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

loaded high with jars of wine. “This wagon is Moses,” I said. “Follow it.”
    “That wagon isn’t—”
    “It’s symbolic, shut the hell up and follow Moses.”
    Thus freed of our responsibilities, Joshua and I went looking for Maggie and her family. We knew that Maggie and her clan had left after us, so we fought backward through the pilgrims, braving donkey bites and camel spit until we spotted her royal blue shawl on the hill behind us, perhaps a half-mile back. We had resolved to just sit by the side of the road to wait until she reached us, rather than battle the crowd, when suddenly the column of pilgrims started to leave the road altogether, moving to the sides in a great wave. When we saw the red crest of a centurion’s helmet come over the top of the hill we understood. Our people were making way for the Roman army. (There would be nearly a million Jews in Jerusalem for Passover—a million Jews celebrating their liberation from oppression, a very dangerous mix from the Roman point of view. The Roman governor would come from Caesarea with his full legion of six thousand men, and each of the other barracks in Judea, Samaria, and Galilee would send a century or two of soldiers to the holy city.)
    We used the opportunity to dash back to Maggie, arriving there at the same time as the Roman army. The centurion that led the cavalry kicked at me as he passed, his hobnail boot missing my head by a hair’s breadth. I suppose I should be glad he wasn’t a standard-bearer or I might have been conked with a Roman eagle.
    “How long do I have to wait before you drive them from the land and restore the kingdom to our people, Joshua?” Maggie stood there with her hands on her hips, trying to look stern, but her blue eyes betrayed that she was about to burst into laughter.
    “Uh, shalom to you too, Maggie,” Joshua said.
    “How about you, Biff, have you learned to be an idiot yet, or are you behind in your studies?” Those laughing eyes, even as the Romans passed by only an arm’s length away. God, I miss her.
    “I’m learning,” I said.
    Maggie put down the jar she’d been carrying and threw her arms out to embrace us. It had been months since we’d seen her other than passing in the square. She smelled of lemons and cinnamon that day.
    We walked with Maggie and her family for a couple of hours, talking and joking and avoiding the subject that we were all thinking about until Maggie finally said, “Are you two coming to my wedding?”
    Joshua and I looked at each other as if our tongues had suddenly been struck from our mouths. I saw that Josh was having no luck finding words, and Maggie seemed to be getting angry.
    “Well?”
    “Uh, Maggie, it’s not that we’re not overjoyed with your good fortune, but…”
    She took the opportunity to backhand me across the mouth. The jar she carried on her head didn’t even waver. Amazing grace that girl had.
    “Ouch.”
    “Good fortune? Are you mad? My husband’s a toad. I’m sick at the thought of him. I was just hoping you two would come to help me through the ceremony.”
    “I think my lip is bleeding.”
    Joshua looked at me and his eyes went wide. “Uh-oh.” He cocked his head, as if listening to the wind.
    “What, uh-oh?” Then I heard the commotion coming from ahead. There was a crowd gathered at a small bridge—a lot of shouting and waving. Since the Romans had long since passed, I assumed someone had fallen in the river.
    “Uh-oh,” Josh said again, and he began running toward the bridge.
    “Sorry.” I shrugged at Maggie, then followed Josh.
    At the river’s edge (no more than a creek, really) we saw a boy about our age, with wild hair and wilder eyes, standing waist-deep in the water. He was holding something under the water and shouting at the top of his lungs.
    “You must repent and atone, atone and repent! Your sins have made you unclean. I cleanse you of the evil that you carry like your wallet.”
    “That’s my cousin, John,” Joshua said.
    Trailing out of the water on either side of John stood our brothers and sisters, still tied together, but the missing link in the string of siblings was my brother Shem, who had been replaced by a lot of thrashing and bubbling muddy water in front of John. Onlookers were cheering on the Baptist, who was having a little trouble keeping Shem under water.
    “I think he’s drowning Shem.”
    “Baptizing,” Joshua said.
    “My mother will be happy that Shem’s sins have been