The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Twenty-Eight

THE SUN had reached the horizon and, brilliantly red, was about to set. At the opposite end of the sky a bluish-white glow had already appeared in the east. Soon the paschal moon would emerge, enormous and mute. The pale rays of the sun still entered the house, fell obliquely over Jesus’ thin face, caught the foreheads, noses and hands of the disciples and, going into the corner, caressed the old rabbi’s calm, happy, now-immortal face. Mary sat at her loom. She was in a deep shadow and no one saw the tears which ran peacefully down her cheeks and chin and onto the half-woven cloth. The house was still fragrant; Jesus’ fingertips dripped with myrrh.

Suddenly, while they sat there in silence, each one feeling more and more heart-stricken as the night approached, a swallow came like a sword-thrust through the window, circled three times over their heads, peeped joyously, turned again toward the sun and left like a dart. They hardly had time to see its white belly and serrated wings.

As though this was the mysterious sign he had been waiting for, Jesus rose. “The time has come,” he said.

He threw a lingering glance around him at the fireplace, the work tools, household utensils, lamp, water jug, loom; then at the four women-old Salome, Martha, Magdalene and Mary the weaver; lastly at the white old man who had entered the life everlasting.

“Farewell,” he said, waving his hands.

None of the three younger women was able to answer. But old Salome said, “Don’t look at us like that, my child. You seem to be saying goodbye to us forever.”

“Farewell,” Jesus repeated. He approached the women and placed his palm first on Magdalene’s hair, next on Martha’s. The weaver then rose and came near. She too bowed her head. They felt as though he were blessing and embracing them, as though he were going to take the three of them with him-always. But then all three abruptly began the dirge.

They went out into the yard. The disciples followed behind him. On the hedge of the yard, above the well, a honeysuckle had blossomed. Now that night had fallen, its perfume spilled forth. Jesus put out his hand, picked a flower and passed it between his teeth. May God give me strength, he prayed within his heart, may God give me strength to hold this tender flower between my teeth all through the great throes of crucifixion and not bite into it!

On the threshold of the street door he stopped once more, lifted his hand and cried in a deep voice, “Women, farewell!”

None of them answered. Their lamentations resounded in the courtyard.

Jesus took the lead, and the group started along the road to Jerusalem. The full moon rose from the mountains of Moab, the sun set behind the mountains of Judea. For a moment the two great jewels of the sky stopped and looked at each other. Then the one mounted, the other sank down.

Jesus nodded to Judas, who came and marched by his side. The two of them must have had secrets to exchange, for they spoke softly. Sometimes Jesus would lower his head, sometimes Judas; and each carefully weighed his words of response to the other, as though each word were a gold piece.

“I’m sorry, Judas, my brother,” Jesus said, “but it is necessary.”

“I’ve asked you before, Rabbi-is there no other way?”

“No, Judas, my brother. I too should have liked one; I too hoped and waited for one until now-but in vain. No, there is no other way. The end of the world is here. This world, this kingdom of the Devil, will be destroyed and the kingdom of heaven will come. I shall bring it. How? By dying. There is no other way. Do not quiver, Judas, my brother. In three days I shall rise again.”

“You tell me this in order to comfort me and make me able to betray you without rending my own heart. You say I have the endurance-you say it in order to give me strength. No, the closer we come to the terrible moment… no, Rabbi, I won’t be able to endure!”

“You will, Judas, my brother. God will give you the strength, as much as you lack, because it is necessary-it is necessary for me to be killed and for you to betray me. We two must save the world. Help me.”

Judas bowed his head. After a moment he asked, “If you had to betray your master, would you do it?”

Jesus reflected for a long time. Finally he said, “No, I do not think I would be able to. That is why God pitied me and gave me the easier task: to be crucified.”

Jesus took him by the arm and spoke to him softly, enticingly. “Do not abandon me; help me. Didn’t you speak to the high priest Caiaphas? The Temple slaves who’ll seize me, aren’t they ready and armed? Hasn’t everything happened just as we planned, Judas? Let us therefore celebrate the Passover tonight all together, and I shall give you a sign to rise and fetch them. The dark days are only three; they will pass by like lightning, and on the third day we shall exult and dance all together-at the resurrection!”

“Will the others know?” Judas asked, pointing with his thumb to the flock of disciples in back.

“I’ll tell them tonight. I don’t want them to offer any resistance when the soldiers and Levites seize me.”

Judas wrinkled his lips in contempt. “They offer resistance! Where did you find them, Rabbi? One is worse than the next.”

Jesus lowered his head and did not reply.

The moon rose and flowed over the earth, anointing stones, trees and men. Dark blue shadows fell on the land. In back the disciples, flocked together, talked and bickered. Some licked their chops at the thought of the banquet, some spoke with concern of Jesus’ piercing words; and Thomas remembered the poor old rabbi. “It’s all over with him. Here’s to our turn!”

“What, will we die too?” said Nathanael, surprised. “Didn’t we say we were headed for immortality?”

“Right, but it seems we first have to go by way of death,” Peter explained to him.

Nathanael shook his head. “We’re taking a bad route to immortality,” he grumbled. “Mark my words, we’ll find it damned unpleasant down there in hell!”

White and diaphanous like a ghost, Jerusalem now towered all moonlit in the air before them. The houses, in the moonlight, seemed to be detached and suspended above the ground. A din compounded of men singing psalms and animals being slaughtered rose more and more clearly into the night.

Peter and John stood waiting at the eastern fortress gate. Their faces flashing under the brilliant moon, they ran out happily to receive them. “Everything happened just as you said it would, Rabbi. The tables are set. Dinner is served!”

“And if you ask for the master of the house,” John added, laughing, “he prepared everything and then disappeared.”

Jesus smiled. “That is the supreme hospitality: for the host to disappear.”

They all quickened their pace. The streets were full of people, lighted lanterns and myrtles. The Passover psalm resounded triumphantly from behind the closed doors:

As the disciples marched through the streets they too began to chant the Passover psalm. Peter and John went in front and led them. All, with the exception of Jesus and Judas, had forgotten their cares and fears and were running toward the waiting tables.

Peter and John halted, pushed open a door marked with a fingerprint made with the blood of the slain lamb, and entered. Jesus and the hungry procession followed. Passing through the yard, they climbed up a stone staircase to the upper story. The tables were set. Three seven-branched candelabra illuminated the lamb, the wine, the unleavened bread, the appetizers, even the staffs they were supposed to hold as they ate, as though they were ready to depart on a long journey.

“We’re delighted to meet you!” said Jesus. He lifted his hand and blessed the invisible host.

The disciples laughed. “Whom are you greeting, Rabbi?”

“The Invisible,” Jesus answered, and he looked at them severely.

He tied a large towel around his waist, took water, knelt, and began to wash the disciples’ feet.

“Rabbi, I’ll never agree to let you wash my feet!” Peter cried.

“Peter, if I do not wash your feet, you will not join me in the kingdom of heaven.”

“Well, in that case, Rabbi, wash not only my feet but my hands and head too.”

They seated themselves around the tables. They were famished, but no one dared put out his hand. The teacher’s face was stern this evening and his lips embittered. He looked at the disciples one by one: at Peter on his right, John on his left-all; and opposite him, at his grave, unaccommodating accomplice with the red beard.

“First of all,” he said, “we must drink the salt water, to remember the tears which our fathers shed in the land of slavery.”

He took the pitcher with the salt water and started by filling Judas’s glass to overflowing, then poured a few sips into the glasses of the others, and lastly filled his own brimful.

“May we remember the tears, the pain and the anguish men suffer for the sake of freedom!” he said, and he emptied his brimful glass in a single gulp.

The others drank with contorted mouths. Like Jesus, Judas emptied his glass in one gulp. He showed it to the master and turned it upside down. Not a single drop remained.

“You’re a brave warrior, Judas,” Jesus said, smiling. “You can endure even the most severe bitterness.”

He took the unleavened bread and divided it. Next, he served the lamb. Each one put out his hand and took his share of the bitter herbs prescribed by the Law: oregano, bay and savory. Then, red gravy was poured over the meat in remembrance of the red bricks which their ancestors manufactured during their captivity. They ate hurriedly, as the Law prescribed, and each one grasped his staff and kept one foot raised in the air, prepared to depart.

Jesus watched them eat, not eating himself. He too held his staff and kept his right foot in the air, ready for a great journey. No one spoke. The only sounds were from the clacking of jaws, the clinking of wineglasses, and tongues licking the bones. The moon entered through the skylight above them. Half of the tables were brightly illuminated, half plunged in purple darkness.

After a deep silence Jesus opened his mouth. “Passover, my faithful fellow voyagers, means passage-passage from darkness to light, from slavery to freedom. But the Passover that we celebrate tonight goes even further. Tonight’s Passover means passage from death to eternal life. I go in the lead, comrades, and clear the way for you.”

Peter shuddered. “Rabbi,” he said, “you’re speaking about death again, and again your words are a double-edged knife. If any calamity hangs over you, speak freely. We’re men.”

“It’s true, Rabbi,” said John. “Your words are bitterer than these bitter herbs. Have pity and speak to us clearly.”

Jesus took his still-untouched portion of bread and divided it mouthful by mouthful among the disciples.

“Take it and eat,” he said. “This is my body.”

He also took his glass of wine, which was still full, and passed it from mouth to mouth. They all drank.

“Take it and drink,” he said. “This is my blood.”

Each of the disciples ate his mouthful of bread and drank his sip of wine. Their minds reeled. The wine seemed to them thick and salty, like blood; the portion of bread descended like a burning coal into their very bowels. Suddenly, terrified, they all felt Jesus take root within them and begin to devour their entrails. Peter leaned his elbows on the table and began to weep.

John bent over to Jesus’ breast. “You want to depart, Rabbi, you want to depart… to depart…” he mumbled over and over, unable to utter anything more.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Andrew yelled. “The other day you said, ‘Let him who has no knife sell his cloak to buy one!’ We’ll sell our clothes, we’ll arm ourselves; and then let Charon come in-if he dare-to touch you!”

“You shall all abandon me,” Jesus said uncomplainingly. “All.”

“I never!” shouted Peter, wiping away his tears.

“Peter, Peter, before the cock crows, you will deny me three times.”

“I? I?” Peter bellowed, beating his chest with his fists. “I deny you? I’m with you to the death!”

“To the death!” groaned all the disciples, jumping to their feet in a trance.

“Sit down,” Jesus said tranquilly. “The hour has not yet come. This Passover I have a great secret to confide to you. Open your minds, open your hearts, do not let yourselves be afraid!”

“Speak, Rabbi,” John murmured, his heart trembling like a reed.

“You have eaten? You are no longer hungry? The body is filled? Will it finally allow your soul to listen in peace?”

Trembling, they all hung on Jesus’ lips.

“Beloved companions,” he cried, “farewell! I depart!”

The disciples cried out, fell upon him and held him so that he would not leave. Many were weeping. But Jesus turned calmly to Matthew.

“Matthew, you know the Scriptures by heart. Get up and in a strong voice tell them Isaiah’s prophetic words in order to steady their hearts. You remember: ‘He grew up in the eyes of the Lord like a small, frail tree…’ ”

Rejoicing, Matthew jumped to his feet. He was stoop-shouldered, bow-legged, desiccated, and his long, slender fingers were endlessly smudged; but suddenly, how straight he stood! His cheeks caught fire, his neck swelled, and the words of the prophet echoed in the high-ceilinged attic, full of bitterness and strength:

“That’s enough,” said Jesus, sighing.

He turned to the companions. “It is I,” he said quietly. “The prophet Isaiah is speaking about me: I am the lamb that is being led to the slaughter, and I shall not open my mouth.” After a pause, he continued. “They have been leading me to the slaughter ever since the day of my birth.”

The amazed disciples stared at him with gaping mouths, struggling to understand what he had told them; and suddenly, all together, they hid their faces against the tables and raised the dirge.

For a moment even Jesus lost heart. How could he abandon these wailing companions? He lifted his eyes and looked at Judas. But the other’s hard blue eyes had been pinned on Jesus for a long time. He had divined what was happening inside the master and how easily love could paralyze his strength. The two glances joined and wrestled in the air for a split second, the one stern and merciless, the other beseeching and afflicted. A split second only-and straightway Jesus shook his head, smiled bitterly at Judas, and turned again to the disciples.

“Why do you weep?” he asked them. “Why are you afraid of Death? He is the most merciful of God’s archangels, the one who loves man the most. It is necessary that I be martyred and crucified, and that I descend to hell. But in three days I shall jolt out of my tomb, ascend to heaven and sit next to the Father.”

“Are you going to leave us again?” John shouted, weeping. “Take us with you to hell and heaven, Rabbi!”

“The task on earth is also a heavy one, John, beloved. You must all stay here on the soil, and work. Fight, here on the earth; love, wait-and I shall return!”

Jacob had already become reconciled to the rabbi’s death and was spinning in his mind what they would do when they were left on earth without him.

“We cannot oppose God’s will and the will of our master. As the prophets tell us, Rabbi, it is your duty to die, ours to live: to live so that the words you spoke shall not perish. We’ll establish them firmly in new Holy Scriptures, we’ll make laws, build our own synagogues and select our own high priests, Scribes and Pharisees.”

Jesus was terrified. “You crucify the spirit, Jacob,” he shouted. “No, no, I don’t want that!”

“This is the only way we can prevent the spirit from turning into air and escaping,” Jacob countered.

“But it won’t be free any more; it won’t be spirit!”

“That doesn’t matter. It will look like spirit. For our work, Rabbi, that’s sufficient.”

A cold sweat flowed over Jesus. He threw a quick glance at the disciples. No one lifted his head to object. Peter looked at Zebedee’s son with admiration. His was a creative mind: he’d taken on all the shining traits of his father, the captain; and now you would see-he was going to set everything in order for the master himself…

Jesus, despairing, lifted his hands. He seemed to be asking for help. “I shall send you the Comforter, the spirit of truth. He will guide you.”

“Send us the Comforter quickly,” John cried, “so that we won’t be led astray and fail to find you again, Rabbi!”

Jacob shook his hard, obstinate head. “It too-this spirit of truth you’re talking about-it too will be crucified. You must realize, Rabbi, that the spirit will be crucified as long as men exist. But it doesn’t matter. Something is always left behind, and that, I tell you, is enough for us.”

“It’s not enough for me!” Jesus shouted in despair.

Jacob felt troubled when he heard this painful cry. He approached and took the master’s hand. “Yes, it’s not enough for you, Rabbi,” he said. “That is why you are being crucified. Forgive me for contradicting you.”

Jesus placed his hand on the obstinate head. “If God wills it thus, let the spirit be eternally crucified upon this earth, and may the cross be blessed! Let us bear it with love, patience and faith. One day it will turn to wings on our shoulders.”

They did not speak. The moon was now high in the heavens, and a funereal light spilled over the tables. Jesus crossed his hands.

“The day’s work is done,” he said. “What I had to do, I did; what I had to speak, I spoke. I think I have done my duty. Now I cross my hands.”

He nodded opposite him to Judas, who rose, tightened his leather belt and grasped his crooked staff. Jesus waved his hand at him, as though saying goodbye.

“Tonight,” he said, “we shall be praying under the olive trees of Gethsemane, past the Cedron Valley. Judas, my brother, go-with God’s blessing. God be with you!”

Judas parted his lips. He wanted to say something, but changed his mind. The door was open. He rushed out, and his large feet were heard stamping heavily down the stone stairs.

Peter felt uneasy. “Where is he going?” he asked. He started to get up in order to follow him, but Jesus held him back.

“Peter, the wheel of God has begun to roll. Do not step in the way.”

A breeze had arisen. The flames on the seven-branched candelabra flickered. Suddenly there was a vehement gust of wind and the candles went out. The entire moon entered the chamber.

Nathanael was frightened and leaned over to his friend. “That wasn’t the wind, Philip. Someone came in. Oh God! do you think it was Charon?”

“And what do you care if it was!” the shepherd answered him. “He isn’t looking for us.” He slapped the back of his friend, who still had not recovered his equilibrium.

“Big ships, big storms,” he said. “Thank God we’re only rowboats and walnut shells.”

The moon had seized Jesus’ face and devoured it. Nothing remained but two pitch-black eyes. John was frightened. He stealthily held his hand to the rabbi’s face to see if it still existed. “Rabbi,” he murmured, “where are you?”

“I haven’t left yet, John, beloved,” Jesus replied. “I was lost for a moment because I thought of something an ascetic on holy Mount Carmel once told me: ‘I was immersed in the five troughs of my body,’ he said, ‘like a pig.’

“ ‘And how were you saved, Grandfather?’ I asked him Was it a great struggle?’

“ ‘Not at all,’ he answered me. ‘One morning I saw a flowering almond tree and was saved.’…

“A flowering almond tree, John, beloved: that is how death appeared to me for an instant just now.”

He rose. “Let us go,” he said. “The hour has come.” He took the lead. The disciples followed, deep in thought.

“Let’s leave,” Nathanael whispered to his friend. “I sense complications.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing myself,” Philip answered, “but let’s take Thomas too.”

They searched in the moonlight to find Thomas, but he had already disappeared into the alleyways. They remained by themselves in the rear. As soon as the group reached the Cedron Valley they allowed the others to outdistance them and then ran for their lives.

Jesus descended the Cedron Valley with those who remained, climbed up the opposite side and took the path which led to the olive grove of Gethsemane. How many times he had stayed awake all night under those ancient olive trees and talked about God’s mercy and the iniquities of men!

They halted. The disciples had eaten and drunk a great deal this evening and were sleepy. They cleared the soil by pushing away the stones with their feet, and then made themselves ready to lie down.

“Three are missing,” said the master, searching around him. “What happened to them?”

“They left,” Andrew said angrily.

Jesus smiled. “Do not condemn them, Andrew. You will see: one day all three shall return, and each will be wearing a crown made of thorns, which is the most royal of crowns-and unwithering!” When he had spoken he leaned against an olive tree, for he suddenly felt greatly fatigued.

The disciples had already lain down. They found large stones for pillows and made themselves comfortable.

“Come, Rabbi, lie down with us,” said Peter, yawning. “Andrew will keep watch.”

Jesus drew his body away from the tree. “Peter, Jacob and John,” he said, “come with me!” His voice was full of affliction and command.

Peter pretended not to hear. He stretched out on the ground and yawned again, but Zebedee’s two sons took him by the hands and lifted him up.

“Let’s go,” they said. “Aren’t you ashamed?”

Peter approached his brother. “Who knows what will happen, Andrew. Give me your knife.”

Jesus marched in front. They left the olive trees behind and reached open land. Opposite them gleamed Jerusalem, dressed all-white in the moonlight. The sky above was milky, and starless. The full moon, which earlier they had seen rise in such a hurry, now hung stationary in the center of the sky.

“Father,” Jesus murmured, “Father who is in heaven, Father who is on the earth: the world you created is beautiful, and we see it; beautiful too is the world which we do not see. I don’t know-forgive me-I don’t know, Father, which is the more beautiful.

He stooped, took up a handful of soil and smelled it. The aroma went deep down into his bowels. There must have been pistachio nearby, and the ground smelled of resin and honey. He rubbed the soil against his cheek, neck and lips. “What perfume,” he murmured, “what warmth, what brotherhood!”

He began to weep. He held the soil in his palm, not wanting to part with it ever. “Together,” he murmured, “together we shall die, my brother. I have no other companion.”

Peter had stood enough. “I’m exhausted,” he said. “Where’s he taking us? I’m not going farther; I’m going to lie down right here.”

But as he searched around him to find a comfortable hollow in which to stretch out, he saw Jesus coming slowly down upon them. He immediately recovered his strength and went out before the others to meet him.

“It’s almost midnight, Rabbi,” he said. “This is a good place for us to sleep.”

“My children,” Jesus said, “my soul is mortally sad. You go back and lie down under the trees while I stay here in the open to pray. But I beg of you, do not sleep. Stay awake tonight and pray with me. Help me, my children, help me to pass through this difficult hour.”

He turned his face toward Jerusalem. “Go now. Leave me alone.”

The disciples drew a stone’s throw away and thrust themselves under the olive trees. But Jesus fell to the ground, his face glued to the soil. His mind, heart and lips could not be separated from the earth-they had become earth.

“Father,” he murmured, “here I am fine: dust with dust. Leave me. Bitter, exceedingly bitter, is the cup you have given me to drink. I don’t have the endurance. If it is possible, Father, remove it from my lips.”

He remained silent, listening. Perhaps he would hear the Father’s voice in the blackness. He closed his eyes. Who could tell-God was good, the Father might appear inside him and smile compassionately and nod to him. He waited and waited, trembling. He heard nothing, saw nothing. All alone, he looked around him, became frightened, jolted upright and went to find the companions in order to steady his heart. He found all three asleep. He pushed Peter with his foot, then John, then Jacob.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?” he said to them bitterly. “Can’t you bear up just a short while, to pray with me?”

“Rabbi,” said Peter, unable to keep his eyelids from falling, “the soul is ready and willing but the flesh is weak. Forgive us.”

Jesus returned to the open space and fell upon his knees on the rocks. “Father,” he cried again, “bitter, exceedingly bitter, is the cup you have given me. Remove it from my lips.”

As he spoke he saw above him in the moonlight an angel, stern and pale, coming down. His wings were made of the moon and between his palms he held a silver chalice. Jesus hid his face in his hands and collapsed to the ground.

“Is this your response, Father? Have you no mercy?”

He waited a short time. Little by little he timidly separated his fingers to see if the angel was still above him. The heavenly visitor had come still lower, and the chalice was now touching his lips. He shrieked, threw out his arms and fell supine onto the ground.

When he came to, the moon had moved a hand’s breadth from the summit of the heavens and the angel had dissolved into the moonlight. In the distance, on the road to Jerusalem, he saw scattered, moving lights-apparently from burning torches. Were they coming toward him? Were they going away from him? Once more he was overcome by fear-and by the longing to see men, to hear a human voice, to touch hands he loved. He departed at a run to find the three companions.

All three were again asleep, their serene faces floating in a bath of moonlight. John had Peter’s shoulder as a pillow, Peter Jacob’s breast. Jacob supported his black-haired head on a stone. His arms were spread wide as if he were embracing the heavens, and his gleaming teeth shone through his raven-black mustache and beard. He must have been having a pleasant dream, for he was smiling. Jesus took pity on them and this time refrained from pushing them awake. Walking on tiptoe, he retraced his steps. Then he fell once more on his face and began to weep.

“Father,” he said, so softly it seemed he did not wish God to hear, “Father, your will be done. Not mine, Father-yours.”

He rose and looked again in the direction of the Jerusalem road. The lights had now come closer. He could clearly see the quivering shadows around them and the flashing of bronze armor.

“They’re coming… they’re coming…” he murmured, and his knees gave way beneath him. Exactly at that moment a nightingale appeared and perched in a small young cypress opposite him. It swelled its throat and began to sing. It had become drunk from the immense moon, the vernal perfumes, the damp warm night. Inside it was an omnipotent God, the same God that created heaven, earth and the souls of men. Jesus lifted his head and listened intently. Could this God who loved the soil, cool embraces and the tiny breasts of the birds really be the true God of men? Suddenly, in reply to the bird’s invitation, another nightingale bounded up from the very depths of his soul and it too began to hymn the eternal pains and joys: God, love, hope…

It sang, and Jesus trembled. He had not realized that such riches were inside him, nor so many delectable, unrevealed joys and sins. His insides blossomed; the nightingale became entangled in the flowering branches and could not, did not, wish to flee ever again. Where to go? Why should it leave? This earth was Paradise… But as Jesus, following the double song, entered Paradise without losing his body, hoarse voices were heard, lighted torches and bronze panoplies came near, and amid the glare and the smoke he seemed to descry Judas: two strong arms which clasped him and a red beard which pricked his face. He screamed and lost consciousness for a moment-so it seemed to him-but not before he felt Judas’s heavy-breathed mouth glued to his own and heard a hoarse, despairing voice: “Hail, Rabbi!”

The moon was now about to touch the whitish-blue mountains of Judea. A damp, freezing wind arose and Jesus’ nails and lips turned blue. Jerusalem towered blind and deathly pale in the moonlight.

Jesus turned and looked at the soldiers and Levites. “Welcome to the envoys of my God,” he said. “Let us go!”

Suddenly, amid the tumult, he discerned Peter drawing his knife to cut off the ear of one of the Levites.

“Put your knife in its sheath,” he ordered. “If we meet the knife with the knife, when will the world ever be free of stabbings?”