The Missing Madonna, Chapter 19, "A developing friendship"

The men have gone out to have a chat. They are standing in the clear moonlight just out of earshot. I wonder what they are talking about. Dora and I have been busy seeing to our children. We have been sitting together in Dora’s tent because it’s bigger than ours and both nursing our children while Dora tells stories softly to little Martha who, while listening to her mother, is fixing me with her big brown eyes. Dora’s baby boy who is called Simeon – after her father apparently – falls asleep quickly and Joshua, fatigued from all the excitement of today, meeting new friends, soon follows.

I make as if to take Joshua back to our tent, but Dora begs me to stay and I hold the little girl and sing to her while the baby is rocked and laid on a cloth rug to keep him off the rough earth. When Dora is unencumbered I move to give Martha back to her, but the girl wriggles on my lap and Dora indicates that it’s alright for her to stay. Dora just watches me as I carry on singing and eventually I feel Martha suddenly go floppy and I look down and see her eyes closing. They flutter once or twice, then she is breathing deeply. We wait in silence, then Dora takes her gently from my arms and lays her down next to the prone Simeon.

“You have a real gift, don’t you? I’ve never seen Martha take to anyone like that before. She’s usually so shy. She won’t even let my mother take charge at bedtime and she is very hesitant about going to Philip’s mum at all. How do you do it?”

“I’ve had plenty of practice. I have two younger sisters and a baby brother and I’ve looked after them since I was a young girl.”

“I might have guessed. How old are they now? Aren’t you missing them by coming all this way to Egypt?”

“The girls will be eleven and twelve by now. My brother Benjamin will be just seven. I haven’t seen them since Joseph and I got married and we came to Bethlehem – that’s over two years now. I miss them desperately. I find myself wondering every day how they are faring.”

“Where do you come from? Joseph said something about Bethany but from your accent I’d say you come from somewhere further north.”

“You’re right. I come from a tiny village called Nazareth in Galilee. I don’t expect you’ve heard of it. It’s near a big town called Sepphoris.”

“Joseph doesn’t come from there, does he? Is he from Bethany or Bethlehem? How did you meet? Did your parents know him?”

“Bethlehem. He’s my mother’s distant cousin, my grandmother lived in Jerusalem and my mother was brought up there and only moved to Nazareth when Herod abolished the Sanhedrin and confiscated our family’s property.”

“Is that why you’re moving away from Bethlehem? Are your family still having problems with King Herod?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes. It’s really more of a precaution than real threat.”

“I’ve heard that Herod is pretty ruthless and has a long memory. Did you think you were in danger? Is that really why you are on the road?”

I suddenly remember Joseph’s warning. Does it matter what I say to Dora? She seems so friendly and I can’t imagine that either she or her husband would give us away. Surely we’re safe here anyway? But I remember Joseph’s words and think I’ve probably said all I should at the moment. Joseph would probably say that I’ve said too much already.

“I don’t know. The problems were a long time ago. I can’t think that there’s really any danger now.”

We are silent for a while. I can tell she wants to press me for more but is reluctant sensing that I’ve said all I want to for the moment. If we stay together and become friends, then perhaps one day I’ll tell her everything, but we’ve only just got to meet and it’s too soon, too risky. The men come back now anyway and I pick Joshua up and take him back to our own tent. I wonder what Joseph has told Philip. I expect Philip and Dora will exchange information they’ve got from us and be puzzled and curious if they find we’ve told different stories. Perhaps I ought to check with Joseph what he’s said but I’m reluctant to admit to him how much I’ve told Dora in case he’s displeased with me. So I say nothing and just comment that Dora is a friendly soul and how pleasant it is to chat to another woman in my own language. And I tell him that I sang to Martha and how she fell asleep in my arms. Joseph grins at me and kisses me gently and we cuddle up in the confines of our tent – we can do little else – and I feign sleep before he can ask me any more.

I lie there with my eyes tightly shut and soon I can hear Joseph’s deep breathing and I know he is asleep. I roll onto my back and thoughts whir through my mind. It seems miles away from the dirty slum of Pelusium. Then I think of Naomi and Anna, it seems so long into the past, not just twenty four hours ago. I feel sorry for those two, especially Anna, having to spend all day scavenging amid the refuse and filth. Why doesn’t Nathaniel try to take his family away from that hell? What hope for a better life do they have? It seems so unfair. I’m glad now that Joseph encouraged me to leave rather than get used to the squalor there. It would not be fair on Joshua and the little one growing in my belly.

I clasp my stomach and smile to myself. I can’t really feel anything yet, but I know he or she is there. I wonder how big he is. There, I’ll call it ‘he’ for now. Will it be best for Joshua to have a little brother or sister? If he’s born here will he be an Egyptian? It seems funny to say that! I’m sure we’ll find a good Jewish community where he can grow as a proper Jew. After all, Joshua is called to be the Messiah for the Jews, not for the Egyptians. Therefore one day we’ll have to return.

I wonder where we’ll go. Will it just be back to Bethlehem or even Jerusalem? Or will we get back to Nazareth so I can see my mother and sisters and brother again? How can Joshua be a Messiah in Nazareth? I expect we’ll have to stay in Jerusalem itself one day, but not until King Herod’s dead. I wonder when that will be? They say he’s a sick man, that’s why he’s so bad tempered. Perhaps we’ll be able to go home soon. It’s a long way though, I can’t face just turning round now and going all the way back. I’m not thinking straight am I? Questions, questions, why can’t my mind rest? I think I’m getting muddled and sleepy at last. I wonder what Salome and Rebecca are doing….

We’re on our way together in the morning. Philip tells me about the countryside we’re passing. He has obviously been thinking of coming to Egypt for many months and has accumulated much information from travellers from this land passing near his village just a couple of miles from Ashkelon. Very different from us, of course, as we decided to go in such a rush with hardly any time to contemplate what we were doing. He says that this part of Egypt is the most fertile, being irrigated by the mighty river Nile which has split into several rivers in its last few miles to the sea. This area is apparently known as the ‘Delta’, a Greek word or rather letter which apparently is the same shape of this area of land where most of the grain from which bread is made is grown.

Joseph told me that he spent much of his time at the jetty in Pelusium loading the excess grain for export to the Roman capital city – there are fields where the wheat was grown on both sides of the road although it’s nearly all harvested now. There are workers in the fields picking the long stems which are flax and from which Joseph says several products come – I forget what he said. Some fields are in bloom and they look very pretty. Beside every field there are ditches although most are dry now. Philip says that the farmers dig these to receive water when the annual Nile flood comes.

I looked at the earth – it seems quite rich and silty, there is little trace of the light sandy soil we saw earlier. It’s all so different from the little plots of land we used to have in Nazareth with a little grain and a few sheep or goats. I’ve even seen here whole fields of sheep, there must have been hundreds of the animals. The farmers here must be very rich, although some of the tiny villages we pass have dilapidated hovels as homes, so there must be poor people here as well, perhaps working in the fields for the richer farmers and landowners.

I ask Philip what sort of work the Jews do in Alexandria and he says he thinks it’s just the same as in Jerusalem. There is a big synagogue and many have employment there as scribes and officials and there are needs for the usual trades, builders and potters and weavers and dyers and carpenters. He tells me that most of the employment opportunities are not in the Jewish quarter but are in the newer part of the city where the Romans are constructing many edifices mirroring their own city of Rome. But apparently the Jews are known as good workmen and are needed, so he is confident of getting a useful income and is sure Joseph will find abundant work too. I’m buoyed by his optimism and look forward to settling there and making a proper home where I can concentrate on bringing up Joshua giving him the care and teaching he will need until he’s old enough to go to the synagogue school.

Most of the time, though, I walk with Dora and we chat about all sorts of things. I give her a hand with Martha when she has to see to Simeon and the little girl seems totally at ease with me and wants to hold my hand as we travel as often as that of her own mother. She talks fluently – non-stop even, although I don’t catch everything she says. Dora calls her a chatterbox and says she’s never seen her so loquacious before. It must be my influence. I tell her I was known for my chattering when I was a girl too. My mother was always telling me to be quiet and get on with the chores, so I used to compensate by telling my stories to all the other village children and my sisters and brother.

“You must tell Martha some of your stories,” she says. “She’ll love that.”

The day seems to fly away and we’ve made good progress. Joseph and Philip are pleased and think that at this rate, if we keep it up, we’ll be in Alexandria within the week. However, it’s not always so easy. Simeon stayed awake a long time on a couple of nights – Dora thinks he must be teething – and we were slow to get going in the morning and needed a long midday rest. We did meet and chat to other travellers from time to time but by the end of the week, as we sensed we were nearing our destination, we had become inseparable as if we were just one family.

One night as Joseph and I lay awake, after parting from Philip and Dora and getting Joshua off to sleep, I raised the subject that had been vexing me for several days.

“Joseph,” I murmur, “can we not tell Philip and Dora why we are really leaving home? Dora has been so open with me and I feel I’m holding something back all the time. I don’t know if she senses something, but I feel as though I’m not being as honest with her as she is with me.”

“I know they seem totally trustworthy, but what if they tell someone else? And we’ve had time to get used to the idea that Joshua is so special. You don’t realise just how extraordinary our claim might seem to Philip and Dora. It might destroy our friendship.”

“Surely not. They’ll be thrilled by our news, won’t they? As a nation we’ve been praying for the Messiah for so many years. Why can’t we let them share our anticipation and excitement?”

“As I said, you’ve got too used to the idea. You don’t realise just how shocking our claim will seem. You ought to remember. You know the awful fuss your uncle and his fellow rabbis made in Nazareth and the suspicion of the other villagers. You seem to have forgotten how nearly you succumbed to the threats and the last minute miracle by which you escaped their condemnation. You don’t want to start that sort of persecution all over again, do you?”

“But Philip and Dora are not like that. They’re not bigoted and angry like Uncle Eli. They’d be interested and supportive, I’m sure, and sometimes I feel I’ll just burst if I can’t say something to someone. It’s such a huge secret to have to keep. And we don’t talk about it much, do we? You do believe, don’t you, Joseph? All that the messenger told me coming so true and the findings of the synagogue court and everything those strangers from the far east told us the night before we left Bethlehem?”

“Of course I believe, Mari. But we can’t live all the time in a state of excitement. There are mundane things we have to do. You must know that – just trying to survive these last few weeks is enough to occupy fully anyone’s mind. I have responsibility for you and Joshua and I have to think all the time what is best for us. I don’t think spreading the message that we have the future Messiah with us is going to be very helpful at the moment.”

“Oh!” I’m quiet for a minute. I feel put down. I feel so wound up so much of the time by what God has entrusted to us and I want to shout it from the rooftops. I suppose, looking at it rationally, Joseph is right. So what do I do to express my frustration?

“Go and tell God about it then!”

I think he said that with some irritation, but I realise that he’s hit on something that I should have thought of before. Of course, I still say my prayers every day, but sometimes they’ve become a bit stereotyped and routine, a duty rather than a joy. I get up and open the flaps of the tent and stand under the date palms looking up at the black sky. The moon is waning now and the sky is full of myriad stars. The sight is magnificent. I wonder just how many there are and what they are. What are they made of that they shine so brightly?

I shout to the universe. “God,” I say, “you are wonderful. The psalms say that you made all this and yet you want our little Joshua to shine as brightly. Why did you choose us? Why are we so different? Are we different or did you choose us because we are ordinary so others may recognise a special miracle one day and not just assume that his regal status or abilities were natural?”

I’m quiet for a moment just looking at space through the palm fronds. They are waving gently in the breeze still coming off the sea. I seem to hear them whispering to me. I can feel a surge of emotion overwhelming me. God is here in Egypt in this very place, I think, just as I used to find him under my special fig tree in Nazareth. He’s everywhere in a gentile country, not just in the Jewish synagogue in Alexandria. The realisation of this truth fills me with joy. I dance. I do huge swirls. I begin to sing. “Why me, why us?” I shout to the tree tops. I don’t care who hears me. They’ll think I’m mad. I don’t know how long I stayed there, what I said, what I did. I feel liberated. It’s just like it used to be when I shared secrets with God in the grass under that tree.

Eventually I calm down, say a big thank you and crawl back into the tent. Joseph is fast asleep. He is snoring loudly. I poke my head outside the flap of the tent. All is silence. There is no movement from Dora’s abode which I can just see silhouetted in the darkness. No-one is watching wondering what I’ve been doing. Perhaps it’s just my imagination, in my head. I go back and stare at Joshua lying there. He is so beautiful. One day, will he be a king? Will we live in palaces and will he lead armies, drive the Romans from our shores? It seems so improbable looking at the vulnerable child breathing so softly. Yet God can do anything, I know he can.

“Believe, Joseph. Believe with me.”