Chapter Eight
Bridegroom
“Nathanael is the newest,” John said. “He’s old friends with Philip and Andrew.”
“Have you met him before?” Mary asked her nephew.
“No, not really. Only heard of him. Seen him.”
Answering a question she had not asked, he added, “He’s an alright fellow.
“Magdalene remained in Sepphoris with Lazaros and Marta. They have a house there. They wished to visit, but did not want to crowd your house.”
“Her brother and sister. Marta. I remember when she married Yochanon. She was beautiful, though I fear I was not to her liking.”
“She is a strange woman. Strange in a good way. I always thought that when Yochanon left her it was because she was too common—”
“That is ungracious.”
“Still, I thought it. But she is like him in many ways. She is like Magdalene, for they both see things. The moment Jesus came to her door, she fell to her knees and clasped his feet, and she is neither a dramatic nor a humble woman.”
“Indeed,” Mary nodded as she sat on the other side of her nephew, kneading the bread for the evening meal, “and why should a woman be humble?
“We leave in the morning. Probably after midday. What if we traveled through Sepphoris on our way to Cana and collected them? “
Mary sighed, “I love a good wedding, even when I am not entirely sure who is being wed.”
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—
For your love is better than wine.
Because of the fragrance of your good ointments,
Your name is ointment poured forth;
Therefore the virgins love you.
Draw me away!
Midmorning, traveling over the ridge of Nazareth and making their descent toward the great city of Sepphoris, came a train of folk dressed in their finest, and amidst the blue sky and the blooming grasses, Mary rode at the head of them, more like a maid than a mother of several, with grandchildren. She had cast off her veil, and her grandchildren had crowned her with flowers as she rode beside Jesus, laughing, a crown of flowers rakishly turned on his own head.
“The king has brought me into his chambers.”
“We will be glad and rejoice in you.
We will remember your love more than wine.”
After them rode the disciples in a donkey cart, drinking wine and singing bawdy tunes as the hills passed by, and beside or around them rode the brothers, the sisters, the nephews and cousins of Mary and John and Jesus.
It was a considerably smaller number that rode into the city and not around it, and it was lead by John, who remembered the house of Lazaros and his family, and when they dismounted, Jesus and his mother looked like the King and Queen of May. John, all in white, a rose tipped behind his ear, contrasting his black hair, arrived at the door.
Magdalene brought them in with glad laughter and Lazaros declared, “You look like the royal court of Springtime!”
In the evening they would join the bridal party setting out from Nazareth and traveling north to Cana. One could travel through Sepphoris with its synagogues and palaces, its temples to strange gods and all of its many, many Greeks,, but it was easier, and some thought purer, to travel around.
As they were preparing to bathe and dress in the lavish Sepphoris home of Lazaros and his sisters, Mary said to Marta, “I am glad you are coming with us to Cana, and though my house is not nearly so lavish as this, I would be honored if you came to Nazareth as well.”
“My Lady is kind,” Marta said. And Mary was a lady, not as wealthy—that could be seen—but as noble, more noble, in fact, and she had always carried this gracious bearing with her.
Now Marta saw that the woman who had once taken her out of her ease was gentle and quiet and ready to listen and so she said, “May I be frank?”
And Mary only nodded.
“My heart has not been at ease for some time.”
“Yochanon?”
“Yes.”
“I had heard that he was speaking out against King Herod and his marriage to Princess Herodias, and I confess it troubles me. He was always like this,” Mary turned to Marta. “Sharp voiced, sharp tongued, hungry for something, dare I say even hungry for danger.”
“But,” she touched Marta’s hand, “the place of women cannot always be worrying about men. And, do you not sense that a new day is upon us? Well, while I know this is just another wedding, I have the strangest feeling as if it means so much more.”
“Mary?”
“Yes?”
“What was he like? As a child?”
Mary sighed at this and took a deep, considering breath.
“Why, much the same as any other child. And much the same as he is now. But… There were things. Some of them seem like only dreams and some I do not dare to speak of.”
“But you were not surprised?”
“Surprised?” Mary said. Then, “Oh, no.”
“You’ve always known?”
She nodded.
“It is only that for some time I wondered when he would know.”
“But you never told him.”
Mary shook her head.
“Neither me nor Joseph. My mother, she said things, but I shushed her up. Her tongue is so free. It’s only that… Some things you cannot tell. This was not the sort of thing you could tell a child. I had to wait for him to learn it for himself.”
As evening set in, the rich scent of jasmine increased in the garden, and the water fountain flowed, trickling in the early evening. Greenery grew up everywhere, and it was a cool dinner that came to them. All were cleansed and refreshed for the wedding procession tonight, and in this house there were so many servants that Sara could rest.
She came with Marta to the room where Jesus was staying. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands planted on his knees, gazing at a beam of light in wonder when he shook his head, surprised at the arrival of friends.
“I have brought you something,” Marta said, “a few somethings, actually.”
And she did not have Sara carrying them, as a woman of her station might. Instead she held a parcel herself, and when Jesus took it, wrapped about in old textile, she said, “You should open it. And then wear it.”
Jesus nodded, placing the parcel on the bed, and carefully, with hands like his mother’s Marta thought, he unwrapped her offering, sucking in his breath, and looked on it with the pleasure of a child, or of a young girl, clapping his hands even. It was such a child gesture, and Marta was completely pleased.
Jesus held up the robe of startling white, gleaming white, impractical white, and with it, heavy and good was a coat, almost ankle length and of an ivory color, soft and strong and hooded and Jesus, who had never been terribly poor, but never been rich, held these up and looked with curiosity at one and then two and also on three silver rings.
“But, Marta,” he almost laughed, “I am not the bridegroom.”
“You are bridegroom and bride,” she said, daring to step forward and bless him with a kiss on one cheek, and then the other.
“I can see it so clearly, the wedding feast has already begun, and these shall be your wedding garments.”
They were finishing up the evening meal when Jacob, one of Mary’s sons, arrived, looking quite unready for a wedding, covered in dust and bits of wheat chaff, and he declared: “We’ve missed it.”
“Missed what?”
“The wedding procession.”
“But it is in the night,” Mary said to her son.
“No, Mother,” said the youngest of Joseph’s boys, “it was at sunset, and it is done, and as we speak, the wedding is taking place.”
“That spiteful bitch,” Mary remarked.
“Well,” Jesus noted, “there’s no being late for a wedding that will last whole days. We will simply leave in the night as we planned. Be our own procession.”
James was obviously flustered, and as if this was his house, Jesus rose and took his brother by the hand.
“May I show him to the baths?”
“I can,” Marta said.
“You rest. I’ve eaten my full. Time, now, to get my little brother ready for the wedding.”
When they rode out of Sepphoris, Jesus was at the head of them, on the back of a clean grey mule, and he was all in white so that he gleamed even in the night. Beside him rode John in his white, or Mary in her rose colored gown and veil. Sometimes, ahead of him rode Magdalene who wore rich red. Jacob could not be talked into wearing any of the white robes Marta had brought Jesus and which Jesus tried to put on his younger brother. Behind them, in carts or on mules came Lazaros, Marta, Philip and Andrew, Nathanael and the brothers and sisters of Jesus, all carrying their torches and singing:
“All your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia;
from palaces adorned with ivory
the music of the strings makes you glad.
Daughters of kings are among your honored women;
at your right hand is the royal bride in gold of Ophir.
Listen, daughter, and pay careful attention:
Forget your people and your father’s house.
Let the king be enthralled by your beauty;
honor him, for he is your lord!”
As they party rode down the valley out of Sepphoris and up into the city of Cana, they gathered night blooming flowers, weaving them into their hair and around their torch bases. Suddenly Nathanael lifted his voice and sang:
“Hoshanna! Hoshanna!
Please, God please, save please and deliver please,
you are our father! Save please, God please,
please deliver, please!
Save please, forgive please and make us prosper please,
and deliver us, God our strength!”
Weddings were always holy, partially of heaven and partially of the earth, the union of pleasure and joy where folk came together, and two would make a new generation of Israelites and what was begun with Adam and Eve, and carried on through Abraham and Sara, Isaac and Rebecca and Jacob and all of his wives, would continue here. But the Hoshanot were sung at the holiest time of the year, in Jerusalem, around the Temple, praying not only for rain and mercy and every good thing, but for God himself. The Hoshanot called on the immediate appearance of God in their midst, and yet, Nathanael lifted his head and sang.
“Have mercy, please, upon the congregation of Yeshurun,
forgive and pardon their sins,
and deliver us, God our savior!”
“Open the gates of heaven and open up the storage rooms
of your bounty to us,
You will save us and not extend the quarrel;
deliver us, God our savior!”
Nathanael had been looking for truth, and looking for it so long he had forgotten, almost become callous. Now he remembered Teenah, the jasmine scented innkeeper’s daughter, that lush woman who played the whore for extra coin. Even as he’d fucked her that second time, his mind was on this new prophet of whom Philip spoke. Even as he lay on his back, crossing his arms behind his head, and she rode him to a second orgasm, his body twitching, shuddering, feeling naked and exposed the way he would only let particular whores and his particular best friend see him, he had wondered what came next, thought, and was surprised at the thought, If Philip’s wrong, I’ve lost all hope. If Philip’s wrong there’s nothing left to do but spend the next years of my life chasing job to job, going from brothel to brothel. Teenah pulled him out of her and aimed Nathanael’s cock toward his belly. He remembered ejaculating equal parts joy and fear, spurting all over his stomach as the innkeeper’s daughter grasped him. Teenah… Fig Tree.
And his Lord had seen him in his nakedness, seen him striving under her and then surrendering to her, seen him releasing his seed and sighing. And he had loved him and called him an Israelite with no guile.
Please save, for Your sake, our God, please save!
Nathanael cried out in an almost broken voice, exhorting the others who sang as well.
Please save, for Your sake, our Creator, please save!
Please save, for Your sake, our Redeemer, please save!
Please save, for Your sake, our Attender, please save!
And so, singing in the night, all in white and jasmine, torches blazing, Jesus, his family and his disciples entered the village of Cana.
