Story of the Month: On the Third Day

-1-

She could not believe that he had died. She had sat beside the narrow window, not knowing how long her sitting had lasted; yet she felt that an age had passed over her in this state, and that in the folds of her breast lay a mute sorrow that flared up time and again, so that she wished her eye might overflow with tears, or an eyelid might doze, or her mind find rest — but no: she was weighed down with the burden, staggering under grief, as though a millstone had been hung about her neck and she had been cast into the deep, the waves about her high and troubled, the wind raging and wild, and the darkness pitch-black and dreadful, engulfing everything.

But she was watching for the morning, and the night was slipping away little by little; and when moments passed and the semblance of a cross loomed on the distant hill, her heart throbbed and stirred, and she began to feel her frail shoulder, where, two nights before, that lifeless body had rested; and she began to look about her, distracted of mind, searching for the flask of perfume; and when she found it among the folds of her dress, she clasped it to her breast as a mother clasps her precious only son, and left the common room, which seemed a desolate wilderness not to be endured.

*

-2-

The world was still in a light dusk; a thin veil of mist covered the face of the earth, and at the edge of the sky the morning star shone. It seemed to her, as she made her way along the winding path, that this star accompanied her and kept pace with her — pressing on when she pressed on, slowing when she slowed, its light fading and straying when her own soul faded and strayed — until it was as if this pale beam floundering in the darkness were this bewildered soul stumbling through deprivation, a soul that had slumbered a moment of time, then risen to find about it nothing but mocking eyes, scoffing lips, and hands shaking with anger and hatred — she who before had been the whisper of eyes, the talk of lips, the plaything of hands; before whom heads had bowed from Rome and Jerusalem, and crystal cups had sparkled with the oldest of wines, and beds of ostrich plumes had sighed beneath her, while the world around her rang with revelry, frolic, and wantonness!...

She walked on, intending nothing; then a breath of mist blew from behind the knolls and hills, and she felt, as in a dream, her heart being wrung and crushed within her ribs — as though faces and turbans surrounded her, as though a company of elders had gathered round her, seized her, torn her dress, and dragged her by her hair, until, when they reached the courtyard of the temple where Jesus sat, their chief flung her down before him, saying:

"This woman was taken in an abomination... shall we stone her...?!"

And another said:

"Thus did our lord Moses command us. What do you say...?!"

Jesus, his head bare, was tracing with his finger upon the ground, while the crowd awaited the sentence of stoning, and she veiled her face with her palms and her long hair, as though warding off those mighty hands that would rain stones upon her from every side. But Jesus raised his head — eyelids serene in their depths, a brow of spacious expanse, a countenance like the morning, radiant in its splendor. He looked at her, and looked long; then he looked at them, probing the hidden places of their souls, and cried out at them, defying what stirred in their minds:

"Let him among you who is without sin cast the first stone at her...."

And he bowed his head and returned to tracing with his finger upon the ground; and the faces scowled, the turbans shook, the beards quivered — then they vanished in an abject muttering behind the wall. And Mary could not believe what had happened; she wished he would raise his head again, or that her own mouth would open with a word; but Jesus was first to speak:

"Where are those accusers of yours...?!... Has no one condemned you, woman...?"

"No one, my Lord..."

"Neither do I condemn you... Go, and

sin no more..."

-3-

She cast her gaze about, searching for that noble face, and met nothing but these shadows settling upon the knolls and hills, and this winding path cleaving the grass, which fluttered with the dew of night and the moisture of morning...

She walked on; and soon a great breath of mist blew over her, and it seemed to her that she was passing out of herself and out of everything around her — as though she had sunk down at the feet of Jesus, as he reclined with his companions in the house of one of his friends, touching the hem of his garment, weeping and sobbing:

"O Jesus... O Master... have mercy on me, for I am a wretched sinner... I strayed from the path and my feet slipped; but I know my transgressions, and my burden is weary and heavy..."

"I came not to condemn, woman... but to call sinners to righteousness, and to give rest to the weary and the heavy-laden..."

"Your word is truth, Master... and your heart is kind, full of mercy, overflowing with forgiveness... But my soul is bowed and moans within me, as though I were a lump of sin and shame, too base for one like you to tread the threshold of my door or take shelter beneath the roof of my house... So let me touch your garment... and take shade in your footsteps..."

And she bent to the ground, kissing the place of his feet, weeping her abasement and her shame; and behold, the tears fell upon his feet and wetted them, and behold, she wiped them with her soft, long hair, and behold, the voice of Jesus surged above her head, calm and near:

"You have sinned much, Mary... but you have loved much... Your sins are forgiven you!..."

-4-

And she lifted her eyes to see those lips that scattered gentleness and tenderness among their words — and behold, red shadows and phantoms spread along the fringes of the horizon, brushing the slumbering knolls and hills; and behold, the path rose from a hollow to a knoll, bending and turning among the shady trees...

She walked on... and soon a great breath of mist blew over her, and it seemed to her that she drew away from herself and walked without guidance, as a dreamer walks in her sleep — as though she were running in search of Jesus; and when she came upon him, sitting beneath the shady tree among his sleeping companions, she heard him lamenting over

Jerusalem:

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem... slayer of the prophets and of those sent to her... how often would I have gathered your children as a hen gathers her chicks beneath her wings, and you would not... Behold, your house is left to you desolate!!!..."

The hour was too pressing for her to wait; she cast herself before him, imploring him, saying:

"The Jews are upon you, Master, the Jews are upon you... They ask after you of every comer and goer, and seek you in every place... Rise, my Lord, let us go from here... before the day breaks forth and the shadows flee... to the valley of the Jordan... to the forests of Carmel... to Mount Hermon..."

She waited for a word from the mouth of Jesus; but he looked at her long, as though he saw in her face the legend of his life and heard in her voice the echo of his days, and said, as he woke the sleeping companions:

"Behold, my hour has drawn near... and a little while and you shall not see me... Let not your hearts be troubled, neither be afraid... for I shall return with the coming dawn..."

But a clamor and a confusion of voices troubled the calm of the moment. Jesus turned — and behold, a man drew near to Jesus and embraced him, and another shouted to the crowd:

"This is he... seize him... seize him..."

And behold, the multitudes turned about her, crying:

"Stone him... stone him..."

And they plaited for him a crown of thorns and set it upon his head, and clothed him in a torn purple robe, and fell to striking him and spitting upon him, guffawing in mockery and scorn:

"Save yourself, if you are the Christ!!!..."

And behold, he staggered under the burden of his cross, his back bent, the sweat streaming from his brow drop by drop... And behold, he writhed upon the wood of the cross, tasting the bitterness of torment, the pure blood flowing from his brow and running down, carving its channel across his pallid face and drooping neck... thus...

until he shuddered with a violent shudder, and cried out with a tormented, exhausted voice:

— "It is finished..."

And it was as though the world had darkened; the people fell silent, and dread and disquiet seized them. And when darkness closed in and the crowd dispersed and she went to the cross with those who went, that lifeless body rested upon her frail shoulder for a moment of eternity; but in the twinkling of an eye they took him, and wrapped him in the white shrouds, and laid him in the cave of the garden, and rolled a heavy stone against its door, while she stood with his mother and many women and virgins, looking on from afar...

*

-5-

And as a dreamer turns when she wakes, Mary turned — and behold, she had reached the edge of the garden, and the world around her was shadows and phantoms and lights of every color, spreading across the far-flung horizons, flooding little groves scattered here and there, and floating upon the blue of the sky and the green of the knolls and hills...

She hurried toward the tomb, choking back her tears, at a loss as to who would roll away the heavy stone for her; but she had gone no great distance when she saw the stone rolled away, and the tomb empty, with nothing in it but cast-off shrouds and a folded napkin. And she sank down upon the cold stone, watering it with her hot tears, pouring out to it all the misery, disappointment, and deprivation in her heart.

And the moments passed like ages...

And there passed across her hearing a calm, serene whisper:

— "Why do you weep, woman?!..."

She thought she was imagining, and did not answer; but the voice returned, caressing her ear, calmer and more serene than before:

— "Why do you weep, woman?!... Whom do you seek?!..."

— "They have taken my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him..."

And she raised her head, and through her tears she saw a man standing near her, and said, supposing him to be the gardener:

— "Sir... if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him..."

And while these words were fading on her lips

and dying, she heard him call her in a tender, gentle voice:

— "Mary... O Mary..."

And she turned... and it was as though a thick veil had lain upon her eyes and fallen away; and his countenance shone forth — that spacious brow, those serene eyelids, that radiant face about which hovered calm, assurance, and peace...

With eyes moist with tears, and lips trembling with prayer, she gazed at him, reaching for the hem of his garment, crying from the depths of her depths:

— "My Lord... and my God!!!"

But his right hand rose as a barrier between them, and his voice came forth calm in its gentleness, serene in its tenderness:

— "Do not touch me, Mary... I have returned with the dawn...

And I shall forever return to those in whose horizons there is a newborn dawn. Go now to the companions... and live together this life that you have been given... Love one another as I have loved you... and you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free... And behold, I am with you to the end of days..."

And Mary did not know whether she was waking or dreaming; yet she felt — as one feels who is awake and asleep at once — that a heavy stone had loosed itself from her neck and fallen away... And behold, she was rising from amid the depths; the waves had stilled, the wind had quieted, and Jesus looked forth from the places of sunrise, moving gently above the summits, like a morning descending from wide blue heavens...