As they plodded up the slope towards the darkened town, their donkey stumbled. Mary gasped and made a faint noise. ‘Will they have room for us?’
Joseph laughed. ‘They’re my family. Bethlehem is my family's hometown. Why should they not?’ After a last few hundred steps, Joseph stopped the donkey, and tied its nose rope to a post outside a brightly lit house. ‘You’ll soon be in a bed, Mary. Cousin Rehoboam will see to that.’
When the door opened, Joseph thought he was looking at his own reflection. The bearded face nodded. Its owner smiled with his mouth, but strangely not with his eyes. ‘Welcome, Joseph Bar Jacob. We thought the census would bring you back from that impoverished Galilean village of yours. Was it really the Lord’s call that took you up there to help the poor, after you became scornful of our comfortable existence here? Have you trained any young carpenters for those peasants yet, to build them proper houses?’
Joseph grinned. ‘Greetings, cousin Rehoboam. You never understood me, but I forgive you. Now I need your hospitality.’
‘Naturally.’ His cousin half-stepped back. Then he paused in the doorway. ‘I trust your embarrassing problem has been dealt with?’ He frowned at Joseph’s puzzled look. ‘We had the tale from our rabbi. He had it from the old temple priest and his wife, the ones who had that strange late baby. The story about his wife’s cousin and you.’
Joseph nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I wondered if you would have heard. All is well.’
‘She was found pregnant, wasn’t she, the whore? I presume you had her stoned?’
Joseph tensed. ‘The Lord is more merciful than that.’
‘Your Lord, maybe. Mine is a just God.’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, as long as you didn’t marry her—’.
Joseph’s face was red. ‘I take exception to that.’ He looked over his shoulder to where Mary and the donkey waited patiently.
His cousin followed his eyes, then drew in his breath with a hiss. ‘Step back, will you—stop casting your shadow on my doorstep.’
Joseph met his cousin’s grim gaze. ‘Cousin—?’
‘Not any more.’ The door slammed shut.
At the next door, the light shone onto Mary and the donkey before Joseph could speak. ‘Miriam?’
‘Joseph! I’ve missed you.’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘Ah. We wondered. I knew your gentle heart, and where it might lead you. But I must hear your news. At least, while Simeon is out.’
‘Miriam, you always were my favourite cousin. But Simeon is out? I need to talk to him.’
‘He’s next door at the rabbi’s house. He listens a lot to the rabbi, now. The rabbi is teaching him all the different curses and judgements in the law. Simeon has become very stern recently.’
Joseph pursed his lips. ‘I can see where this will lead. Miriam, I don’t want to break your heart. I know you love me; but I think we had better move on. I’ll find time to share stories with you another day.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll give you a hug, Joseph. That’s all I dare do. You do understand, don’t you? Do you believe the Lord will look after you?’
‘His Door is always open to me. I know yours would be, if you were the master of the house.’
‘Go in peace, blessed cousin. At least I still believe in you. I think the Lord may, too.’
•••
The third door opened wide. The man had a broad, knowing smile. ‘You’re scraping the barrel, Joseph Bar Jacob. What makes you think you will be welcome here?’
Joseph did not even bother to reply until he was already turning away. ‘Nothing at all, cousin Jehu.’
The man spoke to his back. ‘You always were a fool, Joseph. An honest one, though.’ He laughed as Joseph stopped. ‘But too hopeful a one, always.’
Joseph spoke without turning. ‘You might at least treat me as you would a stranger, with help. In that case, do you happen to know if there is still any space in the camping field around the inn?’
‘I’ve no idea, but I doubt it, with all the extra census visitors. And no, I have no tent to lend you. But I’m not that hard-hearted; I might have lent you one, if I had.’
Joseph looked back and smiled grimly. ‘That’s a small friendly word, Jehu. Perhaps you possess more kindness than I remember.’
Jehu stared out at Mary. ‘You’ve chosen a pretty one, I’ll give you that. I’ll offer you one more kindness, in view of her state. The weather has been mild, so the shepherds are still on the hills. You might find an empty cave.’
Joseph snorted, and started leading the donkey away carefully as the door closed behind him.
It was very dark by the time the innkeeper shook his head. He gazed wearily around his small home and surveyed the busy scene in the large enclosure surrounding it. ‘I think the inn field is absolutely full of census travellers by now. You might just squeeze in a couple of bedrolls if you put them underneath your donkey.’
Joseph merely looked at him, then at Mary. The harassed man winced. ‘Ouch. Sorry, I hadn’t realised.’ He paused, with an expression on his face that would be familiar to all harrased doctors or nurses. He looked around again, counting invisible people with a finger to assist his thoughts. Then he made a face. ‘Would you consider the animal cave? I’ve not put anyone in there because of the mess. But I could do a rapid clean and find some clean straw—’ His voice tailed away helplessly as he looked past Mary, avoiding her face.
She whimpered. His face fell. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have suggested it. You probably think—’.
‘Thank you.’ Mary spoke. ‘No, I was crying with pain, because it’s extremely near now. We will be very glad of a dry cave and straw. We come from a very poor village, unlike most of your customers. We know the value of even the smallest goodness. But if there was anything to put the child in after he is born?’
His face cleared. Something glistened at the corner of one of the innkeeper’s eyes. With perhaps more force than he intended, he spoke up. ‘There are no mangers in the stable at the moment. But I’ll get you one to put in there and keep your baby off the floor, even if I have to steal one from one of my rich travellers, or break up a cart and knock one up from the pieces. You can have one of my old blankets, too. The cave is over there.’
Joseph smiled. ‘You are a true host, sir. May the Lord bless you for finding a place for even the latest of your guests. You are more family to us than are my flesh and blood. May the King of the Universe Himself come to your home, today! The cave will be a place we will never forget.’
‘Nor I,’ muttered the innkeeper, his flush of kindness giving way back to his harassed normal self. ‘Oh. There is one thing. Shepherds use the cave, of course. But in this weather they will stay in the fields.’
‘They won’t come back while we are there?’
‘There’s not the slightest chance of that,’ the innkeeper said. ‘No stinking shepherds will lay eyes on your new-born, I can promise you that. They won’t be able to see you or tell anyone about you. Not that anyone would believe them; as you know, shepherds are the only class of men who the law does not allow to bear witness, because they simply have no idea how to tell the truth. Whatever tale the shepherds of Bethlehem told, it would never be believed by anyone in the world.’
Mary looked up. ‘We do not pretend that any person is unfit to meet us.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, young lady. I know them. They love the open air. Nothing on earth will bring shepherds to your stable while you are in it.’
Joseph looked upward, towards the stars that were now glittering in heaven above. ‘Nothing on earth, you say.’ He smiled. ‘That’s good. That’s very good.’
[George B. Hill (2018)]