Mary Magdalene, the Thirteenth Disciple

In the beginning--The Process: The Conjunction Chapter One It was her thirteenth birthday--the best day in the world! Everything was so beautiful she wanted to run forever, her arms open to the wind. She wanted to fly--but she had to walk dutifully behind her brother Reuben and his wife Tamar. Everything shone gold: even the volcanic black buildings lining the narrow streets, the brass pots in the souk, the coins, the piles of arm bangles. Sunlight dusted the embroidered tunics, the red and blue woven rugs hanging from open doorways. Just then, she heard the clatter of hoofs on the cobblestones and saw the flash of steel and the red uniforms. A blond man on a white horse with six Roman legionaries behind him galloped toward her through the center of the marketplace. Baskets tipped over, the horses trampling the fruits and vegetables. Women screamed and Reuben jerked Mary back. Tamar shrilled, "Cover your face!" Reuben pushed Mary flat against the wall and in that instant she looked up, seeing the centurion on the white horse, the banner of the Roman eagle flapping over his head. But she did not cover her face. Time stopped in a cascade of gold, and the image of the centurion framed on the screen of her mind. She had never seen so beautiful a man in the world-- His skin was tanned, his eyes blue beneath his glinting helmet and he rode as if he were riding with the wind. She saw the flash of his red cape, the sheening metal breast plate, the gold hair of his legs under the whipping tunic. She had never seen such a broad chest on a man! She shivered. Abruptly, his eyes met hers--and suddenly there was no one on the street but herself and him, and then he was gone, she staring into the flanks of horses clattering by. Reuben burst out furiously. "Those Romans--they run you down for amusement! Riding right through the marketplace--" Tamar soothed, "It's a pity. They care nothing about the old or sick." Tamar coughed, clutching her shawl. Reuben looked down at her anxiously. "Do you feel all right, love?" "Yes, yes," she turned away, fingering a cabbage with great care. Mary felt the beat of her heart in her mouth. How beautiful the centurion was--the red cape, the glinting sword. It came to her terribly that she would never have a man like that--a golden lover. Her husband would be a man Reuben picked out, a man who owned fields or an olive grove or Tamar's cousin who bought silks from the caravans. He would have a stall like this on a street in Jerusalem and even though he was said to be handsome and rich, she saw him squatting merchant fashion, spitting on the street, his eyes calculating as he bartered with women like Tamar and Mary felt the disappointment. The world, which had been so bright only a few minutes before, now seemed dismal. Reuben stopped before some lambs hanging by their hooves, dried blood rimming their cut throats and the gaping white slits in their bellies. Mary shuddered and tip toed between the spilled piles of gleaming salted fish as merchants picked up the tipped baskets of walnuts, purple figs, olives and plump grapes. The merchants' wives looked hopefully at Mary, while their husbands swept up the horse manure. Mary, still caught up with the centurion, rubbed her arms. The air was rich with the smells of ripe fruit, vegetables, hot bread, almond pastries strewn with honey, and dung from the stacked cages of frightened doves--sacrifices for the temple. The plight of the birds doomed to die interrupted Mary's revery. Poor little ones, she thought, watching the merchants from Jerusalem load the cages of doves on the backs of the waiting donkeys. White wings fluttered against the sides of the cages. Yet they, too, shone gold--and beyond, gold shimmered from the black basalt hills of Magdala as if Yahweh had dusted sunshine over the peaks. The air itself looked like some kind of rare sunshot silk--and in the harbor the sheening masts of the boats dipped, golden wavelets lapping around the hulls. Tamar pinched the citrons, examined the pomegranates on the huge copper platters, and Reuben examined a fat lamb. Suddenly, Mary felt someone staring at her--a bent old man, white bearded, clad in white linen, an Essene, one of the religious fanatics from the monastery of Qumran. Leaning on his staff, he acted as if he knew her. Then he stepped into the throng of bodies and disappeared. She looked after him puzzled. She'd never seen him before. He must have mistaken her for someone else. She giggled. She was hardly religious. Only last week, she'd gotten into trouble at the synagogue when she'd smiled at a handsome young man. Reuben had dragged her away. "It's no wonder," he railed, "that the priests built balconies at the temple in Jerusalem so that silly flirts like you can't disturb the holy rituals." Just then an Arab hummed at Mary and Reuben turned in fury, the Arab slinking away. Reuben's dark eyes glowed possessively as he gazed at her, worry creasing his forehead. He looked at her as if she were a burdensome treasure he had to guard with his life. Poor orphan, he seemed to say, don't be afraid--I will protect you. Her ripe lips curved with mischief, and she flung her head like a young mare, her thick bronze hair cascading around her shoulders, her leaf green eyes lighting with laughter. Helpless, Reuben's big angular face broke into a smile and his wide hand stroked her head. "Mary," he teased, "every man wants to be your husband." "Well, and why not?" she bantered, her audacity making her blush. Reuben turned away, deliberately studying the dead lamb, ignoring her conceit, but the frown remained on his face. She knew he would not wait long to settle on a husband for her. Already offers had been made. Old Joseph had bid twenty horses, four goats, and two camels. The carpenter Simon had promised a new house for Reuben and one for Mary, too; even now, he was handcarving the great bed he intended to give her for her wedding present. Samuel the fisherman had offered the price of a year of his fishing catch. But Tamar's cousin from Jerusalem was planning to visit soon; he was rich, trading in silks from the caravan--and Tamar said he was, well, good looking for his age. Mary felt a curious twinge of fear, and yet a wild kind of excitement, too. Jerusalem! That was a magic name! Jerusalem was the crossroads of the world. If only Tamar's cousin was as handsome as the centurion-- But that wasn't very likely, she thought, pouting. Still, she did not have to go begging to any man; she would have her pick of them all. Everyone knew she would have one of the vineyards as her dowry. She was as proud as Reuben--and as beautiful as her mother had been, the woman she only dimly remembered, the woman with blazing bronze hair who had died when Mary was only five years old. A year ago, Mary's body had filled out, high full breasts and full hips, her skin gold and smooth as a ripe apricot, and Reuben had sighed, she looked so much like her mother. Now, as Tamar shopped, and Reuben paid for the lamb he'd chosen, Mary saw him glance at her uneasily, then glower at the butcher who kept smiling stupidly at her. Tamar, too, watched her worriedly. Soon, soon--the girl could hear her thinking, Mary must have a man. But not like Reuben, Mary thought, feeling guilty as she saw her brother's great honest face with the huge beak of a nose. The world's so big! she thought rebelliously, and I haven't seen any of it. Like Jerusalem--or Egypt. She wanted to live, to feel everything, to taste the world as if it were a ripe fig. I don't want to marry a man like Reuben and have children, and go to market and thump melons, she thought. There was so much more to do in the world! Poor mouse Tamar, so thin, her face sunburned and lined from picking olives, from pressing grapes; the