NINE
WHITHER THOU GOEST
IF YOU BELIEVE I should have gone back to the ecclesia and given Peter what for and changed the course of Christianity single-handedly, well, I did warn you this story begins with a failure. For better and worse, the ecclesia’s radical communist phase didn’t last that long, anyway, as you may have noticed. Being struck dead for withholding a pledge is a far cry from feeling obliged to place an envelope or toss some change into the collection plate.
When I fled, I wasn’t thinking of the ecclesia’s future at all. I had no foreknowledge of the powerful institution it would become, how it would rule a hefty chunk of the world, till schisms rent it asunder and secular humanism had a (perhaps brief) chance to rear its head. Nor was I fretting over Ananais, who was no doubt a sleazebag, though there would be few people left alive if sleaziness merited the death penalty. And I certainly wasn’t worrying about my beloved and his reputation as the founder (and ultimately god) of a new religion.
I was thinking only of getting my pregnant self the hell out of a place where people could get zapped for their sins. Or maybe I was just using my impending motherhood as an excuse. Maybe I just plain didn’t want to hang around while what would become Christianity got itself organized. I will let you be the judge of that.
I followed Paulina back to her apartments in the swankiest section of the Upper City. When I crossed the courtyard, where the servants were just lighting the lamps, I did not notice a woman sitting in a corner with a drop spindle until she began to croon.
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary, where will your garden grow? Poet’s bells and cowry shells, only the angels know.”
“Ma!?” It was a primal cry of emotions too mixed to distinguish.
“Come along, Red,” Paulina turned, seeing me halted in the dusky courtyard. “My guests will be arriving soon, and frankly, my dear, you are not fit to be seen.”
“What are you doing here?” I demanded of Miriam.
“I came to find you,” Ma said calmly.
I didn’t bother to ask how she knew where I would be. I wished the angels would mind their own business, but I gather they are constitutionally incapable of it. Butting in is apparently the purpose for which they were created.
“Who are you talking to?” Paulina retraced her steps. “Oh, pardon me, domina, I didn’t see you. But of course I know you. You’re the mother of—”
“God,” said Miriam serenely.
“A god,” I muttered.
“Quite,” said Paulina, extending her hand and helping Miriam to her feet. As a Roman matron of high society she was accustomed to mixing with people who claimed kinship with divinity. “Now do let us retire to my private apartments.”
To Paulina’s not-very-disguised relief, Ma and I both begged off attending her dinner party.
“I am attempting to hide,” I reminded Paulina in a whisper as I followed her out into the hall. “And I’d like to leave Jerusalem before daybreak. Peter and the rest can’t travel on the Sabbath, so I could get a good head start.”
“But why do you assume they’d follow you?” asked Paulina. “As I recall, they don’t like you very much. Wouldn’t they be glad to see you go?”
“They’d be happy to get rid of me. But at the moment, I’m a sacred vessel, so to speak.”
I reached for her hand and placed it on my roundness. On cue the baby gave a gentle kick.
“Oh, Red, honey. I’ve completely forgotten to congratulate you. I’m so happy for you. I only wish your Jesus hadn’t—” She stopped herself in an unusual display of tact.
“Yeah, me, too.”
“Well, having his baby must be a great comfort to you.”
“If no one tries to take the baby away from me.”
“Oh! So that’s why you’re running away!” Light finally dawned. You may recall the lead pipes in the Roman water system, how it contributed to the decline of the Empire. “Well, it will be difficult to make arrangements so quickly—I won’t even be in bed before dawn—but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Paulina.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ve been meaning to save your life for some time now. I’m thrilled to have the opportunity. No, really, darling, I mean it. Now what about your mother-in-law? Do I need to save hers, too?”
“I hope not,” I sighed.
Two servants brought Miriam and me a feast and would have stayed to attend us, if I had not insisted they leave. We ate in silence, and for a while I couldn’t think of anything but the food, how seasoned and satisfying it was—grape leaves stuffed with garlic, dates, olives, pine nuts, and chickpeas, lamb and eggplant roasted with mint and rosemary. When Miriam finally spoke, it startled me.
“I heard them talking.”
I assumed she meant her heavenly kibitzers.
“Do angels ever stop talking?” I asked a tad rudely.
“Not very often,” she said matter-of-factly. “But I don’t mean the angels. I mean the men.”
“Well, they don’t stop talking very often either,” I observed.
“They were talking about you.”
I waited for her to go on. And waited. “Are you going to tell me what they said?”
“I think you know.”
Unlike men and angels, she could be parsimonious with speech, but of course, she was right. I did know. Still my hands began to shake, and I was afraid I might lose my sumptuous dinner—it was much richer food than I was used to.
“Tell me exactly what they are planning. Please, Ma, for your son’s sake.”
“For your sake, too, my dove.”
At her rare use of an endearment, the very one he used, tears rose but I brushed them away. Now was not the time to weep.
“They intend to take you and me back to Nazareth as soon as Sukkoth is over. For our safety.” She allowed herself a faint hint of irony. “Several of the younger men are to stay there with us, to guard us, and to carry word to the apostles when the baby is born.”
“And after that?”
“The baby will be taken somewhere far away to foster. They might let me go, too. They were arguing about that. James wants the baby to grow up with blood kin. Peter thinks it would better if no one knows who the baby’s family is.”
“And what about the baby’s mother?”
“The first ship out of Jaffa.”
I decided not to waste words either. There was no point in ranting against the apostles
