(Students in a writing class were introduced recently to writer Stephen Dixon’s short-short story, “Wife in Reverse,” and tasked with writing something that mirrored its style, substituting the word “Wife” in the title with “Life.” As I thought writing about my life either backward or forward would be boring, I chose to write about someone else’s).

     Later on, there were questions about his death. Some said his father did not let it stand.

     Only some who knew him were there when he died, the women and the follower he loved. He was condemned to death and publicly executed. At trial, he did not bother to defend himself against the charges made against him. While detained, he was beaten mercilessly. He and a few others had gone to one of his favorite gardens in the city. It was there that he was confronted by arresting officers and, after a bloody struggle by one of his protectors, taken into custody.

     One of his most loyal followers, one who loved him dearly, was drawn into the plot. This devotee, a man himself with insurgent sentiments, had become increasingly disillusioned with the preacher for seeming to have no interest in the rebellion. At supper one evening, in one of the upper rooms of an inn, this devotee was stunned when the preacher turned to him and told him to do what he had to do. No one else gathered there knew what he meant, none but the devotee and one other, the follower the preacher loved.

     A plot was hatched to have the preacher accused of being another of the many insurgents throughout the land who were in active opposition to colonial rule. The civil authorities would be forced to act. Ultimate control of all the affairs of the land had long been held by the colonial authorities, foreigners who did not understand the threat. The holy men themselves were powerless to stop the man. There were some among the holy men who felt their fundamental beliefs, beliefs held, taught and practiced by their forbears and every generation that followed, were being threatened by the teachings of this man, that those who followed him were unknowingly being led astray and in danger of losing their very souls.

     Word spread that this man was more than a powerful preacher, that he had the power to heal the sick, make the lame walk, give sight to the blind, raise the dead. It was said that, at a wedding reception once, his mother made him turn water into wine.

     His way was not an easy one. He never knew when or where or how he would have his next meal, never knew where he would he lie down to sleep on any given night. These things were never his concern. Those who followed him knew this was his way and had to be theirs as well. They learned that food and lodging were always provided when needed.

     When he became a man of 30, he too became a holy man, traveling the countryside, preaching to the people of his homeland as he encountered them on his journeys. His words and his manner had so profound an influence on some that a few began to devote themselves to accompanying him on his way.

     When he was 12, his mother and father, having lost him among the throng that  converged on the city for the festival days, finally discovered him where his mother suspected they would: in the temple gardens, immersed in discourse with the holy men. The priests marveled at his questions.

     Early on, there were questions about his birth. Some said he was not his father’s son, so he was said from the beginning to be the son of his mother. If he was not the man’s son, it did not matter. As far as the man was concerned, the baby was his, and he loved the child.