The Last Temptation of Christ (59 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give it to me.”

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

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

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

The Bethanites heard the group pass and opened their doors.

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

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

“What throne, fellow?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Judas!” Jesus shouted again, desperately.

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

“What do you want, Rabbi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But why?”

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

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

“Now who in the world is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I’m tired.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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