Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller (16 page)

"Deacon—"

"Shh," I say, kissing her forehead. "If you can trust me, we'll have everything we've ever wanted."

"Deacon." Maria places her hands on my chest.

"What is it?"

She takes a deep breath, and I know something is terribly wrong.

"I'm leaving the Teacher."

"I don't understand," I say.

She nods tenderly toward Legion. "He has no one."

"Which is who he deserves...
no one"

"No one...but me."

"You're the last person on earth he deserves! Was this even your idea? No...it was the Teacher's, wasn't it?"

The Teacher is off in the distance, lecturing to another eager but smaller crowd.

I shout to him, "Was this your idea?" He gives me a brief look of dismissal before returning his attention to his rapt audience. "Did the Teacher put you up to this?" I ask Maria.

"What sort of woman would I be if I left him? He'll die, Deacon."

Legion, who's still kneeling at my feet, begins to stand up. I plant my boot on his hand and dig down until I hear bones crunch. "Who cares?" I say. "Have you forgotten that he tried to kill me yesterday? As in, like, less than twenty-four hours ago? And now you want to...what? Forget our plans so you can nurse him back to health? Let him die!"

Maria begins to cry. "Deacon...you're so angry. I wish you'd harness your passion for something bigger."

I curse and spit on the ground. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Maria. Don't leave me. I'm begging you."

Maria cries harder. Everything in me tells me to apologize and take her in my arms. Just like when I saw her in the Office of Record, all I want to do is make it better. Yet I don't embrace her. Instead I stand still, like a centurion at attention, and watch her suffer.

Finally she says, "The Teacher says the whole law and all the prophets can be summed up in a single commandment."

"I wish the Teacher would do less talking and more doing."

"Love others as you love yourself," she says. "That's what he teaches the people. Did you know that?"

"It's impossible to love another person as much as yourself," I say. "It can't be done."

"Maybe not," Maria admits, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "But we can try, can't we?"

"What about me?" I say, taking her by the shoulders and drawing her close. "Don't I deserve your love? What makes Legion so damn important?"

"This man was my husband." She lowers her voice. "We shared a bed." I dig my heel harder into Legion's hand, and he moans. "I know he's done terrible things," Maria says, "but I also know that if it weren't for the Teacher's generosity, I wouldn't have made it. I can't live with myself unless I do the same for Alejandro. We must extend mercy."

The way she says his name, with tenderness, tells me there's no convincing her otherwise. And deep within me—somewhere—I know she's right. But I won't admit it to her. I can't.

"And yes," Maria says, "you deserve my love more than anyone. And I'll give it to you." She cups my ear and whispers, "I'll give you all of me...I
promise. But for now I want you to follow the Teacher. I'll meet you at the end of the month in the Holy City for the Great Festival. Will you do this for me?"

Imagining Maria and me together is sublime; I'd do anything to make it happen.

"Yes," I say, guilt descending into my soul. "But you must swear you'll come. Promise in the name of the one true God you'll be there."

"You have my word," she says. "Good things will happen in the Holy City, and then we'll be free. We'll start our life together. The Teacher is making all things new."

The guilt consumes me much faster than I expected. I thought I could explain our plan to Maria, make her understand why we must do what we will to the Teacher. But I see now she'd never understand. She's too enthralled by him to grasp the complexity of what it takes to liberate our people from oppression.

I take one more dig into Legion's hand then lie to her. "I'll follow faithfully and learn all I can from the Teacher. But then you and I will escape the South as soon as the Great Festival is over! Not a second later."

Maria kisses me, and I pray to God it won't be the last time I taste her lips.

But I know it is.

Later that morning, I don't go to the Office of Record. Instead I continue to follow the Teacher and his twelve students; they've begun to emulate him in important ways since we left Geth Park. After the Teacher gave them authority, they've been able to teach with power and occasionally heal the sick. And they do it like the Teacher—instantly, miraculously.

Petra, in particular, has proven himself a fine leader. He's as Jude described him, fearless. I've been looking for a chance to speak with him in private, to inquire about his allegiances, but so far the opportunity hasn't presented itself.

The Teacher's plan, as far as I can tell, is to travel and teach for a few weeks before setting out for the Holy City and the Great Festival. The Great Festival is the holiest of all our holidays. All the faithful attend with their families. As the Teacher is a holy man, it's especially critical that he attend the Great Festival. Should he choose not to, Jude and I have been charged with the task of getting him there.

We're more than capable.

But storm clouds are gathering. Miles and a few others believe that once the Teacher reaches the Holy City, he'll finally unveil his plan to overthrow the Kingdom. Miles thinks that even though the Teacher has advocated a peaceful resistance, his position will change during the Great Festival, when more Americans will be gathered than any other time of the year. There he will capitalize upon his growing fame to strike hard and fast against the Kingdom.

While this idea intrigues me, I doubt it will happen. During my short time with the Teacher, I've seen nothing that leads me to believe he'll gather an army. Besides, he doesn't need to, because Jude and I already have taken care of it. We'll do what needs to be done to win freedom while the rest of these men sit around and talk philosophy.

But the real reason I don't pay much attention to the Teacher's plans is because I know something he doesn't.

He'll be locked in prison before the festival's end.

ife on the road isn't half bad. The days are interesting, and the nights are quite fun. For a holy man, the Teacher is a surprisingly freewheeling fellow. He and his students rarely fast from food or drink, as the other religious authorities often do. Plus you never know what he'll say or do next. And I like that. If I'm honest, I've found myself enjoying the Teacher more with each passing day.

Jude says it's only natural to find him an attractive figure. After all, he gives so much to so many without asking for anything in return. But Jude also reminds me that I must keep in mind the ultimate goal and understand that his demise is necessary if we're to rise in rebellion.

I try to convince myself of this, but it's difficult to believe this about a man who's beloved by thousands. He literally breathes life into the lifeless and offers hope to the downtrodden. He's a hard man to hate.

But our plan is set. The men have abandoned their hiding place in the leper colony and are making their secret journey to the Holy City. So now there's nothing for Jude and me to do but make sure the Teacher arrives on time.

Frankly I could think of worse ways to wait out the revolution. Watching the Teacher stir up trouble is fun. Today has been no different—a full day of teaching and healing. The day has been so hectic that the Teacher, who's typically cheerful, looks exhausted. This morning I had a moment alone with him, and I nearly asked if I could do anything for him but then thought better of it. I can be close to him...but not that close.

The sun has set, and we've already prepared camp for the evening when the religious authorities from the Holy City arrive. One of them, a man with a fat belly hidden beneath a red robe, says, "Teacher, we've come from the Holy City, having heard of your wise counsel."

The Teacher greets them warmly.

Fat Belly says, "We know you've done great works today, many of which we saw with our own eyes, but we have a few questions for you, if it's not too much trouble."

The Teacher smiles, but I can see how weary he is. He looks as though he might topple over at any moment. "As you wish," he says.

This "questioning" from the authorities has come to be somewhat of a routine. These men are often angry with the Teacher because he teaches without having been properly ordained by our religious authorities. Like me, they're suspicious of his motives and often come to challenge his understanding of the Scripture. The other students get nervous about these encounters, but I love them because the Teacher has proven himself a great debater. More often than not, he confounds even the most learned of these men with his unorthodox responses. It's a fantastic show.

Fat Belly says, "Why do the students of the Baptist fast, but your students do not fast?"

Petra snickers loudly at the irony of the question. "When's the last time you missed a meal, old man?"

The Teacher shoots an annoyed glance at Petra. "The wedding guests can't fast while the bridegroom is with them, can they? As long as they have the bridegroom with them, they can't fast. The day will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast on that day."

The religious authorities argue among themselves over what the Teacher means by this, then ask, "Why do your students not live according to the tradition of the elders but eat with defiled hands?" The man asking this question gestures toward Miles and me; we're drinking wine and grilling chickens over a small fire.

The man is right. It's true that we don't follow the age-old customs of our religion out here on the road. It's simply not practical to wash our dishes and our hands according to the tradition we were taught in our youth. We Southerners are a people deeply entrenched in our ways, but here—with the Teacher—we've lived with a bohemian sort of freedom that I find exhilarating. But the authorities have a valid point. What we're doing flies in the face of our religion, of our rich heritage.

The Teacher says, "The prophets were right about you hypocrites. You abandon the commandment of God and hold on to human traditions."

The authorities holler in protest, arguing that the Teacher is the hypocrite, for he violates the law. The Teacher says, "Listen to me, all of you, and understand—there's nothing outside a person that can defile him by going inside him. The things that come out are what defile. Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile, since it enters not the heart but the stomach? What comes out of a person is what defiles, for it is from within, from the human heart, that evil comes: fornication, murder, theft, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, and folly. All these evils come from within, and they defile a person."

The authorities gasp in horror. It's unthinkable to them that the Teacher can dismiss tradition so easily. They turn away to argue among themselves, trying to decipher the Teacher's words. The Teacher joins us at the fire, as he often does before departing for prayer.

We drink wine and eat, and do our best to ignore the religious authorities who return to declare they'll follow and watch the Teacher closely in the coming days. They make a separate camp for themselves nearby. Thank God.

We quietly discuss the events of the day for another hour, and then, when we're full with meat and wine, the Teacher departs for the evening. He ventures deep into the wilderness, where he will pray until the sunrise.

Two things happen the following week. First, I miss Maria so badly that I can hardly stand it. Second, I see the Teacher do things no man can do. And yet...he does them anyway.

A deaf man hears his own voice for the first time.

A twelve-year-old girl dies. And then she wakes up.

A bleeding woman is healed by reaching out and taking hold of the Teacher's clothes. The Teacher tells us later her faith made her well.
Her faith.

Crowds of four thousand people endure the grueling heat to listen to the Teacher all day long. In the evening, when there's nothing to eat but seven loaves of bread, every mouth is fed.