Jesus was roused by the outburst. He sat up and saw Tabitha cowering in Ruth’s arms. “What is it? What has happened?” he mumbled.

Peter pointed his finger at Tabitha. “She … she touches you … while you sleep!” he stammered, his cheeks puffing with anger.

Jesus and Ruth locked eyes.

Peter shook his hand in pain. “Why in the name of God do you tolerate these women?” he spat. “They are not worthy to tie the straps on your sandals!”

Jesus cringed. He did not want to believe his ears. Did not want to believe that there could be anything bad in the one who attracted him, like a moth that would not accept that the flame could burn its wings.

Ruth pulled Tabitha close.

Jesus turned to Peter. “What you have done is wrong, and cannot—” he began, but the shock and betrayal in Peter’s eyes made Jesus’s voice weaken. When he did not finish his rebuke, Ruth frowned and guided Tabitha away from the fire.

When they were gone, Peter continued to disparage the women. But Jesus did not hear his words. His ears were ringing too loudly. He felt a profound shame at his paralysis and his failure to confront the injustice.

Disoriented, he stared into the fire. In the distance, he could hear Tabitha weeping. His head fell and hung low.

What was happening to him? Why did his center feel misplaced? Why had he elevated a being of so little sight above his sisters? Above his very self? Had he forgotten who he was?

Or was he only now remembering?

Jesus lay down near the flames. He let his fingers wander over the medallion. The sycamore’s jagged outline rose like a scar.

Remember who you are, no matter who you must become, Mother Susana had said.

Jesus closed his eyes and prayed ardently to remember.

After the night of Peter’s assault on Tabitha, Jesus felt as though he was walled off from those around him. As though he could no longer navigate, or find his essence. He found himself avoiding the eyes and calls of his supporters and seeking only solitude. He could not bear to face Ruth or Tabitha.

His desire for Communion or any form of deep connection had diminished to almost nothing. He felt a keen sense of shame, of having failed to live up to the ideals he cherished, of acting with duplicity, and his shoulders bent under the heaviness of spiritual despair. Not even Peter’s surprise of a litter of spotted puppies stirred more than a wan smile on his lips.

Why did the world seem suddenly pale?

At night, suffocated by the crowds, Jesus walked far from camp and climbed a hill. He lay on his back and watched the stars float across the sky. He recalled Solomon teaching him to divine shapes in the spaces between the lights. But, to his disappointment, he could discern nothing.

CHAPTER 42

Somewhere within ancient Palestine—33 A.D.