Fiction

Blood and Water: A Trans Messiah and His Beloved

I will die for you

The sun is just spilling over the mountains, gilding the surface of Lake Gennesaret as Yasha kneels on the wave-smoothed rocks at the edge of the water and dips the scrap of fabric he carries. Whorls of red curl out into the water, fading into the waves. Yasha twirls the rag in his fingers until the water runs clean. He’ll need to boil it soon, but this is good for now.

“Yasha?” He looks up at Yohan’s voice, and his heart skips a beat. Yohan comes closer, setting his sandalled feet carefully on the wet stones. “Is that blood?”

“I… yes.” Yasha plucks the grey rag out of the icy water and squeezes it. Water falls back into the lake like a tiny rainfall.

Yohan falls to his knees next to Yasha, water soaking into the hem of his robe. “Are you injured?” he asks, his voice tight with concern.

“No.” Yasha raises his head to meet Yohan’s eyes and smiles. He’s certain Yohan will accept what he’s about to tell him, but there is still a frisson of anxiety now that the moment is here. Mother had always said to tell no one ever.

Yohan reaches out and takes Yasha’s hand, his dry skin warm against Yasha’s damp fingers. “What is it?”

Yasha looks down at their joined hands then at the wet fabric hanging from his other hand. “It is monthly blood. And it is… mine.” His breath catches in his chest as he waits for Yohan’s reaction.

“Oh.” Yohan’s fingers tighten on Yasha’s. “But… you’re…”

“A man,” they say together. Yasha laughs softly, maybe a little nervously. “I am.” He takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a rush. “And yet… I bleed.”

Yohan lifts Yasha’s hand, cups it in his palm, and runs the fingers of his other hand over the callouses there. “Are you worried that I would see you differently? I don’t.”

“No.” Yasha shakes his head, a smile on his lips. “I know you, beloved. It is only difficult because I have never told anyone before.”

“What about your parents?” Yohan asks, continuing to gently trail his fingers over Yasha’s palm, leaving warmth in their wake.

“Mother knew, of course.” Yasha finds that he is squeezing the wet cloth again, and he unclenches that hand and focuses on Yohan’s gentle touch. It grounds him and calms him, as always. “But my… Yosef did not.”

Yohan’s fingers pause for a second, then continue. “You don’t think he would have understood?”

A small laugh escapes Yasha. “There was already so much he had to accept, most of it without understanding. He was a good man and a good father, and he loved me. But I couldn’t add another worry upon all of it.”

Yohan nods. “I can only imagine what it was like.”

“It was truly fairly normal.” Yasha closes his eyes, remembering. Days working next to Yosef, the smell of stone and wood under the hot Nazareth sun. Evenings sitting with his mother while she ground grain for bread or mended clothing, talking about their day, or just sitting in silence. Feeling the love that saturated the walls, the very air.

Yohan’s fingers still, then wrap around Yasha’s hand. “And your Father?”

Yasha opens his eyes and looks into Yohan’s gentle browns. “I asked Him why. Why did He make me like this? Sometimes…” He looks down at their joined hands. So similar they are, so human: brown skin, dirt under the nails, calloused palms. “Sometimes He gives me no answer, when I am meant to figure it out myself.”

A gust of wind followed by a wave of frigid water washes over their knees, and Yohan scrambles to his feet, pulling Yasha up with him. “You know this, but I will say it anyway: I will tell no one. Not even Yakov.”

Yasha squeezes Yohan’s fingers, then drapes the wet rag over a nearby tree branch. “I do not wish to come between you and your brother. I am sorry.”

“I am not.” Yohan steps closer and leans in to kiss Yasha’s brow. “I love you. I will die for you.”

A surge of grief goes through Yasha at the words and he grabs Yohan’s shoulders and pulls him close, pressing his lips to Yohan’s brow. “And I will die for you, beloved.”

Yohan’s arms come around Yasha and they rest their heads on each other’s shoulders. For now, they have this.

More stories of Yasha and Yohan:

Logan Silkwood challenged writers to rewrite a favourite character as “trans, non-binary, agender, or maybe gender fluid” and I’ve already done this with an old fairy tale with “Sister of Swans” so I wanted to try something different. I decided that Bible characters would be interesting. I hope you liked my little what if!

Esther learned to read when she was four years old, and began writing shortly thereafter. She is a queer Christian poet, crafting with words to create art and music.

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