(As taken from The Good News as told by John son of Zebedee, also called John Boanerges, that is, son of Thunder. Found in chapter eight, verses one through eleven.)

Sarai stood there terrified, clenching the curtain against her naked body, blushing scarlet as the crowd stood in a ring around her. She could hear their murmuring buzzing louder and louder, watched as the people stopped paying attention to the man on the Temple stairs. They all began to turn around and gawk at the her, the woman who had just been herded through the audience by seven red-robed men, encircling her with long sticks and prodding her along, acting as though she were some sort of rabid animal they didn't dare touch. Sarai kept her eyes fixed on the ground, trying to imagine this wasn't happening, that this couldn't be happening. Her black hair was matted and covered her face in a pathetic attempt to hide the overwhelming shame. Finally, the sticks stopped prodding and she fell to her knees in exhaustion, trying to cover as much of herself as she could with the curtain she had stolen from the window – which wasn't much. Finally, when the embarrassment all but overcame her, one of the men off to her side stepped to the front and began shouting:

"Nazarene! Come down – we seek your advice!"

The sun was positively blazing today; Sarai's body was bursting into sweat all over, and her legs were shaking. The sky was a sharp blue without a trace of a cloud anywhere; here, in the midst of the Temple Court, the wind was kicking up the dust, which in turn was sticking to her naked body, making her itch all over, but she didn't budge. She couldn't even look up anymore, she was so terrified. Behind her stood the other six men who had caught her. They had barged into her lover's home and practically ripped her out of bed – she was lucky to have been able to snatch that curtain to cover herself. Sarai was sure they would have dragged her naked through the streets for effect if she hadn't. And Joseph? They'd just let him go, without so much as a word of reproach.

And they dared call her "sinner."

A tear rolled off Sarai's cheek as she immediately scolded herself for thinking that way. Was that why this was happening to her? Because she had never shown a man proper deference? Was it for all those times she dared look her father in the eye when he reprimanded her, or pretended not to hear what her parents were saying because she was focused on something else? Was it that she had never respected her elders as she "should" have, never been able to respect a man the way she was "supposed" to? For all those miniature rebellions, this was the punishment? It was fitting, in a sick, despicable way. The punishment for disobedient children was stoning – and now, no longer a child, she was about to be killed just that way for her indiscretion. But not only that – she would die with every shred of her dignity stolen away.

The tears began anew, Sarai trying to sort through all the reasons she should be cursed to suffer this shame – and who to blame.

But who knew of her romance? Had Joseph turned her in? This thought terrified her, but… why would he? What had he to gain? He had a family, apparently, and she knew he was a man of some importance, by the way he dressed and spoke… so what could he have gotten? Had his friends learned of the romance and set him up? Were these seven men all conspirators in a plot to save their friend's honor by ridding him of his "baggage"?

Her mind was racing furiously. How was she supposed to have known anything about Joseph? Was it her fault he called her beautiful, claimed to love her so? Was it her fault she didn't find out until much later that he was a father and a husband? That he had been betraying his family all along? She hadn't known! And even if she had, so what? Was she the one betraying her family? No, she was a simple girl who had thought she was in love. But she was the one on trial! She was the one about to… to…

Sarai continued to weep silently as the men standing in front of her stepped away to let whoever this man from Nazareth was come closer, and to give him full view to examine the less-than-dirt adulteress. The crowd in front of Sarai and her tormenters had divided to create a path as this "Nazarene" approached. Sarai looked up, lip trembling, to see her would-be judge.

For a moment, she wasn't sure who it was the crowd had made way for. At the end of the pathway between the throngs, there was a very ordinary-looking man. He only had on a normal white tunic with a drab brown robe tied together with a simple cloth sash. Some people on the sides were reaching out to touch him for some reason – yet, if not for that, she would have assumed this man was someone else's herald, though even for that he was dressed too plainly. Maybe someone else's servant, or footman, at best. He was positively ordinary – a square beard, medium length hair, brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin. He was just another face in the crowd – but a face they were all making way for, like he was someone important. Why?

"Rabbi," said the man, "this… this whore" – he said the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth – "has been caught in the act of adultery – the very act!" He added the last part emphatically, nodding towards the crowd to assure them, yes, she had committed the unthinkable. A murmur washed through them as everyone stared even harder at the strange, barely decent woman in front of them. Sarai was mortified and outraged at the same time. He called her a whore? A simple, mindless, dirty, whore? How dare he! What about Joseph? What about that two-faced slime, that… that… fool who would humiliate himself by having an affair with a woman of her lowly standing? Did not that deserve punishment? Did not his betrayal warrant him a death just as shameful?

Sarai was possessed by the desire to speak up, stare straight back at them in defiance, and then reeled at the thought of such blatant hubris. What was causing this insanity? It was going to cost her her life! And yet, she felt all the distaste she had for the men beside her and the people around her increasing tenfold despite all her convictions to think in a respectable manner, even if it only meant she could die with some honor. Still, she quaked with rage. And then something inside her snapped – and giving into this fit of madness, she turned her head upwards and stared straight into the rabbi's eyes.

Until she realized he was staring back at her, without saying a word.

Her mouth fell open a little. The man had not only met her gaze, he was holding it. Looking into the eyes of any woman was ludicrous – to look into the eyes of an adulteress? Unthinkable. And that wasn't the strangest part – he didn't seem angry. He wasn't saying anything, wasn't launching into a tirade about proper respect, like her father once had. If anything, the rabbi looked sad – or… or… or something else. It wasn't pity, it was… she had no words for it.

"Do you not see?" shouted the same one of Sarai's captors who had spoken before. "Even now she dares look you in the eye! Do you now see what my fellows and I mean – she is an animal!"

Sarai began to feel nausea coming on from a mixture of horror and fear, and looked away. Something was very wrong with this man – what half-decent man, much less a rabbi, would do that? Did he have no honor? Or was he simply as brazen – if not outright insane – as she was?

The man who had stepped forward cleared his throat and began his speech, with pompous aplomb: "We have heard of your wisdom, rabbi, and come seeking your counsel." Sarai shot a glance at this self-appointed spokesman for the group, and tried to fathom what he was. From his bright dress and what seemed to be phylacteries on his arms, chances were he was some sort of Pharisee. Who else walked around with verses of Torah in those ornate little boxes? Who else lashed such large ones on their foreheads, to show off their knowledge of Holy Scripture? No Sadducee she had ever seen wore them. This Pharisee, then, was smiling condescendingly at this rabbi from… Nazareth? She couldn't recall any notable rabbi from Nazareth here in Jerusalem. In fact, she couldn't recall of ever hearing anyone notable come from that backwater village. Then again, this man didn't look like any teacher she had ever seen before – he could have just come from building a house, the way he was dressed. So drab and ordinary. What Pharisee had ever walked around without his flowing robes, or his lavishly decorated phylacteries lashed onto his arms and forehead? What teacher was this?

What teacher was this that looked into the eyes of an adulteress?

When the rabbi made no indication to speak – Sarai had fixed her gaze in the dirt again and had no idea if he was still looking at her; his gaze was terrifying not only in its existence, but in its lack of fury – the pompous Pharisee took this strange silence as an invitation to keep talking: "Of course, you know the Law: 'Whoever is caught in adultery must be put to death.' Yet, we must know – do you agree? Meaning, of course, since she has been caught – I saw it with my own eyes, remember! – " he reminded the rabbi, enunciating for effect, "meaning that she deserves death… but your particular, ah, teaching of the Law has drawn so much favor, with so many." Here he paused and gestured at the masses crowding the Temple Court. "It is for your obvious… wisdom… that I called together my fellows and come to you for advice. Should we stone her, even now? Or should we show her leniency? Then again, rabbi, this woman is an adulteress – and an impudent one at that," he added with a snarl. "What do you say?"

Sarai chanced a quick glance at the rabbi, and with relief found him looking at the Pharisee. She was glad of it – his expression towards her had been more than a little disconcerting. It wasn't as if he were examining her, or even looking at her disapprovingly, if not outright hatefully, like every other normal person in the crowd was – he had just looked at her. Into her eyes. Like he knew her. It was all too confusing, too uncomfortable. And to top it all off, she was naked.

"Where is the man?" the rabbi asked almost casually, after a long pause.

"The man?" coughed the Pharisee. He was quite young, Sarai noticed – relatively speaking, anyway. His hair was still clearly black, if streaked all over with gray; but his peers were all clearly old enough to have seen descendants two or three generations past their own.

"The man," repeated the rabbi. "You said you saw this woman committing adultery with your own eyes. That means there was a man involved." The rabbi did not smile. The crowd rippled with nervous laughter.

"We had him in our grasp, but he escaped. We have notified our fellow councilmen and plan to search for him as well when we are through. At the moment, however, we do have this whore to deal with," the Pharisee replied defensively. Obviously, he was not used to being reproached; in fact, Sarai couldn't believe her own ears. His fellow councilmen? These men were part of the Sanhedrin? When did anyone disagree with a member of the High Court? Besides, of course, other members of the Sanhedrin – but certainly not a simple rabbi teaching in front of the Temple!But what shocked her the most was the bald-faced lie. 'Had him in their grasp'? They had let Joseph walk away!

She opened her mouth to protest – and them clamped it shut. What was wrong with her? To look her father in the eyes a moment too long as a girl was one thing; to have walked out of doors without a veil, quite another; but despite all that, she had never, ever, ever spoken back to a man in public. Much less a Pharisee! She chose to focus instead on this deranged rabbi. Despite how much he unsettled her, he was, in some absurd way, more comforting to think about than the Pharisee.

His eyes were narrowed, piercing into the Pharisee's, it seemed. There was something terrifying in that intensity. Sarai shifted uncomfortably beneath the curtain and looked back at the ground instead.

After a minute she realized that no one was saying anything. She looked up, expecting to see the two figures still towering in front of her, and then noticed that the rabbi was no longer standing, but sitting – sitting in the dirt, scratching something in the dust with his index finger.

"Rabbi?" repeated the Pharisee. The rabbi did not look up.

The Pharisee coughed. "Rabbi, what do you say? Shall we stone her?"

The rabbi said nothing, but leaned over so he could scribble something further away.

"Rabbi, do you not have an answer? Or does your silence mean you do not wish to be responsible for this girl?"

The rabbi finished writing whatever it was he wanted to write in the dirt and stood up. He looked at Sarai first, then at each of the Pharisees in turn, and finally turned around to face the crowd. They were shuffling forwards, necks craned eagerly to get a glance at what was written. Sarai heard someone gasp loudly and saw an old woman off to her left throw a hand to her mouth.

"Whichever one of you has never sinned before," he began, "pick up this rock" – he raised his right hand, and Sarai saw a large stone in it that she hadn't noticed a moment ago – "and throw it at her." He pointed at Sarai and dropped the stone, which rolled toward the foot of the crowd. No one moved, except Sarai, who moaned a little and felt herself grow faint.

The rabbi sat back down and began writing again. Sarai watched as the Pharisee, scowling and crossing his arms in a flagrant display of irritation, walk forwards to stand behind the rabbi. "What are you – " he began, and stopped short of where the rabbi was scribbling in the dust. Sarai could see his face grow ashen.

The rabbi did not look up, but reached forward and began writing a new line on the ground. Behind her, Sarai heard the other councilmen step closer to read his writing. She was right in front of him, but she had never learned to read or write, so she had no idea what was being written.

Still, no one in the crowd dared move any closer.

Then, suddenly, one of the older councilmen turned and walked away, soundlessly. Sarai couldn't see his face, but he seemed to be walking quite briskly. As if on cue, the crowd rushed forwards, like water released from a broken dam.

The rabbi continued to write, but now he was turning around in the dust, so that his writing faced the rest of the crowd behind him, forming a circle of words Sarai couldn't comprehend. People were pushing past Sarai to see what he was writing, crowding around her, and in a moment of genius and panic, she began stepping backwards to try and disappear out of the crowd, to use the commotion to her advantage. Just then two of her five remaining captors tripped her with their sticks, which they had changed to using as walking sticks, and she fell in the dirt with a yelp. She looked up to see four sandaled feet and two thick branches in her face.

So she waited.

After what seemed like hours, and much erasing and un-erasing – the rabbi appeared to be doing it at random – the crowd had dwindled to less than a fraction of its original size. None of the older folks remained – in fact, Sarai had seen most of them leave quite early. Only a handful of the younger people and the Pharisee who had spoken for the group remained, the latter of whom was red in the face.

Sarai was baffled. First, there had been that old woman; next, one of the older-looking councilmen; and then elderly people began leaving in droves. Families had followed after them, seemingly as confused about what was going on as Sarai was. One old man in particular had nearly trampled her, and missed her face with his cane by inches; she overheard his conversation:

"Abba, what's wrong? Why are you rushing?"

"Quiet, boy. We need to leave, that's all – I'm, I'm hungry is what it is. Have your woman run ahead and make dinner." At that, a veiled woman, who had been trailing behind the younger man, began sprinting ahead of them.

Sarai wasn't stupid enough to believe the old man was really only hungry – something was different. He had been too… too unsure of himself, it seemed. And then younger adults had begun dispersing, women clutching babies staggering back, their husband's eyes widening in shock, and husbands grabbing their women by the arm and dragging them out of the crowd in a clear haste. Sarai remembered one in particular:

"What's wrong?" asked a young, robed man, in a surprisingly concerned voice as his wife all but toppled over and lost grip of their young daughter's hand. Sarai guessed his age to be around thirty or so.

"I… I…" replied the woman, breathlessly. Then she seemed to remember her child, who was now crying from having fallen over backwards, and grabbed the little girl up in her arms. She turned to face her husband. "Miriam is tired, and… and needs feeding. We have to get home."

"But –" and then the man seemed to reconsider and went with his wife. That sort of deference, Sarai knew, did not happen. The only reason she could think of for the husband's lack of arguing was that their daughter must have been their first child. Even though she was a girl, after waiting what must have been over a decade – he looked to be in his late 20s – to father anything, boy or girl, the man must have been pleased to know his wife was not barren, and was thus not taking any chances on letting harm befall the little girl, who looked barely old enough to stand.

It still did not explain the mother's lying – Sarai had raised all her younger siblings with her mother, and none of them cried like that when they were hungry. Or tired.

Finally, there were only a handful of people remaining – all of them young men who must have been scribes-in-training or been separated from their parents in the crowd, or had some other excuse for not being home at the moment. Then, as the rabbi scribbled out another word and began writing some more, the Pharisee turned heel and left, almost at a trot. His expression looked as though he had either seen the face of the Almighty or the Accuser; Sarai couldn't tell which was more appropriate. She was, at this point, ready to run as soon as the last of her own accusers were gone – but how could she walk away from this rabbi? Crowd or no crowd, he could still stone her, and it would not be hard for him to start a commotion and bring more people. And yet… nothing was making any sense, and she wanted answers. No, needed them. Her mind was a flurry – all this insane bravado, this looking a man in the eye, wanting to talk back to a member of the Sanhedrin, all while sitting out here wearing nothing but a curtain – she had to know.

In no little time the last member of the crowd left. The rabbi looked up as the last one, a young man with short curly hair, all but jogged away, and then he stood up, dusted off his robes, and began to scratch out his writing with his sandals. Sarai simply sat and quivered, hopelessly confused. She was rooted there, out of terror at what this rabbi might yet do to her, confusion about why he had not stoned her on the spot, and the nagging curiosity – what had he done to her? Why had he looked at her? It consumed her, just thinking about it. Her eyes darted nervously over the rabbi, trying to figure out his intentions, find out what he would do.

When he was done erasing, the rabbi turned to her, and looked her in the eye again. It was daunting, but his look had something else in it – as if he were in on a secret; or maybe a joke all his own. Almost as if a smile were just about to flicker onto his face. It just wasn't right.

Then the rabbi took his eyes off Sarai, and she followed his gaze to see him looking at the rock, which had been miraculously untouched all this time. He looked back to Sarai, and all the color drained from her face. He walked over to the stone, and picked it up – Sarai instinctively tumbled over backwards, and hurriedly began trying to back away by crawling on her hands, not caring anymore about respect, this was real, this was life-and-death, this was her punishment, this was the end of it all, this man was actually going to kill her!

The rabbi overtook her in three strides loomed over her, the setting sun shading his face. He held the rock in his right hand, poised over hi head, blocking out the sun. The man was obviously insane – was he going to enjoy this?

Her mind began racing, wondering if she could still get away, wondering how good the rabbi's aim could be, if she could outrun a mob… "Woman, where are they? Did none of them condemn you?" he asked, expression obscured in shadow.

Sarai's eyes were watering so much she could barely see anymore – but something in her wouldn't let her cry, wouldn't let her die that undignified. She opened her mouth to speak, and said, "No one, Rabbi."

The rabbi continued to look at her. She had sealed her death; this was it. She felt like she was about to faint from the heat, the shame he had caused them both by looking in her eyes, and the overwhelmingly terror of death. That was when his hand that was holding the rock fell.

"Then neither," said the rabbi, "will I condemn you. Now leave, and stop sinning." With that he heaved the rock and threw it far over Sarai's head; she screamed involuntarily as whipped her head around to watch disappear into the shadows behind a wall.

She turned back, staring in complete shock, mouth agape. The rabbi held her gaze for a moment, and then turned away and began walking back towards the Temple.

"Wait!" she shouted, and the rabbi stopped and turned around. Sarai's face burned scarlet, and she clasped her gaping mouth shut. What had she just done? The rabbi had just let her go! What was she doing? Why didn't she just listen to the man and leave? She told herself to be quiet, to turn around now and run for home, to just leave lest the rabbi change his mind. But her curiosity wouldn't allow it. Her reason was gone, and the mad desire to just talk to him overwhelmed her being; before she really knew what she had done, she had straightened up and tried to muster all the dignity a naked woman in a window curtain can muster. The rabbi had already begun walking back towards her.

"Yes?" he asked, warmly.

A thousand questions boiled over in her mind. What were you writing? she wondered. What were you doing at the Temple? Did you know those men? Why were you looking at me like that? Why are you letting me go? Why didn't you let them stone me? Why?

"Who are you?"

Sarai looked away as her reason finally caught up with her mouth. The words had come out as barely a whisper, and she wished with all her heart she could take them back. She had shamed herself beyond repair this time, for certain – as though she hadn't already, she thought bitterly. She must be possessed, and yet, this man had not stoned her. Whatever mercy she may have gotten from him, though, was now gone, for sure. Sarai tried to act as though she had never spoken, and looked away so she didn't have to see him anymore.

The rabbi said nothing, but walked around her and crouched down so they were facing each other again. He reached out, and with a finger moved away a lock of hair that was blocking Sarai's eyes. She flinched involuntarily, and looked up to meet his gaze – barely a cubit away.

"You will know me if you listen to what I have to say. Now go home, and change your ways." He held her gaze a moment more, and then stood up again.

Sarai's lip began trembling. She watched as his sandaled feet walked back towards the Temple steps for the second time. When the rabbi had disappeared behind the Temple doors, Sarai looked down at herself. The curtain and her skin were dusty and dirty, and she felt sunburn coming on from all her time outside in the heat. The sun was setting, her hair was matted and full of sand, and she was more exhausted than she had been in years. She looked once more at the Temple, and bit her lip to staunch the tears.

It was dark by the time she got home. As she walked over to her bed, Sarai thought of all her perfumes, the clothes Joseph had given her as gifts, and her parents, who had long since fallen asleep.

Sarai went outside and found her perfume bottles, hidden inside a broken clay bowl, and broke them. Then she took the veils and other clothes Joseph had given her, and then threw them into the street, where a sudden gust of wind began to blow them away. Then she took her mirror and threw it out, too.

She slept better that night than she had in years.

a/n: I think the ending needs work. I'm also not entirely sure if window curtains would be found in a Pharisees home – were curtains even used? That is, were wooden slats preferred, were curtains more ceremonial, the sort of thing you see in official's places…? This is just your average-joe rabbi, mind, not some illustrious Sanhedrin member, like his red-robed friend. Also, I think my intro-epigraph is too wordy.

Anyway. Nothing special – in fact, this isn't even a final draft – but I'm fond of it. You dig?