John blushed but did not say a word. He went inside to fetch a cup of cold water and some ripe figs to offer the visitor. The two women, sitting side by side, their heads touching, talked about the boy who had been swept away by God. They conversed in whispers so that the men would not hear them and by interfering spoil the deep feminine joy given them by pain.

“He prays and prays, your son tells me, Salome; he prostrates himself so much, his hands and knees have become all calloused. John says also that he doesn’t eat, that he’s melting away. He’s begun to see wings in the air, too. It seems he even refuses to drink water, in order to see the angels. Where can this affliction lead, Salome? Not even his uncle the rabbi can heal him, and think how many other people possessed with devils he has cured. Why has God cursed me, Salome; what have I done to him?”

She leaned her head against her elderly friend’s knees and began to weep.

John appeared with a brass cup filled with water and five or six figs on a fig leaf. “Don’t cry,” he said to her, placing the figs in her lap. “A holy glimmer runs around your son’s entire face. Not everyone sees it, but one night I did: I saw it licking his face and devouring it, and I was frightened. And after the Abbot died, Father Habakkuk dreamed of him every night. He says he held your son by the hand and took him from cell to cell, pointing to him with his outstretched finger, not speaking, just smiling and pointing to him. Finally Father Habakkuk jumped out of bed in terror and roused the other monks. They struggled all together to disentangle the dream. What did the Abbot wish to tell them? Why did he point to their new guest and smile? Suddenly, the day before yesterday, the day I left, the monks were illumined by God and they untangled the dream. The dead man was instructing them to make your son Abbot. Without losing a moment, the whole monastery-full of monks went and found your son. They fell at his feet and shouted that it was God’s will he should become Abbot of the monastery. But your son refused. ‘No, no, this is not my road,’ he said. ‘I am unworthy; I shall leave!’ I heard his cries of refusal at noon, just as I left the monastery. The monks were threatening to lock him into a cell and place sentries in front of the door to prevent his escape.”

“Congratulations, Mary,” said old Salome, her aged face gleaming. “Fortunate mother! God blew into your womb and you don’t even realize it!”

The woman loved by God heard and shook her head, unconsoled. “I don’t want my son to be a saint,” she murmured. “I want him to be a man like all the rest. I want him to marry and give me grandchildren. That is God’s way.”

“That is man’s way,” said John softly, as though ashamed to offer an objection. “The other is God’s way, the one your son is following.”

They heard voices and laughter from the direction of the vineyards. Two young, flushed carriers entered the yard.

“Bad news, bosses,” they shouted, splitting with laughter. “It looks like Magdala’s risen up. The people have taken stones and are hunting their mermaid in order to kill her!”

“What mermaid, lads?” yelled the treaders, stopping their dance. “Magdalene?”

“Yes, Magdalene, bless her! Two mule drivers brought us the news as they went by. They said the bandit chief Barabbas-phew! all fear and trembling he is!-they said he left Nazareth and invaded Magdala yesterday, Saturday.”

“There’s another one for you!” growled Zebedee in a rage. “A plague on him! He says he’s a Zealot and will save Israel, him and his beastly snout. May he rot in hell, the filthy bastard!… Well?”

“Well, he went by Magdalene’s house in the evening and found her yard full-up. The excommunicate was working on the holy Sabbath! This impiety was too much for him. In he rushes, yanks his knife out from under his shirt, the merchants draw their swords, the neighbors crowd in too, they all rush at each other, and before you know it the yard turns into a tangled mass of arms and legs. Two of our men fell wounded; the merchants mounted their camels and ran for their lives. Barabbas broke down the door to find the lady in question and slaughter her. But where was Magdalene? She’d flown the coop, gone out through the back door, unseen! The whole village took up the hunt, but soon it got dark, and there was no chance of finding her. In the morning they scattered in every direction, searched, and got on her trail. It seems they found her tracks in the sand-and she’s headed for Capernaum!”

“What luck if she comes, lads!” said Philip, licking his protruding, goat-like lips. “She was the one thing missing from our Paradise. Yes, we forgot Eve, and now we’ll certainly be delighted to see her!”

“Her water mill is open on the Sabbath too, bless her!” said simple Nathanael, smirking craftily in his beard. He remembered how once, on the eve of the Sabbath, he had bathed, put on clean clothes and shaved. Then the temptation of the bath came and took him by the hand. They went together to Magdala and made a beeline for Magdalene’s house-bless her! It was winter, business was bad, and Nathanael remained at her mill the whole of the Sabbath, all by himself-and ground. He smiled with satisfaction. A great sin, one might say. Yes, indeed, a great sin; but we place all our trust in God, and God forgives… Calm, poor, harassed, unmarried, Nathanael spent his whole life sitting in front of a small bench in one corner of the village street making clogs for the villagers and thick sandals for the shepherds. What kind of a life was that! Once, therefore, one precious time in his whole life, he had thrown everything overboard and enjoyed himself like a man-even if it was on the Sabbath. As we said, God understands this sort of thing-and forgives…

But old Zebedee scowled. “Troubles! Troubles!” he grumbled. “Do they always have to settle their rows in my yard? First prophets, then whores or weeping fishermen, and now Barabbases-this is too much!” He turned to the treaders. “You, my fine lads, attend to your work. Tread the grapes!”

Inside the house, old Salome and Mary the wife of Joseph heard the news, looked at each other and, without saying a word, immediately bowed their heads. Judas abandoned his hammer and went to the street door, where he leaned against the jamb. He had heard everything and had engraved it all in his mind. On his way to the door he threw a savage glance at old Zebedee.

He stood in the doorway and listened. He heard voices and saw a cloud of dust rise up. Men were running; women were screaming, “Catch her! Catch her!” and before the three men had time to jump out of the wine press or old stuff-pockets to slide down from his platform, Magdalene, her clothes in rags and her tongue hanging out of her mouth, entered the yard and fell at old Salome’s feet.

“Help!” she cried. “Help! They’re coming!”

Old Salome took pity on the sinner. She got up, closed the window and told her son to bolt the door.

“Squat down on the ground,” she said to Magdalene. “Hide yourself.”

Mary the wife of Joseph leaned over and looked at this woman who had gone astray, looked at her with both sympathy and horror. None but honest women know how bitter and slippery honor is, and she pitied her. But at the same time this sinful body seemed to her a wild beast, shaggy, dark and dangerous. This beast had almost snatched away her son when he was twenty years old, but he had escaped by a hair’s breadth. Yes, he escaped the woman, Mary thought, with a sigh, but what about God…

Old Salome placed her hand on Magdalene’s burning head. “Why are you crying, my child?” she asked with compassion.

“I don’t want to die,” Magdalene replied. “Life is good. I don’t want to die!”

Mary the wife of Joseph extended her hand now too. She did not fear her any longer, nor did she detest her. “Do not be afraid, Mary,” she said, touching her. “God protects you; you won’t die.”