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“Wait!” She got up and ran into the cave, her heart pounding. She grabbed her English dictionary and a reference book on biblical languages. She returned and, panting, flung herself down beside the child who had grown another inch in her absence. She flicked through the book, then pointed at the sky. “Again,” she demanded.
Joseph gave her a glance that could only be described as both ironic and patient. He repeated the word. She looked at the open page. Yes, she was right! He was saying “sky” in Aramaic. She ran her finger down and found the word for “sun.” Carefully wrapping her tongue around the complicated sounds, she pronounced the word slowly. Joseph clapped in delight and pointed to the sun, then leaned over and kissed her.
She sat back stunned at the sensation that had shot through her body at the touch of his lips. It hadn’t been the kiss of a child, nor of a son, but of a lover. She looked at him and he smiled, a slow, wicked grin, then reached for the English dictionary. Could it be possible that his mind is fully formed? she wondered, uncertain whether she had just imagined the kiss.
She watched as he read, his features blurring ever so slightly as he continued to grow. It was like watching wind rippling through the leaves of a tree, the changes so infinitesimal that it was hard to pinpoint them exactly. The child flicked through the pages of the dictionary, his eyes greedily darting from one entry to the next, drinking in the book.
All of a sudden she was petrified about what this child would reveal as soon as he could communicate with her. What happens if he has been sent here by evil forces? she thought as all kinds of horrible scenarios began to crowd into her mind. What if he’s here to destroy? Maybe even to kill me? She had never had a strong belief in the devil per se, but had seen enough inexplicable violence in her working life to believe that there was an essence of evil that existed beyond analysis, beyond judgment—it just was. Could he be of this essence? Medieval archetypes of Satan floated through her head: the horned grinning death mask carved into the stone at the entrance to the church, a warning to all sinners. Had she sinned? Could this child be a manifestation of Lucifer? She panicked; there was nowhere to escape to, they were marooned in the tiny bay together.
“Don’t be frightened,” he suddenly said in perfect English.
Clarissa screamed and ran into the cave. She slammed the door behind her and stood there, heart pounding. Through the window she could see the child’s perplexed face as he ran across the sand after her. He stumbled and Clarissa gasped, all her motherly impulses on alert. To her confusion and relief he got back to his feet and continued toward the cave. Clarissa closed her eyes, torn between her maternal instincts and self-preservation.
Ther
e was a knock on the wooden door. “Clarissa?” Joseph’s voice was barely audible.
How does he know my name? Her thoughts whirled around madly.
“Clarissa,” he said again. “I read your name inside the book you gave me.”
He read my mind! He’s telepathic! Terror rattled her throat as the world fell away.
“I’m not here to harm you,” he whispered, knocking again, his hand pressed against the glass.
Not here to harm me. So he has been sent—but by whom? For what? She pressed herself against the wall.
“Please…” He spoke through a crack under the pane, his voice sounding weaker.
She slid across and peered through the window. He was already taller but he was still a child; she could overpower him if she had to.
“Who are you?” she said, speaking through a small crack.
“Open the door. I need you.”
His plea made her melt. Before she had a chance to think rationally she found herself opening the door. Joseph was already ten years old.
“This was ordained. Tomorrow we shall talk.” He took her hand and led her back down to the sea.
They sat in silence watching the waves.
“I know everything about you, without words,” Joseph said eventually, his voice still a child’s but the intonation adult. The intimacy between them inexplicably deepened. He stood up, as if to deliberately break the spell.
Clarissa, who had never experienced male nudity, couldn’t help but be fascinated by the changing shape of his sex, which hung like a ripening fruit, thickening and growing against the now muscular length of his thigh. The shadow of hair was already visible across his belly. He caught her looking at him and arched his back, extending to his full glory.
“Am I beautiful to you?” he said, without a trace of arrogance, almost as if referring to himself in the third person. Clarissa, blushing, was shamed into silence.
Again Joseph reached for her breast. Not knowing how to react she froze as he bent down and began to drink hungrily. He nestled his head against her other breast and began to toy with that nipple, teasing it between his fingers. As she slowly came out of the hormonal fog of breast-feeding, she was shocked to realize that he was playing her nipple with his tongue. It was not the action of a child.
“Enough.” She pushed him off her, trying unsuccessfully to adopt the authoritarian tone of a mother. “I’ll get you something to wear, you can’t run around like that.”
She gave him a pair of shorts and a loose T-shirt. They were her size but she calculated that he would grow into them in a couple of hours. He laughed and twisted around as she pulled the clothes over his head. Dressed, he leaped out of her arms and ran into the shallows, splashing joyfully and taking delight in both the coordination of his limbs and the foaming water.
Clarissa watched from the beach, trying to convince herself that he would be safe. To her relief he swam like a fish, singing some haunting song in Aramaic as he floated on his back, rolling with the incoming waves. He is like a mythical figure, she thought. It seemed to her that he was a being more archaic than Jesus. Indeed, if he did come from God, which God? Her own, she assumed, since he had been formed in her, but why her of all women?
Joseph suddenly tilted his head as if he had heard something.
“What is it?” she shouted, but he gestured to her to be quiet. He stood, lifted his hands up to his mouth, and made a curious clicking sound out to sea. Silence. He called out again. Suddenly the spine of a humpback whale rippled out of a swelling wave, a spout of water following as the whale returned the call. Joseph clapped his hands with joy and called out again. And again the whale threw a great spurt of water up into the sky, the majestic barnacled head emerging for a second, one beady eye cocked toward the dancing boy. Slowly it turned and dived back down again. The surface of the ocean closed and it was as if the creature had never been there. Clarissa looked back at Joseph. He stood there staring at the horizon and for a moment she saw sorrow break across his face.
