Read The Galileans: A Novel of Mary Magdalene for Free Online Page B

the mountains, bounding over the hills.
    My beloved is like a gazelle, or a young stag.
    Behold, there he stands behind our wall, gazing in at the windows, looking through the lattice.
    My beloved speaks and says to me:
    “Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away;
    for lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.
    The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.
    The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance.
    Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
    O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the cliff,
    let me see your face, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet,
and your face is comely.”
    “Beautiful!” Joseph cried from the doorway, unable to remain silent.
    Mary jumped to her feet. “Joseph of Galilee!” she cried indignantly. “What do you mean creeping up on us?”
    “The song was too beautiful to interrupt,” Joseph explained.
    “The leech is right, Mary.” Simon smiled fondly at her. “It was a lucky day when I found you weeping on the streets of Capernaum.”
    The girl’s face sobered. “But mainly for me.” She shivered a little, although it was not cold. “I was only twelve years old, Joseph, but already I had known what it was to be beaten without reason and to be stripped naked for men to set a price upon me. Simon was the first person who had ever been kind to me in my whole life,” she added fiercely. “Do you wonder that I love him and Demetrius better than anyone else in the world?”
    Joseph bent to examine Simon’s arm. The bandage, he found, had dried into a stiff cast that held the arm firmly, and the swelling had already subsided noticeably.
    “Truly,” the fisherman said, “if anyone had told me yesterday there would be so little pain today, I would have branded him a liar. It is well written in the Book of Ecclesiasticus, ‘If you are taken ill, offer prayers to God and place yourself under the care of a physician.’”
    “Not all physicians would have treated you so well as Joseph did,” Mary interposed. “Most people say he is better than his master, Alexander Lysimachus.”
    “How do you know so much?” Joseph asked with a smile.
    “I go everywhere and keep my eyes open.” Mary tossed her head. “Besides, men have no secrets from a woman.”
    “So you call yourself a woman now.” Demetrius had come into the garden while they were talking. “Soon you will be eying young men and then there will be no more singing in the house of Demetrius.”
    Mary ran to him and put her smooth cheek against his grizzled one. “You know I would never leave you!” she cried, and Joseph was amazed to see tears in her eyes, so quickly had her volatile emotions changed.
    Demetrius squeezed her shoulder. “I was only jesting,” he soothed. “Someday you will marry a rich man who will make old Demetrius the keeper of his wine cellar. Then I can die happy.” He turned to Joseph. “The Street of the Greeks is buzzing with the miracle you performed upon Simon’s arm, young man. Soon the whole town will know of it, if Mary has her way.”
    “I was just telling him that he is better than Alexander Lysimachus,” Mary said. “But he is too modest to admit it.”
    Joseph could stay no longer, but as he went about the city visiting the sick, his thoughts were full of Mary’s gaiety, her beauty, and the way her mood could change from happy to sad and back again in an instant, like a child. He had seen no signs of prosperity in the house of Demetrius, but he had found there something more important, a quality often lacking in the homes of the rich where he went with his leeches: the happiness of people who loved unreservedly.
    When Joseph arrived home that evening, he was greeted by the fragrant aroma of a fish broiling on the coals of the cooking hearth. And when he came into the kitchen, he saw that his mother was not alone. Mary was sitting