Disciple

By Lisabet Sarai

“Uh—oh—oh—uh—uh—uh, uh, uh—ah—yes, oh, yes, uh—aaah!”

“You all right, honey?”

“Oh...oh, yeah, I’m fantastic. Just need a bit of time to recover. Thanks, Miriam. That was sensational—as always. You’re still the best, after all this time.”

“That’s sweet of you, Sh’muel. We each serve according to our separate gifts.”

“He say that?”

“More or less.”

“You knew him, didn’t you.”

“Very well. Intimately, you might say.”

“So...what was he like? Putting aside the hype and all? How did it feel when you were with him?”

“Cherished. Beloved. Enveloped in warm, nurturing light.”

“You were special to him.”

“Everyone felt that way, Sh'muel. That was his gift. Total, unconditional love. Perfect compassion. It didn’t matter who you were, what you did for a living, what country you came from or what gods you worshiped. What so-called sins you had committed. He loved us all. We couldn’t help loving him back.”

“Even Judas Iscariot?”

“Of course. Poor Judas might have loved him more than anyone. Most of us were too selfish to fulfill the master’s will. We wanted to keep him alive, with us, so we could continue to bask in his incredible light. Even if that undermined his ultimate purpose.” 
 

“It must have been hard to let him go.”

“Torture. I wept non-stop for two weeks. It felt like my heart had been torn from my body, leaving nothing but a vacant, echoing gap. I wanted to kill myself, to tell you the truth, but I knew he wouldn’t approve. It took a long time before I understood that he really wasn’t gone at all. That his light could never be extinguished—unless I allowed it to be.”

“I’m—um—kind of surprised you went back to your old profession. Afterwards, I mean.”

“His mother never liked me. She never felt I was good enough for her precious Yeshua. I don’t blame her. We all have our flaws, our blind spots. Anyway, I didn’t feel comfortable with the direction the disciples were taking. Celibacy just doesn’t suit me.”

“I’m grateful for that!”

“I’ll bet you are, you old goat!”

“So, tell me Miriam—what about the sex? Was it different? Better than with an ordinary man?”

“You want me to kiss and tell? Naughty boy! I keep your secrets—I’ll certainly keep his. But I will say this—he was as lusty and eager as anyone else. Not the pale, emasculated, passionless figure that some of the communities worship these days. He was flesh and blood, full of juice and joy.”

“What do you think? Was he really the Messiah?”

“You know, Sh'muel, I don’t really care. All I know is that everyone he touched was changed for the better. His love kindled ours. We wanted to please him, honor him, and so we tried, in our own poor imperfect way, to be like him. Each according to our gifts. Speaking of which...”

“Mmm—oh, that feels so good!”

“Looks like you’re ready for another round, honey.”

“Oh—ah—oh, God, I’d love to, but until next month’s harvest, I don’t have the shekels to spare.”

“It’s on the house, honey. Because you’re such a loyal customer and such a sweet guy.”

“Ooh—oh, Miriam! You’re a saint... What can I do in return? Can I give one of next spring’s lambs?”

“Just feel my love, Sh'muel. Feel it, and pass it on.”