Home > Christ The Lord: The Road To Cana(52)

Christ The Lord: The Road To Cana(52)
Author: Anne Rice

"Son," she said. "The wine is running out."

I looked at her. I saw the cause of it. She didn't have to tell me. The caravan carrying the wine south had been struck on the road by brigands. Cartloads of wine had been stolen, carried off into the hills. Word had only just reached the house, even as dozens of men and women still arrived for the banquet which would go on throughout all of the new day.

It was a disaster of unlikely and dreadful proportions.

I looked into her eyes. How urgently she implored me.

I bent down and laid my hand on the back of her neck. "Woman?" I asked gently. "What has this to do with you and me?" I shrugged. I whispered, "My hour hasn't come."

She drew back very slowly. She looked up at me for a long moment with the most curious expression on her face, a combination of mock scolding and then placid trust. She turned and lifted her finger. She waited. Far across the courtyard and the main dining room, one of the servants saw her, caught her gaze and her gesture. She nodded, as he nodded to her. She beckoned. She opened her fingers. She beckoned for all of them to come.

Hananel was suddenly standing alone without his servants, watching them slip through the crowds and come towards us.

"Mother!" I whispered.

"Son!" she answered, gently mimicking my very tone.

She turned to Uncle Cleopas and put her hand gently on his shoulder, and gazing up at me out of the corner of her eye, she said to Cleopas, "Brother, tell my son the commandment. He has lately received the blessing of his father. Remind him. 'Honor your father and your mother.' Are those not the words?"

I smiled. I bent to kiss her forehead. She lifted her chin slightly, eyes soft, but withholding her smile.

The servants surrounded us. They waited. My new followers were gathering - John, James and Peter, Andrew and Philip. They'd never been very far from me the whole evening and now they drew in close.

"What is it, Rabbi?" John asked.

Far away, the small figure of Hananel stood with folded arms in the candlelight, staring at me, fascinated and perplexed.

My mother pointed to me, as she addressed the servants: "Do whatever he tells you to do."

Now her face was gentle and natural and she looked up at me and she smiled as a child might smile.

The disciples were confused and concerned.

Cleopas laughed silently to himself. He covered his mouth with his left hand, and peered up at me mischievously. My mother walked away. She gave one sharp backward glance at me, her face sweet and trusting, and then she retreated to the door of the women's banquet room and there she waited, half hidden by the gathered curtains in the arch.

I looked at the six huge limestone jars in the courtyard, the jars for the water of the purification, the washing of hands.

I spoke to the servants. "Fill them to the brim."

"My lord, they hold gallons. It will take all of us to take these to the well."

"Then best to hurry," I said. "And call the others to assist."

At once they hoisted the first of the jars and carried it out, through the rear dining room into the night. Another flock of servants appeared for the second, and another group for the third, and so on it went rapidly, so that within minutes the six stood as before, completely filled.

Hananel watched all this carefully, but no one was watching him. People passed him, greeted him, thanked him, blessed him. But they didn't really notice him as he stood there. Slowly he moved back to his place at the table. He sat down, coming between the merry conversation of Nathanael and Jason. His eyes were still fixed on me.

"My lord, it's done," said the first of the servants as he stood beside the row of jars. I gestured to a nearby tray of goblets, only one of many throughout the room.

I heard in my mind the voice of the Tempter in the desert. A delusion! . . . Why, even Elijah could have managed that!

I looked at the head servant. I saw the tension and near desperation in his eyes. I saw the fear in the faces of the others.

"Draw now from the jar and fill that cup," I said. "Take it to Jason, the friend of the bridegroom who sits beside the master. Is he not the master of the feast?"

"Yes, my lord," the servant answered wearily. He put the dipper into the jar. He let out a long low gasp.

The red wine shone in the light of the candles. The disciples stared as the wine flowed down from the dipper into the goblet in the servant's hand.

I felt the coolness come over my skin that I'd felt at the Jordan River. I felt a faint near-delicious sizzling sensation. Then it was gone as quickly and silently as it had come.

"Take it to him," I said to the servant. I pointed to Jason.

My uncle was unable to laugh, or speak. The disciples seemed to collectively hold their breath.

The servant hurried into the banquet room and around the table. He thrust the goblet into Jason's hand.

I let the words reach me through the noise of the throng.

"The wine that's just come," said the servant, trembling, almost unable to form the words.

Jason took a deep drink of it without hesitating.

"My lord!" he said to Hananel. "You've done the most splendid trick." He stood up. Drank more from the cup. "Most men wait until the first wine's done its work, only to bring out the lesser vintage. You've saved the best wine for last."

Hananel stared up at him.

In a small cold voice, he said,

"Give me that cup."

Jason didn't notice the coldness. He was already arguing with Nathanael again, but Nathanael was staring across the table and beyond, at those of us gathered in the courtyard by the jars.

Hananel drank. He sat back. We looked at one another over the distance.

The servants were hurrying to the jars and ladling the wine into the empty cups and goblets. Tray after tray was being taken to the banquet tables and rugs.

No one saw Hananel looking at me, except for Nathanael. Nathanael rose slowly and came towards us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother leave her post at the door of the banquet room and disappear behind the thin veils of gauze.

Young John kissed my hand. Peter knelt and kissed my hand. The others gathered to kiss my hand.

"No, stop this," I said. "You must not do this."

I turned and I went out of the courtyard, through the foyer, and into the open garden away from the revelers. I walked until I was in the farthest corner of the walled orchard from which I could see the rooms of the women flanking this side of the house. The arches were filled with pulsing light.

All the disciples were now clustered around me. James headed towards me and so did my younger brothers.

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