Star over Bethlehem by Agatha Christie Page A

the Living Son of God.”
    So the strangers went away, but the Holy Man’s mother ran secretly after them.
    â€œDo not be angry,” she begged. “My son was not meaning to be discourteous to you; but he is so pure and so holy himself that he lives in a region far above this earth. He is a good man and a good son to me.”
    The strangers spoke kindly to her.
    â€œWe are not offended. You are a good woman, and have a good son.”
    â€œI am a very ordinary woman,” she said. “But I must tell you that you should not believe in all these Aphrodites and Astartes and whatever their heathen names are. There is only one God, our Father in Heaven.”
    â€œYou say you are only an ordinary woman,” said the older of the two strangers. “But although your face is old and ravaged with the lines of sorrow, yet to my mind you have a face of great beauty—and I in my time was apprenticed to a great sculptor, so I know what beauty is.”
    Mary, amazed, cried out: “Once, perhaps, when I wove the coloured tapestry in the Temple, or when I poured my husband’s wine in the shop, and held my first-born son in my arms. But now !”
    But the old sculptor shook his head.
    â€œBeauty lies beneath the skin,” he insisted. “In the bone. Yes, and beneath that again—in the heart. So I say that you are a beautiful woman, perhaps more beautiful now than you were as a young girl. Farewell—and may you be blessed.”
    So the strangers rowed away in their boat, and Mary went slowly back to the croft and to her son.
    The coming of the strangers had made him restless. He was walking up and down and his hands clasped his head in suffering.
    Mary ran to him and held him in her arms.
    â€œWhat is it, dear son?”
    He groaned out: “The spirit has gone out of me … I am empty … empty … I am cut off from God—from the joy of his Presence.”
    Then she comforted him—as she had comforted him many times before, saying: “From time to time, this has to be—we do not know why. It is like the wave of the sea. It goes out from the shore, but it returns, my son, it returns.”
    But he cried out:
    â€œYou do not know . You cannot understand … You do not know what it is to be caught up in the Spirit, to be exalted with the great glory of God!”
    And Mary said humbly:
    â€œThat is true. That , I have not felt. For me, there has been only memory …”
    â€œMemory is not enough!”
    But Mary said fiercely: “It is enough for me!”
    And she went to the door and stood there, looking out over the sea where the strangers had gone away …
    As she stood there, she felt a strange expectancy rising in her; a fluttering hopeful joy. Almost, she went down to the shore again, but she restrained herself, for she knew that her son would soon need her. And so it was. He began to shake all over, and his body jerked, and at last his limbs stiffened and he fell to the ground and lay like one dead. Then she covered him over for warmth and placed a fold of the cloak between his lips, in case the convulsions should come back. But he lay there motionless, and there was no sign, even, that he breathed.
    Mary knew from experience that he would not stir for many hours, and she walked out again on to the hillside. It was growing dark now and the moon was rising over the sea.
    Mary stood there savouring the welcome coolness of the evening. Her mind was full of memories of the past, of a hurried flight into Egypt, of the carpenter’s shop, and of a marriage in Cana …
    And again that joyous expectancy rose in her.
    â€œPerhaps,” she thought,” perhaps at last the time has come.”
    Presently, very slowly, she began to walk down to the sea …
    The moon rose in the sky, and it made a silvery path across the water, and as the light grew stronger, Mary saw a boat approaching.
    She thought: “The strangers are