Star over Bethlehem - Agatha Christie [1]
The Angel said: “They are only fallible human creatures …”
Mary murmured to herself: “But he is a good man, my son. A good and upright man.”
Then again the wing of the Angel rustled, and Mary saw a road winding up a hill, and three men on it carrying crosses, and a crowd behind them and some Roman soldiers.
The Angel said: “What do you see now?”
Mary said: “I see three criminals going to execution.”
The left hand man turned his head and Mary saw a cruel crafty face, a low bestial type—and she drew back a little.
“Yes,” she said, “they are criminals.”
Then the man in the centre stumbled and nearly fell, and as he turned his face, Mary recognised him and she cried out sharply:
“No, no, it cannot be that my son is a criminal!”
But the Angel rustled his wing and she saw the three crosses set up, and the figure hanging in agony on the centre one was the man she knew to be her son. His cracked lips parted and she heard the words that came from them:
“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”
And Mary cried out: “No, no, it is not true! He cannot have done anything really wrong. There has been some dreadful mistake. It can happen sometimes. There has been some confusion of identity; he has been mistaken for someone else. He is suffering for someone else’s crime.”
But again the Angel rustled his wings and this time Mary was looking at the figure of the man she revered most on earth—the High Priest of her Church. He was a noble-looking man, and he stood up now and with solemn hands he tore and rent the garment he was wearing, and cried out in a loud voice:
“This man has spoken Blasphemy!”
And Mary looked beyond him and saw the figure of the man who had spoken Blasphemy—and it was her son.
Then the pictures faded and there was only the mudbrick wall of the stable, and Mary was trembling and crying out brokenly:
“I cannot believe it—I cannot believe it. We are a God-fearing straight-living family—all my family. Yes, and Joseph’s family too. And we shall bring him up carefully to practise religion and to revere and honour the faith of his fathers. A son of ours could never be guilty of blasphemy—I cannot believe it! All this that you have shown me cannot be true.”
Then the Angel said: “Look at me, Mary.”
And Mary looked at him and saw the radiance surrounding him and the beauty of his Face.
And the Angel said: “What I have shown you is Truth. For I am the Morning Angel, and the Light of the Morning is Truth. Do you believe now?”
And sorely against her will, Mary knew that what she had been shown was indeed Truth … and she could not disbelieve any more.
The tears raced down her cheeks and she bent over the child in the manger, her arms outspread as though to protect him. She cried out:
“My child … my little helpless child … what can I do to save you? To spare you from what is to come? Not only from the sorrow and the pain, but from the evil that will blossom in your heart? Oh indeed it would have been better for you if you had never been born, or if you had died with your first breath. For then you would have gone back to God pure and unsoiled.”
And the Angel said: “That is why I have come to you, Mary.”
Mary said: “What do you mean?”
The Angel answered: “You have seen the future. It is in your power to say if your child shall live or die.”
Then Mary bent her head, and amidst stifled sobs she murmured:
“The Lord gave him to me … If the Lord now takes him away, then I see that it may indeed be mercy, and though it tears my flesh I submit to God’s will.”
But the Angel said softly:
“It is not quite like that. God lays no command on you. The choice is yours. You have seen the future. Choose now if the child shall live or die.”
Then Mary was silent for a little while. She was a woman who thought slowly. She looked once at the Angel for guidance, but the Angel gave her none. He was golden and beautiful and infinitely remote.
She thought of the pictures that had been shown her—of the agony in the garden, of the shameful death, of a man who, at the hour