Meet Matilda.

It’s late. I’m lying in bed waiting for Matilda and I am somewhere in that lovely dozey land.

There is a timorous knock at the door and I sense more than hear Matilda approaching. Her perfume is different, potent, exotic. She slips effortlessly into bed and instead of the usual vivacious extrovert, she is tentative, almost hesitant. Something is quite wrong.

I wait for her to speak and finally, in phrases that shyly emerge, she tells me.

“It was supposed to be an easy gig at Crispus’s place. You know the Pharisee that always has plenty to say… especially about himself”.

‘Come and dance for us Matilda. Here’s a down payment to entertain us. I’m having a few friends over for wine and song’

“The denarius were plenty and I agreed quickly with a wink. It wasn’t until later in the day that I learnt that the carpenter was going to be there. Sort of a local curiosity piece. I suspect that I am there to trap him

I use the denarius to buy some of the best perfume I can find from the stall in the market. I use every last coin and it comes  in an alabaster jar. I’m so pleased and excited. It’s like a really big break to be asked to entertain at Crispus’s place.

I go in through the door and there is quite a crowd there. There is food and people, laughter and song. The wine is really flowing. The party is well under way. I receive the rest of my money and Jesus is pointed out to me. He is sitting quietly and there are three Pharisees asking him knotty questions. I’ve made a living of reading men’s faces and I know these guys aren’t really interested in Jesus’ answers. Their faces are full of fear and loathing.

I stand behind Jesus in order to surprise him, but somehow he already knows I’m there and far from sending me away or speaking harshly, he just simply turns and looks at me.

Now a lot of guys have looked at me in lots of different ways but never, never have I been looked at like this before.

His eyes look straight through me and straight into me. It’s like he can read and know everything I’ve ever done and most of it I am not proud of. Yet he continues with a look that is pure love. A gaze that knows and understands the past, and yet it has already been forgotten.

An invitation and a look of love that is so very different and so very powerful that it is irresistible and far from me seducing him, he has mesmerised me in a way that I have never known. He smiles … and that’s when my tears start.

By now everyone else in the room is silent and gawping at us. But I am not worried or embarrassed. Something else has begun here, something else is going on in a different dimension altogether and it’s like… there’s only me and him in the room. Everyone else is blacked out.

I fall to my knees and not knowing what I am doing or why, I empty some of the perfume on his feet and wipe it away with my hair. Embarrassed.

The titters go up around the room.

‘If Jesus knew who this was… and he calls himself a prophet. A man of God would never allow this to happen. Oh…the shame of it. There just aren’t any moral standards these days. Now in my synagogue, in my day … let me tell you’

“I can feel their scorn for me and Jesus. And it’s when the perfume is gone that Jesus tells Crispus off, but in such a gentle public way that Crispus has nowhere to go and nothing to say.

Then Jesus turns and looks at me with that look and tells me in such a confident way that the past is past and to go in peace. And so I do. So here I am Brutus. I have come straight from the party to you.”

I’m gobsmacked of course. Matilda has never told me anything about her personal life. It’s always been a business transaction pure and simple. Well, maybe not so pure, but there has never been any heartburn in the relationship. Nothing like this.

But something has shifted. Matilda has changed and I have changed. Maybe we have changed.

I have nothing to say. I mean, just what does a built like a brick temple, Roman soldier, say to such an outpouring? In soldier school they didn’t teach us anything about this touchy feely muck. They taught us how to run someone through with a sword. They taught us exactly where to hammer the nails through the hands and feet. Although they forgot to say how hard you have to hit the nails so they stay in the wood, especially when the crim thrashes around.

I’m thinking about all this when…

“Brutus… No-one  has anyone ever known me like this carpenter. Ever. He understood me, knew my every flaw. And just for a few fleeting moments when he looked at me, everything was as it should be. It was amazing. But if it is so splendid and perfect … then why am I crying?”