Poisoned Honey: A Story of Mary Magdalene (12 page)

When I looked in the corner a day or so later, the seedling’s first true leaves had appeared. I thought they looked like the leaves of a mustard plant—one of the serving women must have dropped a seed from a pouch of spices. Sure enough, with each new leaf I was more certain it was mustard. By this time, I no longer wanted to pull up the
plant. In fact, I moved some of the tools to shield it from view while still allowing enough sunlight for it to grow.

I got in the habit of looking in on the mustard plant each morning—greeting it, so to speak. If the dirt between the stones looked dry, I would dribble some water on it. But I was careful not to let the others see what I was doing. The seedling seemed like a secret message to me from the One who creates all things:
Look! I’m making a tiny, dry seed turn into a fresh green plant, just for you
.

On the day that I found a yellow blossom on my plant, my heart leaped. I hadn’t thought the plant was large enough to bloom; in the fields, mustard plants are waist high by the time the flowers appear. But there it was, tiny but bright.

Footsteps came up behind me, and Chava snorted, “Weeds!” Reaching past me, she yanked the plant up.

I smothered my cry of distress. I watched her drop the plant on a trash heap by the gate, but I waited until she was busy somewhere else. Then I picked up the mustard plant, which was already limp. Lifting it to my face, I sniffed its sharp scent. It seemed unbearable that its life was over, and I shoved it into the middle of the trash, out of sight.

I found many excuses to go out of the house. It cheered me a little to visit my family, although for pride’s sake I tried not to go there every day. Chloe always looked glad when I
walked in the gate. As for my grandmother, I resigned myself to the fact that her words might not make sense. It was still wonderfully sweet, sweet as honey, to feel her tender gaze on me.

One day, as I helped Eleazar pack for a business trip to Tiberias, he said abruptly, “People tell me you’re spending all your time at your brother’s house. They’re beginning to wonder.”

My heartbeat sped up. Surely Eleazar wouldn’t take this little pleasure away from me. Then I felt a flash of anger. “Did Chava say that? It’s not true! She doesn’t like me; I tried to tell you. Can’t I see my own mother and grandmother and sister now and then? Please—”

“This idle visiting must stop,” he cut me off. “You belong to this house now.”

I was trembling, but I dared not protest anymore.

After Eleazar and the servant carrying his pack had left for the docks, Chava handed me a market basket. “Where is your head scarf?”

“I didn’t know we were going to the market today,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “I would have thought that a girl’s mother would have taught her to notice when the pantry supplies were getting low.”

I
would have thought that if she expected me to watch
the supplies, she’d let me look in the pantry. But it didn’t seem worth squabbling with Chava, and besides, if I annoyed her, she might make me stay in the compound. I followed her out the gate with my basket.

The crowded, noisy market would be something different, at least. There was always plenty to look at, especially among the Gentile vendors. Last time we’d been in the market, for instance, I’d noticed a booth of pottery figurines.

Chava had noticed them, too, and said aloud to no one in particular (she didn’t address me directly if she could help it), “They’re lucky the elders haven’t noticed these abominations.”

Images were forbidden by Jewish law, and the town elders frowned on any images in public, even if they were displayed by non-Jews. They’d certainly be angry if they saw those little statues of Artemis, a Greek goddess. I thought she was fascinating, in a disgusting kind of way, covered with dozens of breasts.

That day, when we reached the corner where the alley met the avenue, I hesitated. Chava turned downhill to the market, not looking back to see if I was following. What if I walked up the avenue, away from the market? What if I walked out the west gate, into the hills, and just kept walking?

Then I was truly frightened. Was I going mad, like my
grandmother? There was no safe place for a lone woman in the hills. Savage animals lived there, and savage people. One of them was related to me on Imma’s side, as a matter of fact: the son of a cousin. The boy suffered from violent fits, and he was too wild to keep at home. They put him in a hut in the hills and paid a shepherd to bring him food.

There were also rebel bands hiding in caves in the cliffs, people said. Herod Antipas sent a troop of soldiers up the mountain every once in a while to root them out, but the rebels always returned. I wouldn’t want to meet any of those desperate men—or Antipas’s soldiers, either, for that matter. With a shudder, I turned down the avenue and hurried to catch up with Chava.

Outside the market, Chava met an acquaintance and stopped to chat. She kept her back turned to me, and the neighbor glanced at me curiously but didn’t greet me. I stood there behind Chava like a servant.

Nearby, a woman squatted on a tattered cloth. She must not have been able to afford even the small fee for a vendor’s space in the market. She had a wicker cage of sparrows for sale. Only poor people who couldn’t afford a chicken or even a dove would buy such a pathetic little mouthful, hardly worth plucking and roasting. “Sparrows, plump and tasty, only a sestertius,” she called.

The birds were strangely still, with only their heads
turning this way and that. Then one sparrow, as if realizing where it was, fluttered up from the floor of the cage. In an instant, every bird in the cage was frantic, beating its wings against its fellow prisoners and the wicker bars. And then, just as suddenly, they all gave up at once and huddled on the bottom of the cage.

I couldn’t bear to look any longer. “I’m going into the market,” I muttered to Chava, and I hurried into the maze of booths. But the sight of the cage seemed to follow me. I walked faster and faster.

Rushing past a glassblower’s booth, I became aware that someone was calling my name. “Mari. Mari!” It was a young woman with a round, shiny face and merry dark eyes. I’d walked right by my cousin Susannah.

As we hugged, Susannah mock-scolded, “Why haven’t you visited me? Doesn’t your husband let you see your kin-folk?” She pulled back and looked at me more closely. “What’s the matter, Mari? You look upset.”

I cast around for some more or less believable answer, but instead the truth came tumbling out. “Susannah … the sparrows for sale outside the market … it broke my heart to see them trying to escape….” I was horrified at myself, but it was too late.

Susannah didn’t look shocked, as I feared; she squeezed
my hand. Taking my arm, she spoke quietly in my ear. “I was going to send my servant to your house and tell you to come to me this afternoon. You know the wise woman from Alexandria? She’s our guest now.”

With an effort, I calmed myself enough to pay attention to her words. “Oh yes—the Egyptian.” I dug into my memory for more. “You invited us to meet her before, but Imma wouldn’t let us go. I thought she’d left for Tiberias.”

“She did,” said Susannah, “but she came back. And Silas said I could invite Ramla—that’s the wise woman’s name—to stay with us.” Her eyes sparkled as she put a hand on her belly. “Have you heard that I’m with child again? We’re hoping for a son.”

“I’m so happy for you! May the Lord grant you and the child the best of health.” I spoke the expected words and hugged my cousin again, although in my misery I felt she ought to be satisfied with the good fortune she already had. But, of course, Susannah and her husband, after having a daughter, wanted the next baby to be a son. Wise women were said to be especially helpful with such matters.

“Come to see Ramla, Mari,” said Susannah. “She truly is wise. She foretells the future, and she counsels people in … in difficulties. She said it would be no extra trouble to advise my friends.”

I felt my face grow hot. So Susannah had already known that I was unhappy. Maybe everyone in our congregation was watching Eleazar and me, talking about how miserable I was. Pitying me.

Chava appeared beside me, and she and Susannah exchanged cool greetings. Susannah hesitated, and then I suppose she thought Chava might make trouble for me if she wasn’t invited to Susannah’s gathering. “If you, too, wish to see Ramla of Alexandria this afternoon,” she said, “you would be welcome a thousand times.”

Chava thanked Susannah with barely concealed distaste. “That Egyptian woman, back again?” She clucked her tongue. “Did she ever receive permission from the council of elders to practice in Magdala? I’m not sure Father-in-law would approve of us consulting her.”

“I’m sure he
would
,” I snapped, with something like my old spark. Of course, I wasn’t sure at all, but Susannah’s presence gave me a little courage. I straightened my back and forced a smile. “I don’t know that I need advice,” I told Susannah, “but I am curious to see the Egyptian. I’ll come this afternoon.”

Chava didn’t try to stop me from going to Susannah’s, but she did almost spoil my afternoon. As Chava watched me cover my hair with a scarf, she remarked to her niece, “See, Daphne, she’s going out
again
. Most young wives would be eager to prove their worth at home. But she’s used to idle entertainments, I suppose.”

I left without answering, trembling with anger. I no longer wondered why Chava hated me, because I hated her. I wished the earth would split open under her feet, then close up again with a clap, squeezing the bile out of her. The evil wish satisfied me for a moment, but then it made me feel disgusted with myself.

After I sat down on a cushion in the upper room of
Susannah’s house, it was several minutes before I began to enjoy myself. It helped to be in a room full of friendly women; it helped to sip my cup of cool pomegranate juice. It helped most of all when little Kanarit ran over to me, lisping, “Cousin Mari!” and snuggled down beside me.

Wistfully I thought it must be sweet to have a baby, and I wondered if Eleazar had lost his power to beget children. Then immediately I recoiled from the thought of bringing a helpless child into that household. Heaven forbid!

I hoped that Ramla’s performance would take my mind off my troubles, and I was glad when the Egyptian wise woman appeared at the sound of a gong. She made an exciting entrance, standing in the doorway with the light silhouetting the crescent on her headdress and the large bird on her shoulder. Yes, she had a talking bird, just as Susannah had promised. “Greetings, ladies,” it said in a cracked but distinct voice.

Ramla took a step into the room, and now I saw that her parrot was gray with a scarlet tail. The young woman next to me whispered nervously, “What if … what if it’s a
demon
speaking through the bird?” I thought that was a silly idea, but I patted her arm.

“Honored ladies,” Ramla intoned, “last night I kept a vigil to watch the stars. Know that we are in a time of new beginnings.”

New beginnings
. The words called up a reading from the
prophets at last Sabbath’s synagogue meeting. I’d hardly listened to the reading at the time, but now the Scripture came back to me: “New things I now declare; before they spring forth, I tell you of them.”

The wise woman went on, “As the great lighthouse at Alexandria guides ships on their voyages, the light of hidden wisdom can direct your journey.” She gestured with a scroll. “The Scroll of Wisdom holds a message for each one in this room.”

My journey? A new beginning for me? What a mockery! My journey through life had ended in a cage.

With an effort, I turned my attention back to Ramla as she proceeded to impart special advice from the spirit world to each of us. Staring upward as if the ceiling would dissolve before her gaze, she pronounced the name of one of the women in the room. Next, she raised her scroll in the direction of her gaze, as if to receive some kind of power. Then she opened the scroll and read from it. When she was finished, the parrot squawked, “Ramla has spoken.”

The talking bird reminded me of the sparrow I’d named Tsippor. I thought my sparrow had more intelligent things to say than the Egyptian’s bird, though. I’d had long conversations with that sparrow.

I was intrigued by Ramla’s scroll. I’d never seen such a fine scroll, with carved and polished handles, except in the
synagogue. Furthermore, I’d never seen a woman hold one. In fact, I didn’t know any women who could read more than a few words.

As Ramla read out a passage for each of us, I tried to guess whether the advice really fit the person. I didn’t know most of the guests well, but I knew that Susannah’s husband’s aunt was concerned about her share in a caravan from Damascus. Ramla’s reading assured her: “A venture is bound to be successful.” Susannah’s reading hinted at a baby boy to come, which, of course, was what Susannah and Silas hoped for.

Then Ramla spoke my name. Immediately I wished I’d asked her
not
to read for me. Nothing could help me. Besides, I didn’t want the other women thinking and speculating about me as I had about them.