you were saying."

"Perhaps we are unjust. But I have had much and much time to study people. I may be mistaken, but I think not."

"Well, the Master chose him, and as everyone says, he knows what he is doing."

"I wonder. Did the Master choose him--as he clearly chose you and Bartholomew--and me--or did he choose the Master?"

"As to that," said Andrew, who had heard the tail end of the conversation and come over to join them, "I was there when John was bathing everyone, and Judas came up to be bathed, just after Jesus. We all thought that it had thundered, and some heard a voice, and there was the bird that John mentioned afterward, which was the sign he had been told to look for--though I hear that he actually knew Jesus before; he was his cousin, or something--and Judas immediately spotted who it was, and after he dried off, asked if he could become a follower of Jesus. Jesus looked at him and said that if he went to Galilee, by the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, he would find him in a month or two. It was only after that that John pointed Jesus out to John and me, and we followed him ourselves."

"Interesting," said Ezra.

"But the Master does know what he is doing," said Andrew, "and he would not permit himself to be 'chosen' by anyone if he did not wish him to be among us."

"I suppose you are right. You must be right, of course. No one manipulates the Master."

"Well I think you are all being hard on Judas for no reason," said John. "I see nothing wrong with him. I like him."

Thomas said, "Oh, we see nothing wrong with him. Just the opposite. Ezra was saying that his problem was that there was too much right with him."

"That sounds to me like nothing but simple jealousy."

"And so it may be, youngster," said Ezra. "Our problem seems to be that we really have nothing much to talk about at the moment except each other--and that inevitably means finding fault with each other." He laughed, and the others joined in.

Thomas, however, was not quite so sure but that Ezra (and his own instincts) had hit upon something. But then, he thought, "I am too much of a cynic. Since I am rotten, I want to find something rotten inside everyone else, to feel equal to them."

Well, he would see.

Jesus spoke up. "We are almost, but not quite, ready to start announcing that the reign of God is just about to begin, and to prepare people to change the way they think about things. Another few days, I expect. But I think we had best be thinking now about something more practical: where each of us intends to spend the night--and to see to it that each has a wedding-garment ready on the morrow for the day after.

Thomas suddenly realized that he had no clothes at all except the hand-me-downs from what must have been Nathanael's father. He was not aware, either, of the requirements for wedding-garments, and looked a rather desperate question at Nathanael, who came over to him and said, "Fear not, Thomas. What you are wearing at the moment will do very nicely. I dare say even that it will surpass many of the others, who, after all, were fishers like you."

Thomas looked around and found them discussing among themselves about their best clothes, and heard one or two of them offering to swap this or that garment for the day. They seemed to come to some sort of resolution that was more or less satisfactory, especially since Judas quite generously let three or four of them borrow some of his clothes. The only one who was having any real difficulty was Andrew, who had nothing elegant, and no one else's clothes came even close to fitting him.

Finally, Ezra stepped over and said, "I think I have something that you might be able to use, Andrew, if you do not mind putting on what used to be the livery of a slave. Of course, Bartholomew was always discreet and tasteful, and so it will not look like livery when you are wearing it. It will be a little tight on you, but I think you could get into it."

Andrew looked at him, at first skeptically and then with some confidence at his size. "Why thank you, Ezra, if you think Bartholomew would not mind."

"They are my clothes, Andrew. They only were his."

Andrew flushed. "Of course. I was not thinking. Excuse me."

"Apology accepted." Ezra smiled, but Thomas saw that the smile was one of mere politeness. "I will fetch them tonight. I expect that Bartholomew and I will be sleeping in Cana."

"I do not think it worth while to go around to Bethsaida," said Philip. "If one of you can find room for me, I will stay here in Capernaum. In that way, we can be back here early enough tomorrow."

John immediately offered him his house, which had a spare room, and he accepted gladly.

Nathanael said, "But the sun is about to set, and perhaps we had best be started. The hill is a rather long climb, and a bit rough at night. Would you join us, Thomas?"

Thomas noticed that John was coming over as if to invite him also to his own house, but when he heard Nathanael, he turned to make some remark to Simon, and so Thomas said, "Thank you, Nathanael," and went after them as they turned to climb the rather steep ascent.

And so, after a much longer climb than he had expected, he finally saw the magnificent house that he had noticed on the hill--except that he did not actually go inside it; there was a smaller house that Nathanael and Ezra shared on the grounds (which were quite extensive), and there was a rather tiny room in it with a bed which Thomas gratefully fell into after carefully laying out his clothes, only pulling the cloak over himself. He did not realize how exhausted he was until he was actually horizontal, but within a few breaths, he was sound asleep.