The Book of Amanida (Part III/End)
The sun was setting when I reached the leper’s house. It was not easy to find the place, a nondescript hut on the west side of town, 5 miles from the market.
The journey was tiring because the jar that I carried was heavy. I was soaked in sweat and anxiety. What should I say to the teacher when I see him? Last night the man in the white robe appeared in my dream again. “Anoint Him with perfume before He is raised,” he reminded me.
“But I am unworthy to touch him!” I cried.
The angel disappeared with no reply.
I approached the door and knocked gently. It was opened by a servant girl who eyed me suspiciously.
“I am here to see the teacher. I have a jar of nard for him.”
She smiled, relief washed over her face. “Ah, you must be Mary. Come in.”
She took my hand and led me inside the house. “They are in the long room at the back. They have just started eating.”
As we walked, she turned to me and nodded. “The man in white spoke to you, yes? He appeared in my dream too and told me to expect you, Mary.” When we reached the end of the hallway, she left.
I caught scraps of conversations, noise of creaking chairs and clanging utensils, and occasional laughter, coming from the room inside. I straightened my head scarf and walked in. My heart pounded furiously.
The room was filled with the smell of roast bread, sweet wine, lentil soup and the aromas of wild spices and fig. In the middle was a long table, with maybe 15 people sitting around it. People continued to talk, and no one paid me any attention. In my grey abaya, I looked like a servant girl. People could not care less about a servant girl entering a room.
There was a man seated at the end of the table, in the place of honour. He looked young. Maybe around 35 years old. He had long straight hair and serious dark eyes. He was talking, and the people around him seemed to cling onto every word he said. When I entered the room, he was the only person who looked up, then nodded at me and smiled.
“Amanida, thank you for coming.” His lips did not move, but I definitely heard his voice in my head.
The Teacher knows my name.
I burst into tears and staggered towards him. With trembling hand I broke the seal at the top of the alabaster jar, poured out the perfume onto my palm, and started massaging his hair with my hands.
A hush fell over the room and everybody stopped whatever that he was doing and watched. The room was now completely quiet. The only sound was the crackling of wax from a candle somewhere.
Silence.
A dog yelped, and dashed out from underneath the table. It was a little Canaan puppy.
My hands continued to rub the Teacher’s hair. Be gentle Amanida, you are anointing your Lord. The nard flowed, just like my tears.
Someone snorted, “Why is this woman wasting this expensive perfume? It could be sold for 300 denarii and all that money could be given to the poor!”
I dared not look at the person who spoke.
The next time I was near Jesus was at the tomb. We were trying to look for his body and He appeared suddenly next to me. His face was radiant, like the sun that morning. When I mentioned what I saw to His disciples, they did not believe me. I heard they were convinced that He was alive after He appeared later before them.
I pray every day that my Lord will come back again.
Quickly. Quickly. Quickly.
