The angel will tell me nothing of what happened to my friends, of the twelve, of Maggie. All he’ll say is that they are dead and that I have to write my own version of the story. Oh, he’ll tell me useless angel stories—of how Gabriel disappeared once for sixty years and they found him on earth hiding in the body of a man named Miles Davis, or how Raphael snuck out of heaven to visit Satan and returned with something called a cell phone. (Evidently everyone has them in hell now.) He watches the television and when they show an earthquake or a tornado he’ll say, “I destroyed a city with one of those once. Mine was better.” I am awash in useless angel prattle, but about my own time I know nothing but what I saw. And when the television makes mention of Joshua, calling him by his Greek name, Raziel changes the channel before I can learn anything.
He never sleeps. He just watches me, watches the television, and eats. He never leaves the room.
Today, while searching for extra towels, I opened one of the drawers and there, beneath a plastic bag meant for laundry, I found a book: Holy Bible, it said on the cover. Thank the Lord I did not take the book from the drawer, but opened it with my back to the angel. There are chapters there that were in no Bible I know. I saw the names of Matthew and John, I saw Romans and Galatians—this is a book of my time.
“What are you doing?” the angel asked.
I covered the Bible and closed the drawer. “Looking for towels. I need to bathe.”
“You bathed yesterday.”
“Cleanliness is important to my people.”
“I know that. What, you think I don’t know that?”
“You’re not exactly the brightest halo in the bunch.”
“Then bathe. And stand away from the television.”
“Why don’t you go get me some towels?”
“I’ll call down to the desk.”
And he did. If I am to get a look at that book, I must get the angel to leave the room.
It came to pass that in the village of Japhia, the sister village of Nazareth, that Esther, the mother of one of the priests of the Temple, died of bad air. The Levite priests, or Sadducees, were rich from the tributes we paid to the Temple, and mourners were hired from all the surrounding villages. The families of Nazareth made the journey to the next hill for the funeral, and for the first time, Joshua and I were able to spend time with Maggie as we walked along the road.
“So,” she said without looking at us, “have you two been playing with any snakes lately?”
“We’ve been waiting for the lion to lay down with the lamb,” Joshua said. “That’s the next part of the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Snakes are for boys. We are almost men. We will begin work after the Feast of Tabernacles. In Sepphoris.” I was trying to sound worldly. Maggie seemed unimpressed.
“And you will learn to be a carpenter?” she asked Joshua.
“I will do the work of my father, eventually, yes.”
“And you?” she asked me.
“I’m thinking of being a professional mourner. How hard can it be? Tear at your hair, sing a dirge or two, take the rest of the week off.”
“His father is a stonemason,” Joshua said. “We may both learn that skill.” At my urging, my father had offered to take Joshua on as an apprentice if Joseph approved.
“Or a shepherd,” I added quickly. “Being a shepherd seems easy. I went with Kaliel last week to tend his flock. The Law says that two must go with the flock to keep an abomination from happening. I can spot an abomination from fifty paces.”
Maggie smiled. “And did you prevent any abominations?”
“Oh yes, I kept all of the abominations at bay while Kaliel played with his favorite sheep behind the bushes.”
“Biff,” Joshua said gravely, “that was the abomination you were supposed to prevent.”
“It was?”
“Yes.”
“Whoops. Oh well, I think I would make an excellent mourner. Do you know the words to any dirges, Maggie? I’m going to need to learn some dirges.”
“I think that when I grow up,” Maggie announced, “I shall go back to Magdala and become a fisherman on the Sea of Galilee.”
I laughed, “Don’t be silly, you are a girl. You can’t be a fisherman.”
“Yes I can.”
“No, you can’t. You have to marry and have sons. Are you betrothed, by the way?”
Joshua said: “Come with me, Maggie, and I will make you a fisher of men.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Maggie asked.
I grabbed Joshua by the back of his robe and began to drag him away. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s mad. He gets it from his mother. Lovely woman, but a loony. Come now, Josh, let’s sing a dirge.”
I began improvising what I thought was a good funeral song.
“La-la-la. Oh, we are really, really sad that your mom is dead. Too bad you’re a Sadducee and don’t believe in an afterlife and your mom is just going to be worm food, la-la. Makes you think that you might want to reconsider, huh? Fa-la-la-la-la-la-wacka-wacka.” (It sounded great in Aramaic. Really.)
“You two are silly.”
“Gotta go. Mourning to do. See you.”
“A fisher of women?” Josh said.
“Fa-la-la-la, don’t feel bad—she was old and had no teeth left, la-la-la. Come on, people, you know the words!”
Later, I said, “Josh, you can’t keep saying creepy things like that. ‘Fisher of men,’ you want the Pharisees to stone you? Is that what you want?”
“I’m only doing my father’s work. Besides, Maggie is our friend, she wouldn’t say anything.”
“You’re going to scare her away.”
“No I won’t. She’s going to be with us, Biff.”
“Are you going to marry her?”
“I don’t even know if I’m allowed to marry at all, Biff. Look.”
We were topping the hill into Japhia, and we could see the crowd of mourners gathering around the village. Joshua was pointing to a red crest that stood out above the crowd—the helmet crest of a Roman centurion. The centurion was talking to the Levite priest, who was arrayed in white and gold, his white beard reaching past his belt. As we moved into the village we could see twenty or thirty other soldiers watching the crowd.
“Why are they here?”
“They don’t like it when we gather,” Joshua said, pausing to study the centurion commander. “They are here to see that we don’t revolt.”
“Why is the priest talking to him?”
“The Sadducee wants to assure the Roman of his influence over us. It wouldn’t do to have a massacre on the day of his mother’s funeral.”
“So he’s watching out for us.”
“He’s watching out for himself. Only for himself.”
“You shouldn’t say that about a priest of the Temple, Joshua.” It was the first time I ever heard Joshua speak against the Sadducees, and it frightened me.
“Today, I think this priest will learn who the Temple belongs to.”
“I hate it when you talk like that, Josh. Maybe we should go home.”
“Do you remember the dead meadowlark we found?”
“I have a really bad feeling about this.”
Joshua grinned at me. I could see gold flecks shining in his eyes. “Sing your dirge, Biff. I think Maggie was impressed by your singing.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Nope.”
There was a crowd of five hundred outside the tomb. In the front, the men had draped striped shawls over their heads and rocked as they prayed. The women were separated to the back, and except for the wailing of the hired mourners, it was as if they didn’t exist. I tried to catch a glimpse of Maggie, but couldn’t see her through the crowd. When I turned again, Joshua had wormed his way to the front of the men, where the Sadducee stood beside the corpse of his dead mother, reading from a scroll of the Torah.