Twelve

The next morning crept on for Thomas, who became increasingly worried, as he and the others prepared to join the festivities shortly after noon, about how--and whether--he was to avoid drinking wine that day. The more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed; not simply because he thought it impossible to be rude and refuse any wine offered, but because he could not see any real possibility of his refusing. True, he had gone two whole days on nothing but water, but the bladder at his side was calling louder and louder.

He stroked it lovingly and longingly, and then looked round quickly, hoping no one had seen him. "If I simply know that it is there," he told himself, "then I need not drink from anything else. Wine would be nothing compared to the magic liquid. I will use that to help me refuse." But he knew that this was making excuses. It was time to consult Jesus.

So as soon as he could find an opportunity to draw Jesus aside, he did so, and said, "Master, so far I have kept from drinking anything but water, and for this I am extremely grateful. But . . .but there is something."

"Something that concerns you," answered Jesus as he paused.

"You mentioned the magic liquid. I have it here." He patted his side. "Ezra returned it to me, and I found I could not throw it away."

"But you have not drunk any of it."

"No."

"But you are worried that you might do so."

"Yes."

"And you are right to be concerned. No doubt you are telling yourself that having it in case the desire becomes overwhelming will help you not actually drink anything."

"It is something of that sort, Master. I know not if I am beguiling myself; but the fact is that I simply cannot make myself throw it away."

"Well, the time will come when you will be able to live without it, but if you were to rid yourself of it now, you are right in thinking that you might find yourself so lost that you would go find something else and actually drink."

"That is how I feel, Master."

"I am not asking you to do something you cannot do, Thomas, and so do not be worried. If you cannot now throw it away, then keep it until you can. But you must not drink from it, or from anything else, unless I tell you you may do so. You realize that."

"Yes, Master. But what concerns me is the marriage feast."

"Well, take nothing unless it would be an insult to the bride and groom; and if you must take something, then look to me, and I will give you a sign whether you may drink it or not."

"Oh, thank you Master."

"And do not be worrying. There is nothing to worry about as long as you put your trust in me."

"I will try, Master. Thank you." Jesus chuckled, as if he were anticipating something amusing, and Thomas tried to imitate him, but found himself not up to it. Trust was not something that came easily to him.

But at any rate, he had assured himself that he need not try to wrench the bladder from his side; it was as if it had stuck to him, and to take it away would be to tear off his skin with it--his skin? His very soul! How one could be so attached to one's deadly enemy? But he was not to worry. He could forget it.

If only he could!

The moments that seemed hours passed, and eventually so did the hours, and Thomas found himself with the rest of the group in the house, congratulating the bride and groom. After doing so, he edged away to a corner, so far succeeding in not actually taking a cup of wine that was passed out to everyone. The stewards had rather worried looks on their faces, and found it easy to ignore Thomas as he evaded their advances. He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that he might actually succeed in staying away from wine for the whole reception.

But he noticed that Jesus's mother also had observed the stewards, and was headed over to the side of Jesus. With a smile, he also observed that Ezra, who was in point of fact anything but invisible in his gleaming white cloak and his black skin, was moving over behind them, unnoticed, amazingly, by anyone, close enough to be able to hear. They talked for a few moments quietly, Jesus evidently somewhat troubled by what his mother was saying. But she, quite calmly, turned and said something to the stewards, who were standing nearby, apparently with nothing to do at the moment.

With puzzled looks on their faces, they went with pitchers of water and began filling the water-jars that stood there for the washing rituals the people performed before eating. There were six of them, and they stood almost chest high, so filling them to the brim took a bit of time.

Jesus gestured, and Thomas thought he heard him say, "Draw it out now, and take it to the one in charge." Their eyes widened; but then they shrugged and brought over a pitcherful to a rather rotund fellow, who, with a worried look, was directing the serving of the food.

Then his eyes widened as he tasted what was in the pitcher. He asked where they had got it, and when they gestured toward the water-jars, he said, "And he kept it there? This?" and called the groom over. He said something in an annoyed voice to him, and the groom looked completely baffled, and went back to his bride, shaking his head, but wearing a grin of joy and triumph.

As the servers began filling the cups with the new wine and serving it out, there arose murmurs of delight among the recipients, who evidently had not yet drunk enough not to be able to tell the difference between what they had been drinking and what they had just been served.

Thomas moved over to Ezra, who had once again drifted into an inconspicuous corner, and said, "What did they say to each other?"

"So you saw me spying, did you?" said Ezra.

"I could see that you had the same idea I had," answered Thomas.

"Yes. I am not invisible to you. But it does have its advantages, sometimes. Well, what happened is that Mary said to Jesus, 'They have no wine,' and Jesus answered, 'But what is that to me, Madam, or to you? My time has not arrived as yet.' That was all. --Or rather, it was not all. It was all between them, but she immediately turned to the servers, and said, 'You do whatever he tells you.'

"I saw him stroke his beard, as he does when he is thinking, and then look at the water jars. Then he told the servers to fill the jars with water, and they went out to the stream and filled them all, right to the top."

"And then," said Thomas, "I heard him tell them to draw it out and take it to Zephaniah."

"--Who was astounded that Saul would have kept the good wine until then," continued Ezra. "He had no idea what he was saying, of course, but when he got the idea that they had plenty of wine, you could see that he did not care, he was so relieved."

"You are sure that it was water?"

"No question about it. I saw where they got it. I doubt if Saul has a wine-creek behind his house."

"And it is wine now, is it?"

"Either that, or Zephaniah cannot tell the difference between wine and water."

At this point, a server passed, and Ezra took a cup from him, tasting it. "Indeed," he said, and took another taste. "You know," he said, "Bartholomew never drank anything but the finest wines, and therefore neither did I. But we never had anything like this! Incredible!" He looked compassionately at Thomas. "A pity you cannot taste it--but . . ."

"I know."

"I think it would be better for me to withdraw, so that I will no longer tempt you." There would have been nothing that Thomas would have liked better than to continue to be tempted, and finally say, "just a taste" to see what really fine wine was like, but if he were to survive the rest of the afternoon, he would have to--

And just then, the groom himself came over with a couple of cups of wine, and said, "But you have nothing to drink. We cannot have that. Take this, and I will fetch another one for my--wife." And he handed it to Thomas, who took it, wondering where Jesus was. Well, he had told him that he could take it if refusing it meant being insulting. But what was he to do with it?

"Taste it--only taste it. One taste," said the bladder at his side.

In a panic, he looked around for Jesus. There he was, on the other side of the room, with a cup in his hand, looking straight at Thomas.

Thomas held out the cup a bit, and looked a question.

Jesus nodded, and took a sip of his own wine, which certainly seemed to be permission to drink. He looked a question at him again, and Jesus again nodded.

Thinking, "Well, if he says so, then just a sip will not hurt."

"Oh," he said softly. It was water.

Nathanael came up behind him, and said in a worried tone, "Do you think that wise, Thomas, so soon?"

"Taste it." said Thomas, handing him the cup.

"Oh," said Nathanael, who blushed and left.

Ezra, the observer, was right behind him. He said nothing, of course, but merely made himself visible at the edge of Thomas's sight. Thomas also handed the cup to him, and he too said, "Oh," and faded into the place he had chosen in the corner--if a man as dark as he could be said to fade against the almost white stone of the walls.

"I am delighted to see you again, Thomas." said a voice. It was Mary, Jesus's mother. "From what I have heard from my son, I find you quite admirable." Thomas was astounded, not only because of what she just said, but because she seemed to act as if there were something specific she wished to say to him. "I thought I would walk outside in the garden for a bit. Do you think it would be pleasant?" It certainly sounded like an invitation to a tête-à-tête.

"I must say, I can find nothing in what you may have heard that would be called 'admirable.' Just the opposite, it seems to me." He reddened.

They came round a wall to a secluded area under a vine blooming with orange flowers, where there was a bench up against a wall of the building. She sat, looking out at the lake and the hills on the other side as the sun began to decline toward evening. Thomas sat also, without the faintest idea what her purpose might be.

"No, truly," she began. "I admire people such as you. You have a struggle that I can barely imagine, and you seem to be succeeding. I cannot understand how you can do it."

He turned to her with a slight self-deprecating laugh. "I cannot, my Lady; I cannot. Believe me, I cannot. But your Son is a miracle-worker--as you just showed that you know." He held up the cup of water he had. "Mine is water, by the way."

She laughed. "He would do that. I knew he did, actually, for I saw you look at him when you took it, and he nodded permission; and then I saw the expression on your face as you tasted it."

"It must have been quite comical. I knew not quite what to expect, and when I found it was merely water, my face must have registered surprise and disappointment and relief all at once."

"For someone who knew your--difficulty--it was clear what had happened. It is like him. You will see that he enjoys playing jokes on people--but not as most people do. Most such jokes involve some humiliation or injury, as when one pulls out a chair from behind a person who is about to sit. His jokes result in some unexpected benefit. Did you see the groom?"

Thomas laughed. "Ezra told me. I see what you are saying. He could have warned Saul or me, but chose to--shall I say startle?--us with the outcome. It is an odd sense of humor, indeed. But there is nothing admirable about me, truly. I cannot bear to think of the past--of myself. I cannot really bear myself."

"Ah," she replied, "but that you are even here, given the past, is something to rejoice over--"

"Oh, I do, Madam. I do!"

"But you must not think it is all his doing. One must cooperate; and you are doing so. That is what I admire."

He put the cup down on his leg, looked at it a moment, and then looked up. "I must confess it is not easy. At every moment, I long for the--what is it, peace? Forgetfulness?--that I know it cannot bring, but that it promises. I could not resist, but that he has made it possible."

"Exactly. And you have made it real."

"So far. So far. It is like walking on the edge of a cliff. On a very narrow path--or even not a path at all. A slight lapse of concentration, and I will fall over." He paused again. "To my doom."

"And you find this not admirable? That you continue walking, taking care of each step?"

"Admirable? No, not really. Only necessary. What else can I do?"

"You know perfectly well what else--and what a disaster it would be."

"Exactly. I have a choice, but a choice that is no choice."

"You wonder, no doubt, why I am speaking with you, and what you have been saying reveals the reason. You are, it seems, on the edge of despair--and that, I gather, is the 'cliff' you speak of. You are on the--so far--safe edge, and wonder if you will be on the brink your whole life long. And, looking around you, you think of this as merely the human condition--and I suppose, in one sense, it is. But it is not, if I may say it, the true human condition. One reason I desired to speak with you, and, I must tell you, one reason my son advised me to speak to you, is to give you a hope that you do not have now, but which I--and Jesus--realize that you, perhaps more than any of his other followers, need.

"You see, I think--I know--it is my son's ambition to restore mankind to its true human condition, once the Kingdom is established. What I am saying is that you have but to wait a while--and, I may say, a very short while now."

"The true human condition?"

"One in which a person in truth has complete control over himself--in which he does not have to fear himself, as you now do. One in which a person cannot be harmed without deliberately wishing or allowing the harm. And," she added, "in fact, one in which a person will never die."

Thomas almost laughed. "A world without death and suffering--or struggle. It is a dream, I suppose to be longed for; but . . ."

"But you do not believe it. Of course you do not believe it; still less that it is imminent. But it is possible. That is what I wish to tell you. I can show you from my own experience that it is possible."

"Your own experience? You mean with him?" The cynic in him forced him to say, "Yet I understand your husband is not well."

"Ah, well that is something else. He has his reasons. No, I meant my experience of myself, my own life. It is what makes me admire people like you."

"I do not understand."

"You see, I have had what you might call a unique life, though it is in fact the natural life we all should be living. And I decided, when I saw you the other day, that I would speak to Jesus about it, and he agreed that some day the world would have to know the truth about me, and that meant that I should reveal it so that--if all goes well," She sighed and looked off into the distance, and repeated, "If all goes well--my son's close associates might know early on the implications of what he was intending, so that they could understand that it is more than just a wild dream. And you seem to be the one most likely to need what I have to say."