According to Mary Magdalene Read Free

said Simon Peter had turned into a great liar. The apostle had told a story that was all magical nonsense from various religions.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I'll tell you. Jesus was born of a virgin and conceived by God himself.”
    He laughed.
    “The god of the Jews has clearly begun to resemble the Zeus of the Greeks, seriously addicted to earthly virgins. Jesus came into the world in a stable in Bethlehem. It says in some old prophecy that the Messiah was to be born there. He is also descended in a direct line from King David, a family that died out a hundred years ago.”
    He fell silent, thinking for a moment before going on.
    “Some of these legends are taken from the Jewish scriptures, others just superstitious public property. It's all been woven together into a fantastic myth to confirm that Jesus was a god who out of compassion allowed himself to be born among people.”
    Strangely enough, Mary was not surprised. He looked at her and said challengingly: “Did you ever hear him saying he was the Messiah?”
    “No, no. He called himself the Son of Man. I knew his mother, a good worldly woman. She was the widow of a carpenter in Nazareth, had many children and a hard life.”
    Leonidas groaned before going on. “After three days, Jesus rose from the dead. Like Osiris, Isis' husband. As you know, she also gave birth to a son of god.”
    Mary was not interested in Osiris.
    “Did the disciples see Jesus in a vision?”
    “No, his body. They could feel the scars from the wounds he got on the cross. After forty days, he went to heaven and he'll soon be returning to judge us all.”
    “Jesus never judged,” whispered Mary. “He judged no one, neither publicans, whores, nor other wretches.”
    Leonidas was not listening, and went on. “According to Peter, he died for our sins. We were to be cleansed by his blood. He sacrificed himself like a sacrificial lamb, the kind the Jews slaughter in their bloodstained temple.”
    She tried to calm her heart. Then she remembered.
    “He said we had to take up our cross and follow him.”
    They sat in silence for quite a while before Mary resumed.
    “It's true he chose his death, but people didn't understand him. Neither then, nor now.”
    She looked at Leonidas, so certain in his interpretations. She herself held no opinions, but thought that if you sought to understand Jesus, it was not at all strange that you took strength from all the dreams the world had dreamt from the very beginning of time.
    Then she remembered the old prayers she had heard as a child in the synagogue in Magdala, about he who was to come to awaken the dead, succor the fallen, cure the sick, free the captives, and be faithful to those sleeping in the dust.
    “They call themselves Christian and have adherents everywhere,” said Leonidas. “With the help of these legends, they could be successful.”
    Again they sat in silence.
    Mary finally found the courage to speak of all the thoughts she had had during that difficult night—that she should go back into her memory and give expression to every word and every action from the years of wandering with the Son of Man.
    Leonidas grew eager. “Write, write down everything you can remember. After all, you were the one closest to him, and knew him best.”
    Mary shook her head, thinking no one had known him, and every one of His followers had understood him in his own way.
    “It'll be difficult,” she said. “He was too great for us.”
    Toward evening, as agreed, they went to Livia's to a welcome-home dinner she had invited them to. They took the route around the handsome Daphne portal, and while Leonidas went to check that his goods had gone through customs, Mary climbed the steep steps in the town wall to look out over the huge caravan camp. Thousands of sheds and tents extended across the plain until they vanished over the horizon. Hundreds of camels were swaying along the alleys between tents, sheds, and the throngs of people in exotic clothing.