Project J

by Sean Brandywine

  “Jesus asked about what happened after his death,” Myers went on. “Particularly, he wanted to know about his wife, Mary Magdalene as we call her, and his mother. Also, some of his friends and his children. If we can use the Machine to help him in this respect, it would make learning other things from him much easier. I think he would trust us more and be more cooperative.”

  Stryker only glared at the older man. The longer he stared, the more his expression faded from anger to resignation.

  Myers cleverly sank the hook in. “What man wouldn’t want to know about his children?”

  “All right, I’ll authorize some time. But if the spooks come in, you immediately cease and vacate the Machine for their use.”

  “Don’t we always?” Myers said with a smile.

  “And, for Heaven’s sake, don’t let them know what you’re looking at!”

  Fifteen minutes later they were talking to the operator, and ten minutes after that, the Machine’s viewer was powered up and reaching backward in time almost two thousand years.

  “By the way,” Myers told Tamara as the Machine began probing in the past, “did you know that we’ve isolated the date of his Crucifixion. It was in CE 30. And he was thirty-four years old at the time. The New Testament was a little vague about that also. And Josephus. He seemed to have his time scale mixed up also.”

  The screen before them cleared from the dancing but meaningless color streaks it had been displaying, and a scene formed. “I think I’ve got it,” said the operator, a friendly young man named Jacques Bretel. “Basically, it’s the same coordinates as you used to bring him back the first time.”

  “That’s right,” Myers agreed. “But this time we want the scene to be on the spectators. I’d like you to get a close up of their faces, if possible. Keep the recording going; I’ll edit it later.”

  “You still haven’t let Jesus see his own death?” Jacques asked as he adjusted dials on the massive console.

  “No, and we’re not going to. Jesus has been through so much shock, why add to it by showing him the grisly way he died?”

  “Guess you’re right. Okay, I’m coming up on the sequence where the soldiers put him up.”

  Tamara stared in fascination at the images on the screen. It was a barren landscape around the dozen or so posts set into the ground. A ravine ran along behind the posts, and the area was littered with small rocks and weeds. In the distance, behind the ravine, some trees could be seen. A group of soldiers were standing around one post. When one of them moved, Tamara could see the man lying on the ground. With a shock she recognized the Jesus she knew. But this was a different man. His back and sides were streaked with blood. There were bruises on his arms and legs from mistreatment at the hands of the soldiers. He looked only half aware of what was going on, and his eyes often closed.

  One soldier was holding Jesus’ arm out to the side. Under it was a beam of wood, crude cut and flat. Another soldier placed a large iron spike against the upturned wrist and immediately pounded on it with a large wooden mallet. Jesus cried out, jerking his head up. The soldier pounded again, driving the spike deep into the arm and the wood behind it. A third strike and he was done. Only the spike’s flattened head was visible against the tanned skin of his arm.

  The soldiers shifted around and one’s back blocked the view of Jesus’ head. But she could see his other arm being pulled out to the side and held against the wooden beam. In eerie silence she saw the spike being placed and then pounded into his flesh. The hand jerked into a claw and trembled. Watching this cruelty, she felt sick inside.

  Four of the soldiers lifted the length of wood and placed it into a notch cut into the post. Jesus’ feet hung down very close to the ground. Kneeling soldiers gathered his feet together, placed them on a small peg set into the post, and bound them to the post with rope. Stepping back, the two of them stood there for a moment, gazing upon the hanging man. Another was standing behind the cross, lashing rope around the crosspiece and his wrists near the spike.

  “That’s to make sure that the spikes won’t pull out,” Myers told her quietly.

  It was then that Tamara saw, in the background to the left, another man positioned in the same manner on another cross. His head was bowed but his chest was rising and falling as he gasped for air. Jesus was also breathing heavily, pain written in ever line of his face. Tamara’s heart ached at the sight. One of the soldiers tore the last of his clothing away, leaving him naked to the world.

  “Nudity was shaming to the Romans,” Myers said. “So they made sure that those being crucified would suffer that shame.”

  The soldiers were busy with a third man. He was also bloody and battered, but he was fighting the soldiers as they forced him down onto the crosspiece. The watchers could see him screaming. His body writhed in agony as the spikes were being pounded in. He was still screaming as they lifted him up on his post. He even tried to kick out with bare feet at the soldiers. Quickly they had him secured. They had done this many times before.

  For a time, the soldiers stood back, perhaps admiring their handiwork or maybe contemplating life and death.

  “I’ve seen this three times now,” Jacques said, “and it still chokes me up.”

  Tamara silently agreed. It was the most dramatic, powerful images she had ever seen. A tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Okay, I overshot what we wanted,” Jacques said as he began adjusting the controls. “Now I’ll get those people standing around for you.”

  * * * * *

  “That is my mother.”

  The words were barely audible as Jesus said them.

  They were in a conference room, watching a playback on a large screen. To make sure that Jesus understood what he was seeing, Tamara had shown him how she could create a video recording with the camera built into her cell phone then play it back. He got the idea even if he considered it magic. So, when they began the edited recording, he immediately grasped that these were scenes from when he was killed.

  It was strange seeing his face as he recognized his mother standing not far from the posts. He loves her, Tamara thought. Standing next to Mary was another woman, much younger, not much more than a teenager, to judge by her face. She was holding Mary, helping to support her.

  “And that,” Jesus continued in a voice that almost choked up, “is my wife, Mariam.”

  “Whom we call Mary Magdalene,” added Myers to his translation. “Did you know that in the Bible, she is mentioned by name thirteen times? That’s more than most of the apostles.”

  Jesus was weeping silently, his eyes moist with tears and a most tender look on his face.

  “During the crucifixion, she stayed by him all through it,” Myers said. “The disciples all fled. Except for one. We know that she was one of the two women who initially prepared him for burial. The other woman was possibly another Mary, Mary of Bethany, the sister of Martha and Lazarus. Or it may have been another Mary.”

  Myers was taking notes as he talked. Perhaps to give Jesus time to collect himself, he continued describing elements of the scene to Tamara.

  “Matthew’s Gospel says that ‘many woman’ were watching from a distance. Then he spells out Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph, and the mother of Zebedee’s sons. That was another Mary. Entirely too many Marys to keep track of.

  “Luke said that there was the ‘Daughters of Jerusalem’ attending. Kind of nebulous.

  “John says there were Marys, including Jesus’ mother. But there is some uncertainty whether he refers to three or four women.”

  Glancing Jesus’ way, he asked, “Jesus, who is this woman to the right of Mary Magdalene?”

  At first it seemed he might not answer. “That is Mary, the mother of James,” he finally said.

  “He’s not talking about his brother James,” Myers added. “And who is that young man standing beside them?”

  “John.” Jesus seemed to choke up for a moment.

  “Called the ‘Beloved One’?” asked My
ers.

  Jesus looked to him. “He was beloved. Next to Judas, he was the one I trusted most of them all. He believed in me and in God’s coming. When the others ran away and hid, John stayed.” There seemed to be some bitterness in his voice, most likely directed at those who had abandoned him.

  Myers frowned, and thought for a few seconds. “Was there more than one follower named John?” he asked.

  “Yes. Two. There was John the son of Zebedee and Salome and brother of James. And there was John of Capernaum. I met him while I was in that town, teaching those people who would listen. He came to listen and stayed to talk with me afterwards. Then he began to follow, as the other did. That John was as a bother to me, nay, more than a brother. Yes, you could call him the beloved one.”

  Myers said to Tamara in a quick aside, “Two Johns! History will have to be rewritten!” Turning back to Jesus, he asked, “Did you expect your followers to stay with you?”

  “I had thought them of stout heart. But they were weak. They ran away for fear of the soldiers.”

  “Did not some of them try to fight for you when the soldiers came to arrest you?”

  “Two did. But I knew that my arrest was inevitable. And I wanted it. It was to fulfill the prophecy. The Son of Man was to be prosecuted by the priests.”

  Myers looked to Tamara with a serious expression. Turning back to Jesus, he said, “Did you truly believe that if the exact prophecies did not come to pass, then the kingdom would not come?”

  Jesus sighed, and seemed to slump in the chair. Myers turned off the recording.

  Jesus looked to them earnestly. “Yes. They were the words, the promises of God, given to us through the words of the prophets.

  “John, who baptized the people in the waters of the Jordan, taught that the coming Kingdom of God would begin with the coming of the Son of Man. I believed that was true. The Son of Man was a messenger of God. He would sit in judgment of men, preparing them for the coming Kingdom.

  “For many years I believe this and taught others of the glory of the coming of God’s Kingdom. Our people would be given back the land promised us. Our oppressors would be vanquished. All men would live in peace.”

  He smiled, and said, “The lost tribes would be found and reunited to make the kingdom of Israel whole again.”

  He turned to face Myers. “Do you know that I... we, expected that to come any day? The Son of Man would come to earth. He would fulfill the prophecies. He would bring forth the perfect world. So I was taught and did teach others. Some opposed me, for they wished the world to stay the same. Some did not understand. They did not believe me. But a few did.

  “The days passed and the seasons came and went. Still there was no Son of Man. The prophets could not be wrong. They spoke with the words of God! Then, one day, as I told you, after we had been debating going to Jerusalem for Passover, I was walking alone by the Sea of Galilee. It came to me. The Son of Man was already here. I was him! Suddenly, everything fell into place. I saw myself doing as the prophets said, fulfilling their prophecies. It was so incredibly simple! I was the chosen one, of the line of King David. I had endured years of teaching by John. It was I who cured lepers and cast out demons. I could not have done that without the hand of God guiding me. I was the one!”

  He paused, a growing excitement flushing his face. “I was the one,” he repeated. “I had to do it all! I made the decision to go to the Holy City and that the prophets would guide me.”

  Suddenly he was tired and lowered his head. “But I failed. The Kingdom never came. Has not come yet.” He looked up again. “How long did you say has passed?”

  “Two thousand years,” Myers told him. Both he and Tamara had the feeling that Jesus could not comprehend such a long time span. “You have done a great deal for the world, my friend. Rabbi Jesus, you have done more than you could ever imagine.”

  “But the Kingdom did not come. All I did. All I sacrificed. All in vain.” He seemed on the verge of tears.

  Myers spoke softly. “Let us follow your mother.”

  Jesus looked up, and then turned back to the screen. He looked as if he were going to cry again. “No,” he whispered. “She is a strong woman; she will survive. I want to see of my wife and my children. What became of them?”

  Chapter 37: A Grieving Mother

  Myers was visibly surprised. “We... I thought that you would want to see what happen to your mother, Mary,” he said. “We followed her only. We didn’t have enough Machine time to do more.”

  “I want to know of my wife and children,” Jesus repeated quietly but firmly. In his voice and the look in his eye, Tamara saw some of the fire and strength that had made him a leader of men.

  “And you shall. I will make sure we get more Machine time.”

  Myers clicked on the video display again, and all heads turned to it. “This is the point after you were given the vinegar on a sponge. Almost immediately, you apparently died.”

  Tamara grimaced. She knew that the death was not apparent. Right after that point, the Machine had grabbed Jesus and reconstructed him in their lab. Shortly after that, perhaps only minutes, Jesus was dead – perhaps even before he was taken down from the cross.

  On the screen the spectators did nothing, only stared straight ahead. They were looking at Jesus, but it appeared they were looking in the eyes of the viewers. The women all looked incredibly sad. Mother Mary was crying as Mary Magdalene supported her on one side and John on the other. For over a minute nothing changed, then John leaned close to Mary’s ear and said something. The watchers did not know what it was because the Machine could not pick up sounds, but it was not hard to guess. He was telling her it was time to depart. It seemed as if she would refuse for a bit, but she did allow him to lead her away.

  Mary Magdalene stayed for a few moments more. There were tears running down her face, but an oddly resigned expression on it. As his closest confident, she undoubtedly knew of his acceptance of what he considered fate. She had undoubtedly heard him talk of the prophecies and, at a certain point, his revelation that he was the chosen one, the Messiah, the one to lead the Jewish people into a new age. So maybe she understood his mind more than his disciples or his friends. And maybe she accepted his sacrifice as necessary for the good of the people. It was even probable that she knew of the prophecies that he would rise from the dead. Of Psalm 16:10: “For Thou wilt not abandon my soul to Sheol; neither wilt Thou allow Thy Holy One to undergo decay.” And Hosea 6.2: “After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will raise us up, that we may live before him.” And Isaiah. Even in the story of Jonah, for as Mark 12:40 says, “For as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the whale, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth”

  Jesus was certainly well aware of those and other prophecies, Tamara thought. Very likely Mary Magdalene knew them as well. Was that almost a proud look on her face? Then Tamara shook away the thought and saw only grief written across those young, dark eyes.

  The view followed John and the women as they left the scene. The motion was jerky as the Machine operator adjusted the settings to keep up with them. They followed a trail leading down the hillside and away from the massive city behind them. When they came to a road, there were more people hurrying along, anxious to reach their homes before sundown and the beginning of the Sabbath. At that point there occurred a jump in the scene, which Myers explained was an edit out of their walk. Now the party came upon a house made of roughly quarried stone with limestone block used on the corners and door lintels. About ten feet tall, the house was square and had only two very small windows showing on the outside. They passed through the door into a courtyard. Once inside, the windows were larger to allow light into the rooms that surrounded the courtyard. The room they went into was only ten foot by ten, the walls covered with a rough coating of mortar made of mud and clay. The roof was a series of wooden beams covered over with bundles of reeds, and a mortar laid over those. It was dark insi
de, for the setting sun cast little light within. An oil lamp was lit but offered only a flicking glow over the people.

  “That is the house of Mary, the mother of James and Joseph and Salome,” Jesus told them.

  Two young men stuck their heads in and a discussion followed. One shook his head at the news, the other just looked sad. After they left, a teenage woman came in, brushing flour off her hands and going over to hug her mother. She looked as if she was going to cry.

  There was little discussion among the people, and what there was seemed subdued. Mary, the mother of Jesus, sat in a chair and stared at the floor, ignoring any who tried to comfort her.

  Tamara glanced over to Jesus. He was watching the screen intently, hands clenched together on the table. Her heart went out to him. How heart-rending it must be for the man to watch his own family mourning his death.