He is the center of attention.
What does he do? Antipas rubbed the lucky rabbit in the palm of his hand.
He heals the sick. I told the story of Zorah, the cripple.
And what about you, Joanna? Antipas turned on me with syrupy concern. Did the healer from Nazareth cure you? The words pricked. I forced myself to clear my throat. It was enough to send him away.
After dinner, the lamps were turned down. I could hear the acrobats enter. When they were in their places the torches were lit. Clowns as tall as camels hobbled around the room on wooden stilts. An Ethiopian in a red turban tossed streamers from the back of an elephant. I caught one and tied it around my wrist. From across the room, where the men were seated, I noticed Chuza watching me from the corners of his eyes. I could read his testy expression. He had not approved of my telling Antipas about my day with the wonder-worker, which could only upset the jealous tetrarch.
By the time Flavia rolled onto the trapeze bar, some of the men in the room had been drinking for three hours. They started howling as the performers golden hair swung over their tables, flitting across their faces. Flavias painted lips and the black kohl outlining his eyes made him a freakish version of a woman.
He was supple as kelp, twisting into knots, rolling into a ball. Not once did he miss a coin purse tossed his way. It became a game, and like children we got overly excited as we played. A fight broke out. Wine from a flying cup sprayed the side of my face. Chuza stood up abruptly, came and took my arm. Were leaving, he said. My husband hardly spoke to Antipas on our way out. The tetrarch was pressed against his wifes thick neck and waved us off.
At times the excesses of court life grated against Chuzas soul. Antipass party was such a time. When we were safely home and settled, my husband came to my room as he sometimes did when he needed consolation. He held me in his arms until his tense body relaxed and grew heavy and his grip loosened. I felt him sleeping and soon, too, I began to drift off.
I found myself thinking about the day I first saw Jesus. The idea came to me then, effortless as the best plans do. I must go to meet his mother, I said out loud in the dark.
Chuza would not like it. Joanna, he would say, dont test the gods. He didnt believe in healers. Only women and fools listened to any of them.
CHAPTER TWO
Mary treasured all these things in her heart.
Luke 2:51
In early autumn, my husband and I returned from Tiberias to Sepphoris for the harvesting of the figs and dates. I had plenty to do at home. We had been away all summer. My roses needed tending.
Our first morning at home I saw my husband off, waited until I was certain he was on his way and called Octavia. Were going to Nazareth, I said. Well need a sack of flour and a jar of olive oil. Add the rest of the salted fish if there is any.
Doesnt the healer we saw in Sepphoris come from there? Octavia asked. My maidservant was uncommonly skilled at guessing my intentions.
I would like to meet his mother, I said. I dont know her, of course. And perhaps she wont be at home.
We can wait for her, Octavia suggested. Or, leave word that we will return another day.
You like this idea, dont you? I teased. At times Octavia seemed more like family than a servant.
She widened her dark eyes in approval of my plan. An hour later Phineas was driving us toward Nazareth. The weather was warm and dry. We rolled up the sides of the canopy so that Octavia and I could take in the view. There were several hours of daylight ahead of us and Chuza would not be home until late. Still, I urged Phineas to hurry. We arrived well before dusk and walked the final distance from the town gate so as not to disturb the residents of Nazareth with a horse drawn carriage.
I hid my hair beneath a sheer white stole, the closest I had to the brown flax of the local women. Fortunately, I had removed my ankle bracelets and left them at home. No one in Nazareth wore such things. Phineas walked close to me, my vigilant bodyguard. He watched the streets from beneath his hooded eyes.
We found Mary sitting on a low wooden bench outside her house, surrounded by the girls from the village who were bubbling with expectation. The youngest of them nestled in their older sisters arms. Mary passed a bowl of mashed olives and bits of bread to share. She had tied her head scarf at the back of her neck, like a worker in the field. Under her belt she had tucked squares of old fabric that she used to wipe away the crumbs from the younger girls cheeks. They all went to her and pressed their tiny lips toward her. Anything to get her attention.
Some of the mothers helped to prepare the girls for a story. They dressed the children up as characters, rubbing ash on the faces of those who would play the penitents. Their job, mothers reminded them, was to pray for victory before the battle.
One of the older girls stepped forward and waited until everything was quiet. Then she glanced at Mary, who lifted her chin, just slightly, and nodded her approval. The girl announced the story, Joshua at the battle of Jericho, and began her narration.
Some of the girls, the defenders of justice, stole into the midnight valley as Mary stretched a line of painted wooden stars above their heads. They marched around the city walls to frighten their enemy, the Cananites. Mary handed a rams horn to a pudgy girl with one wandering eye. The sudden blast from the horn made the audience lurch into nervous laughter.
When the brave marched back home after their victory, the youngest girls, who had been crowding behind Mary, jumped up. Each one wore a straw wreath in her hair. Mary tapped a tambourine against her hand and led them in the victory dance. The girls imitated her, twirling and spinning as she did.
When they were finished with their story, the more forward girls smiled confidently at the audience, while the shy types clung to Marys skirt. She bent down and kissed their hair, or whispered words of encouragement.
I practiced my speech, waiting for her to come toward me. She finally did approach, but only after all the mothers and grandmothers had their fill of her attention.
Peace be upon you, she said to me. She was inviting, as if she thought she knew me.
I thanked her for her blessing, unsure of how to address her. I rarely spoke to people outside my own circle of acquaintances.
How did you like our story? she asked.
I must have heard it when I was young.
The Lord is always with us. Joshuas victory reminds us of that.
Her confident voice soothed me. Yes, I said.
I was about to explain my visit when an unusual shyness came over me. I stood looking at her tapered fingers, so like her sons.
You are Joanna, Abijahs daughter, she said.
How did you know?
Her answer was far from what I expected.
Dont you remember me? she asked. I am your cousin.
I can only imagine the expression on my face. Not certain whether to believe her, I tried to appear composed, but the sudden rumbling in my chest betrayed me. My face felt hot and moist. She recognized my illness but did not back away from me, as so many do. Instead, Mary took my arm and walked with me to the low wall that had been crowded with relatives and neighbors not long ago.
I will bring you something, she said. When I was alone and waiting for her to return, a tickling in my throat worried me. I never knew what a coughing fit might bring. She came back quickly and held out a drink of herbs and honey. It quieted me at last.