First & Last

First

The water won't sleep. It lifts and lowers the boats all night long. It slaps the sides of each. I do not understand the sound. It is like a strap to a slave's back. My heart beats faster. I look at all of the boats in the darkness. They are empty. I should be asleep, empty, but I came here. I want something to make it quiet in my head. It's so noisy inside of me. (It must be like this at the temple. All those voices.) Everyone I know is dreaming, but I can't. I cannot dream because I can't stop the wilderness inside of me. I don’t feel human. I am a jungle. I am the creature that lives in the dark wet corner of a muddy tree stump. I am tortured. Please, let me sleep.

I do not know if these are demons. This feeling. I have felt this way for such a long time that it makes me wonder…am I? Could I fool myself into believing that I was something that I'm not? Maybe I've been a demon this whole time, hidden in the skin of a woman. Maybe I look out of eyes that are evil. I do not know what this feeling is. Life is hell for me. Would a demon feel this way? All I know is that there's a fire. Everything burns.

And so they take me this way with what they believe to be seven evil spirits inside of me. They need purged. I might be sacrificed for all I know. They might throw me on an altar and cut the demons out of me. If that could bring me peace, I would let them. But they come at me violently. I am in a relentless rage as I am dragged screaming and fighting. I feel the same dangerous pressure in my head that leaves my eyes like stones staring at nothing with the howling and the trembling of my body. I am cast down in front of a man whose filthy robes and gnarled hands seem terrifying. There are others all around us with afflictions, but my handlers swear to him that I am possessed with all seven sins. They beg him to exorcise them from me. He is a rabbi. A healer.

His face is darker than mine. He is not from Magdala. I can see this. His eyes are iridescent in the setting sunlight. His mouth is humbled by a smooth scar. He crouches in front of me and puts both hands on my shoulders. I shudder. “You are not possessed, child. You are simply ill. If you believe that healing is possible, I will show you how to heal. Can you believe me?” Through the unraveling seizure, I shake my head. He takes my hand. HIs embrace is swaddling. I am born. He wraps me in a feeling of love. He pulls me to him so quietly. I have not known a quiet like this. A sound starts to rise in my ears. It’s a drum. A heartbeat. It is his heart, charming and healing me. I relent. I give myself to the heartbeat of this healer.

“You are safe. We are a small group, but you are welcome to join us. Follow us." He smiles. "Follow me.”

Silence. I am confused by my own mind. I have lived for centuries, being convinced again and again that I am a monster. The devil. I am the snake that stood on two legs when my ancestor fell for his charm and sinned for the first time. I have felt that sin rattle my bones and shake me loose from grace. But here is this slight man who plants trees when he stands and preaches. He is staring into me, past my trembling, unlocking the tomb that has been dying so any deaths.

“Do you believe you are a demon?”

“I don’t know.”

He smiles.

“You will be with us, now. There is no other place for you."

I nod. I feel the shade of his stare like sitting in the shadow of a cyprus or a sycamore.

He stands me up, and I am flying.

Last

I am the only one of the four of us to wake. The sun is just pushing his forehead over the edge of the earth, and when I look up from the blackness of the tomb I can see light streaming in through the mouth of the cave. The stone is moved, and Jesus’ body is gone. I search the small cavity and then stumble out of the tomb into the morning. I can see my sisters are asleep, undisturbed by this revelation. I feel my head start to split and shake. My body is rigid and drops to the dusty path. From the ground, I see the shoes of the gardener approaching. I reach up to grab him and get his attention, but he pulls back before I can. “Don’t, Magdalene. Don’t touch me.” I stare dumbfounded. It is Jesus. His dark skin is clean and glowing, and the thousand cuts are gone. He is more perfect than I have ever seen him, but his voice is the same river. I sit up as far as I can. “Your ‘demons’ are gone.” He smiles and makes an unusual criss-cross shape in the air. He stares at me. “Everyone is asleep, Mary. Wake them. Wake them all.”

I squint to see his face once more, but he ascends to heaven. My bones feel light, and I stand up like a bird. I cover my eyes to see him flying, but his spirit is gone. I move my arms and legs and prance in a circle. I am his witness. I am his friend. I will start the story that we will tell for as long as we can. There are no devils now. Only the light of the morning. Only the sun sitting over us, so warm and steady and strong. I want to work and sweat today. I want to be of use. I will be a tool. I will be a tool for the world. I will wake them all.