Secret Magdalene by Ki Longfellow Page A

time I have ever heard such a thing, but it is the first time I understand it. Salome and I are females. We are less than animals or slaves without Father. Or brothers. Or husbands. Oh Isis, Queen of Heaven, what shall become of us?
    Salome would never cry, but I cry.
    I bow my head and I cry for the small thing that I am, and will always be. Fleeing to Egypt is suddenly dust in my mouth. I cry until I feel a cool hand on my forehead, so unexpected. I open my wet eyes to find I am looking into a face no more than the space of a palm away. I jerk back in surprise. It is a woman, a stranger, dressed as a traveler, and with a pearl at her throat worth my Father’s house. As well, there is a hauteur to her I have seen in no woman, except the promise of a Salome to come.
    “I have ridden a long way to see you, a very long way. And what have you seen that makes you weep? You could not be seeing what John sees.”
    I only cry the harder. I am shameless in my woe. But the traveler stands before me, her hands now folded into her black cloak and on her face a look of vivid expectation. Beside her, but back a step or two, stands a clean-shaven man. This one’s brow is as arched as the smile of a lizard and his thoughts are as plain as brushed words on papyrus. He is the son of the woman before me and his name is Izates. The dust of the road clings to the hem of his cloak just as it does his mother’s, whose name is Helen. Izates is wondering why he has traveled these past days and nights, two weeks of days and nights in a caravan of merchants and murderers, to meet children. He is not sure if John’s madness is sent by God or is a demon’s touch, and he hopes he will discover the answer for himself, and soon.
    From his seat, John speaks again. He holds up both arms as if he were blessing his watery flock and he talks as if he were speaking to legions, though he speaks only to Salome and to me. “Behold, Mariamne, daughter of Josephus of the tribe of Benjamin, in you there dwells a brave and manly mind. I say the same of Semne, known as Salome, daughter of the Egyptian Coron. In your actions and thoughts you are as men. I see that you are good and brave and that your souls are blessed among women. So I ask of you again, as you are a man and not a woman, so that boldness and understanding rules your mind, look around you.”
    Though his voice now softens, I barely hear him.
    “But, though you are men, you are yet boys. How could you see when I have set about terrifying the female in you? Seth, you should have stopped me.”
    “Who could stop you? You are as the miracle worker, Empedocles, the disciple of Pythagoras, who was always yelling at the top of his voice, and by his own loudness convinced of his purpose.” Seth turns to me and to Salome saying then this astonishing thing: “You are where you intend to be, for all that occurs is intended.”
    By raising an arm, the haughty traveler interrupts him. “I and my son have journeyed from Adiabene. We will hear this one speak.” She is pointing at me, and I should be driven to flee at these words, but Adiabene? Adiabene is farther east than Palmyra, farther than Babylon, farther even than the river Tigris. By the heavens! This one comes so far to see me? The woman continues to speak, but what has Seth just said? We are where we intend to be? To a Jew, prophecy is everything, and if not prophecy, the Law. I have heard no Jew speak as Seth speaks. All that occurs is intended?
    What is John saying? “You, Mariamne, daughter of no one, and you, Salome, daughter of no one, you are Daughters of the Nazorean.”
    Helen of far Adiabene steps between John and me. She lifts up her chin, holds up a hand, and by so doing commands the very air to attend her. She looks directly into my eyes. “Did Issa not walk with me? And is the word not my word? I came to hear this one speak, John, and I
will
hear it speak. I am Helen, Queen of Adiabene, and I would hear through the Voice that is