The Childhood of Jesus Read Online Free PDF

birds seem lethargic. Away from the noise of traffic they settle beneath a spreading tree. After a while Ana arrives, bearing a basket. ‘Sorry,’ she says, ‘something came up.’
    â€˜How many of us are you expecting?’ he asks.
    â€˜I don’t know. Perhaps half a dozen. Let us wait and see.’
    They wait. No one comes. ‘Looks like it is just us,’ says Ana at last. ‘Shall we start?’
    The basket turns out to contain no more than a packet of crackers, a pot of saltless bean paste, and a bottle of water. But the child wolfs down his share without complaint.
    Ana yawns, stretches out on the grass, closes her eyes.
    â€˜What did you mean, the other day, when you used the words washed clean ?’ he asks her. ‘You said David and I should wash ourselves clean of old attachments.’
    Lazily Ana shakes her head. ‘Another time,’ she says. ‘Not now.’
    In her tone, in the hooded glance she casts him, he senses an invitation. The half-dozen guests who have failed to turn up—were they just a fiction? If the child were not here he would lie down on the grass beside her and then perhaps let his hand rest ever so lightly on hers.
    â€˜No,’ she murmurs, as if reading his mind. The ghost of a frown crosses her brow. ‘Not that.’
    Not that. What is he to make of this young woman, now warm, now cool? Is there something in the etiquette of the sexes or the generations in this new land that he is failing to understand?
    The boy nudges him and points to the nearly empty packet of crackers. He spreads paste on a cracker and passes it across.
    â€˜He has a healthy appetite,’ says the girl without opening her eyes.
    â€˜He is hungry all the time.’
    â€˜Don’t worry, he will adapt. Children adapt quickly.’
    â€˜Adapt to being hungry? Why should he adapt to being hungry when there is no shortage of food?’
    â€˜Adapt to a moderate diet, I mean. Hunger is like a dog in your belly: the more you feed it, the more it demands.’ She sits up abruptly, addresses the child. ‘I hear you are looking for your mama,’ she says. ‘Do you miss your mama?’
    The boy nods.
    â€˜And what is your mama’s name?’
    The boy casts him an interrogative glance.
    â€˜He doesn’t know her by name,’ he says. ‘He had a letter with him when he boarded the boat, but it was lost.’
    â€˜The string broke,’ says the boy.
    â€˜The letter was in a pouch,’ he explains, ‘which was hanging around his neck on a string. The string broke and the letter was lost. There was a hunt for it all over the ship. That was how David and I met. But the letter was never found.’
    â€˜It fell in the sea,’ says the boy. ‘The fishes ate it.’
    Ana frowns. ‘If you don’t remember your mama’s name, can you tell us what she looks like? Can you draw a picture of her?’
    The boy shakes his head.
    â€˜So your mama is lost and you don’t know where to look for her.’ Ana pauses to reflect. ‘Then how would you feel if your padrino began looking for another mama for you, to love and take care of you?’
    â€˜What is a padrino ?’ asks the boy.
    â€˜You keep slotting me into roles.’ he interrupts. ‘I am not David’s father, nor am I his padrino . I am simply helping him to be reunited with his mother.’
    She ignores the rebuke. ‘If you found yourself a wife,’ she says, ‘she could be a mother to him.’
    He bursts out laughing. ‘What woman would want to marry a man like me, a stranger without even a change of clothing to his name?’ He waits for the girl to disagree, but she does not. ‘Besides, even if I did find myself a wife, who is to say she would want—you know—a foster child? Or that our young friend here would accept her?’
    â€˜You never know. Children adapt.’
    â€˜As you keep