A.D. 33 (12 page)

“Your name is similar to my own,” she said, smiling. “If you lived in Israel, we could be sisters.”

I was drawn by her soft tone. “I would like that.”

“I cannot imagine what it's like to live where you do. And to be queen to so many outcasts. You are not married?”

“I was to be married to Judah.”

“But of course. I'm so sorry. Then you might now marry Saba.”

“Saba?”

She was smiling. “I see his eyes. Not even the strongest man can hide admiration.”

“Saba is a beautiful man, but my protector. And my sage.” Yet hearing her put it so plainly, I knew that he was becoming more to me.

“Then better,” she said. “A man who nurtures you with mind and body. You must snatch him up!”

I blushed.

“What of you? So beautiful and still young yet I see no husband. And Martha.”

Her smile softened. “It's not easy for those who have been shamed and unclean. We are cast aside and can never marry.”

Why, I didn't know—perhaps she too had been a leper, I thought. Or an offender of the Law in some unforgivable way. She didn't elaborate and I respected her silence.

“But Yeshua sees no stain,” she said, gazing past me. “I saw it immediately, when he first came to Bethany long ago. He breaks all tradition by teaching women at his table. My sister was at first angry that I should sit at his feet with the men while she prepared food. Do you know what Yeshua said to her?”

“Tell me.”

She lifted a finger as if scolding. “‘You are worried and upset about many things, Martha. But only
one
thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better and it will not be taken away from her.' Imagine that!”

“I can,” I said. “I have eaten with him as well.” Memory of our meal in Capernaum returned to me in vivid color. “So what do you think he meant by one thing?”

“Only knowing the Father matters,” she said, as if this truth was plain. “But to Yeshua this knowledge is not like common knowledge. It is to know intimately, as a woman knows a man. I think this truth is more easily seen by women than men.”

“How so?”

She shrugged. “Men rule over women with judgment.” She frowned and continued in a stern voice. “
Walk this way. Don't be seen! Be silent! Shame on you!
And they make God in the same stern image. They respect written codes and abounding knowledge. Women live more from the heart, don't you think?”

“I would say yes. If allowed.”

“So it's the same in Arabia?”

“In many ways, yes.”

She nodded. “Yeshua offers no judgment and speaks of the Father in the same way. The very code that men lord over women, Yeshua upends. If Yeshua speaks out against any, it's only against the brood of vipers who judge others.”

I recalled his teaching against the Pharisees.

“For someone so shamed as me,” Mary said, “this is good news.” She plucked a blade of grass. “I worry for him.”

“For Yeshua?”

“Those in power hate him. His power terrifies them. They would stone him for blasphemy.”

“Saba says that Yeshua cannot be killed.”

“Perhaps he is right—he has said, ‘Everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.'”

“Yeshua says this?”

“Yes.”

So then Saba was correct. I could hardly fathom it.

“Still, I worry for him,” she said. “He seems to acknowledge the threat against him more. It drives him underground, to small villages. Too many follow him during the day for the authorities to strike, but he must be very careful at night. He avoids Jerusalem.”

This surprised me. “Yeshua is afraid?”

“No. He's more resolute than ever. But still…I worry. I worry even as his mother in Nazareth worries.” She turned her eyes to me. “Even as you fear for your son.”

I was suddenly taken back to Nazareth, where I had wept on the shoulder of Yeshua's mother, Miriam, after losing my first son. And then my mind went to an image of Talya, so precious, so innocent, singing high on the rock about Eden.

Then an image of him muzzled and bound on the platform under Kahil's ruthless glare. A lump gathered in my throat.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Maviah. My heart weeps with yours.” Mary took my hand in hers. “Miriam comes from Nazareth soon. I have known no greater woman. She comforted you once. She will again.”

But my sorrow would not wait for the mother of Yeshua. I was gripped by a sudden urge to rush back to Dumah to rescue my son.

“I brought you here to tell you a story. Would you like to hear it?”

When I didn't immediately respond, she pressed.

“It will lift your heart.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me…”

Mary drew a deep breath.

“Not so long ago, my brother, Lazarus, whom Yeshua loves dearly, fell ill. Desperately ill. Filled with fear, we sent word to him, knowing that if Yeshua knew, he would surely come. But Lazarus died before word reached him.”

I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly.

“Your brother?”

“Yes. Lazarus died of terrible illness. When Yeshua heard, he told Thomas and the others that Lazarus had only fallen asleep and that he would awaken him. But his disciples didn't want to undertake such a long journey only to awaken a man. Yeshua then told them plainly that Lazarus was dead and they must go to wake him. In Yeshua's mind, sleep and death are the same. This is a mystery to me.”

I blinked. “So which was it? Was he asleep or was he dead?”

“He was dead, I can attest to that. Dead and buried for four days by the time Yeshua arrived.”

“Buried where?”

“In a cave among the other tombs.” She pointed to the south. “I will show you, if you like. He was there—we buried him ourselves.”

She took a breath.

“Martha rushed here, to this very grove, to meet him. She was overcome. He was waiting for her. Hearing her anguish, Yeshua comforted Martha and told her Lazarus would rise again.”

“She believed him?”

“I don't know. But she hurried back and found me. So I ran to him here and fell at his feet. By then others had heard and followed me.” Her voice was soft and distant. “I was weeping, as were others, still in mourning. And in my anguish, I was beside myself. I accused him. I said, ‘If you'd been here, my brother wouldn't have died.'”

How deep was their relationship that she could speak such words to one so esteemed? I was mesmerized by her story.

“What did he do?” I asked.

Mary looked at me and I saw tears in her eyes.

“He wept. He wept as I wept. As you weep for your son. My heart broke. I'd questioned the loyalty of the only man who has truly loved me, you understand.”

“Yes. I think I do.”

Mary toyed with the stalk of grass in her hand.

“He was weeping for me, Maviah. The others thought he was weeping for Lazarus, because he loved Lazarus so deeply—they are like brothers. But Yeshua already knew that my brother was dead. He knew in Galilee. It wasn't until he saw me weeping that he wept.”

She swallowed deep emotion. Her admiration for Yeshua was palpable.

“He doesn't weep for his own loss,” she managed to say, “but in compassion for us. For
me
. Seeing my anguish, he wept.”

The one who had cautioned his own disciples for their lack of faith and then calmed the storm with a word had wept with Mary.

With a woman.

“And after that?”

“We took him to the tomb.”

“And he raised your brother?” I knew already, but part of me still couldn't quite accept it.

She sniffed and gathered herself.

“Yeshua told us to take away the stone. Martha objected, fearing the stench. Only then did Yeshua point out her lack of belief. So they took the stone away. And yes, we could smell the death.”

She stopped.

“Then?”

When Mary faced me this time, her face was bright. My heart beat heavily.

“He thanked the Father so that all could hear. For our benefit, so that we would know his authority.”

“And?” I was eager for more.

“I will never forget it,” Mary said, scrambling to her feet.

She faced the tree and set her jaw. “He spoke to my brother there in the grave.” She was pointing at the tree as if it were the tomb. “He called out to him, commanding in a voice that might scatter goats.” She spread her arms now, legs planted firmly beneath her, and leaned into her cry. “‘Lazarus, come out!'” Mary glanced at me. “Just like that: ‘Lazarus! Come out!'”

“He just came out?”

“I saw his arm first, bound with the very linen that I had wrapped around his flesh. My heart was leaping in my breast. Then he came out, still in linen.”

Mary lowered her arms and turned to me. She lifted her finger, making her point certain.

“This, Maviah, is the power of Yeshua! My brother, Lazarus, was dead, but Yeshua raised him from that death.”

I didn't know what to say. My fingers were trembling. I pushed myself to my feet, mind still caught up in my imaginations of such a scene. But there could be no doubt—Lazarus was buried four days and yet I had just met him. And in seeing him I had known that he contained a mysterious life.

“You see?” Mary said. “It was a message to us all. Yeshua came to Bethany to awaken my brother, who had perished. So you must not be worried for your son. Not even death can defeat us!”

I stood in awe. In awe of Yeshua, who could do such a thing. In awe of Mary, who was like Yeshua's sister, a small woman more powerful than a thousand men. And in awe of my own failure, for I'd forgotten his power, once so plain to me in Petra.

“How foolish I was to doubt him after the life he gave me,” Mary said. “Today will be the first time he returns to us since those days. I am the lowest in all of Judea, scorned by all but the lowest man.” Her soft voice trembled with emotion. “And yet Yeshua wept for me.”

Her shame had been as deep as my own, as a slave.

“This is what he does, Maviah. He makes us all queens, like you. And yet I have nothing to offer him.”

“Your life,” I said.

“Yes. He has it already. But still…”

I thought of Shaquilath's gift to me before leaving Petra.

“I brought something you might offer him.”

“A gift?”

“A vessel of nard given to me by the queen of Petra. I offer it as a token of appreciation for inviting us into your home.”

Her eyes lit up. “Nard…Fitting for a burial.”

“Even more so for new life.”

“Yes.” She beamed at the idea of offering this precious perfume to Yeshua. “You are most kind, sister.”

“It is the very least I can do.”

She gazed past me, lost in thought. “Nard…” she whispered. “It is perfect.”

My mind was still on the resurrection of Lazarus. I could not imagine the man I'd just met, now with such bright and peaceful eyes, being in the grave for four days.

“Does your brother remember being dead?”

She blinked and looked back at me. “Lazarus? He's changed. He was always close to Yeshua, but now they seem to share something words cannot express. At times I think he cannot truly understand what happened to him.”

“What does he say?”

She hesitated.

“He has no fear of death now. None. Truly, I believe he longs to be absent of body once again. He saw much but can explain little. But more, Lazarus knows only love for others now. It seems he has become a child once again.”

Talya came to my mind, but now my fear for his safety had subsided. Yeshua would surely save my son, even as he'd saved Mary and her brother. Even as he'd saved me.

“Maybe Lazarus saw Eden,” I said.

“Eden?”

“The garden. My son once said he saw it. In a vision.”

“Eden. The garden of perfection. Perhaps this is the kingdom of heaven on earth.”

“Where death cannot touch us,” I said.

“And shame is no more.”

Mary smiled and stepped up to me.

“Well then, Maviah…We will believe that your son is in Eden, and we will have no fear. Death will not come to him. Yeshua will save him, you will see.”

She took my hand in hers.

“Now we must return to help Martha prepare before she scolds me. Yeshua comes to dinner tonight!”

TALYA DIDN'T know how long he and the others had been in the dungeon. Twice each day they were brought food—heaps of flatbread, dates and other fruits—and water. Never enough, so he took only a little. Once each day, Kahil, the one his mother had called a viper, came to check on them. A perfect hush came over all of the children when the gate at the end of the passage opened.

Talya was sure that Kahil came only to look at him, which he did with dark eyes before leaving without saying a word.

Salim's wound had festered, then finally started to heal, but hatred had come into his eyes, and he did his part to make as many of the children as miserable as himself. As the oldest he demanded their food and shoved them away if they asked for some of his straw.

Many of them had developed running noses and coughs. Many of them were growing skinny. Many of them came to Talya to ask what they should do, even though he was the youngest, for he was the queen's son. But he didn't know what to say except that Saba would come. That the queen would rescue them.

After a while they stopped asking. And soon he forgot to tell himself that story as well. He was only a small boy full of fear.

When night came, the guards put out the lamps and left the children in darkness. Soft crying would fill the large stone cell, and Talya would curl up in the corner to keep warm, covering his ears with his hands.

It was then that he tried to remember the Way. Then that he tried to find Eden as he dreamed of walking in the dark desert, alone. But although he could still remember some of Saba's teaching, the light never came.

And then it did.

He was asleep in the cell, but in his dreams he was there again in the desert, standing and looking at the stars, lost in the darkness and full of fear. Suddenly, a star streaked from the black sky, like a falling star, only larger.

He blinked, thinking it would vanish. Instead it grew bigger. Like a ball of fire streaking straight toward him.

Barely able to breathe, he watched it hit the sand a hundred paces away. A blinding flash lit the entire desert, and faster than possible the light spread.

The moment the light hit him, he felt its power blow through his hair. Through his chest, through his heart. And with it, a song. Only one note, the same note he'd heard and sung in the desert before. The light itself was like a song!

Suddenly it was day. Not a day with a sun, but day by the light of that star. As if by magic.

But there was more. Much more.

He gasped, sucking in the air, which seemed to be the light itself. And with that breath his arms began to tremble. Peace and joy as he'd never known them filled him from the inside out.

But there was more. Much more.

Immediately grass began to grow from the parched sand, and vines became full of grapes, and small trees grew into large ones heavy with green leaves. A clear blue pool sprang out of the ground, and many birds flew through the sky. On the rolling hills he saw camels and lions and lambs and foxes and many wonderful creatures that he didn't know.

All of it happened quickly, in the space of only ten or fifteen breaths.

And with each of those breaths, Talya inhaled the light, knowing that it was the light of the world. This was the Father's sovereign realm, surely.

This was Yeshua, creating the world. Eden.

This was what he had seen in the distance from the high ledge. But now…now he was
in
it. He spun around with arms spread wide, singing that song in a pure voice that joined with the light.

Only then did he see the large black serpent with green and yellow and red stripes sliding into the meadow, not ten paces from him. He stopped and stared, captivated by its beauty.

The serpent slipped slowly through the grass, flicking its tongue, eyeing him with golden eyes. It hissed in one long sound that grew, overwhelming the pure song that had filled the air.

Talya felt his pulse quicken. The hissing was at once beautiful and cutting, drawing him and repulsing him at the same time.

The serpent suddenly coiled. Then opened its jaw wide. Talya watched, stunned, as a round fruit rolled out of the serpent's mouth and onto the grass. The fruit was half-white and half-black—not just white like the sand, but white like the sun. And not just black like the shale, but black like a hole that had no bottom.

The hissing grew louder.

As Talya watched, a woman who looked like his mother stepped out from behind a tree, eyeing that fruit.

The snake hissed at her, and she watched it for a while, as if listening. She didn't seem afraid, only curious.

Then the woman walked up to the fruit, picked it up, and stared at it in her hand. She surveyed the garden for a moment as if undecided about what to do.

Looking at the snake one more time, she gave a slight nod, then lifted the fruit to her mouth and took a bite.

Immediately, the light winked off and the garden disappeared, leaving only the woman on desert sand at night. The song and the hissing stopped.

Talya stood with his mouth open, filled with fear.

The woman crouched and spun around with the fruit still in her hand, trying to see, terrified. The serpent darted out from the darkness, fangs flashing, and bit her heel. She screamed and dropped the fruit, grasping at her leg.

She staggered to the edge of the meadow and then collapsed.

Talya spun to see the serpent still there, coiled, watching him with beady eyes. Surely the viper would bite him as well.

“Who are you?”

The gentle voice spoke from deep within Talya and also from the sky, like a soft wind drifting through him. He blinked in the darkness, straining to see.

“What is your name, my son?”

He swallowed and spoke in a thin, ragged voice.

“Talya.”

“And what does
Talya
mean?”

“A…a lamb.”

“And what does
lamb
mean?”

An image of his mother stroking his hair filled his mind. Was the voice his mother speaking? No, it was more. Far more…

“It means innocent child,” he whispered.

The darkness was silent for a moment, and then the voice came again.

“I have given you power over the deceiver, who brings the knowledge of good and evil to blind you. I have given you authority to trample on serpents and overcome all the power of the enemy. Nothing will harm you.”

Talya trembled.

The serpent was still there, tasting the air with its tongue, eyeing him.

“Crush the serpent,” the voice said.

“The serpent?” Talya said, still shaking.

“Yes. Crush the serpent, then you will see.”

Still full of fear, but desperate for the light to return, Talya slowly walked up to the serpent, amazed that it did not slither away. He lifted his foot and stomped on its head with all of his might.

Thunder boomed overhead. Immediately the darkness rolled back like a scroll, revealing the garden exactly as it had been before.

Once again the light flooded Talya's body, and the song his mind.

“Ha!” Talya cried, jumping, smiling wide. “I did it!”

Somewhere far away, a door squealed and then shut, like the door in the dungeon, pulling him from the dream.

He jerked up, gasping. Torches were lit and many of the children were already sitting up, leaning against the walls or sitting cross-legged, faces flat or strained with dread.

Truth came to Talya then—he was to bring light into this dark world. This is what Saba had meant when he'd said a child would lead them! This was his place here, to help them see what they couldn't see.

Eden was here, beyond the darkness, he was sure of it!

He jumped to his feet filled with courage and spoke without thinking.

“We will be saved!” he cried.

They turned to him with dumb stares.

He stepped forward and lifted one hand. “It's dark in here, but I have seen the light. It's here if we only look. It's always been here, everywhere, we are only blind to it!”

“Be quiet, you spoiled little dog,” Salim spat from his corner. A couple of the others who were eager to impress the older boy snickered.

But this meant nothing to Talya. He took another step, eager to be heard.

“I had a vision, and in this dream I saw the serpent blind the world with a fruit of darkness. The fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. But that serpent is powerless against us! If we be like Yeshua. If we only open our eyes to see the light!”

“Quiet before I knock your teeth out!”

“No, Salim! This is the light you seek!” He glanced around. None of them seemed to care. How could it be?

“No one will listen? All of you would rather remain in this darkness, weeping for your mothers? Please…I beg you—”

“I will listen,” a soft voice said.

Talya turned to his left and saw that Mona had risen to her feet. Her eyes were wide with wonder.

“Tell me about the light.”

He stepped toward her. “I will. I'll tell you everything.”

A chuckle echoed through the room, and Talya twisted to the bars that caged them in. There, in the dim light beyond the cell, stood Kahil, grinning. The sound he'd heard in his dream…The door…

“So…the little prince has found his courage once again.”

Talya blinked. “This is the serpent,” he said, stretching out his arm. “But he has no power over us.”

The room was deathly quiet. Kahil's smile flattened. The courage in Talya's blood began to leak away and he lowered his arm, caught in the man's glare.

Kahil nodded at him once, as if accepting the challenge. Then he stepped to one side and spoke to two guards behind.

“Bring him.”