I Am Not Judas

     I saw him hanging there and celebrated my part in this. He looked to heaven and called out the name of his father as the taunts and garbage were thrown. The soldiers drove the tormentors back. The king's orders were clear that this execution must take its course and not be ended by the zealots of pain.

     The thorn-punctured brow lolled to his shoulder and the olive skin paled with the loss of blood through the wounds in his wrists and ankles. The other criminals had long since perished and many of the crowd, those interested in the spectacle of punishment and not in worshipping the self-proclaimed Lord of Heaven, had dispersed in the gloom to their tents, hovels, or palaces.

     A few remained. The soldiers stayed for duty. The condemned man's mother and family huddled together. His followers, with alert eyes watching the guards, took turns kneeling and praying.

     All pretended not to notice me -- except the soldiers. They noticed me completely. They hoped I was a harlot and the red of my lips was rouge, signifying my speciality in fellatio. They were right, and they were wrong. I was a whore, and I was willing to please in any way…

     But the red of my lips is the blood I sipped from the wounds

of the crucified to avenge my loss at his hands, by his words.

     The guards, one by one, had taken me aside. I was richer by a few copper coins and they allowed me closer to the crossties for my favors. My real treasure was watching the hope pass from the dark brown eyes as it became clear to even him that he would die as a man.

     His eyes came to light on my face and I rejoiced in the recognition.

     "You," he groaned, too quietly for the others to hear.

     I nodded and smiled, before the soldiers motioned me farther away.

     In the end, he just died. No intercession from a heavenly power, no miracles like ones he'd performed for others, nothing came except death. Ending his pain - not mine.

     In the hovel I called home, my cousin waited. I kissed the red-rimmed eyes and bathed his swollen grieving face with cool water.

     "He is dead?" he asked.

     I nodded, but did not smile.

     "Did he ascend?" he asked, eagerly.

     "No. He merely died." I turned away, hiding my true feelings. "He is to be buried in a rich man's garden."

     My sweet love cried, slept, and awoke crying moments later. I held him to my breasts and comforted him in the ways a man prefers. For those minutes, he forgot his sadness and was eased.

    

When I awoke, he was gone from my bed. I found him, sitting in the sun beside my door. The neighbors watched from their windows, curious to see what man would visit me so openly. They turned away from my baleful stare, afraid. I would have to move on soon, before they accused me as a witch.

     I sat beside him, and he offered his wrist. His blood was sweeter than any save my twin's and of my uncle's family who were no more. His kiss was for the circle; his passion was as pale as the sun was bright.

     "I did not betray him," he whispered. "Though he thinks I did."

     I shook my head. "He knew, before he died, that you were faithful."

     Judas sighed. "And the purse of silver?"

     "Give it to his followers, or his family, or the church." How could I tell him otherwise?

     "If they will have it." He moaned and then straightened his shoulders. "Perhaps I should give it to you. You should not live this way."

     I thought of the silver. There were easier ways to make a living, and cleaner ways to take a man's life. Revenge was never as sweet as the anticipation and what does one live for when it is achieved? I thought back the muddied stream of time and to the moment in which my future had been determined.

     The band had been welcomed to our home. The family offered them hospitality for the sake of my cousin.

     Judas had hung on His every word. I followed the pair and hid nearby, wanting

to observe this magical man who stolen my love's heart from his family -- and me. I heard Judas confess our secret to the Teacher. His sanctimonious judgment of my kind caused my cousin to blanche.

     Virar had no place in his father's house and the only salvation for Judas and other half-breeds was to denounce heritage and nature. Repent and redeem. Maybe then forgiveness could follow.

     How could denouncing one's family be pious or moral? Did he use his influence on a young man's mind to snare his heart?

     When my cousin left the garden, I slipped from my secret bower. The Teacher knelt and bowed his head. I would have fed and beguiled him, but his quiet question stopped me.

     "Do you think I am wrong?" he asked. I nodded and, though he hadn't glanced in my direction, he replied, "It is not my message, only my words. You are not natural and are the handiwork of things outside My Father's Plan. You may not be evil, but have no place in the workings of this world."

     "Are you so sure?" I asked. What did he want? Judas's love… Or his life?

     He turned and looked back at my uncle's house. The happy giggles of the babies, the soft murmur of the women, and the low rumbling of the men carried in the spring air. We had a content little enclave with one dark secret and a hundred bright candles. Did not the good out weigh the evil?

     "Perhaps your Father will find a room for us in his home as we have in ours for you. Perhaps he could learn to love us, as we have learned to love mankind." I saw resolve in the austere face and said, with spite, "Perhaps if your King of Bigotry cannot adopt us, his enemy will." I hadn't yet learned the art of holding my tongue.

     Did he think of my uncle's generous donation and willing ear? Did he remember my aunt's happy laughter in the kitchen or the comely faces of my cousins and their children. Or did he denounce them because my snide adolescent skepticism had displeased him? Would I ever know?

     What I do know is that he sent Judas ahead to prepare a place in the next town, whether to spare him or by coincidence. I also know what he said to the people of the nearby village when asked why he would not teach them.

     "In your midst you harbor malevolence. You cannot receive the truth in a false house. Suffer not the witch to live in ease if you hope to find yours in the Kingdom of God."

     Sneaky me, I heard every word. Maybe his intention, as Judas believes, was only to drive us out. Maybe just to turn our neighbors against us, for some did know what my uncle and my brother were, and I still am.

     Instead, they rose up like rabid beasts and brought us fire.

     My uncle, shielding my aunt, dashed from the house. She screamed as the men pulled them apart. Many attackers, once friends, were tossed aside by my uncle's inhuman strength, checked these countless years, but they finally pinned him to the ground. Through his hands, his elbows, his ankles and knees the rough pickets were driven and yet he struggled on. The one through his groin stilled him. My loving aunt prostrated herself on him, defending her husband. A long sharpened tent pole was driven through her heart and his and they died together, their blood mingling in death as it always had in life.

     As each of my cousins rushed forth to escape the killing fire, they were stoned. The babies, squealing like rabbits, were tossed like scraps to the dogs and the tiny bodies were torn apart.

     They herded my brother with scythes and pitchforks and pushed him back into the fire until his flesh burned like a torch. He screamed my name with his last breath, but I could not answer. The younger men had found my hiding place and, as they worked energetically to shame and degrade me, had begun teaching me an ancient trade.

     I did not die that night. I had a way with men even then. One harbored me and, later, I followed the road of rumors and waited with the multitudes that welcomed the Teacher to Jerusalem. I hid Judas when the other students of the word would have murdered him for his betrayal. I fought for space along the Path of Tears, and witnessed the final miracles. I watched him die… And celebrated the moment.

     Judas encouraged me to search for other viraran. I agreed, to ease his conscience, but will not. He sailed away and will use the silver to found a church of his own. Still hoping for salvation from the human God.

     I, too, will move on. My neighbors will be content to see the last of me. Although I leave this place, the place will never leave me. How could it?

     My twin's voice whispers to me in my sleep, I feel his teeth in my dreams. I search for his face when I awaken and tearlessly weep for him. I see the blood of my aunt and uncle seeping wasted into the dry soil. I smell the hint of spice and herb in every bowl and remember the seductive scent of my cousins' skins.

     I can still hear the grunt and growl of the dogs as they fought over the most succulent morsels of child flesh. The men I lay beneath each day and night grunt and growl in the same way.

     Like the beasts they are -- even the one who promised me

thirty pieces of silver to betray the preacher called Jesus of Nazareth.


The End

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