the letters, but picked up a grayish chalk-and-water paste that shouldn’t have been there. The committee concluded that the paste had been applied intentionally to imitate weathering. But it’s not that simple.”
Jake readjusted the rear and side-view mirrors.
“Turns out the patina on the ‘Jesus’ part of the inscription is identical to the overall patina on the box. In ancient Aramaic, Jesus would have been the last word inscribed. So if that word’s legit, and even some members of the IAA now agree that it is, then I think the whole inscription must be legit. Think about it. Why would an ossuary be inscribed with just the words ‘brother of someone’? It doesn’t make sense.”
“How do you explain the paste?”
“Scrubbing could have removed the patina down in the letters. And it could have altered the chemical composition of the patina by creating carbonate particles. The ossuary’s owner said the thing had been cleaned repeatedly over the years.”
“Who’s the owner?”
“An Israeli antiquities collector named Oded Golan. Golan says he was told at the time of his purchase that the ossuary came from a tomb in Silwan.” Jake jabbed a thumb at my window. “We’re on the outskirts of Silwan now.”
Again, Jake scanned the cars ahead and behind. His nervousness was making me edgy.
“Problem is the ossuary’s not recorded as an archaeologically excavated artifact from Silwan or from anywhere else in Israel.”
“You think it was looted.”
“Gee. You think?” Jake’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Golan claims he’s had the ossuary more than thirty years, making it legal, since antiquities acquired before 1978 are fair game.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“Golan’s reported to have floated a price tag of two million U.S. for the thing.” Jake snorted. “What do you think?”
I thought it was a lot of money.
Jake pointed through the windshield at a hill rising steeply off the shoulder of the road.
“The Mount of Olives. We’ve come around the east side, and now we’re skirting the southern edge.”
Jake turned left onto a small street lined with sand-colored low-rises, many decorated with crudely drawn planes or cars, indicating an occupant had made hajj to Mecca. Boys chased balls. Dogs worked patterns around the boys. Women shook rugs, lugged groceries, swept stoops. Men conversed on rusted lawn chairs.
My mind flashed an image of the Palestinians parked outside l’Abbaye Sainte-Marie-des-Neiges. I told Jake about them, and paraphrased some of the things Morissonneau had said.
Jake opened his mouth, reconsidered, closed it.
“What?” I asked.
“Not possible.”
“What’s not possible?”
“Nothing.”
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
All I got was a head shake.
The predawn premonition of tragedy rolled over in my brainpan.
Jake made another turn and pulled into a clearing behind the village. Ahead and to the left, stone stairs descended to what appeared to be a school. Boys stood, sat, or pushed and shoved on the steps.
“Is Morissonneau’s death related to-” To what? I had no idea what we were doing. “To those men?” A sweep of my hand took in the hockey bag, the village, and the valley below. “To this?”
“Forget Muslims. Muslims don’t give a rat’s ass about Masada or Jesus. Islam views Jesus not as a divinity, but as a holy man.”
“A prophet like Abraham or Moses?”
“A messiah, even. According to Muslims, Jesus didn’t die on the cross, he was taken alive to heaven, from where he will return.”
That sounded familiar.
“What about Allah’s Holy Warriors? The radical fringe?”
“What about them?”
“Wouldn’t the jihadists love to lay their hands on the bones of Jesus?”
“Why?”
“To ransack Christianity.”
A blackbird swooped to earth as we parked. We both watched it hop through garbage, wings half-spread, as though uncertain whether to stay or go.
Jake remained silent.
“I have a bad feeling about Morissonneau’s death,” I said.
“Don’t look to Muslims.”
“Who would you look to?”
“Seriously?” Jake turned to me.
I nodded.
“The Vatican.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You sound like a character inThe Da Vinci Code. ”
Jake didn’t say anything.
Outside my window, the bird pecked roadkill. I thought of Poe. The thought was not uplifting.
“I’m listening,” I said, settling back.
“You’re a product of Catholic schooling?”
“I am.”
“Nuns teach the New Testament?”
“They were hall of fame on guilt, but bush league on scripture.”
“The good sisters teach you Jesus had siblings?”
“No.”
“Of course not. That’s why the James ossuary’s got the pope’s panties in a twist.”
The metaphor was jarring.
“The RC Church has a hard-on for virgin birth.”
I didn’t even want to think about that one.
“And it’s stupid. The New Testament is full of references to Jesus’ siblings. Matthew 13:55: ‘Is not his mother called Mary and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas?’ Mark 6:3 repeats the same thing. In Galatians 1:19, Paul refers to his meeting with ‘James the Lord’s brother.’ Matthew 13:56 and Mark 6:3 both indicate that Jesus had sisters.”
“Don’t some biblical scholars interpret these as references to half-siblings, maybe born to a previous wife of Joseph before his marriage to Mary?”
“Both Matthew 1:25 and Luke 2:7 state that Jesus was Mary’s first-born son, though that does not rule out prior children of Joseph. But it’s not just the Bible that refers to Jesus’ siblings. The historian Josephus talks of ‘the brother of Jesus-who was called Christ-whose name was James.’”
Jake was on a roll.
“In Jesus’ time, virginity after marriage would have been unthinkable, a violation of Jewish law. It just wasn’t done.”
“So James and the others might have been later children of Mary.”
“Matthew’s gospel plainly states that, after Jesus was born, Josephknew Mary.” Jake came down hard on the word “knew.” “And Matthew wasn’t talking handshakes and cookies. He used the word in the biblical sense.
“Though Joseph isn’t the only candidate for Daddy of Jesus’ siblings. Once Jesus grows up, Joseph totally disappears. You never hear about the guy.”
“So Mary might have remarried?”
“If Joseph died or left, it would have been expected.”
I understood the dilemma for the Catholic Church.
“Whether by Joseph or by some other man, the implication is that Mary gave birth to other children. And one
