The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Twenty-Five

THE FOUNDATIONS of the world were shaken because man’s heart was shaken, crushed under the stones which men called Jerusalem, under the prophecies, the Second Comings, the anathemas, under the Pharisees and Sadducees, the rich who ate, the poor who were hungry, and under the Lord Jehovah, from whose beard and mustaches the blood of mankind had been running for centuries upon centuries into the abyss. No matter where you touched this God, he bellowed. If you said a kind word to him he lifted his fist and shouted, “I want meat.” If you offered a lamb or your firstborn son as a sacrifice, he screamed, “I don’t want meat. Do not rend your clothes; rend your hearts. Turn your flesh into spirit, your spirit into prayer, and scatter it to the winds!”

Man’s heart was crushed under the six hundred thirteen written commandments of the Hebrew Law, plus the thousands of unwritten ones-yet it did not stir; under Genesis, Leviticus, Numbers, judges and Kings-yet it did not stir. And then suddenly at the most unexpected moment a light breeze blew, not from heaven, but from below, on earth, and all the chambers of man’s heart were shaken. Straightway Judges, Kings, the prophecies, anathemas, Pharisees, Sadducees and the stones which men call Jerusalem cracked, tottered and began to tumble down-at first within the heart, then in the mind and finally upon the earth itself. Haughty Jehovah once again tied on his leather master craftsman’s apron, once again took up his level and rule, went down to earth and personally began to help demolish the past and build the future along with men. But before anything else, he began the Temple of the Jews at Jerusalem.

Jesus went every day and stood on the blood-sprinkled paving stones. He looked at this overloaded Temple and felt his heart hammer against it to pull it down. It continued to stand, however, gleaming in the sun like a golden-horned garlanded bull. The walls were veneered right up to the roof in white marble streaked with sea blue: the Temple seemed to float upon a turbulent ocean. In front of him hung three tiers of chambers, one on top of the next. The lowest and widest was for the idolators, the middle one was for the people of Israel, and the highest for the twenty thousand Levites who washed and sandpapered, lighted and extinguished the lamps and cleaned the Temple. Day and night seven kinds of incense were burned. The smoke was so thick that the goats sneezed seven miles away.

The humble ark which enclosed the Law, the ancestral ark their nomadic forefathers had transported across the desert, had moored itself to this summit of Zion, put out roots, sprouted up, dressed itself in cypress wood, gold and marble and become a Temple. At first the savage desert God did not deign to inhabit a house, but so much did he like the smell of the cypress wood and incense and the savor from the slaughtered beasts that one day he lifted his foot and entered.

It was now two months since Jesus’ arrival from Capernaum. Each day he went and stood in front of the Temple and looked at it; each day he seemed to see it for the first time. It was as though each morning he expected to find it crumbled to the ground and to be able to trample over it from end to end. He had no desire to see it any longer, nor did he fear it. In his heart it had already been destroyed. One day when the old rabbi asked him why he did not go in to worship, he shook his head and answered, “For years I circled the Temple; now the Temple is circling me.”

“Jesus, those are boastful words,” the rabbi objected, thrusting his aged head against his breast. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“When I say ‘I,’ ” Jesus answered, “I do not speak of this body-which is dust; I do not speak of the son of Mary-he too is dust, with just a tiny, tiny spark of fire. ‘I’ from my mouth, Rabbi, means God.”

“That is a still more terrible blasphemy!” cried the rabbi, covering his face.

“I am Saint Blasphemer, and don’t forget it,” Jesus replied with a laugh.

One day when he saw his disciples standing before the imposing building in open-mouthed admiration, he became angry. “You find the Temple astonishing, don’t you?” he said to them sarcastically. “How many years were needed to build it? Twenty years? Ten thousand workmen? In three days I shall destroy it. Regard it well-for the last time. Say goodbye to it, for there shall not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down!”

The frightened disciples stepped back. Could something have gone wrong with the teacher’s mind? He had become so abrupt and strange lately, so obstinate. Odd, vacillating winds were blowing over him. Sometimes his face gleamed like the rising sun and everything around him was made to dawn; at other times his look was dark, his eyes despairing.

“Don’t you feel sorry for it, Rabbi?” John ventured.

“For what?”

“The Temple. Why do you want to demolish it?”

“So that I can build a new one. I shall build a new one in three days. But first of all, this one must vacate the land.”

He took the shepherd’s staff which Philip had presented him and banged it down on the paving. The wind of anger was now blowing over him. He looked at the Pharisees who were stumbling along and lacerating themselves against the walls, apparently blinded by the excessive splendor of God. “Hypocrites,” he shouted at them, “if God took a knife and tore open your hearts, out would bound snakes, scorpions and filth!” The Pharisees heard, became frantic, and secretly decided to block this fearless mouth with dirt.

The old rabbi put his palm over Jesus’ lips to silence him. “Are you courting death?” he asked him one day, his eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t you realize that the Scribes and Pharisees run continually to Pilate and demand your head?”

“I know, Father,” Jesus replied, “but I know still more, still more…”

Bidding Thomas sound the horn, he mounted his usual platform on Solomon’s Porch and once more began to proclaim, “It has come, the day of the Lord has come!” Every day from morning till sunset he shouted in order to oblige the heavens to open up and hurl down their flames-because, as he well knew, man’s voice is an all-powerful charm. You cried “Come!” to the fire or the dew, to the Inferno or to Paradise, and it came. Similarly, he was calling Fire. It would purify the earth, would open the way for the appearance of Love. Love’s feet are always pleased to step on ashes…

“Rabbi,” Andrew asked him one day, “why don’t you laugh any more, why aren’t you joyful, as you were before? Why have you grown continually more ferocious?”

But Jesus did not answer. What could he say, and how could Andrew’s naïve heart understand? This world, he reflected, must be destroyed right down to its roots if the new world is to be planted. The old Law must be torn down, and it is I who shall tear it down. A new Law must be engraved on the tables of the heart, and it is I who shall engrave it. I shall widen the Law to make it contain friends and enemies, Jews and idolators: the Ten Commandments will burst into bloom! That is why I have come here to Jerusalem. It is here that the heavens will open. What will descend from heaven-the great miracle, or death? Whichever God desires. I am ready to ascend to heaven or to be hurled down into hell. Lord, decide!

The Passover was approaching. An unexpected vernal sweetness had flowed over the hard face of Judea. The routes of land and sea had opened up, and worshipers arrived from the four corners of the Jewish world. The bellowing tiers of the Temple stank from human beings, slaughtered animals and dung.

Today a great number of the ragged and the lame had assembled outside Solomon’s Porch. With pale, hungry faces and burning eyes they looked maliciously at the well-fed Sadducees and at the rich, merry burghers and their wives, who were weighted down with bracelets of gold.

“How long do you think you’re going to laugh?” someone growled. “We’ll soon cut your throats. The teacher said so: the poor will kill the rich and divide up their goods.”

“You didn’t hear very well, Manasses,” snapped a pale man with sheep-like eyes and hair. “Poor and rich won’t exist any more; they will all be one. That’s what the kingdom of heaven means.”

“Kingdom of heaven,” an ungainly beanstalk of a man interrupted, “means that the Romans get out. A kingdom of heaven with Romans isn’t possible.”

“You understood nothing of what the teacher said, Aaron,” replied a venerable man with rabbit-like lips. He shook his bald head. “Israelites and Romans, Greeks and Chaldeans don’t exist-nor do Bedouins. We’re all brothers!”

“We’re all ashes!” shouted someone else. “That’s what I understood; I heard it with my own ears. The teacher said, ‘The heavens will open. The first flood was of water; this one will be of fire. All-rich and poor, Israelites and Romans-ashes!’ ”

“ ‘The olive tree will be shaken, but two or three olives will remain at the top, three or four on the highest branches.’ The prophet Isaiah said that… Courage, men. We’ll be the remaining olives. All we have to do is keep the teacher close by, so that he doesn’t get away from us!” These words were pronounced by a man with skin the color of a charred pot, and round, popping eyes which stared at the white, dust-filled road to Bethany. “He’s late today,” he grumbled, “he’s late… Take care, lads! Don’t let him get away from us!”

“Where can he go?” asked old rabbit-lip. “God told him to do battle in Jerusalem, and it’s here he’ll do battle!”

The sun was in the middle of the sky. The paving steamed; the stench increased with the torrid heat. Jacob the Pharisee appeared, his arms loaded with amulets. He was publishing the special grace of each: these cured smallpox, colic and erysipelas; these expelled demons; the most powerful and expensive killed your enemies… He noticed the ragamuffins and cripples, recognized them. His envenomed mouth cackled maliciously: “Go to the devil!” and he spat three times into the air to be rid of them.

While the ragamuffins bickered, each one twisting the teacher’s words in accordance with the longing of his own heart, a huge and venerable man with a long stick bolted in front of them, sweating, covered with dust, his wide, still-unwrinkled face glistening.

“Melchizedek!” cried old rabbit-lip. “What’s the good news from Bethany? Your face is all lighted up!”

“Rejoice and exult, men!” shouted the old notable. Weeping continually, he began to embrace them all. “A corpse has been resurrected; I saw it with my own eyes. He got up out of the tomb and walked! They gave him water and he drank; they gave him bread and he ate and spoke!”

“Who? Who was resurrected, who was resurrected?” they all demanded, falling upon the old chieftain. People in the neighboring arcades heard. Men and women ran. Several Levites and Pharisees also came near. Barabbas was going by, his ear caught the uproar, and he too joined the crowd.

Melchizedek was delighted to see such a great multitude hanging on his lips. He leaned on his staff and proudly began to speak. “Lazarus, the son of Eliakim. Does anyone know him? He died a few days ago and we buried him. One day went by, two, three-we forgot him. Suddenly, on the fourth day, we hear shouting in the street. I race outside and see Jesus, the son of Mary of Nazareth, with Lazarus’s two sisters prostrate and kissing his feet, lamenting for their brother. ‘If you’d been with him, Rabbi, he wouldn’t have died,’ they screamed, wailing all the while and pulling out their hair. ‘Bring him back from Hades, Rabbi. Call him and he’ll come!’ ”

“Jesus took them both by the hand and lifted them up. ‘Let us go,’ he said.

“We all ran behind them until we came to the grave. There Jesus stopped. All the blood went to his head, his eyes rolled and disappeared, only the whites remained. He brought forth such a bellow you’d have thought there was a bull inside him, and we all got scared. Then suddenly while he stood there, trembling all over, he uttered a wild cry, a strange cry, something from another world. The archangels must shout in the same way when they’re angry… ‘Lazarus,’ he cried, ‘come out!’ And all at once we hear the earth in the tomb stir and crack. The tombstone begins to move; someone is gradually pushing it up. Fear and trembling… Never in my life have I feared death as much as I feared that resurrection. I swear that if I was asked what I wanted to see more, a lion or a resurrection, I would say a lion.”

“Lord have mercy upon us! Lord have mercy upon us!” the people shouted, weeping. “Speak, Father Melchizedek, speak!”

“The women shrieked, many of the men hid themselves behind rocks, and we who remained trembled. The tombstone rose little by little. We saw two yellow arms and then a head all green, cracked and full of dirt; finally the skeleton-like body wrapped in the shroud. It put forward one foot, then the other, and came out. It was Lazarus.”

The old chieftain stopped to wipe away the sweat with his wide sleeve. All around him the people were howling. Some wept, others danced.

Barabbas raised his huge hairy hand. “Lies! Lies!” he shouted. “He’s commissioned by the Romans and cooked all this up with Lazarus. Down with traitors!”

“Shut your mouth!” bellowed a savage voice behind him. “What Romans?”

They all turned and immediately recoiled. Rufus the centurion was coming toward Barabbas with his whip held high. A pale, blond-haired girl grasped his arm. She had been standing and listening to old Melchizedek the whole time, the tears running from her large green eyes. Barabbas slid away into the assembled humanity and disappeared, and behind him ran Jacob the Pharisee with his amulets. He overtook him in back of a column. There the two of them, their heads glued together, began to chatter: bandit and Pharisee became brothers.

Barabbas spoke first. “You think it’s true?” he asked anxiously.

“What?”

“What they say: that he revived a corpse.”

“Listen well to what I’m going to tell you. I’m a Pharisee, you’re a Zealot. Until now I always said Israel would be saved only with prayer, fasting and the holy Law. But now…”

“Now?” asked the Zealot, his eyes flashing.

“Now, Zealot, I’m beginning to see things your way. Prayer and fasting aren’t enough. A knife has got to be put to work here. Do you understand me?”

Barabbas guffawed. “You’re asking me? There’s no better prayer than the knife. Well?”

“Let’s start with him.”

“Who? Speak clearly.”

“Lazarus. It’s of the first importance that we lower him once more into the ground. As long as the people see him they’ll say, ‘He was dead and the son of Mary resurrected him.’ In this way the false prophet’s glory will spread… You’re right, Barabbas, he’s commissioned by the Romans to shout. ‘Don’t bother about the kingdom of the earth,’ he says; ‘keep your eyes on heaven!’ And thus-while we waste our time looking at the sky-the Romans will sit on our necks. Understand?”

“Well? Do you want us to do away with him too, even if he’s your brother?”

“He’s no brother of mine; I want no part of him!” shouted the Pharisee, pretending to tear his robes. “I hand him over to you!”

This said, he pulled himself away from the column and began once more to hawk his talismans. He had wound Barabbas up well and was content.

The crowd of paupers outside Solomon’s Porch gave up hope of seeing Jesus arrive and began to disperse. Old Melchizedek purchased two white doves to offer as sacrifices in order to thank the God of Israel for taking pity on his people at last and sending them, after so many years, a new prophet.

The stones were on fire. The faces of the people vanished in the excessive light. Suddenly a cloud of dust arose on the road from Bethany. Happy cries; the whole village had closed up shop and was coming. First to appear were the children with palm branches and laurels. Behind the palm branches came Jesus, his face gleaming; farther back the disciples, red-faced and sweating as though each one had personally raised a man from the dead; and last of all, completely hoarse from shouting, the Bethanites. They were all rushing to the Temple. Jesus mounted the stairs two at a time, passed the first tier and reached the second. A savage light gushed from his face and hands and no one could go near him. For an instant the old rabbi, who was running breathlessly behind him like the others, tried to cross into the invisible arena surrounding the master, but straightway he drew back as though licked by flames.

Jesus had just issued from God’s kiln and his blood was still furiously bubbling. He still could not believe it, nor did he want to: was the power of the soul so great? Could it order the mountains, Come! and indeed move them? Could it tear apart the earth and bring forth the dead, destroy the world in three days and rebuild it in three days? But if the strength of the soul was so all-powerful, then all the weight of perdition or salvation fell upon the shoulders of mankind; the borders of God and man joined… This was a terrifying, dangerous thought, and Jesus’ temples drummed.

He had left Lazarus standing in his shroud over the tomb and had departed with unusual haste for the Temple of Jerusalem. It was the first time he had felt so invincibly that this world must at last see its end and that a new Jerusalem must rise from the tombs. The moment had come. This was the sign he had been waiting for. The hopelessly rotted world was a Lazarus. The time had come for him to cry out, “World, arise!” He had the obligation; and most frightening of all, as he now realized, he also had the strength. It was no longer possible for him to escape by saying, I am unable! He was able, and if the world failed to be saved, the entire sin must fall on him.

The blood rose to his head. On every side he saw the stares of the oppressed and the ragamuffins, who had all of their hopes pinned on him. Littering a savage cry, he jumped onto a platform. The people swarmed around him. Smirking, the rich and well fed stopped too, in order to hear. Jesus turned, saw them, and raised his fist.

“Listen, you who are rich,” he shouted, “listen, lords of this world. Injustice, infamy and hunger can last no longer! God rubbed my lips with burning coals and I cry out: How long will you recline on beds of ivory and on soft mattresses? How long will you eat the flesh of the poor and drink their sweat, blood and tears? ‘I can stand you no longer!’ cries my God. The fire is approaching, the dead are being raised, the end of the world has come!”

Two huge ragamuffins seized him and lifted him above their heads. The multitude gathered around, waving palm leaves. Steam rose from the prophets fiery head.

“I have come not to bring peace to the world but a sword. I shall throw discord into the home, the son shall lift his hand against the father, the daughter against her mother, the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law-for my sake. Whoever follows me abandons all. He that seeks on this earth to save his life, shall lose it; and he that for my sake loses this temporary life, shall gain life for all eternity.”

“What does the Law say, rebel?” shouted a wild voice. “What do the Holy Scriptures say, Lucifer?”

“What say the great prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel?” Jesus answered, his eyes glistening. “I shall abolish the Law engraved on the tables of Moses and shall engrave a new Law in man’s heart. I shall remove the heart of stone which men now have and give them a heart of flesh; and in this heart I shall plant a new Hope! It is I who engrave the new Law in the new hearts, and I am also the new Hope! I extend love; I open God’s four great doors, the East, West, North and South, for all nations to enter. The bosom of God is not a ghetto; it embraces the entire world! God is not an Israelite, he is immortal Spirit!”

The old rabbi hid his face in his hands. He wanted to shout, Jesus, be quiet, this is a great blasphemy! but was too late. Wild cries of joy broke out. The poor howled with delight; the Levites booed, and Jacob the Pharisee tore his robes and spit into the air. The old rabbi gave up in despair. Weeping, he departed. “He’s finished,” he murmured as he went, “finished! What devil, what god, shouts from within him?”

He went along, so fatigued that he stepped all over his feet. During all these days and weeks that he had been running behind Jesus, battling to understand who he was, his ramshackle body had completely melted away. Nothing was left now but a sun-baked hide wrapped around bones to which the soul clung and waited. Was this man the Messiah whom God had promised him or wasn’t he? All the miracles he performed could also be performed by Satan, who could even resurrect the dead. The miracles therefore did not give the rabbi sufficient basis to pass judgment; nor did the prophecies. Satan was a sly and exceedingly powerful archangel. In order to deceive mankind he was capable of making his words and actions fit the holy prophecies to perfection. For these reasons the rabbi lay in bed at night unable to sleep and begged God to take pity on him and to give him a sure sign… What sign? The rabbi understood perfectly: death, his own death. When he brought this sign to mind, he shuddered.

He stumbled along in a cloud of dust. Bethany appeared at the top of the hill, fully devoured by the sun. Puffing, he began the ascent.

Lazarus’s house was open. The villagers ran in and out in order to see and touch the resuscitated man, to listen carefully for his respiration, to discover if he could speak and if he was really alive-or if, perhaps, he was a ghost! Fatigued and reticent, Lazarus sat in the darkest corner of the house, for light bothered him. His legs, arms and belly were swollen and green, like those of a four-day corpse. His bloated face was cracked all over and it exuded a yellowish-white liquid which soiled the white shroud which he continued to wear: it had stuck to his body and could not be removed. In the beginning he had stunk terribly, and those who came close held their noses; but little by little the stench had decreased, until now he smelled only of earth and incense. From time to time he shifted his hand and removed the grass which had become tangled in his hair and beard. His sisters Martha and Mary were cleansing him of the soil and of the small earthworms which had attached themselves to him. A sympathetic neighbor had brought him a chicken, and old Salome, squatting by the fireplace, was at present boiling it so that the resurrected man could drink the broth and regain his strength. The peasants came and stayed just a few moments to examine him attentively and speak to him. He answered their questions wearily with a laconic yes or no; and then others came from the village or the surrounding towns. Today the blind village chief came too. He put out his hand and fingered him avidly. “Did you have a pleasant time in Hades?” he asked, laughing. “You’re a lucky fellow, Lazarus. Now you know all the secrets of the underworld. But don’t reveal them, wretch, or you’ll drive everyone up here crazy.” He leaned over to his ear and, half joking, half trembling, asked, “Worms, eh? Nothing but worms?” He waited a considerable time, but Lazarus did not answer. The blind man became enraged, took his staff, and left.

Magdalene stood in the doorway and gazed down the road which led to Jerusalem. Her heart was crying like a small infant. All these nights she had been having bad dreams: she saw Jesus marry, and that meant death. The night before, it seemed she dreamed of him as a flying fish which opened its fins, jolted out of the water and fell onto the land. It flapped spasmodically on the pebbles of the beach, struggling in vain to open its fins once more. Suffocating, its eyes began to grow dim. It turned and looked at her, and she all but perished in an effort to grasp it and replace it in the ocean. When she bent down and took it in her hand, however, it was dead. But all the time she held it, lamenting and bathing it in her tears, it grew, filled her embrace and became a dead man.

“I won’t let him return to Jerusalem… I won’t let him…” She sighed and gazed down the white road in case he should appear.

But it was not Jesus who appeared on the road from Jerusalem. Instead, Magdalene saw her old father, all bent over and stumbling. Poor shrunken old man, she thought. In the awful state he’s in, why does he want to follow our rabbi wherever he goes, like an aged faithful dog. I hear him get up at night, go out into the yard, prostrate himself and cry to God, “Help me, give me a sign!” But God allows him to torture himself, apparently punishing him because he loves him: and in this way the poor man is comforted…

She watched him mount now, supporting himself on his crosier. He frequently halted, looked back toward Jerusalem and stretched wide his arms, to catch his breath… All these days that father and daughter were together at Bethany they both forgot the past and spoke to each other again. Seeing that his daughter had abandoned the evil road, the rabbi forgave her. He knew that all sins are washed away by tears, and Magdalene had wept much.

The old man arrived, breathless. Magdalene stepped aside so that he could go through the door, but he stopped and imploringly took her hand. “Magdalene, my child,” he said, “you are a woman: your tears and caresses have great power. Fall at his feet, beg him not to return to Jerusalem. The Scribes and Pharisees grew even more ferocious today. I saw them talking secretly among themselves, poison dripping from their lips. They are plotting his death.”

“His death!” exclaimed Magdalene, and her heart felt crushed. “But can be die, Father?”

The old rabbi looked at his daughter and smiled bitterly. “We always speak that way about those we love,” he murmured, and then was silent.

“But the rabbi is not a man like all the rest; no, he’s not!” Magdalene said in despair. “He’s not! He’s not!” she repeated over and over again, in order to charm away her fears.

“How do you know?” asked the old man. His heart leaped up because he believed in the presentiments of women.

“I know,” Magdalene answered. “Don’t ask me how. I’m sure of it. Do not be afraid, Father. Who will dare touch him now that he’s raised Lazarus?”

“Now that he has raised Lazarus, they’re more frantic than ever. Earlier, they listened to his preaching and shrugged their shoulders. But now that the miracle has been made known, the people have found courage. ‘He’s the Messiah,’ they shout; ‘he revives the dead, his power is from God-let’s go and join him.’ Today men and women took palm branches and ran behind him. The cripples lifted their crutches and threatened; the poor became unruly. The Scribes and Pharisees see all this and fly into a maniacal rage. ‘If we leave him a little while longer, we’re done for,’ they say, and they go incessantly to Annas, and from Annas to Caiaphas and from Caiaphas to Pilate-digging his grave… Magdalene, my child, clasp his knees, don’t let him ever enter Jerusalem again. We must all go back to Galilee!”

He recalled a somber, pock-marked face. “Magdalene,” he said, “on my way here I saw Barabbas roaming about, his face as dismal as Charon’s. When he heard my steps he hid himself in the bushes. That is a bad sign!”

His weak body went slack. His daughter took him in her arms and brought him inside. She fetched him a stool, and he sat down. She knelt at his side.

“Where is he now?” she asked. “Where did you leave him, Father?”

“At the Temple. He shouts and his eyes throw out flames: he’ll set the holy building on fire! And what words-my God, what blasphemies! He says he’ll abolish the Law of Moses and bring a new Law. He won’t go to meet God at the top in Sinai; he’ll meet him in his own heart!”

The old man lowered his voice. “Sometimes, my child,” he said, trembling, “I fear I’m going out of my mind. Or perhaps Lucifer-”

“Silence!” Magdalene commanded, and she placed both her hands over the old man’s lips.

They were still talking when the disciples, one behind the other, appeared at the door. Magdalene jumped up and looked, but Jesus was not among them.

“And the rabbi,” she asked in a heart-rending voice, “where is the rabbi?”

“Don’t be afraid,” Peter answered her with a sullen expression; “he’s coming right away.”

Mary jumped up too. She left her brother and anxiously approached the disciples. Their faces were dark and troubled, their eyes dull. She leaned against the wall.

“The rabbi?” she murmured weakly.

“He’s coming presently, Mary, he’s coming…” answered John. “If anything happened to him, would we leave him?”

The sulking disciples scattered throughout the house, one far away from the next.

Matthew drew his papers out from under his shirt and prepared to write.

“Speak, Matthew,” said the old rabbi. “Say something, and you’ll have my blessing.”

“My father,” answered Matthew, “just now as we were returning all together, Rufus the centurion overtook us at the gate of Jerusalem. ‘Stop!’ he cried. ‘I have orders for you!’ We were all paralyzed with fear. But the rabbi gave his hand tranquilly to the Roman. ‘Welcome, friend,’ he said. ‘What do you want with me?’

“ ‘It’s not me,’ Rufus answered, ‘but Pilate who wants you. Come with me, please.’

“ ‘I’m coming,’ Jesus said calmly, and he turned his face toward Jerusalem.

“But we all fell upon him. ‘Rabbi, where are you going?’ we cried. ‘We won’t let you leave!’

“The centurion came between us and said, ‘Don’t be afraid. I give you my word he means well.’

“ ‘Go,’ the master commanded us, ‘and do not fear. The hour has not yet come.’

“But Judas interrupted. ‘I’ll come with you, Master; I won’t leave you.’

“ ‘Come,’ said the master. ‘I won’t leave you either.’ Off they went toward Jerusalem, the two in front and Judas behind like a sheep dog.”

While Matthew spoke, the disciples, without a word, approached and knelt on the floor.

“Your faces are troubled,” said the rabbi. “You are hiding something from us.”

“We have other worries, Father, other worries…” Peter mumbled, and he fell once more into silence.

And indeed just now, along their way, evil demons had entered them. The raising of the dead had commenced. Evidently the day of the Lord was coming near; the master would mount his throne. The time had therefore come for them to divide up the spoils. It was there, in the dividing, that the disciples had begun to quarrel.

“I shall sit on his right hand: he loves me the most,” said one.

They all dashed forward and shouted, “No, me! me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“I was the first to call him rabbi!” said Andrew.

“He comes more often to my dreams than to yours,” Peter objected.

“He calls me ‘beloved,’ ” said John.

“And me!”

“And me!”

Peter’s blood began to boil. “Step back-all of you!” he shouted. “Just the other day didn’t he say to me, ‘Peter, you are the rock, and upon you I shall build the new Jerusalem’?”

“He didn’t say ‘the new Jerusalem’! I have his words written down here,” exclaimed Matthew, tapping the notebook under his shirt.

“What did he say to me, then, scribbler? That’s what I heard!” said Peter angrily.

“He said, ‘You are Peter, and upon this rock I shall build my church.’ ‘My church,’ not ‘ Jerusalem ’-there’s a big difference!”

“And what else did he promise me?” Peter shouted. “Why did you stop? It goes against your interests to continue, eh? What about the keys? Well, speak!”

Matthew, not very eagerly, took his notebook, opened it, and read: “ ‘And I shall give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven-’ ”

“Go on! Go on!” Peter shouted triumphantly.

Matthew swallowed his saliva and bent again over his notebook. “ ‘And whatever you bind upon earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven…’ There-that’s all!”

“And does it seem a mere trifle to you? I-listen, all of you-I hold the keys; it’s I who open and close the gates of Paradise. If I want, I let you in; if I don’t, I don’t!”

At that point the disciples went wild and certainly would have come to blows if they had not already neared Bethany. But they felt ashamed in front of the villagers and swallowed their anger. Their faces, however, were still completely dark.