The man wiped a sleeve across his bloody face. Then, without warning, he lunged forward. Jesus raised his fists and stood his ground. The man stopped short. He looked his young challenger in the eye and then, after a moment, waved a hand. “Aw! You are not worth the trouble,” he said, dusting himself off. Having had enough, he turned to walk back to the priest’s house. “But a word of advice, little brother,” he called over his shoulder. “You should have chosen better for your first!” He snorted at his own remark then slammed the door behind him.

Peter dropped to his knees. His entire body shaking with fear.

The young girl dashed from behind the well. “Mother! Mother!” she cried.

Jesus stood back, his face covered with disbelief.

Had he really turned back the giant?

He turned to see the girl helping her mother to her feet. He rushed over to assist her.

“Do not touch me!” the woman hissed, swiping a hand at his face. Jesus toppled back, startled. When she was upright, the mother hurled insults at the house. “May God curse every one of you! May your fruit shrivel in the heat of hell!”

Jesus tried again to help the woman but again she struck at him with her fists. “Be gone from me!” she shouted. She looked blindly through bloodied eyes. “Mary! Where is that useless child of mine? Mary! Come help your mother!”

The daughter struggled to support the woman as she swayed from side to side, dizzied from the beating. She managed to secure an arm around her mother’s waist and led her, limping, toward the dark.

Jesus made to follow the women, but Peter held him back. “Enough!” he snapped, keeping his grip firm.

Just before the mother and daughter disappeared, the girl turned back to look at Jesus once more. Holding him in her blazing gaze, she mouthed the words “Remember me.”

That night, as the two boys prepared for sleep, Peter grumbled about Jesus having put their lives in peril. “Why must you always do that? Why must you always take such great risks for so little gain?” he asked, kicking leaves and sticks across the ground to clear a spot for his bed. “Your life, my life, for the daughter of a whore?” He rambled on, cursing the woman and her child with a litany of ugly names.

Jesus remained silent through the tongue-lashing, allowing Peter to vent his anger. He could already hear the wheezing between his friend’s words and did not want to further upset him.