Anna held a parchment roll in her trembling hands, not daring to open it. Salamo had told her he would not write to her. She turned the roll over and saw the seal of Augustus on it. Oh God, was Salamo in prison? He was a radical and could have angered the Emperor with his plea. This letter might change her life.
Salina had arrived on the same ship as the message from Rome. She had not yet had a chance to tell Anna of her husband’s death.
Anna began releasing the roll and saw that it was written in Greek. It couldn’t have come from Salamo. She spread it wide and saw the bold signature, “Julian Flavius Maxim.”
As she read it, her face showed increasing shock and grief. Through flowing tears, she said, “He’s dead. Salamo’s dead.”
Salina came to her and pulled her down on a couch. “Read it to me, Anna.”
Anna took a deep breath and spoke softly, “This is to inform you, on behalf of Augustus Caesar, that your husband, Salamo of Galilee and the town of Sepphoris, was drowned en route to Caesarea. The ship on which he and his companions sailed exploded and burned in a storm when only a few days out of port. All aboard perished in the sea. I have no further details of the tragedy. I offer my deepest sympathy to you and the families of the other members of his party. Regretfully, Julian Flavius Maxim.”
Anna reread his carefully written Greek words. It was for Salamo that she felt heartbreaking sympathy. He had never seen his infant daughter, Mary. “Oh, Holy God, why do you take one husband after another from me? Why do I live on and on?”
She was about to lay the letter down, when a small slip of paper fell into her lap. It, too, was written in Julian’s careful hand. “I leave now on a personal mission to Delphi, Greece. The gods have not yet revealed to me my future. Do you know what lies ahead for me?” She crushed the paper in her hand.
“He could have written me these past five years. We were friends, and he saw me through some of my most difficult times.”
Salina frowned. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Anna. Julian was at death’s door from malaria and then typhus for all those years. He has just now recovered. He told me in Rome that he wrote you monthly, with the departure of each ship, yet never had a reply from you. You are certain you never received any of his letters?’
Anna shook her head, stunned and puzzled by the information. “Someone wanted to direct the course of my life—that’s obvious. She paused, deep in thought, then covered her face with her hands and sat motionless for several minutes.
Salina said gently, “Perhaps Julian’s letters never left. Someone there could have taken them—as a prank, perhaps.”
“They left Greece. They arrived in Palestine. This I firmly believe. Who are my enemies? Who would want to interfere with my life? One lost letter, I can understand. Two lost letters are always possible. But no more. I’m bewildered. I’m angry.”
Anna rose and paced the floor. Salina hurried to the kitchen and made a pot of a relaxing tea. By the time she returned, Anna had full control of herself and sipped the honey-sweetened brew gratefully.
“You were in love with Julian, weren’t you?” Salina asked.
Anna was taken aback by the question, but replied evenly, “We had a special kind of friendship. I grew to trust him. You remember how he came to my rescue when Ezra, the Essene, was killed before me.”
Salina said, “I remember, Anna. After that incident, I, too, began to like Julian. He has changed tremendously. He’s more gentle and caring. He has no woman in Rome, I know. Women find him difficult to approach. He is devoted to Augustus and seems content with his life. I would consider remarrying him now.”
Anna sensed that she was probing. She didn’t understand herself, so could not explain her ambivalent feelings. A wave of jealousy came over her at the thought of Julian marrying anyone. She fought it determinedly, saying, “Julian rescued Jesus from Herod’s sword. I am permanently indebted to him.”
Once again, custom demanded that Anna put on sackcloth. The rain and winter-cold days kept her indoors, so she devoted her time to her growing infant. Mary Salamo was a dark-haired charmer who inherited her father’s stunning good looks. Anna had loved this ebullient younger husband in a far different way from her deep passion for Joachim or her satisfying relationship with the Essene, Cleophas. To her, love came in many colors and manifested itself on different levels. Each was good, and she regretted none of her marriages.
Now that Salamo was gone, she tried to analyze his intense need to dominate her. Could it be he felt inferior to his older brothers? They didn’t understand his artistic interests, and he certainly couldn’t talk about sheep and goats with enthusiasm or debate the merits of the leathers Cleophas used for fine shoes.
Then a devastating thought came to her as she rocked her baby to sleep: Salamo married her, not from love, but to prove to himself that he could win their former wife. That’s why he took charge of her life as if she were a helpless woman.
The next question she asked herself was, “Why did I marry him, since I had had two good marriages?” The answer was undeniable: In the continued absence of Mary and Jesus, she wanted a child of her own more than anything else in the world. Salamo made that dream possible. She loved him for that, and she had no regrets, even if she didn’t understand his secretive nature.
Yet, there was an emptiness always in her heart—a deep hunger, a void that came from no contact with Julian. Angry thoughts filled her mind. “This pagan is a thorn in my emotions. For nearly four decades, he has appeared and disappeared with regularity—always claiming his love for me. It’s a game of pursuit he plays. He wants the thrill of the hunt. We are lifetime combatants—I try to turn him to a belief in one God; he stubbornly clings to thousands of gods. We are light years apart. Yet I long to see him again, to feel my heart leap when he turns that penetrating, long look at me. No, I hope he never returns here!”
The spring days came and fluctuated between chilly and roasting temperatures. The hot, dry, east wind brought haze over the landscape and turned the mountain grasses brown. Thunderstorms appeared out of nowhere, followed by cold rain. Then the sharav that had killed her second-born infant returned for another cycle of scorching heat and chilling rain. Finally, the summer month of Tamuz arrived one morning, and with it, Anna felt a heightened tempo to living. Something good was going to happen.
Leaving Judith to care for the growing Mary, Anna walked down the hill to the shattered town. There was no market place in Sepphoris now, but a dozen square, mud-brick houses had been hastily built amid the devastation. There were no more radicals left here. All had been killed or crucified by the Syrian army. For the time being, she must make the hour-and-a-half walk to Nazareth for necessities.
She missed Salina, who had returned to Rome. Her only other visitors had been Esmeria and her daughter, Elisabeth’s, family. Seeing their remarkable John, who was only six months older than Jesus, brought intense pain to Anna. Where was her grandchild? She had seen him only in Bethlehem as an infant, yet thought of him daily and with great longing.
She retraced her steps to her home, trying to forget the horrors that had destroyed the once-lovely capital of Galilee. As she was about to enter the house, she noticed three people climbing the hill toward her. A bearded man held the hand of a young boy, and a barefoot woman in tattered clothes followed them. Her head-covering was so close around her face that Anna couldn’t recognize anyone she knew. This was obviously a poor family come to beg for food.
Then she heard the woman cry, “Emi! Emi!” The woman burst into tears of joy, running toward them. They all laughed and wept at the same time as Anna embraced Mary and Joseph. Then she turned to the waiting child. She was stunned by the beauty of this eight-year-old. His eyes were sapphire jewels, and his hair was a curly tumble of deep gold. Anna took him in her arms, unable to speak.
When she finally released him, he spoke first. “At last I meet you. I’ve talked with you many times in my dreams. You are such a good listener!”
“Every day, I tell you how much I love you, Jesus. Blessed God, I thank Thee for bringing you all back to me.”
Anna hurried them into the house, asking one question after another. Joseph was quiet. He had noticeably aged. His face was as dark as a Bedouin’s. His clothes were nearly in shreds, and his feet were raw and bleeding.
Judith immediately brought everyone a pan of water for washing hands and feet. Anna came with olive oil and towels.
She said, “After you have eaten, you will all bathe and sleep. There’ll be clean clothes laid out for everyone. How far did you travel today?”
Joseph answered wearily, “Almost nine hours. All I want to do is go to sleep.”
“Not before I show you my surprise,” Anna said in a laughing voice. She left the room to return with the infant Mary Salamo. She explained to the surprised family, “I married Joachim’s youngest brother, Salamo. This was his great gift to me before he was lost at sea.”
Mary held out her arms to take the infant. “You named her also Mary?”
“Somehow the name helped keep you alive. She is my third Mary. Later I’ll catch you up on my life.”
Jesus came quickly to Anna. “May I hold her?’ he asked. “I want to bless her with long life.”
Everyone looked with surprise at each other. Anna spoke quickly, “Yes, hold her and bless her, Jesus.” Then he did a strange thing. He made the sign of the cross over her. Anna wondered if he already knew what his destiny was.
As the travelers ate hungrily of the barley soup and freshly baked bread, Anna assured them that her Nazareth house was still vacant and waiting for them. Tomorrow, they would load the donkeys with household goods and food and move the family to Anna’s former home.
“We are penniless, Anna.” Joseph said. “I must try to find work right away.”
“Don’t worry,” Anna replied. “I have a fine income and will provide for your family. You must take time to recover from your long journey. Everything I own is intended for your welfare. I know you have had years of misery, so I intend to make up for them.”
Joseph was so overcome with emotion, he could not reply. Mary’s eyes filled with tears. Jesus came to Anna and held one of her hands between both of his. Nothing else in the world could equal the joy she felt in being able to provide this family with their physical needs.
“You must all lie down and rest,” she directed them, seeing Joseph’s head bobbing and his eyes closing.
Jesus spoke quickly, “I’m not tired, now that I’ve come home. I want to stay with grandmama.”
Neither parent admonished him, so he remained with Anna, inspecting everything in the house. Then he asked, “May I go into the yard and look at the animals in the pen? Also, I see there’s a small house at the back. May I look in there, too?”
“Of course. Everything is new to you, so enjoy exploring.”
Anna had closed the house where Salamo held his meetings with his revolutionary friends. She had touched nothing upon learning of her husband’s death. It was too painful to be reminded of his many hours spent in this house. When Jesus did not return within a half hour, she went looking for him. The door stood open, so she watched him inspecting everything in the place. He examined the hand-hewn benches and table, the reed mats on the floor, the candelabrum of original design. He poked and probed in the rolls of bedding as if he were ferreting out a treasure. Then, unaware of Anna in the doorway, his eyes traveled about the room, looking high at the walls. He jumped onto a bench, got down and located a stick. Then he climbed back near a different place and probed with the stick near a mud brick at the ceiling-join. He tried to pull the brick out but couldn’t. Then he leapt down and noticed Anna watching him.
“I need a ladder,” he said. “Where can I get one?”
“Just outside, Jesus. What are you searching for?”
“I don’t know. There’s something hidden up there. I sensed it the moment I entered.” He ran and brought in the small ladder.
“It must be here,” he said poking about. Then he succeeded in removing a short mud brick. Behind it was a packet of parchment papers.
“Who could have put them there?” Anna asked, stunned by the find.
“Someone who didn’t want you to see them.” He unwrapped the package, exposing several letters.
“Can you read Greek, Grandmama?” He handed her the letters.
“Yes, my sister Sobe taught me Greek a long time ago.”
Anna looked at the letters in astonishment. They were from Julian—tender, loving messages written with great difficulty during his long illness. There was only one person who could have hidden them there—Salamo. It saddened her to learn he had trusted her so little. He had really never grown up; yet the act of going to Rome to speak with Augustus Caesar was a dramatic gesture to prove his worth. During their short marriage, he had frequently lied to her—little lies that meant nothing, actually. Out of fear of losing her, he had intercepted her letters and hidden them where they would never be found. But he hadn’t counted on a child with special powers to ferret out deceit.
Jesus interrupted her thoughts. “What do the letters say?”
“They speak only of love, my child. They are personal, so I cannot read them to you. You met the man who wrote them, although you won’t remember it. He saved your life when Herod’s guards sought to kill you. He risked his own in escaping with you from Bethlehem.”
“He was a very brave Jew. Does he live in Galilee?”
“Brave, yes. But a Roman then in the employ of Herod the Great.”
Jesus looked at her with surprise. He thought a moment, then said, “One day I will go to Rome and meet him, and thank him.”
“If we are lucky, he may come to Galilee. But not for some time, Jesus. Maybe not in my lifetime. You have years of study and growth ahead of you in preparing for your destined life work. Much can happen in that time.”
“I’m happy to have found the letters for you, but I won’t mention them to anyone. Mother would scold me for poking around in someone else’s place. I’ll put the mud brick back so no one will ever know it had been a hiding place.”
“Perhaps someday, I’ll let you read the letters after I’ve taught you a little Greek. You’ll be attending the synagogue every morning in Nazareth to learn Hebrew and more of the holy Torah. I’ll leave you now to your adventures.”
Anna took the letters to her room and reread them several times. They were filled with love and concern for her, in spite of Julian’s own misery. “If you were here, I know you could heal me quickly,” he wrote. “Now that you have neither husband nor child, can you come to me? I will make all arrangements for you.” What must he think of my not answering him?
All of Julian’s letters were written, believing she would not marry anyone else. Salamo, immature in so many ways, had been fearful of her friendship for a pagan, so he stole the letters. Had he truly loved her, or was the marriage his way of proving to everyone he was his brothers’ equal? Impulsive and self-centered, he had to dominate her to reassure himself constantly of his worth.
“Oh, Salamo. You gave me a beautiful baby. That was more than enough.”
Anna heard Jesus come into the house, so she hurried to him.
“Don’t you want a nap?” she asked, studying his tanned, quiet face. His deep-set, piercing eyes held a great power in them, but when he directed them to her, they became soft and childlike. She thought he was the most interesting, dynamic child she had ever seen. He answered her in a soft voice.
“No nap. I get my strength from the ethers. You know who I am, don’t you?”
Anna nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.
He continued in a serious tone. “I’m curious. Did you love each of your three husbands?”
The question came as a shock to Anna, but she answered truthfully, “Yes, but each one in a different way. My love is a fountain that never stops flowing.”
“I like that expression. Emi tells me that you can heal people. But I can do something else.” He paraded before Anna.
“What’s that?”
“I can look into the mists of the future.”
“What do you see there?”
“Millions of people worshipping you because you heal the crippled—even bring the dead back to life.” He came to Anna and put his arms around her waist, burying his face in the folds of her robe.
Anna laughed. “I’ve never had such flattery before!”
“I mean it. Long after you die, some who pray earnestly to you will be made well, and hundreds of houses of worship will be named after you.”
“That’s a giant forecast, Jesus!”
“Time will tell!” Jesus laughed and ran out the door and across the yard. Anna followed him and watched as he climbed a tall tree with the alacrity of a cat.
“I can see Jerusalem from here!” he called out.
Joining in the game, Anna cried, “How’s the weather there?”
“Hot. And I smell the horrible reek of burning animal flesh and the nauseating smell of incense. Jerusalem will be my undoing. It’s in Galilee I intend to perfect myself and do my preaching.”
He climbed back down and came to Anna. She hugged him to her, saying, “You’ll become an Essene, I can see that.”
Mary, refreshed from her nap, came to the door and called to them. “Let’s begin packing so we can move to Nazareth tomorrow.”
Anna looked at her firstborn, incredibly radiant after her rest. She had put on one of Anna’s loosely flowing muslin robes, and her auburn hair matched the color of the embroidered flowers in the garment.
“Mary, my darling, I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you.” Anna turned and called to Jesus, “Are you coming in?”
He was examining the flowers on a bush and did not answer.
Mary explained, “He needs to be alone.”
“There is a fragrance of roses about him,” Anna said with a puzzled look.
“Yes, Mother. It has always been so—even when we lived like wild birds, never knowing where our next meal would come from, or when Herod’s long arm would reach out and snatch us.”
“At least you’ll have him with you for a few more years.” Anna saw a flash of pain cross her daughter’s face.
“No, he has already slipped from me. He’s now on his great mission. I cannot change what has been preordained. But I hope to bear other children in the years ahead.”
“That will bring me great joy. But nothing can make me happier than I am now, having you home again.”
* * *
Serene summers gave way to irritable winters, and the youngsters grew strong and happy in an atmosphere of devotion. Jesus eagerly waited becoming thirteen and celebrating his bar mitzvah.
He often visited his grandmother when schooling was done, but shocked her one day by saying, “I’ve been talking to the caravan drivers. One day I’ll join a caravan traveling to the Orient. I want to learn about the lands where the three magi live. I must know how yellow, brown, and black people there think. Do they really differ from us Jews?”
“You mustn’t leave Palestine yet. Think how much pain and worry you’d cause your parents and me.”
“The religions of Tibet and Persia and China may have great merit. I must study them.”
Anna sighed and pulled him onto a couch next to her. “How long will you be gone?”
“Perhaps five years. It’s a vast realm to cover, and I’m a slow walker.” He laughed joyously.
Anna could see he acted independently of his family. “Then you intend to be not just the Messiah of the Jews, but the savior of the whole world?”
Jesus nodded and took one of Anna’s hands in his. “Great dreams, I know. I will leave soon after my bar mitzvah. You’ll be the first to learn I’m gone. I can’t bear parting with my family.” His voice broke and he fought back tears. “If you find bread and cheese missing from your cupboard, tell my mother and Joseph.”
Anna was silent for a few moments, then said, “See that jar on the kitchen shelf? There will be coins in a bag in it for your journey. You must take them else I’ll be frantic with worry. Promise?”
Jesus nodded. “Thank you, dearest of grandmothers. You can master fears for me with love. Tell my blessed mother that her pain will vanish in the healing love of God. Say to her,” he hesitated and bit his lip to keep it from trembling, “Say that she is the flame of my soul, and my eternal love for her will lessen her pain.” He left her then, to run like a child about her yard, and soon departed for home.
Anna sat, as if paralyzed, for a long time. His words were etched on her heart, yet, as time passed, she heard him speak no more about joining a caravan. It had been a childish dream of adventure.
* * *
On the first Sabbath after Jesus’ thirteenth birthday, the religious ceremony of bar mitzvah took place in the new synagogue in Nazareth. After Jesus read from the scroll of the Torah, proud Joseph stepped forward to recite the words of moral severance from the youth: “Blessed be He who releases me from the responsibility of this child.” Jesus smiled warmly in response.
That afternoon, Mary held a gathering for him so that he could deliver his first discourse. He had prepared his speech well and began, “We Jews are biologically a mixed people, so remember that all men come from the same source and are shaped by God out of the material. Therefore, we must love all mankind.”
He paused a few moments before continuing. “The Divine Presence rests on each of us. Whether one is a stranger or native born in Palestine, there is but one Law for all. Have we forgotten that we, too, were once strangers in the land of Egypt? We dare not discriminate against the Gentiles and Samaritans here.”
Joseph was so elated by his performance, he told him, “Your mother and I will take you to Jerusalem for the Passover festivities. We’ll see the beauties of the holy temple again.”
Jesus answered, “They are of no interest to me. I want to talk with the priests and the rabbis.”
“I keep forgetting your childhood is past.” Joseph turned to Mary and shrugged his shoulders.
She said, “He is now responsible for his own actions. We must let him be free.”
Joseph nodded, saying, “It’s not easy for me to see such independence.”
Ten days passed before the holy family returned to Anna. They appeared jubilant about an experience within the temple grounds.
Proud Joseph related, “Jesus disappeared from us while we were looking at lovely Persian ornaments in a booth, and for three days we had no idea where he was. We started for home, thinking he was somewhere in the group of pilgrims headed north, but finally were forced to return to the city to look for him.”
Mary continued in an excited voice, “We found him having an animated discussion with two rabbis. One said to us, ‘This young man is truly remarkable. He speaks the wisdom of the ages.’ The other rabbi said, ‘We could learn much from your son.’”
Jesus stood, slightly embarrassed by their enthusiasm, but when Anna turned to him with a quizzical look, he remarked, “I proved something to myself in talking with those learned men. I’m convinced now that when I’m eighteen, I can begin my life’s work.”
Mary spoke in a serious tone, “Don’t rush it, dear heart. Your life will be one of great joy and tragic sorrow. Enjoy these maturing years in Galilee.”
“There’s so little time, Emi,” he replied sadly and left them to stroll in the yard alone.
Anna remarked, “Jesus and you are like one entity. He will never say ‘good-bye’ to you, Mary. He will leave suddenly and under God’s guidance. We can only pray that his years of wanderings will be few.”