BooksBarbecue
Back Margery Kempe Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. Biographical Notes
  3. Title Page
  4. INTRODUCTION
  5. MARGERY KEMPE
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. Dedication
  8. Front
  9. PART ONE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. PART TWO
  27. 17
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. 22
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. 25
  36. 26
  37. 27
  38. 28
  39. 29
  40. 30
  41. 31
  42. PART THREE
  43. 32
  44. 33
  45. 34
  46. 35
  47. 36
  48. 37
  49. 38
  50. 39
  51. 40
  52. 41
  53. 42
  54. 43
  55. 44
  56. 45
  57. 46
  58. PART FOUR
  59. 47
  60. 48
  61. 49
  62. 50
  63. 51
  64. 52
  65. 53
  66. 54
  67. 55
  68. 56
  69. MY MARGERY, MARGERY’S BOB

Mary could not speak another word so Margery claimed the emotion; she collapsed next to them and caught his ankle, crying, “Kill me rather than abandon me!”

Jesus hissed, “Be still, Margery.” His enemies seized him. They dragged him to the ground and pushed him forward so his face hit the pavement and his teeth were dashed together. They spit at him. Jesus smiled foolishly. He took off his own clothes and wrapped his arms around the narrow stone pillar. The freshness of his body could be seen in his skin, milky gold except for some red pimples scattered across his ass.

When the lash struck, he flinched as though it were cold. Something finally happened to his body: the wounds went in one direction and furrowed his skin like patterned cloth. His ribs appeared; he melted like a candle. The switches broke and littered the floor. The spot where he stood filled with blood and he wiped blood from his eyes. He turned to his clothes but his enemies did not give him time to dress. They hurried him along—naked with a rope around his waist. He put his arms in the sleeves and wiped away blood from his face with his tunic. Wherever he stepped he left footprints stained with blood.

Margery and Mary went round on a different path. A white-bearded peasant in a gray surcoat held a plow handle in one hand and goaded a pair of red oxen with his other. He had a wen inside his cheek as big as a pullet’s egg. His plowshare turned earth covered by faded winter grass. Margery and Mary could hear the thud of violent blows; they saw Jesus stagger, the cross so heavy he could hardly lift it. They pulled their cloaks over their foreheads like mourning scarfs.

Mary said, “Ah, Jesus . . . that heavy cross . . .” She fainted, still as the dead. Jesus knelt by Mary to comfort her. Margery fell down too and threw back her head because she couldn’t catch her breath. Screams tore her jaws apart, her feeling of constraint dividing over and over as though lavishly blooming.

48

Margery went up to Calvary. Music, soldiers, gambling, silence in the buzzing flies, vendors selling candy and wine. The rocky landscape rose in perspective to a walled hilltop town. A soldier pointed to a tree where Judas hung, intestines spilling from his gaping belly. The Jews tore from Jesus’s body a silk cloth that dried blood had glued to his flesh. Jesus saw his dead self and gave up the urge to create relation. His wounds opened and blood ran on every side.