by Jon Jacks
Azar grinned.
‘The wall saved us, Harry! They tried to climb it, some men wanting to steal from our home, I suppose; but the wall’s old and it collapsed under their weight. The falling stone’s injured them all pretty badly, and they all went limping off!’
‘I need to get back, report for duty–’
‘They’re not allowing anyone out of the city.’
‘What? Why ever not?’
Azar shrugged.
‘I don’t suppose they want the trouble spreading. But, whatever the reason Harry, anyone who has tried to leave has been turned back.’
Harry glanced down at his traditional robes.
‘They’ll let me and Lil out, as soon as we get close enough to the guards for them to see we’re English.’ He looked up at Azar once more. ‘You, Mary and Martha should come with us too; I’ll insist they let you out.’
Azar smiled doubtfully.
‘They might want to know why you didn’t report for duty earlier, Harry. It’s midday now.’
With an anxious, shocked grimace, Harry glanced up at the sun hanging high above them.
‘How long have we been asleep?’ he asked in dismay.
‘All morning, of course. Though I’m not sure when you arrived here.’
‘I…I must have been sleepwalking,’ Lil said from the doorway, now dressed in Martha’s robes.
‘Sleepwalking?’ Harry gasped incredulously.
‘What other explanation is there, Harry?’ Lil retorted furiously.
‘Love,’ Azar said assuredly. ‘I think the explanation is love.’
*
Chapter 20
Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also our bed is green.
Song of Songs 1; 16
‘Love? Huh!’
Lil was still scornful of Azar’s attempt at an explanation for their bewildering appearance in the garden.
She glared at Harry, as if holding him responsible for what could only be some horrendous trick.
Harry ignored her. As Azar had advised, he was keeping his head bowed, moving as inconspicuously and as humbly as possible through the jittery crowds. He was, of course, dressed like a Jew. If he walked around as confidently as he was used to, he might be attacked.
‘So would love really force me to leave a comfortable bed just to end up lying out naked in a garden with a man I hardly know?’
Harry glared back at Lil, worried that her constant complaining would draw attention to them. The policemen he spotted were understandably edgy, their tempers short, brutally shoving aside or pulling out of the way anybody who appeared to be causing even the slightest hold up or argument. He had thought of approaching them in the hope that he would be able to identify himself before they started clubbing him to the crowd, but had decided he would be better waiting until he came across another English officer, even if that meant waiting until they reached the gates. Of course, that was taking much longer than he had anticipated, blocked as they were by those still hopefully streaming towards the walls in the hope of exiting the city, as well as those dejectedly and angrily returning, having being turned back by the police guarding the gates.
Martha and Mary seemed unconcerned by either Lil’s grumpiness or the jostling crowds, walking smoothly along as if, in their minds at least, they had been transported to some other, better world.
The nearer they got to the gates, the more the frayed tempers and the chaos of the closely packed people increased. They were tired, frightened, frustrated, furious. Some of them we’re looking for any excuse or opportunity to take out their fury on anyone weaker than themselves. Others, dejected and exhausted, presented the perfect targets.
Harry couldn’t force his way through such a crowd without bringing its wrath down on him and everyone with him. Besides, he reasoned, he couldn’t leave Lil and the others unprotected in such a volatile situation.
He patiently edged his way towards the gates with everyone else, the movement slow, the crowd only moving forward when those at the front finally admitted to themselves that their protests for special treatment – their daughter was ill, they had already suffered attacks yesterday, their grandparents were frail, and couldn’t they at least be allowed out? – weren’t going to sway the policemen sternly guarding the exit.
As they finally drew close enough to the yawning opening for Harry to risk standing on his toes, peering over the heads of everyone ahead of him in the hope of spotting an officer he could shout out to in English, the crowd began to sway and jostle even more uncomfortably. From the gateway itself, there came a wail of angry complaints, accompanied with a sudden movement backwards that grew as it moved back through the rest of the crowd. Everywhere, people violently barged into each other, or were even sent sprawling across the floor.
‘What’s happening?’ Lil asked, unable to see past the jostling people surrounding her.
Harry stood up high once again. The people at the front of the desperate column had been partially pushed aside to allow the entrance of a group of arrogantly strutting yet traditionally dressed men.
‘They’re letting people in,’ a mystified Harry explained to Lil. ‘Why would they be doing that?’
The men being allowed in through the gate passed through the crowd without care of upsetting or injuring the people they forced their way past. They were like men with a purpose they believed overrode all normal considerations. They stared only directly ahead of them, as if this were a sign of their determination not to be distracted.
Yet one of them was distracted, however briefly, by Martha’s beauty. He fleetingly glanced her way; and before he could turn away, quickly disappearing into the crowd, Harry caught his eye.
Sidney.
Sidney and the men of Ha-Shomer, the Jewish defence force, were being allowed to enter the city.
*
Chapter 21
I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.
Song of Songs 5; 6
Harry looked about him at Lil, Azar, Mary and Martha.
It didn’t appear that any of them had noticed Sidney.
He wondered, for a moment, if he should let them know what he had seen. He almost immediately decided against it; if Azar and his sisters heard that they might be defended from any future attacks, they might choose to stay, failing to realise that this new influx of armed men could well inflame the violence aimed at them rather than tempering it. It would be best for Azar and his sisters, he believed, to leave the city, as originally planned.
Why were the Ha-Shomer being allowed into the city when, the previous day, he had seen them being blocked from entering? Probably because, hearing of yesterday’s violence – hearing, too, of how an inadequate police force had been overwhelmed – Ha-Shomer had protested that their people weren’t being adequately protected from the attacks.
What option would the authorities have but to give Ha-Shomer the chance to protect people they had been incapable of defending themselves?
The stream of purposeful men working their way back through the crowd had lessened considerably now. Ironically, however, one of them drew Harry’s attention because of his strange furtiveness, the way he was studiously attempting to keep separate from the other men. These attempts to keep his distance from the others drew him closer towards Harry, who watched him intently, wondering at his odd behaviour.
There was something about him, too, that Harry thought he recognised, though he couldn’t think why–
A prisoner!
He had been one of the many men that Harry and his particular group of policemen had arrested yesterday during the riots.
Instinctively, Harry reached out for the man, grabbing at his arm.
‘You!’ he demanded in Arabic. ‘Why have they let you go?’
The man irritably shrugged off Harry’s hold.
‘To attend morning prayer!�
�� he answered brusquely, continuing on his way.
Harry reached out to grab him again.
‘But I saw you beat–’
The man swung around, bringing up from beneath his robes some form of small club in his fiercely clenched fist. He struck Harry brutally across the temple.
Harry staggered briefly under the force of the unexpected blow.
Then he slipped, unconscious, to the floor.
*
Chapter 22
But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of the unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.
Psalms 92; 10
Lil was amazed by Azar’s strength.
Although the unconscious Harry was slung across his back, he moved swiftly and surefootedly thorough the crowds as they wound their way down the narrow alleyways, heading back towards the house.
‘He’ll be fine, Lil.’ Noticing Lil’s concern, Mary placed a reassuring hand on her arm.
Lil smiled gratefully yet doubtfully.
Thankfully, the blood that had initially poured from Harry’s deep head wound had been stemmed by the scarf Martha had hurriedly tied around it just after the attack. It was all like some perverted form of Jesus’s passion, Harry being both the cross that had to be carried, and yet also the wounded Christ.
Where these the actual streets that Jesus had stumbled down, mocked and whipped as he had made his way to Calvary?
Lil prayed to God, to Jesus, that Harry would be all right.
Why had she argued with him earlier?
Why had she blamed him and him alone for the embarrassment they had suffered on being caught naked together?
Were they being punished for that moment of wickedness?
Did he really deserve to die for something that she was as much to blame for?
Please help him in his suffering, Lord! Please don’t desert him!
‘I know what you’re thinking, Lil,’ Mary said, smiling knowingly.
Although she returned the smile, Lil shook her head slightly in reply; no, she thought, Mary won’t realise how desperate I am to save Harry, how responsible I feel for his troubles. There was also a part of her too ashamed to admit how helpless she felt, how silly, how childish. And, perhaps most of all, she was shamed by her need to pray for help, when she had flattered herself that she had left behind such primitive beliefs long ago.
‘You’re thinking,’ Mary continued regardless, ‘how much Harry’s suffering reminds you of Christ’s passion.’
Lil’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘It’s an obvious guess,’ Mary admitted generously. ‘When people visit Jerusalem, there will always be a part of them that senses at least the history if not the spirit of Jesus’s presence. And here we have Harry being carried across Azar’s back, with a wound to his head.’
Lil grasped Mary’s hand, clenching it tightly, seeking to draw strength from her.
‘Yes, I was thinking that Mary, and…and unfortunately, yes, for me, it’s just the history, not the spirit. I’ve…I’ve read books that’s made me doubt – Frazer’s book on myths. The things we read in the Bible, Mary; so much of Jesus’s story has been told in other ways, in earlier…legends. I know we’re told we must see these as prophesises – but I find that hard to believe, even now, when I want to believe, if only for Harry’s sake; but I’m full of doubts I can’t shake.’
It was a gabbled, rushed speech, that Lil was sure must have at least confused poor Mary and perhaps even upset her.
Mary reassuringly clenched Lil’s hand all the tighter.
‘In terms of eternity, Lil, there is no past, no future; the crucifixion is eternity’s pinion, around which everything else revolves. And so things that seem to come before are actually memories of something greater.’
There was a bustle of activity just ahead of them as, reaching the door to their house, Martha dashed forward to open it while Azar carefully crouched, preparing to pass through the low doorway. Mary now rushed forward too, helping Martha guide Azar into the house without knocking Harry against the doorframe.
As soon as they were inside, Mary hurried off to fetch clean cloth and ointments, leaving the others to tenderly lower Harry onto Azar’s small, low bed, which lay on the ground floor. Mary returned almost immediately and, kneeling beside the bed, began to expertly remove the bloodied scarf, making sure the dried blood that came away with it didn’t cause the wound to open up once more.
Then, patiently, she began to wipe the wound clean with her ointments.
Martha and Azar, having made Harry as comfortable as they could, moved away from the bed, Azar saying that he would go out to work in the garden, Martha that she would begin to prepare something to eat. As she moved away from the bed, Martha placed a consoling hand on Lil’s shoulder.
‘He’ll be fine, Lil; he’s in good hands, the best there is, believe me.’
Lil smiled wanly, trying to both hide and control her anxiety.
‘Thank you Martha,’ she said. ‘Is there anything I can do, to help anyone?’
The sisters shook their heads.
‘You just hold Harry’s hand,’ Mary said. ‘I’m sure he knows you’re there, and appreciates your presence.’
Lil took one of Harry’s hands in hers, cupping them around his motionless fingers, his roughened palm. She could feel warmth, life, flowing through his hand, but she couldn’t decide if it was weak or normal.
‘May I try and guess what you’re thinking again?’ Mary asked gently.
Lil weakly nodded, even though she was more than a little angry that Mary sounded so light hearted when, for all they knew, Harry had been much more badly injured than they supposed. He could well require proper hospital treatment rather than this frankly biblical nursing Mary was administering. It reminded Lil, in fact, not of nursing but of Jesus’s anointing by Mary Magdalene before he died.
(Was that right? Hadn’t someone once told her they believed it was Mary who had performed the anointing?)
Mary the harlot.
Mary the sinner.
So lawless, so callous of others, before her conversion into a follower of Jesus.
And wasn’t this Mary being as equally callous in believing and insisting her frankly primitive treatments would be more than adequate to cure poor Harry?
‘You’re thinking this is an anointing.’ Mary said it calmly, without turning away from her delicately administered task of rubbing the ointments into Harry’s wound. ‘Like one of the three anointings performed on Jesus.’
Lil nodded once more.
‘He’ll survive this wound, Lil; it’s not as bad as it looks. Harry’s probably used to harder knocks than this.’
Lil immediately felt ashamed for thinking of Mary as Mary Magdalene. She was, after all, showing such remarkable kindness and care to Harry. Even if it was only the most basic of care, it was obviously the only type Mary was aware of.
‘Yes, yes; thank you Mary,’ Lil sighed with relief, wanting to believe that Mary was right. ‘And…and I’m sorry, Mary?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I…I was thinking of this being like the anointing of Jesus, yes. And I was thinking of you as…as Mary Magdalene.’
Mary laughed.
‘Why, thank you, Lil!’
‘Thank you? But, I mean – Mary Magdalene was a…a…’
She couldn’t say it; it was such a shameful word, particularly as she had thought of Mary in similar terms.
‘Harmartolos,’ Mary said helpfully, a word that Lil didn’t recognise yet realised came close to sounding like ‘harlot’.
‘The Bible uses the Greek word harmartolos.’ Mary continued. ‘It’s a term used in archery, meaning falling short if the mark; but not, as many have interpreted it, as meaning a sinner of the worst kind. Neither, as some often claim, does Magdalene mean she came from the town of Magdala. The Ethiopian’s Great Mother Goddess was called “Mahram Magda”, and the Ethiopian Queen of Sheba “Magda”, meaning “Greatness”.’
Gently grasping Lil’s hands, Mary tenderly pulled them away from their hold on Harry’s hand.
‘Lil, Harry will be fine. You need to have a rest. Go out into the garden. Have a talk with Azar. He’s worried for you.’
*
Chapter 23
Then he came into Jericho. And the sister of the young man whom Jesus loved was there with his mother and Salome, but Jesus would not receive them.
Secret Gospel of Mark. Mark 10; 46
When she stepped out into the garden, Lil had expected to find Azar tending the plants, or perhaps making an attempt at repairing the wall.
But no; when he had said he was going out to work in the garden, he had obviously meant he would continue his studying of the Bible. He was crouched over the large book he had produced earlier to discuss his idea that it referred to an unnamed, unknown disciple. The book was now full of thin, reedy markers, most of them with differently dyed ends as if they formed an undecipherable code in their own right.
‘So; are you any further on discovering the name of this disciple?’ Lil asked, crouching down beside him on the blanket cast across a small plot of grass.
Azar grinned in greeting.
‘In the Bible, a person can have a number names; names given by Jesus, or both a Roman and a Hebrew name. Mark, for example, was the Roman name of the gospel writer; but his Hebrew name was John.’
‘Then could he be the one who wrote John’s gospel?’
Azar rewarded Lil with an admiring, impressed grin.
‘I think one gospel would probably be enough. But at least, Lil, you are beginning to show that you are taking a more open-minded approach to what we have been told we are reading in the Bible.’
He flicked open the Bible before him to a placing he had already marked, his fingers swiftly moving down the text to halt on John 18; 15.
‘See this, Lil; “Simon Peter followed Jesus, and so did another disciple: that disciple was known unto the high priest, and went in with Jesus into the palace of the high priest.” And here, John 20–’
He once again flicked the pages and highlighted a passage with his finger.