The Child Madonna - Chapter 37 -'Through Joseph's eyes'

I lay in my lonely bed, wide awake, reflecting for the thousandth time on all that is happening to us. Last night Eli gave us a banquet, prior to our departure for Bethlehem. When we return, he’ll throw an even more generous repast for our wedding, leaving me forever in his debt. As for me, I feel a sense of profound relief that we shall soon be on the open road, free to be ourselves, unconstrained by those around us. I think Mari feels the same as I do. I catch the look in her eyes sometimes - perhaps it is just weariness from carrying the child, perhaps the other children still pester her too much.

Much of the feast seemed so false. The neighbours were polite, but did not know what to say. How do you celebrate a wedding which will not happen until you return with a babe in arms? When the young bride is so obviously and hugely pregnant? When the whole village knows that she is said to be carrying the promised Messiah? That little Mari everyone has known for years is to be mother of Israel’s salvation? I overheard some gossip in the corner; ‘you’ll see it end in disaster….’ was all I caught; I did not want to hear the rest.

I look back with relish only at the picture I bring away of Mari curled up in the corner with the two sleeping little ones snuggled on her lap. She had tried all evening to conform to the wishes of her host and play the part of lady, in whose honour the feast was given. But when the food was put aside, and the necessary pleasantries exchanged, the children had grown bored and Mari had, to Eli’s obvious displeasure, absented herself to amuse them in the anti-chamber. And my last vision of her, before retiring myself was of her propping up her sisters, singing softly to her bonny niece whose large eyes, beamed upon her heroine, were slowly drooping closed.

I cannot stay in bed much longer even though there’s little needing doing. I am on edge, impatient to be off. I slip out into the early morning chill to check the beast that Eli’s kindly loaned me. The pack is ready, but I will leave this to the last moment. Another figure is flitting in the shadows, equally agitated. Mariam’s mother is as nervous as I am.

“Joseph, you gave me a start. You’re up early, surely everything is prepared?”

“I could say the same to you. I couldn’t sleep; there is too much to occupy my mind. Is Mari still asleep?”

“Yes, she’s huddled in the corner with all the children. Mo asked if she could stay with us last night, so there’s four of them all wrapped around each other! I think she probably took some time to get to sleep herself; we chatted for a while, then I told her to save her strength for the journey.”

“Anna, are you worried about her?”

“Of course I am, Joseph, what mother wouldn’t be? I’d much rather her with me for the birth. But I understand Eli’s reasons and yours as well.”

“Is Mari anxious? Does she want to stay at home?”

“That’s difficult to answer. I think she has mixed feelings. She will miss the children, and I suppose I flatter myself enough to think that she’d like me present during her labour. But she’s confidence in you, Joseph, and I can detect an urge to be free, to venture forth on the great adventure. I think she feels hemmed in by all of us; by Eli in particular. Since his conversion to her cause, he’s gone from one extreme to the other. She cannot sneeze without him checking up on her, every word must have some deep theological significance. She finds it too much.”

“I know, I feel it too. I wonder if I ought to accept Eli’s generosity in providing us with home and work - I can see conflict ahead, unless we concede mastery to him in everything we do. Mari will find that even more frustrating than I shall. But on the other hand, here she will be among family and friends. She is so young to be settling in a strange town with a tiny child. She needs people around her who will reassure and help her, not strangers judging her every move.”

“There is one problem you will not have in Bethlehem. At least you’ll have no need to broadcast the baby’s foretold destiny - here the child would be the subject of continual curiosity. One angry glance, a momentary naughtiness and the tale will spread round the whole village.”

“You will give us your blessing, won’t you? I do not wish to have her leave you feeling that her departure is resented.”

“Joseph, of course I will. I love her much too dearly to let her see any hint of regret, except the natural sorrow of parting. Let me ask you this, though, since we are not overheard. Are you really marrying her because you want to, Joseph, and not just out of kindness or of duty? Do you love her?”

“I answer gladly. I have come to love her beyond all measure. At first, I was intrigued by her, but disturbed by her forwardness and lack of inhibition. Then I was fascinated; she ensnared me in her web, as she charms the children, even the animals themselves. In these latter days, I have seen her strength of character, and respect and admiration have joined my feelings for her. She is a rare girl, Anna, and I am privileged to have her.”

“Thank you, Joseph, you reassure me. She likes and respects you too. She is still young to know the depth of love, but the seeds are there; tend them well and she will make a loyal and loving wife. When she is a little more mature, you will find an able and discerning partner too.”

We both fiddle about checking a few more unnecessary details, before Anna again turns to me, and lays her hand upon my wrist.

“Joseph, tell me truthfully. Does it hurt that she is bearing the child of another, even if it is from God? Can you really treat her and the baby as fully yours?”

“Of course it does a bit. I look at her often and a little voice within me says, ‘why could not God have used me to seed the child?’ I feel a bit frustrated that I cannot take her in my arms and demonstrate my love for her in a physical way. Then I reflect that I must accept God’s will, and be thankful that he has allowed me this much in his grand design.”

“You are a good man, Joseph. Be kind to her, love her and her son. Your time will come, you’ll take her in your arms; she will be yours. There’ll be other children that are truly your own.”

“Thank you, Anna. Your words are a source of strength for me.”

“God bless you both. May he give you peace and joy.” She embraces me for a moment in the darkness, then turns and slips away.

My memory of our actual departure is a medley of confusion and muddled images. Despite the early hour, the courtyard is awash with friends and neighbours wishing us godspeed, with Mari’s brother, sisters and cousins getting in everybody’s way. The donkey has been harnessed and loaded, the first round of farewells are said, and Mari is standing beside the beast waiting for the final cue to let me assist her onto its broad back.

At that moment Anna reappears from her home holding an ornate embroidered veil in front of her. It is her labour of love, Mariam’s wedding headdress, and all are surprised to see that Anna is intending to give it to her daughter now, rather than waiting for her return and the wedding feast itself.

“Mari, my beloved daughter, take this veil of womanhood with you. Wear it on your journey; it is right that you are treated as a married couple, it will give you some protection from wagging tongues, and from some who would molest you.”

She goes up to her daughter and places the veil over Mariam’s head and shoulders. Even as she does so, Eli turns to protest, and makes as if to push it from her.

“No, Anna, do not break tradition. Keep it until the wedding night, only her husband can take it from her head.”

He tries again to remove it, but Mari steps backwards, and the two youngest children, who have been chasing each other around her in circles, clutch instinctively at the long veil as if they wish to ensure that it is not taken from their idol. One child trips and there is a horrifying ripping sound as two childish hands pull the veil not only from Mari’s shoulders, but veer towards different directions in their falling. Anna cries out in alarm, and both children realise that something awful has happened, breaking into piercing shrieks immediately.

Mari stoops to pick up the torn piece of cloth. Her eyes are moist, but she checks her voice and tries to soothe the children. She looks at her mother whose face is betraying anguish at the spoiling of her gift.

“Don’t scold them, anyone. It was an accident. Don’t mar my farewell with recriminations. It will repair. It’ll be a challenge to my skills that you have taught me, mother! See, it’s not torn through. I shall be dainty, the scar will not notice. When I wear it at my wedding, no-one but you will notice the blemish.”

She stoops to the two children who are just whimpering now and slips an arm round each of them.

“You know what that means, don’t you! As you’ve taken off my veil, it means you must take responsibility for me, just like I’ve looked after you all these years. See, Joseph, you’ve got some helpers. When I lead you a song and dance, you’ve got the authority of these two here to take me in hand!”

She hugs both of them and kisses them roundly on the lips.

“Be good, all of you, I’ll bring you back a new baby, a special son like you’ve never seen before, and you shall help me look after him.”

Mariam, with great deliberation, adjusts the damaged cloth over her loose dark hair and draws it down over her shoulders, so that the rip cannot easily be seen. Then she kisses both her sisters and says a tender farewell to her mother. We move off slowly, waving as we go; the children run behind along the street and right to the outskirts of the village. We wave and move on. The children stay there, little figures growing ever smaller, arms flailing in the air. Mari turns every few seconds, acknowledging their frantic signals. Only when the track curves round below the hill and we lose the village from our sight, does she settle down in comfort on the donkey. Her eyes are filled with tears. What should I say or do? I am filled with anxiety, for she is my responsibility now; how should I comfort her?

“Mari, don’t cry, my love. We’ll soon be home again. They’ll be the first to greet you with your child.”

“Oh Joseph, I had this awful premonition, suppose I was leaving Nazareth for good and didn’t see them again? It was silly of me, I know. Be patient with me, I’ll soon be myself again.”

We plod on beside the track. There are few on the road and I am anxious. I have chosen the Samaritan route south, for I am fearful of bandits, particularly on the Jordan route to Jerusalem. I know Eli advised me against this route, for it means we shall be dependent on gentiles and Samaritans until we near Jerusalem itself, but I’d rather seek their hospitality overnight, and meet their traffic by day, than take the lonely path beside the river, especially in the desert region to the south. Mari is trustful of me, I don’t think she realises the danger we are running as lone travellers. We have little of which we can be robbed, however, and I hope that we will not be easily mistaken for more wealthy voyagers.

For our first overnight stop we choose a village on the border of Samaria, and are welcomed with a small room at the back of a dirty courtyard, where many toddlers stare at us with curiosity. Mari is soon in her element, conversing with the tiny children, while I unload and tether the beast, and lay our beds out on the dusty floor. We are going to be together overnight for the first time. Has Mari given any thought to this? Will she be embarrassed? Should I have sought separate rooms, and exposed her condition to the speculation of our hosts? I mutter tentatively about the arrangement. I see from her expression that she hasn’t even thought about our premature cohabitation.

“It doesn’t matter, Joseph, I have no secrets from you now. We are all but man and wife. Shortly I shall be needing your help when I give birth; there will be no time for either of us to be shy then!”

When we settle for the night, I find I am searching her features with longing in my heart. Despite her strength, she looks so fragile, her thin tanned arms and legs, bare to my gaze. Her frank brown eyes seem to me to bore into my inmost being; she must, I think with embarrassment, recognise the desire which I feel for her despite my attempt to stifle it. Perhaps it is the similarity of our situation with the wedding night. It is the first time in my adult life that I have had the sole company of a girl beside my bed.

I am resisting such thoughts and feeling guilty that I have them. Suddenly I sense her arms around my neck, the soft warm skin of her cheek is brushing against my brow. I feel a gentle fluttering kiss, moist and tentative, and as I turn towards her, before I can collect my wits, she is whispering:

“Just hold me, Joseph, no more for the moment. I trust you. When the baby’s come and I’ve been purified, then I shall be yours entirely.”

She bends over me and kisses me again. I turn and take her in my arms, feeling the warmth exuding from her body.

“I love you, Mari, truly I do. I will care for you all my life, it is my one desire.”

“Oh Joseph, I feel safe with you. All my fears and worries disappear when you are here.”

She snuggles in my arms, and within moments, it seems, she is fast asleep. I stare at her, inches from my face, and marvel at such trust. It truly frightens me, this awesome responsibility. It is enough to take on the cares of another human being, but one so precious, so innocent, so trustful; and the nature of the child within her scares me uncontrollably. I cannot comprehend why she has not seen through me, lost her confidence which is so ill-placed. As I hold her, counting it now a privilege to be awake and receive her trust like this, I pray to the Almighty for the strength I need.

“Give me faith like hers, Lord God; lead us in your protective arms.” And cocooned thus, I fall asleep.

When I awake, my first sight is her face poised over mine, a great golden grin spreading from cheek to cheek.

“Joseph,” she says excitedly, “Joseph, are you awake?”

I nod as best I can.

“Feel, quick, feel.” At first I do not grasp what she is saying. Then she takes my hand and guides it to the bare flesh of her belly. “Can you feel him? He is kicking me for all he’s worth!”

And indeed he is. Her smooth skin is pulsating under my hand, rippling and jerking in a most peculiar manner. As my hand rests on that sacred flesh, I feel a tiny lump pressing from her body, perhaps it is the baby’s elbow or even a tiny fist.

“See, you can feel him, can’t you! Isn’t it wonderful,” she breathes at me in an awe-inspired voice. I move to withdraw my hand, but she holds me there.

“Stay for a moment, I want to share this time with you.”

We kiss gently, and I am totally in her power, as we lie together enthralled by the tiny movements of the vulnerable limbs.

“He usually wakes me up; I think he just likes to play with me before the others claim me. He’s certainly going to be an early riser!”

Two more nights we’ve spent upon the road. I cannot comprehend how much I’ve grown to love her. What I thought I felt at first is nothing to the real obsession she has now engendered in me. Every moment of the day is filled with her. No longer do I feel anxious that I cannot cope, nor do I worry what she is thinking of my actions. I just lay all I am before her, she has everything I’ve got; more I cannot give. This is how I feel, and yet there will be more, when she is ready. But the present is enough, I live within her rules and am blessed in every smile, in every sparkle from those gorgeous huge eyes of hers.

We are moving through the centre of Jerusalem. I thought she’d like to see the city again - last time was so brief. I am just pointing out the different aspects of the Temple, when suddenly her face tenses, and she seems oblivious to all that I am saying.

“What is the matter, Mari? What has happened?”

She stares at me a moment, as if in horror, then her face relaxes, her hands fly to her lap.

“My waters,” she whispers loudly to me, “they’ve broken. The baby’s coming!”

I look and see the trickle of fluid running down the donkey’s back, glistening on the coarse hair. I am alarmed and begin to panic. Should we look for an inn here where she can have the child? She notices my reaction, and grins at me.

“Don’t worry, we’ve still got time. We’ve got hours yet. But let’s be on our way; I want to be in your house by nightfall.”

I make her comfortable on the donkey and lead them both back out of the Gennath Gate, this time on the Bethlehem road, past Herod’s palace. We have scarcely gone more than half a mile, when suddenly Mari cries out again, a shout of part surprise, part pain.

“What is it, Mari?”

“My contractions have started. Wait a moment until this spasm is over. Our son is in a hurry to greet the world.”

Despite my anxiety I cannot help but notice what she said: “our son.” I clasp her round the waist and support her as she tenses while the spasms last. Her fingers tighten round my wrist and I notice her knuckles white with stress; then she relaxes her grip, smiling weakly at my worried look.

“Keep going, Joseph, I’m alright now.”

I quicken the donkey’s pace, but watch the beast carefully to see that the different rhythm is not jolting her. We are dropping away from the city now through the valley of Hinnom - and brown earth, crumbling and dun, with little vegetation. The city is still well in sight, when Mari tenses a second time and tightens the reins around her palms. I stop the beast, and hold her once again. I look at her questioningly.

“Yes, Joseph, already.”

When she is sufficiently recovered, I note the spot, and drive the donkey onwards. We must have covered nigh on another half mile, when the same grimace of pain grips my beloved’s features, and I stop to take her in my arms. I do a quick calculation. At the present rate of progress, with these interruptions, we could take another couple of hours to reach my home. Then I have to obtain help, fetch water, make her comfortable, and that assumes the contractions will not dramatically increase in frequency. I am getting bothered; I’m not sure we are going to make it. I don’t tell Mari this, of course, but urge her onwards.

We make another league or two, then her pattern changes rapidly. Very suddenly she is panting strenuously every few yards, scarcely recovered from one bout of contractions before the next pains hit her. I cannot stop to hold and comfort her each time she shouts in anguish. She goes rigid on the donkey’s back, while I urge the beast forward, fearful, lest in her trauma she lose her hold on the animal and slip to the stony ground. Our progress now is dreadfully slow. The jagged skyline of Bethlehem is in our view, but it seems to get no nearer, and the sun is sinking fast. What is more, my little home is on the far side of the town, at the very outskirts, another half an hour’s journey, even if we had no hindrance.

She is all in. She is trying not to frighten me, or articulate her fears, but I can see it in her eyes. One matter reassures me. If her labour is progressing so quickly, there is less likelihood of danger at the birth, or complications caused by her comparative immaturity. As she tries to cope with yet another spasm that wracks her body, I hold her tight, and promise:

“We’ll not try to reach my house, Mari, we’ll stop at the first house on this road and seek lodging until the child is born.”

She can hardly speak to me now, but signals assent and relief with her eyes. Somehow we stagger into a little courtyard and I rush, panicking, into the house, seeking the owner, making a pandemonium.

A bustling woman of ample proportions turns startled at my noisy intrusion and at first deals brusquely with my wild demands. Then, slowly, my real panic dawns on her, and she dashes out to find my frightened Mari on whom she has immediate compassion.

“Goodness me, girl, how far has this man driven you this day? Come with me, I’ll find somewhere for you. We’re overflowing in the house - many strangers are in town for the coming census - but we’ll make room for you at the back where we keep the livestock.”

She puts an arm around Mari’s shoulders and helps her forward. At once she recognises the advanced stages of her labour.

“Quick, man, take your wife in there. I’ll run and get some cloth and water, and I’ll be back soon. You’re going to need some help.”

I feel useless now, but do as I’m told.