According to Mary Magdalene (15 page)

L
et's take a walk in the garden before dinner.”

The suggestion came from Leonidas when Mary returned to the pergola. She nodded and smiled.

“You mean we need to calm down?”

Leonidas laughed. “No, I was neither surprised nor upset.”

They walked up the winding path to the highest terrace, where they looked out over the sea and watched the sun disappearing.

“Now that we're alone, there's something else I want to draw your attention to,” said Leonidas. “Have you noticed that Terentius keeps appearing during our talks with the apostles? He shows nothing and is as courteous as always, but his ears are burning with curiosity.”

Mary looked so surprised that Leonidas had to laugh at her. Then he quickly turned serious when he saw her blush. “Have no fear,” he said hurriedly. “He's loyal and he's never indiscreet. That's gone into the marrow of his bones.”

“I'm not afraid,” she said. “But ashamed. It occurs to me that I've been taking Terentius and his wife entirely for granted in my home. No longer as human beings. That's terrible.”

Leonidas was surprised. “He has created the distance, not you.”

She said nothing. It was true. But Jesus would never have approved and would have forced a confrontation.

“When I purchased those two from Livia,” said Leonidas, “she said in passing that the only thing she had against Terentius was that he and his wife belonged to some secret Christian sect.”

Mary was speechless with surprise.

“You must see,” Leonidas went on, “what an impression it made on him when he found out you were Mary Magdalene. There are sects in Antioch to which you are almost as holy as Jesus himself.”

Mary stood still as she gazed over the town and thought about how she had walked along the great avenues and listened to the Buddhist monks in their saffron yellow robes and heard the Zoroastrian wise men preaching. In Antioch, she had found Iranian thinking on the resurrection of the soul, Jewish philosophy, Babylonian astrology, and Greek philosophy. She had increasingly often stopped at the Indian wise men and listened to them speaking of the core of man being identical with God, even recognized it—Jesus could have said the same, although his words would have been different.

But she had never heard of any secret Christian sects. So they existed, did they?

By the time Leonidas had gone into his office the next morning, she had made a decision. She intercepted Terentius on his way to the market and said firmly: “I want to talk to you.”

His expression remained unchanged until she asked him to sit down opposite her desk in the library. His handsome olive-colored face darkened, and Mary found an opening for their conversation.

“I understand you and I have the same Master. Everyone has the same value before Jesus. If you insist on remaining standing, then I'll do the same.”

She rose, stood as upright as a statue, her arms folded, then suddenly noticed his mouth twitching, and with some astonishment reckoned he was almost smiling.

He sat down. So did she.

“Tell me about your faith, Terentius,” she said.

It was an order, and her tone of voice surprised her. But it had the desired effect. The Nubian began haltingly to describe the Gnostic congregation in Antioch. He told her about the road to knowledge that went to the innermost of man and which could not be taught. Mary listened and when he stopped, said, “Do you think you could take me with you to one of your services?”

“Yes.”

“As you must know, I have to guard my anonymity.”

“I know. But there would be no risk. You can take your black cloak and keep your face veiled. If anyone asks, I will say you are a…friend and a seeker. This evening after dark.”

“Good,” said Mary. “And thank you for talking to me.”

He backed to the door.

It was a large room in a wealthy household. They sat on cushions on the floor and there were many people there, slaves and free, men and women together. Many of them greeted Terentius and his wife warmly, and no one asked who the veiled woman with them was. The atmosphere was solemn, though the service was introduced with a lottery. Surprised, Mary realized that they were drawing lots for who should lead the service, who should take on the role of priest and preach, who should give the sacrament and who should lead the prayers.

“No definite hierarchy is allowed,” whispered Terentius when he saw Mary's surprise. “All are equal here.”

A woman took the part of priest. She was not young, the years and experience etching wrinkles into her face, but she was slender and tall, her clothing a brilliant red.

“We who have renounced the demiurge know that the power the naive worship as Creator and Almighty is nothing but an image,” she began. “The true God is not King and Lord. It is not he who makes the laws, demanding revenge and leading us into bloody wars.”

She kept moving all the time she was preaching, her arms speaking in great gestures, her feet moving as if in a dance. Then she stood stock still for a moment.

“Gnosis is to acquire insight into the true source, namely the depths in everything that is. All those who have learned to know this source have learned to know themselves.”

Mary's heart thumped. The woman went on.

“The apostles are now spreading the word of the resurrection of the body of Jesus. But we know he is spirit and with us in all our actions. We also know that we must rise from the dead while we are alive. Those who say that we must first die and then rise in the perished body are preaching false doctrines.”

Mary hesitated. She could hear those words on the grain of wheat: “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die…”

“We know that after his crucifixion Christ appeared to certain disciples in visions. First and foremost to Mary Magdalene. At a troubled meeting in Jerusalem, she told them what he had said to her.”

Mary could only occasionally take in the way the woman on the podium repeated word for word what she had once said. It had been preserved! Someone had remembered…tears blinded her, the veil over her face making breathing difficult and she was sweating under her heavy cloak.

The rest of the service passed her by. When Terentius and his wife went up to receive the bread and wine, she walked slowly down the steps and out onto the street, where she drew a deep breath of the cool night air.

The three of them walked home in silence, Mary hoping Leonidas would be back. But he had not returned, and as if in a trance, she went to her room, took off her clothes, and lay down on her bed.

I'll never sleep, she thought.

The next moment, she was asleep.

She woke at dawn, burdened, and she went into Leonidas' room and ruthlessly shook him awake.

“I have to talk to you.”

She told him and he listened.

“You've been drawn into a game which is far greater than we thought,” he said.

“What game?”

“It's all about power, about the power the new church is to be based on.”

He said nothing for a while as he sat there in bed. Then he said: “Don't let yourself be exploited by anyone. I beg you, Mary. Keep away from all sects, Peter's and Paul's as well.”

A
fter breakfast that same morning, when Leonidas gone to the merchant house, Mary went to speak to Terentius. He was sweeping the courtyard.

“May we have a word?”

He brushed down his clothes and followed her into the pergola.

“Sit down.”

“I'd rather stand.”

Mary sighed and went on.

“You no doubt realize it was a great…experience for me to take part in your service. Do you know from where you acquired the information on…the dispute in Jerusalem?”

“No.”

“Do you think I could meet the woman who was preaching?”

He looked troubled. “I suppose that could be arranged,” he said. “But would it be wise? She's a quick thinker and she would soon know who you are.”

Mary realized he was right.

“If you like,” said Terentius. “I could keep you informed on what happens with the Gnostics.”

“I'd be grateful. Who is the demiurge?”

“The god the Jews believe in,” he said. “We consider him a fallen angel constantly battling with God.”

“That's strange teaching.”

Terentius did not reply, bowed and made to leave. But Mary stopped him.

“Why does your wife never say anything?”

If he flushed, she could not see it in his dark face, but she suddenly understood what Leonidas had meant when he spoke of Terentius' burning ears. The Nubian hesitated, then spoke.

“Cipa was sold at the age of seven to a brothel in Thebes. She was raped and tortured for months. But she screamed all the time, so they wearied of her, cut out her tongue, and threw her out on the street. That's where I found her.”

Mary quickly rose, went past Terentius and out into the kitchen, where Cipa was preparing vegetables. She went straight over to the girl and took her in her arms.

They stood there for a long time, then both of them wept.

Exhausted, Mary did something unusual for her; she went to her bedroom and lay down on the bed.

Her head felt heavy and her mind was in a whirl, her thoughts scattered and inconclusive. She tried praying, but could not do that, either.

The next moment she was asleep and dreaming—a dark room on the upper floor of a large house in Jerusalem, Jesus asleep at her side. She woke from someone banging on the door. Even in her dream, she felt herself resisting—she had no desire to go back to Jerusalem, not now, not yet.

But the dream went on.

She heard Andrew, who was on night watch, speaking. But the other voice was used to giving orders, clearly and demandingly. That woke Jesus, who called down the stairs.

“Tell him I'm coming.”

As he drew his mantle over his tunic, he turned to Mary. “It's Nicodemus,” he said. “One of the councilors in the Sanhedrin.”

Mary wanted to tell him not to go, but she had learned not to show her fears.

She pulled on her mantle, too, slipped a little way down the stairs and sat down. She knew Jesus could see her, as could Andrew on guard by the door.

The man's voice was more respectful now. “We know you come from God. No one can make the signs you do if God is not with him.”

Jesus' reply surprised Mary. “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

Nicodemus showed his surprise. “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter the second time into his mother's womb and be born?”

“Verily, I sayunto you, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. Except a man be born again, he cannot be born of water and the spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the spirit is spirit. Marvel not that I said unto you, You must be born again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and you hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence or whither it goeth. So is everyone that is born of the spirit.”

A moment later, she saw the tall man in the tufted cloak disappearing.

As the door closed again, Mary woke in her bed in Antioch, clear-minded and sure. She took a bath, washed her hair, and put on clean clothes. Then she sat in the garden, letting the sun dry her flowing hair. It was warm, but a cool wind was sweeping in from the sea.

The wind bloweth where it listeth, Mary thought, closing her eyes and remembering.

III

T
hey crossed the lake by boat, then headed for Jericho. Mary was feeling lighthearted, an unexpected joy, as for a while her great unease had left her.

Her eyes were as clear as a child's and she could see as never before, trees budding, anemones in the newly-cut grass, the lilies in the ground neither sowing nor harvesting, but simply glowing with the joy of themselves, God, and people.

“And the turtle is heard in our land.…”

They were walking in the valley of the river Jordan, occasionally glimpsing the river, sometimes taking a rest on the banks and washing their dusty feet in the fast-flowing water. But the further south they went, the harder it became to get down to the river, the undergrowth impenetrable, a mass of acacias, sharp thorns, and numerous kinds of reeds. Aromatic rushes. And papyrus covering the shores and continuing far out into the water.

An hour or two later, the air was full of aromas. Mary stopped and sniffed. Levi saw her amazement and said: “It's balsam, one of the trees that made Jericho famous.” Then, almost taking them by surprise, the oasis appeared before them, a shimmering mirage, greener that any place Mary had ever
seen, but also with pink almond blossoms, red with roses, and golden with broom. Mary was filled with wonder.

Tall trunks with no low foliage lined the road, their huge crowns high up in the sky.

“They're date palms,” said Levi.

They could now see the great crowds that had gathered along the road in expectation of seeing Jesus. Mary was no longer surprised, for she had learned that it was not only his reputation that went before him. Simon sent out his messengers—no child, man, or woman in Jericho had not been reached by the news that Jesus of Nazareth was to stay at the oasis on his way to Passover in Jerusalem. Many of them knew him, for he had visited them before during his wanderings between the towns of Judea, where he had cured the sick and spoken of the kingdom of God. People from Jerusalem were also there, the lame, the blind.

And a number of scribes.

Mary sighed. She was afraid of disputes and would have liked him to rest after the long walk. But he did as he always did, stopped for the tormented, took their hands in his and gave them cures and new hope.

A blind man called out. “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.”

People tried to silence him, but Jesus went through the crowd and asked the blind man, “What do want of me?”

“Do so that I can see again.”

“You can see. Great is your faith.”

The disciples were tired and hungry, but they had to wait many hours before they could go on to the oasis. There was a man sitting up in a sycamore, a small man with long arms and short legs, a big nose but without a hair on his head.

A rich man, but despised by the inhabitants of the town.

Mary understood, as if she at once knew why he had climbed up the tree. He was a head shorter than his neighbors, but had decided that he would see the Master.

She hid a smile.

But Jesus looked up into the tree. “Make haste, Zacchæus, and come down; for today I must abide at your house.”

As the little man slid down the tree, she could hear a murmur running through the crowd. “He has gone to be guest with a man who is a sinner.”

When the publican reached the ground, he straightened up and turned to Jesus. “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I shall give to the poor; and if I have taken anything from any man by false accusation, I shall restore him fourfold.”

Then he hurried away to prepare the midday meal.

As they went on toward Zacchæus' house, Jesus was stopped by a scribe who asked when the kingdom of God was coming. He replied as usual that the kingdom of God would come in a way that he could see it with his own eyes.

“Neither shall they say, ‘Lo here!' or ‘lo there!' The kingdom of God is within you.”

He said it so many times and so clearly, Mary thought, and yet no one understood.

At table in the publican's house, melancholy again overtook Mary and her eyes darkened with anxiety. After their midday rest, she heard Jesus talking to some Pharisees who kept warning him. “Hurry away from here. Herod wants to kill you.”

But his answer was clear. “Go you and tell, behold, I cast out devils, and I do cures today and tomorrow and the third day I shall be perfected. Nevertheless I must walk today and tomorrow and the day following, for it cannot be that a prophet perish out of Jerusalem.”

When night fell, they spread out their sleeping mats in Zacchreus' house, the men in the largest room, the women in a smaller one. Mary went to find Lydia, a woman who was new among the disciples. Mary had grown fond of her for her endless patience. Jesus had met her in a synagogue in Galilee, bowed to the ground from an injury to her back and for many years she had been unable to stand upright. Jesus had noticed her, called her to him, put his hands, on her and told her she was now free of her ailment.

Mary had many memories of the cured. But this was one of the clearest. She would never forget Lydia's face as she straightened up, rose to her full height, and drew a deep breath, freed of her torments.

She came to stay with them, gave her savings to the common purse, and spread her wisdom and joy among them all.

She now put her arms around Mary and pulled her to her. She said nothing, but Mary was able to weep.

The next day they went on, followed by great crowds. The landscape changed, the earth less fertile and the bare mountains higher and higher. Although they still had a long way to go, they could see the town, proudly and self-confidently settled on Mount Zion.

Mary detested it from the very first moment. She found it arrogant and enclosed behind its thick walls. A strange thought came to her—a world without cracks can never be found behind walls.

The town was dominated by the enormous temple that caught the rays of the sun and threw them back in golden reflections across the valley.

Many of the followers fell to their knees at the sight. “Mighty, mighty is the God of Israel.” But Mary stayed standing, thinking that this god was a different god from Jesus’, who spoke with those who spoke with the great Abba.

She looked at the Master. His eyes were wide open and the sweat was pouring off his forehead. The sweat of anguish?

Jesus and his disciples turned off toward the valley of Cedron before reaching the town wall, then went up the steep road over the Mount of Olives and continued to Bethany, to the house of Martha and Mary.

Mary Magdalene had heard the story of Jesus bringing the dead Lazarus back to life. Now she was to meet him. He had strange eyes, his gaze fixed in the far distance. She wanted to talk to him, ask…He was the person who could tell her about death. But he was timid and silent, and avoided them all.

Martha noticed. “My brother seems still not adjusted to life,” she said.

Mary liked Martha, the housewife who saw to the food for the many who came to table, found sleeping places, and cared for everyone's needs. In her resolute way of doing things, she reminded Mary of Euphrosyne. Her sister Mary was more difficult to fathom, far away from the everyday and dreamily absorbed in Jesus. It irritated Mary Magdalene, but well into the afternoon she admitted to herself that she was jealous.

Mary from Bethsaida was beautiful, pleasing, and shy as Jewish custom prescribed, everything Mary Magdalene had never been.

But when Martha sent them together to the village well to fetch water for the evening meal, Mary Magdalene happened to meet Mary's eyes and at once saw that she knew and was miserable and afraid. They stood there, recognizing one another.

“Why don't the disciples understand what is going to happen?”

“They don't want to. They deny it.”

The anguish in her was now so strong, Mary in Antioch had to take herself out of her memories.