The Last Temptation of Christ (33 page)

“Every land is holy, old man,” Jesus said with a calm voice. “God is everywhere, old man, and we all are brothers.”

The other turned, astonished. “Samaritans and Galileans too?”

“Samaritans and Galileans too, old man—and Judeans. All!”

Stroking his beard, the old man fell deep into thought. He examined Jesus from head to toe.

“God and the devil too?” he asked finally. He spoke in a lowered voice so that the invisible powers would not hear.

Jesus was terrified. Never in his life had he been asked if God’s mercy was so great that one day he would forgive even Lucifer and welcome him back into the kingdom of heaven.

“I don’t know, old man,” he replied; “I don’t know. I am a man, and my concern is for men. What’s beyond is God’s affair.”

The old man did not speak. Still stroking his beard and still deep in thought, he watched the strange passers-by proceed, two by two, and disappear under the trees.

Night fell; a cold wind arose. They found a cave and burrowed in, huddling all together in a ball to keep warm. A left-over piece of bread remained for each, and they ate. The redbeard went out, collected wood and lighted a fire. This revived the companions, and they sat in a circle, silently watching the flames. They heard the whistling of the wind, the howling of the jackals, the faraway, muffled thunderclaps which rolled down from Mount Gerizim. Through the opening of the cave a large comforting star could be seen in the sky, but soon clouds came and covered it up. The companions closed their eyes and leaned their heads on each other’s shoulders. John secretly threw the woolen cloak he was wearing over Jesus’ back, and all of them, squeezed closely together like bats, slept.

The next day they entered Judea. They observed a gradual change in the trees. The road was now lined with yellow-leafed poplars, locusts heavy with fruit, and ancient cedars. The region was rocky, arid, rough; even the peasants who appeared in the low, dark doorways were made of flint. Now and then a blue wildflower, humble and graceful, emerged from between the rocks; and sometimes in the mute loneliness, deep in a ravine, a partridge cackled. It must have found a sip of water to drink, Jesus thought as he heard it, and he felt the bird’s warm breast in his palm and rejoiced.

As they came closer to Jerusalem the land grew fiercer and fiercer. God changed too. The earth here did not laugh, as it did in Galilee, and God himself, like the villages and the people, was made of flint. The heavens, which in Samaria had tried for a moment at least to rain and refresh the earth, here were red-hot iron. The panting companions marched forward in this deep furnace. When nightfall came again they saw a large group of tombs cut into the rocks and shining in all their blackness. Thousands of their ancestors had decomposed inside and turned again to stone. They burrowed into the empty tombs, lay down and went to sleep early, in order to be fresh for their entry into the holy city the next day.

Jesus was the only one who did not sleep. He roamed the tombs, listening intently to the night. His heart was uneasy. Inside him were obscure voices, a great wailing, as though thousands of suffering men were shouting. ... Toward midnight the wind stopped and the night grew silent. And then, in this silence, a heart-rending cry tore through the air. At first he thought it was a hungry jackal, but then he understood, with terror, that it was his own heart.

“Dear God,” he murmured, “who is shouting within me? Who is weeping?”

Fatigued, he too entered one of the tombs, crossed his hands, and gave himself up to God’s mercy. At dawn he had a dream. It seemed that he was with Mary Magdalene, and that both of them were flying tranquilly and noiselessly above a large city, just grazing the rooftops. When they reached the edge of the city the very last door opened, and a huge old man appeared. He had a flowing beard and blue eyes which shone like stars. His sleeves were rolled up, his hands and arms were covered with mud. Lifting his head and seeing them fly above him, he shouted, “Stop. I have something to tell you.” They stopped.

“What, old man? We’re listening.”

“The Messiah is he who loves the whole world. The Messiah is he who dies because he loves the whole world.”

“Nothing else?” asked Magdalene.

“Isn’t that enough for you?” the old man shouted angrily.

“May we enter your workshop?” Magdalene asked.

“No. Can’t you see that my hands are all covered with clay? Inside I am constructing the Messiah.”

Jesus awoke with a start. His body was truly weightless; he felt he was flying. Day broke. The companions had already risen, and their eyes leaped from rock to rock, hill to hill, in the direction of Jerusalem.

They set out, anxious to arrive. They marched and marched, but the mountains in front of them always seemed to recede and the road to become longer and longer.

“I don’t think we’ll ever get to Jerusalem, brothers,” said Peter in despair. “What is happening to us? Don’t you see—she gets farther and farther away.”

“She comes closer and closer,” Jesus answered him. “Courage, Peter. We take a step to find Jerusalem, and she takes a step to find us. Like the Messiah.”

“The Messiah?” asked Judas, turning abruptly.

“The Messiah is coming,” Jesus said in a deep voice. “You know very well, Judas, my brother, whether or not we are going in the right direction to find him. If we do a good or noble deed, if we pronounce a kind word, the Messiah quickens his pace and approaches. If we are dishonest, evil, afraid of everything, the Messiah turns his back on us and moves farther away. The Messiah is a Jerusalem in motion, brothers. Jerusalem is in a hurry, and so are we. Let’s move fast and find her! Have faith in God and in the immortal spirit of man!”

Encouraged, they all quickened their pace. Judas again went in front, his whole face happy now. He speaks well, he said to himself as he marched. Yes, the son of Mary is right. The old rabbi shouts the same thing at us: salvation depends on us. If we cross our hands the land of Israel will never be delivered. If we all take up arms, we shall see freedom.

Judas continued on, talking to himself. But suddenly he stopped, confused. “Who is the Messiah?” he murmured. “Who? Is it perhaps the entire people?”

Grains of sweat began to run down his fiery brow. Is it perhaps the entire people? This was the first time this thought had come to him, and he felt troubled. Can the Messiah be the entire people? he asked himself over and over. But then, what need do we have for all these prophets and false prophets? Why must we grope in an agony, trying to see which one is the Messiah? That’s it: the people are the Messiah—I, you, every one of us. The only thing we have to do is take up arms!

He started marching again, waving his club in the air; and while he proceeded, playing happily with his new thought as with the club, suddenly he uttered a cry. In front of him, flashing on a double-peaked mountain, was Holy Jerusalem, beautiful, white and proud. He did not shout to the others, who were coming up behind him. He wanted to enjoy the sight by himself as long as he could. Palaces, towers and castle doors glittered in the pupils of his blue eyes; and in the very center, protected by God, was the Temple, all gold, cedar and marble.

The remaining companions caught up, and they too shouted for joy.

“Come, let us sing the beauty of our Lady,” suggested Peter, the good singer. “Ready men, all together now!”

All five began to dance in a circle around Jesus, who stood motionless in the center and started the sacred hymn:

I was glad when they said to me,

  
“Arise, let us go to the house of the Lord!”

My feet have stopped before

  
your courtyards, O Jerusalem.

Jerusalem, stoutly built fortress,

  
peace be within your strong towers,

     
happiness within your palaces.

For my brethren and companions’ sake,

  
peace, peace be upon you, Jerusalem!

STREETS, rooftops, courts, squares: Jerusalem was entirely clothed in green. It was the great autumn festival, and the Jerusalemites had constructed thousands of tents from olive and vine branches, palm boughs, pine and cedar as prescribed by the God of Israel in remembrance of the forty years which their forefathers had spent under tents in the wilderness. The harvest and vintage were finished, the year had ended, and the people had suspended all their sins around the neck of a black, well-fed billy goat and, stoning him, had chased him out into the desert. Now they felt greatly relieved. Their souls were purified, a new year had begun, God had opened a new ledger, and for eight days they would eat and drink under the green tents and sing the glories of the God of Israel who blessed the harvest and the vintage and also sent them the billy goat to bear their sins. He too was a God-sent Messiah: he bore all the sins of the people, perished of hunger in the desert—and with him perished their sins.

The wide courtyards of the Temple overflowed with blood. Every day flocks of burnt-offerings were slaughtered. The holy city stank from the smell of meat, dung and drippings. The sacred air echoed with horns and trumpets. The people overate, over-drank, and their souls grew heavy. The first day was all psalms, prayers and prostrations; and Jehovah, invisible, strode joyously into the tents and celebrated too, eating and drinking with his lips and wiping his beard. But starting with the second and third days, the excessive meat and wine went to the heads of the people. The dirty jokes and the laughter and the bawdy tavern songs began, and men and women coupled shamelessly in broad daylight, at first within the tents, and then openly in the roads and on the green grass. In every neighborhood the celebrated prostitutes of Jerusalem appeared, plastered with make-up and smeared with aromatic oil. The simple farmers and fishermen who had come from the ends of the Land of Canaan to adore the holy of holies fell into these accomplished arms and were amazed. They had never dreamed that a kiss could involve such art and such savor.

Holding his breath, Jesus strode hurriedly, angrily, through the streets and over the dead-drunk people who were rolling on the ground. The smells and filth and the shameless guffawing nauseated him. “Quickly, quickly!” he exhorted his companions. Holding his right arm around John and his left around Andrew, he proceeded.

But Peter was continually halting, encountering pilgrims from Galilee who offered him a glass of wine, a bite to eat, and engaged him in conversation. He would call Judas; Jacob would come too—they did not wish to give grounds for complaint to any of their friends. But the three in front were in a hurry. They continually called the tarriers and made them start out again.

“Good God, the teacher won’t let us breathe freely like human beings,” grumbled Peter, who had already fallen into a gay mood. “What have we got ourselves into?”

“And where have you been all this time, my poor Peter?” said Judas, shaking his head. “Do you think we’ve come here to have a good time? Do you think we’re going to a wedding?”

But while they were running, they heard a hoarse voice from one of the tents: “Hey, Peter, son of Jonah, you lousy Galilean—you pass by, we practically knock our heads together and you don’t even notice. Stop a minute to have a drink. It’ll clear your sight and you’ll be able to see me!”

Peter recognized the voice and stopped. “Halloo! Nice to bump into you, Simon, you filthy Cyrenian!”

He turned to his two companions. “Lads, this time we can’t escape: let’s stop and have a drink. Simon is a famous drunkard, keeper of a celebrated inn near the gate of David. He deserves to be hanged and have his head impaled on a stake, but he’s a nice fellow all the same, and we ought to do him the honor.”

And truly, Simon was a good fellow. In his youth he had shipped out from Cyrene and opened a tavern, and every time Peter came to Jerusalem he put up at his house. The two of them ate and drank, talked, joked, sometimes broke out into a song, sometimes into a brawl, became friends again, drank some more, and then Peter would wrap himself up in a thick blanket, lie down on a bench and fall asleep. Simon was sitting now under his tent of entwined vine branches, a jug under his arm and a bronze cup in his hand. He was drinking, all by himself.

The two friends embraced. They were both half drunk, and each felt so much love for the other that his eyes filled with tears. After the initial shouts and hugs and repeated toasts were over, Simon began to laugh.

“I bet my bones you’re on your way to get baptized,” he said. “You’re doing the right thing; I give you my blessing. The other day I was baptized myself, and I don’t regret it. It’s quite satisfying.”

“And have you noticed any improvement?” asked Judas, who was eating, not drinking. His mind was full of thorns.

“What can I say to you, my friend? It’s been years since I was in the water. Water and I are at swords’ points. I’m made for wine; water is for the toads. But the other day I said to myself: Look here, why not go and get baptized? The whole world is going, and it’s certain that among the newly enlightened there’ll be a few who drink wine. They can’t all be imbeciles, so I’ll be able to make a few acquaintances and hook some clients. Everyone knows my tavern at the David gate. ... Well, to make a long story short, I went. The prophet is a savage, untamed beast—how can I describe him? Flames fly out of his nostrils—God protect me! He grabbed me by the neck and dunked me into the water up to my beard. I screamed. He was going to drown me, the infidel! But I survived, came out—and here I am!”

“And have you noticed any improvement?” Judas repeated.

“I swear to you by my wine that the bath did me a lot of good, yes, a lot of good. I felt relieved. The Baptist says I was relieved of my sins. But—just between you and me—I think I was relieved of a few grease spots, because when I came out of the Jordan there was a film of oil on top of the water an inch deep.”

He burst out laughing, filled his cup, drank; and then Peter and Jacob drank too. He refilled his cup and turned to Judas. “And you, blacksmith, don’t you drink? It’s wine, you blessed idiot, not water.”