The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Thirty-Two

DAYS WENT BY, months, years. In the house of Master Lazarus the sons and daughters multiplied, and Martha and Mary competed to see who would give birth to the most. The man wrestled, sometimes in the workshop with pine, kermes oak and cypress, throwing them down and forcing them into tools for men; sometimes in the fields with winds, moles and nettles. In the evening he would return, exhausted, to sit in his yard, and his women would come and wash his feet and calves, light a fire, lay the table for him and open wide their arms. And then, just as he worked the wood, liberating the cradles which were within it, just as he worked the land, liberating the grapes and ears of grain which were within it, so too he worked the women and liberated from within them: God.

What happiness this is, Jesus reflected, what profound correspondence between body and soul, between earth and man!… And Martha and Mary held out their hands and touched the man they loved and the children which issued from their wombs and resembled him, touched them to see if they and all this joy and sweetness were real. So much happiness seemed much too much to them, and they trembled.

One night Mary had a horrible dream. She got up, went into the yard and saw Jesus, who had washed himself and was sitting contentedly on the ground, his palms pressed into the soil. She went near him and sat down at his side. “What are dreams, Rabbi?” she asked him softly. “What are they made of? Who sends them?”

“They are neither angels nor devils,” Jesus answered her. “When Lucifer started his revolt against God, dreams could not make up their minds which side to take. They remained between devils and angels, and God hurled them down into the inferno of sleep… Why do you ask? What did you dream, Mary?”

But Mary burst into tears and did not answer. Jesus stroked her hand. “As long as you keep it within you, Mary, it will eat away your insides. Bring it out into the light so that you can be rid of it.”

Mary wanted to begin but was so afraid she could hardly breathe. Jesus caressed her, gave her courage.

“The whole night the moon was so bright I could not sleep. But at dawn I must have fallen asleep, because I saw a bird… No, it wasn’t a bird: it had six fiery wings-it must have been one of the seraphim that surround God’s Throne. He came, fluttered silently around me and then suddenly rushed down and wrapped his wings about my head. He put his beak into my ear and spoke to me… Rabbi, I prostrate myself, I kiss your feet. Order me to be quiet!”

“Courage, Mary. I’m with you, aren’t I? Why are you afraid?… Well, he spoke to you. What did he say?”

“That all this, Rabbi, is…”

Once again she could not breathe. She grasped Jesus’ knees and squeezed them forcefully between her arms.

“That all this is… Is what, dearest Mary?”

“A dream.” She burst into tears.

Jesus shuddered. “A dream?”

“Yes, Rabbi. All this a dream.”

“What do you mean by all this?”

“You, me, Martha, our embraces at night, the children… All, all-all lies! Lies created by the Tempter to deceive us! He took sleep, death and air and fashioned them into… Rabbi, help me!”

She rolled to the ground, quivered convulsively for a moment and then suddenly became stiff. Martha ran out with some rose vinegar and chafed her- temples. Mary came to, opened her eyes and, seeing Jesus, clutched his feet.

“She moved her lips, Rabbi,” said Martha. “Bend down. She wants to say something to you.”

Jesus leaned over and raised her head. She moved her lips.

“What did you say, beloved Mary? I could not hear.”

Mary called up all her strength. “And that you, Rabbi…” she murmured.

“That I? Speak!”

“… were crucified!” She said this and then once more rolled to the ground in a swoon.

They laid her on her bed. Martha stayed with her. Jesus opened the door and went out to the fields. He was suffocating. He heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw the young Negro.

“What is it?” he shouted at him angrily. “I want to be alone.”

“I’m afraid to leave you alone, Jesus of Nazareth,” the Negro replied, his eyes glistening. “This is a difficult moment. Your mind might waver.”

“That’s just what I want. There are times when my confounded mind hinders my sight.”

The Negro laughed. “Are you a woman? Do you believe in dreams? Let the ladies cry. They’re females, they can’t endure great joy, so they cry. But we, we endure, don’t we?”

“Yes. Be quiet!”

They went along quickly and climbed up onto a green hill. Anemones and yellow daisies were scattered in the grass. The earth smelled of thyme. Jesus could see his house between the olive trees. Peaceful smoke rose from the roof, and Jesus’ soul felt relieved. The women have recovered their forces, he reflected. They have squatted before the hearth and lighted a fire… “Let’s go back without breathing a word,” he said to the Negro. “They’re women: have pity on them.”

Days went by. One evening a strange, half-drunk wayfarer appeared. It was the Sabbath and Jesus was not working. He sat on the doorstep holding his youngest son and youngest daughter on his knees, playing with them. It had rained in the morning, but the weather cleared in the afternoon and now thin, cherry-colored clouds floated toward the west. Between them the sky was solid green, like a meadow. Two cooing doves were on the roof. Mary sat at Jesus’ side, her breasts pendulant and full.

The wayfarer halted, glanced maliciously at Jesus and laughed. “Ho, Master Lazarus,” he said, stammering, “well, you’ve certainly had good luck! The years run past your door and depart while you sit like the patriarch Jacob with his two wives Leah and Rachel. You’ve got two wives yourself-Martha and Mary. The one, so I hear, is in charge of the house and the other is in charge of you; while you are in charge of everything: wood, land, wives-and God. But show yourself a little, stick your nose out of your door, shade your eyes against the sun and gaze out over the world to see what’s going on… Have you ever heard of Pilate, Pontius Pilate? May his bones roast in tar!”

Jesus recognized the half-drunk wayfarer and smiled. “Simon of Cyrene, man of God and wine, welcome! Take a stool and sit down. Martha, a cup of wine for my old friend.”

The wayfarer sat down on the stool and took the cup between his palms. “All the world knows me,” he said proudly. “Everyone has come to do worship in my tavern. You must have too, Master Lazarus-but don’t change the subject. I was asking you if you’d heard of Pilate, Pontius Pilate. Did you ever see him?”

The Negro appeared. He leaned against the door post and listened.

“A thin cloud passes across my mind,” said Jesus, struggling to remember. “Two cold eyes, ash gray like a hawk’s; a laugh full of mockery; a gold ring… I don’t remember anything else. Oh, yes-a silver basin he had brought to him so that he could wash his hands. Nothing else. It must have been a dream, the hoar frost of the mind. Up came the sun and it vanished… But now that you remind me of him, Cyrenian, I do remember: he tormented me greatly in my sleep.”

“Curse him! I’ve heard that in God’s eyes dreams weigh more heavily than the reality of the day. Well, God punished Pilate. He’s been crucified!”

Jesus uttered a cry: “Crucified!”

“Why get excited? Serves him right! They found him yesterday, at dawn-crucified. It seems his mind began to totter. He couldn’t sleep. He would get out of bed, find a basin and wash his hands all night long, shouting, ‘I wash and rinse my hands; I am innocent!’ But the blood remained on his hands, and he would get more water and wash them again. Then he would go out and roam Golgotha. He could find no rest. Every night he ordered his two faithful Negro slaves to beat him with his own whip. He gathered thorns, made them into a crown, pushed it onto his head, and the blood flowed.”

“I remember… I remember…” Jesus murmured. From time to time he glanced stealthily at the Negro boy who, leaning against the door post, was listening intently.

“Afterward he fell to drink and went the rounds of the taverns. He came to mine too, drank, became a cock and a pig. His wife got disgusted and abandoned him. Then orders came from Rome to dismiss him… Are you listening, Master Lazarus? Why do you sigh?”

Jesus stared at the ground and did not reply. The boy refilled Simon’s cup. “Quiet!” he hissed softly in his ear. “Go away!”

But Simon became angry. “Why should I be quiet! To make a long story short, yesterday at dawn your friend Pilate was found at the top of Golgotha, crucified!”

Jesus suddenly felt a stab in his heart as though he was being pierced with a lance; and the four blue marks on his hands and feet swelled and turned red.

Mary saw him grow pale. She approached and stroked his knees. “Beloved,” she said, “you are tired. Come inside and lie down.”

The sun had set; the air grew cool. The Cyrenian, now completely drunk, was tired of talking. He fell asleep. The Negro seized his arm, raised him with one heave and dragged him out of the village.

“You were delirious,” he said to him angrily, pointing to the road to Jerusalem. “Leave!”

The boy returned anxiously to the house. Jesus, stretched out in his workshop, had his eyes pinned on the skylight. Martha was arranging the dinner. Mary suckled the youngest child and silently watched Jesus. The Negro boy entered, his eyes still flashing with anger.

“He’s gone,” he said. “He was completely drunk; he didn’t know what he was saying.”

Jesus turned and looked at the Negro in an agony. He bit his lips so that they would not dare part and speak. Once more he turned to the Negro. He seemed to be asking his aid. But the boy put the finger to his lips and smiled at him.

“Go to sleep,” he said, “go to sleep.”

Jesus closed his eyes. His lips relaxed, the wrinkles in his forehead disappeared, and he slept. The next day at dawn when he awoke, he felt joy and relief, as though he had escaped from a great danger. The Negro had also awakened. Chuckling to himself, he was putting the workshop in order.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Jesus, winking at him.

“I’m laughing at mankind, Jesus of Nazareth,” he answered in a low voice, so that the women would not hear. “What terrors your wretched minds have to pass at every moment! Sheer cliffs to the right, sheer cliffs to the left, sheer cliffs behind you. No passage but in front, and there: a string stretched out over the abyss!”

“For a moment,” said Jesus, laughing also, “my mind stumbled on your string and all but fell. But I escaped!”

The women entered, and the talk took a different turn. The fire was lighted; the day began. A mob of laughing children flew into the yard and set about playing blindman’s bluff.

“Mary, do we have so many children?” said Jesus, laughing. “Martha, the yard is full. We’ve either got to enlarge the house or stop giving birth.”

“We’ll enlarge the house,” answered Martha.

“They’re almost ready to climb the walls and trees of the yard like field mice and squirrels. We’ve declared war on death, Mary. Blessed be the organs of women. They are full of eggs, like those of fish, and each egg is a man. Death will not overcome us.”

“No, death will not overcome us, Beloved. You just take care of yourself and stay well,” Mary replied.

Jesus was in a good mood and wanted to tease her. Besides, Mary pleased him very much this morning, only half awake as she was, and standing before him combing her hair.

“Mary,” he said, “don’t you ever think about death, don’t you seek God’s mercy, don’t you worry what will become of you in the next world?”

Mary shook her long hair and laughed. “Those are a man’s concerns,” she said. “No, I don’t seek God’s mercy. I’m a woman; I seek mercy from my husband. And I don’t knock at God’s door either, asking like a beggar for the eternal joys of Paradise. I hug the man I love and have no desire for any other Paradise. Let’s leave the eternal joys to the men!”

“The eternal joys to the men?” said Jesus, caressing her bare shoulder. “Beloved wife, the earth is a narrow threshing floor. How can you lock yourself up in that space and not want to escape?”

“A woman is happy only inside boundaries. You know that, Rabbi. A woman is a reservoir, not a spring.”

Martha entered at a run. “Someone’s looking for our house,” she said. “Short and fat, hunchbacked, with a head as bald as an egg. He’s tripping all over his crooked pegs and will be here in a minute.”

The Negro also rushed in, panting. “I don’t like his looks; I’m going to shut the door in his face. He’s another one who’ll turn everything upside down.”

Jesus eyed the boy fiercely. “What are you afraid of?” he asked. “Who is he that you should fear him? Open the door!”

The Negro winked at him. “Chase him away!” he said to him softly.

“Why? Who is he?”

“Chase him away,” the Negro repeated, “and don’t ask any questions.”

Jesus became angry. “Am I not free? Can’t I do what I please? Open the door.”

By this time feet were heard in the road. They halted, and there was a knock at the door.

“Who’s there?” Jesus asked, running into the yard.

A high, cracked voice replied, “One sent by God. Open!”

The door opened. A squat, fat hunchback, still young, but bald, stood on the threshold. His eyes were spitting fire. The two women, who had run to see him, recoiled.

“Rejoice and exult, brothers,” said the visitor, opening wide his arms. “I bring you the Good News!”

Jesus looked at him, struggling to remember where he had seen him. Cold shivers ran up and down his spine. “Who are you? I think I’ve met you somewhere. At Caiaphas’s palace? At a crucifixion?”

Sneering, the young Negro, who was rolled up in one of the corners of the yard, said, “It’s Saul, bloodthirsty Saul!”

“Are you Saul?” Jesus asked, horrified.

“I was, but I’m not bloodthirsty Saul any more. I’ve seen the true light; I am Paul. I was saved-glory be to God!-and now I’ve set out to save the world. Not Judea, not Palestine, but the whole world! The Good News I carry needs oceans and distant cities: spaciousness. Don’t shake your head, Master Lazarus; don’t laugh, don’t mock. Yes, I shall save the world!”

“My fine lad,” Jesus replied, “I’ve already come back from where you’re headed. I remember that when I was young like you, I too set out to save the world. Isn’t that what being young means-to want to save the world? I went around barefooted, in rags, girded with a strap which was full of nails, like the ancient prophets. I shouted, ‘Love! Love!’ and a lot more I no longer wish to remember. They pelted me with lemon peels, they beat me, and I was a hair’s breadth from crucifixion. My fine lad, the same will happen to you!”

He had gathered momentum. Forgetting his role as Master Lazarus, he was revealing his secret to a stranger.

The terrified Negro came between them to detour the conversation. “Don’t talk to him, Master. I have something to ask him; let me speak with him.”

He turned to the stranger. “Isn’t it you, hell-fiend, who most unjustly murdered Mary Magdalene? Your hands are dripping with blood. Get out of our respectable yard!”

“You? You?” said Jesus, shuddering.

“Yes, me,” Paul answered with a deep sigh. “I beat my breast, tear my clothes and cry, ‘I have sinned! I have sinned!’ I received letters with instructions to kill anyone who violated the Law of Moses. I had killed everyone I could and was returning to Damascus when suddenly a flash of lightning shot out of the sky and threw me to the ground. The great brilliance blinded me: I saw nothing. But I heard a reproachful voice above my head, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you pursue me? What have I done to you?’

“ ‘Who are you, Lord,’ I cried.

“ ‘I am Jesus whom you pursue. Arise, go into Damascus, and there my faithful will tell you what you must do.’ I jumped up, trembling. My eyes were open, but I saw nothing. My companions took me by the hand and brought me into Damascus. And one of Jesus’ disciples, Ananias-God bless him-came to the cottage where I was lodging. He placed his hand on my head and prayed: ‘Christ, give him his sight so that he may travel over the whole world and proclaim the Gospel!’ As he spoke, the scales fell from my eyes. I received my sight and was baptized. I was baptized; I became Paul, the apostle to the Nations. I preach-on land, on sea-I preach the Good News… Why do you look at me like that, your eyes popping out of your head? Master Lazarus, why have you got up in such a tumult?”

His fists clenched, and frothing at the mouth, Jesus paced the yard. He saw the pale women standing in the corner; he saw the children screaming and clutching their mothers. “Go inside,” he ordered them. “Leave us alone!” The overwrought Negro came up to speak to him, but he pushed him angrily aside. “Am I not free?” he said. “I’ve stood enough; I’m going to speak!”

He turned to Paul. “What Good News?” he bellowed with trembling voice.

“Jesus of Nazareth-you must have heard of him-was not the son of Joseph and Mary; he was the son of God. He came down to earth and took on human flesh in order to save mankind. The wicked priests and Pharisees seized him, brought him to Pilate and crucified him. But on the third day he rose from the dead and ascended to heaven. Death was conquered, brothers, sins were forgiven, the Gates of Heaven opened up!”

“Did you see this resurrected Jesus of Nazareth?” Jesus bellowed. “Did you see him with your own eyes? What was he like?”

“A flash of lightning-a flash of lightning which spoke.”

“Liar!”

“His disciples saw him. They were gathered together after the crucifixion in an attic, and the doors were shut. Suddenly he came and stood in their midst and said to them, ‘Peace be unto you!’ They all saw him and were dazzled, but Thomas was not convinced. He placed his finger inside his wounds and gave him some fish, which he ate.”

“Liar!”

But Paul had worked up steam. His eyes flashed; his crooked body had stretched itself up straight. “He wasn’t born of a man: his mother was a virgin. The angel Gabriel descended from heaven, said, ‘Hail, Mary,’ and the Word fell like seed into her womb. That’s how he was born.”

“Liar! Liar!”

Astonished, Paul remained immobile. The Negro rose and bolted the door. The neighbors, hearing the cries, had half opened their doors and cocked their ears. The two frightened wives had reappeared in the yard, but the Negro had penned them up again inside. Jesus was swelling with rage; he could no longer calm his heart. Approaching Paul, he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently.

“Liar! Liar!” he shouted. “I am Jesus of Nazareth and I was never crucified, never resurrected. I am the son of Mary and of Joseph the Carpenter of Nazareth. I am not the son of God, I am the son of man-like everyone else. What blasphemies you utter! What effronteries! What lies! Is it with such lies, swindler, that you dare save the world?”

“You, you?” murmured Paul, bewildered. While Master Lazarus spoke, frothing at the mouth, Paul had noticed blue marks like nail wounds on his hands and feet, and another wound over his heart.

“Why are you rolling your eyes?” cried Jesus. ‘Why do you stare at my hands and feet? Those marks you see were stamped on me by God during my sleep. By God, or by the Tempter: I still can’t understand which. I dreamed I was on the cross and in pain, but I cried out, awoke, and my pain disappeared. What I should have suffered while awake, I suffered while asleep-and escaped!”

“Quiet! Quiet!” bellowed Paul, grasping his temples for fear they would burst.

But how could Jesus remain silent! He felt as though these words had been encased in his breast for years. Now his heart had opened and they were gushing out. The Negro clung to his arm. “Quiet! Quiet!” he said to him, but Jesus threw him to the ground with one shake and turned to Paul.

“Yes, yes. I’ll tell everything. I must find relief! What I should have suffered while awake, I suffered in my sleep. I escaped; I came to this tiny village under another name and with another body. Here I lead the life of a man: I eat, drink, work and have children. The great conflagration subsided, I too became a kind tranquil fire; I curled up in the fireplace, and my wife cooks the children’s meals. I set sail to conquer the world but cast anchor in this tiny domestic trough. And that’s that-I have no complaints. I am son of man, I tell you, not son of God… And don’t go around the whole world to publish lies. I shall stand up and proclaim the truth!”

Now it was Paul’s turn to explode. “Shut your shameless mouth!” he shouted, rushing at him. “Be quiet, or men will hear you and die of fright. In the rottenness, the injustice and poverty of this world, the Crucified and Resurrected Jesus has been the one precious consolation for the honest man, the wronged man. True or false-what do I care! It’s enough if the world is saved!”

“It’s better the world perish with the truth than be saved with lies. At the core of such a salvation sits the great worm Satan.”

“What is ‘truth’? What is ‘falsehood’? Whatever gives wings to men, whatever produces great works and great souls and lifts us a man’s height above the earth-that is true. Whatever clips off man’s wings-that is false.”

“You won’t keep quiet, will you, son of Satan! The wings you talk about are just like the wings of Lucifer.”

“No, I won’t keep quiet. I don’t give a hoot about what’s true and what’s false, or whether I saw him or didn’t see him, or whether he was crucified or wasn’t crucified. I create the truth, create it out of obstinacy and longing and faith. I don’t struggle to find it-I build it. I build it taller than man and thus I make man grow. If the world is to be saved, it is necessary-do you hear-absolutely necessary for you to be crucified, and I shall crucify you, like it or not; it is necessary for you to be resurrected, and I shall resurrect you, like it or not. For all I care you can sit here in your miserable village and manufacture cradles, troughs and children. If you want to know, I shall compel the air to take your shape. Body, crown of thorns, nails, blood… The whole works is now part of the machinery of salvation-everything is indispensable. And in every corner of the earth, innumerable eyes will look up and see you in the air-crucified. They will weep, and the tears will cleanse their souls of all their sins. But on the third day I shall raise you from the dead, because there is no salvation without a resurrection. The final, the most horrible, enemy is death. I shall abolish death. How? By resurrecting you as Jesus, son of God-the Messiah!”

“It’s not true. I’ll stand up and shout that I wasn’t crucified, didn’t rise from the dead, am not God!… Why do you laugh?”

“Shout all you want. I’m not afraid of you. I don’t even need you any more. The wheel you set in motion has gathered momentum: who can control it now? To tell you the truth, while you were talking there I felt for a minute like falling upon you and strangling you just in case you might accidentally reveal your identity and show poor mankind that you weren’t crucified. But I calmed down immediately. Why shouldn’t he shout? I asked myself. The faithful will seize you, will throw you on the pyre for a blasphemer and burn you!”

“I said only one word, brought only one message: Love. Love-nothing else.”

“By saying ‘Love’ you let loose all the angels and demons that were asleep within the bowels of mankind. ‘Love’ is not, as you think, a simple, tranquil word. Within it lie armies being massacred, burning cities, and much blood. Rivers of blood, rivers of tears: the face of the earth has changed. You can cry now as much as you like; you can make yourself hoarse yelling, ‘I didn’t want to say that-that is not love. Do not kill each other! We’re all brothers! Stop!’… But how, poor wretch, can they stop? What’s done is done!”

“You laugh like a devil.”

“No, like an apostle. I shall become your apostle whether you like it or not. I shall construct you and your life and your teachings and your crucifixion and resurrection just as I wish. Joseph the Carpenter of Nazareth did not beget you; I begot you-I, Paul the scribe from Tarsus in Cilicia.”

“No! No!”

“Who asked you? I have no need of your permission. Why do you stick your nose in my affairs?”

Jesus collapsed onto the drying platform of the yard and sank his head between his knees, hopeless. How could he come to grips with this demon?

Paul stood over the prostrate Jesus and addressed him scornfully. “How can the world be saved by you, Master Lazarus? What uplifted example do you offer the world to make it follow you? With you, will it surpass its own nature, will its soul sprout wings? If the world wants to be saved, it will listen to me-me!”

He looked around him. The yard was deserted. Curled up in one corner, his brilliantly white eyes rolling, the Negro was howling like a chained-in sheep dog. The women were in hiding; the neighbors had fled. But Paul-as though, to his eyes, the yard was a great boundless square filled with people-mounted the platform with one hop and began to preach to the invisible multitude.

“Brothers, lift up your eyes. Look! On one side, Master Lazarus; on the other, Paul, the servant of Christ. Choose! If you go with him, with Master Lazarus, you will lead a life of poverty, bound to the treadmill; you will live and die as sheep live and die-they leave behind them a little wool, a few bleats and a great deal of dung. If you come with me: love, struggle, war-we shall conquer the world! Choose! On one side, Christ, the son of God, the salvation of the world; on the other, Master Lazarus!”

He had caught fire. He swept his round eagle eyes over the invisible multitudes. His blood was boiling. The walls of the yard crumbled down; the Negro boy and Master Lazarus vanished. He heard a voice in the air.

“Apostle of the nations, great soul, you who knead falsehood with your blood and tears and turn it into truth: take the lead and guide us. How far will we go?”

Paul opened wide his arms. Embracing the whole world, he cried, “As far as man’s eye can reach. Even farther. As far as man’s heart can reach! The world is large-glory be to God! Beyond the land of Israel are Egypt, Syria, Phoenicia, Asia Minor, Greece and the large wealthy islands of Cypress, Rhodes and Crete. Farther away: Rome. Still farther, with their long blond tresses and double-edged hatchets: the Barbarians… What joy to set out early in the morning, the wind of the mountains or the sea in our faces, to hold the cross, to plant it in the rocks and in the hearts of men-and to take possession of the world! What joy to be shunned, beaten, thrown in deep pits and killed-all for the sake of Christ!”

He came to himself and quieted down. The invisible multitude vanished into the air. He turned and saw Jesus, who was leaning now against the wall listening to him, aghast.

“For the sake of Christ… Not you, Master Lazarus, but the true Christ-my Christ!”

Unable to control himself any longer, Jesus burst into sobs.

The young Negro approached him. “Jesus of Nazareth,” he said softly, “why are you crying?”

“Secret companion,” Jesus murmured, “how can anyone see the only way the world can be saved and not be forced to weep?”

Paul now descended from the platform. The scanty hair on his head was steaming. He took off his sandals, banged them to remove the dust and turned toward the street door.

“I have shaken the dust of your house from my sandals,” he said to Jesus, who stood, abashed, in the middle of the yard. “Farewell! Here’s to good food, good wine, nice kisses, Master Lazarus, and a fine old age! And don’t dare interfere with my work. If you do, you’re finished-do you hear, Master Lazarus-finished! But you mustn’t get the wrong idea. It’s been delightful meeting you. I’ve freed myself, and that’s just what I wanted: to get rid of you. Well, I did get rid of you and now I’m free; I’m my own boss. Farewell!”

This said, he unbolted the door and with one bound was in the main road to Jerusalem.

“What a rush he’s in!” said the Negro, going to the doorway and watching him with angry eyes. “He’s rolled up his sleeves and is running like a famished wolf, running to eat up the world.”

He turned in order to enwrap Jesus in his craft, to conjure away the dangerous spirit which had come from the heavens to bother him. But Jesus had already stridden over the threshold. He stood in the middle of the road and with anguish and longing watched the wild apostle recede at a run into the distance. Terrible memories and yearnings which he had completely forgotten now rose up within him.

The Negro was frightened, and grasped him by the arm. “Jesus,” he said softly, commandingly, “Jesus of Nazareth, your mind is wavering. What are you looking at? Come inside!”

But Jesus, silent and pale, jerked his arm and shook away the angel’s hand.

“Come inside,” the other repeated angrily. “You’d better listen to what I say; you know well enough who I am.”

“Leave me alone!” Jesus thundered, his eyes glued on Paul, who was finally about to disappear at the end of the road.

“Do you want to go with him?”

“Leave me alone!” Jesus thundered once more. His teeth were chattering: he had felt a sudden chill.

“Mary,” the Negro called, “Martha!” He held Jesus tightly around the waist so that he would not escape.

The two women heard and ran, with the mob of children behind them. The near-by doors opened, the neighbors emerged and formed a circle around Jesus, who stood in the middle of the road, as pale as a sheet. Suddenly his eyelids dropped, and quietly, gently, he rolled to the ground.

He felt himself being lifted up, put to bed, felt his temples being sprinkled with an essence of orange flowers, smelled the rose vinegar which was held before his nose. He opened his eyes, saw his two wives and smiled. When he glimpsed the Negro boy, he clasped his hand.

“Take hold of me well,” he said; “do not let me leave. I am fine here where I am.”