The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Fourteen

TIME IS NOT A FIELD, to be measured in rods, nor a sea, to be measured in miles; it is a heart beat. How long did this betrothal last? Days? Months? Years? Jolly and compassionate, the son of Mary went from village to village with the good word on his lips, from village to village, mountain to mountain, or sometimes by rowboat from one shore of the lake to the other, dressed in white like a bridegroom. And the Earth was his betrothed. As soon as he lifted his foot, the ground he had trodden filled with flowers. When he looked at the trees, they blossomed. The moment he set foot in a fishing boat, a favorable wind puffed out the sail. The people listened to him, and the clay within them turned to wings. The entire time this betrothal lasted, if you lifted a stone you found God underneath, if you knocked at a door, God came out to open it for you, if you looked into the eye of your friend or your enemy, you saw God sitting in the pupil and smiling at you.

The indignant Pharisees shook their heads. “John the Baptist fasts and weeps,” they scolded, glaring at him with leaden eyes, “he threatens, and does not laugh. But you-wherever there is a merry wedding, you’re first and foremost. You eat, drink and laugh with the rest, and the other day at a marriage in Cana you were not ashamed to dance with the young ladies. Who ever heard of a prophet laughing and dancing?”

But he smiled. “Pharisees, my brothers, I am not a prophet; I am a bridegroom.”

“A bridegroom?” the Pharisees howled, going through the motions of tearing their clothes.

“Yes, Pharisees, my brothers, a bridegroom. Forgive me, but I know no other way to describe it to you.”

He would turn to his companions, John, Andrew and Judas, to the peasants and fishermen who abandoned their fields and boats in order to run and hear him, seduced by the sweetness of his face, and to the women, who came with their infants in their arms.

“Rejoice and exult while the bridegroom is still among you,” he would tell them. “The days will also come when you shall be widows and orphans, but place your trust in the Father. Look at the faith of the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap, and yet the Father feeds them. Consider the flowers of the earth. They do not spin or weave, but what king could ever dress in such magnificence? Do not be concerned about your body, what it will eat, what it will drink or wear. Your body was dust and it will return to dust. Let your concern be for the kingdom of heaven and for your immortal soul!”

Judas listened to him and knit his brows. He was not interested in the kingdom of heaven. His great concern was for the kingdom of the earth-and not the whole earth, either, but only the land of Israel, which was made of men and stones, not of prayer and clouds. The Romans-those barbarians, those heathens-the Romans were trampling over this land. First they must be expelled; then we can worry about kingdoms of heaven.

Jesus saw the redbeard’s frown and from the wrinkles which stormed his forehead read his hidden thoughts.

“Heaven and earth are one, Judas, my brother,” he would say, smiling at him; “stone and cloud are one; the kingdom of heaven is not in the air, it is within us, in our hearts. I talk about that, about the heart. Change your heart, and heaven and earth will embrace, Israelites and Romans will embrace, all will become one.”

But the redbeard kept his indignation within him, brooding over it and forcing himself to be patient and wait. He does not know what he’s talking about, he grumbled to himself. He lives in a dream world and hasn’t the slightest idea of what goes on around him. My heart will change only if the world about me changes. Only if the Romans disappear from the land of Israel will I find relief!

One day Zebedee’s younger son turned to Jesus. “Forgive me, Rabbi,” he said, “but I find I don’t love Judas. When I go near him a dark force gushes out of his body, thousands of tiny, tiny needles which wound me; and the other day at dusk I saw a black angel whisper something in his ear. What did he say?”

“I have a foreboding of what he said,” Jesus answered with a sigh.

“What? I’m scared, Rabbi. What did he say?”

“You will learn when the time comes. I myself still do not know exactly.”

“Why do you take him with you, why do you let him follow you night and day? And when you speak to him, why is your voice sweeter than it is when you speak to us?”

“That is how it must be, John, my brother. He has the greater need for love.”

Andrew followed the new teacher, and day by day the world changed for him, grew sweeter. Not the world: his heart! Eating and laughter were no longer sins, the earth became firm underfoot, the sky leaned over it like a father and the day of the Lord was not a day of wrath and conflagration, not the end of the world-it was harvest, vintage, weddings, dancing: the perpetual renewal of the earth’s virginity. Every daybreak was a renascence; each morning God renewed his promise to hold the world in his sacred palm.

As the days went by, Andrew grew calm. He made friends with laughter and food; his pale cheeks reddened. In the evening or at noontime when he stretched out under a tree to eat, or when they were feted in some house by friends, and Jesus, as was his habit, blessed and divided the bread, Andrew’s entrails took this bread and immediately transubstantiated it into love and laughter. He still sighed now and then, however, when he remembered his family and friends.

“What will become of Jonah and Zebedee?” he asked one day, his eyes lost in the distance. The two old men seemed to him at the ends of the earth. “And what about Jacob and Peter? Where are they; in what surroundings are they now suffering?”

“We shall find them all,” Jesus answered with a smile, “and each one of them will find us. Do not be sad, Andrew. The Father’s courtyards are wide; there is room for all.”

One evening Jesus entered Bethsaida. The children took olive branches and palm leaves and ran out to greet him. Doors opened; housewives emerged. Abandoning the housework, they ran behind him to hear the good word. Sons lifted paralyzed parents to their shoulders; grandchildren led blind grandfathers by the hand. Men with bulging muscles dragged along those who were possessed with devils and ran behind him so that he might place his hand on the heads of these maniacs and cure them.

It chanced that this was the day when Thomas the peddler made his rounds of the village. Staggering under his load of spools of thread, combs, women’s wonder-working cosmetics, bronze bracelets and silver earrings, he was tooting his horn and hawking his wares when Jesus saw him. A sudden puff of wind: he was no longer Thomas the cross-eyed merchant. In his hand he held a carpenter’s level. He was surrounded by swarms of people, in some faraway country. Laborers were hauling stones and cement, masons were building a large temple, an imposing edifice with marble columns, and Thomas the master builder ran here and there with his level, checking their work… Jesus blinked, Thomas blinked in return-and suddenly he found himself before him once again, loaded down as before with his wares. His sly crossed eyes danced roguishly.

Jesus placed his hand on the peddler’s head. “Thomas, come with me. I shall load you with other wares: the spices and ornaments of the soul. Your rounds will then take you to the ends of the earth, and you will hawk your new wares and portion them out to men.”

“I’d rather sell these first,” said the shrewd merchant, chuckling, “and then… well, let’s wait and see what happens.” He swelled his shrill voice and began on the spot to hawk his combs, threads and wonder-working cosmetics.

An old village notable, very rich, cruel and dishonest, stood in his doorway, his hands against the jambs, and stared with curiosity at the approaching multitude. The mass of children, running in front and waving their palm leaves and olive branches in the air, knocked on the doors and shouted, “He’s coming, he’s coming, the son of David is coming!” They were followed by a man dressed in white, with hair which spilled down onto his shoulders. Tranquil and smiling, he extended his hands to the left and the right as though blessing the houses. The men and women who ran behind him vied to see who would touch him and acquire strength and sanctity. Farther behind came the blind and the paralyzed, and new doors continued to open and new crowds to appear.

The old notable felt uneasy. “Now who is this?” he asked, grasping the door jambs securely lest the mob rush inside and plunder his wealth.

Someone stopped and answered him. “It’s the new prophet, Ananias. This man in white who you see before you holds life in one hand, death in the other, and portions them out just as he pleases. A word to the wise, Ananias: flatter him, treat him well.”

When old Ananias heard this, he became terrified. He had many troubles weighing on his soul, and at night he often woke up with a start to find himself struck dumb with fear. In his nightmares he seemed to be roasting, plunged up to the neck in the flames of hell. Perhaps this man could save him. Everything in the world is sorcery, he reflected, and this man is a sorcerer. So, let’s set the table for him, let’s invest a little money to feed him, and perhaps he’ll perform a miracle.

Having made the decision, he stepped out into the middle of the road and placed his palm over his heart. “Son of David,” he said, “I am old Ananias, a sinner, and you are a saint. When I learned that you deigned to set foot in our village, I had tables set so that you could dine. Come in, please, if you’ll be so kind. As we all know, it’s for us sinners that saints come into the world, and my home is thirsting for sanctity.”

Jesus stopped. “What you say pleases me, Ananias. I’m glad to meet you!”

He entered the rich village house. The slaves arranged the tables in the courtyard and brought pillows. Jesus reclined, and on either side of him reclined John, Andrew, Judas and also sly Thomas, who pretended to be a disciple in order to eat. The old proprietor enthroned himself opposite them, searching in his mind for a subtle way in which to direct the conversation to the subject of dreams and get the exorcist to exorcise his nightmares. The food was brought, and also two pitchers of wine. The people stood outside and watched them eat and talk about God, the weather and the vineyards. When they had finished their food and drink the slaves brought kettles and basins. The guests washed their hands and prepared to rise. At this point old Ananias’s endurance gave out. I went to the expense of giving him a meal, he said to himself. He ate and drank-he and his suite. Now it is only right that he should pay.

“Teacher, I have nightmares,” he said. “I learned that you are considered to be a great exorcist. I did all that I could for you; now, let Your Holiness do something for me: take pity on me and exorcise my dreams. They say that you speak and exorcise with parables. Tell me a parable, therefore. I shall understand its hidden meaning and be cured. Everything in the world is sorcery, isn’t it? Well, then, perform your sorcery.”

Jesus smiled and looked into the old man’s eyes. This was not the first time he had seen the rapacious jaws, the fat napes and quick-moving eyes of the glutted. They made him shudder. These people ate, drank and laughed, thought the whole world belonged to them; they stole, danced, whored-and had not the slightest idea that they were burning in the fires of hell. It was only at rare times, in sleep, that they opened their eyes and saw… Jesus looked at the old glutton, looked at his flesh, his eyes, his fear-and once more, the truth inside him became a tale.

“Open your ears, Ananias,” he said, “and open your heart, for I shall speak.”

“I have opened my ears and I have opened my heart. I am listening, praised be God.”

“Once, Ananias, there was a rich man who was unjust and dishonest. He ate and drank, dressed himself in silks and purple, and never gave as much as a green leaf to his neighbor Lazarus, who was hungry and cold. Lazarus crawled under the tables to gather up the crumbs and lick the bones, but the slaves threw him out. He sat on the threshold, and the dogs came and licked his wounds. Then came the appointed day and both of them died. One went to the eternal fire, the other to the bosom of Abraham. One day the rich man lifted his eyes and saw his neighbor Lazarus laughing and rejoicing in Abraham’s bosom. ‘Father Abraham, Father Abraham,’ he cried, ‘send Lazarus down; let him moisten the tip of his finger in order to cool my mouth-I am roasting!’ But Abraham answered him: ‘Think back to the days when you ate and drank and enjoyed the fat of the land while he was hungry and cold. Did you ever give him as much as a green leaf? Now it is his turn to enjoy himself, and yours to burn forever and ever.’ ”

Jesus sighed and was quiet. Old Ananias stood with opened mouth, waiting to hear more. His lips had become dry, his throat parched. He looked at Jesus, imploring him with his eyes.

“Is that all?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Is that all; is there nothing more?”

“Served him right!” Judas said with a laugh. “Whoever overeats and overdrinks on earth will vomit everything up in Hades.”

But Zebedee’s younger son leaned over to Jesus’ chest. “Rabbi,” he said softly, “your words have not unburdened my heart. How many times have you instructed us to forgive our enemies! You must love your enemy, you told us, and if he wrongs you seven and seventy-seven times, you must do good to him seven and seventy-seven times. This, you said, is the only way hatred can be discharged from the world. But now… Is God unable to forgive?”

“God is just,” interrupted the redbeard, throwing a sarcastic glance at old Ananias.

“God is perfect goodness,” John objected.

“Does this mean there is no hope?” stammered the old proprietor. “Is the parable finished?”

Thomas got up, took a stride toward the street door, and stopped. “No, milord, it’s not finished,” he scoffed. “There’s more.”

“Speak, my child, and you shall have my blessing.”

“The rich man’s name is Ananias!” said Thomas. He grabbed his bundle of wares and was suddenly outside in the middle of the street, where he stood and guffawed with the neighbors.

The blood rose to the old notable’s large head, and his eyes grew dim, like the setting sun.

Jesus put out his hand and stroked his beloved companion’s curly hair. “John,” he said, “all have ears, and heard; all have minds, and judged. God is just, they said, and they were unable to go beyond. But you have a heart as well, and you said, Yes, God is just, but this is not enough. He is also perfect goodness. The parable cannot stand as it is; it must have a different ending.”

“Pardon me, Rabbi,” said the youth, “but that was exactly what my heart felt. Man forgives, I said to myself. Is it possible then that God does not? No, it is impossible. The parable is a great blasphemy and cannot stand as it is. It must have a different ending.

“It does have a different ending, John beloved,” said Jesus, smiling. “Listen, Ananias, and you will be reassured; listen, you who are in the yard, and you, neighbors, who laugh in the street. God is not only just, he is good; and he is not only good, he is also the Father. When Lazarus heard Abraham’s words he sighed and addressed God in his mind: ‘God, how can anyone be happy in Paradise when he knows that there is a man-a soul-roasting for all eternity? Refresh him, Lord, that I may be refreshed. Deliver him, Lord, that I may be delivered. Otherwise I too shall begin to feel the flames.’ God heard his thought and was glad. ‘Lazarus, beloved,’ he said, ‘go down; take the thirster by the hand. My fountains are inexhaustible. Bring him here so that he may drink and refresh himself, and you refresh yourself with him.’… ‘For all eternity?’ asked Lazarus. ‘Yes, for all eternity,’ God replied.”

Jesus got up without a further word. Night had overwhelmed the earth. The people dispersed; men and women returned to their wretched huts, whispering to one another. Their hearts had been filled. Can the word give nourishment? they asked themselves. Yes, it can-when it is the good word!

Jesus held out his hand to take leave of the old proprietor, but Ananias fell at his feet.

“Rabbi,” he murmured, “forgive me!” and he burst into tears.

That same night, under the olive trees where they had lain down to sleep, Judas went and found the son of Mary. He could not calm himself. He had to see him and speak to him so that they could lay their cards down on the table and make everything perfectly clear. When, at the house of that criminal Ananias, he had rejoiced at the rich man’s punishment in hell and clapped his hands and shouted, “Served him right!” Jesus had looked at him out of the corner of his eye for a long time, secretly, as though scolding him, and this glance still tortured him. It was imperative, therefore, that they clear up their accounts. Judas did not like half-baked words or secret glances.

“Welcome,” said Jesus. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Son of Mary, I don’t fit in with the others,” the redbeard started straight off. “I don’t have the virginity and goodness of John, your darling, and I’m not a scatter-brained daydreamer like Andrew, who changes his mind with every breeze that blows. I am a wild, uncompromising beast. I was born out of wedlock and my mother threw me into the wilderness, where I suckled on the milk of the wolf. I became rough, rigid and honest. Whoever I love-I’m dirt under his feet; whoever I hate-I kill.”

As he spoke, his voice grew hoarse. His eyes threw sparks into the darkness. Jesus placed his hand on the terrible head in order to calm it. But the redbeard shook off this hand of peace.

Weighing his words one by one, he continued: “I am even able to kill someone I love, if I see him slip away from the true path.”

“Which is the true path, Judas, my brother?”

“The deliverance of Israel.”

Jesus closed his eyes and did not reply. The two flames which were being slung at him out of the darkness burned him, as did Judas’s words. What was Israel? Why only Israel? Weren’t we all brothers?

The redbeard waited for an answer, but the son of Mary did not speak. Judas grasped him by the arm and shook him as though trying to wake him up. “Do you understand?” he asked. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, I understand,” Jesus answered, opening his eyes.

“I’ve spoken to you without beating about the bush because I want you to know who I am and what I desire, so that you can give me an answer. Do you wish me to come with you or don’t you? I want to know.”

“I want you to come, Judas, my brother.”

“And you’ll let me speak my mind freely; you’ll let me object, say ‘no’ when you say ‘yes’? Because-I’ll tell you so there will be no doubt in your mind-everyone else may listen to you with gaping mouth, but not me! I’m no slave; I’m a free man. That’s the way things are, and you’d better make the best of it.”

“But freedom, Judas, is exactly what I want too.”

The redbeard gave a start. Grasping Jesus’ shoulder, he shouted with fiery breath, “You want to free Israel from the Romans?”

“To free the soul from sin.”

Judas snatched his hand away from Jesus’ shoulder in a frenzy and banged his fist against the trunk of the olive tree. “This is where our ways part,” he growled, facing Jesus and looking at him with hatred. “First the body must be freed from the Romans, and later the soul from sin. That is the road. Can you take it? A house isn’t built from the roof down; it’s built from the foundation up.”

“The foundation is the soul, Judas.”

“The foundation is the body-that’s where you’ve got to begin. Watch out, son of Mary. I’ve said it once and I say it again: watch out, take the road I tell you. Why do you think I go along with you? Well, you’d better learn: it’s to show you your way.”

Andrew was under the neighboring olive tree. He heard talk in his sleep and awoke. Listening intently, he made out the rabbi’s voice and one other, raucous and full of anger. He quivered like a startled deer. Could people have come during the night to annoy the rabbi? Andrew knew that wherever the teacher went he left behind him many women and young men, and whole flocks of the poor, who loved him; but also many notables, many of the rich and old, who hated him and wanted his downfall. Could these criminals have sent some hooligan to harm him? He crept forward in the darkness on all fours, toward the voices. But the redbeard heard the creeping and rose to his knees.

“Who’s there?” he called.

Andrew recognized the voice. “Judas, it’s me, Andrew,” he answered.

“Go back to bed, son of Jonah. We’ve got private business.”

“Go to sleep, Andrew, my child,” Jesus said also.

Judas lowered his voice now. Jesus felt the redbeard’s heavy breath on his face.

“You’ll remember that I disclosed to you in the desert that the brotherhood commissioned me to kill you. But at the very last minute I changed my mind, put the knife back into its sheath and ran away from the monastery at dawn, like a thief.”

“Why did you change your mind, Judas, my brother? I was ready.”

“I wanted to wait.”

“To wait for what?”

Judas was silent for a moment. Then, suddenly: “To see if you were the One awaited by Israel.”

Jesus shuddered. He leaned against the trunk of the olive tree, his whole body trembling.

“I don’t want to rush into this and kill the Saviour; no, I don’t want that!” Judas cried out, wiping his brow, which had suddenly become drenched with sweat. “Do you understand?” he screamed, as though someone were strangling him. “Do you understand: I don’t want that!”

He took a deep breath. “He might not even know it himself, I said. Best be patient and let him live awhile, let him live so that we can see what he says and does; and if he isn’t the One we’re waiting for, there’s always plenty of time to get rid of him… That’s what I said to myself, that’s why I let you live.”

He puffed for some time, scooping out the soil with his big toe. Suddenly he grabbed Jesus by the arm. His voice was hoarse and despairing. “I don’t know what to call you-son of Mary? son of the Carpenter? son of David? As you can see, I still don’t know who you are-but neither do you. We both must discover the answer; we both must find relief! No, this uncertainty cannot last. Don’t look at the others-they follow you like bleating sheep; don’t look at the women, who do nothing but admire you and spill tears. After all, they’re women: they have hearts and no minds, and we’ve no use for them. It’s we two who must find out who you are and whether this flame that burns you is the God of Israel or the devil. We must! We must!”

Jesus trembled all over. “What can we do, Judas, my brother? How can we discover the answer? Help me.”

“There is a way.”

“How?”

“We’ll go to John the Baptist. He will be able to tell us. He shouts, ‘He’s coming! He’s coming!’ doesn’t he? Well, then, as soon as he sees you, he’ll understand whether or not you’re the one who is coming. Let’s go: you’ll calm your nerves, and I’ll find out what I have to do.”

Jesus plunged into a profound meditation. How many times had this anxiety taken possession of him, how many times had he fallen face down on the ground, shaken with convulsions and foaming at the mouth! People thought him deranged, possessed with a devil, and they hurried by, frightened. But he was in the seventh heaven; his mind had fled its cage, ascended, knocked on God’s door and asked, Who am I? Why was I born? What must I do to save the world? Which is the shortest road-is it perhaps my own death?

He raised his head. Judas’s whole body was bent over him.

“Judas, my brother,” he said, “lie down next to me. The Lord will come in the form of sleep and carry us away. Tomorrow, God willing, we’ll start off bright and early to find the prophet of Judea, and whatever God desires, that is what will take place. I am ready.”

“I am ready too,” said Judas, and they lay down, one next to the other.

They both must have been extremely tired, for they slept instantaneously, and the next morning at dawn, Andrew, who was the first to awake, found them fast asleep in each other’s arms.

The sun fell upon the lake and illuminated the world. The redbeard took the lead, blazing trail. Jesus followed with his two faithful companions, John and Andrew. Thomas, who still had wares to sell, remained behind in the village. I like what the son of Mary says, the artful peddler spun in his brain, which was trying to make the best of both sides of the situation. The poor will eat and drink their fill for all eternity-as soon as they kick the bucket. That’s fine, but, meanwhile, look what happens to us here below! Watch out, Thomas you wretch, watch out-don’t get stuck in either place. To be on the safe side, the best thing is to load your basket with two kinds of wares: on the very top, for all to see, the combs and cosmetics; underneath, on the bottom, for grade-A customers, the kingdom of heaven… He giggled, swung the bundle once more onto his back and at daybreak tooted his horn, raised his high voice and began his rounds of the lanes of Bethsaida, hawking his earthly wares.

In Capernaum, Peter and Jacob had got up at dawn to pull in the nets. The mesh was already full of twitching fish which flashed in the sunlight. At any other time the two fishermen would have rejoiced to feel their nets so heavy, but today their minds were far away, and they did not speak. They were silent, but within themselves both had picked a quarrel, now with fate, which kept them tied generation after generation to this lake, now with their own minds, which calculated, recalculated, and did not let their hearts take wing. What kind of a life is this! they shouted to themselves. To throw the nets, catch fish, eat, sleep; and at the break of each new day to start the same old hand-to-mouth existence all over again-all day long, all year long, for the whole of our lives! How long? How long? Is this how we shall die? They had never thought about this until now. Their hearts had always been tranquil; they had followed the age-old way without complaint. This was how their parents had lived and their grandparents back for thousands of years-around this same lake, wrestling with the fish. One day they crossed their stiffened hands and died, and then their children and grandchildren came and, without complaint, took the identical road. These two, Peter and Jacob, had got along fine until now; they too had no complaint. But lately, suddenly, their surroundings had grown narrow and they were suffocating. Their gaze now was far away, out beyond the lake. Where? Toward what? They themselves did not know; all they knew was that they were suffocating.

And as if this torment was not enough, each day saw passers-by come with fresh news: corpses were revived, the paralyzed walked, blind men saw the light. “Who is this new prophet?” the passersby would ask the two fishermen. “Your brothers are with him, so you must know. We hear he’s not the son of the Carpenter of Nazareth but the son of David? Is this true?” But Peter and Jacob would shrug their shoulders and bend once again over the nets. They felt like weeping, to relieve themselves. Sometimes, after the passers-by had receded into the distance, Peter would turn to his comrade. “Do you believe these miracles, Jacob?”

“Pull the nets and keep quiet!” the loud-mouthed son of Zebedee would reply, and, giving a heave, he would bring the loaded net an arm’s-length closer.

This day too a carter passed by at dawn with additional news: “They say the new prophet ate in Bethsaida at old pinch-fist Ananias’s house. As soon as he finished eating and the slaves brought him water and he washed his hands, he drew near to Ananias, whispered something in his ear, and all at once the old man’s mind turned upside down, he burst into tears and began to divide his goods among the poor.”

“What did he whisper to him?” asked Peter, his eyes lost once more in the distance, far beyond the lake.

“Ah, if only I knew!” said the Carter, laughing. “I would hammer it into the ear of every rich man, so that the poor might have a chance to breathe… Farewell,” he called, continuing on his way, “and good fishing!”

Peter turned to speak to his companion but immediately changed his mind. What could he say to him? More words? Hadn’t he had enough of them by now? He felt like smashing the whole works down on the ground, like getting up in disgust and going away for ever. Yes, he would go away! Jonah’s hut was too small for him now, and so was this washbasin of water, this lake of Gennesaret. “This isn’t living,” he murmured; “it just isn’t living! I’ll go away!”

Jacob turned. “What are you mumbling about?” he asked. “Be still!”

“Nothing, damn it, nothing!” Peter answered, and he started furiously to pull in the nets.

At that instant the solitary figure of Judas appeared at the summit of the green hill where Jesus had first spoken to men. He held a crooked stick cut along the road from a wild kermes oak, and banged it on the ground as he marched. The three other companions appeared after him. Out of breath, they halted for a moment on the summit to survey the world below them. The lake glittered happily; the sun caressed it, and it laughed. The fishing boats were red and white butterflies on the water. Above them flew the winged fishermen, the seagulls. Capernaum buzzed in the distance. The sun had risen high: the day was in its glory.

“Look, there’s Peter!” said Andrew, pointing to the beach, where his brother was pulling in the nets.

“And Jacob!” John said with a sigh. “They still can’t wrench themselves away from the world.”

Jesus smiled. “Do not sigh, beloved companion,” he said. “Lie down here, all of you, and rest. I shall go down and bring them.”

He began the descent with quick, buoyant steps. He’s like an angel, John thought, admiring him. Nothing is missing but the wings… Stepping from stone to stone, Jesus descended. When he reached the shore he slowed his pace and approached the two fishermen who were leaning over their nets. He stood behind them and looked at them for a long time without moving. He looked at them, his mind empty of thoughts; but he felt himself being drained: a force was escaping from inside him. Everything grew light, hovered in the air, floated above the lake like a cloud; and the two fishermen grew light also and hovered in the air, and their net with its contents was apotheosized: this was no longer a net, these were no longer fish-they were people, thousands of happy, dancing people…

Suddenly the two fishermen felt a tingling on the top of their heads, a strange, sweet numbness. They jumped up and turned with fright. Behind them, Jesus stood motionless and silent, watching them.

“Forgive us, Rabbi!” cried Peter, mortified.

“Why, Peter? What have you done that I should forgive you?”

“Nothing,” Peter murmured. And suddenly: “Do you call this living? I’m sick of it!”

“So am I!” said Jacob, and he smashed the net down on the ground.

“Come,” said Jesus, extending his hands to both of them. “Come, I shall make you fishers of men.”

He took each by the hand and stepped between them. “Let us go,” he said.

“Shouldn’t I say goodbye to my father?” asked Peter, remembering old Jonah.

“Do not even look back, Peter. We haven’t time. Let’s go.”

“Where?” asked Jacob, halting.

“Why do you ask? No more questions, Jacob! Come!”

Old Jonah, all this time, was cooking, bent over the grate and waiting for his son Peter so that they could sit down together and eat. Only one son-the Lord preserve him-remained to him now. Peter was a sensible lad, a good manager; the other, Andrew, the old man had long ago written off the books. He followed first this charlatan, then that one, and left his aging father all by himself to mend the nets and wrestle with the winds and the confounded boat, besides cooking and taking care of the house-he had been fighting with these domestic devils ever since the death of his wife. But Peter-my blessing upon him, Jonah reflected-Peter stands by me and gives me strength… He sampled the food. Ready. He glanced at the sun. Almost noon. “I’m hungry,” he grumbled, “but I won’t eat until he comes.” Crossing his hands, he waited.

Zebedee’s house, farther along, was open. Baskets and jugs filled the yard; in the corner was the still. These were the days when the raki which had been distilled from the grape skins and stems left in the wine press was being drawn off, and the whole house smelled of alcohol. Old Zebedee and his wife were having their dinner at a small table under the despoiled vine arbor. Old Zebedee mashed the food as best he could with his toothless gums and talked about developing his business. For a long time now he’d had his eye on the cottage of old Nahum, his next-door neighbor, who was in debt to him and had not the wherewithal to pay. Next week, God willing, Zebedee planned to put the house up for auction. For years now he had longed to get it so that he could knock down the dividing wall and widen his yard. He had a wine press, but he wanted an olive press also, so that the whole village could come to him to extract its olive oil, and he could take out a percentage and fill his own jars for the year. But where was the wine press to fit? At all costs he must get Nahum’s house…

Old Salome heard his words, but her mind was on John, her beloved. Where could he be? What was this honey that dripped from the new prophet’s lips? She wanted so much to see him again, to hear him speak once more and bring God down into the hearts of men! My son did well, she reflected; he took the right road, and I give him my blessing. She recalled the dream she had had a few days earlier in which she pulled open the door and slammed it behind her, leaving this house with its wine presses and bursting larders in order to follow the new prophet. I ran behind him, barefooted and hungry, she thought, and for the first time in my life, I understood the meaning of happiness.

“Are you listening to me?” demanded old Zebedee, who saw his wife’s eyes momentarily droop. “Where is your mind?”

“I’m listening,” Salome replied, and she looked at him as though she had never seen him before.

At that moment the old man heard familiar voices in the street. He raised his eyes.

“”There they are!” he shouted. Seeing the man in white, flanked by his own two sons, he flew to the doorway, his mouth still full of food.

“Hey, lads,” he shouted, “where are you headed? Is this the way to pass my house? Stop!”

He was answered by Peter, while the others went on ahead: “We’ve got a job on our hands, Zebedee.”

“What job?”

“A very involved, complicated job,” said Peter, and he burst out laughing.

The old man’s eyes popped out of his head. “You too, Jacob, you too?” he cried, swallowing his mouthful unchewed. With his throat torn in two he went inside and looked at his wife.

“Say goodbye to your sons, Zebedee,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s taken them from us.”

“Jacob too?” said the old man, not knowing what to think. “But he had some sense in his head. It’s impossible!”

Salome did not speak. What could she say to him? How could he understand? No longer hungry, she got up, placed herself in the doorway and watched the happy company take the royal highway which followed the Jordan toward Jerusalem. She lifted her aged hand and spoke softly, so that her husband would not hear: “My blessing upon you all.”

At the exit of the village they encountered Philip, who had led his sheep to the edge of the lake to graze. He had climbed high up on a red rock and, using his staff as a support, was bending forward to admire his shadow, a black ripple on the blue-green waters of the lake below. When he heard the crunching of pebbles beneath him on the road, he stood up straight.

“Hello!” he shouted, recognizing the passers-by. “Hey, can’t you see me? Where are you headed?”

“For the kingdom of heaven!” shouted Andrew. “Are you coming?”

“Look here, Andrew, speak sensibly, will you? If you’re on your way to Magdala for the wedding, I’m with you. Nathanael invited me too, you know. He’s marrying off his nephew.”

“Won’t you go farther than Magdala?” Jacob yelled at him.

“I have sheep,” Philip answered. “Where can I leave them?”

“In God’s hands,” said Jesus without turning.

“The wolves will eat them!”

“Let them!” shouted John.

Good God, those fellows have gone completely mad, the shepherd concluded, and he whistled to gather together his flock.

The companions marched along. Judas, carrying his crooked staff, again took the lead. He was in the greatest hurry to arrive. The hearts of the others were joyous. They whistled like the blackbirds and laughed as they went. Peter approached Judas, the leader, the only one whose expression was somber. He did not whistle, did not laugh; he led the way, anxious to arrive.

“Judas, tell me once and for all where we’re going,” Peter said to him softly.

Half of the redbeard’s face laughed. “To the kingdom of heaven.”

“Stop joking, for God’s sake, and tell me where we’re going. I’m afraid to ask the teacher.”

“To Jerusalem.”

“Ouch! Three days’ march!” said Peter, pulling at his gray hairs. “If I’d only known, I would have brought my sandals, and a loaf of bread and a gourdful of wine, and my stick.”

This time the whole of the redbeard’s face laughed. “Ah, poor Peter,” he said, “the ball is rolling now and can’t be stopped. Say goodbye to your sandals and your bread and wine and stick. We’ve left-can’t you understand that, Peter-we’ve left the world; left the land and the sea, and gone into the air!” He leaned over to Peter’s ear: “There’s still time… Go!”

“How can I go back now?” said Peter, and he spread his arms and turned them in every direction as though he were hemmed in and suffocating. “All this seems tasteless to me now,” he said, pointing to the lake, the fishing boats and the houses of Capernaum.

“Agreed!” said the redbeard, shaking his large head. “Well, then, stop your grumbling, and let’s go!”