Mary of Nazareth (17 page)

“Damascus is much too far! Three days at least. Don't even think about it.”

“We can do it. We'd only need a day and a half at most, if we don't stop at night and we have good mules.”

Miriam's voice was sharp and cold. It was clear that during the whole of Barabbas's account, she had been thinking about one thing, and one thing only: how to get to Damascus as quickly as possible. She looked up at Rachel.

“Will you help me?”

“Of course, but…”

There was no point in vacillating. It was obvious that, if need be, Miriam would carry Obadiah in her arms all the way to Beth Zabdai. Rachel got to her feet, ignoring Barabbas's stunned look.

“Yes…You can take my wagon. I'll ask Rekab to get it ready.”

“He needs to make it more comfortable,” Miriam said. “We must have a supply of bandages, water, and plasters. And also a second person to drive the mules. They can take turns. We have to leave right away.”

The words rang out like commands, but Rachel did not take offense, merely nodded.

Mariamne stood up, wiping her eyes with a pleat of her tunic. “Yes, we must hurry. I'll help you. I'm going with you.”

“No,” Barabbas said. “I'm the one who should go with her. We need a man to drive the mules.”

Miriam did not even glance at him, any more than she had before, nor did she either accept or reject his help.

CHAPTER 11

L
EAVING
Magdala not long before the sun reached its zenith, they did not allow themselves any rest. The team had been doubled, and Rekab, Rachel's coachman, had sat down beside Barabbas on the driver's bench. Taking turns at the reins, they had to keep the fastest pace the mules could bear.

Jars of water and nourishing potions, pots of ointments and a flask of citron vinegar were ready to hand, in large baskets tied to the benches. Mariamne and Rachel had added clean bandages and spare linen. The speed made for a bumpy ride, even though the handmaids had lined the interior of the wagon with thick woolen mattresses, as Miriam had demanded. Obadiah lay on one of these mattresses, still unconscious, his body tossed about between the cushions.

Miriam watched over him and checked his breathing. Regularly, she would dip a cloth in water and wipe his face, hoping to cool him down.

Not a word was spoken. The dull rumble of the wheels covered every other sound, except for the occasional yell from Barabbas or Rekab ordering people out of the way.

On the road, or in the hamlets and villages they passed through, the fishermen, the peasants, and the women returning from the wells would stop dead for a moment, then quickly move aside and watch with a mixture of surprise and suspicion as the mules and the wagon sped past, raising as much dust as a storm.

In this way they passed through Tabgha, Capernaum, and Corozain. By nightfall, they had reached the southern tip of Lake Merom, from where the Jordan could be crossed.

There, in the dim twilight, Barabbas had to argue with the boatmen to persuade them to take the wagon and the animals on board. One after the other, the men came and raised the jute curtains that hid the interior of the wagon. Glimpsing Miriam's leaning figure and Obadiah's shapeless mass among the cushions, they recoiled, horrified, at the odor of sickness. The handful of denarii that Barabbas took from a purse—a contribution from Rachel—made up their minds for them. They demanded three times the usual price and prepared their oars and their rigging.

It was almost completely dark by the time they reached the shore of Trachonitis. There, Arab horsemen from the kingdom of Hauran subjected them to a torchlit inspection. They, too, demanded a fee to let them pass.

Once again, time was wasted in haggling. When the horsemen took the covers off and shone their torches into the wagon, Miriam turned to them, lifted the blanket off Obadiah, and said, “He'll die if we don't get to Beth Zabdai soon.”

They saw her bright eyes and Obadiah's bandaged body and pale face, and immediately drew back.

They turned to Barabbas and Rekab. “Your mules are exhausted. You'll never get to Damascus, especially at night. There's a farm two miles from here, where they hire out animals. You'll be able to change your team there. If you have enough denarii.”

Relieved, Barabbas agreed. The horsemen took up position on either side of the wagon, brandished their torches, and escorted them between the shadows of the agave and prickly pear that lined the road.

They had to wake the farmers, overcome their surprise, and count out a generous number of denarii. When, at last, the yokes were placed on the necks of the new animals, Rekab put torches on the harnesses and lanterns all around the wagon, plus one inside.

When it was done, he said to Miriam, “Now that it's dark, we won't be able to go as fast as before. The mules could fall in a rut and hurt themselves.”

Miriam merely replied, “Go as fast as you can. And don't make any more stops.”

         

B
Y
the time the horizon, on the edge of the desert, was pink with dawn, they were only fifty miles from Damascus. The lanterns and torches had long since gone out. Beneath the leather harnesses, the mules were white with sweat.

Barabbas and Rekab were struggling to keep their eyes open, even though they had changed places a dozen times. Inside the wagon, Miriam was still sitting, her muscles stiff, her head nodding with every jolt.

When the lamp had gone out, plunging her into darkness and making it impossible to see Obadiah's face, she had taken his hand and pressed it to her chest. Since then, she had not let go of it for a moment. Her numbed fingers no longer even felt the pressure Obadiah sometimes exerted in his coma.

As soon as she sensed that day was breaking, she lifted the curtain. The cool night air struck her face and chased away both her torpor and the mustiness of the interior, of which she was no longer aware.

Gently, she prized Obadiah's fingers from her hand, dipped a cloth in water, and wet her face. Her mind clearer now, she again moistened the cloth and was about to wipe Obadiah's face with it when she stopped in midgesture and stifled a scream.

Obadiah's eyes were wide open. He was looking at her. For a brief moment, she wondered if he was still alive. But there could be no doubt. Within the dark rings of pain and illness, Obadiah's eyes were smiling at her.

“Obadiah! God Almighty, you're alive! You're alive….”

She stroked his gaunt face and kissed him on the temple. He responded with a shudder that went all through his body. He did not have the strength to speak or even raise his hand.

Miriam moistened his lips, then gave him a little to drink, struggling to keep the cup close to his mouth in spite of the jolts. Obadiah did not take his eyes off her. His pupils appeared immense, darker and deeper than night. You could drown in them. They seemed to offer a softness, a tenderness without limits.

Miriam looked at him, spellbound. It seemed to her that Obadiah was strangely happy. His heart and soul spoke neither of pain nor reproach, neither of struggle or regret. On the contrary, he was offering her a kind of peace.

She did not know long they remained like this, bound together. Perhaps only until the wagon jolted again or day rose completely.

Obadiah was speaking to her of his love and his joy at being in her hands. Together, they remembered their encounter in Sepphoris, how he had led her to Barabbas and how he had saved Joachim. She thought she heard him laugh. He was telling her things she did not know. The shame you felt if you were an
am ha'aretz
and you saw a girl like her. He was telling her about happiness and the hope of happiness. He had wanted to fight so that she would be proud of him.

She mustn't be sad, because thanks to her he had done something that made him happy: He had fought so that life could be more just and evil weaker. And she was so close to him, so close that he could melt into her and never leave her. He would be her angel, such as Almighty Yahweh, it was said, sometimes sent humans.

Without even realizing it, she was smiling at him, even as a howl of terror swelled in her breast. Obadiah's eyes stared into hers, burning her heart with a possible and impossible love, radiant with hope. She responded with all the promises of life of which she was capable.

Then a more sudden jolt than the others tilted Obadiah's head to the side, and the light went from his eyes like a wire being cut, and Miriam knew he was dead.

She screamed his name at the top of her voice. In a frozen trance, she threw herself on him.

Rekab pulled so violently on the reins that one of the mules jerked sideways, almost breaking its harness. The wagon came to a halt. Miriam was screaming herself hoarse. Barabbas jumped down from the bench. One glance inside the wagon was enough.

He clambered in, seized Miriam by the shoulders, and pulled her off Obadiah's body, which she had been shaking as if it were a sack. She pushed him away with astonishing force. He toppled over the handrail and fell heavily in the road, among the dust and stones.

Miriam stood up, screaming more loudly, lifting Obadiah's corpse as if wanting to show heaven the immensity of the injustice and grief that was overwhelming her. But her legs, numbed by the long hours of stillness, could not carry her. Under Obadiah's weight, she in turn toppled over into the dust. She lay there motionless, Obadiah's body rolled into a shapeless ball beside her.

Barabbas ran to her, stomach tight with fear. But Miriam was not even unconscious. Not a single bone in her body was broken. When he touched her, she pushed him away again. She was crying with great wrenching sobs, the tears turning the dust on her cheeks to mud.

Barabbas moved back, terrified, at a loss what to do. The wound in his thigh had reopened, and he was limping. Rekab went to give him support. Both men were stunned to see Miriam get to her feet and threaten Barabbas with her fist. “Don't touch me!” she cried like a madwoman. “Never touch me again! You're nothing. You're not even capable of bringing Obadiah back to life!”

T
HE
cries were followed by a surprising silence, broken only by the wind sighing across the sand and in the prickly shrub.

Rekab waited a moment, then went to Obadiah's body and took it in his arms. The flies were already swarming, attracted by the smell of death. As Miriam watched icily, he placed the body in the wagon and carefully covered it, his gestures as tender as a father's.

Barabbas made no attempt to help him. He was dry-eyed, but his lips were trembling, as if he were searching for the words of some long-forgotten prayer.

When Rekab climbed down again from the wagon, Barabbas went to Miriam and made a gesture of powerlessness, of inevitability. She was crouching on the ground, huddled as if she had been hit. He might have tried to lift her, but he did not dare.

“I know what you think,” he said angrily. “That it's my fault. That he died because of me.”

His voice was loud in the surrounding silence. Miriam, though, did not flinch. It was as if she had not even heard him. Barabbas grew agitated and turned to Rekab for support. But the coachman, standing motionless by the mules with the reins in his hands, bowed his head. Barabbas limped to one of the wheels and leaned on it. “You condemn me, but it was a mercenary's spear that killed him!” He waved his fists, his muscles taut. “Obadiah loved fighting. He loved it. And he loved me, too, as much as I loved him. Without me, he wouldn't have survived. When I took him in my arms, he was only a child. A little brat no bigger than this.”

He struck his chest violently.

“I was the one who saved him from the clutches of those traitors in the Sanhedrin, after respectable people like you had let his parents die of starvation! I gave him everything. Food and drink and a roof to protect him from the rain and cold. I taught him how to live by stealing, I taught him how to hide. Every time we went into combat, I feared for him, the way a brother fears for his brother. But we are warriors. We know the risks we take! And why we do it!”

He gave an unpleasant, anguished laugh.

“I haven't changed my mind. I'm not afraid. I don't need to stick my nose in books to know if I'm doing something good or bad. Who will save Israel, if we don't fight? Your women friends in Magdala?”

Miriam had still not moved. She seemed impervious to the words he flung at her like stones.

Incredulous, powerless, his face racked with pain, he confronted this indifference. Taking a few unsteady steps, he cast his eyes up to heaven.

“Obadiah! Obadiah!”

Around them, the crickets fell silent. Again, the only sound was the wind in the thorns.

“There is no more God for us!” Barabbas screamed. “It's over. There's no more Messiah to wait for. We must fight, fight, fight! We must strike the Romans or be slaughtered by them….”

At last, Miriam raised her head and looked at him, coldly, calmly. With an almost mechanical gesture, she picked up a handful of dust and scattered it over her hair, as a sign of mourning. Then she gathered the tails of her tunic and got unsteadily to her feet.

Rekab took a step forward, fearing that she might collapse again. But she walked all the way to the wagon. Before climbing in, she turned to Barabbas and, without raising her voice, declared, “You're stupid and narrow-minded. It isn't only Obadiah who died because of you. Women and children died too. A whole village. And your companions and those of Mathias. For what? For what victory? There was none. They died because of your stubbornness. Your pride. They died because Barabbas wanted to be what he will never be: the king of Israel….”

At these words, he swayed. But what most overcame him was the glacial contempt on Miriam's face.

“It's easy to condemn me, but at least I dare.”

“You'll never be the strongest. You'll only bring blood and suffering where there is already blood and suffering.”

“Didn't you come to find me to help save your father? You weren't too bothered then if people killed or got killed! You're quick to forget that you, too, were in favor of a rebellion!”

She nodded. “Yes. I'm at fault too. But now I know. It's not the way. This is not how we will impose life and justice.”

“How, then?”

She did not reply. She climbed into the wagon and lay down next to Obadiah's body, placed her head against the blanket covering him, and embraced him.