The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Thirty

HIS EYELIDS fluttered with joy and surprise. This was not a cross; it was a huge tree reaching from earth to heaven. Spring had come: blossoms covered the entire tree; and at the very very end of each branch a bird sat over the brink and sang… And he-he stood erect, his whole body leaning against the flowering tree. He lifted his head and counted: one, two, three…

“Thirty-three,” he murmured. “As many as my own years. Thirty-three birds, and all singing.”

His eyes expanded, burst their bounds, covered his entire face. Without turning, he could see the world in bloom in every direction. His ears, two sinuous seashells, received the blasphemies, weeping and tumult of the world and turned them into song. And from his heart, pierced by a lance, the blood flowed.

There was no wind, but the compassionate tree shed its flowers, one by one, onto his thorn-entangled hair and bloody hands. And as he struggled amid the sea of twitterings to remember who he was and where he was, the air suddenly whirled, congealed, and an angel stood before him… At that moment, day broke.

He had seen many angels, both while asleep and while awake, but he had never seen an angel like this. What warm, human beauty, what soft, curly fluff on his cheeks and upper lip! And the eyes-how they played friskily, full of passion, like those of a young man or woman in love. His body was supple and firm; a blue-black disquieting fluff enwrapped his legs, from the shins to the rounded thighs; and his armpits smelled of beloved human sweat.

Jesus was disconcerted. “Who are you?” he asked him, his heart pounding.

The angel smiled and his whole face became sweet, like the face of a man. He folded his two wide green wings as though he did not want to frighten Jesus too much.

“I am just like yourself,” he answered. “Your guardian angel. Have faith.”

His voice was deep and caressing, compassionate and familiar-just like the voice of a man. The voices of the angels Jesus had heard until now had been severe, and they had always scolded him. Rejoicing, he looked imploringly at the angel and waited for him to speak again.

The angel divined this and inclined smilingly to the man’s desire. “God sent me to bring sweetness to your lips. Men have given you much bitterness to drink; the heavens have done the same. You have suffered and struggled. In your whole life you have seen not one day of gladness. Your mother, brothers, disciples; the poor, the maimed, the oppressed-all, all abandoned you in the last terrible moment. You remained upon a rock in the darkness, completely alone and undefended. And then God the Father took pity on you. ‘Hey, there, why are you sitting?’ he called to me. ‘Aren’t you his guardian angel? Well, go down and save him. I don’t want him to be crucified. Enough’s enough!’

“ ‘Lord of hosts,’ I answered him, trembling, ‘didn’t you send him to earth to be crucified in order to save mankind? That’s why I sit here undisturbed: I thought that such was your will.’

“ ‘Let him be crucified in a dream,’ God answered; ‘let him taste the same fear, the same pain.’ ”

“Guardian angel,” cried Jesus, grasping the angel’s head with both his hands so that he would not lose him, “guardian angel, I’m bewildered-wasn’t I crucified?”

The angel placed his all-white hand on Jesus’ agitated heart in order to calm it. “Quiet down, don’t be disturbed, beloved,” he said to him, and his bewitching eyes fluttered. “No, you weren’t crucified.”

“Was the cross, then, a dream-and the nails, the pain, the sun which became dark?”

“Yes, a dream. You lived your entire Passion in a dream. You mounted the cross and were nailed to it in a dream. The five wounds in your hands, feet and heart were inflicted in a dream, but with such force that, look! the blood is still flowing.”

Jesus gazed around him in a trance. Where was he? What was this plain with its flowering trees and water? And Jerusalem? And his soul? He turned to the angel and touched his arm. How cool his flesh was, how firm!

“Guardian angel,” he said, “as you speak my flesh finds relief, the cross becomes the shadow of a cross, the nails shadows of nails, and the crucifixion floats in the sky above me, like a cloud.”

“Let us go,” said the angel, and he began to stride nimbly over the blossoming meadow. “Great joys await you, Jesus of Nazareth. God left me free to allow you to taste all the pleasures you ever secretly longed for. Beloved, the earth is good-you’ll see. Wine, laughter, the lips of a woman, the gambols of your first son on your knees-all are good. We angels (would you believe it?) often lean over, up there in heaven, look at the earth-and sigh.”

His huge green wings fluttered and embraced Jesus. “Turn your head,” he said; “look behind you.”

Jesus turned his head-and what did he see? High in the distance, the hill of Nazareth gleamed in the rising sun, the fortress gates were open, and a multitude of thousands-all great lords and ladies-was coming out. They were dressed in gold and mounted on white horses. Waving in the air were standards of snowy-white silk decorated with golden lilies. The procession descended between flowering mountains, passed by royal castles, forded rivers, wound in and out, hugging the hillsides. He heard a din compounded of laughter, shrill conversations, and from behind the thick clumps of trees, sweet sighs.

“Guardian angel,” said Jesus, bewildered, “what is this multitude of noblemen? Who are these kings and queens? Where are they going?”

“It’s a royal marriage procession,” the angel replied with a smile. “They are going to a wedding.”

“Who is getting married?”

“You,” he answered. “This is the first joy I give you.”

Jesus’ blood flowed up to his head. Suddenly he conjectured who the bride would be, and his flesh rejoiced. He was in a hurry now. “Let’s go,” he said.

He immediately felt that he too had mounted a white horse saddled and bridled in gold. He looked at himself. A blue feather was waving at the top of his head, and his poor tunic with its thousands of patches had become all velvet and gold.

“My boy, is this the kingdom of heaven I announced to men?” he asked.

“No, no,” the angel replied, laughing. “This is the Earth.”

“How did it change so much?”

“It did not change; you did. Once upon a time your heart did not want the earth: it went against her will. Now it wants her-and that is the whole secret. Harmony between the earth and the heart, Jesus of Nazareth: that is the kingdom of heaven… But why waste our time with words? Come, the bride is waiting.”

The angel now mounted a white horse, and they set out. Behind him the mountains neighed with the royal cavalcade which was descending. The laughter of the women had increased. The birds, beating their wings in the air, were drawing everything toward the south. “He’s coming,” they sang, “he’s coming, he’s coming!”

Jesus’ heart was also a bird. Perched on the top of his head, it twittered, “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

But while he was galloping, suddenly, in the midst of his great exaltation, he remembered his disciples. Looking behind him, he examined the mass of lords and ladies, searched to find them-and did not find them.

He glanced at his companion with surprise.

“And my disciples?” he asked. “I don’t see them. Where can they be?”

He was answered with mocking laughter. “Dispersed.”

“Why?”

“Fear.”

“Even Judas?”

“All! All! They returned to their caïques, hid themselves in their cottages. They swear they never saw you, don’t know you… Don’t look behind you any more. Forget about them. Look in front.”

The inebriating perfume of flowering lemon trees invaded the air.

“Here we are,” said the angel, dismounting. His horse turned into light and vanished.

A deep lowing of complaint, all suffering and sweetness, resounded from within the olive grove. Jesus felt troubled: his own bowels seemed to be calling out. He looked. Tied to the trunk of an olive tree was a gleaming full-rumped bull, black with white forehead. His tail was held high, and a nuptial crown rested on his horns. Jesus had never seen such power, such brilliance, such hard muscles, nor eyes so dark, so full of virility. He was frightened. This is not a bull, he reflected; it is one of the dark, deathless faces of Almighty God.

The angel stood near him and smiled cunningly. “Don’t be afraid, Jesus of Nazareth. It’s a bull, a young virgin bull. Look how swiftly he moves his tongue and licks his moist nostrils, how he lowers his head and butts the olive tree, anxious to fight with it, how he shakes himself in order to break the rope and escape… Look down there in the meadow. What do you see?”

“Heifers, young heifers. They’re grazing.”

“They’re not grazing; they’re waiting for the young bull to break the rope. Listen once more how he bellows. What tenderness, what supplication, what power! Truly, like a dark and wounded god… Why has your face grown fierce, Jesus of Nazareth? Why do you look at me with those dark, unlaughing eyes?”

“Let us go,” Jesus bellowed softly. His voice was all tenderness, supplication and power.

“First I’ll release the bull,” answered the angel, laughing. “Don’t you feel sorry for him?”

He approached and untied the rope. For a moment the chaste beast did not move. But suddenly he understood: he was free. With a bound he rushed toward the meadow.

At precisely that instant Jesus heard the tinkling of bracelets and necklaces from within a lemon orchard. He turned. Mary Magdalene, crowned with lemon blossoms, was standing before him, bashful and trembling.

Jesus rushed forward and took her in his arms. “Magdalene, beloved Magdalene,” he cried, “oh, how many, how very many years I’ve longed for this moment! Who stepped between us and refused to leave us free-God?… Why are you crying?”

“Because of my great joy, Beloved; because of my great longing. Come!”

“Let us go. Lead me!”

He turned to say goodbye to his companion, but the angel had vanished into the air. Behind them, the great royal cortege of lords, ladies, kings, white horses and white lilies had also vanished. Below in the meadow, the bull was mounting the heifers.

“Whom are you looking for, Beloved? Why do you gaze behind you? Only we two remain in the world. I kiss the five wounds on your feet, your hands, your heart. What joy this is, what a Passover! The whole world has been resurrected! Come.”

“Where? Give me your hand; lead me. I trust you.”

“To a dense orchard. You’re being hunted; they want to seize you. Everything was ready-the cross, the nails, the mob, Pilate-but suddenly an angel came and snatched you away. Come-before the sun mounts and they see you. They’ve grown rabid: they want your death.”

“What have I done to them?”

“You sought their good, their salvation. How can they ever pardon you for that! Give me your hand, Beloved. Follow the woman. She, always sure, finds the way.”

She took his hand. Her fiery-red veil swelled as she walked hastily under the flowering, soon-fruitful lemon trees. Her fingers, entwined in those of the man, were burning hot, and her mouth smelled of lemon leaves.

Out of breath, she stopped for a moment and looked at Jesus. He shuddered, for he saw her eye frolic seductively, cunningly, like the eye of the angel. But she smiled at him.

“Don’t be afraid, Beloved. For years and years I’ve had something on the tip of my tongue, but I never had the courage to reveal it to you. Now I shall do so.”

“What is it? Speak without fear, Beloved.”

“If you’re in the seventh heaven and a passer-by requests a glass of water of you, descend from the seventh heaven in order to give it to him. If you are a holy saint and a woman requests a kiss of you, descend from your sanctity in order to give it to her. Otherwise you cannot be saved.”

Jesus seized her, threw back her head and kissed her on the mouth.

They both turned deathly pale. Their knees gave way. Unable to go further, they lay down under a flowering lemon tree and began to roll on the ground.

The sun came and stood above them. A breeze blew; several lemon flowers fell on the two naked bodies. A green lizard cemented itself to a stone opposite and watched them with its round, motionless eyes. Now and then the bull could be heard bellowing in the distance, rested now and satiated. A gentle drizzle cooled the two burning bodies and drew out the odor of the soil.

Purring, Mary Magdalene hugged the man, kept his body glued to hers.

“No man has ever kissed me. I have never felt a man’s beard over my lips and cheeks, nor a man’s knees between my knees. This is the day of my birth!… Are you crying, my child?”

“Beloved wife, I never knew the world was so beautiful or the flesh so holy. It too is a daughter of God, a graceful sister of the soul. I never knew that the joys of the body were not sinful.”

“Why did you set out to conquer heaven, and sigh, and seek the miraculous water of eternal life? I am that water. You have stooped, drunk, found peace… Are you still sighing, my child? What are you thinking about?”

“My heart is a withered rose of Jericho which revives and opens up again when placed in water. Woman is a fountain of immortal water. Now I understand.”

“Understand what, my child?”

“This is the road.”

“The road? What road, dearest Jesus?”

“The road by which the mortal becomes immortal, the road by which God descends to earth in human shape. I went astray because I sought a route outside the flesh; I wanted to go by way of the clouds, great thoughts and death. Woman, precious fellow worker of God, forgive me. I bow and worship you, Mother of God… What shall we name the son we are going to have?”

“Take him to the Jordan and baptize him as you please. He’s yours.”

“Let’s call him Paraclete, the Comforter!”

“Shh, I hear someone coming through the trees. It must be my faithful little Negro. I told him to keep watch so that no one would come near. Here he is!”

“Saul, ma’am.”

The boy’s brilliantly white eyes danced; his chubby body was frothing all over like that of a horse after a gallop.

Magdalene jumped up and placed her hand over his mouth. “Quiet!”

She turned to Jesus. “Beloved husband, you’re tired. Sleep. I shall return quickly.”

But Jesus had already closed his eyes. A sweet sleep had flowed over his eyelids and temples, and he did not see Magdalene go away under the lemon trees and disappear down the deserted road.

But his mind jolted up. Leaving his body on the ground to sleep, it started out after Magdalene. Where was she going? Why had her eyes suddenly filled with tears and the world grown dim? His mind, like a hawk, flew over those eyes and did not let her escape.

The frightened young Negro stumbled along in front. They passed the olive grove. The sun still had not set. They entered the meadow. The heifers were stretched out on the grass, chewing their cud. They went down into a shady, rocky ravine where they heard dogs barking and the panting voices of men. Terror took hold of the young Negro. “I’m leaving,” he said, and ran off.

Magdalene remained all alone. She looked around her. Rocks, flint, a few brambles. A wild, barren fig tree protruded horizontally from the face of the cliff. Two ravens-sentries on the vantage point of a jutting rock-caught sight of Magdalene and began to screech as though calling their mates.

She heard the sound of stones being dislodged. Men were climbing the cliff. A black, red-spotted dog appeared, its tongue hanging out. The ravine became filled, like a cemetery, with cypresses and palms.

A calm, satisfied voice was heard. “Welcome.”

Magdalene turned around. “Who spoke? Who greeted me?”

“I did.”

“Who are you?”

“God.”

“God! Let me cover my hair and hide my breasts. Turn away your face, Lord; you must not see my nakedness-I’m ashamed. Why did you bring me into this savage wilderness? Where am I? I see nothing but cypresses and palms.”

“Exactly! Death and immortality… Great Martyr, I’ve brought you precisely where I want you. Prepare yourself for death, Magdalene, so that you may become immortal.”

“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to become immortal. Let me continue to live on the earth, and afterward, turn me into ashes.”

“Death is a caravan laden with spices and perfumes. Do not be afraid, Magdalene. Mount the black camel and enter the desert of heaven.”

“Oh, who are those frenzied travelers who emerged from behind the cypresses?”

“Don’t be afraid, Magdalene; they are my camel-drivers. Shade your eyes with your hand. Don’t you see the black camel they are leading, the one with the red velvet saddle on which you’ll ride? Do not resist.”

“Lord, I’m not afraid of death, but I have a complaint to make. Just now, for the first time, my flesh and soul were considered worthy of having the same mouth; for the first time, both of them were kissed-and must I die?”

“This is an excellent moment for you to die, Magdalene. You won’t find a better one, so do not resist.”

“Oh! what are those cries, threats and peals of laughter I hear? Lord, do not abandon me. They’re coming to kill me!”

She heard the voice, still calm and satisfied, but far away now in the distance. “Magdalene, you have attained the highest joy of your life. You can go no higher. Death is kind… Until we meet again, First Martyr!”

The voice disappeared. From a bend in the ravine the mob of frenzied Levites and bloodthirsty slaves of Caiaphas emerged with knives and hatchets. They saw Magdalene, and cleavers, dogs and men fell upon her.

“Mary Magdalene, whore!” they howled in fits of laughter.

A black cloud covered the sun; the earth grew dark.

“I’m not, I’m not!” the unfortunate woman cried out. “I was, but am not. Today I was born!”

“Mary Magdalene, whore!”

“I was, but I’m not now, I swear it. Don’t kill me. Mercy! Who are you, you with the bald head, the fat belly, the crooked legs-you, the hunchback? Don’t touch me!”

“Mary Magdalene, whore! I am Saul. The God of Israel sent me from Damascus and gave me the authority to kill him.”

“To kill whom?”

“Your lover!”

He turned to his gang.

“On her, lads! She’s his lover, she’ll know. Tell us where you’ve hidden him, strumpet!”

“I won’t!”

“I’ll kill you!”

“In Bethany!”

“Liar! We’ve just come from there. You’ve got him hidden somewhere near here. The truth now!”

“Let go of my hair! Why do you want to kill him? What has he done to you?”

“Whoever lifts his hand against the holy Law-death!”

While the hunchback spoke he looked at her passionately and came closer and closer, his breath on fire.

Magdalene fluttered her eyelids. “Saul,” she said, “look at my breasts, my arms, my throat. Wouldn’t it be a shame if they perished? Don’t kill them!”

Saul came still closer. His voice was smothered, hoarse. “Confess where he is and I won’t kill you. I like your breasts, your arms, your neck. Pity your beauty and confess! Why do you look at me like that? What are you thinking?”

“I was just thinking, Saul-and sighing-just thinking what miracles you would perform if God suddenly flashed within you and you saw the truth! To conquer the world my beloved needs disciples like you-not fishermen, peddlers and shepherds, but flames like yourself, Saul!”

“Conquer the world! Does he want to conquer the world? How? Speak, Magdalene, because that’s just what I want to do.”

“With love.”

“With love?”

“Saul, listen to what I’m going to tell you. Send the others away-I don’t want them to hear. This man you’re hunting and want to kill is the son of God, the Saviour of the world, the Messiah! Yes, by the soul which I shall render to God!”

A skinny, tubercular Levite with a scanty gray beard hissed: “Saul, Saul, her arms are wolf snares. Beware!”

“Go away!”

He turned again to Magdalene. “With love? I too want to conquer the world. I go down to the ports, see the ships leaving, and my heart burns. I want to reach the ends of the earth, but not as a beggarly slave of a Jew: no, as a king, with my sword! But how? It’s impossible. I feel so wretched I want to kill myself. In the meantime I find relief by killing others.”

He was quiet for a moment and then, coming still closer to the woman, “Where is your master, Magdalene?” he asked in a gentle tone. “Tell me so that I can go find him and speak with him. I want him to tell me what love is, and which kind of love will conquer the world… Why are you crying?”

“Because I do want to reveal to you where he is. I want the two of you to meet. He is all sweetness; you all fire. Together, you will conquer the world. But I don’t trust you; no, I don’t trust you, Saul-and that’s why I’m crying.”

She was still speaking when a stone whistled through the air and broke her jaw.

“Brothers-in the name of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob-strike!” howled the consumptive Levite. It was he who had seized the first stone and had struck her.

The heavens thundered. In the distance the setting sun was bathed in blood.

“Here’s for her thousand-kissed mouth!” howled one of Caiaphas’s slaves. Magdalene’s teeth scattered on the ground.

“Here’s for her belly!”

“And for her heart!”

“And for the bridge of her nose!”

Magdalene buried her head in her breast to protect it. Blood gushed from her mouth, her breasts, her womb. The death rale commenced.

The hawk beat its wings. Its round eyes had seen everything. Uttering a piercing cry, it returned, found its body still lying under the lemon trees, and entered. Jesus’ eyelids fluttered; a large drop of rain fell on his lips. He awoke and sat up on the rich mortuary soil, lost in thought. What had he just dreamed? He could not remember. Nothing remained in his mind but stones, a woman and blood… Could the woman have been Magdalene? Her face rippled, flowed like water, would not stay fixed so that he could see it. As he struggled to distinguish it the stones and blood seemed to turn into a loom, and now the woman was a weaver sitting before her machine and singing. Her voice was exceeding sweet, and full of complaint.

Above his head the lemons gleamed all gold between the dark leaves of the lemon tree. He pressed his palms into the damp soil and felt its coolness and vernal warmth. He glanced quickly around him: no one was watching. Leaning over, he kissed the earth.

“Mother,” he said softly, “hold me close, and I shall hold you close. Mother, why can’t you be my God?”

The lemon leaves stirred, there were light footsteps on the damp earth, an invisible blackbird whistled. Jesus raised his eyes and saw his green-winged guardian angel standing before him, pleased and merry. The curly fuzz on his body glittered in the oblique rays of the setting sun.

“Hello,” Jesus said. “Your face is sparkling. What more good news do you bring me? I have faith in you: the green of your wings is like the grass of the earth.”

The angel laughed and folded his wings. Squatting next to Jesus he crumpled a lemon flower and smelled it ardently, then gazed at the western sky, which was now the color of sour cherries. A gentle breeze rose from the earth, and all the leaves of the lemon tree rustled joyously and danced.

“How happy you human beings must be!” he said. “You are made of soil and water, and everything on the earth is made of soil and water. That’s why you all match: men, women, meat, vegetables, fruit… Aren’t you of the same soil, the same water? Everything wants to join together. Why, just now on my way I heard a woman calling you.”

“Why was she calling me? What does she want?”

The angel smiled. “Her water and soil are calling your water and soil. She sits at her loom, weaving and singing. Her song pierces the mountains, spills over the plain-seeking you. Listen. In a moment it will come here, here to the lemon trees. Quiet: there it is. Do you hear? I thought she was singing, but she is not singing; she is lamenting. Listen carefully. What do you hear?”

“I hear the birds returning to their nests. It’s getting dark.”

“Nothing else? Try with all your might. Let your soul escape your body so that it may hear.”

“I hear! I hear! The voice of a woman, far away, far away… She’s lamenting, but I can’t catch the words.”

“I hear them perfectly. Listen to them yourself. What is she lamenting?”

Jesus rose and exerted all his strength: his soul escaped. It arrived at the village, entered the house and stopped in the courtyard.

“I hear…” Jesus said, putting a finger to his lips.

“Speak.”

Tomb of silver, tomb of gold, gilded tomb,

Eat not the red lips, eat not the black eyes,

Eat not his tiny nightingale-voiced tongue…

“Do you recognize the singer, Jesus of Nazareth?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Mary, the sister of Lazarus. She is still weaving her trousseau. She thinks you are dead, and weeps. Her snowy throat is uncovered; her necklace of turquoises bears down upon her bosom. Her whole body is wet with sweat-and smells: smells like bread freshly removed from the oven, like the ripe quince, like soil after a rain. Get up. Let us go and console her.”

“And Magdalene?” Jesus cried, frightened.

The angel took him by the arm and sat him down once more on the ground. “Magdalene,” he said tranquilly. “Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you: she’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“She was killed. Hey, where are you going, Jesus of Nazareth, with your fists all clenched like that? Whom are you off to murder-God? It was he who killed her. Sit down! The All-Holy threw an arrow, pierced her at the highest peak of her happiness, and now she remains above, immortal. Can there be a greater joy for a woman? She will not see her love fade, her heart turn coward, her flesh rot away. I was there the whole time he was killing her, and I saw what happened. She lifted her hands to heaven and shouted, ‘Thank you, God. This is what I wanted!’ ”

But Jesus flared up. “Only dogs have such a longing for submission-dogs and angels! I’m not a dog and I’m not an angel. I’m a man, and I shout, Unjust! Unjust! Almighty, it was unjust of you to kill her. Even the most boorish of wood-choppers trembles to cut down a tree in bloom, and Magdalene had blossomed from her roots right up to the topmost branches!”

The angel took him in his arms and caressed his hair, shoulders, knees; spoke to him quietly, tenderly. It became dark at last. A breeze blew, the clouds scattered and a large star appeared. It must have been the Evening Star.

“Be patient,” he said to him, “submit, do not despair. Only one woman exists in the world, one woman with countless faces. This one falls; the next rises. Mary Magdalene died, Mary sister of Lazarus lives and waits for us, waits for you. She is Magdalene herself, but with another face. Listen… She sighed again. Let us go and comfort her. Within her womb she holds-holds for you, Jesus of Nazareth-the greatest of all joys: a son-your son. Let us go!”

The angel stroked his friend tenderly and slowly lifted him from the ground. The two now stood together under the lemon trees. Above them, the Evening Star went down, laughing.

Little by little Jesus’ heart softened. In the humid half darkness the faces of Mary Magdalene and Mary sister of Lazarus were mixing, becoming one. The night arrived, all perfume, and covered them.

“Come,” mumbled the angel, placing his round, fuzzy arm about Jesus’ waist. His breath smelled of nutmeg and damp soil. Jesus leaned his head against him, closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He wanted the breath of the guardian angel to descend to his very bowels.

Smiling, the angel unfolded one of his wings. The night was accompanied by a heavy frost, and he wrapped his thick green wings around Jesus so that he would not be cold. Once more the woman’s lament, like a peaceful springtime drizzle, was audible in the damp air: Tomb of silver, tomb of gold…

“Let us go,” said Jesus, and he smiled.