The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Eighteen

HOW QUICKLY he traversed the desert, reached the Dead Sea, went around it and once more entered plowed land and air thick with the respiration of men! He did not walk unaided-where could he have found the strength? Two invisible hands were holding him up by the armpits. The thin cloud which had appeared over the desert thickened, blackened, invaded the sky. There was a clap of thunder, followed by the first drops of rain. The land grew dark; roads vanished; and suddenly the cataracts of heaven were released. Jesus cupped his palms. They filled with water, and he drank. He halted, wondering which way to go. Lightning tore through the air. For an instant the face of the earth glittered a pale blue yellow, then suddenly plunged back again into darkness. Which was the way to Jerusalem, which to John the Baptist? And what about his companions, waiting for him in the reeds by the river? “God,” he whispered, “enlighten me, throw a thunderbolt, show me my road!” As he spoke, a flash incised the heavens directly in front of him. God had given him a sign, and he proceeded with assurance in the direction shown him.

It was pouring. The male waters of heaven spouted down and united with the rivers and lake, the female waters of earth. Land, sky and rain became one; they were pursuing him, directing him toward mankind. He slopped through the mud, became tangled in roots and branches, traversed pits. In the gleam of a lightning flash he saw a pomegranate tree heavy with fruit. He cut off a pomegranate: his hand was filled with rubies, his throat was refreshed. He took another, then another; he ate, and blessed the hand that had planted the tree. With new strength he set out again and marched and marched. Darkness. Was it day? Was it night? His feet became heavy with mud; he seemed to be lifting the entire earth at each step. Suddenly in the gleam of a lightning flash he saw before him a small village high up on a hill. The lightning ignited the white houses, then blew them out. His heart jumped for joy. Men were sitting in those houses-brothers. He desired to touch a human hand, to breathe in human exhalation, to eat bread, drink wine, talk. How many years he had longed for solitude, roamed through the fields and mountains, spoken with the birds and wild game, not wanting to see men! But now, what a joy it would be to touch a human hand!

He quickened his pace and started up the cobbled ascent. He found strength, for now he knew where he was going, where the road which God had shown him would lead. As he mounted, the clouds thinned out and a bit of sky appeared. The sun became visible just as it was setting. He heard the village cocks crowing, the dogs barking, the women on the roofs of their houses shouting to each other. Blue smoke rose from the chimneys. He could smell the burning wood.

“Blessed is the seed of man…” he murmured as he passed the first house of the village and heard human conversation within.

Stones, water and houses were shining-no, not shining, laughing. The parched earth had quenched its thirst. The deluge had frightened both animals and men; but then the clouds began to scatter, revealing deep-blue sky, and the sun which had disappeared returned once more and brought reassurance to the world. Jesus, drenched and happy, went through the narrow, gurgling lanes. A young girl appeared, pulling a large-uddered goat to pasture.

“What is the name of your village?” Jesus smilingly asked her.

“ Bethany.”

“And at which door may I knock to find a place to sleep? I’m a stranger here.”

“Wherever you find an open door, enter,” the girl replied with a laugh.

Wherever you find an open door, enter. This is a kindhearted, hospitable village, Jesus reflected, and he went forward to find the open door. The alleys had become small rivers, but the largest stones rose above the water. Jesus proceeded by hopping from stone to stone. The house doors were completely black from the rain, and closed. He turned at the first corner. A small arched door, painted indigo, stood wide open. A young woman, short and chubby, with a fat chin and thick lips, was standing in the doorway. Another young woman could be seen inside the palely lighted house. She was sitting at the loom, weaving and singing softly.

Jesus approached, stopped at the threshold and placed his hand over his heart in the sign of greeting. “I am a foreigner,” he said, “a Galilean. I am hungry and cold, and I have no place to sleep. I am an honest man. Allow me to spend the night in your home. I found the door open and entered. Excuse me.”

The young woman turned, her hand still full of chicken feed. She regarded him from head to foot tranquilly, then smiled. “We’re at your service,” she said. “Welcome. Come in.”

The weaver extricated herself from the loom and appeared in the yard. She was thin-boned and pale, with her black braids tied in a double bun on her head. Her eyes were large, fuzzy and sad. Around her frail neck she wore a necklace of turquoises as a charm against the evil eye. She looked at the visitor and blushed. “We’re alone,” she said. “Our brother Lazarus isn’t here. He went to the Jordan to be baptized.”

“And what difference does it make if we’re alone?” said the other. “He won’t eat us. Come inside, my good man. Don’t listen to her: she’s scared of her own shadow. We’ll call the villagers to keep you company, and the elders will come also to ask you who you are, where you’re going and what news you bring us. So, if you please, enter our poor house. What happened to you? Are you cold?”

“I’m cold, hungry and sleepy,” answered Jesus, striding across the threshold.

“All three will be remedied, have no fears,” she said. “Now I want you to know that I’m called Martha, and this is my sister Mary. And you?”

“Jesus of Nazareth.”

“A good man?” Martha laughed, teasing him.

“Yes, good,” he answered, his expression severe. “Good, to the best of my ability, Martha, my sister.”

He entered the cottage. Mary lighted the lamp and hooked it in place, illuminating the room and its immaculate whitewashed walls. There were two trunks of embossed cypress wood, several stools, and along the wall a long wooden platform with mattresses and pillows. The loom stood in one corner; in the other were two small earthenware jars for the olives and oil. The jug of cool water was on its shelf to the right of the entrance. Next to it a long linen towel hung on a peg. The house smelled of cypress wood and quince. At the back was a wide, unlighted fireplace with the cooking utensils suspended all around it.

“I’ll light a fire so that you can dry off. Sit down.” Martha found a stool and placed it for him in front of the hearth, then raced to the courtyard and brought in an armful of vine twigs, laurel branches and two logs of olive wood. She squatted, arranged the kindling into a little hut, and ignited it.

Crouching, his head between his two palms, his elbows on his knees, Jesus watched. What a holy ceremony it is, he reflected, to arrange wood and light a fire on a cold day: the flame comes like a merciful sister to warm you. And to enter an alien house, hungry and tired, and to see two other sisters, strangers, come and comfort you… His eyes filled with tears.

Martha got up, went to the larder and brought bread, honey and a brass pot of wine, which she placed at the stranger’s feet. “This is the appetizer,” she said. “Now I’ll put the pot on the fire so that you can taste something hot, and renew your strength. I imagine you’ve come a long way.”

“From the ends of the earth,” he answered. He bent eagerly toward the bread, olives and honey. What marvels they were, what joys! How generously God sent them to men! He ate and ate, blessing the Lord.

Mary, all the while, stood next to the lampstand and silently watched first the fire, then the unexpected guest, then her sister, who, swept away by the joy of having a man in her house and serving him, had sprouted wings.

Jesus raised the pot of wine and looked at the two women. “Martha and Mary, my sisters,” he said, “you must have heard of the flood in the time of Noah. All men were sinful, and everyone drowned except the few virtuous men who boarded the ark and were saved. Mary and Martha, I swear to you that if there is another flood, and if it is up to me to invite you to enter the new ark, I shall do so, my sisters, because this evening a poorly dressed, unknown, barefooted guest appeared at your door; you lighted a fire for him and he was warmed; you gave him bread and he was filled; you spoke a kind word to him and the kingdom of heaven came down and entered his heart. I drink to your health, my sisters. I’m delighted to meet you!”

Mary drew near and sat down at his feet. “I can’t hear enough of your voice, stranger,” she said, blushing terribly. “Speak more.”

Martha put the casserole on the fire, set the table and drew cool water from the well in the yard. Then she sent a young neighbor to announce to the three village elders that she would like them (if they would be so kind) to call at her house, because a visitor had come to her and her sister.

“Speak more,” Mary repeated, seeing Jesus quiet.

“What do you wish me to say, Mary?” Jesus asked. He lightly touched her black braids. “Silence is good. It says everything.”

“Silence does not satisfy a woman. Women, poor things, need a kind word.”

“Don’t listen to her. Not even a kind word satisfies a woman,” interrupted Martha, who was feeding the lamp with oil now so that it would last, for the elders were coming and would engage the visitor in profound discussions. “Not even a kind word satisfies poor womankind. A woman wants to hear her husband shake the house with his tread; she wants to suckle a baby in order to soothe her breast. She wants many things, Jesus of Galilee, many-but what do you men know about such matters!”

She tried to laugh but could not. She was thirty years old and unmarried.

They remained silent, listening to the fire devour the olive logs and lick the earthenware casserole which was bubbling away. The eyes of all three were lost in the flames.

Finally Mary spoke. “If you could only know how much goes through a woman’s mind while she sits and weaves! If you knew you would pity her, Jesus of Nazareth.”

“I do know,” said Jesus, smiling. “I too was once a woman, in another life, and I used to weave.”

“And what did you think about?”

“God. Nothing else, Mary, just God. And you?”

Mary did not answer, but her breast swelled. Martha heard their conversation and sighed, but restrained herself from speaking. Finally she could endure it no longer.

“Never fear,” she said, her voice suddenly harsh. “Mary and I, and all the unmarried women of the world, think of God. We hold him on our knees like a husband.”

Jesus bowed his head and did not speak. Martha removed the pot from the fire. The supper was ready. She went to the larder to bring the earthenware dishes so that she could serve the meal.

“I want to tell you something which struck my mind once while I was weaving,” said Mary, whispering so that her sister would not hear her from the larder. “I too was thinking of God on that day, and I spoke to him. ‘God,’ I said, ‘if you ever deign to enter our poor house, you will be its master, and we shall be the guests. And now…” She choked, and was silent.

“And now?” said Jesus, leaning forward to hear. Martha appeared with the plates.

“Nothing,” Mary whispered, getting up.

“Come and eat,” said Martha. “The elders will be here any minute. They mustn’t find us still eating.”

All three knelt. Jesus took the bread, lifted it high and pronounced the blessing so warmly and with such pathos that the two astonished sisters turned and stared at him. But when they saw him they were terrified, for his face shone and the air behind his head was afire and quivering.

Mary put forth her hand. “Lord,” she cried, “you are the master and we the guests. Command us!”

Jesus lowered his head so that they would not see how troubled he was. This was the first cry, the first time a soul had recognized him.

They rose from the low table just as the doorway darkened and a gigantic old man appeared on the threshold. His beard flowed like a river; he was large-boned, his arms firm, his breast as hairy as a ram’s. He held a crooked staff which was taller than he was and which he used, not to lean upon, but to beat others and keep the village in order.

“Welcome to our poor house, Father Melchizedek,” said both women, curtsying.

He entered, and a second old man appeared on the vacant threshold. This one was thin, with a long, horse-like head and no teeth. Flames darted out of his tiny eyes, and it was impossible to look at him for very long. The snake’s poison is supposed to be behind its eyes; behind this man’s eyes was fire, and behind the fire a twisted, perverse mind.

The women curtsied, welcomed him, and he too went inside. Behind him appeared the third old man, blind, stumpy, as fat as a pig. He held his staff before him: its eyes guided him and prevented him from stumbling. He was a good soul. He loved to joke, and when he judged the villagers, he did not have the heart to punish a single one of them. “I am not God,” he would say. “He who judges will be judged. Mend your arguments, my children, so that I don’t get into trouble in the next world!” Sometimes he paid the restitution out of his own pocket; sometimes he went to prison himself in order to save the offender. Some called him a fool, some a saint; and old Melchizedek could not bear the sight of him-but what could he do: he was dealing with a man descended from the priestly race of Aaron, and the most potent householder of the village.

“Martha,” said Melchizedek, whose staff reached the ceiling beams, “where is the stranger who has entered our village?”

Jesus rose from the corner by the chimney where he had remained, silently watching the fire.

“You?” said the old man, examining him from head to toe.

“Yes, me,” Jesus replied. “I come from Nazareth.”

“Galilean?” gummed the second old man, the venomous one. “Nothing good can come out of Nazareth. The Scriptures declare it.”

“Don’t scold him, Father Samuel,” interrupted the blind elder. “True, the Galileans are prattlers, idiots and provincial boors, but they’re honest. Our guest this evening is an honest man. I can tell from his voice.”

He turned toward Jesus. “Welcome, my child.”

“Are you a merchant?” asked old Melchizedek. “What do you sell?”

While the elders talked, the established men of the village-the reputable landowners-came in through the opened door. They had learned of the arrival of a stranger, had donned their finery and come to pass the time by welcoming him, seeing where he was from and what he had to say. They entered, and knelt on the ground behind the three elders.

“I don’t sell anything,” said Jesus. “I used to be a carpenter in my village, but I abandoned my work, left my mother’s house and dedicated myself to God.”

“You did well to escape from the world, my child,” said the blind man, “but take care, for now, poor fellow, you’ve got yourself mixed up with a bad devil, this God. How will you escape from him?” He burst into laughter.

Hearing this, old Melchizedek was ready to explode with malicious rage. But he remained silent.

“Monk?” the second elder hissed derisively. “You’re another one of those Levites, are you? A Zealot? False prophet?”

“No, no, Father,” Jesus replied, troubled, “no, no!”

“What then?”

The village ladies were now entering with all their jewelry in order to see the stranger and to be seen by him. Was he old, young, handsome? What did he sell? Or could he be a suitor for the hand of one of these beautiful but aging girls, Martha, or Mary? It was centuries since a man had embraced them: they would go insane, poor things… Let’s go and see!

They adorned themselves, came, and stood in a row behind the men.

“What, then?” the old viper asked once more.

Jesus suddenly felt a chill and held his hands in front of the fire. His clothes, still wet, steamed. For some time he was silent, thoughtful. This is a good moment to speak out, he was thinking, a good moment to reveal the word which the Lord confided to me and to awaken the God that sleeps within these men and women who destroy themselves in the pursuit of vain cares. They ask me what I sell. I shall answer: the kingdom of heaven, the salvation of the soul, life everlasting. Let them give the very clothes off their backs to buy this Great Pearl. He glanced rapidly around him, saw the faces in the lamplight and in the glow of the fire: rapacious, cunning, aged by petty, man-devouring cares, shriveled from fear. He pitied them and wanted to stand up and speak, but this night he was so very tired. It was many days since he had slept in the house of a human being or had rested his head on a pillow. Sleepy, he leaned against the smoky chimney wall and closed his eyes.

“He’s tired, my lords,” Mary interrupted, and she looked beseechingly at the old men. “Do not torment him.”

“Right!” growled Melchizedek. Leaning on his staff, he began to get up and leave. “You’re absolutely right, Mary. We’ve been talking to him as though we were his judges. We forget-” he turned to the second elder-“you forget, Father Samuel, that the angels frequently come down to earth dressed like paupers, with but one humble tunic and no staff, purse or shoes-just like this man. It is well, therefore, that we take heed and bear ourselves toward the stranger as we should toward an angel. That’s simply good sense.”

“That’s also simply asinine,” the blind elder snapped again, guffawing. “I say we should consider every man an angel, every man, yes, even old Samuel!”

Old Venom-Nose flew into a rage. He was ready to open his mouth, but on reflection changed his mind. The blind buzzard was rich; he might have need of him one day. Best play deaf-that too was simply good sense.

The sweet glow of the fire fell on Jesus’ hair, tired face and uncovered chest; threw sudden blue beams over his curly, raven-black beard.

“He’s delicious, even if poor,” said the ladies to one another, stealthily. “Did you notice his eyes? They’re the sweetest I’ve ever seen, sweeter even than my husband’s when he holds me in his arms.”

“I’ve never viewed any so wild,” interrupted another. “All fear and terror. You feel like leaving everything and taking to the hills.”

“And did you see Martha just eating him up with her eyes, dear? Poor thing, she’ll go crazy tonight.”

“But he eyed Mary on the sly,” another lady said. “The two sisters will have it out tonight, mark my words. I’m their neighbor; I’ll hear the yelling.”

“Let’s go,” commanded old Melchizedek. “It was a waste of time to take the trouble of coming. The visitor is sleepy. Get up, elders, let us go!” He began to push aside both men and women with his staff so that he could pass through.

But just as he reached the door hurried footsteps were heard in the yard and a pale man rushed inside and crumpled down in a heap in front of the fire, out of breath. The two terrified sisters fell upon him and hugged him.

“Brother,” they cried, “what has happened to you? Who is chasing you?”

Melchizedek stopped and touched the newcomer with his staff. “Lazarus, son of Manacheim,” he said, “if it’s bad news you bring, let the women leave and the men remain, so that we may hear it.”

“The king seized John the Baptist and cut off his head!” shouted Lazarus in a single breath.

He stood up, trembling. He was jaundiced, the color of soil, with flabby, gourd-like cheeks; and his faded green eyes glittered in front of the fire like those of a wild cat.

“Our evening hasn’t gone to waste after all,” the blind elder said contentedly. “In the time which elapsed from the morning, when we awoke, until now, when we are about to go to sleep, something at least has finally happened: the world has moved. Let us therefore sit ourselves down on the stools and listen. I like news, even if it’s bad.”

He leaned toward Lazarus. “Speak, if you please, my good fellow. Tell us when, how and why this misfortune took place. Put everything in its proper order and don’t rush-it will while away our time. Catch your breath… We’re listening.”

Jesus had risen with a start. He looked at Lazarus, his lips quivering. This was a new sign sent him by God. The Forerunner had left the world, was no longer needed. He had prepared the way and departed, his duty done. My hour has come… my hour has come, Jesus thought, shuddering; but he remained silent, his eyes riveted upon Lazarus’s pale-green lips.

“He murdered him, did he?” growled old Melchizedek, angrily banging his staff on the ground. “What a state we’ve come to, when incestuous lechers kill saints, and debauchees ascetics! It’s the end of the world!”

Overcome with fright, the women began to scream. The blind elder pitied them. “You exaggerate, Melchizedek,” he said. “The world stands firm on its feet. Ladies, don’t be afraid.”

“The throat of the world is cut,” whined Lazarus, tears streaming from his eyes. “The voice of the desert has been snuffed out. Who now will call to God for us sinners? The world is orphaned!”

“One must not lift his hand against authority,” hissed the second elder. “No matter what the powers-that-be do, close your eyes and don’t look-for God looks. The Baptist should have minded his own business. Serves him right!”

“Are we slaves?” thundered Melchizedek. “Can you tell me why God gave men hands? I’ll tell you why: so that they could lift them against tyrants!”

“Be quiet, Fathers, so that we may hear how this evil took place,” said the blind elder, irritated. “Speak, Lazarus!”

“I was on my way to get baptized with all the rest,” Lazarus began. “I hoped it might improve my health. As you know, I haven’t been very well recently. In fact, I’ve been getting worse and worse. I feel dizzy, my eyes puff up, and my kidneys-”

“All right, all right, we know all that,” scoffed the blind elder. “Come to the point!”

“I reached the Jordan and was by the bridge where the crowd assembles to be baptized. I heard cries and weeping and said to myself, ‘It’s nothing, probably just the people tearfully confessing their sins.’ I went forward a bit, and what do I see but men and women fallen on their faces in the river mud, lamenting. I asked, ‘What’s happened, brothers? What are you crying about?’

“ ‘The Prophet’s been murdered!’

“ ‘By whom?’

“ ‘The criminal, the transgressor-Herod!’

“ ‘How, when?’

“ ‘He was drunk and his shameless step-daughter Salome was dancing in front of him stark naked. Her beauty drove the old lecher out of his senses. He sat her on his knee and asked what she wanted him to give her. Half his kingdom? She said no. What did she want, then? She said John the Baptist’s head. You shall have it, he told her, and he had it brought her on a silver platter.’ ”

Exhausted by his speech, Lazarus collapsed once more to the ground. No one spoke. The lamp sputtered, flickered, was about to go out. Martha rose and refilled it with oil. It grew bright again.

“It’s the end of the world,” old Melchizedek repeated after a long pause. All this time he had been silently stroking his beard and weighing the world’s iniquity and shamelessness. News frequently came from Jerusalem that the idolaters were soiling the holy Temple. Every morning the priests slaughtered a bull and two lambs as a sacrifice not to the God of Israel but to the godless, execrable Roman emperor. The wealthy opened their doors in the morning, saw on their doorsteps men who had died of hunger during the night, lifted up their silken robes and stepped over the corpses to go and parade along the arcades around the Temple… Melchizedek weighed everything in his mind, and decided: it was truly the end of the world.

He turned to Jesus. “And you, what do you have to say about all this?”

Jesus replied in a voice which had suddenly become so exceedingly deep that they all turned and stared at him. “I come from the desert where I saw them. Yes, three angels have already departed from the heavens to fall upon this earth. I saw them with my own eyes, visible at the edge of the sky. They are coming. The first is Leprosy, the second Madness, and the third, the most merciful, Fire. And I heard a voice: ‘Son of the Carpenter, construct an ark, place therein as many virtuous men as you find, but quickly!’ The day of the Lord is here-my day. I am coming!”

The three elders shrieked. The rest of the men got up from the ground where they had been sitting with crossed legs. Their teeth were chattering. The women, stricken dumb, turned in one body toward the door. Mary and Martha went and stood next to Jesus, as though seeking his protection. Had he not sworn to take them into the ark? The time had come.

Old Melchizedek wiped away the sweat which was running from his white temples. “The stranger speaks the truth,” he shouted, “the truth! Listen, brothers, to this miracle: When I got up this morning, I unrolled the Holy Scriptures as I always do and I chanced upon the words of the prophet Joel: ‘Blow the trumpet of Zion; may the holy mountain resound. Let all who inhabit the earth tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming, a day of clouds and darkness. Before Him-fire; behind Him-flames. They shall rush like horses; they shall clatter like chariots of war over the stones. And at the tops of the mountains the flames will crackle, as when they pour over the reeds and devour them… Such is the day of the Lord!’ I read this terrible message two or three times and began, barefooted, to chant it in my yard. Then I fell on my face and cried, ‘Lord, if you plan to come soon, send me a sign. I must prepare myself. I must pity the poor, open my larders and pay for my sins. Send a thunderbolt, a voice or a man to warn me, so that I’ll be in time!’ ”

He turned to Jesus. “You are the sign. God sent you. Do I have time? When will the heavens open, my child?”

“Each second which passes, Father,” Jesus replied, “is a heaven ready to open. At every instant, Leprosy, Madness and Fire advance one more step. Their wings are already touching my hair.”

Lazarus had opened wide his faded green eyes and was staring at Jesus. He took an unsteady step forward.

“Are you by any chance Jesus of Nazareth?” he asked. “They say that as the executioner seized the cleaver to cut off the Baptist’s head, the prophet stretched out his hand toward the desert and cried, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, leave the desert, return to mankind. Come. Do not forsake the world.’ If you are Jesus of Nazareth, blessed is the ground on which you walk. My house is sanctified; I am baptized and cured. I fall and worship your feet!”

Having said this, he prostrated himself in order to kiss Jesus’ feet, which were covered with bruises.

But sly old Samuel quickly pulled himself together. His mind had tottered for a moment, but he rapidly re-steadied himself on his feet. We find in the prophets whatever our hearts desire, he reflected. On one page the Lord is in a frenzy against his people and lifts his fist to crush them; on the next, he is all milk and honey. We find the prophecy which matches our morning mood-so, let’s not lose any sleep over it… He shook his horse-like head and smirked in his beard, but said nothing. Let the people be afraid. It’s good for them. Without fear… The poor are more numerous and more muscular. We’re lost!

He kept silent therefore and gazed contemptuously at Lazarus, who was kissing the visitor’s feet and speaking to him.

“If the Galileans I met at the Jordan are your disciples, Rabbi, they gave me a message in case I should meet you: They’re going to leave, and will wait for you in Jerusalem, at the David gate, in the tavern of Simon the Cyrenian. They got frightened evidently at the slaying of the Prophet and have fled in order to hide. The persecution has begun.”

The women, meanwhile, pulled at their husbands, trying to get them to depart. They understood everything. This foreigner, they told themselves, has the viper’s eye. He looks at you and you go out of your mind. He speaks and the world comes tumbling down. Let’s get away!

The blind elder took pity on them. “Courage, my children,” he cried. “I hear monstrous things, but don’t be afraid. Everything will fall peacefully in place once more-you shall see. The world is steady; it has a good foundation and will stand as long as God stands. Don’t listen to those who can see; listen to me, a blind man, who therefore can see better than all of you. The race of Israel is immortal. It signed an agreement with God: God affixed his seal and presented us with the entire earth. So, don’t be afraid. It’s almost midnight-let’s go to bed!” He put forth his staff and made a line for the door.

The three elders left first. Next went the rest of the men; lastly, the women-emptying the house.

The two sisters laid the visitor’s bedding on the wooden platform. Mary went to her trunk and took out the silk and linen sheets meant for her wedding night. Martha brought the satin feather quilt which she had kept untouched so many years, awaiting the long-desired night when it would cover both her and her husband. She also brought fragrant herbs-basil and mint-and filled his pillow to overflowing.

“He’ll sleep tonight like a bridegroom,” said Martha with a sigh. Mary sighed also, but did not speak. Close your ears, God, she murmured to herself. The world is good despite my sighs. Yes, good; but I’m so afraid of loneliness, and I like this visitor so very much…

The sisters went into the small inner room and lay down on their hard mats. The two men were on the wooden platform, one at each end, their feet touching. Lazarus was happy. What an air of sanctity and beatitude hung over the entire house! He breathed tranquilly, deeply, pushed the soles of his feet lightly against the holy soles and felt a mysterious force, a divine certitude, rising and branching out through his whole body. His kidneys no longer pained him, his heart stopped palpitating; his blood flowed peacefully, contentedly from head to toe and irrigated the afflicted, jaundiced body.

This is the real baptism, he was thinking. This night I, the house, my sisters-all were baptized. The river Jordan came to our house.

But how could the two sisters close their eyes! It had been years since a strange man slept in their house. Visitors always lodged with one of the village notables, never descended to their humble, out-of-the-way cottage; and besides, their queer, sickly brother did not like company. But tonight, what an unexpected joy! With quivering nostrils they smelled the air. How it had changed; how perfumed it was-not with basil and mint but with the odor of a man!

“He says God sent him to build the ark, and he’s promised to put us in. Do you hear me, Mary, or are you asleep?”

“I’m not asleep,” Mary replied. She was holding her breasts in her palms, for they pained her.

“Dear God,” Martha continued, “let the end of the world come soon, so that we can enter the ark with him. I’ll serve him, that won’t bother me; and you, Mary, will be his companion. The ark will sail on and on forever, and I shall serve him perpetually, and you will sit perpetually at his feet and be his companion. That is how I imagine Paradise to be. You too, Mary?”

“Yes,” Mary replied, closing her eyes.

They talked and sighed. Jesus, meanwhile, was sitting up, though still in a deep sleep. He felt that he was not asleep at all but, rather, standing body and soul in the Jordan, refreshed. The desert sand was being removed from his body and the virtues and vices of mankind from his soul-leaving it again virgin. Suddenly it seemed to him in his sleep that he had come out of the Jordan, taken a green, untrodden path and entered a dense orchard full of blossoms and fruit. And it seemed he was no longer himself, Jesus the son of Mary of Nazareth, but rather Adam, the first man to be created. He had issued from God’s hands at precisely that moment-his flesh was still fresh clay-and had lain down on the flowering grass to dry off in the sun so that his bones might congeal, color come to his face, and the seventy-two joints of his body tighten and enable him to stand up and walk. While he lay and ripened under the sun, birds fluttered over his head, flew from tree to tree, promenaded on the springtime grass. They conversed among themselves, twittered, looked at this new creature who lay on the grass, examined him with curiosity. Each had his say and then continued on; and he, versed in their language, rejoiced to hear them.

The peacock, proudly fanning out its feathers, strolled up and down, threw oblique, seductive glances at this Adam stretched on the ground, and explained to him: “I used to be a hen, but I loved an angel and became a peacock. Is there any bird more beautiful than I am? None!” The turtledove flew from tree to tree, lifted its throat to heaven and cried, “Love! Love! Love!” And the thrush: “Among all the birds, only I sing and keep warm in the thickest of frosts.” The swallow: “If not for me, the trees would never blossom.” The cock: “If not for me, morning would never come.” The lark: “At dawn when I fly up into the sky to sing, I say goodbye to my children because I never know if I shall return from my song still alive.” The nightingale: “Don’t look at me as I am now, in my poor clothes. I too had large gleaming wings, but I turned them into song.” And a long-nosed blackbird came and clung to the shoulder of the first-created man, bent over to his ear and spoke to him softly, as though entrusting a great secret to him: “The doors of heaven and hell are adjacent, and identical: both green, both beautiful. Take care, Adam! Take care! Take care!”

Exactly then, at dawn, with the blackbird’s song in his mind, Jesus awoke.