The disciples were Northerners; poor fishermen don't talk posh, and the Galilean disciples didn't either: Peter was recognized by his accent. The town of Magdala is to the north-east. This means that "Mary Magdalene" meant something like "Geordie Mary," so her story is written here to be read in a Geordie accent. If it's read in another accent, then some of the idioms can easily be changed.
It was an
awful day. Empty.
I so much wanted to go and at least give him a decent burial. I just wanted to wash his body properly, as if I could wipe
away everything that had happened on the Friday.
We'd done what we could that day, but it
wasn't much. But we couldn't do
anything more, because we knew the guards were watching his grave. They'd never let us in. But I'd done what I could.
I'd gone round and got the proper spices
from the woman who generally does
it. I said I'd see her right. It was just something I could do, and to
try and comfort Mary.
We'd spent
the whole day otherwise
with her, at John's house, the few of us together.
It was such a quiet day. I
couldn't bring myself to go to service. I
know I should have done, but after
everything that had happened. I don't
know. It was just more than I could
do, somehow. And Mary needed us
around. I couldn't believe what
she'd
been through. It was bad enough for us,
but for her; for his
mother. We just got through the day
as
best we could, sitting round, talking quietly.
It wasn't just the awfulness of what had happened.
It was the thought of all the hopes that we'd
had. That was what was so
unbearable.
And part of
me was thinking: What
will I do now? I could never,
ever go back on the streets.
I knew that. But anything
just seemed pointless. Every last
thing that he'd worked for. And
after all that, they'd
won. And the thought of that
lot saying their prayers and doing all their services, after all what
they'd
done to him. Was that what God
was
like, after all? But I won't believe
that. I won't.
He was the closest to God of any man I've
ever met. If there is a God.
Mary began to
talk to me a bit more
that day. She told me about how he
was
born. I'd never heard that
before. I really couldn't understand it
then. To be honest, I thought she
was
going mad. Except she said it all so
calmly. She told me about his dad,
Joseph, and about an angel, and about this old couple who'd prophesied
something miraculous. Well
there was
no miracles here. She managed
to say
her prayers through it. I
don't know
where she found the strength. She
said
to Peter, when he got upset once, do you want me to say a prayer with
you, and
he just said No. I've said all my
prayers. He didn't say it
unkindly. She knew how he was
grieving
too. I prayed with her then.
I didn't
sleep much that night. In the end I
just thought I've had enough
of it. I'll get up. I
decided to go then and do what I could for
him. I didn't disturb the others. They needed what sleep they could get. It still wasn't light when I went
out. It was dead quiet.
I heard an owl. It was
about a mile away, that's all. What
I didn't know was how I was going to move that great stone
they'd rolled across the entrance. I thought maybes I could find
something
and try and lever it away. At least
I
could try. It was a lovely
garden
there. I remember thinking, as I got
up there that morning, I remember thinking, Well my love, if you've
got to
be somewhere this is a lovely place to be.
You can rest easy here, pet. It was just barely light.
Then I came round the corner, and I saw
the stone had been moved already. I
thought, what have they done to him?
Haven't they done enough? It
was like all the horror was starting again.
I just turned and ran then back to the house; John was already
awake, and I woke Peter and told them
and they both ran out of the house to go up there.
I went after them, and when I got there there was just John
standing outside. He didn't want to
go
in. But Peter was inside. I said to John; come on pet. We'll go in together. And
we did. It was hard to make out,
because it was so dark still. But
there was the burial clothes, that we'd done the best we could
with on
the Friday, just lying there.
And the cloths that had been round his head
lying separate like.
They must
have taken him.
Said Peter. They must have
taken him. I thought then they
couldn't even let him rest in peace, but what they've to drag his poor
body
out. Peter and John went back
then. They said something, but I
didn't really take it in. I just
sank
down onto the ground. And everything
that had been bottled up inside me then came out.
Because I'd not cried for him till then.
I don't know
how long I was there
like that, but when I stood up again it was quite light.
The birds were singing. I
bent down to have a look inside again.
And I
realized that it wasn't dark
inside neither. And there was two
figures there, dressed all in white. I
didn't know where they'd come from or who they were.
I didn't care. One of
them says to me, he says What are you crying for?
I says something like They've taken him away somewheres,
I don't know where.
Then I heard
someone behind me. It was the
gardener. I thought he might know
maybes, and I just
caught my breath and said to him as best I could If you know where
he is,
please tell me so I can go and care for him.
And he just
said: Mary! That was all he
said. Did you ever get lost when you
were a
child? Lost so's you'd no thought
ever
of finding your mother again? And then,
suddenly, out of nowhere, there she was, smiling and holding out her
arms for
you?
It was him,
standing there. Like none of it had
been real. Like none of it had ever
happened, only
better than that. Better than
anything
ever had been, or ever will be until the whole world comes to an end. He was standing there alive, holding
his arms out to me. I called out to
him, and the next moment I was holding him and he was real. He wasn't a ghost or a dream, he was
flesh
and blood standing there alive.
I just wanted
to hold him for ever,
and never, ever, let him go. Maybe
he
knew that, when he pulled away from me, ever so gently.
And I saw him smiling at me again, that I
never thought I'd see. And I heard
his
voice again, that I'd thought I never would hear again.
And he said I couldn't hold on to him.
I should let go, and go and tell the
rest. He told me to tell them he was
going to God. Go on then
he
said. I tried to go.
Go on! And I turned
and began to run,
and I turned back to make sure he was still there, and he was
still
there, and I ran again, and I turned again and he was still there. And then I ran.
I ran like I was flying and I came bursting in through the door
of the house and I told them. I told
them. They didn't believe me. The men didn't.
And you know what? I
didn't care. I didn't care. If they wanted to think that I had gone
completely off my head they were welcome to it.
Because I know. I know. And nothing, nothing on earth
can
ever take that from me. Not in this
world nor in the next. Not now and
not
ever.
Mary was still
sleeping then, quiet like. And I
went over to her. And I woke her as
gently as I could. And when she looked at
me, for a moment she
looked hopeful.
Mary I said. You
know what you were telling me yesterday....
Author: Roger Quick