The Gospel of the Twin (13 page)

“That should be easy for them,” I said. “Isn't this all about their feeling powerless?”

Judas squatted at my other side. “They know that bands of insurgents attack the Romans, and they also know how futile those attacks are. Their fellow men accomplish nothing, and they've waited for the Lord too long. You—we can have the depths of things. We can live in the kingdom of the Lord. We can be the body of the Lord.” I was surprised that Judas remembered that phrase. “But for most people, all that's just something else to wait for. A miracle worker gives them what they want
now
.”

As the shadows of dusk formed around us, Mary and Judas' faces seemed to spread and blur like low clouds about to wrap me in their mist. I was not sure whether they had convinced or charmed me, but I felt that we were already proceeding with a scheme.

“We'll need Andrew and the others,” I said.

Verse Three

Peter's in-laws begged Jesus to go to a meeting house to speak to townspeople who had heard about his “healing” (that's the word they used repeatedly) the old woman. “They want to be blessed by you,” they said. “They need your touch and they need your words.” I wasn't sure if they meant that the people wished to hear his message or if they thought his words were spells.

The next day, on our way across town, a leper stepped onto the road some thirty cubits ahead of us and angled toward us as if the ground were unsteady beneath him. He raised his arm, and from his raggedy cloak sleeve emerged a scabbed hand, its three fingers pointing at Jesus. A man yelled, “Be gone!” and threw a stone at the leper, who did not bother to dodge and let it bounce off his ear. A woman began chanting and moving her hands about her body as if following the trails of serpents.

Jesus held up his hand to stop the crowd just as the leper said, “Are you the healer?”

“Yes,” Jesus said.

If he embraces this role,
I thought,
this could be easier than I thought
.

“Can you remove this affliction?” the leper said. His eyes were like muddy pools. “No man should suffer this. I live like an animal, slipping about, eating garbage, nesting in the woods so that the people will not kill me.”

One of Peter's in-laws, I think a brother-in-law, said to Jesus, “Master, look, a walking corpse. Can't you smell him? He has no place here. Come, good people await you.”

Jesus spun with a fury, his arm slicing out like a viper. The back of his hand struck the in-law's face like a wet cloak slapped against a river rock. “He is a child of the Lord no less than you!” Jesus yelled as the man stumbled back a step and clutched his face. “Listen, his ailment is not leprosy. It is the sickness with which you and your townspeople have infected him. You have dumped your iniquities upon him and driven him to the edge of humanity, where you can gaze upon him to see the dim shapes of your own faces as in a dark glass.”

I was not sure which was more astonishing—Jesus' analysis of the social function of lepers or the way he had backhanded that man with lightning speed. I had not seen such anger on Jesus' face since our brother James made me cry when he pushed me into a pile of cow dung back when Jesus and I were about six years old. Pretending to fight Philistines with Nazarene boys was the closest I ever saw Jesus come to violence. The others in the crowd now stood slack-jawed, silent as scared children. I'm sure the slap impressed them more than the words.

Jesus removed his upper garment and placed it around the leper's shoulders. “Be whole. Return to us and lead the way into the kingdom of the Lord.”

Jesus waved his hand to signal that we should continue walking as James (or was it John?) removed his own upper garment to drape over Jesus. The leper watched us pass, unsure if he should join, or even lead, the group. He clutched and sniffed his new garment as he crouched, better to guard against thieves. I looked back trying to see if he would follow us, but I soon lost sight of him and don't remember seeing him again.

We arrived at the meeting house to find a group waiting in front. James and John stepped forward to clear a path to the door just as the man whom Jesus struck pushed his way ahead. “Jesus healed the leper!” he said. “Jesus wrapped his garment around the leper and now he's as clean as you and me!”

I had seen no such healing, of course, but amazingly, this man was boosting Jesus' reputation and, somehow, being hit by Jesus had only further endeared the man to him. Later, I joked that Jesus should strike a few thousand more.

“I let my anger sweep me away like the wind,” Jesus said. “I feel weak.”

“You have nothing to regret,” I said.

“I have much to regret.”

“Nonsense. Sometimes a rash act is the only way to make a point.”

“Sometimes I feel that my entire life has been a rash act.”

Jesus went inside, and the crowded house fell silent. More gathered outside at the windows to hear and glimpse the new marvel.

Judas, Peter, Andrew, and I went to work. A young man named Philip, who had joined us some time earlier and had pestered me daily for any task I could assign him, waited for us out of sight behind a nearby house. We made a big show of carrying him to the meeting house and saying that he had come in need of the miracle worker.

“Stop,” Judas said. We bent in closely as Judas whispered, “This is better than we had planned. People are still coming and blocking the door. Find some rope and we'll make an unforgettable entrance.”

A shed built into the side of the meeting house held hoes, rakes, water jars, planks, and, in a dark corner, two coils of thick rope. We stacked some jars and planks and clambered onto the roof, carefully hoisting up Philip, who stretched out upon a plank and did not hide his fear that he would fall. We yanked out a section of thatch from the roof, and Peter called down into the meeting house, “Lord, we could not get this lame man in the door. We'll lower him to you.” We looped the ropes under the plank and let Philip down amid the bewildered crowd.

We couldn't see Jesus from where we were, but in a moment he appeared by Philip's side and paused to gaze at him. I experienced a moment of panic over the possibility that Jesus might recognize him; instead, Jesus laid his hand upon Philip's head and said, “Do you wish to move?”

“Yes, Master,” said Philip.

“Where do you wish to go? Is the immobility only in your legs, or is your soul too heavy to budge? What holds you down?”

Either Philip realized that this line of questioning was not moving in the direction that people expected from a miracle worker, or he was too nervous to lie there any longer. He leapt up and began to dance. “My legs move! I am cured by Jesus the miracle-maker!” I was afraid he was overdoing it, surely raising suspicions in the now silent crowd. However, he fell to his knees and clutched Jesus' robe, as we had instructed him to do, and asked if he could become a follower. Jesus said that they would walk together in the kingdom of the Lord. The crowd roared and rushed Jesus, every hand straining to touch him.

We scrambled down from the roof and shoved our way in as the Zebedee brothers tried to drag Jesus out. We somehow got through the door and ran to the street with the townspeople on our heels. Peter, Judas, Andrew, and the Zebedees turned to hold the people back as best they could. They were joined by the man Jesus had struck, who called out, “Brethren, peace! Give the master distance and then he will administer to each of you.” He continued with something about lining up the children and then the barren women, and some further ranking of the needy. Who was he to take charge and presume to arrange Jesus' schedule?

He did succeed in settling the crowd a bit, but they pressed in on us, and my nerves got the better of me. I worried about what would happen if Jesus believed he could heal the little girl with the crooked back, the little boy with the tumor protruding from his mouth, the woman with the withered hand, and all those who appeared hearty but were moving into the rows anyway. Did everyone in the town suffer an affliction? Had we pushed this healer charade too far?

I tugged at Jesus' arm and told him that we should flee while the people were occupied with the slapped man's orders, but he pulled away and pretended not to hear. I looked around for support, but Judas, Peter, Mary, and the others were walking among the people, talking to the strangers as if gathering information.

People continued to arrive. Some from the meeting house must have scurried about town to announce the miracle they had seen. The newcomers could see for themselves; Philip was hopping around as if on hot coals. None of the townspeople seemed to notice that he was not one of them. I was now regretting that I had let Judas and Mary cow me into this scheme, and I felt the grip of nausea in my bowels as I imagined all of Capernaum turning upon us with a mountain's-worth of stones.

I walked with Jesus as he passed through the rows, offering words of comfort. He would bend close to them and whisper, “The kingdom of the Lord is for us all,” and a woman would cry out that she felt life leap in her stomach. Or he would say, “Your body is the body of the Lord,” and a man would yell that now he could hear.

Hands reached up to me, amid calls of, “Master's brother, touch my stiff leg,” and others of just “Master.” I moved in the other direction from Jesus and whispered things he had said, or something close enough. “Be in the Lord, as he is in you,” I would say, and someone would weep and kiss my cloak. I wasn't sure if they simply assumed that miraculous power runs in families or if they came to think that if Jesus could cure their ailments, then he surely could split in two and heal them all more efficiently.

In time, food was brought and passed around. The entire town appeared to be gathered with us. Those who believed they had been cured of whatever they thought burdened them—some could or would not say what their ailments were, but nevertheless claimed now to be “whole”—stayed to listen as Jesus continued to stroll about and speak to them individually. I did the same until Judas approached, looking at once triumphant and impatient.

“It's time to move on, Thomas,” he said. “If we leave right away, half of these people will follow. If we wait, the excitement will ebb, and they'll be back grubbing in their fields as if nothing had happened.”

“Yes, Judas, but how do you explain this?” I said. “A few of these people were crippled, some were obviously suffering, but most of them were as healthy as you or me. They believed themselves ailing and then believed themselves healed.”

“Why are you puzzled? This entire nation is ill,” said Judas. “In every village we have come to, the inhabitants cannot live their simple lives of feeding goats or baking bread, which is all they really want. The homes may stand and the orchards may swell with fruit, but the weight of Rome bears down upon them like the hoof of a behemoth. They have lived in desperation all their lives until it is as present as the air they breathe. They'll take whatever sort of magic they think Jesus can summon, to cure the lame or to command the heavens to fall and crush them.”

This is exactly the reply that I should have expected from Judas: The Romans are the cause of every ill anyone faced. I suppose that was close to the truth, but surely these people did not think that their hard lives were due to foreign occupation. If the Romans suddenly left, my people would no longer fear the random arrests and abuses from the passing soldiers. They would not pay such high taxes to the emperor. But would their lives be more fulfilling? Did they suffer a pain deeper than Jesus could touch?

Peter shuffled through the rows, spied us, and ran to us. “I conscripted five young townsmen to go out to nearby villages and tell of what they saw.” He was nearly out of breath and glowing with pride. “They could not wait for the morning. They just threw a few provisions into sacks and set out.”

“Good work,” said Judas. “This is just what we need: for Jesus' reputation to precede him.” The two of them clasped their arms together like army commanders of rival nations who had pooled their forces to defeat a common enemy. If only they could have foreseen what tragedy would emerge from their alliance.

“Where's Jesus?” I asked.

Peter pointed with his chin. “Over there. With Mary.”

I thought I saw Judas' face darken as he walked away to take Mary's hand.

Chapter Sixteen

Verse One

What would I have done differently? Thousands of nights, I have lain awake wondering if foresight would have changed my will, if we truly have power over our actions, if my prayers for understanding why my and Jesus' lives turned out as they did were heard, or if I should curse God and reject a world in which such things occur.

I spent some time in Babylon while in flight to the East and spoke to the scholars on these matters. I admired their knowledge of Torah and the literature of other peoples. They offered me interpretations of the stories of Abraham and our forefathers and of the pronouncements of Isaiah and the other prophets that I had never imagined, which gave me a renewed interest in the scriptures. When I asked, though, do we act freely or does God control our every move, they spoke like children: “Alone among his creatures, the Lord has given us the gift of free will. He also takes care of all things. Take comfort in his wisdom.”

“Those claims are incompatible,” I would reply. “If I cannot do anything but fulfill his plan, then I am not free.”

“But what you choose is what God has planned for you.”

“Incoherent!” I'd protest, and we'd continue until the scholar would lose patience with me and find an excuse to dash away.

The more candid ones would say that we cannot understand such things. My standard reply was, “No more than we can understand why God allowed the Romans to destroy Judea?” That would set them off, and only after I had angered them three or four times did I see why: They took my implication to be that the injustice lay in thousands of dead Judeans and dead Galileans, while Babylonian Jews were, for some reason, kept safe.

During my wandering years, I studied the scriptures, and not just Torah and the prophets. I became acquainted with Persian and Indian scriptures (I developed quite a facility with Sanskrit) as well as Greek philosophy. When I returned from the East and lived for a time in Alexandria, I was able to hold my own in debates. The Alexandrian scholars—Jews, Greeks, and others—were a far more cosmopolitan group than those in Babylon, and more likely to construct elaborate demonstrations than utter platitudes to avoid difficult questions. The Greek scholars, being pagans and influenced by a rich tradition of pagan thinkers, were especially fearless in their intellectual honesty. They had no scriptures setting limits to their imaginations, so my discussions with them ranged into areas not frequented by the rabbis.

After years of contemplation and study and learning from finely honed minds around the world, I have returned to my homeland wiser in some ways, yet no closer to relieving the torment that has trailed me like a hungry beast since I first left so long ago. I write upon this papyrus to do justice to the memory of my brother, but perhaps equally to find in this story a balm for my weary conscience.

Verse Two

Our trek became longer because Jesus felt a constant urge to visit many more towns before we finally turned directly toward Nazareth and, ultimately, Jerusalem. Jesus would ask some new follower the distance to the nearest towns, and then say that he was “called” to visit one of them, invariably a day's walk instead of several hours. We usually stayed no longer than a day in each village, earning whatever morsels of food the locals could offer us for our help with plowing and planting, repairing roofs, milking cows, or clearing mud and dung from streets. Our women would assist in their homes with weaving garments or sifting wheat.

We returned several times to villages on the lake, where at each stop a few fishermen—sometimes gathering up their families, other times leaving them without a thought—would join us. They were more willing to throw down their nets than the farmers were to leave their hoes in the fields.

In one village, Garana maybe, which like so many other towns has since been destroyed by the Romans, we passed by a graveyard and were accosted by a madman. He darted among the small tombs as he threw stones at us and shouted peculiar curses, such as “Your mother swallows her teeth” and “You can't find your own shit,” and called us “pigeon-wagons” and “ditch-walkers.” By then, we should have seen what was coming, but in some ways we were like naïve children, at least all of us but Mary. She knew that Jesus had to try to help this maniac, and she stepped toward him just as Jesus did.

As Peter, Andrew, and I glanced at each other, sharing the fear that our miracle-maker creation might turn disastrous if Jesus thought he could help this deranged person, we heard someone calling from the nearby field. A man with a staff ran toward us. “Stay away from him! He's dangerous!” said the man. Jesus and Mary stopped to wait for him.

“He's possessed,” he said, pausing to catch his breath when he reached us. There was a large herd of swine in his field. The only swine herds we knew of provided meat for Roman soldiers.

“Why doesn't anyone aid him?” Mary asked.

The pig-raiser leaned upon his staff. “We have tried, but he resists. I, his two brothers, and three other men tried to bind him and return him to his family, but he overpowered all of us and even bound two of the men with the ropes we brought.”

The madman was indeed quite sizeable.

“Why do you say he is possessed?” asked Jesus.

“
He
says he is. He calls out the demons' crazy names, like Bushamum and Kallobul.” He spat on the ground and tamped the little puddle with his staff. “He curls up on the tombs to sleep. Only the Lord knows what he finds for food. Listen, you should just leave him. Why are you here, anyway?”

Jesus turned toward the maniac, who was standing on a tomb, pissing in our direction. “You!” Jesus shouted. “What causes your torment?”

The maniac jumped down from the tomb, stumbled to one knee, then rose and ran a few steps toward us. His hair was matted like a wild dog's. “
You
torment me! I am not of your world. I am no man. My pain is not yours. Take your flying women and your fish-cow sleep-dancers and keep to your own skins.”

Jesus looked puzzled. I wondered if he was considering taking the hog man's advice. “What is your name?”

“Name? For me names? My name is Legion, for we are many.”

That had to be a taunt. Even a madman would know that the Roman soldiers were called legions. The pig man sat and gave a smug snort.

“You can release your demons,” said Jesus. He stepped to within five cubits of the man. “Demons cannot hold you if you do not want them.”

Some of us moved closer. The demoniac smelled like a trash heap. He contorted his dirt-smudged face and clenched his jaws. It looked as if he was trying to strain out his eyes and break his teeth. “Stop! This is our domain!” he said.

“Let us send them away.” Jesus placed his hand upon the maniac's shoulder. He looked even larger now with Jesus beside him. “I will help you.”

“We cannot! Where will we go?”

“You have the rest of the world to inhabit.” Jesus pointed to the pigs. “Look. There are enough swine there for each of you to have one. My friends and I will help you take the pigs.”

The demoniac's face softened to an expression of wonder. Jesus took the man's arm, motioned to us, and then ran toward the pigs. We had no idea what he had in mind, but many of our men followed.

The swine watched us with little interest until we neared, and Jesus began to shout, “Out! Take that one! Bushamum, that one's yours!” The pigs ran in confusion, the hog owner yelled threats from behind us, and the rest of us joined in with Jesus. “Demon, take this shoat! Look at that fat sow!”

Then we moved together without a signal, as does a flock of sheep, and herded the pigs toward the water. The pigs squealed and spun about at the water's edge before plunging in and splashing in terror. The maniac laughed and cackled like a child, and splashed in the water with the pigs. We stood and watched until the pigs made their way out and back to the field, but the maniac continued to play joyfully in the water.

Again, like the flock of sheep that moves with one mind, we sounded a gleeful shout and tumbled into the water. The women and children had caught up with us and fell into play as well. The madman tossed children into the air to plummet into the water. The rest took to dunking each other. I told Jesus that we had all become baptizers, and he laughed and wrestled me under.

After we crawled onto the bank to rest, the swineherd returned with a band of townspeople. The madman approached an old woman and fell into her arms. “Mother, Mother,” he said over and over as she wept.

Peter seized the moment. “Behold! Jesus has driven the demons from this man.”

“Leave our town,” said the swineherd.

“We did no harm to your animals,” said Jesus. “We never intended to damage your stock. See? They're right back feeding where they were.”

Another townsman stepped forward. “We are a quiet village. We do not want sorcerers here.”

“But Jesus cured the madman,” said Andrew. “His mother can tell that he is whole again.” He turned to the old woman, who continued to embrace the man. “Isn't that right, woman?”

She pulled back from her son. “Leave us now. You have done enough.”

I was furious. How could an entire town be so ungrateful?

“We shall not tarry here, but before we go, listen to this,” said Jesus. He walked around the crowd to stand on the higher part of the slope. “A man came into some wealth, and decided to share it by throwing an enormous party for his friends. He and his servants spent days preparing, but when he sent out his servants with the invitations, they returned to report that those who had been invited made excuses. One said he had to go inspect a farm he had just bought. Another had to collect oxen that he had recently purchased. Yet another said that he'd just been married and could not attend.

“The man told the slave to go about the town and invite anyone they could find—strangers, beggars, other servants, anyone willing to share this great feast. The servants did so, but there was still room for more. He instructed the servants to find people in the street or in the country and force them to attend. ‘But take notice,' the man said. ‘None of those I first invited will get a taste of this fine meal.'”

Jesus paused, as he usually did after a parable, to let it sink in. One of the townspeople asked, “Who was this man?”

“Why did no one come?” asked another. “Was his meal fit only for lowlifes?” Some of the locals laughed.

“The meal is like the empire of the Lord,” said Jesus. “Perhaps it is meant for beggars and vagabonds. Lucky are those who are hungry. The empire of the Lord is not for those who refuse it, but for those who do not expect it, those who must have it thrust upon them, and even those who do not deserve it.”

“Do I deserve it, Master?” asked the madman, or maybe former madman. “I am as hungry as a sand knife, but I deserve no food from crying plates.”

“The bounty of the Lord's empire will come to you,” Jesus said. “You need only be open to it.” He motioned for us to follow and turned to walk away.

“Take me!” said the maniac. “Take me to the empire! Don't leave me!”

Jesus took the man by his thick shoulders. “You are needed here, my friend. The empire of the Lord will grow within you, and you have to let it spread like weeds among the people here, or they might refuse it.”

“No! Take me!” The man dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms around Jesus' legs. The Zebedee brothers and Peter thought that he was attacking Jesus and rushed over, stomping on the man's back and head. Jesus called for them to stop, which James and John did, but Peter continued, grunting the most foul and blasphemous curses I had ever heard. James and John grabbed Peter by the arms and managed to drag him away. Peter spun toward the townsfolk, spitting and cursing, and they scattered like chickens.

While this scene unfolded, I could only laugh. I do not recall precisely what struck me as so hilarious; I suppose it appeared so absurd that I could respond in no other way. The others were too shaken to pay any attention to me, until the madman raised his head and began to laugh too. Then Jesus turned his face skyward and laughed louder than we. Then Andrew. Then James and John. Then more. The locals crept back, astonished and wary, perhaps wondering if a ruse had been pulled on them.

The maniac lifted his tiny mother into his arms and was on his way. The townspeople huddled together. I think they feared us, and were even more convinced that we were sorcerers. We took to the road. I looked back when we were three or four furlongs away. The townspeople had not moved, probably making sure we were good and gone from their world.