Twenty-Six

Jesus had started out, with Jairus leading the way, and Thomas watched Matthew looking at Mary shouldering her way through the press of people of both sexes to approach close enough to see what was happening. Matthew also worked his way toward her, when Jesus suddenly stopped and looked around. Mary shrank back, certain that he had guessed her presumption.

"Who touched me?" he asked.

The look on his face did not encourage anyone to volunteer, and those next to him hastily denied it. Simon Rock blurted, "Master, with a crowd around like this, you get bumped into. What do you mean, who touched me?"

"No, no, someone touched me," said Jesus. "I felt power go out of me." And he kept looking around at the people, and finally an old woman came cringing forward and said, "It was I, good Master, I think."

Jesus looked at her. "Forgive me, my good Master," she went on. "I meant no harm; it is just that I had had this trouble for such a long time, and my daughter told me--you see, the doctors had eaten up my whole savings and almost everything my daughter could earn--I have not been able to work for years and years, though I once was known as a seamstress inferior to none--"

Thomas glanced at Mary, who suddenly opened her eyes wide. She seemed to recognize her from somewhere.

"--harm could it do, she told me," the woman was continuing, "and she said I should go and ask you, and I said that we had no money to pay you, and so I felt I had no right to bother you; but it occurred to me that if I merely touched the tassel of your robe, that would be enough, and--you see, it is not that we would not pay you, it is just that we have no money, and I had no idea that it would cause you any distress, and . . ." She trailed off under Jesus's gaze.

"Just what is this trouble you have had?" he asked.

"Bleeding, Master. Twelve years I have been bleeding, every day, not as wom--but always, you understand. Sometimes enough to fill a drinking-cup. You may ask my daughter; she has taken care of me these many years, she is such a wonderful daughter, and has worked also to keep us both alive."

"And you spent all your money on doctors."

"Whenever we could scrape any together, Master. Every mite went to them; everything we have left from food and the barest necessities. But nothing helped. Nothing. I was at my wits' end, especially since my daughter had lost her work, and--" Her voice trailed off once again.

"And so you believed that merely by touching my robe, you could be cured," Jesus was saying. The woman started once again to protest that she would pay when she could, and Jesus held up a hand. "You were correct. It was your belief that cured you; you may go in peace."

As the woman held her hand up over her heart in incredulous relief and joy, Jairus, who had been growing more and more impatient at the interruption of his quest by this insignificant woman, but who did not dare remonstrate, managed to put himself in Jesus's line of sight once again, and Jesus turned anew to follow him, when someone came up to Jairus and whispered in his ear. His face fell, and he looked over at Judith's mother with fury.

His head then dropped in despair. He stood there for a moment, unable to move, and finally began to turn away, when Jesus laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "Do not be afraid. You believe also, and all will be well with her. Rock, I wish only you and John and James to come with me; have the others remain here. There must not be a mob around the house; the girl is very sick."

The four of them left with Jairus and his servant, while everyone else crowded round the woman, who was praising God at her deliverance, and extolling the goodness of Jesus. She was almost jumping up and down for joy.

Mary had been looking around for someone in the crowd, when suddenly she turned, hearing a voice behind her, which said, "I knew that I would find you here!"

And there was a young girl, around David's age, who seemed to have exchanged her face for the sun. Matthew edged closer, but rather behind Mary, so that she would not see him, but he could hear and see everything. She was evidently the daughter of the woman who had been cured, and the two of them conversed earnestly with Mary. Ezra too, of course, managed to move within earshot, and so Thomas realized that he would have a report later, and joined the others in to divert attention from what was going on, since it seemed to be confidential.

Whatever it was, it lasted a considerable time, during which the girl ran off and later returned carrying a huge and obviously heavy bundle, which she brought to Mary, who took her behind some bushes. Mary evidently told her to take what must have been money over to Judas, while Mary herself rejoined the mother, laden with what seemed a small fortune judging by the fold of her robe.

Ezra returned and said, "It turns out that the youngster had been Mary's servant. Can you imagine the mother allowing it? She must have known. But the girl is as naive as Philip; she is convinced that Mary is pure as a blue spring sky, and the subject of lies. Of course, who is more blind than one who must keep ones eyes closed or starve? At any rate, Mary wants the daughter to join us, but not the mother; and she gave the mother a bribe that I myself would have accepted under the circumstances. Which is all to the good. The mother no longer needs her, and she definitely has no need of such a mother!"

"Did you notice how young David looked at her? I detect an interest there."

"No, really? I was too busy spying on the women. That is a development indeed, if it is true."

"Well, I doubt if it means anything yet. Have you been observing David, by the way? You said that you were going to do so."

"I have sought his acquaintance, and he is a study. He seems to want to hate Matthew--you remember I told you that he was looking for him to make some slip--and evidently cannot find what he was looking for. Matthew is rather admirable, especially given his past; and it seemed particularly--how shall I say it?--disappointing to David that he gave up all his money. He seems to admire him, almost against his--what is this, now?"

Suddenly, the whole group was buzzing with the news that Jesus had brought Jairus's daughter back to life.

In the time that followed, nothing much happened, if one excluded little events like curing lepers with a touch (people were as shocked that Jesus had touched a leper as that he had cured him) and driving a "legion" of devils out of a man into a herd of pigs, which promptly threw themselves off a cliff and drowned (the people on the other side of the "Sea" of Galilee, Gentiles, wanted nothing to do with this Judean who destroyed their hogs).

But there was one thing--which might really have been nothing, and probably was nothing, though it disturbed Thomas greatly. As they were walking to Capernaum, Thomas realized that he had not drunk anything at the encampment they left, and was thirsty. He turned to Judas, who happened to be walking beside him and said, "Have you water? Might I have a drink?"

"Of course," Judas answered. "I have two canteens, water and wine." He handed Thomas one, and he took a mouthful.

--of wine. His whole being said, "Swallow it! Swallow it!" and a small amount did run down his throat as he hesitated. With a supreme effort, he managed to spit it out, filled with terror that he would fall back to where he had been when Nathanael came to him.

"What are you trying to do? Kill me?" he screamed at Judas.

"What?" said Judas. "Oh, Thomas, I am sorry! I thought it was the canteen of water! Here! Drink this!" and he handed him the other one. Thomas took a mouthful--of water, this time--and tried to rinse away the taste. He spat it out and then took a long, long drink.

He handed the canteen back. "Well," he said, "no damage was done." He hoped. Oh, how he hoped! "Thank you."

"I am dreadfully sorry, Thomas. I cannot think! I was sure that one was the water!"

"It is of no consequence," said Thomas.

"I am happy to think that you suffered no ill effects," he said. "Very happy." He smiled a rather rueful smile, and they walked on together in silence.

Later, when Judas had gone on ahead, Ezra came up. "So it was wine, was it not?"

"You saw?" Of course he saw. He saw everything.

"I saw. He was very convincing, no doubt."

"What do you mean?" But Ezra gave him no answer. But it could not have been deliberate, thought Thomas. What possible reason could he have had for giving him wine except pure malice? He knew Thomas's problem--everyone did, because he was the only one who never drank wine. Or could it be that he was testing him, to be sure that--what? That perhaps Thomas could tolerate just a bit of wine every now and then.

"Beware!" he said to himself. "This is the Great Lie. You will want to test yourself next, and then you will find yourself in a cave covered with your own filth, watching Samuel smile at you again." Even if it were true that he could tolerate just a little, he could not run the risk. Because "just a little" would have a new meaning every time--and the "testing" process would go on and on. "If I can take this with no ill effects, what about a little more?"

Oh, it was clever, his curse. Better to stay away from it altogether. The fact that he could foresee what would happen was probably part of what Jesus had freed him from. He wondered if he could have been so clear-headed if he had tried on his own to stop--if he could even have begun to stop. He thanked Jesus silently, in the fantastic hope that he could hear him, as he could if he were God wearing human skin, and not, as Judas believed, a man that was "full of" the spirit of God, somehow.

But his whole being began to shout, "No! No! Try it!" The freedom from the curse did not free him from the fierce longing. He actually put his hands over his ears, as if he were hearing things. He saw Ezra looking at him with pity.

"Fear not, Ezra, I will try no experiments," he said, and added, silently, "I hope." He sent a prayer to the divine side of Jesus not to leave him alone.

And shortly afterward, he went to Jesus and told him what had happened. Jesus stroked his beard, and said, "You did well, Thomas."

"But I am afraid that it might lead me to--" He let the rest hang there, a plea.

"Do not rely on yourself. Trust in me, and do not worry."

"I will try, Master."

"Fear not, Thomas."

Something else happened shortly afterward, of no particular consequence; but it was odd. One day, Thomas noticed John looking across a clearing at Mary, studying her in a meditative kind of way, as if trying to discover just what it was about her that made her so attractive. Mary, who was--apparently--oblivious of this for a long time, happened to look up and seemed unconsciously about to give the look that she once had been accustomed to give to entrap her "clients," and then realized what she was doing and turned away blushing with shame--and at that moment, Judas walked between them and distracted both of them, breaking the spell, if spell there was. Thomas wondered what Ezra would have made of this, but he was somewhere with David.

Not surprisingly, Matthew and Mary saw a good deal of each other, but still neither of them seemed to be aware that Matthew felt more towards her than an avuncular interest. But Mary had, it turned out, a rather acute mind, and so they often engaged in discussions. Others occasionally joined in, generally with some embarrassment at speaking to a woman as if she were an actual person.

On one occasion, Thomas decided he would try. Mary and Matthew were alone together, evidently engrossed in analyzing something Jesus had said. "What is this that you are so intent on discussing?" said Thomas, coming to sit by them.

"We were speaking of my theory," Matthew answered Thomas, "that the Master seems rather to choose those who are not necessarily best suited for the task, so that it will be clear that God is the one acting in us."

"Ah yes, that," said Thomas. "And you think, if I heard your last remark, that this explains the different yields of the crops sown on good ground. Well--it is possible, I suppose."

"My idea was, actually," returned Matthew, "that he does not much care what we do or what is accomplished, as that we do what we can." Thomas was reminded of Jesus's mother's statement that he did not ask for success, but that one try.

"Are you saying that he is more interested in the fact that we act on what he says," said Mary, "than the results we achieve?" So she caught it, thought Thomas. He said, "But in that case, "what is one to make of 'by their fruits you will know them'?"

"It does not necessarily contradict it," said Matthew. "You remember, he said that one does not gather figs from thorns or grapes from thistles. I think he was trying to say there that the type of behavior is a sign of the type of person we are."

"Ah," answered Thomas. "But you are saying that the degree of success--how many clusters of grapes there are on the vine, if you will--is not relevant. You may have a point."

"But it does seem odd," persisted Mary, "that if he assigns a task, he does not care how well it is performed. Why then assign it at all?"

Thomas looked over at her. "There is that, of course."

"Possibly," said Matthew, after a pause, "because it is good for us to be performing it."

"To be sure, he has not assigned anything particularly arduous to any of us as yet," said Thomas. "--if you discount Judas's task of keeping us solvent. And as to that, I suspect that, if we were to run short of funds, the Master would look into some rich person's eyes, and we would suddenly find ourselves with a surfeit. And as for me personally, I find it more entertaining than anything else to be trotting about to various towns, and announcing that this new Kingdom about which we know next to nothing is about to appear on the scene--not to mention curing the sick with a touch, as the Master does himself. I once," he added, looking at Mary, "even drove away a devil in his name. And you are saying," he turned back to Matthew, "that I can do this because I am incompetent at it. It is not exactly flattering."

"How else explain it all?" said Matthew. "Certainly, what we have done on our journeys is beyond our powers. Beyond any human power."

"Well, I hope he makes himself clearer soon," said Thomas. "I am becoming a bit tired of not understanding, and simply following blindly."

"It may be, that this is just what he requires of us." said Mary. "He certainly says a great deal about believing and trusting; almost all his cures, he says, are because the person believed. Mine was. I remember having to convince myself that he could do it, even though I knew that it was impossible."

"But then why does he say things he obviously wants us to understand?" said Thomas. "I am sorry, but I am not like Philip, and I cannot be like Philip. Whenever there is some story that seems outrageous, Philip says, 'Well, he said it, and if he said it, it must be true.' And when we say, 'Yes, but how is it true? What does he mean by it?' Philip simply answers, 'What he said, I suppose.'"

"Philip can be maddening in that way," smiled Matthew.

"Well, it does solve the problem," laughed Mary, "does it not?"

"Not for me, I fear," said Thomas, and Matthew nodded agreement.

"Does he always speak in stories thus?" asked Mary.

"Oh, no," said Matthew. "In fact, he only began speaking in this way not too long before you joined us. He had spoken quite openly beforehand--"

"But it was worse, believe me," said Thomas. Half of the crowds went away shaking their heads in bewilderment, and the other half were infuriated."

"And so he started the stories," went on Matthew, "because, he told us, in this way if people did not want to understand, they would now have something of an excuse. He quoted Isaiah, I believe, to that general effect." He paused a moment, musing. "In this, I believe he is certainly consistent," He will go to the greatest lengths not to condemn anyone--though he never tries to explain away their sins. That is another paradox; he wants us to be holy, but he does not seem to care what we do. You will notice that in the story he told on the morning after you arrived, the son did not have to do anything to make amends for his wasting his father's money."

"I noticed that," said Thomas. "I wondered if he had left it out because of the business of the other brother, or whether he meant it."

"I certainly hope he meant it," answered Matthew. "I have no idea what I could do to make amends for what I was forgiven for."

"Nor I, for that matter," said Thomas, and they all lapsed into silence, each evidently contemplating his own sins and what could possibly be done to make up for them.