THE MARIAN SCROLL
by LISA CARTER-SINCLAIRE
How it came into our hands.
During the Gulf War a female pilot, who wishes her name withheld, was
shot down by Iraqi anti-aircraft fire. She parachuted to the relative
safety of a rocky outcrop with only minor injuries. During her 43 hour
stint in the desert she avoided persistent enemy patrols by hiding in
a maze of tunnels and caves which honeycombed the area.
The pilot describes most of the area as desert with only great stones
upthrust to break the skyline. She states that most of the tunnels were
nothing more than unsupported wormholes. She traveled by sliding on
her stomach which, for an American of 5 foot 8, 155 pounds, was a very
tight fit. Our pilot was amazed when she realized that her rocky scantuary
was but the tip of a very large sand covered mountain.
Our pilot describes her approach along another cramped tunnel when
she noticed it enlarging. At 40plus feet, it was the longest single
tunnel so far. It soon became large enough for her to crawl comfortably.
This tunnel ended in a larger cave. Described as at least 12 foot square,
it was paneled in a lovely soft white stone such as chalk or gypsum.
No markings marred it with the exception of small rectangular niches
cut in the walls at cardinal points.
Our pilot, who is not a religious woman, was quoted ""..here I was,
crawling along feeling like the Viet-cong tunnel rats my dad used to
talk aboutÉwith damned camel jocks above me and no telling what in the
god-damned tunnel with meÉsnakes and suchÉeverything over there is poisonous,
ya know? When I see a light, a glow.. Now mind you, its pitch black,
I'd been saving my power packs, going along by feel mostly. And then
there is this glow. Not a bright light, not even really a light. It
was more like a brightening of the dark. A subtle shift in the texture
of the darknessÉI can't really describe itÉmaybe like a soft natural
phosphorous, but not green, a pale soft pearl white." "Anyway, when
I stepped down into the place, I knew, and I know it sounds silly, but
I knew that I was in a place older than God. Anyway I just knew it was
sacred, and I don't believe in any of that religious crap.You know that.
I think all the so-called sons of AbrahamÉJews, Christians, Moslems,
the whole shebang, are a bunch of bloodthirsty idiots, period. And that's
the reason that I done it."
What she did was remove several slender cylinders from the niches.
The cylinders are not large and are remarkably sturdy. They appear to
have survived centuries, perhaps millennia, with only minimal decay
to their precious contents.
Our pilot said it was incredibly easy to smuggle them home. When she
was rescued she failed to mention her find and they traveled comfortably
home in her backpack. She said the military was so disturbed by her
being captured that they really paid no attention to her other than
medical to make sure, horror of horrors, that she hadn't been sexually
molested in any fashion while out there alone in the desert. They shipped
her home ASAP, along with her find.
She came to us. She wanted the translation to be without political
or religious bias. This is what we have attempted to do. The translation
is rough and at times deterioration has made it all but impossible to
read sections. We have spent the last few years diligently working on
it. There are many tracts yet to be interpreted.
It was recently decided to allow a part of what we deciphered into
public view. It is but a small part of what appears to be the works
of John the Disciple and what we call the Scroll of Mari, a collection
of memories purportedly written in the hand of Mary, Mother of Jesus.
************* Testing shows that human blood was mixed with earth to
form the end caps Written around the outside of the first cylinder and
over the caps.
With my blood, with my bond, and with my sealÉI, John, most beloved
of Imanuel. I, John, so beloved by Jesu that he gave unto me the keeping
of the mother of his body. I, John, hold that the words written here
are the true and simple words of the fleshly mother of my most beloved.
The one known as Mary of Nazareth. She who came from the temple to give
birth to my beloved as her firstborn child. ************* Translated
from the parchment inside the cylinder, The Scroll of Mari.
They gave me to the temple when I was three. I come from a noble and
priestly family and always one of each generation goes to serve God.
When my blood came they held a great meeting to choose my husband. The
one who was be the father of this generations' savior.
He did not want me...Joseph. He was four times my age, a settled man,
a righteous widower with a whole family of his own. But what choice
had he? Or me, for that matter? I had been bred for this purpose.
So he took me from the temple and under the eyes of the priest he did
his duty on me. Then he took me to his house and there I lived, with
step children much older than myself and even a grandchild of my own
age. It was not a hard life. They were not cruel. I was fed and clothed
and sat at the head of the womens table. But I was lonely and if not
for my new granddaughter would have had none to talk with.
Joseph treated me as one of his children and, but for the time the
priest ordered, he did not come again to me in a carnal way. And so
it was for two years. **************** Then came the delegation from
the temple to our home. They called my husband to the private chambers.
I had seen the eyes of the priests on me, appraising me and finding
missing some vital ingredient. The look was of a greedy noble buying
livestock at great price and later finding himself cheated. I had not
produced. I crept behind the heavy hangings and listened. And this is
much of what I heard.
I heard my husbands' voice raised in anger. "I'll not rut with that
child just to give you something for your death tree. You forget, I
too have had your training. Before most of you were born I read the
secret tracts and took the oath of flesh and blood. I left it these
many long years ago and I will not go back. I married the girl and I
will see her well cared for, but I will not commit that abomination
with her again. It is disgraceful, a blight on my dear wife Dyna's memory
and a shame to her children."
The voice of the priest was hard and oily and sharp. "then Brother
Joseph, what will you do? All that we ask of you is to mount the female
until conception. It entails no trouble to you and may even bring some
pleasures. It is true the temple let you marry your common woman years
ago. But the oath of flesh and blood still holds. And we see none of
your generation at the temple. "
"What will you do to keep from mounting this girl? Will you give us
one of Dyna's children in its place? A daughter for the temple or a
son for the death tree? Will you give up your place and your lands and
flee this country? Will you take your family and live as outlaw? What
will you do Brother Joseph, to pay your price of flesh and blood?"
"You think to spare the girl? Why? She is temple raised. She knows
her fate. She knows her duty. There will be others besides the first
born. She will have children to keep her in her old age. What pain is
it to you? If it be a daughter, she is gone to the temple before she
leaves the nursery. Then if it be a son, you will be long in the grave
before his time comes for the tree. Make your choice? One of those already
borned to this house, or the one to be born to Joseph and Mari. ****************
And so it came to pass that my husband came to my bed again and our
house was divided. My husband was solemn and gentle and sorrowful. He
gave unto his all his children by Dyna their inheritance from his house
and sent them, and their spouses, and their children to live among the
peoples of their mother.
The first wife of my husband was named Dyna and called common by our
caste. She came not from the sands, as did our people. She came from
the great river. Her people do not walk the desert, or straddle camels
and donkeys. Her people rode the currents and floated along the mother
river.
My husband was a good and true husband to her. Her children do her
honor. She was much beloved. Yet her name was stricken and those of
her children. So it was that my children know not of the children of
Dyna and this is how it came to pass that only my bloodline was recognized.
My husband was a noble man who tried to live a righteous life with
harm to none. And, because of his goodness, God blessed him and took
him away before his eyes had to see his son on the death tree. Not so
for meÉI had to seeÉI had to watchÉand suffer. For had I not one more
duty to fulfill my debt to the temple ***********
I bore the child, and against all logic, even my own will, I came to
love him. How could I not? He was a joy to behold and loved me best
of all. My husband warned me against the coming pain. And I said "this
I know, O my husband. There will be years to come before his fate calls
him to the death tree. Let them be mine. Deny me not my time with him."
And he did not. For we both knew our duty. I was stronger than he and
better able to bear the coming pain.
The years passed and on his third birthday the priest came from the
temple of my husband and marked him and wrote his name in the book and
absolved my husband of his debt. They would not tell us when his time
would be; though I begged most shamefully. It was then that I hatched
my plan. For true to my husbands' word, I had grown to love my son too
much.
When my son was in his fifth year did my husband agree with me to leave
the city of his fathers and go away. Far away. I took us to the lands
of my mothers' people. Those who follow the herds and are closer to
Ashera, the earth woman than Yahweh, the sun man. My husband was nervous
because his temple is to the sun man.
This too was part of my plan. I hoped my firstborn would choose the
old ways and not be bound by the laws of the angry sun man of Moses
and Abraham. The travesty of their death tree was but a blasphemy. They
pollute the rituals with the blood of fools. The man who comes unwilling
or unknowing to his sacrifice was deemed foul in the eyes of the old
ones. For only a willing sacrifice can ensure the life of the world.
I hoped the ways of my kinswoman would prepare my firstborn for his
roleÉ.and perhaps show him the way out. ******************
All was good until his twelfth year. At this time my husband, being
set upon by a stubbornness, insisted that we journey back to the city
of his fathers. That he might make his mark in the great book of our
people. He was of great age then and did not wish to die without his
generations being recorded and legal matters settled. I could not persuade
him to leave me and the children of my body behind.
Oh yes, by then I had three children by Joseph. Imanuel Jesu, and Tamara,
the first of three daughters, and my second son, James. After the birth
of Jesu my husband found it not so trying to do his duty by me.
It was there they set about the seduction of my son. We traveled for
a time with a brother of my husband on our way to the name taking. It
was there; with a name dropped here, and a word dropped thereÉa childish
taunt. It was there Jesu began to suspect he was different. It was there,
among his father's people, that he first remarked on the manner in which
my husband treated the sons of my body. How James, though four years
younger, was more oft included in talks of family things.
It was there that the children's tutor, being of the priestly school,
first hinted at his lineageÉnoble through both houses, back to the patriarchsÉhinted
of the great things to come of that lineÉ.and sent him back to me with
his first questions.
He wanted our lineage. Why did we not live with his father's people?
In the city with great houses and servants. Why did we live with the
people of my kinswoman? He had heard they were not as righteous as the
people of my husband. And he believed it to be so. Had not God blessed
his father's people with great wealth? Was this not proof? Was I of
the house of David? Was his father of the house of Abraham? Did the
holy blood of Moses and Solomon loom in his past? And why was this not
taught in the lands of my kinswoman? Were they jealous of the wit of
the city people? Was it true that God ordained my marriage? And was
the savior to truly come of our blood.
Fear clutched my heart as I had to answer him. His eagerness to hear
of the battles and the wars of God the Father. His pompousness in the
childrens circle. The treacherous priests had snared them in their web.
A willing fool he had become, sucking up their teachings like the desert
drinks water. *****************
Then came the time for the name taking. My husband spent all his time
at the temple. I forbade the children to leave the camp. I said the
slavers in the city were a great danger. It was truly the priests I
feared more than the slavers. I knew it was now that they would make
their move to renew their hold on my son. Place a twelve mark with the
three year one. A chance to indoctrinate him to their plan. I watched
him carefully and kept all the children close to me. I even kept Joseph
from taking him to temple.
When our time was up I breathed a sigh of relief as our caravan passed
out the city gates. We traveled a full day and made camp when Jesu was
discovered missing.
It was my husbands' calmness over this matter, and his reluctance to
start back immediately, which lent validity to my suspicions that the
temple had Jesu. And they did.
Three days it took me to find him. Three days it took to dedicate him
to their God. Three days to fill his head with the half-truths that
they tell the layman. Three days to manipulate him. Three days to set
him headlong on the path to the death tree. Three days to fill his head
with the glories of the blood and to divert any thought of where that
blood might come from. Three days to take him from me. And it worked.
*************
He did not go mad until Joseph died. So well had I managed my deceit.
So innocent and gentle was my son's soul that he never knew. He never
expected it.
When they read the heritage of Joseph at the service. When they named
those that would follow after him and those who would get his belongings.
Confusion grew from bewilderment to hurt and pain. It grew to grief
when his younger brother James was read as first-born son. Though James
is third born and second son of my union with Joseph. It came to anger
when the husbands of his two married sisters were named and still no
mention of him. It did not turn to madness until the carpentry shop
was read to James. Then my firstborn truly realized that he was publicly
disavowed as Joseph's son or heir.
It was a mortal blow, struck to the center of his being. My son was
thirty years old. All his life he had held himself back out of deference
to his father. He, a man grown, still worked as his father's apprentice.
Always doing most of the work and letting Joseph take credit. He had
foregone marriage and an independent shop to care for his most aged
father.
Until that moment I did not realize how much he loved the carpentry
shop. He and John, the one who cares for me now, had always played and
worked in the shop. Indeed the first gifts they exchanged were made
in that shop. They had always planned to work it together.
When Joseph's heritage was read, my firstborn lost his life: the shop
with John, the marriage to a girl chosen twelve years ago. All her patience
had come to naught, for she could not marry a nameless man. All this
was taken from him. His children, his grandchildren, even his right
to claim the blood of Joseph's line. The lineage he had prayed to all
of his life was denied him.
From this day forth my firstborn told all that he had no earthly father.
Indeed in the books of the tribes he is named of my blood and only of
Joseph's house.
The shame to my son was awful. The shame, shock, grief, pain, anger,
and the horrid horrid bewilderment cracked his mind. ***********
We foiled them, John and I. We took my son's body. How full of righteous
anger were the elders when they came in the dark to the tomb. The body
of their sacrifice was gone. Their ritual ruined. It caused much quarrelling
for years afterward among the learned and priestly caste.
They ate the flesh of a perfect lamb that night instead of the flesh
of my son. Did the symbolism matter? Were the men of this generation
truly saved? Much consternation.
My son, the innocent fool, had truly embraced the path they set before
him. Even unto accepting being the scapegoat and sin eater for them.
He had gone willingly enough to his death. Granted, he thought he went
to his own godhoodÉ..they all did.
And he was deified. He was the savior of his generation. He would stand
before God and proclaim his willingness to accept holy punishment for
his brethren that they might be held free of their sins.
How shocked was John, the son of my heart, when I poured the secrets
of the temples into his ears. For the most beloved of my son is a man
of field and desert, not of city and temple. I showed him that the very
flesh of the sacrifice was to nourish the peoples. Everyone got a taste
of holy blood and a bit of sacred flesh. By consuming him they assured
he lived on through them. Their honors became his.
Then came the temples and the rise of Ashera's greedy younger brother,
Yahweh. And the sacred was regulated deep within the temple. Now, instead
of one willing man from each tribe, the elders choose one from among
the tribes to stand for all. They say we are a united people now. Only
the priestly representatives need eat the flesh and drink the blood
to assure salvation.
It pleases me greatly that the men of my son's generation may not be
saved. I only wish I could go back and defile the body of he who died
for the old ones who killed my first born. I would find joy in the destruction
of their salvation.
John, most beloved of my firstborn, and the son of my heart, thinks
I am gone mad with grief. He thinks I do not truly mean the things I
say. Poor man, he believes in his mind and is shocked in his soul by
the savagery hidden beneath temple pageantry. Yet there is a hidden
secret place in his heart, in the heart of all men, that causes them
to consider the easy path offered by those who follow Ashera's younger
brother. For it is the nature of the male to let others suffer for him.
Women know better. Only the one giving birth suffers. There is no substitute
to stand for you as you bring life into the world.
I knew what was to come before my firstborn was conceived. I lived
my life with this knowledge and in my own womanish way tried to save
my son. I took up my household, as a widow with an unmarried daughter,
and I followed my son in his ramblings and his ravings. I, a noble woman
of status and wealth, traveled with commoners and worse. I even held
my tongue when my son fell under the mercenary guile of Simon Peter
the betrayer. For I hoped, even to the very end, it would not be.
John thinks me mad with grief. It is not so. My grief began with my
son's birth. I have had long to become comfortable with my grief. It
is the rage that may send me mad.
END OF CURRENT TRANSLATION
