The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ALL DAY LONG, starting at the heavenly daybreak, but even more so during the night when no one observed, spring had been gradually pushing aside rocks and soil and rising from the land of Israel. In one night the plains of Sharon in Samaria and Esdrelon in Galilee filled with yellow daisies and wild lilies; and short-lived anemones-large drops of blood-sprouted among the sullen rocks of Judea. Protruding, crablike eyes appeared on the vines. In each of these rose-green buds the unripe clusters, the mature grapes and the new wine gathered momentum to burst forth; and still deeper, in the heart of each bud, were the songs of men. A guardian angel stood by each tiny leaf and helped it grow. You thought the first days of creation were returning, when each word of God which fell upon the freshly turned soil was full of trees, wildflowers and greenery.

This morning at the foot of holy Mount Gerizim, the Samaritan woman was again filling her pitcher at Jacob’s well and looking down the road to Galilee, as though she still longed to see the pale youth who had once spoken to her about immortal water. And now that it was spring, this pleasure-loving widow had revealed even more of the two mounds of her sweaty bosom.

This springtime night the immortal soul of Israel metamorphosed, became a nightingale which perched in the open window of each young unmarried Jewess and kept her awake until dawn with its singing. Why do you go to bed all alone? it twittered, scolding her. Why do you think I gave you long hair and two breasts and round wide hips? Arise, put on your jewelry, lean out of your window. Place yourself on your threshold at the break of dawn, take your pitcher and go to the well, flirt with the unmarried Jews you meet on your way and, with them, make children for me. We Hebrews have many enemies, but as long as my daughters give me children, I am immortal. I hate the unplowed fields and ungrafted trees of the land of Israel -and the virgins.

In the desert of Idumea, at God-protected Hebron, around the all-holy tomb of Abraham, the Hebrew children awoke early in the morning and played at being the Messiah. They constructed bows out of osiers and shot arrows made of cane into the sky, shouting for the Messiah-the king of Israel -to descend at last with a long sword and helmet of gold. They made a throne for him to sit on by spreading a lambskin over the sacred tomb. They composed a special song for him; they clapped their hands for him to appear-and suddenly, from behind the tomb, there were cheers and the sound of drums and out came the strutting, bellowing Messiah with beard and mustache of corn tassels, and a ferocious painted face. He held a long sword made of a date branch and struck the children one by one on the neck. They all fell down, massacred.

Day was also breaking at Lazarus’s house in Bethany, but Jesus had not yet closed his eyes. His anguish had refused to subside; no road opened before him except one: death. The prophecies speak about me, he was thinking. I am the lamb who shall take upon himself the sins of the world and be slaughtered at this Passover. Well, then, let the lamb be slaughtered one hour sooner. The flesh is weak; I have no faith in it. At the last minute it may turn coward. Let death come now while I still feel my soul to be standing erect… Oh, when will the sun rise so that I can go to the Temple. I must put an end to everything-today!

The decision made, his mind felt somewhat soothed. He closed his eyes, fell asleep, and had a dream. The sky seemed to be an orchard enclosed by a rail fence and full of wild animals. He too was a wild animal and was frisking with the rest, and in his frisking he jumped over the rails and fell onto the ground. When the people saw him they became terrified. The women screamed and collected their children from the streets so that the beast would not eat them. The men seized lances, stones and swords, and began the hunt… Blood was running all over him when suddenly he fell prone onto the ground. Then it seemed that judges accumulated around him in order to judge him. They were not men, however, but foxes, dogs, hogs and wolves. They judged him, condemning him to death. But as they led him to be executed, he remembered that he could not die: he was a heavenly beast, and immortal. And as he remembered this a woman took his hand, and it was Mary Magdalene. She brought him out of the city to the fields. “Do not go to heaven,” she said to him. “Spring is here; stay with us.” They marched and marched, until the border of Samaria. There the Samaritan woman appeared, her jug on her shoulder. She offered it to him and he drank; afterward, she too took his hand and brought him, without speaking, as far as the border of Galilee. Then his mother emerged from under the ancient flowering olive trees. She was wearing a black kerchief and weeping. When she saw the wounds, the blood all over him and the crown of thorns in his hair she lifted her hands. “As you scathed me,” she said to him, “may God scathe you. You placed my name on the tongues of men: the whole world is buzzing. You lifted your hand against the Fatherland, the Law, the God of Israel. Didn’t you fear God; weren’t you ashamed before men? Had you no thought for your mother and father? My curse upon you!” Having said this, she vanished.

He awoke with a jolt, drenched in sweat. Around him the disciples were stretched out, snoring. Outside in the yard the cock crowed. Peter heard it and half opened his eyes. He saw Jesus standing up.

“Rabbi,” he said, “when the cock crowed, I was dreaming. You seemed to have taken two crossed boards. In your hands they became a lyre and bow, and you were playing and singing. The wild beasts assembled from the ends of the earth to hear you… What does it mean? I’ll ask the old rabbi.”

“The dream does not end there, Peter,” Jesus answered. “Why were you in such a hurry to wake up? The dream continues further.”

“Further? I don’t understand. Maybe you dreamed it yourself, Rabbi-all of it?”

“When the beasts heard the song they rushed forward and devoured the singer.”

Peter’s eyes popped. His heart had a presentiment of the meaning, but his mind stood still. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“You will understand,” Jesus replied, “on another morning when you again hear the cock crow.”

He nudged the companions one by one with his foot. “Wake up, lazy bones,” he said. “We have much to do today.”

“Are we leaving?” Philip asked, rubbing his eyes. “I say we should return to Galilee, to safety.”

Judas ground his teeth but did not speak.

In the inner room the women awoke and began to chatter. Old Salome came out to light the fire. The disciples had already gathered in the yard. They were waiting for Jesus, who was bent over the rabbi, talking to him in a low voice. The old man, gravely ill, was bed-ridden in the back corner of the house.

“Where are you going now, my child?” the rabbi asked. “Where are you leading your army? Once more to Jerusalem? Will you again lift your hand to pull down the Temple? As you know, the word becomes act when it issues from a great soul-and yours is a great soul. You are liable for what you say. If you declare the Temple will be destroyed, one day it will indeed be destroyed. So, measure your words!”

“I do, Father. The whole world is in my mind when I speak. I choose what will stay and what will not. I take the responsibility upon myself.”

“Oh, if I could only keep alive long enough to see who you are! But I’m old. The world has become a phantasm which roams around my head and wants to enter. But all the doors are blocked.”

“Try to last a few days longer, Father. Until the Passover. Hold on to your fleeing soul for dear life, and you shall see. The hour has not yet come.”

The rabbi shook his head. “When will that hour come?” he complained. “Has God deceived me? What happened to his promise? I’m dying, I’m dying, and where is the Messiah?” He clutched Jesus’ shoulders with all the strength which remained to him.

“Last until the Passover, Father. You’ll see that God keeps his word!” Jesus extricated himself from the old man’s grip and went out into the yard.

“Nathanael,” he said, “and you, Philip: go to the end of the village, to the very last house. There you’ll find a donkey and her colt tied to the door hasp. Untie her and bring her here. If anyone asks you where you’re taking her, answer, ‘The rabbi needs her and we’ll bring her back again.’ ”

“We’re going to get ourselves into trouble,” Nathanael whispered to his friend.

“Let’s go,” Philip said. “Do what he tells you, come what may!”

Matthew had taken up his pen first thing in the morning and was all eyes and ears. God of Israel, he reflected, look how the whole structure is just as the prophets, with divine illumination, assembled it! What does the prophet Zacharias say? ‘Rejoice and exult, daughter of Zion, shout for joy, daughter of Jerusalem. Look, your king comes to find you, humble and mounted on an ass-though he is a conqueror!’ ”

“Rabbi,” Matthew said to test the master, “it appears you’re tired and can’t go to Jerusalem on foot.”

“No, I’m not tired,” Jesus replied. “Why do you ask? I suddenly had a desire to ride there.”

“You should ride on a white horse!” Peter interrupted. “You’re the king of Israel, aren’t you? So, you must enter your capital on a white horse.”

Jesus threw a hurried glance at Judas and did not answer.

In the meantime Magdalene had come out and placed herself in the doorway. There were bags under her eyes, for she had not slept the whole night. Leaning against the doorpost, she regarded Jesus, regarded him deeply, inconsolably, as though taking leave of him forever. She wanted to tell him not to go, but her throat seemed blocked. Matthew saw her open and close her mouth without being able to sound a word, and he understood. The prophets do not allow her to speak, he reflected. They do not allow her to hinder the rabbi from accomplishing what they prophesied. He will mount the ass and go to Jerusalem whether Magdalene wants it or not, whether he himself wants it or not. It is written!

At that moment Philip and Nathanael arrived, happily pulling behind them, on one rope, the mother with her saddleless foal. “It turned out just as you said, Rabbi,” exclaimed Philip. “Mount now, and let’s go.”

Jesus turned to look at the house. The women stood and watched with crossed hands, sad but mute. Old Salome and the two sisters, with Magdalene in front…

“Is there a whip in the house, Martha?” Jesus asked.

“No, Rabbi,” Martha replied. “There is only our brother’s ox-goad.”

“Give it to me.”

The disciples had laid their clothes upon the docile animal to make a soft seat for the teacher, and on top of these Magdalene threw a red blanket of her own weaving, decorated along the edges with small black cypresses.

“Are you all ready?” Jesus asked. “Is everyone in good heart?”

“Yes,” answered Peter, who went in front. Holding the animal’s rein, he led the way.

The Bethanites heard the group pass and opened their doors.

“Where are you off to, lads? Why is the prophet riding today?”

The disciples leaned over and confided the secret to them. “He’s off today to sit on his throne.”

“What throne, fellow?

“Shh, it’s a secret. The man you see before you is the king of Israel.”

“Really! Let’s go with him,” shouted the young women, and more and more people swarmed around.

The children cut palm branches and went in front, happily chanting, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” The men took off their coats and spread them along the road for him to pass over. How they ran! What a spring this was! How tall the flowers had grown this year; how the birds sang and flew behind the procession, toward Jerusalem!

Jacob leaned over to his brother. “Our mother spoke to him yesterday. She said he should seat us to his left and right now that he’s going to mount the throne of glory. But he didn’t answer her. Maybe he got angry. She said his face seemed to darken.”

“Of course he got angry,” John replied. “She shouldn’t have done it.”

“What then? Should he leave us as we are and-who knows?-give precedence to Judas Iscariot? Did you notice how all these days the two of them have been talking secretly together? They seem inseparable. Be careful, John. Go and speak to him your self so we don’t suffer any loss. The hour has come for the division of the honors.”

But John shook his head. “My brother,” he said, “look how afflicted he is. It’s as though he were going to his death.”

I would like to know what is destined to happen now, thought Matthew as he marched by himself behind the others. The prophets don’t explain it very well. Some say the throne, others death. Which one of the two prophecies will he untangle? No one can interpret a prophecy except after the event. It’s only then that we understand what the prophet meant. So, let’s be patient and wait and see what happens-just to be sure. We’ll write it all down tonight when we return.

By this time the good news had taken wing and reached the near-by villages and the huts scattered throughout the olive groves and vineyards. The peasants ran from every direction and placed their cloaks or kerchiefs on the ground for the prophet to pass over. There were also many of the lame, the sick, and the ragged. From time to time Jesus turned his head and looked behind him at his army. Suddenly he felt an immense loneliness. He turned and cried, “Judas!” but the unsociable disciple was at the very end and did not hear.

“Judas!” Jesus shouted again, desperately.

“Here!” the redbeard replied. He pushed aside the other disciples in order to pass through.

“What do you want, Rabbi?”

“Stay next to me, Judas. Keep me company.”

“Don’t worry, Rabbi, I won’t leave you.” He took the rope from Peter’s hand and began to lead.

“Do not abandon me, Judas, my brother,” Jesus said once more.

“Why should I abandon you, Rabbi? Haven’t we already decided all that?”

At last they came close to Jerusalem. The holy city, brilliantly white in the merciless sun, towered before them on Mount Zion. They passed through a tiny hamlet and from one end to the other heard a dirge, tranquil and sweet, like warm springtime rain.

“Whom are they lamenting? Who died?” asked Jesus with a shudder.

But the villagers who ran behind him laughed. “Don’t be troubled, Master. No one died. The village girls are singing a dirge while they turn the hand mill.”

“But why?”

“To get used to it, Master. To know how to lament when the time comes.”

They climbed up the cobbled lane and entered the cannibalistic city. Noisy, richly bedecked flocks from all the ghettos of the world-each bringing its local smells and filth-were hugging and kissing each other: the day after next was the immortal festival, and all Jews were brothers! When they saw Jesus mounted on the humble ass with the crowd behind him waving palm branches, they laughed.

“Now who in the world is this?”

But the cripples, the diseased and the ragamuffins lifted their fists and threatened: “Now you’ll see! This is Jesus of Nazareth, the king of the Jews!”

Jesus dismounted and hurriedly climbed the steps of the Temple, two by two. He reached Solomon’s Porch, stopped, and looked around him. Stalls had been set up. Thousands of people were selling, buying, bargaining, arguing, hawking their wares: merchants, money-changers, innkeepers, prostitutes. Jesus’ bile rose to his eyes; a sacred rage took possession of him. He lifted the ox-goad and swept down upon each of the wine stands, refreshment stalls and workshops; overturned the tables, struck the tradesmen with his goad. “Away! Out of here! Out of here!” he shouted, brandishing the ox-goad and advancing. Within him was a quiet, bitter entreaty: Lord, Lord, what you have decided must happen, let it happen-but quickly. I ask no other favor of you. Quickly-now while I still have strength.

The mob rushed behind him; it too frantically screamed, “Out of here! Out of here!” and looted the stalls. Jesus halted at the royal arcade, above the Cedron Valley. Smoke rose from his entire body, his long, raven-black hair streamed over his shoulders, his eyes threw out flames. “I have come to set fire to the world,” he shouted. “In the desert John proclaimed, ‘Repent! Repent! The day of the Lord is coming near!’ But I say to you, You no longer have time to repent. It has come, it has come. I am the day of the Lord! In the desert John baptized with water; I baptize with fire. I baptize men, mountains, cities, boats. I already see the fire engulfing the four corners of the earth, the four corners of the soul-and I rejoice. The day of the Lord has come: my day!”

“Fire! Fire!” shouted the mob. “Bring fire, burn up the world!”

The Levites grabbed lances and swords. Jacob, the brother of Jesus, took the lead, his amulets hanging around his neck. They rushed out to seize Jesus. But the people became ferocious; the disciples mustered up courage and in one body, bellowing, rushed to join the others in the fray.

High up in the palace tower the Roman sentries watched them and laughed.

Peter grabbed a lighted torch from one of the stalls. “After them, brothers,” he shouted. “Fire, lads. The hour has come!”

Much blood would then have been spilled in God’s courtyard if the Roman trumpets had not resounded menacingly from Pilate’s tower. And the great high priest Caiaphas emerged from the Temple and ordered the Levites to put down their arms. He had personally and with much skill dug a trap into which the insurgent would fall without fail-and without clamor.

The disciples encircled Jesus and looked at him with anguish. Would he or would he not give the sign? What was he waiting for? How long would he wait? Why was he delaying, and why, instead of raising his hand in a signal to heaven, was he staring at the ground? He, to be sure, need be in no hurry, but they-they were poor men who had sacrificed everything, and the time had come for them to be repaid.

“Decide, Rabbi!” said Peter, red-faced and sweating. “Give the sign!”

Jesus, motionless, had closed his eyes. Sweat ran in drops from his forehead. Your day is approaching, Lord, he said over and over to himself; the end of the world has come. I know that I shall bring it-I-but by dying… Repeating this again and again, he found courage.

John came up to him too. He touched his shoulder and pushed him to make him open his eyes. “If you don’t give the sign now,” he said, “we’re finished. What you’ve done today means death.”

“It means death,” Thomas joined in, “and, for your information, we don’t want to die.”

“Die!” cried Philip and Nathanael, startled. “But we came here to reign!”

John leaned close to Jesus’ breast. “What are you thinking about, Rabbi?” he asked.

But Jesus pushed him away. “Judas, come here beside me,” he said, and he supported himself on the redbeard’s sturdy arm.

“Courage, Rabbi,” Judas whispered. “The hour has come; we mustn’t let them be ashamed of us.”

Jacob stared with hatred at Judas. Earlier, the master would not even turn to look at him, and now, what was this friendship and secret whispering? “They’re cooking up something, the two of them. What do you say, Matthew?”

“I don’t say anything. I listen to what all of you say and do, and I write. That’s my job.”

Jesus squeezed Judas’s arm. Suddenly he felt dizzy. Judas supported him. “Are you tired, Rabbi?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m tired.”

“Think of God and you’ll feel refreshed,” the redbeard replied.

Jesus recovered his balance and turned to the disciples. “Come, let us go,” he said.

But the disciples stood still. They did not want to leave. Where? Again to Bethany? And for how long? They had had enough of this shuttling back and forth.

“I think he’s teasing us,” Nathanael remarked softly to his friend. “I’m not budging!” Having said this, he followed the rest of the disciples, who had started to go sullenly back toward Bethany.

Behind them, the Levites and Pharisees guffawed. A youngish Levite, ugly and round-shouldered, slung a lemon rind which struck Peter square in the face.

“Nice throw, Saul! You hit the bull’s-eye!”

Peter started to turn around to charge the Levite, but Andrew held him back. “Be patient, my brother,” he said. “Our turn will come.

“When? Damn it, when, Andrew?” Peter grumbled. “Can’t you see the mess we’re in?”

Humiliated and silent, they took to the road. The crowd behind them had dispersed, cursing. No one followed them any more; no one laid out his ragged garment for the rabbi to walk upon. Philip dragged the donkey now, while Nathanael, behind, held the tail. Both were in a hurry to return the animal to its master so that they would not get into trouble. The sun was burning; a warm breeze blew; clouds of dust rose up and suffocated them. As they approached Bethany, there in front of them was Barabbas with two savage, huge-mustached companions.

“Where are you taking your master?” he shouted. “Mercy on us, he’s scared right out of his pants!”

“They’re taking him to resurrect Lazarus!” replied Barabbas’s companions, bursting into guffaws.

When they reached Bethany and entered the house they found the old rabbi breathing his last. The women were kneeling around him, silently and motionlessly watching him depart. They knew that there was nothing they could do to bring him back. Jesus approached and placed his hand on the old man’s forehead. The rabbi smiled but did not open his eyes.

The disciples squatted in the yard with a bitter taste in their mouths. They did not speak.

Jesus nodded to Judas. “Judas, my brother, the hour has come. Are you ready?”

“I ask you again, Rabbi: why did you choose me?”

“You know you’re the strongest. The others don’t bear up… Did you go speak to the high priest Caiaphas?”

“Yes. He says he wants to know when and where.”

“Tell him the eve of the Passover after the paschal dinner, at Gethsemane. Try to be brave, Judas, my brother. I’m trying too.”

Judas shook his head and without speaking went out to the road in order to wait for the moon to rise.

“What happened at Jerusalem?” old Salome asked her sons. “What happened to you that makes you so silent?”

“I think, Mother, that we’ve built our house on sand,” Jacob answered. “The damage is done!”

“And the rabbi, the grandeur, the silks threaded with gold, the thrones?… Did he deceive me, then?” The old lady looked at her sons and clapped her hands, but neither of them answered her.

The moon emerged from behind the Moabite mountains, sad and fully round. Hesitant, it stopped for a moment at the mountains’ crest, looked at the world and then all at once made its decision, pulled away from the peaks and began to rise. Lazarus’s dark hamlet, as though it had suddenly been whitewashed, gleamed a brilliant white.

At daybreak the disciples swarmed around the teacher. He did not speak but looked at them one by one as though seeing them for the first, or the last, time. Toward midday he opened his mouth. “Friends, I desire to celebrate the sacred Passover with you. On a day such as this our ancestors departed, left the land of slavery behind them and entered the freedom of the desert. We also, for the first time on this Passover, come out of another slavery and enter another freedom. He who has ears to hear, let him hear!”

No one spoke. These words were obscure. What was the new slavery, what the new freedom? They did not understand. After a few moments Peter said, “There’s one thing I do understand, Rabbi. Passover without lamb is impossible. Where will we find the lamb?”

Jesus smiled bitterly. “The lamb is ready, Peter. At this very moment it is proceeding all by itself to the slaughter, so that the world’s poor may celebrate the new Passover. Don’t worry, therefore, about the lamb.”

Lazarus, who had been sitting silently in the corner, got up, placed his skeleton-like hand over his breast and said, “Rabbi, I owe my life to you and, bad as it is, it’s still better than the darkness of Hades. I shall therefore bring you the Passover lamb as a gift. A friend of mine is a shepherd on the mountain. Goodbye, I’m going to him.”

The disciples looked at him with astonishment. Where did this living dead man find the strength to get up and move toward the door! The two sisters fell upon him to prevent his leaving, but he pushed them aside, took a cane to lean upon, and strode over the threshold.

He proceeded through the village lanes. The doors along his passage opened. The frightened, surprised women emerged and marveled that his spindle shanks could walk, that his sagging middle did not break! Though he was in pain he took heart and now and then struggled to whistle in order to show how indubitably he had been rejuvenated. But his lips could not quite join. He therefore abandoned the whistling and began, with a serious expression, to ascend the mountain’s slope, toward his friend’s sheepfold.

He had not advanced a stone’s throw, however, when from out of the flowering broom Barabbas jumped up in front of him. How many days had he roamed the village waiting for this moment, waiting for the confounded resurrected fellow to stick his nose out of his house so that he could do away with him? He must prevent men from seeing him and being reminded of the miracle. The son of Mary, since the day he resuscitated him, had certainly amassed a great following; therefore Lazarus must be dispatched back into the grave and gotten rid of once and for all.

“Damned hell-deserter,” he shouted at him, “how nice to meet you! What say, did you have a nice time down there, by God! Which is better, life or death?”

“Six of one, half dozen of the other,” Lazarus answered. He started to pass by, but Barabbas put out his arm and blocked the way.

“Excuse me, my dear ghost,” he said, “but Passover is coming, I don’t have a lamb, and this morning, so that I too could celebrate the Passover, I swore to God that in place of a lamb I would slaughter the first living thing I happened to meet along the road. Well, you’re in luck. Stick out your neck: you’re about to become a sacrifice to God.”

Lazarus started to scream. Barabbas seized him by the Adam’s apple but was immediately overcome with fright. He had caught hold of something exceedingly soft, like cotton. No-softer, like air. His fingernails went in and came out again without drawing a single drop of blood. Maybe he’s a ghost, he thought, and his heavily pock-marked face grew pale.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No,” Lazarus answered, sliding out of Barabbas’s grip in order to escape.

“Stop!” Barabbas growled, seizing him now by the hair. But the hair, together with the scalp, remained in his hand. Lazarus’s skull flashed yellowish-white in the sunlight.

“Damn you!” Barabbas murmured, trembling. “Blast it, are you a ghost?” He clutched Lazarus’s right arm and shook it violently. “Say you’re a ghost and I’ll let you go.”

But as he shook the arm, it came off in his hand. Terror took hold of him. He threw the decayed arm into the flowering broom and spat, nauseated. He was so terrified, the hair on his head stood on end. He grabbed his knife. He wanted to finish him off in a hurry, to be rid of him. He took hold of him carefully by the nape of the neck, propped his throat against a stone and began the slaughter. He sliced and sliced, but the knife did not penetrate. It was like cutting through a tuft of wool. Barabbas’s blood ran cold. Am I slaughtering a corpse? he asked himself. He started to go down the hill in order to flee but saw Lazarus still moving and was afraid his confounded friend might find him and resurrect him again. Conquering his fear, he seized him at both ends and, just as one might wring out a wet garment before hanging it up on the line, he twisted him and gave him a snap. His vertebrae uncoupled and he separated at the middle into two pieces. These Barabbas hid under the broom; then he departed at a run. He ran and ran. It was the first time in his life he had been afraid. He dared not look back. “Ah,” he murmured, “if I can only get to Jerusalem in time to find Jacob! He’ll give me a talisman to exorcize the demon!”

In Lazarus’s house, meanwhile, Jesus was bending over the disciples, struggling to throw a little light into their minds so that what they were about to see would not frighten them into dispersing.

“I am the road,” he told them, “as well as the house toward which one heads. I am also the guide, and he whom one goes out to meet. You must all have faith in me. No matter what you see, do not be afraid, for I cannot die. Do you hear-I cannot die.”

Judas had remained all by himself in the yard. He was uprooting the pebbles with his big toe. Jesus frequently turned to look at him, and an inexpressible sorrow spread over his face.

“Rabbi,” John complained, “why do you always call him to stay near you? If you look into the pupils of his eyes you’ll see a knife.”

“No, John, beloved,” Jesus answered, “not a knife-a cross.”

The disciples gazed at each other, disturbed.

“A cross!” John exclaimed, falling on Jesus’ breast. “Rabbi, who is being crucified?”

“Whoever leans over those eyes and looks in will see his face on the cross. I looked, and I saw my face.”

But the disciples did not understand. Several laughed.

“It’s a good thing you told us, Rabbi,” snapped Thomas. “As for me, I won’t look into the redbeard’s eyes as long as I live!”

“Your children and grandchildren will, Thomas,” Jesus said. He glanced through the window at Judas, who was standing now on the doorstep, gazing toward Jerusalem.

“Your words are obscure, Rabbi,” Matthew complained. “How do you expect me to record them in my book?” All this time, he had been holding his pen in the air, unable to understand anything or to write.

“I don’t speak in order for you to write, Matthew,” Jesus answered bitterly. “You clerks are rightly called cocks: you think the sun won’t come up unless you crow. I feel like taking your pen and papers and throwing them into the fire!”

Matthew quickly gathered together his writings and shrank away.

Jesus’ rage did not abate. “I say one thing, you write another, and those who read you understand still something else! I say: cross, death, kingdom of heaven, God… and what do you understand? Each of you attaches his own suffering, interests and desires to each of these sacred words, and my words disappear, my soul is lost. I can’t stand it any longer!”

He rose, suffocating. Suddenly he felt his mind and heart being filled with sand.

The disciples cowered. It was as though the rabbi still held the ox-goad and pricked them, as though they were sluggish oxen who refused to move. The world was a cart to which they were yoked; Jesus goaded them on, and they shifted under the yoke but did not budge. Looking at them, Jesus felt drained of all his strength. The road from earth to heaven was a long one, and there they were, motionless.

“How long will you have me with you?” he cried. “Those who guard within yourselves a grave question, hurry and ask it. Those who have a tender word to say to me, say it quickly: it will do me good. Say it, so that after I have gone you will not complain that you missed the opportunity to utter a kind word to me, that you never made me realize how much you loved me. Then it will be much too late.”

The women listened. They were heaped up in a corner, their chins wedged between their knees. From time to time they sighed. They understood everything but could say nothing. Suddenly Magdalene uttered a cry. She was the first to have the presentiment, and the funeral lamentation broke out within her. She jumped up and went into the inner room. Searching under her pillow, she found the crystal flagon she had brought with her. It was full of Arabian perfume which a former lover had given her in payment for one night. As she followed Jesus she carried it always with her, poor wretch, saying to herself: God is great; who knows but the day will come when I shall wash the hair of my beloved in this precious scent. The day might come when he’ll wish to stand next to me as a bridegroom. Such were the hidden longings of her bosom; but now behind her beloved’s body she saw death-not Eros, death. It too, like a marriage, required perfumes. She removed the crystal flagon from under her pillow, placed it in her bosom and began to weep. Holding the flagon to her breast and rocking it like an infant, she wept quietly, so that she would not be heard. Then she wiped her eyes, went out and fell at Jesus’ feet. Before he could lean over to lift her up, she crushed the flagon and the fragrant myrrh flowed over the holy feet. Then, weeping, she let out her hair and wiped the perfumed feet. With the remaining perfume she washed the beloved head. Straightway she again collapsed at the rabbi’s feet and kissed them.

The disciples were provoked.

“It’s a shame to let so much expensive perfume go to waste,” said Thomas, the merchant. “If we’d sold it, we’d have been able to feed many of the poor.”

“To dower orphans,” said Nathanael.

“To buy sheep,” said Philip.

“It’s a bad sign,” John murmured, sighing. “With such perfumes the corpses of the rich are anointed. You shouldn’t have done it, Mary. If Charon smells his beloved aroma and comes…”

Jesus smiled. “You will always have the poor with you,” he said, “but you will not always have me. It does not matter, therefore, if a flagon of perfume has been wasted for my sake. There are times when even Prodigality mounts to heaven and sits next to her well-born sister Nobility. You, John, beloved: do not feel oppressed. Death always comes. It is better that it come when the hair is perfumed.”

The house had the fragrance of a rich tomb. Judas appeared and glanced at the rabbi. Could he have revealed the secret to the disciples? Were they anointing the moribund with funeral myrrh?

But Jesus smiled, “Judas, my brother,” he said, “the swallow flies faster in the air than the deer moves on land; and faster than the swallow moves the mind of a man; and faster than the mind of a man, the heart of a woman.” When he had spoken, he indicated Magdalene with his eyes.

Peter opened his mouth. “We have said many things but have forgotten the most significant. Where in Jerusalem, Rabbi, shall we have our Passover? I say we should go to Simon of Cyrene’s tavern.”

“God has arranged it differently,” said Jesus. “Get up, Peter. Take John and go to Jerusalem. You’ll see a man there with a pitcher on his shoulder. Follow him. He will enter a house. You enter also and say to the owner, ‘Our master sends greetings and asks you, Where are the tables laid so that I may eat the Passover supper with my disciples?’ And he will reply, ‘My compliments to your master. Everything is ready. We look forward to seeing him.’ ”

The disciples stared at each other, wide-eyed in admiration, like infants.

“Are you serious, Rabbi?” asked Peter, goggle-eyed. “Everything ready? The lamb, the skewer, the wine-everything?”

“Everything,” Jesus answered. “Go. Have faith. We sit here and talk, but God does not sit and does not talk. He works for men.”

At that moment they heard a feeble rale from the back corner of the house. They all turned, ashamed. All that time they had forgotten the old rabbi in his death agony! Magdalene ran with the three other women behind her. The disciples reached the bedside. Jesus again placed his palm on the old man’s icy mouth. The other opened his eyes, saw him and smiled. Then he moved his hand, signaling the men and women to leave. When they were alone, Jesus bent over and kissed his mouth, eyes and forehead. The old man looked into his eyes, his face radiant.

“I saw the three again-Elijah, Moses and you. I’m sure now… I’m going!”

“God bless you, Father. Are you pleased?”

“Yes. Let me kiss your hand.”

He seized Jesus’ hand and glued his icy lips to it for a long time. He looked at him ecstatically, mutely, saying goodbye to him. But in a moment he spoke.

“When will you also come-there, above?”

“Tomorrow, on the Passover. I’ll see you then, Father!”

The old rabbi crossed his hands. “Release your servant now, O Lord,” he murmured. “My eyes have seen my Saviour!”