The Son of Man
Between her white thighs, the hand stood out, callused, dark, the hand of a carpenter who had traveled a long time under the sun.
“Come on, wife, come on. I have to do it … there is no one who can help us.“
Joseph’s other hand was now resting on her belly and compressing it. Maria thought it was a useless gesture, but she didn’t have the courage to contradict her husband again. She was ashamed. Men usually don’t see certain things. Women have children, aided by…