The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Nineteen

GREAT THINGS happen when God mixes with man. Without man, God would have no mind on this Earth to reflect upon his creatures intelligibly and to examine, fearfully yet impudently, his wise omnipotence. He would have on this Earth no heart to pity the concerns of others and to struggle to beget virtues and cares which God either did not want, or forgot, or was afraid to fashion. He breathed upon man, however, giving him the power and audacity to continue creation.

But man, without God, born as he is unarmed, would have been obliterated by hunger, fear and cold; and if he survived these, he would have crawled like a slug midway between the lions and lice; and if with incessant struggle he managed to stand on his hind legs, he would never have been able to escape the tight, warm, tender embrace of his mother the monkey… Reflecting on this, Jesus felt more deeply than he had ever felt before that God and man could become one.

He had set out in the early morning along the road to Jerusalem. God was to his left and to his right. He could touch him with his elbows. They were traveling together, both with the identical concern. The world had gone astray. Instead of ascending to heaven it was descending to hell. The two of them together, God and the Son of God, would have to toil to bring it once more onto the correct road. That was why Jesus hurried so. He ate up the road with long strides, anxious to meet his companions so that the struggle could begin. The sun, rising from the Dead Sea, the birds struck by the new light and singing, the trembling leaves of the trees, the white road which rolled to the walls of Jerusalem and drew him with it-all were shouting at him, “Hurry! Hurry! We are perishing!”

“I know, I know,” Jesus answered. “I know, and I am coming!”

The same morning, just after dawn, the companions were sliding along, next to the walls of Jerusalem’s still-deserted lanes; not all together, but scattered in twos-Peter with Andrew, Jacob with John, and Judas by himself in the lead. Afraid, they ran, glancing out of the corners of their eyes in every direction to see if they were being followed. The fortress gate of David rose up before them. They took the first alley on the left and stole into the tavern of Simon the Cyrenian.

The fat, stoop-shouldered innkeeper was still half asleep, having just risen from his bed of straw. His eyes and nose were red and swollen, for he had sipped wine with his drunken patrons until all hours of the night, had sung, brawled, and gone to bed terribly late. Now, sluggish and in a bad humor, he was cleaning the counter, sponging away the remains of the celebration. Though on his feet, he was still not awake: it seemed to him that he had begun in a dream to clean the counter, sponge in hand. But as he labored between slumber and wakefulness, he heard panting men enter his tavern. He turned. His eyes still smarted, his mouth was bitter, his beard full of the shells of roasted pumpkin seeds.

“Damn it, who’s there?” he growled hoarsely. “Leave me alone, will you! You’ve come in bright and early to eat and drink, eh? Well, I’m not in the mood. Scram!”

But his shouting gradually woke him up, and little by little he began to recognize his old friend Peter and the other Galileans. He came forward, examined them closely, and burst out laughing. “Bah, what snouts do I see here! Stick your tongues back in your mouths, boys. Grab your belly buttons before they burst from fear. Aren’t you a proud lot, my brave Galileans!”

“For God’s sake, Simon, don’t stir up the whole world with your shouting,” Peter answered him, putting his hand over Simon’s mouth. “Close the door. The king killed John the Baptist. Haven’t you realized that yet? He cut off his head and put it on a platter.

“He did well by him. The Baptist chewed off his ears with this business about his sister-in-law. Who cares! He’s the king, let him do what he likes. And afterward-just between friends-he chewed off my ears too with his ‘Repent! Repent!’ Bah, I just want to be left alone!”

“But they say he’s going to kill all the baptized-put them to the sword. And we’re baptized. Don’t you understand?”

“Who told you to get baptized, blockheads! Serves you right!”

“But you were baptized too, wine jug!” Peter scolded him. “You told us yourself. So, why scream at us?”

“That wasn’t the same thing, you make-believe fishmonger. I’m not baptized. You call that baptism? I dove in the water, went for a swim. Everything the fake prophet chanted went in one ear and out the other, as it does with anyone who has any sense. But you, you morons… These quacks tell you they can milk a billy goat into a sieve, and you’re the very first to believe them. They command you to dive into the water and-pluff! in you go and catch your death of pneumonia. They say not to kill your fleas on the Sabbath-it’s a very great sin. So you don’t kill them, and they kill you. Don’t pay the head tax! You don’t pay, and snap! off goes your head. Serves you right! Sit down now and we’ll have a drink. You need steadying down and I waking up!”

Two fat barrels loomed black in the recesses of the tavern. On one was painted a cock in red oils; on the other, in gray-black, a pig. He filled a pitcher of wine from the barrel with the cock, found six glasses and plunged them into a tub of filthy water in order to clean them. The smell of the wine hit him, and he awoke.

A blind man appeared at the tavern door. Putting his staff between his legs, he began to tune an ancient lute while coughing dryly and spitting to clear his throat. This was Eliakim, who had been a camel-driver in his youth. One day at noon, however, while he was traversing the desert, he saw a naked woman washing herself in a pit of water under a date tree. Instead of turning his face away, the saucy fellow pinned his eyes on the beautiful Bedouin. It was just his luck that her husband was squatting behind a rock and had lighted a fire for cooking. Seeing the camel-driver approach his wife and devour her nudity with his gaze, he rushed out with two live coals and extinguished them in the offender’s eyes. From that day on, the unfortunate Eliakim threw himself into psalm and song. He went the rounds of Jerusalem ’s taverns and homes with his lute, sometimes hymning the kindness of God, sometimes singing the nudity of women. He would receive a piece of dry bread, a handful of dates, a couple of olives, and then continue on his way.

He tuned his lute, cleared his throat, raised his voice, and with melismatic elaboration began to sing his favorite psalm:

At that moment the innkeeper appeared with the pitcher of wine and the wineglasses. He heard the psalmody and went wild. “Enough! Enough!” he exploded. “You’re another one who chews off my ears. Always the same tune: ‘Have mercy on me… have mercy on me…’ Go to hell! Bah, was I the one who sinned? Was I the one who lifted his eyes to see someone else’s wife at her bath? God gave us eyes so that we should keep them closed-don’t you understand that yet? Well, serves you right. Go on, get out of here. Go bother someone else!”

The blind man once more took up his staff, squeezed the lute under his arm, and departed without breathing a word.

“ ‘Have mercy on me, O God… have mercy on me, O God…’ ” trilled the irritated innkeeper. “David made eyes at other people’s wives; this eyeless idiot did the same-and we’re the ones who have to suffer for it… O God, I just want to be left alone!”

He finally filled the glasses. They drank. He refilled his own and downed it.

“I’m off now to put a lamb’s head into the oven for you. Grade A! A mother would steal it from the mouth of her babe!” He flew into the yard, where there was a small oven which he had built all by himself, brought twigs and vine branches, lighted the oven, thrust in the pan with the lamb’s head, then returned to his company. He was anxious for wine and talk.

But the companions were not in the mood. Crowded together by the fire, they would mumble a few words halfheartedly, then once more become mute. It was as though they were walking over burning coals. They stared at the door, anxious to leave. Judas got up and went and stood on the threshold. He detested the sight of these cowards who were all upside down with fear. Look how they had run, how fast they had reached Jerusalem from the Jordan; look how they’d gone, their hearts in their mouths, and burrowed into this out-of-the-way tavern! And now, their ears sticking up like rabbits’, they trembled and stood on tiptoe, ready to flee… To hell with you, brave Galileans, he said to himself. Thank you, God of Israel, for not fashioning me in their image. I was born in the desert; I’m made of Bedouin granite, not of soft Galilean soil. Every one of you fawned on him and was lavish with oaths and kisses; while now-“Don’t fail me, legs!”-all you want is to save your own hides. But I-the savage, the devil, the cutthroat-I shall not abandon him. I shall wait here until he returns from the Jordan desert, in order to see what he has to say; and then I shall make my decision. I don’t care about my own hide. Only one thing torments me, and that’s the suffering of Israel.

He heard a low-voiced argument within the tavern. He turned.

“I say we should go back to Galilee where there’s security,” said Peter. “Don’t forget our lake, boys!” He sighed. He saw his green boat flowing over the blue surge, and his heart swelled. He saw the pebbles, the oleanders, the nets loaded with fish. Tears came to his eyes. “Let’s go, lads,” he said, “come on, let’s go!”

“We gave him our word we’d wait for him in this tavern,” said Jacob. “It’s only right we keep our promise.”

“We can arrange matters,” suggested Peter, “by instructing the Cyrenian to tell him, if he comes, that-”

“No, no!” Andrew objected. “How can we forsake him in this wild city? We’ll wait for him here.”

“I say we should return to Galilee,” Peter repeated obstinately.

John grasped the others’ hands and shoulders. “Brothers,” he besought them, “think of the Baptist’s final words. He raised his arms under the executioner’s sword and shouted, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, leave the desert. I am departing. Return to mankind. Come, do not forsake the world!’ Those words have a deep significance, friends. God forgive me if I utter a blasphemy, but…”

His heart stopped. Andrew clasped his hand.

“Speak, John. What terrible presentiment is it that you don’t dare reveal?”

“But if our master is the…” he stammered.

“Is what?”

John’s voice was soft, gasping, full of terror: “… the Messiah!”

They all shook. The Messiah! They had been with him for such a long time, and the idea had never entered their heads! At first they had taken him for a good man, a saint who was bringing love to the world; then for a prophet, not a wild one like the prophets of old, but gay and domesticated. He was lowering the kingdom of heaven to earth: in other words, he was bringing justice and a comfortable, contented way of life. He called the ancestral God of Israel “Father,” and no sooner did he do so than hard-necked, obstinate Jehovah sweetened and everyone became his child… But now, what was this word which had escaped John’s lips-Messiah! In other words: the sword of David, Israel ’s omnipotence, war! And they, the disciples, his first followers: they were great lords, tetrarchs and patriarchs around his throne! As God had angels and archangels surrounding him in heaven, so they, the disciples, were the ethnarchs and patriarchs upon the earth! Their eyes gleamed.

“I take back what I said, lads,” exclaimed Peter, blushing terribly. “I shall never leave him!”

“Nor I!”

“Nor I!”

“Nor I!”

Judas spat angrily and banged his fist on the door. “You damned stalwarts!” he screamed at them. “As long as you believed him sickly and weak, you couldn’t get away fast enough. But now that you smell grandeur: ‘I shall never leave him!’ One day every single one of you will forsake him-mark my words-while I alone shall not betray him. Simon of Cyrene, be my witness!”

The innkeeper had been listening to them and sniggering behind his drooping mustache. He caught Judas’s eye. “Bah, just look at them! And they want to save the world!”

But his nostrils caught a smell from the oven. “The head is burning!” he shouted, and with one bound he was in the yard.

The bewildered companions looked at each other.

“So, that’s why the Baptist froze when he saw him,” said Peter, tapping his forehead.

Once they got started, their minds swelled and swelled.

“And did you all see the dove over his head while he was being baptized?”

“It wasn’t a dove, it was a flash of lightning.”

“No, no-a dove. It was cooing.”

“It wasn’t cooing; it was talking. I heard it with my own ears say: ‘Saint! Saint! Saint!’ ”

“It was the Holy Spirit!” said Peter, his eyes filling with wings of gold. “The Holy Spirit came down from heaven and we all turned to stone, don’t you remember! I wanted to take a stop and go closer, but my foot was numb-how could I move! I wanted to scream, but my lips would not part. The winds stood still; reeds, river, men, birds-every single thing turned to marble from fear. The Baptist’s hand was the only moving thing: slowly, slowly, it baptized.”

“I didn’t see anything and I didn’t hear anything,” said Judas, incensed. “Your eyes and ears were drunk.”

“You didn’t see, redbeard, because you didn’t want to see,” Peter rebuked him.

“And your lordship, straw-beard, saw because you wanted to see. You had an appetite to see the Holy Spirit, so it was the Holy Spirit you saw. And what’s more, now you make these numbskulls see it too. You’ll have to answer for the consequences.”

Jacob, so far, had been chewing his fingernails and listening, without speaking. Now, however, he could contain himself no longer. “Wait a minute, lads,” he said, “don’t explode like gunpowder. Come, let’s discuss this thing sensibly. Do you really think the Baptist said those words before they cut off his head? It seems very unlikely to me. First of all, which one of us was there to hear him? And then there’s this also: even if he said the words to himself, he would never have voiced them-because he’d have known the king would hear about it, would send spies to find out who this man was, this Jesus in the desert, would catch him and cut off his head as well. As my father says, two and two make four. So, let’s not allow our heads to get too swelled.”

But Peter became angry. “Two and two make fourteen, that’s my opinion, and damn it! let logic and our brains say what they will. Give us something to drink, Andrew. We’ll drown our minds in order to clear our sight!”

A tall, ungainly man with shrunken cheeks, barefooted, wearing a white sheet wrapped about him and a string of amulets around his neck, rushed into the tavern and put his palm to his breast in the sign of greeting.

“Farewell, brothers. I’m leaving, going to God. Do you have any commissions to place with me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he departed at a run and entered the next house.

At this moment the innkeeper appeared with the platter, and a delicious aroma invaded the room. His eye fell on the gangling lunatic.

“Have a good trip,” he called to him. “Send our kindest regards!… There’s another one for you!” He laughed. “Bah, it’s true the end of the world has already come: the place is full of maniacs. This one says he saw God two nights ago when he went out to take a piss. From that moment on, how could he deign to live! He even refuses to eat. ‘I’ve been invited to heaven,’ he says. ‘I’ll eat there.’ Well, he’s dressed himself in his shroud and is going a quick round of all the doors. He accepts commissions, says goodbye, and leaves. You see what happens when you get too close to God! Take care, lads-I say it for your own good-don’t go too near him. I worship his grace, but from a distance. Keep clear!”

He placed the platter with the lamb’s head in the middle of the table. His lips, eyes and ears were laughing.

“Fresh head!” he called. “John the Baptist! Eat hearty!”

John felt nauseous and drew back. Andrew, who had put out his hand, held it in the air. The head, posed on the tray, looked at them one by one, dimly, with its wide-open motionless eyes.

“Simon, you scoundrel,” exclaimed Peter, “you’ll disgust us and we won’t be able to touch it! How can I pick out the eyes now? I’d love them as an appetizer, but it’ll be just like eating the eyes of the Baptist.”

The innkeeper burst into laughter. “Don’t worry, dear Peter,” he said, “I’ll eat them myself-but not before the dainty tongue, bless it! which shouted: ‘Repent! Repent! The end of the world has come!’ Unfortunately, his own end came first, poor thing.”

He took out a knife, sliced away the tongue and downed it in one gulp. Then he bolted a full glass of wine, and sat admiring his two barrels.

“All right, forget it, lads. I feel sorry for you. I’ll change the subject so that the Baptist’s head will go out of your minds and you’ll be able to eat the lamb’s… Well, then, can you imagine who painted that gem of a cock and a pig that you admire there on the barrels? Your gracious host, with his own hands, if you please. And can you guess why a cock and a pig? How could you, you idiotic Galileans! I must therefore disentangle the mystery for you and enlighten your infinitesimal brains!”

Peter looked at the head and licked his chops, but still did not dare put out his hand to remove the eyes and eat them. The Baptist was continually in his mind. The prophet’s eyes had gaped in the same way when they regarded mankind.

“So, listen,” continued the innkeeper, “and enlighten, as I say, your infinitesimal brains… When God finished the world (why did the blessed fellow go to all that trouble anyway?) and washed the mud off his hands, he called all the newborn creatures and proudly asked them, ‘Say, birds and beasts, how do you like the world I built? Do you find anything wrong with it?’ They all straightway began to bleat, bray, moo, meow, and twitter: ‘Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!’

“ ‘Bless you,’ said God. ‘By my faith, I don’t find a single defect either. My hands deserve congratulations.’ But he glimpsed the cock and the pig, who, heads bowed, were not breathing a word. ‘Halloo, pig!’ shouted God, ‘and you, Your Excellency the cock, why don’t you speak? Maybe the world I created doesn’t please you? Perhaps something is missing?’ But they still did not say a word. The devil, you can be sure, had hissed instructions into their ears: ‘Tell him that something is indeed missing-a low-growing plant which makes grapes that you crush, put in barrels and turn into wine.’

“ ‘Look here, beasts, why don’t you speak?’ God shouted again, raising his gigantic hand. And then at last the two of them (the devil gave them courage) lifted their heads. ‘Master craftsman, what can we say to you? Congratulations to your hands; your world is fine-touch wood! But it lacks one low-growing plant which makes grapes which you crush, put in barrels and turn into wine.’

“ ‘Ah, so that’s it! Now I’ll show you, you scoundrels,’ said God in a fit of temper. ‘It’s wine you want from me, is it, and drunkenness and brawls and vomiting? Let the vine be born!’ He rolled up his sleeves, took some mud, fashioned a vine plant, planted it. ‘Whoever overdrinks,’ he said, ‘hear my curse: may he have the mind of a cock and the snout of a pig!’ ”

The companions burst out laughing, forgot the Baptist and buried their faces in the roast head. Judas was first and foremost. He split the skull in two and filled his hands with lamb brains. When the innkeeper saw the pillage he became frightened. They won’t even leave me a bone, he thought.

“Say, lads,” he shouted, “it’s fine for you to eat and drink, but don’t forget the late John the Baptist. Ah, his poor head!’ ”

They all froze with their portions in their hands; and Peter, who had chewed the eye and was getting ready to swallow it, choked. It would be disgusting to swallow it, but such a pity to, spit it out. What should he do? Of them all, only Judas was not bothered. The innkeeper filled the glasses.

“May his name be long enshrined in our memories. Alas! his poor decapitated head… But here’s to yours, lads!”

“And to yours, you old fox,” said Peter, gulping down the eye.

“Don’t worry,” answered the innkeeper, “I’m not a bit afraid. I keep my nose out of God’s business and I don’t give a damn about saving the world! I’m an innkeeper, not an angel or archangel like your worships. At least I’ve saved myself from that fate.” With this, he grabbed what was left of the head.

Peter opened his mouth, but suddenly his breath was taken away: a huge man, wild and pock-marked, had appeared on the threshold and was looking inside. The companions drew back into a corner. Peter hid behind Jacob’s broad shoulders.

“Barabbas!” growled Judas, scowling. “Come in.”

Barabbas bent his thick neck and perceived the disciples in the half light. His ugly face laughed sarcastically. “I’m delighted to find you, my lambs. I’ve gone halfway to China to dig you out.”

The innkeeper got up, grumbling, and brought him a cup.

“You’re just the one we needed, Captain Barabbas,” he murmured. He bore a grudge against him because every time he came to the tavern he became drunk, began brawls with the Roman soldiers who passed by, and it was the innkeeper who got into trouble. “Don’t start your old tricks again, pig-cock!”

“Listen, as long as the impure tread the land of Israel, I keep my fists up, so get any other idea out of your head. Bring food, lousy horse-hide!”

The innkeeper pushed forward the platter of bones. “Eat. You’ve got teeth like a dog’s: they break bones.”

Barabbas emptied his cup in one gulp, twisted his mustache and turned to the companions. “And where is the good shepherd, my lambs? I have an old account to settle with him.” His eyes were spitting fire.

“You’re drunk before you even start drinking,” Judas said to him severely. “Your valiant exploits have already caused us enough bother.”

“What do you have against him?” John dared to ask. “He’s a holy man. When he walks he looks at the ground so that he won’t step on the ants.”

“So that an ant won’t step on him, you mean. He’s afraid. Is he a man?”

“He rescued Magdalene from your claws, and now you cry over spilled milk,” Jacob had the courage to say.

“He crossed me,” Barabbas growled, his eyes growing cloudy, “he crossed me, and he’s going to pay for it!”

But Judas grabbed him by the arm and took him to one side. He spoke to him softly, hurriedly, with anger. “What business do you have here? Why did you leave the mountains of Galilee? The brotherhood chose them for your hide-out. Others are assigned here in Jerusalem.”

“Are we fighting for freedom or aren’t we?” Barabbas objected in a rage. “If we are, I’m free to do whatever enters my head. I came to see for myself about this Baptist with his signs and great wonders. Maybe he’s the One we’ve been waiting for, I said to myself. If so, let him come without more delay, take the lead, and begin the slaughter. But I arrived too late. They’d already cut off his head… Judas, you’re my leader-what have you got to say?”

“I say you should get up and leave. Don’t mix in other people’s business.”

“I should leave? Are you serious? I came because of the Baptist and I hit upon the son of the Carpenter. I’ve been hunting him for ages, and now that God has set him right in front of my nose, you say I should give him up?”

“Leave!” Judas commanded him. “That’s my business. Don’t stick your hand in it.”

“What’s your purpose? The brotherhood, for your information, wants him killed. He’s an emissary of the Romans: they pay him to shout about the kingdom of heaven so that the people will be hoaxed into forgetting the earth and our slavery. But you, now… What’s your purpose?”

“Nothing. I have my own account to settle. Beat it!”

Barabbas turned and threw a last glance at the companions, who were listening with cocked ears. “See you soon, my lambs,” he shouted at them maliciously. “No one gets away this easily from Barabbas. You’ll see, we’ll talk the matter over again.” He disappeared in the direction of the David gate.

The innkeeper winked at Peter. “He’s given him his orders,” he said to him softly. “Call that a brotherhood! They kill one Roman and the Romans kill ten Israelites. Not ten, fifteen! Watch out, lads!”

He leaned over to Peter and hissed in his ear: “Listen to me: don’t trust Judas Iscariot. These redbeards…”

But he stopped. The redbeard had just reseated himself on his stool.

John was troubled. He got up, stood in the doorway and looked up and down. The teacher was nowhere in sight. The day had begun; the streets were filled with people. Beyond the David gate all was forsaken: pebbles, ashes, not a single green leaf-nothing but standing white stones: tombstones. The air stank from the carcasses of dogs and camels. So much wildness frightened John. Everything here was stone: stone the faces of men, stone their hearts, stone the God they worshiped. Where was the Merciful Father that the teacher had brought them! Oh, when would the beloved master appear so that they could return to Galilee!

Peter rose. His endurance had given out. “Brothers, let’s go! He won’t come.”

“I hear him approaching,” whispered John timidly.

“Where do you hear him, clairvoyant?” said Jacob, who did not care for his brother’s dream phantasies. Like Peter, he was impatient to find the lake and his boats once more. “Where do you hear him, can you tell me?”

“In my heart,” the younger brother answered. “It is always the first to hear, the first to see.”

Jacob and Peter shrugged their shoulders, but the innkeeper snapped, “Don’t scoff. The boy is right. I’ve heard say that- Wait, the thing they call Noah’s ark, what do you think it is? Man’s heart, of course! Inside sits God with all his creatures. Everything drowns and goes to the bottom while it alone sails over the waters with its cargo. This heart of man knows everything-yes! don’t laugh-everything!”

Trumpets blared, a din arose, the people in the streets made way. The companions became suspicious and flew to the door. Beautiful, nimble adolescents were conveying a litter decorated in gold; and lying inside stroking his beard was a blubbery notable, with clothes of silk, golden rings and a face greasy with easy living.

“Caiaphas, the high goat-priest!” said the innkeeper. “Hold your noses, lads. The first part of the fish to stink is the head.” He squeezed his nostrils and spat. “He’s on his way again to his garden to eat, drink and play with his women and pretty boys. Confound it, if I were only God… The world hangs from a single thread. I would cut that thread-yes, by my wine!-I would cut it and let the world go to the devil!”

“Let’s leave,” Peter said again. “It’s not safe here. My heart has eyes and ears too. ‘Leave,’ it shouts to me. ‘Leave, all of you, you miserable creatures!’ ”

He said that he heard his heart and as he said so he actually did hear it. Terrified, he jumped up and grasped a staff which he found in a corner, Seeing him, the others all jumped up too. His terror was contagious.

“Simon, you know him. If he comes, tell him we’ve gone off to Galilee,” Peter instructed.

“And who’s going to pay,” said the innkeeper anxiously. “The head, the wine…”

“Do you believe in the next life, Simon of Cyrene?” asked Peter.

“Of course I do.”

“Well, I give you my word I’ll pay you there. If you want, I’ll put it in writing.”

The innkeeper scratched his head.

“What? Don’t you believe in the afterlife?” said Peter severely.

“I believe, Peter. Damn it, I believe-but not quite that much…”