The Gospel of the Twin

by Ron Cooper

  I knew, though, that they would laugh at the last part, and that Jesus had never made any such promise anyway. What did they truly want? Given the choice, would they bother to take the empire of the Lord if it put no more bread on their tables? What are the longings of the spirit compared to the aches of the gut? After these many years of peering ever more deeply into the heart, I wish I could say that I had glimpsed the fleeting objects casting the shadows.

  Leah’s house looked abandoned. No shoots pointed up between the dry clods that once were the little garden patch. Weeds grew around the entrance. I pulled up a few handfuls. The uprooted weeds produced an onion scent that made me anxious. I stood before the door feeling as if an ember smoldered in my gut. Had Leah left Nazareth? Had she decided she did not love me and escaped town before having to welcome me on my return?

  I softly rapped three times on the door. No sound came from within. Had her grandmother died, and Leah was sitting with arms around her knees, lonely and abandoned, not eating, too weak to come to the door? I pounded five or six times with my fist, scraping my knuckles on the weathered pine.

  The door opened a thumb’s width, and an eye and a nose passed by the crack. I had time to take three deep breaths before the door opened and Leah filled the threshold.

  Her hair was tied into a loose ball atop her head, and specks of flour dotted her arms and cheeks. She may have been thinner, but more marked a difference was how her eyes had sunken, which happened to every woman in Nazareth when she reached about age thirty. The men’s shoulders slope; the women’s eyes sink.

  Something dripped through her fingers, and when I reached for her, she opened her hand to reveal a broken egg. I was about to speak when she put her arms around me and lay her face against my neck. She whispered, but I couldn’t tell what she said. She stepped back, her arms still wrapped around my shoulders, and we moved together inside.

  We sat on the floor beside her table and kissed each other’s cheeks. Leah wiped her eyes, smearing egg across her face. I found a rag on the table and cleaned her up a bit. This seemed to make her cry more.

  “How did she die?” Leah asked.

  “Who?”

  She put her face down into her hands and sobbed. Her shoulders rose and fell, and when I tried to steady her, she jerked her head up and pulled my face close to hers. “So, you left her.”

  “Yes,” I said. “She wanted to go with Jesus and the others to Jerusalem.”

  “When I saw you alone at the door, I was afraid to open it further. I just knew that my mother was dead, and that was why you were here—to tell me.”

  “Your mother is fine.”

  “You promised me you would care for her.”

  “I did,” I said. “I was with her the entire way, but she’s a grown woman with her own—”

  “My grandmother is dying,” said Leah. “She gave up all desire to live when my mother left. I keep telling her that her daughter would return, but she doesn’t listen. She just says, ‘Gone, gone,’ over and over.” Leah got up and washed her hands. She looked around the room as if measuring its emptiness. “Jerusalem. You let her go to Jerusalem alone.”

  “Alone? No. She’s with five hundred people.” I stood. A lump of dough with a hole scooped into the top lay on the table.

  Remembering now, it reminds me of the massive termite mound, a pile of dried mud nearly my height that I saw in India. My traveling companion was a sadhu, a holy man, on his way home from sacred mountains in the north. I cannot recall his name, but I remember that he carried a serpent in a pot fashioned from a gourd. He told me that the bears and some of the people eat termites.

  (I asked about the bears—I didn’t know anything about these beasts, except that they were said to be ferocious, and I was afraid I might encounter one—and he said that they were not to be feared. If one comes upon a bear, he said, one should sit on the ground and sing softly. The bear will also sit. When the song is done, the bear will go on its way.)

  The sadhu chopped at the termite mound with his walking staff until the top of the mound broke off. He reached in and withdrew a hand covered in small, white creatures. He thrust his hand toward me—to give me a better look, I thought at first, but in fact, he was offering me a meal. When I hesitated, he licked a bit from his hand, then offered again. I wondered for a moment if the Torah deemed termites clean, but I had long rejected most of its rules. I ate a few. They tasted like sweetened dirt—like a thousand years of wretched living. I spat out bits of dirt as the sadhu ate a few more hands of termites. I think he ate more dirt than insect.

  In Nazareth, I looked at the dough as Leah broke another egg and poured it into the dent. She sprinkled flour over the top, then folded the edges up and over to make a wheel. She kneaded as if she wanted to destroy the dough, leaning her weight into her fists, folding again, pressing and pulling. The table shook and began to slide across the floor. I seized Leah’s wrists and raised her hands from the table. She held onto the dough, as if shielding herself behind it. Her grandmother called from behind the curtain, something like “shard” or “chart.”

  “She’s dying,” Leah said. “Turn me loose.”

  I did. Leah took a cup of water behind the curtain. She spoke in low, soft tones to the old woman. I pinched the dough a few times, as one does when trying to wake someone. Leah returned and stood before me, as if waiting for me to make an offer on the purchase of a goat.

  “I can bring her back,” I said.

  “My grandmother will be dead by then.”

  “No, not your mother. Well, that too, but I can bring your grandmother back from the dead,” I said.

  “Don’t mock me.”

  “Jesus can do it. He can heal her.” It was as if I were listening to myself speak from the other side of the room, from another land. “He raised a man from the dead just days ago. I’ll bring him here.” A demon had possessed my tongue—a blind serpent writhing in my numb mouth.

  Leah poured a few drops of oil onto the dough. “My grandmother is dying. I may never see my mother again. We have hardly any food, and no reason to think things will get better. And now you, the man I thought I might love, think me a fool and tell me lies about your brother.” She stopped kneading. “You’re his twin. If he can heal her, why can’t you?”

  The demon stunned my tongue. It lay as thick and lifeless as the lump of dough I was staring at. If the dough baked itself before our eyes, would she be more likely to believe me?

  “I am not my brother.”

  “I’m not sure who you are. I don’t care about your brother. I don’t care about much of anything now.” Leah slapped the dough as if it had offended her. “Look around this village. Behind every door is a woman mourning for a husband or son killed by the Romans or dragged away to work for them or to be sold. Some watched their sons leave with head high and shoulders back to join a band of rebels, never to return. Now I’m one of those women, only it was my mother I lost.”

  “Then I’ll get your mother. And I’ll get Jesus. Trust me. I will restore your house.”

  She began to spread the dough into a broad disk, but her eyes, swollen and damp, never left me. I looked around to make sure that no knife was within her reach. After a moment of this silence, I decided that nothing more could be said. I turned back when I reached the door.

  “What is your mother’s name?”

  Leah dropped her head as if trying to peer into her breast, and I left.

  My house was still filled with women neighbors, but by then they knew that Jesus was not dead. They were not, however, going to waste an opportunity to mourn, so they sat on the floor or paced about, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues. They probably considered it practice for when they had to return to mourn his death for real. My mother looked up from her bed and twisted her lip to let me know that she was no longer angry with me. Deborah brought some water for me to wash my feet and
hands, and Sharon found some bread and porridge. I planned to leave for Jerusalem in the morning. Sleep took me before sundown.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Verse One

  “Thomas, come.”

  I tried to wake quickly and make out the whispering face in the dark. Hands grasped my arms and lifted me to my feet. A hand covered my mouth as two dark faces said, “Shhhh,” and I was led to the door. I thought I was being led to my death, although I didn’t know why. Then again the Romans need no reason. My knees folded in terror, and my kidnappers had to grasp under my shoulders to lift me along. I gasped but could not get enough air into my chest. A sound like a drum pounded in my head. I may have mumbled a prayer, but I tried to remain silent for fear that the others might wake and be placed in danger as well.

  Outside in the moonlight, I could better see the faces—those of Philip and Thaddeus. We stepped a few cubits from the house. They continued to hold my arms.

  “You have to come to Jerusalem,” Philip said. “Jesus was arrested.”

  I tried to speak but gagged, bent over, and retched. I stood and threw back my head and gulped a deep breath. My eyes were wet, and this seemed to pull the stars into focus. Not very long after this, I would find myself in Alexandria, where a philosopher taught me the names of all the constellations. On that night, however, the stars formed no pattern, despite my attempt to find something meaningful in the heavens.

  “How long ago?”

  “The day after you left, we went to Jerusalem,” Philip said. “We ran into Mary and James and John. Mary was sad because she hadn’t found Judas. Jesus told her not to worry and then took us straight to the Temple where, I think, he planned to give a sermon. But something happened to him. He lost control. He began to yell at and curse everyone—the merchants, the coin-changers, even the priests. He turned over tables and scuffled with several of the merchants. Then he just stopped and walked away.”

  “No,” said Thaddeus. “First he stood up on a merchant’s table and said that the Temple would destroy us.”

  “Yes, he did make a short announcement,” said Philip, “but he said he had destroyed the Temple and that we needed to rebuild it within ourselves. And it was a crate, not a table.”

  “That’s not how I remember it.”

  “Anyway,” said Philip, “we knew the Temple police were on the way, so we dragged him out of there. It all happened so fast.”

  “Many in our group,” said Thaddeus, “never caught up with us. I think they were confused and afraid they’d get in trouble if they remained near Jesus.”

  “So when did the police come for him?” I asked.

  Philip finally released his grip on me. “Not until much later. We followed Jesus about the city as he greeted everyone we passed, just as calm and cheerful as he had ever been. I guess he was proud of what he’d done at the Temple, but the rest of us were scared. As we walked, Andrew and John and James sent people out to the nearby streets to see if the police were after us. Roman soldiers were everywhere, but they didn’t seem to be searching for us. And because our group was smaller, I suppose we didn’t draw as much attention as we might have.”

  I pulled my other arm, and Thaddeus let go.

  “Jesus tried to give a sermon,” Philip said, “but the streets were too crowded.”

  “And others were preaching or shouting on nearly every street corner,” said Thaddeus. “I don’t think anyone would have paid him any attention.”

  “When was he arrested?” I asked.

  Philip scratched the ground with his sandal. It was too dark to see what he might have drawn. “We found a place to settle for the night. Merchants had erected tents and charged people to sleep under them. A few people in our group had a bit of money and left us to sleep in slightly better comfort. Then Jesus pulled some of us aside as, you know, he likes to do. The talk was casual, like when you have visitors who drop by to share a skin of wine. He gave us no instructions, no warnings, no lessons, but he did say a few things that were a little strange—like we should take note of the passing of things. Something about spreading like lilies and taking care not to pick them all at once.”

  “No, to make sure we don’t get picked all at once,” said Thaddeus.

  “Yes, he did say we were like flowers, but then he told us to be like the weeds.”

  “And that wild dogs eat the best. Oh, and then we should be travelers.”

  “No, passersby,” said Philip. “Bartholomew was writing some of this down. I’d never seen him do that, but he said he’d written down other things Jesus said. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d been doing it. I don’t know why he kept it a secret. How many of us can read, anyw—?”

  “Get to the important things!” I said. We squatted and listened for signs that someone had been awakened. “This isn’t what you came to tell me,” I said, more quietly. “Now, the arrest.”

  Philip rubbed his mouth and inspected his hand as if worried he might find blood. “Peter and Judas found us. We greeted them with kisses and Jesus was thrilled. Mary danced when she saw Judas and sang a song about the Lord leading our footsteps. But Peter and Judas were serious and didn’t talk much. Jesus asked Judas if he’d located his comrade, and Judas just said ‘yes.’ He didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Then things happened. Mary and Peter got into a quarrel.”

  “No,” said Thaddeus, “first Jesus and Peter stepped away and talked in private.”

  “That was after Mary grabbed Jesus and tried to pull him away.”

  “Couldn’t have been, because Mary got angry when Peter said she couldn’t join their discussion.”

  I told them to get on with it, or perhaps I growled.

  “Some whispering and some quarreling took place,” said Philip. “That much is certain. Then, I think, Judas stepped aside with Mary. I just know that she was not in sight when the police came, but we were all so focused on Jesus and Judas and Peter, who were having a—well, not a fight, but tense words. It could have been anger or it could even have been joy. I can’t say what they were doing.”

  “It was like they were talking in another tongue,” said Thaddeus.

  “And then some of the police―maybe five or six―walked straight up to Jesus as if they knew him while another twenty or more police stood back among us. One of the police clubbed Jesus with the flat of his sword. I thought at first that he had tried to slice off Jesus’ head. Jesus staggered back, stunned, and two Temple guards threw ropes around him and dragged him away.”

  I sank into a squat and retched again. Phillip bent beside me and patted my back.

  “Everybody panicked,” said Thaddeus, “and some of us tried to help Jesus. The police easily overpowered us, and they had some Roman soldiers with them, but it was as if they weren’t interested enough in us even to hurt us badly.”

  “I lost two teeth,” said Philip. He pulled down his lip and showed me. I couldn’t see much by the moonlight, but he slipped in a finger where teeth should have been.

  “James and John, the brothers, were hurt most,” said Thaddeus, “because they would not stop fighting. They knocked down a couple of police. One of them got a soldier’s sword but, before he could use it, he was clubbed in the back of the head. I’m surprised the Romans didn’t kill them.”

  “Did anyone follow Jesus?” I asked.

  “After the fighting was over,” said Philip, “nearly all the followers scattered. As best I could tell, only Jesus was arrested. Those few of us who hadn’t run gathered together. James and John tried to join us, but they could not do much more than groan. Andrew took charge—”

  “Not Judas or Peter?” I asked.

  “They were gone. Andrew said he and a couple of others would find out where Jesus was taken, but he told Thaddeus and me to come fetch you. We left that very moment.”

  I knew my brother was already dead, but I still had to go
to Jerusalem. I was more concerned with how I should deal with my mother. If Jesus had been executed, word could get back to her before I returned. Shouldn’t I be the one to tell her, or would she just drive me away regardless of how she heard? Perhaps I should never return to Nazareth if I got to Jerusalem and found Jesus dead.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Are we taking James?” asked Philip.

  “No.”

  “You’ll tell him what’s happened, though, right?”

  “No. Not a word to anyone. Give me a moment to go inside and get a couple of things.”

  “Thomas,” said Thaddeus, “we hurried here as fast as we could. Can you feed us?”

  Verse Two

  We arrived in Jerusalem exhausted. I was too worried about Jesus to obey the law about not traveling on the Sabbath or to fear the Samaritans. Neither Philip nor Thaddeus even mentioned our ignoring the Sabbath and marching straight through Samaria. We entered the city against the flow of pilgrims ruefully returning to their dolorous villages. They were cursing themselves for breaking their oath of last year that they would never again be cowed into this pointless and costly ceremony and instead remain home to tend scrawny sheep or tote vessels of water to dry fields. Their empty promises to themselves annoyed me as much as their idiotic obedience to ancient tradition, and I wanted to shout at them all that something of immeasurable gravity had happened while they were busying themselves with petty concerns.

  I suggested to Philip and Thaddeus that we pull our cloaks up around our heads in case the Temple police had decided to gather up anyone they suspected was associated with Jesus and, in my case, anyone who looked exactly like him. We saw no one from our inner circle. We saw a man and woman―I think their names were Jonathan and Abigail―who had been with us since Bethsaida. I was surprised that any of them were still in Jerusalem.

  “Here,” I said to the man as I stepped close to him. “It’s Thomas.”

  He put his arm around the woman and hurried away. He looked over his shoulder once.