Lamb: the Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal

Are you betrothed, by the way?”
    Joshua said: “Come with me, Maggie, and I will make you a fisher of men.”
    “What the hell does that mean?” Maggie asked.
    I grabbed Joshua by the back of his robe and began to drag him away. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s mad. He gets it from his mother. Lovely woman, but a loony. Come now, Josh, let’s sing a dirge.”
    I began improvising what I thought was a good funeral song.
    “ La-la-la. Oh, we are really, really sad that your mom is dead. Too bad you’re a Sadducee and don’t believe in an afterlife and your mom is just going to be worm food, la-la. Makes you think that you might want to reconsider, huh? Fa-la-la-la-la-la-wacka-wacka.” (It sounded great in Aramaic. Really.)
    “You two are silly.”
    “Gotta go. Mourning to do. See you.”
    “A fisher of women?” Josh said.
    “ Fa-la-la-la, don’t feel bad—she was old and had no teeth left, la-la-la . Come on, people, you know the words!”

    Later, I said, “Josh, you can’t keep saying creepy things like that. ‘Fisher of men,’ you want the Pharisees to stone you? Is that what you want?”
    “I’m only doing my father’s work. Besides, Maggie is our friend, she wouldn’t say anything.”
    “You’re going to scare her away.”
    “No I won’t. She’s going to be with us, Biff.”
    “Are you going to marry her?”
    “I don’t even know if I’m allowed to marry at all, Biff. Look.”
    We were topping the hill into Japhia, and we could see the crowd of mourners gathering around the village. Joshua was pointing to a red crest that stood out above the crowd—the helmet crest of a Roman centurion. The centurion was talking to the Levite priest, who was arrayed in white and gold, his white beard reaching past his belt. As we moved into the village we could see twenty or thirty other soldiers watching the crowd.
    “Why are they here?”
    “They don’t like it when we gather,” Joshua said, pausing to study the centurion commander. “They are here to see that we don’t revolt.”
    “Why is the priest talking to him?”
    “The Sadducee wants to assure the Roman of his influence over us. It wouldn’t do to have a massacre on the day of his mother’s funeral.”
    “So he’s watching out for us.”
    “He’s watching out for himself. Only for himself.”
    “You shouldn’t say that about a priest of the Temple, Joshua.” It was the first time I ever heard Joshua speak against the Sadducees, and it frightened me.
    “Today, I think this priest will learn who the Temple belongs to.”
    “I hate it when you talk like that, Josh. Maybe we should go home.”
    “Do you remember the dead meadowlark we found?”
    “I have a really bad feeling about this.”
    Joshua grinned at me. I could see gold flecks shining in his eyes. “Sing your dirge, Biff. I think Maggie was impressed by your singing.”
    “Really? You think so?”
    “Nope.”

    There was a crowd of five hundred outside the tomb. In the front, the men had draped striped shawls over their heads and rocked as they prayed. The women were separated to the back, and except for the wailing of the hired mourners, it was as if they didn’t exist. I tried to catch a glimpse of Maggie, but couldn’t see her through the crowd. When I turned again, Joshua had wormed his way to the front of the men, where the Sadducee stood beside the corpse of his dead mother, reading from a scroll of the Torah.
    The women had wrapped the corpse in linen and anointed it with fragrant oils. I could smell sandalwood and jasmine amid the acrid sweat of the mourners as I made my way to the front and stood by Joshua. He looked past the priest and was staring at the corpse, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He was trembling as if taken by a chill wind.
    The priest finished his reading and began to sing, joined by the voices of hired singers who had made the journey all the way from the Temple in Jerusalem.
    “It’s good to be rich, huh?” I whispered to Joshua, elbowing him in the ribs. He ignored me and balled up his fists at his sides. A vein stood out on his forehead as he burned his gaze on the corpse.
    And she moved.
    Just a twitch at first. The jerk of her hand under the linen shroud. I think I was the only one who noticed. “No, Joshua, don’t,” I said.
    I looked for the Romans, who were gathered in groups of five at different points around the perimeter of the crowd looking bored, their hands resting on the hafts of their short