Son of Man by Andrew Klavan

Author:Andrew Klavan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504023535
Publisher: The Permanent Press (ORD)

2. More of the Tale of Mary Magdalene.

Mary is in Simon’s house, serving wine to a group of men, and she thinks: “What the fuck am I doing here? That’s what I want to know, anyway. Lord, ain’t it better to be a whore than a servant, let them slave and slather for your body than your body slave for them where they sit talking of high and mighty things not a one of them better than the dream he dreams of me. At night. When no one’s looking and he’s got it clutched in his calloused fist and wishing it was clutched in mine. Soft, these hands, or were, they won’t be soon. I watch them. And I used to wear how many rings and some of them given to me by men with the money to buy and sell these fishermen. It’s all right for Susannah maybe when she’s old now and he respects her, Jesus, treats her like he would anyone asking her for advice but you can’t go back, can you, and have a life like hers, all married and virtuous so they treat you that way so what’s the use trying? So she says to me: ‘This is what you do.’ Not: ‘Would you mind, please, Mary,’ with her back straight and her face fine and her hair silver carrying herself like a queen cause her husband up and died and left her the fishing money. ‘This is how you make the bread,’ and what was I to do without a penny in my purse not that I couldn’t. But a roof’s a roof, anyway, and I wanted to see. And I watch these hands, try to see them, in the last dark, with the men out having their good time on the water, and I hoist the amphora in the dark, thought it’d crush me, and Susannah says, ‘Carry it this way,’ and she walks off with it on her head as if I’ve never seen a woman go for water—my mother’s maids, I wanted to say … But I didn’t. Couldn’t let such an old one show me up, so off I go staggering under the damn thing out to the well like I’m the old one. And Sarah chattering like a biddy. Well, it’s easy, when you’re married, don’t have to care how you act, anymore; gossiping. Water drawn deep red sparkle like a sigh to the soul these hands wore rings. For them. Toting them wine like a servant girl, why don’t they get up and get it themselves. Jesus, at least, says thank you. Judas, he stares. I know what they’re all thinking. Why the fuck did I come? I watch these soft, smooth, caress me never lonely hands the light on them warm and white as the sun breathes like God into the red morning all whitestreaked with flour and water little fists thumping and wrestling the dough into loaves and before the baking white hot sun the red

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