The Rabbi’s Daughter. Alan Sorem

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СКАЧАТЬ the Master would return quickly. He has not. Among the Thessalonians, the Cappadocians, even in Antioch and Alexandria, skeptics have arisen who are bold to say the Way is based on falsehood. The ambitious striving and self-assurance of such men seems to answer the doubts of a significant number of the former faithful. Their new masters of faith attract them to ways contrary to the true Way.

      “The other test arises from places of renewed rebellion within the Empire. In Judea, Galilee and elsewhere, false messiahs have sprung up, calling anew for the overthrow of Roman rule. Such men scoff at the Way of the Master. Many of those who formerly were faithful are now joining the militants, whose lives are bent on destruction and ruin rather than on patient endurance in affliction.”

      “Yes,” Elizabeth spoke up. “I have heard such talk in The Community in Ephesus from those who question the Elders.”

      Her mother eyed Mark. “And the commission you have been given?”

      Mark leaned closer.

      “I composing an account. Barnabas is my scribe. But almost nothing is known of the Master’s life before his baptism, an old ritual given new meaning in turbulent times. All the events that Peter and the others experienced occurred after Jesus called them to follow him. We have many details from Galilee and Judea of those events, but I need your help with the earlier days.”

      “It will not be a glorification, then?”

      “No. It will be the beginning of my account. The coming of the Good News. I mean it to inspire those who are new in faith and to support those who believed from the beginning.”

      “An account of my son’s life and death.”

      Mark gave her a long look before continuing.

      “An account of his life and death and life again.” He turned his hands on the table palms up. “It has been more than thirty years. Many of the faithful believed he would return in triumph by now, leading all the angels of heaven to form the Kingdom of God on earth.”

      Barnabas nodded and spoke. “Peter said a clear account of what happened is needed in these troubled times. It will remind the weak and fainthearted that we may trust the Master and know him truly as the Son of the Most High.”

      “My son,” said Mary.

      “Yes, fully human,” agreed Mark. “But one sent from God to free us from the barriers that separate us from one another. He helps us to see all people with the eyes of God.”

      Mary pursed her lips. “Quite an undertaking, this account of yours.”

      “It is almost finished. I wish to keep it brief enough so that it may be read out at The Community meetings, here in Ephesus and elsewhere. To be read wholly, or in successive parts before the Meal of Remembrance.” His eyes were serious. “I need your help with the beginning.”

      He paused before continuing. “But first there is one matter in which your clarification is essential. You have spoken of your husband. Joseph.”

      “A holy man. A good husband. A devoted father.”

      Barnabas spoke. “There are some who say—” He paused and glanced at Mark. Mark nodded.

      Barnabas continued. “There are some who say Joseph was not the father of Jesus. Some other man. Perhaps a Roman soldier.”

      “Rubbish,” Mary muttered.

      “We must be truthful, you see.” Mark said.

      Barnabas nodded and spoke emphatically. “One example. We have been told that your betrothal to Joseph extended far longer than usual. The reason? Allegedly a long visit to your kinswoman in Jerusalem. When you returned your womb was large with child. The child of a man of Cana or of someone whom you met in Jerusalem.”

      Mary slapped both hands on the table and scowled. “Rubbish!” she repeated.

      “I will speak plainly,” Mark calmly continued. “We do not fear what is true. What matters is the open tomb on the day after Sabbath. The beginning for us is the inner meaning of your son’s baptism by John. Perhaps he was a bastard son, adopted at the Jordan River to be the Son of the Most High.”

      “No!” hissed Mary. “That is falsehood!”

      No one spoke.

      “Mama?” Elizabeth reached for her mother’s hand but Mary moved it away. She raised her head and glared at Mark and Barnabas.

      “Such lies! Very well, I will tell you the true story.”

      Mark smiled. “Thank you.”

      “But not today. Today there has been too much excitement. I must rest.”

      Mark frowned. “But we have barely begun.”

      “I need to think the old matters through. To be able to speak of them in an orderly way for the account that you propose to write.”

      “Of course,” Mark nodded. “We did not wish to burden you so. But the truth of these matters is important.”

      “I agree.”

      The two men rose. “We will begin in late morning tomorrow if that is all right.”

      “Yes.” Mary did not return Mark’s smile. She was remembering those days so long ago. “Tomorrow.”

      Three

      Mary usually slept soundly but that night she drifted in and out of a light slumber, stirred by the conversation of the day.

      The visit of the two men brought back a vivid memory of the last day in Jerusalem and the sights and sounds and smells that were etched in her remembering. The hill. The three crosses. The foul odor of blood, human excrement, and piss. The food vendors and the wine sellers, hawking their wares amidst the crowd. And that one man, that odious man who stank from his sweat on the warm day. He approached the disciple John and her, smirking as he shook three wineskins turned shekel collectors. The coins jingled loudly. He pushed her aside and spoke to John.

      “And how about you, my good man. Only a shekel to choose the time of death of the one in the middle, poor bastard. Three choices. Only a shekel!” He shook the wineskins vigorously.

      “Get away before I knee you in your privates!” John retorted.

      The man backed away. “Oh, there’s plenty who’ll pay. And one will be a rich man! Pity you won’t.” He laughed as he turned to continue working the crowd.

      John put his arm around her and held her close as she shuddered. She was at an angle to the men mounted on horses, surveying the crowd. One, younger than the rest, met her glance with an unsmiling appraisal. He wore the garments of the Chief Priest’s household. She averted her eyes, but when she glanced his way again, he was still watching her.

      She awoke and turned on her side.

      “A dream. Only a dream,” she murmured to herself. “Long ago. Over and done.”

      She dozed. Her restless limbs quieted. She fell into a deeper sleep and dreamed СКАЧАТЬ