by Ron Cooper
“It’s too late for that, Cousin.”
I knew that the more familiar Judas’s speech and gestures became, the more serious he was about recruiting us into his plot. He had done this with us since childhood, whether scheming to steal melons from an inattentive vendor, or loosening a wheel on a goat cart. I did not know what he had in mind, but I felt excited and already felt practically like an accomplice.
We came upon Mary, who was standing alone near the water. Her dark hair seemed to glow in the soft twilight. She did not greet us, but instead just stared at Judas, which confirmed my suspicion that she was waiting for us, eager to find out if I had agreed to whatever idea had been presented me. She took Judas’ hand as they sat on the sandy bank of the river.
“Dearest Thomas,” Mary began. This was her way of addressing friends, completely in earnest, as she was with everything she said and did. “Jesus is blessed in some way that I have never witnessed before. It’s as if the Lord moves through him.” I noticed that she squeezed Judas’ hand and shot a quick glance at him. “What Judas and I do, every thought we have, is out of love for Jesus. You must know that.”
“Yes,” I said. My breathing became labored and shallow, as if I were pinned under a great stone.
“You look so worried, Thomas,” Mary said. She smiled and tilted her head as a mother does when wanting to reassure her son that his father will soon return home safely from his journey. “And you often do. This might be the big difference between you and Jesus. He’s so serene. Your brow is even a little more furrowed than his.” She rubbed her thumb across my forehead.
Judas tapped his foot as if knocking dust off his sandal. It may have been a signal to Mary to move things along.
“Thomas,” she said, “John is leading Jesus down the wrong path.”
I nearly laughed. They must have rehearsed this all day.
“John’s path goes in circles in the desert,” she continued, “or maybe it just leads into this river. Jesus is capable of so much more, Thomas.”
“Get to the point,” I said. I wiped sweat from my eyes.
“We have all learned from John that we must work the Lord’s will. That the Lord is leading us toward a great truth. That we must build up our nation’s faith in the rightful continuation of our history. But John has no more to teach us. Jesus remains enchanted by him and we must break the spell. We cannot do it without you.”
“Enchanted?” I said. I glanced at Judas. “Enchanted?” I turned back to Mary. “What are you suggesting?” I felt faint. We were not talking this over with Jesus, so I knew they had something severe in mind. Mary had always been forthright, and I was disturbed that she, even though his wife, would be in such collusion with Judas.
Mary took my hands and moved her face close to mine. “Oh, Thomas.” She bent her head and pulled my hands to her mouth. Her breath was warm. “Judas and I have thought very carefully about this. It’s the only way.”
I felt sweat beading on my face as if I were standing in the sun. “What?”
“Damn it, Thomas,” Judas said, “John must die.”
I put my hands into my face, rubbed my temples with my thumbs, then raised my head and took a deep breath.
“We will not act without you, Thomas,” said Mary. She put her hands on the sides of my face. “This is not a move to seize power or to form a separatist faction or anything like that. And it is not about John. It’s about destiny, Thomas—about the survival of Israel, of our people.”
I felt nauseated, so I stepped to the river to scoop a handful of water. I drank a mouthful and then splashed some on my face. “How will you do this?” I said. “With that dagger?”
“Of course not, Cousin,” Judas said. “The Romans must do it.”
“God on high,” I moaned. “Now we’re collaborators.”
“Listen to Judas,” Mary said. She stood and took my hand. “Beloved Thomas, you well know that we must do more than just defy the Romans—we must hate them. If we convince the Romans that John plans an armed revolt, they will surely execute him as they have so many others. Won’t that push Jesus to act?”
I pulled my hand from Mary’s and turned my back to them. I suppose I had always known that some crucial moment like this would come if I were actually going to be part of an effective movement. I felt as if I were about to step through a door that I could never cross back from. “You haven’t mentioned this to anyone else, have you?”
“Only Andrew,” Judas said. “He was hesitant at first, but now he agrees.”
I turned back around to face Judas. “You discussed this with him before you came to me?”
“He’s not blood. His eyes and ears are not clouded by kinship. We’ve grown close to Andrew, haven’t we?”
I could not dispute his logic. I had to admit that Jesus lacked the drive, the flame in his breast, which he’d had when we first arrived at John’s encampment. He still engaged strangers in debate and convinced them to re-examine their convictions, but when John was around, Jesus seemed content to drift along on John’s current of thought.
Despite that, Judas and Mary thought Jesus might be the only way to liberate Judea from the suffocating grip of the Roman empire. I had the sickening thought that maybe they did not truly believe in him but planned to make him a puppet for their own purposes. Maybe they were stringing me up as well.
They were certainly correct about one thing: It was indeed about destiny, and I felt as if the river had swollen to pull me into the current. I could struggle against it and drown, or give in and be delivered to the bright sea.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am with you.”
Mary threw her arms around me and wept. Judas kissed my cheek. We sat and watched the flow of the dark Jordan as my suspicions about their motives subsided. The feeling washed over me that we were coursing together toward the all-swallowing sea, that we were setting in motion events that would change our lives forever.
Chapter Ten
Verse One
John awoke one morning with a fever. We spent the day sitting around him and pouring water over his brow. My surprise was that he wasn’t ill more often. His preferred diet was horrid: grubs, roots, reed stalks, and even some insects. I believe I saw him eat a handful of dirt once. He’d dine on raw fish, scales and all. He drank no wine, only water from the Jordan. These may have been his notion of purity practices, but they seemed to me more a show to convince followers he was other than simply human. Whatever the source of his fever, he lay moaning for three days and refused all poultices and elixirs offered for relief.
On the third day, as the inner circle sat together for our midday meal, some suggested that we do something to keep the followers’ interests.
“Jesus,” Mary said, “you need to speak to them. They need constant inspiration. You inspire us, and you can do the same for them.” She handed a loaf of bread to Jesus.
Jesus tore off a piece and handed the rest to me. “Mary, I don’t think that’s necessary. The people know that John is ill, and they have more patience than you think. Besides, my time hasn’t come.”
“Your time hasn’t come?” Judas asked. A half-chewed piece of bread protruded from the corner of his mouth. “What do you mean? What time—”
Mary slapped her hand over Judas’s mouth. They both looked at me.
“Brother,” I said, “you know exactly what Mary means. I am here because I followed you. So is Mary, so is Judas, so is Andrew.” I turned toward Andrew, who nodded at Jesus. “I heard you speak to the people back at Nazareth, and you kept them enthralled even when they disagreed with you. You know that people heed your words. These people are here because they are moved by John’s words. It is less the form of the man on the stage and more the words. They need words.” I glanced at Mary. She smiled to encourage me to continue. “You need to provide those words, Brother. You can do it even better than John. Don’t you
think he’s getting stale? This may be the perfect time for someone to move things a step forward.”
Jesus had a swallow of wine and passed the skin to me. “I’ll admit,” he said, “that John’s thinking has not evolved.”
“Exactly,” Andrew said, “and these crowds are not stupid. Surely they’ve noticed that they hear the same sermons every day.”
“His words are losing their charm,” I said. “Besides, don’t you think he’d want you to speak to these people? Aren’t they expecting someone to make an announcement, if nothing else explaining why they haven’t seen or heard from John?”
Jesus held up a piece of bread and eyed it as if he were studying a precious gem. “I suppose they deserve that. They’ll become resentful if they believe secrets are being kept from them. Rumors have probably started already.”
After we finished our meal, Judas, Andrew, and I ran about the camp bidding everyone to gather before the stage. When most of John’s followers were present and seated, Jesus climbed the steps to the platform. He held his arms out from his sides as if he were about to embrace the crowd.
“My friends, I have good news. You may have heard that John is ill. Have no fear for John’s welfare. His body is weak, but his will is strong. His brow is warm, but his resoluteness is cool. His legs are at rest, but his spirit is as restless as ever. John will soon return to this very stage refreshed, renewed, and resolved to do the Lord’s work for our nation.”
Some applause started but quickly died down. Jesus looked out at the crowd for a few seconds. I thought he would leave the stage, but he began to speak again. He smiled, then dropped the smile and lowered his brow to look grim and solemn.
“My brothers and sisters, we live under the weight of a great beast, its body crushing us as a winemaker presses the grape. This beast, this empire of hunger, slurps up our blood just as we drink the juice of the grape. Look at your children. They are the next harvest of fruit for that ravenous empire.”
Many in the crowd began to react. Some mumbled amongst themselves. Some shouted “Yes!” or repeated Jesus’ “Ravenous empire!” and some ran to pull others within hearing range. Those who’d been sitting now stood.
“My people, how does a nation live mashed under a monstrous empire? How does one live within a beastly empire’s belly?”
Some in the crowd shouted answers: “We fight!” “Kill the beast!” “Drive it out!”
We had never heard this sort of reaction to John’s speeches. The crowd would listen intently, but they had never shown their passion like this. Clearly, Jesus had found something festering beneath the surface and, in a few short statements, helped to release it.
Mary clapped her hands together and hopped on her toes like a child given sweetmeats. Judas crossed his arms and rocked as if his entire body nodded in approval. Andrew gripped my shoulder and said, “He’s doing it!” The four of us glanced back and forth at each other, sensing that this was the moment we’d awaited.
Jesus raised his hands, and the crowd became silent. “Empire must be met with empire. Body met with body. We should know, however, that when one ravenous, earthly empire defeats another, the victor becomes even more driven by hunger. It is eventually swallowed up by a larger one, or it devours itself by its own sinfulness.” He furrowed his brow and clenched his fists, looking angry, almost violent. He snapped his fists together. “When two beasts collide, one butchers the other’s body and limps away to nurse its own wounds and lie in fear of the next beast that slouches its way.”
These metaphors struck me as odd, and I worried that they might confuse the crowd. Such tricks of language must be chosen with care; otherwise, the audience might lose interest. But I knew that Jesus was skilled with words, so I had to trust that he knew where he was going.
“What the hell is he talking about?” Andrew asked me. His question did not boost my confidence; however, the crowd continued to quake with excitement. By then, it looked as though everyone from the compound had squeezed in front of the platform.
Jesus looked down and shook his head. When he looked up, his face had transformed again. It was soft, as when one comforts a lost child. “My people, my brothers and sisters, we are here with John because we seek a new life. A life of bread on our tables, not one of groans in our guts. A life in which our labor furnishes our homes, not dresses our oppressors in finery. A life in which sun and wind are on our shoulders, not blood and death crouching upon our backs.” The crowd swayed as if they were standing on a rocking boat but kept their eyes locked on the horizon’s lighthouse. Jesus held up his index finger. “But, my people, we have chosen to be here by the river with John, not in the hills with the bandits, because we know that our new life demands a different kind of empire. Not an earthly one, but one of the heavens. We must form a body, a creature not of flesh and claw, but of spirit and vision. An empire of the Lord!”
Now that was clever—“flesh and claw,” “spirit and vision,” and the cataloguing of “not this, but that.” You would have thought he had spent years studying under the Greek rhetoricians. I don’t know if many others appreciated Jesus’ ability to turn a phrase, but that should have been enough for them to want to hear more.
The crowd cheered and clapped. People turned to those near them and embraced. Mary kissed Judas, me, and Andrew in turn. Jesus had done it—he had managed his metaphors, worked his words, and controlled these people no less than had he yoked them about their necks. I wished Leah had been there to witness it.
Jesus raised his hands again and stilled the crowd. “Our nation ails, my brothers and sisters. It ails like a man battling a fever. But it shall be healed. If we are all together, one body, it shall arise as surely as our John will soon return to speak to you from this stage.”
And at that very moment, at that absolute and perfect instant, John, leaning against a staff, climbed the steps and took his place by Jesus’ side. The crowd roared. “He is healed!” “John has arisen!” “Jesus has restored John!” They rejoiced as if the Lord himself had taken the stage.
What good fortune! Jesus had held the followers in awe, and now they might even believe him to be a miracle worker. Mary, Judas, Andrew, and I joined hands and danced in a circle. The first stage of our plan could not have unfolded any better.
Verse Two
John felt well enough to take his supper with his inner circle. He had a bowl of wild garlic and the pulp of tender reeds steeped in warm water, the most he’d eaten in three days. The rest of us had bread and olives and two skins of dark, fine wine given us by a new follower, one who said in his cackling Syrian accent, “For the appreciating of the good of speaking by the one you name of Jesus.”
I’m sure that John knew that we eagerly awaited his assessment of Jesus’ talk, but he kept us in suspense as he propped himself on an elbow and sipped his soup without speaking. When he finished, he sat up and leaned against a poplar.
“My cousin Jesus made me proud today,” John said. “He inspired my followers to great excitement. Perhaps he should do that more often.”
“Yes, he should!” Andrew said, perhaps a little too quickly and much too loudly. Judas gripped Andrew’s arm to settle him. I suspected that Andrew had had too many sips of the uncut wine.
John huffed. “Hmm. Looks like his inspiration surely touched you, Andrew. Good. Good, indeed.” John worked his fingers through one of the myriad knots in his matted beard. “Yesterday, when my fever was at its worst, I had a vision. A figure stood before me. Man or woman I could not tell, but the words were clear. ‘John, let the fig ripen. If you pluck it too soon, it is bitter, and you will toss it to the ground to spoil.’ What do you make of this vision?”
Mary sat a couple of cubits in front of me. She looked over her shoulder at me and frowned in disgust.
Andrew shook his head. “Maybe it was just a fevered dream.”
Judas shoved his elbow into Andrew’s side and wh
ispered something to him.
“Jesus,” said John, “what are your thoughts?”
Jesus, sitting beside me, turned to me, pursed his lips to the side, then turned back to face John. “Figs are not the only fruit.”
I began to laugh. I’m not sure why I found the remark so funny, but the more I tried to suppress my laughter, the more uncontrollable it became. I rolled to my side in a fit. Judas laughed, then Mary. Soon, all eight or ten in the group joined the mirth, slapping each other’s backs and whooping. Even John managed a smile. I wondered if we were all drunk.
At the same instant, I remembered Judas’ remark at Jesus’ baptism—John had anointed his successor. If Judas had been right, wouldn’t today, following Jesus’ speech, have been the perfect time for John to make a formal announcement and hand over his mantle of leadership? Perhaps Judas was correct before, but now John had seemingly changed his mind.
“I am tired,” John said. “I’ll need my strength for my sermon tomorrow.”
Verse Three
Later that night, I was awakened by Judas. “Let’s go,” he whispered.
“Where?”
He put his finger to my lips, then moved away. I got up and followed him. When we were some distance from our sleeping friends, Judas said, “We need to find Romans. Now’s the time. If we wait and John goes back to preaching every day, the crowds might forget their enthusiasm for Jesus.”
He made a good point. “What about Andrew?” I asked.
“I think he’s drunk.”
We knew that the Romans patrolled the area to keep an eye on John’s bunch and a few other separatist groups nearby. About an hour’s walk up the river lay a tiny fishing village that I think was called Joshua’s Crossing. At the edge of a pasture, ten or twelve Romans slept on the ground while two kept watch by a fire. They bared their swords as we approached, not because they feared us, but to shoo us away, as they might stray dogs. Fortunately, one of them spoke some Aramaic and so, combined with our broken Latin, we could convey our lie to the soldier.