by Debra Diaz
“Except—”
“I didn’t know what had happened until after I saw him. And so, the scars were something of a shock to me. And his hair is completely white.”
That detail alone, first revealed by Mary Magdalene, would have been enough to convince him…had it involved anything but the bringing of a dead man back to life!
Paulus got to his feet and stood with his shoulder braced against the wall, staring at her, almost looking through her. He was thoroughly disconcerted to see her certainty, her confidence. There was indeed a radiance in her eyes that had never been there before…the same radiance he’d seen in Mary and the man named Jonas, and countless others.
“If he is alive why does he not show himself in the streets of Jerusalem? Why not prove to the priests he is a God?”
“He has shown himself—to many people—hundreds of people. Why should he do so to the priests who crucified him? They will never believe in him, even if they should see him!”
“Where is he?”
She lowered her eyes. “Neither would you believe me if I told you.”
Exasperated, he asked, “Where are his disciples?”
“I am his disciple. He has thousands, all over Palestine.”
“I mean the original twelve. Eleven, that is. I hear one of them is dead.”
“Paulus, are you asking me to betray them?”
“I will not harm them. I only wish to talk to them.”
Alysia gazed at him, troubled. “Do I have your word that you won’t arrest them, or threaten them?”
“You have my word.”
She drew another deep breath. “There is to be a meeting in a fortnight at Lazarus’ house, just after sundown. I don’t know where all the disciples are, but I know that some of them will be there.”
He looked into her eyes. “Thank you, Alysia.”
“You had better come dressed as you did…that other time. They have no reason to trust a Roman.”
“I will.” He sat down again and continued to look at her until she dropped her gaze in confusion. Since that matter was settled, Paulus decided to cast discretion to the wind and asked, with a rough edge to his voice, “Alysia, are you happy here?”
She lifted her head and a smile touched her lips. “Sometimes I dwell too much on the past, but I am at peace here.” A look of joy and wonder crossed her face, and she said, “Paulus, if only you could have seen him…if only you knew!”
Again he was reminded of Mary Magdalene, for the expression on her face had been exactly what he now saw in Alysia’s. A feeling of helplessness seized him. He couldn’t call Alysia a liar, nor did he think she was mad. He didn’t know what to think.
She reached out and touched his arm. “Please listen to me, Paulus. I used to wonder why it was…so galling to me to be a slave. I actually believed it was a fate worse than death. And it was simply because I was so proud. Too proud to actually have to serve others.
“And that is what will stop you from following Jesus. Pride will hold you back, because you must surrender…everything. But it’s not slavery. It’s liberation from slavery. It’s freedom from yourself, and all the chains that have ever held you…like selfishness, and hatred, and anger and fear. Not that you would never feel those things again, but he carries them for you, and helps you to overcome…oh, it’s too difficult to explain!”
“Alysia,” he said, making an effort to speak gently. “I can respect your feelings for this—this new religion, but don’t try to convert me to it.”
“It’s not a religion. And it isn’t new. It has all been planned since before the creation of the world.”
Bemused, he met her eyes. She went on. “He waited until the time was right, and he came.”
“It sounds like a hopeless tangle of Jewish superstition to me.”
“Then watch what happens. See if it survives, and what price men and women are willing to pay for their belief. If it’s all over, Paulus, why haven’t the disciples gone back to their homes, to their families and professions? It would be so easy to do that. Especially when the Sanhedrin is threatening to kill them. Why is the fire spreading, instead of dying out?”
He shrugged. “Men have always been willing to die for some ill-conceived cause.”
“For a cause perhaps, but not for a dead man!” Alysia paused, and added reluctantly, “You are not ready to hear this. Perhaps we should speak of other things.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Let’s do.”
“I will tell Lazarus to expect you. I feel certain he will recognize you, but he won’t say anything. Is there anyone else who might have seen you…that day?”
“The young man, the youngest of his followers, was there.”
“That was John. He’s in Nazareth now, helping Jesus’ mother settle her affairs. She is moving to Jerusalem.”
“What about the Pharisee? And the other man—I think he was a member of the Sanhedrin as well.”
“Nicodemus and Joseph. Neither of them will come…this meeting is for people who want to know what happened that day.”
Paulus felt uncomfortable. “How did you know I was there?”
“Lazarus told me. But he said you didn’t seem to have anything to do with it.”
Alysia, I would have released him, if I could. The whole thing seemed…out of control, somehow.”
“I have never blamed you. They said that Pilate conducted the trial…but it was the priests who bore the blame.”
He shook his head; he had had enough talk of the Nazarene. He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “I miss you.”
She wanted to tell him she missed him, too. She wanted to tell him that not a day went by that she did not dream of what it would be like to be his wife. She opened her mouth and never knew what she was about to say, for at that moment sounds came from the next room…a stirring, a whimper. Alysia’s face seemed to drain of color and her hands clenched. Paulus moved his own hand away and became perfectly still, staring fixedly at Alysia.
Rachel came toddling into the room. She went to her mother, held up her arms to be lifted, and twisted about to look at Paulus. Her tousled hair was the color of honey, her eyes dark blue, and she looked remarkably like his sister, Selena.
He could not speak. Her age…her looks! The truth and all its implications crowded in upon him without mercy. As through a fog he saw Alysia’s stricken face and was aware that she carried the child back to her bed. She was gone for some time. When she returned he was still sitting in exactly the same pose of stunned disbelief.
“Why,” he said, over something large and oppressive in his chest, “didn’t you tell me?”
Alysia tried to draw a deep breath. She sat down at the table and stared at her folded hands. Oddly, she felt as if she herself had just received a stunning blow.
“I was afraid,” she said quietly. “I was afraid to let anyone know who her father was, and I knew you would want her. I was afraid you would take her from me.”
He swore and got to his feet. She had never seen him so angry. He didn’t shout, but the effect was worse than if he had begun tearing down the house.
“What kind of man do you think I am?”
All at once she felt sick…sick in her very soul. She’d been wrong, terribly wrong. He would never have been so unfeeling as to take her child from her. In her heart, she had known that. Why, then, hadn’t she told him?
“I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper.
He made a tremendous effort to calm himself. He strode backward and forward across the room and finally sat down again, across from her. After an eternity, he said, “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for this.”
The old spirit of defiance brought her chin up. “You must forgive me! I have forgiven you everything…and there was much to forgive! I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t really believe you would take her away, but it would have made things so much more…difficult. I was confused, and alone.” She didn’t add why she was alone. She would not
throw that in his face.
After another long pause, he asked, “Is she well?”
“Yes.”
“What is her name?”
“It is Rachel.”
“I don’t want you to think that I’m not…happy to have a child.” He started to say more, and then looked as if he couldn’t bear to. He stood, not looking at her, and strode to the door. “I suppose I will see you at this meeting of the disciples?”
“Yes.” She rose quickly to stand beside him. “Paulus, don’t go. We must speak of this—”
He looked down at her, his face close to hers. “You say you believe in this Jesus, who prized the truth, and all the time you lied to me by your silence. And you believed a lie, as if I could hurt you that way, or willfully bring shame upon you, and our child.”
“I don’t know why I was afraid, Paulus. I couldn’t give her up, even for a little while. She is all I have, of this world. It was not an easy choice to make. Don’t think it wasn’t painful for me!”
He asked, in that quiet, impersonal voice, “Do you still love me, Alysia?”
Tears stung her eyes and she could barely squeeze the words past the lump in her throat. “You know I do.”
He paused and said evenly, “But you didn’t trust me with what you hold most dear.”
The door closed and he was gone.
* * * *
When Paulus returned to the Antonia, he went at once to the room Simon occupied next to his own. Not bothering to knock, he flung open the door so that the lamps in the corridor flared and dimly illumined the cubicle.
Simon started up, half falling out of bed, and seeing the legate got quickly to his feet. He couldn’t see Paulus’ face with the lights at his back, but the cold tone of his voice confirmed Simon’s suspicion that something was greatly amiss.
“Simon, did I not ask you to report on the welfare of a certain young woman in Bethany?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you knew who she was because you had seen her before, spoken with her before?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why, in the name of every god that man in his stupidity ever imagined, did you not tell me she had a child?”
Simon stared into the darkness where Paulus’ face must be. He looked completely baffled, Paulus thought…but how was it possible that he didn’t know? At last Simon spread his arms out helplessly.
“There was a woman with her, who carried a child, sir. But I had no idea it was hers! Now that I think of it, there were times I went to Bethany and she was nowhere to be seen…I suppose women do hide themselves when they are with child. But I inquired about her among some of the townsfolk, pretending to be a relative, and was always told she was doing well. I think they might have been somewhat suspicious of me and didn’t say much. The idea that she had had a baby never occurred to me. I never saw her holding one.”
“Well, Simon, it seems we’ve both been remarkably slow-witted.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you. Goodnight.”
Simon watched him leave the room, and heard the legate pacing in his own, far into the night.
* * * *
After Paulus left, Alysia made certain Rachel was asleep and then sat down again and put her head in her hands. Her feelings alternated between regret for her own actions, and anger at Paulus. After all the things she had forgiven and forgotten (or tried to forget), he had the effrontery to say what she had done was unforgivable! And Paulus’ offenses extended over the entire time she had been a slave, until he ordered the death of her own husband…even if it had been in the course of his duty!
She lifted her head and stared indignantly at the wall. Then her eyes fell on the scrolls she had been reading earlier, and suddenly she thought of him, and what he had taught about forgiveness. Her resentment began to leave her. She remembered the night she had spoken to him of her own need for forgiveness. And then she thought, as she did over and over, of the last time she had talked alone with him…
It was the first day of the week, in the days following the Passover. Many people were still in Jerusalem; Lazarus and his sisters had not returned. She’d been walking toward the well in the center of town, alone, enjoying the solitude and the early, clean beauty of the day. A man had fallen into step with her, and when she glanced at him she was struck by the familiarity of his form, and the way he walked. Men never walked next to women. Except…
Now she looked at his face, noticing the almost startling contrast between his flowing white hair, black eyebrows and dark eyes. His short beard was white, too, against skin that was smooth and tanned. When she finally looked into his eyes, she stopped abruptly and dropped her water jar. Miraculously, it did not break.
He stopped, too, and he was smiling at her, his eyes kind, the same and yet different, filled with some ineffable quality that rendered her speechless.
“Greetings, Alysia,” he said, in the same clear voice.
At last she whispered, “What has happened to you?”
“I saw you walking here, and wanted to speak with you. You haven’t heard of what happened in Jerusalem.”
“You mean, the darkness?”
“Yes,” he said, “but the darkness has turned to light.”
She stared at him, bewildered. He bent and retrieved the water jar, and handed it to her. When he did so, she noticed the rounded holes in his wrists. She would have dropped the jar again if he had not closed his own hands over hers.
“Lazarus and his sisters have not yet seen me, but they will. Tell them that they, and you, will see me again, before I go to the Father. And I tell you truly, there is a man, a man you know well, who will do a mighty work in my name. You would have believed without seeing me, but for him it will be more difficult. Pray for him.”
He released the jar into her hands, and he was gone. She stood immobilized for a long time. Had he just disappeared into thin air? She doubted her own senses; she sat down on the great stones surrounding the well and looked down the road, this way and that. It was as though he had opened an invisible door and walked through it!
She still, at that time, did not understand…had not known what happened until Lazarus and his sisters returned to Bethany the next day. She had been shocked and dismayed to hear about his crucifixion…but not surprised to hear the rest of the story. She already knew.
A man who would have trouble believing, and yet would do a great work in his name. She had known, even then, who Jesus meant. But how could that ever be? Why couldn’t Jesus have just appeared to him? It would have made things so much easier…It would take much, much prayer. It would take a miracle.
CHAPTER XXIII
Shades of magenta and gold touched the western sky, interspersed with wisps of purple clouds. A light breeze stirred as Alysia walked the short distance to Lazarus’ house. She was strangely excited…knowing that Paulus would be there made everything seem different, somehow. It would be difficult to act as if she didn’t know him.
She knocked on the door, waiting nervously until it opened, and Martha took her past the courtyard and up the outer stairs to the roof. She quickly scanned those who were present and saw that Paulus had not yet arrived. There were several residents of the town who she knew to be believers, among them Simon, the former leper. Peter was there, with Andrew and James. She was introduced to a man named Stephen. She had heard of him; he was a Hellenistic Jew, as everyone believed her to be. Mary sat at a small table with a pen and sheets of papyrus, as if she intended to make a written record of the meeting.
Lazarus nodded and smiled a greeting, and went on talking in low tones with the other men. She had told him that Paulus was coming, that he would not be dressed as a soldier and there was nothing to fear from him. (She could only hope it was true, considering the seriousness with which he took his duty!) Lazarus, she thought, must have guessed the truth about them, after seeing Paulus and the strong resemblance he bore to her daughter. Yet he had never said or implied anything t
o cause her embarrassment.
Burning lamps sat on top of the low wall surrounding the rooftop, and beneath the gaily-colored awning were several comfortable cushions. Alysia sat down on one of them, next to Mary, who smiled and asked, “Judith has Rachel this evening?”
“Yes. What are you writing, Mary?”
“It’s a chronicle of the things Jesus said and did. It will be in Aramaic, of course. I thought that, when you have time, you could make a copy in Greek.”
Alysia stopped in mid-nod as she saw Paulus come up the stairs onto the roof. He wore a rust-colored robe and might have been Greek, Roman, or even Galilean…many of whom had fair hair and blue eyes. He had let his hair and beard grow; if she didn’t know him well she might not have recognized him herself. Lazarus went immediately to meet him, and Paulus responded in perfect Aramaic.
Lazarus turned to the others. “This is Paulus, a friend from Jerusalem.”
After a brief exchange of greetings she saw Peter eye Paulus a little skeptically, as if he sensed something about him, or as if he might have seen him before. Lazarus caught Peter’s eye and nodded a little. Peter raised his black eyebrows, but said nothing as Paulus took the seat shown him by Lazarus. His eyes met Alysia’s briefly, then each sought to avoid the other’s gaze.
All at once, everyone became quiet and attentive. Peter stood before them, outlined against the setting sun.
“I have called this meeting for one purpose. All, or most of you, were close to Jesus while he was here. You ate with him, talked with him, walked throughout the country with him. It is important for each of you to know everything that has happened since we entered Jerusalem for the Passover. Some of you…Andrew and Lazarus and James…already know most of it. They are here to confirm what I am going to tell you. Some may find it difficult to believe.” His glance fell on Paulus, who returned his look unwaveringly.
Alysia was noticing the change in Peter. His former brashness had become a singular boldness. An air of almost arrogance had been replaced by a quiet confidence. It seemed that even the contours of his face had altered, becoming sharper and more pronounced, so that he had the stern, implacable countenance of a rock. But his eyes were kind in spite of their wariness, displaying a compassion and patience in which he’d been found lacking, until now.