The Collected Novels Of Jose Saramago Part 9

He sat on a stone, and on a stone beside him was an oil lamp casting its dim light on the cave's rough walls, the dark heap of coals where once there was a fire, and his limp hands and pensive face. This is where I was born, he thought, I once slept in that manger, my father and mother once sat on this very stone I am sitting on now, this is where we took refuge as Herod's soldiers searched the village and slaughtered infants. But hard as I try, I will never hear the cry of life I gave at birth, or the cries of those dying children and the parents who watched them die, there is nothing but silence in this cave where a beginning and an end came together. As I learned in the Temple, parents pay for the sins they have committed, and their children for the sins they may one day commit, but if life is a sentence and death a punishment, there was never a more innocent town than Bethlehem, infants who died in perfect innocence, parents who had done no wrong, nor was there ever a more guilty man than my father, who remained silent when he should have spoken, and now I, whose life was saved so that I could learn of the crime that saved my life, and even if I commit no other offense, this will suffice to kill me. Amid the shadows of the cave Jesus got to his feet, as if to flee, but after a few faltering steps his legs gave way, and he put his hands to his eyes to catch his tears, poor boy, writhing in the dust, tormented by a crime he never committed, condemned to remorse for the rest of his life. This flood of bitter tears will leave its mark in Jesus' eyes forever, a dull glimmer of sadness and despair, always as if he has just stopped crying. Time pa.s.sed, the sun outside began to set, the earth's shadows grew, the prelude to the great shadow that descends at dusk. The darkness penetrated the cave, where shadows were already threatening to extinguish the lamp's tiny flame, the oil is clearly running out, this is what it will be like when the sun finally disappears, when men say to one another, We are losing our sight, unaware that their eyes are no longer of any use to them.

Jesus is now asleep, yielding to the merciful exhaustion of recent days, his father's horrible death, the inherited nightmare, his resigned mother, and then the journey to Jerusalem, the daunting vision of the Temple, the discouraging words uttered by the scribe, the descent to Bethlehem, the fateful encounter with Salome, who appeared from the depths of time to reveal the circ.u.mstances of his birth, therefore it is not surprising that his weary body should have overcome his spirit, he appears to be resting now, but his spirit stirs, in his dream it rouses his body so that they may go together to Bethlehem and there, in the middle of the square, confess their heinous crime. Through the physical instrument of voice his spirit declares, I am he who brought death to your children, judge me, condemn this body I bring before you, abuse and torture it, for only by mortifying the flesh can we hope to gain absolution and the rewards of the spirit. In his dream Jesus sees the mothers of Bethlehem bearing tiny bodies, only one of the infants is alive, and its mother is the woman who spoke to Jesus with a child in her arms, it is she who replies, Unless you can restore their lives, be silent, for who needs words in the presence of death. In self-abas.e.m.e.nt his soul shrinks into itself like a tunic folded three times, surrendering his defenseless body to the mercy of the mothers of Bethlehem, but his body is spared, because just as the woman with the child is about to tell him, You're not to blame, you may go, a flash of lightning fills the cave and wakes him with a start. Where am I, was his first thought. Struggling to his feet from the dusty ground, tears in his eyes, he saw a giant of a man towering over him with head aflame, then he realized his mistake, the man held a torch in his right hand, the fire almost touched the ceiling of the cave. But the head was so huge, it could have been the head of Goliath, there was nothing hostile about the face, however, with its gratified expression of one who has been searching and found what he wanted. Jesus got to his feet and backed against a wall of the cave, to get a better look at the giant, who was not that big after all, perhaps a span taller than the tallest man of Nazareth. Such optical illusions, without which there can be no prodigies or miracles, were discovered ages ago, and the only reason Goliath did not become a basketball player is that he was born before his time. And who are you, the man asked. Resting his torch on a jutting rock, he stood the two sticks he was carrying against the wall, one with great knots smoothed by constant use, the other still covered with bark and recently cut from a tree. Then, seating himself on the largest stone, he began pulling the vast mantle he wore down over his shoulders. I am Jesus of Nazareth, the boy replied. What are you doing here if you're from Nazareth. Although I'm from Nazareth, I was born in this cave, and I came to see the place where I was born. Where you were born, my lad, was in your mother's belly, and you'll never be able to crawl back in there. Unaccustomed to such language, Jesus blushed at the man's words and could think of nothing to say. Did you run away from home, the man asked. As if searching in his heart to see if his departure could be described as running away, the boy hesitated before answering, Yes. Did you quarrel with your parents. My father's dead. Oh, was all the man said, but Jesus had the strange feeling that the man already knew this, and everything, and all that had been said and all that remained to be said. You didn't answer my question, the man insisted, What question, Did you quarrel with your parents, It's not your business. Don't be rude to me, boy, unless you want a good thrashing, not even G.o.d will hear your cries for help in this place. G.o.d is eye, ear, and tongue, He sees and hears everything, and it's only because He chooses not to that He doesn't speak everything. What does a boy your age know about G.o.d. What I learned in the synagogue. You never heard anyone in the synagogue say that G.o.d is eye, ear, and tongue. I myself decided that if this were not so, then G.o.d would not be G.o.d. And why do you think G.o.d has an eye and an ear and not two eyes and two ears like the rest of us. So that one eye cannot deceive the other, or one ear the other, and as for the tongue, there is no problem, because we only have one tongue. The tongue of man is also two-sided, serving both truth and falsehood. G.o.d cannot he. Who's to prevent Him. G.o.d Himself, otherwise He'd deny Himself. Have you ever seen Him, Seen who, Seen G.o.d, Some have seen Him and announced His coming. The man stared at the boy in silence, as if looking for some familiar trait, then said, True, some believed they've seen Him. He paused, then continued with a mischievous smile, You still haven't answered my question. What question. Did you quarrel with your parents. I left home because I wanted to see the world. You've mastered the art of lying, my boy, but I know who you are, you were born to a simple carpenter named Joseph and a wool carder named Mary. How do you know. I found out one day and have remembered ever since. I don't understand. I'm a shepherd and have spent nearly all my life breeding and caring for my sheep and goats, and I happened to be in these parts when the soldiers came to slaughter the children of Bethlehem, so as you can see, I've known you since the day you were born. Jesus looked at the man nervously and asked, What is your name. My sheep don't know me by a name. But I am not one of your sheep. Who knows. Tell me what you're called. If you insist on giving me a name, call me Pastor, that will be enough to summon me if you ever need me. Will you take me with you to help with the flock. I was waiting for you to ask. Well then. Yes, you may join the flock. The man stood, lifted his torch, and went outside. Jesus followed.

It was darkest night, and the moon had still not risen. Gathered near the entrance to the cave, sheep and goats waited in silence, except for the faint jingling of bells from time to time. Patiently they awaited the outcome of the conversation between the shepherd and his latest helpmate. The man raised the torch, revealing the black heads of the goats and the white snouts of the sheep, some sheep scrawny with spa.r.s.e hair, others plump with woolly coats, and he told him, This is my flock, take care not to lose even one of these animals. Jesus and the shepherd sat at the entrance to the cave beneath the flickering light of the torch and ate cheese and stale bread from their packs. Then the shepherd went inside and returned with the new stick, the one still covered with bark. He lit a fire and, deftly turning the wood in the flames, slowly scorched the bark until it peeled off in long strips, and then he smoothed down the knots. Allowing the stick to cool, he plunged it back into the fire, but turned it briskly this time so the wood would not burn, darkening and strengthening the surface until it took on the appearance of seasoned wood. Handing the stick to Jesus when it was ready, he said, Here's your shepherd's crook, strong and straight and as good as a third arm. Jesus, although his hands were hardly delicate, dropped the stick with a howl. How could the shepherd hold anything so hot, he asked himself. When the moon finally appeared, they went into the cave to get some sleep. A few sheep and goats followed and lay down beside them. At first light, the shepherd shook Jesus, Time to get up, the flock has to be fed, from now on you'll take them out to pasture, as important a job as you're ever likely to be entrusted with. Walking as fast as their tiny steps allowed, the flock moved on, the shepherd in front, his helpmate at the rear. The cool, transparent dawn seemed to be in no hurry for the sun, envious of that splendor heralding a world reborn. Hours later, an old woman, going slowly with the aid of a stick, emerged from the houses of Bethlehem and entered the cave. She was not surprised that Jesus was no longer there, besides they would have had nothing more to say to each other. Amid the eternal shadows inside the cave a tiny flame continued to shine, because the shepherd had filled the lamp with oil.

Four years from now, Jesus will meet G.o.d. This unexpected revelation, which is probably premature according to the rules of effective narration referred to above, is intended simply to prepare the reader for some everyday scenes from pastoral life which will add little of substance to the main thread of our story, thus excusing anyone who might be tempted to jump ahead. Nevertheless, four years is four years, especially at an age when there are so many physical and mental changes in a youth, when his body grows so fast, the first signs of a beard, a swarthy complexion becoming even darker, the voice turning as deep and harsh as a stone rolling down a mountain slope, and that faraway look, as if he is daydreaming, always reprehensible but especially when one has a duty to be vigilant, like sentinels in barracks, castles, and encampments or, lest we stray from our story, like this shepherd boy who has been warned to keep a watchful eye on his master's goats and sheep. Although we do not really know who that master is. Tending sheep at this time and in these parts is work for a servant or slave, who under pain of punishment must give a regular account of milk, cheese, and wool, not to mention the number of animals, which should always be on the increase so that neighbors can see that the eyes of the Lord are looking down with favor on the pious owner of such abundant possessions, and if the owner wishes to conform to the rules of this world, he must have greater trust in the Lord than in the genetic strength of the mating rams of his flock. Yet how strange that Pastor, as he asked to be called, does not seem to have any master over him, for during the next four years no one will come to the desert to collect the wool, milk, or cheese, nor will Pastor ever leave the flock to give account of his duties. All would be well if Pastor were the owner of these goats and sheep. Though it is hard to believe that any owner would allow such an incredible amount of wool to be lost, shearing his sheep only to prevent them from suffocating from the heat, or would use the milk, if at all, only to make the day's supply of cheese, then barter the rest for figs, dates, and bread, or, mystery of mysteries, would never sell lambs and kids from his flock, not even during Pa.s.sover, when they are much in demand and fetch such high prices. Little wonder, therefore, that the flock continues to grow bigger, as if obeying, with the persistence and enthusiasm of those who feel their life span is guaranteed, that famous mandate given by the Lord, who may have lacked confidence in the efficacy of sweet natural instinct, Go forth and multiply. In this unusual and wayward flock the animals tend to die of old age, but Pastor himself serenely lends a hand by killing those who can no longer keep up with the others because of disease or age. Jesus, the first time this occurred after he started working for Pastor, protested at such cruelty, but the shepherd said, Either I kill them as I've always done, or I leave them to die alone in this wilderness, or I hold up the flock, wait for the old and sick to die, and risk letting the healthy animals starve to death for lack of pasture. So tell me what you would do if you were in my shoes and had power of life and death over your flock. Jesus did not know what to say and changed the subject by asking, Since you don't sell the wool, have more milk and cheese than we need in order to live, and never take the lambs and kids to market, why do you allow this flock to become bigger and bigger, one of these days your goats and sheep will cover every hill in sight and there will be no land left for pasture. Pastor told him, The flock was here and somebody had to look after the animals and protect them from thieves, and that person happened to be me. What do you mean by here. Here, there, everywhere. Are you asking me to believe that this flock has always been here. More or less. Did you buy the first sheep and goat, No, Who then. I simply found them, I don't know if anyone bought them, there was already a flock when I came here. Were they given to you. No one gave them to me, I found them, and they found me. So you are the owner. No, I'm not the owner, nothing in this world belongs to me. For everything belongs to the Lord, as you know, True, How long have you been a shepherd. I was a shepherd before you were born, How many years, Difficult to say, perhaps if we multiplied your age by fifty. Only the patriarchs before the great flood lived that long, and no one nowadays can hope to reach their age. No need to tell me. Yet if you insist you've lived that long, don't expect me to believe you're human. I don't. Now, if Jesus, who was as skilled in the art of interrogation as any disciple of Socrates, had asked, What are you, then, if you are not a man, Pastor would most probably have answered, An angel, but don't tell anyone. This often happens, we refrain from asking a question because we are unprepared or simply too afraid to hear the answer. And when finally we summon the courage to ask, no answer is forthcoming, just as Jesus one day will refuse to answer when asked, What is truth. A question that remains unanswered to this day.

Jesus knows without having to ask that his mysterious companion, whatever he may be, is not an angel of the Lord, because the angels of the Lord forever sing His glory, while men praise Him only out of obligation and on prescribed occasions, although it is worth pointing out that angels have greater reason for singing Glory since they five in intimacy, as it were, with the Lord in His heavenly kingdom. What surprised Jesus from the beginning was that when they left the cave at first light, Pastor, unlike him, did not praise the Lord with all the usual blessings, such as having restored man's soul and having endowed the c.o.c.k with intelligence, and when obliged to step behind a rock to relieve himself, Pastor did not thank the Lord for the providential orifices and vessels that help the human body function and without which we would be in a sorry state. Pastor looked at heaven and earth as one does on getting out of bed, he muttered something about the fine day ahead, and putting two fingers to his lips, gave a shrill whistle which brought the entire flock to its feet as one. And that was all. Jesus thought he might have forgotten, always possible when one's mind is on other things, such as how to teach this boy, accustomed to the easy life of a carpenter, the rudiments of tending sheep and goats. Now, as we know, in a normal situation among ordinary people, Jesus would not have had to wait long to discover the extent of his master's piety, since Jews in those days gave thanks to the Lord some thirty times a day and on the slightest pretext, as indeed we have often seen in this gospel. But the day pa.s.sed, and Pastor showed no sign of offering prayers of thanksgiving, dusk fell, and they settled down to sleep out in the open, and not even the majesty of G.o.d's sky above touched the shepherd's heart or brought so much as a word of praise or grat.i.tude to his lips, after all, it could have been raining and it was not, a clear sign that the Lord was watching over His creatures. Next morning, after they had eaten and his master was preparing to inspect the flock to make sure that they were all there and that some restless goat had not decided to wander off, Jesus announced in a firm voice, I am leaving. Pastor stopped, looked at him without any change of expression, and said, Have a good journey, but you don't need to tell me, you're not my slave and there is no legal contract between us, you can leave whenever you like. But don't you want to know why I'm leaving. I'm not all that curious. Well, I'll tell you just the same, I'm leaving because I do not want to work with a man who doesn't perform his obligations to the Lord. What obligations. The simplest obligations, such as offering up prayers of thanksgiving. Pastor said nothing, his eyes half smiling, then finally he spoke, I'm not a Jew and therefore have no such obligations to perform. Deeply shocked, Jesus backed away. That the land of Israel was swarming with foreigners and worshipers of false G.o.ds he knew all too well, but this was the first time he had actually slept beside such a person and shared his bread and milk. As if holding a sword and shield before him, he exclaimed, The Lord alone is G.o.d. Pastor's smile faded and his mouth became twisted and grim, Certainly if G.o.d exists, He must be only one, but it would be better if He were two, then there would be a G.o.d for the wolf and one for the sheep, a G.o.d for the victim and one for the a.s.sa.s.sin, a G.o.d for the condemned man and one for the executioner. G.o.d is one, whole, and indivisible, exclaimed Jesus, almost weeping with pious indignation, whereupon Pastor retorted, I don't know how G.o.d can live, but he got no further, because Jesus, with all the authority of a teacher in the synagogue, interrupted him, G.o.d does not live, G.o.d exists. These fine distinctions escape me, but I'll tell you this, I wouldn't like to be a G.o.d who guides the dagger in the hand of the a.s.sa.s.sin while he offers the throat that is about to be cut. You offend G.o.d with these irreverent thoughts. You overestimate my importance. Remember, G.o.d never sleeps, and one day He will punish you. Just as well He doesn't sleep, so He can avoid the nightmares of remorse. Why speak to me of the nightmares of remorse. Because we're discussing your G.o.d. And which G.o.d do you serve. Like my sheep, I have no G.o.d. But sheep, at least, produce lambs for the altars of the Lord. And I can a.s.sure you that their mothers would howl like wolves if they knew. Jesus turned pale and could think of no reply.

All was silent as the flock gathered around them attentively. The sun had already risen, its light casting a crimson glow on the fleecy coats of the sheep and the horns of the rams. Jesus said, I'm off, but didn't move. Pastor waited, leaning on his crook, as composed as if he had all the time in the world. At last Jesus took a few steps, opening a path through the sheep, then suddenly stopped and asked, What do you know about remorse and nightmares. That you are your father's heir. These words were too much for Jesus, his legs buckled, and the pack slipped from his shoulder, and either by chance or necessity his father's sandals fell out, and he could hear the Pharisee's bowl shatter into pieces. Jesus began weeping like a lost child, but Pastor made no attempt to comfort him, he merely said from where he was standing, Do not forget that I've known about you since the day you were born, and now you had better decide whether you're going or staying. First tell me who you are. The time has not yet come for you to know. And when will I know. If you stay, you'll regret not having left, and if you leave, you'll regret not having stayed. But if I leave, I will never know who you are. You're wrong, your hour will come, and when it does, I will be there to tell you, and that's enough conversation for now, the flock can't stand here all day waiting for you to make up your mind. Jesus gathered up the broken pieces of the bowl, looking at them as if he couldn't bear to part with them, but for no good reason, yesterday at this hour he had not yet met the Pharisee, besides, what had happened was only to be expected, earthenware breaks so easily. He scattered the pieces on the ground like sowing seeds, and Pastor said, You will have another bowl, but the next won't break while you are alive. Jesus didn't hear him, he held Joseph's sandals in his hand and was trying to decide if he should wear them. Not so long ago they would have been much too big for him, but time, as we know, can be deceptive, Jesus felt as if he had been carrying his father's sandals in his pack for ages, he would have been very surprised to find they were still too big for him. He slipped them on and, without knowing why, packed his own. Pastor said, Once feet have grown, they don't shrink again, and you will have no sons to inherit your tunic, mantle, and sandals, but Jesus did not discard them, their weight helped keep the almost empty pack on his shoulders. There was no need to give Pastor the answer he wanted, Jesus took his place behind the flock, his heart divided between a vague sense of terror, as if his soul were in peril, and another, even vaguer sense of somber fascination. I must find out who you are, murmured Jesus, choking on the dust raised by the flock as he chased after a sheep that lagged behind, and this, he believed, was the reason he had decided to stay with the mysterious shepherd.

That was the first day. No more was said about matters of faith and blasphemy, about life, death, and inheritance, but Jesus, who had started to watch Pastor, his every att.i.tude and gesture, noticed that each time the shepherd offered up prayers of thanksgiving to the Lord, he got down and placed the palms of his hands on the ground, lowering his head and shutting his eyes, without uttering a word. One day, when he was still a little boy, Jesus had heard some elderly travelers who were pa.s.sing through Nazareth relate that deep in the earth were vast caverns where one could find cities, fields, rivers, forests, and deserts just like those on the surface of the world, and that this underworld, a perfect image and likeness of the one we live in, was created by the devil after G.o.d threw him down from the heavens as punishment for his rebellion. Since G.o.d had initially befriended the devil and looked on him with favor, causing the angels to comment that there had never been so close a friendship in the universe, the devil witnessed the birth of Adam and Eve. Having learned how it was done, he repeated the process in his underworld and created a man and woman for himself, with the one difference that, unlike G.o.d, he forbade them nothing, which explains why there has never been such a thing as original sin in the devil's world. One of the old men even dared suggest, And because there was no original sin, there was no other kind of sin either. After the men were sent on their way with the help of some persuasive stones thrown by outraged n.a.z.irites, who soon realized what these irreverent old fools were getting at with their remarks, there was a sudden tremor, nothing serious, a mere sign of confirmation coming from the bowels of the earth, which made young Jesus think, capable as he was, even as a boy, of linking cause and effect. And now, watching Pastor kneel before him with his head lowered and palms resting lightly on the ground to feel every grain of sand, every pebble and rootlet and blade sprouting on the surface, Jesus was reminded of that story. Perhaps this man inhabited the hidden world created by the devil in the image and likeness of the visible world. What is he doing here, Jesus asked himself, but he didn't dare probe any further. When Pastor eventually got to his feet, Jesus asked him, What are you doing. I want to be sure the earth is still beneath me. Surely you can tell with your feet. My feet perceive nothing, only my hands can tell me, when you adore your G.o.d, you don't raise your feet to Him, you raise your hands, even though you could raise other parts of your body, for example what is between your legs, unless you happen to be a eunuch. Overcome with shame and horror, Jesus turned beet red. Do not offend the G.o.d you do not know, he told Pastor severely when he had recovered, but Pastor asked, Who created your body. It was G.o.d, of course. Just as it is now, Yes, And did the devil play any part in creating your body. None whatsoever, man's body is G.o.d's creation. So all the parts of your body are equally worthy in the eyes of G.o.d, Obviously, So G.o.d isn't likely to disown what you have between your legs, for example. No, I suppose not, but then the Lord created Adam, yet expelled him from Paradise even though he was His creation. Just give me a straight answer, boy, and stop talking like a teacher in the synagogue. You're trying to make me give the answers you want, but I can tell you, if you wish, all the cases in which man is forbidden by the Lord, under pain of death, to expose his own or another's nakedness, which proves that certain parts of the body are in themselves sinful. No more sinful than the mouth when it utters falsehood and slander, that same mouth with which you praise your Lord before uttering falsehood and after spreading slander. That's enough, I don't want to hear another word. You must hear me out, if only to answer my question. What question. Can G.o.d disown what you have between your legs as something not of His making, just answer yes or no. No, He can't, Why not, Because the Lord cannot undo what He has willed. Slowly nodding his head, Pastor said, In other words, your G.o.d is the only warden of a prison where the only prisoner is your G.o.d. The final echo of these momentous words was still ringing in Jesus' ears when Pastor went on to say in an almost natural voice, You must choose a sheep. What, asked Jesus in bewilderment. I said choose a sheep, unless you prefer a goat. Whatever for. Because you'll need it, unless you really are a eunuch. When Pastor's meaning sank in, the boy was stunned, but worst of all was the surge of vile sensuality once he had suppressed his embarra.s.sment and revulsion. Covering his face with both hands, he said in a hoa.r.s.e voice, This is the word of the Lord, The man who copulates with an animal will be punished with death and the animal slaughtered, and the Lord also said, Cursed is the man who sins with an animal of any species. Did your Lord say all that. Yes, and now leave me alone, abominable creature, for you are not of G.o.d but belong to the devil. Pastor listened impa.s.sively, waiting for Jesus' curse to have its full effect, whatever that might be, an apparition, leprosy, the sudden destruction of body and soul. But nothing happened. Wind came playing between the stones, raising a cloud of dust that swept across the wilderness, then nothing, silence, the universe quietly watching men and animals, perhaps waiting to see what meaning they can find, recognize, or construe in those words, it consumes itself in this vigil, the primordial fire is already reduced to ashes, but the response is slow in coming. Then Pastor raised his arms and called out to his flock in a commanding voice, Listen, my sheep, hear what this learned boy has come to teach us, G.o.d has forbidden anyone to copulate with you, so fear not, but as for shearing you, neglecting you, slaughtering you, and eating you, all these things are permitted, because for this you were created by G.o.d's law and are sustained by His providence. He gave three long whistles and, waving his crook over his head, he cried, Be off, be off with you, whereupon the flock began moving toward the spot where the column of smoke disappeared. Jesus stood watching until the tall figure of Pastor all but vanished from sight and the resigned rumps of the animals merged with the color of the earth. I'm not going with him, Jesus said, but he went. He adjusted the pack on his back, tightened the straps of the sandals that had belonged to his father, and followed the flock at a distance. He caught up with them at nightfall and, emerging from the shadows into the light of the campfire, announced, I'm here.

TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY IS A WELL-KNOWN SAYING AND to the point, yet not as simple as it may seem to one who is satisfied with the approximate meaning of words, whether taken separately or together, because everything depends on how a thing is said, which varies according to the mood of the person speaking. When the words are expressed by one whose life is going badly and who hopes for better times, they are not the same as when one utters them as a threat, promising vengeance at some future date. The most extreme case would be one who sighs, Tomorrow is another day, because he is a pessimist by nature and given to expecting the worst. It would not be entirely plausible for Jesus to go around saying this at his age, whatever his meaning or tone of voice, but for us, yes, because like G.o.d we know everything about what has been and what is to come, so we can say, mutter, or whisper these words as we watch Jesus go about his tasks as a shepherd boy, crossing the hills of Judah, or, later, descending into the valley of Jordan. And not just because we are writing about Jesus but because every human being is constantly confronted with good and bad, one thing coming after another, day following day. Since this gospel was never meant to dismiss what others have written about Jesus or to contradict their accounts, and since Jesus is clearly the hero of our story, it would be easy for us to go up to him and predict his future, tell him what a wonderful life lies ahead, the miracles he will perform to provide food and restore health, even one to conquer death, but that would hardly be wise, because young Jesus, notwithstanding his apt.i.tude for religious studies and his knowledge of patriarchs and prophets, enjoys the healthy skepticism one a.s.sociates with youth, so he would send us away with scorn. Yes, he will change his mind when he meets G.o.d, but it is much too soon for that great encounter, and before then Jesus will have to go up and down many a mountain slope, milk many a goat and sheep, help make cheese, and barter wares in the villages. He will also kill animals that are diseased or have outlived their usefulness, and he will mourn their loss. But fret not, all you sensitive souls, he will never engage in the horrid vice suggested by Pastor, of coupling with a goat or sheep or both to relieve and satisfy the corrupt flesh that houses his pure soul. This is neither the time nor the place, however, to ponder how often the soul, in order to be able to boast of a clean body, has burdened itself with sadness, envy, and impurity. to the point, yet not as simple as it may seem to one who is satisfied with the approximate meaning of words, whether taken separately or together, because everything depends on how a thing is said, which varies according to the mood of the person speaking. When the words are expressed by one whose life is going badly and who hopes for better times, they are not the same as when one utters them as a threat, promising vengeance at some future date. The most extreme case would be one who sighs, Tomorrow is another day, because he is a pessimist by nature and given to expecting the worst. It would not be entirely plausible for Jesus to go around saying this at his age, whatever his meaning or tone of voice, but for us, yes, because like G.o.d we know everything about what has been and what is to come, so we can say, mutter, or whisper these words as we watch Jesus go about his tasks as a shepherd boy, crossing the hills of Judah, or, later, descending into the valley of Jordan. And not just because we are writing about Jesus but because every human being is constantly confronted with good and bad, one thing coming after another, day following day. Since this gospel was never meant to dismiss what others have written about Jesus or to contradict their accounts, and since Jesus is clearly the hero of our story, it would be easy for us to go up to him and predict his future, tell him what a wonderful life lies ahead, the miracles he will perform to provide food and restore health, even one to conquer death, but that would hardly be wise, because young Jesus, notwithstanding his apt.i.tude for religious studies and his knowledge of patriarchs and prophets, enjoys the healthy skepticism one a.s.sociates with youth, so he would send us away with scorn. Yes, he will change his mind when he meets G.o.d, but it is much too soon for that great encounter, and before then Jesus will have to go up and down many a mountain slope, milk many a goat and sheep, help make cheese, and barter wares in the villages. He will also kill animals that are diseased or have outlived their usefulness, and he will mourn their loss. But fret not, all you sensitive souls, he will never engage in the horrid vice suggested by Pastor, of coupling with a goat or sheep or both to relieve and satisfy the corrupt flesh that houses his pure soul. This is neither the time nor the place, however, to ponder how often the soul, in order to be able to boast of a clean body, has burdened itself with sadness, envy, and impurity.

Although their initial exchanges on ethical and theological matters remained unresolved, Pastor and Jesus got along well enough with each other, the shepherd patiently teaching him how to tend the flock, the boy listening intently, as if it were a matter of life and death. Jesus learned how to send his crook whirling through the air to land on the rump of an animal that in a moment of distraction or daring had strayed from the flock, but his apprenticeship was painful, because one day, while he was still struggling to master the technique, he threw the crook too low and accidentally hit the tender neck of a newborn kid, with such force that he killed the poor thing outright. Such accidents can happen to anyone, even an experienced and skillful shepherd, but Jesus, who was already burdened with so many sorrows, stiffened with horror as he lifted the little kid, still warm, into his arms. There was nothing to be done. Even the mother goat, after sniffing her child for a moment, moved away and resumed grazing, pawing at tufts of gra.s.s, which she pulled at with quick movements of her head, recalling the familiar refrain, A bleating goat doesn't chew much gra.s.s, which is another way of saying, You can't cry and eat at the same time. Pastor came to see what happened, Bad luck, no need for you to feel guilty. But I killed the poor little animal, Jesus said mournfully. So you did, but if he'd been an ugly, smelly old billy goat you wouldn't have felt much pity, put him on the ground and let me deal with this while you go attend to that ewe over there that looks as if she's about to give birth. What will you do with the kid. Skin it, of course, unless you expect me to work a miracle and bring it back to life. I swear I'll never touch that meat. Eating the animal we kill is our only way of showing respect, what is wrong is to eat what others have been forced to kill. I refuse to eat it. Please yourself, there will be all the more for me. Pastor drew a knife from his belt, looked at Jesus, and said, This is something else you'll have to learn sooner or later, to study the entrails of the animals created to serve and feed us. Jesus looked away and turned to go, but Pastor, knife in hand, went on to say, Slaves exist to serve us, perhaps we should open them up to see if they carry slaves inside, or open up a monarch to see if he has another monarch in his belly, I'll bet if we met the devil and he allowed us to open him up, we might be surprised to find G.o.d jumping out. Pastor still liked to provoke Jesus with these outrageous remarks. Jesus had gradually learned that the best way to deal with this was ignore it and say nothing. For Pastor might have gone even further, suggesting that on opening up G.o.d one might find the devil inside. Jesus went off in search of the ewe about to give birth, here at least there were no surprises awaiting him, a lamb like any other would appear, in the image and likeness of its mother, who in turn was identical to her sisters, for the one thing we can expect from these creatures is a smooth continuity of the species. The sheep had already given birth. The newborn lamb, lying on the ground, seemed to be all legs as its mother tried to help it to its feet, gently nudging with her nose, but the poor, dazed creature could only c.o.c.k its head, as if trying to find the best angle to take in this strange new world. Jesus helped hold it steady on its feet, his hands sticky with the afterbirth, but he did not mind, one gets used to such things when one is in constant contact with animals, and this lamb arrived at the right moment, so pretty with its curly coat and its pink little mouth already searching avidly for milk from those teats, which it is seeing for the first time and could never have imagined from inside its mother's womb. No one has any grounds for complaining about G.o.d, when we discover so many useful things from the moment we are born.

Within sight, Pastor stretches the kid's pelt on a wooden frame in the form of a star, the skinned carca.s.s already in his pack, wrapped in cloth. He will salt it later, when the flock settles down for the night, except for the piece Pastor intends to have for his supper, since Jesus is adamant he will not touch the meat of an animal he killed. These scruples on the part of Jesus place him in conflict with the religion he observes and the traditions he respects, including the slaughter of all those other innocent animals sacrificed daily on the altars of the Lord, especially in Jerusalem, where the victims are counted in hecatombs. Given the time and place, Jesus' att.i.tude does seems odd, but perhaps it is really a question of vulnerability, for we must not forget Joseph's tragic death and Jesus' recent discovery of the appalling ma.s.sacre that took place in Bethlehem almost fifteen years ago, enough to disturb any young mind, not to mention those terrifying nightmares, which we have not mentioned lately, although they still trouble him and refuse to go away. When he can no longer bear the thought that Joseph is coming to kill him, his cries wake the flock in the middle of the night, and Pastor gives him a gentle shake, What's this, what's going on. Delivered from his nightmare, Jesus falls into the shepherd's arms, as if Pastor were his unfortunate father. Soon after joining Pastor, Jesus had confided in him that he had nightmares, though not giving the reason, but Pastor said, Save your breath, I know everything, even what you're hiding from me. This was about the time Jesus rebuked Pastor for his lack of faith and his wickedness, particularly, if you'll forgive my laboring the point, in s.e.xual matters. But Jesus realized that he had no one else in the world, besides the family he had abandoned and forgotten, but not the mother who gave him life, although he often wished she hadn't, and, after his mother, only his sister Lisa, which he couldn't explain, but then memory is like that, it has its own reasons. So gradually Jesus began to enjoy Pastor's company, and it is easy to imagine his relief at not having to live alone with his remorse, at having someone at his side who understood, who would not pretend to forgive what could not be forgiven, someone who would treat him with both kindness and severity in accordance with his innocence and his guilt. We felt this needed explaining, so that the reader would find it easier to understand and accept why Jesus, so different in character and outlook from his ill-bred master, decided to stay with him until the prophesied encounter with G.o.d, which promises to be momentous, because G.o.d is not likely to appear to a simple mortal without good reason.

But before that, the circ.u.mstances and coincidences which we have discussed at length dictate that Jesus meet his mother and some of his brothers in Jerusalem during Pa.s.sover, which he thought he would be celebrating for the first time without his family. That Jesus wanted to celebrate Pa.s.sover in Jerusalem might have angered Pastor, for they were in the hills and the flock needed all their attention. Besides, Pastor was not a Jew and had no other G.o.d to honor, so he could well have refused Jesus permission, telling him, Oh no, you don't, you'll stay right here, I'm the one who gives the orders, and there's work to be done. Yet none of this happened, Pastor simply asked, Will you be coming back, but from the tone of his voice he seemed certain that Jesus would return, and indeed, the boy replied without a moment's hesitation, although he was surprised that the words came out so quickly, Yes, I'll be back. Then pick yourself a clean lamb, Jesus, and take it to be sacrificed, since you Jews attach so much importance to such practices. Pastor was putting him to the test, to see if the boy could lead to its death a lamb from the flock they had worked so hard to maintain and protect. No one warned Jesus, no tiny, invisible angel whispered in his ear, Be careful, it's a trap, don't trust him, this man is capable of anything. His gentle nature provided him with a good answer, or perhaps it was the memory of the dead kid and the newborn lamb. I want no lamb from this flock, he said. Why not. I cannot lead to its death an animal that I myself raised. Please yourself, but I hope you realize that you'll have to get a lamb from some other flock. I suppose so, since lambs don't fall from heaven. When are you thinking of leaving, Early tomorrow morning, And you'll be coming back, Yes, I'll be back. They said no more on the subject, although it was difficult to see how Jesus would find enough money to buy a paschal lamb when he could barely sc.r.a.pe together a living. One may presume that, not given to vices that cost money, he still had the few coins given him by the Pharisee almost a year ago, but they didn't amount to much, and, as we said, at this time of the year the prices of livestock in general and of lambs especially rise out of all proportion, so that one really has to put one's trust in G.o.d. Despite all the misfortunes that have befallen him, one is tempted to say that a lucky star guides this boy, but it would be feebleminded of this or any other evangelist to believe that celestial bodies so remote from our planet could have any appreciable influence on a human life, however much the devout Magi may have invoked, studied, and compared the stars. For, if what we are told is true, they must have traveled here some years ago, only to see what they saw and to go away again. What we are simply trying to say in this long-winded pa.s.sage is that our Jesus must somehow find a way to present himself worthily in the Temple with a little lamb, thus fulfilling what is expected of him. For he has proved himself a good Jew even in difficult situations, such as those tense exchanges with Pastor.

About this time the flock was enjoying the rich pastures of the valley of Aijalon, situated between the cities of Gezer and Emmaus. In Emmaus, Jesus tried to earn enough money to buy the much-needed lamb, but he soon saw that after a year of tending sheep and goats he no longer had the apt.i.tude for any other kind of work, not even for carpentry, in which, from lack of practice, he had made no progress. So he took the road that leads up from Emmaus to Jerusalem, wondering what he should do, he had no money to buy the lamb, stealing was out of the question, and it would be more miracle than luck if he found a stray lamb on the road. There are plenty of lambs in sight, some with ropes around their necks following their owners, others fortunate enough to be carried in loving arms. Imagining themselves on an outing, these innocent creatures are excited and nervous, they are curious about everything, and because they cannot ask questions, they use their eyes in the hope of making sense of a world made of words. Jesus sat on a stone by the roadside to think of a solution to this material problem that prevented him from carrying out his spiritual duty, if only another Pharisee, or even the same one, who probably gives alms daily, were suddenly to appear and ask him, Are you in need of a lamb, just as the man had previously asked him, Are you hungry. On that first occasion Jesus did not have to beg in order to receive, but now, with little hope of being given anything, he will have to beg. He already has his hand out, a gesture so eloquent that it dispenses with all explanations, and so expressive that we nearly always avert our eyes rather than be confronted with an unsightly wound or distressing obscenity. A few coins were dropped into Jesus' palm by less distracted travelers, but so few that at this rate the road from Emmaus will never bring him to the gates of Jerusalem. When he adds up what money he already has and what he just collected, there isn't enough to buy even half a lamb, and the Lord, as everyone knows, does not accept an animal on His altars unless it is perfect and whole, He refuses those that are blind, crippled, mutilated, diseased, or contaminated. You can imagine the scandal in the Temple if we were to present ourselves at the sacrificial altar with the hindquarters only, or, if by any misfortune the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es have been crushed, broken, or cut, that too would exclude it. No one asks this boy why he needs money, but wait, an elderly man with a long white beard now approaches Jesus while his family pauses in the middle of the road, respectfully waiting for the patriarch to rejoin them. Jesus thought he would receive another coin, but he was mistaken. The old man asked, Who are you, and the boy stood up to answer, I am Jesus of Nazareth. Have you no family. Yes, I have. Then why are you not with them. I came to work as a shepherd in Judaea, a deceitful way of telling the truth, or putting the truth at the service of a lie. The old man looked at him quizzically and asked, Why are you begging for alms if you have a trade. I earn my keep but cannot save enough money to buy a lamb for Pa.s.sover. So that is why you beg. Yes, whereupon the patriarch ordered one of the men in his group, Give this boy a lamb, we can buy another when we get to the Temple. There were six lambs tied to the same rope, the man untied the last of them and handed it to the old man, who told Jesus, Here's your lamb so that you too may offer sacrifice to the Lord this Pa.s.sover, and without waiting to be thanked, he returned to his family, who received him with smiles and admiration. Before Jesus could thank the old man, he was gone, then suddenly the road was mysteriously empty, between one bend and the next there was only Jesus and the lamb, who had finally found each other on the road from Emmaus thanks to the generosity of an elderly Jew. Jesus clutched the end of the cord, the animal looked up at his new master and started to bleat me-e-e-e in that nervous, tremulous way of young lambs before they are sacrificed to placate the G.o.ds. This bleating, which Jesus had heard thousands of times since becoming a shepherd's helpmate, touched his heart, and he felt as if his limbs were dissolving with pity. Here he was, with power as never before over the life of another creature, this immaculate white lamb that had no will and no desire, its trusting little face looking up at him anxiously, its pink tongue showing each time it bleated, and pink flesh beneath its soft hairs, and pink inside its ears, and pink nails on its feet, just as humans have, but nails that would never harden and be called hooves. Jesus stroked the lamb's head, it responded by stretching its neck and rubbing its moist nose against the palm of his hand, sending a shiver up his spine. The spell broke as suddenly as it had begun. At the end of the road, from the direction of Emmaus, other pilgrims appeared in a swarm of fluttering tunics, of packs and staffs, with more lambs and prayers of thanksgiving to the Lord. Jesus lifted his lamb into his arms and started walking.

He had not been back to Jerusalem since that distant day he came out of necessity to discover the burden of sorrow and remorse in life, whether shared like an inheritance or kept entirely to oneself like death. The crowd filling the streets resembled a muddy brown river about to flood the concourse before the steps of the Temple. Holding the lamb in his arms, Jesus watched the people file past, some coming, some going, some carrying animals to be sacrificed, some returning without them, looking joyful and exclaiming, Alleluia, Hosanna, Amen, or saying none of these things, feeling it was inappropriate to walk around shouting Hallelujah or Hip hip hurrah, because there is really not much difference between the two expressions, we use them enthusiastically until with the pa.s.sage of time and by dint of repet.i.tion we finally ask ourselves, What does it mean, only to find there is no answer. The endless column of smoke spiraling above the Temple indicated for miles around that all who had come to offer sacrifices were direct and legitimate descendants of Abel, that son of Adam and Eve who in his day offered to the Lord the firstborn of his flock and their fat, which were favorably received, while his brother Cain, who had nothing to offer but the simple fruits of nature, saw that the Lord for some reason did not so much as look at him. If this was Cain's motive for killing Abel, then we can put our minds at rest, the worshipers here are not likely to kill one another, they all offer the same sacrifice, and how the fat spits and the carca.s.ses sizzle as G.o.d in the sublime heavens inhales the odors of all this carnage with satisfaction. Jesus pressed his lamb to his breast, unable to fathom why G.o.d could not be appeased with a cup of milk poured over His altar, that sap of life which pa.s.ses from one being to another, or with a handful of wheat, the basic substance of immortal bread. Soon he will have to part with the old man's generous gift, his for such a short time, the poor little lamb will not live to see the sun set this day, it is time to mount the stairs of the Temple, to deliver it to the knife and sacrificial fire, as if it were no longer worthy of existence or being punished by the eternal guardian of myths and fables for having drunk from the waters of life. Then Jesus decided, in defiance of the law of the synagogue and the word of G.o.d, that this lamb would not die, that what he had received to deliver to the altar would continue to live and that he would leave Jerusalem a greater sinner than when he arrived. As if his previous offenses were not enough, he was now committing this one too, but the day will come when he has to pay for all his sins, because G.o.d never forgets. The fear of punishment made him hesitate for a moment, but suddenly, in his mind's eye, he saw a horrifying vision, a vast sea of blood, the blood of the countless lambs and other animals sacrificed since the creation of mankind, for that is why men have been put on this earth, to adore and to offer sacrifice. And he saw the steps of the Temple awash with red, as blood came streaming down them, and he saw himself standing in a pool of blood and raising the lifeless body of his beheaded lamb to heaven. Deep in thought, Jesus stood inside a sphere of silence, but then the sphere shattered, and once more he was plunged into the clamor of invocations and blessings, pleas, cries, chants, and the pitiful bleating of lambs, until all was silenced in an instant by three low blasts from the shofar, the long, spiral horn of a ram made into a trumpet. Covering the lamb with his pack, Jesus ran from the concourse and disappeared into a labyrinth of narrow alleyways without worrying where he might end up. When he finally stopped for breath, he was on the outskirts, having left the city by the northern gate, known as that of Ramah, the same gate by which he had entered when he arrived from Nazareth. He sat beneath an olive tree by the side of the road and took the lamb out of his pack, no one would have found it strange to see him sitting there, they would simply have thought, He has traveled a long way and is recovering his strength before taking his lamb to the Temple, how endearing, we do not know whether the person thinking this means the lamb or Jesus. We find both of them endearing, but if we had to make a choice, the prize would almost certainly go to the lamb, on the condition that it does not grow any bigger. Jesus lies on his back, holding the end of the cord to prevent the lamb from escaping, an unnecessary precaution, the poor animal has no strength, not only because of its tender age but also because of all the excitement, the constant motion back and forth, not to mention the meager food it was given this morning, for it is considered neither fitting nor decent for anyone, lamb or martyr, to die with a full belly.

Stretched out on the ground, Jesus gradually recovers and starts breathing normally again. Between the branches of the olive tree, as it sways gently in the wind, he can see the sky, the sun's rays filtering through gaps in the foliage and playing on his face, it must be about the sixth hour, the sun directly overhead shortens the shadows, and who would ever think that night will come to extinguish this dazzling light. Some people pa.s.s on the road, more follow behind, and when Jesus looks again at that group, he receives such a shock that his first impulse is to flee, but how can he, for coming toward him is his own mother accompanied by some of his brothers, the older sons, James, Joseph, and Judas, and Lisa too, but she is a girl and should be mentioned separately rather than listed according to age, which would place her between James and Joseph. They still have not seen him. Jesus goes into the road to meet them, once more carrying his lamb in his arms, but one suspects this is only to make sure his arms are full. First to notice him is James, who waves before turning to their mother in great excitement, and now Mary is looking, they start walking faster, and Jesus too feels obliged to hasten toward them, though he cannot run with the lamb in his arms. We are taking so long over this that the reader might get the impression we do not want them to meet, but this is not so, maternal, fraternal, and filial love should give them wings, yet there are reservations and certain constraints, we know how they separated, we do not know the effect of all those months apart without news of each other. If one keeps walking, one eventually arrives, and there they are, face-to-face, Jesus says, Your blessing, Mother, and his mother says, May the Lord bless you, my son. They embraced, then it was his brothers' turn, then Lisa's, followed by an awkward silence, all of them at a loss for words, Mary was not going to say to her son, Such a surprise, what on earth are you doing here, nor Jesus to his mother, I never expected to find you here, what brings you to the city, the lamb in his arms and the one they have brought speak for themselves, this is the Pa.s.sover of the Lord, the difference being that one lamb is going to die and the other has been saved. We waited and waited to hear from you, Mary said at length, bursting into tears. Her eldest son stands before her, so tall, so grown-up, with the beginnings of a beard and the weather-beaten complexion of one who has spent his days in the open, exposed to the sun, wind, and dust of the desert. Don't cry, Mother, I have work. I'm a shepherd now. A shepherd. Yes, a shepherd. But I was hoping you'd follow your father and take up the trade he taught you. Well, as things turned out, I became a shepherd, and that's what I am. When are you coming home. I don't know, one day, I suppose. At least accompany your mother and brothers to the Temple. Mother, I'm not going to the Temple. Why not, you have your lamb there. This lamb isn't going to the Temple either. Is there something wrong with it. No, nothing, but he will die a natural death when his time comes. My son, I don't understand. You don't have to understand, if I save this lamb, it's so that someone may save me. Then why not come with your family. I was leaving. Where to, Back to the flock where I belong, Where did you leave it, At present it's in the valley of Aijalon, Where is this valley of Aijalon, On the other side, What other side, On the other side of Bethlehem. Mary stepped back and turned quite pale, how she has aged although barely thirty, Why do you mention Bethlehem, she asked. That's where I met the shepherd who is my master. Who is this man, and before Jesus had time to reply, she said to the others, You go on ahead and wait for me at the entrance. Then taking Jesus by the hand, she led him to the side of the road, Who is this man, she asked a second time. I don't know, Jesus answered. Doesn't he have a name. If he has, he's never told me, I call him Pastor and that's all. What does he look like, He's big, And where did you meet him, In the cave where I was born, Who took you there, A slave named Salome, who told me she helped deliver me, And this man, What about him, What did he say to you, Nothing you don't already know. Mary slumped to the ground, as if a heavy hand were pushing her, That man is a demon. How do you know, did he tell you so. No, the first time I saw him, he told me he was an angel and asked me not to say a word to anyone. When did you see him. The day your father learned I was pregnant, he appeared at our door disguised as a beggar and told me he was an angel. Did you ever see him again. On the road when your father and I traveled to Bethlehem for the census, then in the cave where you were born, and the night after you left home, he walked into the yard, I thought it was you, and peering through the gap in the door, I saw him uproot the plant in the yard, you remember that bush which grew at the very spot where the bowl of bright earth was buried. What bowl, what earth. You were never told, but the beggar gave it to me before he went away, when he returned the bowl after he had finished eating, there was luminous earth inside. For earth to shine, he must have been an angel. At first I believed so, but the devil too has magical powers. Jesus sat beside his mother and left the lamb to roam at will. Yes, I've learned that when they are both in agreement, it's almost impossible to tell the difference between an angel of the Lord and an angel of Satan, he told her. Stay with us, don't go back to that man, do this for your mother's sake. No, I promised to return, and I will keep my word. People make promises to the devil only in order to deceive him. This man, who I'm certain is no man but an angel or demon, has been haunting me since the day I was born, and I want to know why. Jesus, my son, come to the Temple with your mother and brothers, by taking this lamb to the altar you'll fulfill your obligation and the lamb its destiny, and there you can ask the Lord to deliver you from the powers of Satan and all evil thoughts. This lamb will die only when his time comes. But this is its day for dying. Mother, the lambs you gave birth to must die, but you should not make them die before their time. Lambs are not people, and even less so when those people are sons. When the Lord ordered Abraham to kill his son Isaac, no distinction was made then. My son, I'm a simple woman, I have no answer to give you, but I beseech you, give up these evil thoughts. Mother, thoughts are but pa.s.sing shadows, neither good nor bad in themselves, actions alone count. Praised be the Lord who blessed this poor, ignorant woman with such a wise son, yet I cannot believe this is the wisdom of G.o.d. One can learn also from the devil. And I fear you are in his power. If his power saved this lamb, then something has been gained in the world today. Mary made no attempt to reply. They saw James approaching from the city gate. Mary got to her feet, I find my son only to lose him again, she said, to which Jesus replied, If you haven't already lost him, you will not lose him now. He put his hand into his pack and took out the money he had been given as alms, This is all I have. You've worked all those months for so little. I work to earn my keep. You must be very fond of that master of yours to be satisfied with so little. The Lord is my shepherd. Don't offend G.o.d, living with a demon. Who knows, Mother, who knows, he could be an angel serving another G.o.d who reigns in another heaven. The Lord said, I am the Lord and you will worship no other G.o.d. Amen, responded Jesus. He gathered the lamb into his arms and said, I see James approaching, farewell, Mother, and Mary said, One would think you had more affection for that lamb than for your own family. Right now I do, said Jesus. Choking with grief and anger, Mary turned away and ran to meet her other son. She did not look back.

Outside the city walls, Jesus took a different route across the fields before beginning the long descent into the valley of Aijalon. He stopped at a village and bought food with the money his mother had refused, some bread and figs, milk for himself and the lamb, sheep's milk, and if there was any difference, it wasn't noticeable, it's possible, at least in this case, that one mother is as good as another. Anyone surprised that Jesus spends money on a lamb that by rights should now be dead will be told that the boy once owned two lambs, one was sacrificed and lives on in the glory of the Lord, while this other lamb was rejected because it had a torn ear, Take a look, But there's nothing wrong with its ear, they might say, to which Jesus would reply, Well, then, I'll tear it myself, and lifting the lamb to his back, he went on his way. He caught sight of the flock as the evening light began to wane and the sky became overcast with dark, low clouds. The tension in the air spoke of thunderstorms, and indeed lightning rent the sky just as Jesus saw the flock. But there was no rain, it was one of those dry thunderstorms, all the more frightening because they make you feel so vulnerable, without the shield of rain and wind, as it were, to protect you in the naked battle between a thundering heaven that tears itself apart and an earth that trembles and cowers beneath the blows. A hundred paces from Jesus, another blinding flash split an olive tree, which immediately caught fire and blazed like a torch. A loud burst of thunder shuddered across the sky as if ripping it open from end to end, and the impact knocked Jesus to the ground and left him senseless. Two more bolts struck, here, there, like two decisive words, then little by little the peals of thunder grew remote and finally became a gentle murmur, an intimate dialogue between heaven and earth. The lamb, having survived the storm unharmed and no longer afraid, came up to Jesus and put its mouth to his lips, there was no sniffing, one touch was all that was needed. Jesus opened his eyes, saw the lamb, then the livid sky like a black hand blocking whatever light remained. The olive tree still burned. His bones ached when he tried to move, but at least he was in one piece, if that can be said of a body so fragile that it takes only a clap of thunder to knock it to the ground. He sat up with some effort and rea.s.sured himself, more by touch than by sight, that he was neither burned nor paralyzed, none of his bones were broken, and apart from a loud buzzing in his head as insistent as the drone of a trumpet, he was all right. He drew the lamb to him and said, Don't be afraid, He only wanted to show you that you would have been dead by now if that was His will, and to show me that it was not I who