Jesus was prepared and showed no surprise when the woman asked him his name as she rubbed ointment into the sores on his foot, which rested on her lap. I am Jesus, he replied, without adding, of Nazareth, for he had said so earlier, just as the woman who lived here was clearly from Magdala, and when he asked her name, she replied only, Mary. Having carefully examined and dressed his injured foot, Mary Magdalene tied the bandage with a firm knot, That should do, she said. How can I thank you, asked Jesus, and for the first time his eyes met hers, eyes black and bright as coals, also like water running over water, veiled with a sensuality that Jesus found irresistible. The woman did not answer at once, she looked at him as if weighing him, the boy obviously had no money, at length she said, Remember me, that is all I ask, and Jesus assured her, I will never forget your kindness, and then, summoning his courage, Nor will I forget you. Why do you say that, she asked, smiling. Because you are beautiful. You should have seen me in my youth. You are beautiful as you are. Her smile faded, Do you know what I am, what I do, how I earn my living. I do. You only had to look at me, and you knew everything. I know nothing. Not even that I'm a prostitute. That I know. I sleep with men for money. Yes. Then, as I said, you know everything about me. That is all I know. The woman sat down beside him, gently stroked his hand, touched his mouth with the tips of her fingers, If you really want to thank me, spend the day here with me. I cannot, Why, I have no money to pay you, That's no surprise. Please do not mock me. You may not believe me, but I'd sooner mock a man with a full purse. It's not only a question of money. What is it, then. Jesus fell silent and turned his face away. She made no attempt to help him, she could have asked, Are you a virgin, but said nothing and waited. The silence was so great, only their hearts could be heard beating, his louder and faster, hers restless and agitated. Jesus said, Your hair reminds me of a flock of goats descending the mountain slopes of Gilead. The woman smiled but said nothing. Then Jesus said, Your eyes are like the pools of Heshbon by the Gate of Bath-Rabim. The woman smiled again but still said nothing. Then Jesus slowly turned to look at her and said, I have never been with a woman. Mary held his hands, This is how everyone has to begin, men who have never known a woman, women who have never known a man, until the day comes for the one who knows to teach the one who does not. Do you wish to teach me. So that you may thank me a second time. In this way, I will never stop thanking you. And I will never stop teaching you. Mary got to her feet, went to lock the gate, but only after hanging a sign outside, to tell any clients who might come looking for her that she had closed her window because it was now the hour to sing, Awake, north wind, and come, you south, blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out, let my beloved come into his garden and eat his pleasant fruits. Then together, Jesus' hand once more on the shoulder of Mary, this whore from Magdala who dressed his sores and is about to receive him in her bed, they went inside, into the welcome shade of a clean, fresh room. Her bed was no primitive mat on the floor with a coarse sheet on top, the sort Jesus remembered from his parents' house, this was a real bed, as once described elsewhere, I have adorned my bed with covers and embroidered sheets of Egyptian linen, I have perfumed my couch with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon. Leading Jesus to the hearth, with its floor of brick, Mary Magdalene insisted on removing his tunic and washing him herself, stroking his body with her fingertips and kissing him softly on the chest and thighs, first one side, then the other. The delicate touch of hands and lips made Jesus shiver, the nails grazing his skin gave him gooseflesh, Don't be frightened, she whispered. She dried him and led him to the bed, Lie down, I'll be with you in a moment. She drew a curtain, there was the sound of splashing water, a pause, perfume filled the air, and Mary reappeared, completely naked. Jesus too was naked, lying as she had left him, he thought, This must be right, for to cover the body she had uncovered would give offense. Mary lingered at the side of the bed, gazed on him with an expression both passionate and tender, and told him, You are so handsome, but to be perfect you must close your eyes. Jesus hesitantly closed them, opened them again, and in that moment he understood the true meaning of King Solomon's words, Your thighs are like jewels, your navel is like a round goblet filled with scented wine, your belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies, your breasts are like two fawns that are the twins of a gazelle, and he understood them even better when Mary lay down beside him and took his hands in hers, and drew them to her, and guided them slowly over her body, her hair, face, neck, shoulders, her breasts, which he gently squeezed, her belly, navel, her lower hair, where he lingered, twining and untwining it with his fingers, then the curve of her smooth thighs, and as she moved his hands, she repeated in a whisper, Come, discover my body, come discover my body. Jesus breathed so fast, for one moment he thought he would faint when her hands, the left hand on his forehead, the right hand on his ankles, began caressing him, slowly coming together, meeting in the middle, then starting all over again. You've learned nothing, begone with you, Pastor had told him, and who knows, perhaps he meant to say that Jesus had not learned to cherish life. Now Mary Magdalene instructed him, Discover my body, and she said it again, but in a different way, changing one word, Discover your body, and there it was, tense, taut, roused, and she, naked and magnificent, was above him and saying, There is nothing to fear, do not move, leave this to me. Then he felt part of him, this organ, disappearing inside her, a ring of fire around it, coming and going, a shudder passed through him, like a wriggling fish slipping free with a shout, surely impossible, fish do not shout, no, it was he, Jesus, crying out as Mary slumped over his body with a moan and absorbed his cry with her lips, with a hungry kiss that sent a second, unending shudder through him.
For the rest of that day no one came to knock on Mary Magdalene's door. For the rest of that day she instructed the youth from Nazareth who came to ask her if she could relieve his pain and heal the sores which, unbeknownst to her, began with that other encounter, when Jesus met God in the desert. God had told him, Henceforth you are tied to me in flesh and blood, and the devil, if that is who he was, had spurned him, You've learned nothing, begone with you, and Mary Magdalene, the perspiration running down her breasts, her loose hair seeming to give off smoke, her lips swollen, her eyes dark pools, said, You won't stay with me because of what I taught you, but sleep here tonight. And Jesus, on top of her, replied, What you taught me is no prison but freedom. They slept together, and not only that night. When they woke, it was morning, and after their bodies sought and found each other once more, Mary examined Jesus' foot, It looks much better, but you should wait before journeying home, walking will only make it worse, not to mention all that dust. I cannot stay any longer, you yourself said my foot is much better. Of course you can stay, it's a question of wanting to, and as for the gate in the yard, that will remain locked for as long as we please. What about your life here. My life now is you. But why. Let me answer in the words of King Solomon, My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door and my heart trembled. But how can I be your beloved if you don't know me, I am simply someone who came to ask your help, on whom you took pity for his misfortune and ignorance. That is why I love you, because I helped and instructed you, but you will never love me, having neither helped nor instructed me. But you are not in pain. You will find my wound if you look carefully. What wound might that be. This open door through which others have entered, but not my beloved. You said I am your beloved. That is why the door closed behind you as you entered. There is nothing I can teach you, only what I learned from you. Teach me, so that I may know what it is like to learn from you. We cannot live together. You mean you cannot live with a whore. Yes. While you five with me, I will not be a whore, I stopped being one the moment you came into this house, and it is up to you whether or not I continue living as one. You ask too much. Nothing that you cannot give me for one or two days, or for as long as it takes your foot to heal, so that my wound may open once more. It took me eighteen years to get here. A few days more won't make much difference, you're sti
ll young. So are you. Older than you, younger than your mother. Do you know my mother, No, Then why did you mention her, Because I'm too young to have a son your age, How stupid of me. No, you're not stupid, only innocent, But I'm no longer innocent, Just because you've been with a woman, No, I lost my innocence before you. Tell me about yourself, but not just yet, for the moment all I want is to feel your left hand under my head and your right hand embracing me.
Jesus stayed in Mary Magdalene's house a week, sufficient time for new skin to form beneath the scabs. The gate remained locked. Several men, driven by lust or wounded pride, knocked impatiently at it, ignoring the sign that told them to keep away. They were curious to see this fellow who took so long, one joker called over the wall, Either he isn't up to it or he has no idea what to do, open the gate, Mary, and I'll show him how it's done. Mary Magdalene went out into the yard to curse him, Whoever you are, boaster, your days of male prowess are over, so be off with you. Damned whore. That's just where you're wrong, for you won't find a woman anywhere more blessed than me. Whether it was because of this incident or because fate so decreed, no one else came knocking at the gate, most likely any man living in Magdala or passing through who heard of Mary's curse wanted to avoid the risk of being made impotent, for it is generally believed that an experienced prostitute can not only inflame a man but also kill his pride and desire forever. And so Mary and Jesus were left in peace for eight days, during which time the lessons given and received became one discourse of gestures, discoveries, surprises, murmurings, inventions, like the pieces of a mosaic that are nothing if taken one by one yet become everything when assembled and put into their proper places. Several times she asked her beloved to talk about himself, but he would change the subject and break into verses such as, I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse, I have gathered my myrrh with my spice, I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey, I have drunk my wine with my milk, which he recited with passion before partaking of the poetic act itself, verily, verily, I say unto you, dear Jesus, this is no way to hold a conversation. But one day he told her about his father who was a carpenter and his mother who carded wool, about his brothers and sisters, and how he had started to learn his father's trade before going off to be a shepherd for four years, but now he was returning home. He also mentioned the few days he spent on the lake with some fishermen without mastering their skills. Then one evening, when they were eating out in the yard, Jesus took Mary Magdalene into his confidence, and from time to time they looked up at the rapid flight of swallows passing overhead with strident cries. The two, to judge from their silence, have nothing more to say to each other, the man has confessed all to the woman, but she asks, as if disappointed, Is that all, and nodding, he says, Yes, that's all.
The silence deepened, the circling swallows went elsewhere, and Jesus said, My father was crucified four years ago in Sepphoris, his name was Joseph. And you are his eldest son. Yes, I'm the eldest. Then I don't understand, surely you should be looking after your family. We quarreled, but don't ask me any more. No more about your family, then, but what about your time as a shepherd, tell me about that. There's nothing to tell, every day the same thing, goats, sheep, kids, lambs, and milk, lots of milk, milk everywhere. Did you enjoy being a shepherd. Yes, I did. Then why did you leave. I became restless, began to miss my family, felt homesick. Homesick, what is that. Sadness at being so far away. You're lying, Why do you think I'm lying, Because I see not sadness but fear and guilt in your eyes. Jesus did not reply, he got up, walked around the yard, then stopped in front of Mary, One day, if we should meet again, I'll tell you the rest if you promise not to tell anyone. Why not tell me now. I'll tell you when we meet again. You hope that by then I will have given up prostitution, you still don't trust me, you think I might sell your secrets for money or pass them on to the first man who turns up, for amusement or in exchange for a night of love more glorious than those you and I have shared. No, that's not the reason for my silence. Well, I promise you that Mary Magdalene, prostitute or not, will be at your side whenever you need her. Who am I to deserve this. Don't you know who you are.
That night the nightmare returned. It had been more bearable of late, a vague anguish that only occasionally disturbed his sleep, but this night, perhaps because it was the last night Jesus was to sleep in Mary's bed, perhaps because he had mentioned Sepphoris and the men crucified there, the nightmare began to uncoil in twists and turns like a huge snake awakening from hibernation, and to raise its hideous head. Jesus woke with a start, crying out in terror, his body covered with cold sweat. What's wrong, Mary asked in alarm. I was dreaming, only dreaming, he said evasively. Tell me, and those simple words were said with so much love and tenderness that Jesus could not hold back his tears, and after much weeping he revealed what he had hoped to withhold, I dream over and over that my father is coming to kill me. But your father is dead and you are still alive. In my dream I'm still a child back in Bethlehem of Judaea, and my father is coming to kill me. Why in Bethlehem. That's where I was born. Perhaps you think your father didn't want you to be born, and that is why you have this dream. You don't know what happened. No, I don't. Children in Bethlehem died because of my father. Did he kill them. He killed them because he made no attempt to save them, although his was not the hand that drew the sword. And in your dream, are you one of those children. I have died a thousand deaths. Poor man, poor Jesus. That is why I left home. I begin to understand, You think you understand, What more is there to know, What I cannot reveal yet, You mean what you will tell me when we meet again, That's right. Resting his hand on Mary's shoulder, his cheek on her breast, Jesus fell asleep. She stayed awake throughout the night, her heart aching, for it would soon be morning and time to separate. But her soul was at peace, she knew that this man in her arms was the one for whom she had been waiting all her life, the one who belonged to her and to whom she belonged, his body pure, hers defiled, but their world is just beginning. They have been together eight days, but only tonight was their union confirmed, and eight days is nothing compared to a whole future, for this Jesus who has come into my life is so young, and here am I, Mary Magdalene, in bed with a man, as so often in the past, but this time deep in love and ageless.
They spent the morning preparing for the journey. One would have thought young Jesus was traveling to the end of the world, while in fact he had no more than twenty miles to cover, a distance any healthy man could walk between noon and dusk, notwithstanding the rough road from Magdala to Nazareth, with its steep slopes and rocky terrain. Take care, Mary warned him, you may run into rebel forces still fighting the Romans. After all this time, asked Jesus. You haven't lived here, this is Galilee. But I'm a native of Galilee, they're not likely to do me any harm. You can't be Galilean if you were born in Bethlehem of Judaea. My parents conceived me in Nazareth, and to be honest, I wasn't even born in Bethlehem, I was born in a cave in the earth, and now I feel reborn here in Magdala. Mothered by a whore. You're no whore in my eyes, said Jesus strongly. Alas, that is the life I've led. These words were followed by a long silence, Mary waiting for Jesus to speak, Jesus trying to still his uneasiness. Finally he asked her, Do you intend to remove the sign you hung on the gate to keep men from entering. Mary looked at him with a serious expression, then smiled mischievously, I could not possibly have two men in the house at the same time. What are you saying. Simply that you are leaving but will still be here. She paused, then added, The sign on the gate remains there. People will think you're with a man. And they'll be right, I'll be with you. Are you telling me no man will ever pass through that gate again. Yes, because this woman they call Mary Magdalene stopped being a prostitute the moment you walked into her house. But how will you live. Only the lilies in the fields thrive without working or spinning. Jesus took her hands and said, Nazareth isn't far from Magdala, one day I will return. If you come looking for me, you'll find me here. My desire is to find you all my life. You will find me even after death. You mean I will die before you. I'm older than you, so most
likely I will die first, but if you die before me, I will go on living so that you may find me. And if you die first. Then blessed be the woman who brought you into the world during my lifetime. After this conversation, Mary served Jesus food, and he did not have to tell her, Sit with me, for since their first day together behind locked doors this man and this woman have divided and multiplied between them feelings, gestures, spaces, and sensations without paying much attention to the rules and laws. They certainly would not know what to say if we were to ask them how they would behave outside the privacy of these four walls, where they have been free for some days to forge a world in the simple image and likeness of a man and a woman. A world that is more hers than his, let it be said, but since they are both so confident about meeting again, we need only have the patience to wait for the time when, side by side, they will confront the outside world, where people are already asking themselves anxiously, What's going on in there, and they don't mean the usual antics in the bedroom. After they had eaten, Mary helped Jesus into his sandals and told him, You must leave if you're to reach Nazareth before nightfall. Farewell, said Jesus, and taking up his pack and staff, he went out into the yard. The sky was covered with clouds as if lined with unwashed wool, the Lord must not be finding it easy today to keep an eye on His sheep from on high. Jesus and Mary Magdalene embraced a long time before exchanging a farewell kiss, which did not take long at all, and little wonder, for kissing was not the custom then.
The Collected Novels of José Saramago Page 106