The Last Temptation of Christ Part 6

He felt completely enveloped in G.o.das breath. It blew over him, sometimes warm and benevolent, sometimes savage, merciless. Lizard, b.u.t.terflies, ants, Cursea"all were G.o.d.

Hearing voices and bells along the road, he turned. A long camel caravan laden with expensive merchandise was pa.s.sing by, led by a humble donkey. This caravan must have started from Nineveh and Babylon, the rich river valley of the patriarch Abraham, and come across desert transporting silks, spices, ivory and perhaps male and female slaves to the many-colored ships of the Great Sea.

The procession filed by; it seemed to have no end. What riches these people have, the son of Mary thought, what marvels! Finally, at the caravanas tail, the rich black-bearded merchants appeared with their golden earrings, their green turbans and flowing white jellabs. They were pa.s.sing in front of him now, rolling and pitching with the swaying jog of the camels.

The son of Mary shuddered. It suddenly occurred to him that they would stop at Magdala. Magdaleneas door is open day and night and they will enter, he said to himself. I must save you, Magdalenea"oh, if I could only do it!a"you, Magdalene, not the race of Israel: that I cannot save. Iam no prophet. If I open my mouth, I have no idea what to say. G.o.d did not anoint my lips with burning coals, did not cast his thunderbolt into my bowels to make me burn, rush frenzied into the streets and begin to shout. ... I want the words to be his, not mine: I want nothing to do with them. Iall simply open my mouth, and heall do the talking. No, Iam no prophet; Iam just a plain, ordinary man whoas scared of everything: I canat drag you out of the bed of shame, Magdalene, so Iam going to the desert, to the monastery, to pray for you. Prayer is all-powerful. They say that during the wars, as long as Moses kept his hands raised to heaven, the sons of Israel conquered, and as soon as he grew tired and lowered them, they were defeated. ... Magdalene, I shall keep my hands raised to heaven for you day and night.

He looked up to see when the sun was going to set. He wanted to continue on in darkness so that he could get past Capernaum without being seen by a soul and then go around the lake and enter the desert. He was growing more and more anxious to arrive.

aOh, if I could only walk over the waters and go directly across the lake!a he murmured, sighing once more.

The lizard was still sunning itself, glued to the warm rock. The b.u.t.terflies had flown up high and disappeared into the light. The ants continued to transport the harvest. They shoveled it into their granaries, went hastily back to the fields and returned with new loads. The sun was ready to set. The pa.s.sers-by grew scarcer; shadows lengthened; the evening fell upon trees and soil, gilding them. On the lake, the water was in perfect confusion: at the twinkling of an eye it altered its appearancea"reddened, turned light violet, darkened. One large star hung in the western skies.

Now night will come, the son of Mary reflected; now G.o.das black daughter will arrive with her caravan of stars; and before the stars had a chance to come out and fill the sky, they filled his mind.

He had already begun to get ready to rise and resume his journey when he heard a horn behind him. A pa.s.ser-by was calling him by name. He turned and in the thin light of the evening discerned someone signaling to him and mounting the slope, loaded down with an immense bundle. Who can it be? he asked himself, struggling to make out the wayfareras features beneath the bundle. Somewhere he had seen that pale face and short, scanty beard and those thin, crooked shanks before. Suddenly he cried out, aIs that you, Thomas? Have you started your circuit of the villages again?a The wily, cross-eyed peddler stood in front of him now, panting. He placed his bundle on the ground and sponged the sweat from his pointed forehead and the tiny wry eyes whose ambivalent dance left you unable to tell whether they were rejoicing or scoffing.

The son of Mary liked him very much. He often saw him pa.s.s by his workshop on his way back from his rounds, the horn thrust under his belt. He would throw his bundle down on a bench and begin to talk about everything he had seen. He sneered, he laughed, he teased; he had faith neither in the G.o.d of Israel nor in any other G.o.d. They all jeer at us, he would say; they all jeer at us to make us slaughter kids for them, burn them sweet incense and shout ourselves hoa.r.s.e hymning their beauty. ... The son of Mary listened to him, and his constricted heart relaxed a little: he admired this roguish mind which, despite all its poverty and all the slavery and misery of its race, found strength to conquer the slavery and the poverty by means of laughter and mockery.

And Thomas the peddler liked the son of Mary. He looked upon him as a nave sheep, sickly and bleating, seeking G.o.d in order to hide behind his shadow.

aYouare a sheep, son of Mary,a he said to him regularly, splitting with laughter, abut youave got a wolf inside you, and this wolf is going to eat you up!a Then from under his shirt he would take a handful of dates or a pomegranate or an apple he had stolen from the orchard, and treat him.

aItas good to see you,a he said now, as soon as he had caught his breath. aG.o.d loves you. Where are you going?a aTo the monastery,a Jesus replied, pointing toward the lake.

aWell, then, itas doubly good to see you. Turn back!a aWhy? G.o.da"a But Thomas exploded. aDo me a favor and donat start up again about G.o.d. Where heas concerned there are no boundaries. You walk all your life, this one and the next, trying to reach him, but the blessed fellow has no end. So forget about him and donat mix him up in our affairs. Listen to me: here weave got to deal with mana"with dishonest, seven-times-shrewd man. To begin with, watch out for Judas the redbeard. Before I left Nazareth I saw him whispering with the mother of the crucified Zealot, then with Barabbas and two or three other knife-wielding cronies of his from the brotherhood. I heard them mention your name, so watch out, son of Mary: donat go to the monastery.a But Jesus bowed his head. aEvery living thing is in G.o.das hands. He decides whom he wants to save, whom he wants to slay. What resistance can we offer? I shall go, and may G.o.d help me!a aYouall go?a shouted Thomas in a rage. aBut right now, right now as we talk, Judas is at the monastery with his knife hidden under his shirt. Do you carry a knife?a The son of Mary shuddered. aNo,a he said. aWhat use should I have for one?a Thomas laughed. aSheep ... sheep ... sheep ...a he murmured. He picked up his bundle. aFarewell. Do what you like. I tell you to turn back, and you say, aI shall go!a All right, goa"and kick yourself afterward when itas too late!a With a twinkle in his tiny wry eyes he started back down the slope, whistling.

The night now fell in earnest. The ground darkened, the lake sank away; in Capernaum the first lamps were lighted. The birds of the day had already buried their heads in their wings and gone to sleep; the night birds, awakening, began to go out on the hunt.

This is a holy hour, a good time to leave, thought the son of Mary. No one will see mea"so letas be off!

He recalled Thomasas words.

aWhatever G.o.d wills, that is what will happen,a he murmured. aIf G.o.d is the one whoas pushing me to go find my murderer, then let me go quickly and be killed. That, at least, I am able to do, and Iam doing it.a He turned and looked behind him.

aLetas go,a he said to his invisible companion, and he set out toward the lake.

The night was sweet, warm, damp; a gentle wind blew from the south. Capernaum smelled of fish and jasmine. Old Zebedee sat in the courtyard of his house with his wife Salome, under the large almond tree. They had finished their meal and were chatting. Inside, their son Jacob twisted and turned on his mattress. Tangled up in his mind and infuriating his heart were the crucified Zealot, the new injustice G.o.d had done the people in taking their wheat, and the son of Mary, who had sold himself as a spy. These thoughts did not let him sleep; and his fatheras chattering outside infuriated him that much more. Boiling over with rage, he jumped to his feet, went out into the yard and strode across the threshold.

aWhere are you going?a his mother called to him anxiously.

aTo the lake to catch a breath of fresh air,a he growled, and he vanished into the darkness.

Old Zebedee shook his head and sighed.

aThe world isnat what it used to be, wife,a he said. aToday the young folk are too big for their skins. Theyare neither birds nor fish; theyare flying fish. The sea is too small for them, so they fly into the air. But they canat last long there, so they plunge back down into the sea and then start all over again from the beginning. Theyave gone out of their minds. Why, just look at our son John, your darling. Iam for the monastery, he tells us. Prayers, fasting, G.o.d ... The fishing boat looks much too narrow to hima"he canat possibly fit in. And now hereas the other one, Jacob, whom I thought had some sense in his head. Mark my words: heas fixed the rudder in the same direction. Didnat you see tonight how he got all heated up, ready to burst, and how the house was too small for him? All right, it doesnat matter to me, but whoas going to look after my boats and the men? Is all my toil going to go to waste? Wife, Iam troubled; bring me a little wine and a snack of octopus to restore my spirits.a Old Salome played deaf. Her old husband had drunk quite enough already. She tried to change the subject. aTheyare young,a she said. aDonat let it worry you; it will blow over.a aBy gad, wife, youare right! Youave a fertile head on your shoulders. Why do I sit here getting a headache? Thatas it: theyare young, it will blow over. Youth is a sickness; it pa.s.ses. When I was young there were times when I too got all heated up and twisted and turned on my bed. I thought I was looking for G.o.d, but I was really looking for a wifea"for you, Salome! I got married and calmed down. Our sons will do the same, so donat give it another thought! Iam content now. ... Wife, bring me a snack and some octopus; and bring me a bit of wine, dear Salomea"I want to drink to your health!a In the adjoining neighborhood, a little farther on, old Jonah sat all alone in his cottage and mended his nets by the light of the lamp. He mended and mended, but his mind and thoughts were not on his dear departed wife, who had died at this time a year before, nor on his halfwit of a son Andrew, nor on that prize cow-brained nitwit, his other son Peter, who still went the rounds of the taverns of Nazareth, having left his father high and dry, old man that he was, to wrestle all alone with the fish. No, he was thinking of Zebedeeas words and laboring under a great inquietude. Perhaps he really was the prophet Jonah. He looked at his hands, feet, thighs: all scales. Even his breath and sweat smelled of fish, and now he remembered that the other day when he wept on account of his wife, his tears had smelled of fish too. And sly old Zebedee was right about the crabs: once in a while he found some in his beard. ... Perhaps he was the prophet Jonah after all. Ah! that explained why he was never in the mood to talk, why the words had to be dragged out of him with a grapnel, why he always stumbled and tripped when he walked on dry land. But when he plunged into the lake: what a relief that was, what joy! The water lifted him up in its bosom, caressed him, licked him, purred in his ear and spoke to him; and he, like the fish, answered it without words, and bubbles came out of his mouth!

Iam the prophet Jonah, without a doubt, he said to himself. Iave been resurrecteda"the shark vomited me up again. But this time Iave got a little sense in my head: Iam a prophet, all right, but I pretend to be a fisherman and donat breathe a word to anyone; I donat want to find myself in hot water all over again. ... He smiled with satisfaction at his own cunning. I managed it beautifully, he reflected. Look how many years no one got wind of it, not even me, until that devilish Zebedee came along. Well, itas a good thing he opened my eyes.

He left his tools on the floor, rubbed his hands together with satisfaction, opened a cupboard, took out a gourdful of wine, tipped up his short, fat, scaly throat and began to drink, chuckling.

While the two contented old men drank in Capernaum, the son of Mary journeyed along the sh.o.r.e of the lake, plunged deep in thought. He was not all alone: behind him he heard the sand crunching. In Magdaleneas yard new merchants had dismounted and were now sitting cross-legged on the pebbles. They conversed quietly and munched dates and grilled crabs while they awaited their turns. At the monastery the monks had laid the Abbot out in the middle of his cell and were keeping the vigil. He still breathed; his protruding eyes stared at the opened door and his emaciated face was tensed: he seemed to be straining to hear something.

The monks looked at him and whispered among themselves.

aHeas trying to hear whether or not the rabbi has arrived from Nazareth to cure him.a aHeas trying to hear whether or not the black wings of the archangel are coming near.a aHeas trying to hear the footsteps of the approaching Messiah.a They whispered and looked at him, and the soul of each was prepared at that hour to welcome the miracle. They all strained their ears, but they heard nothing except the heavy blows of a hammer on the anvil. In the far corner of the courtyard Judas had lighted his fires and was working through the night.

Chapter Ten.

FAR AWAY in Nazareth, Mary the wife of Joseph sat in her simple cottage. The lamp was lighted, the door open. Hurriedly, she wound up the wool which she had spun. She had decided to rise and comb the villages in search of her boy. She wound and wound, but her mind was not on her work. Lonely and hopeless, it roamed the fields, visited Magdala and Capernaum, searched all around the sh.o.r.e of the lake of Gennesaret. She was seeking her son. He had run away again; once more G.o.d had prodded him with his ox-goad. Doesnat he pity him, she asked herself, doesnat he pity me? What have we done to him? Is this the joy and glory he promised us? Why, G.o.d, was it Josephas staff which you made blossom, forcing me to marry an old man? Why did you cast your thunderbolt and plant in my womb this daydreamer, this night-walker of an only son? The whole time I was pregnant the neighbors came and admired me. aMary, you are blessed above all women,a they said. I had blossomed; I was an almond tree covered with flowers from the roots to the highest branches. aWho is this flowering almond?a the pa.s.sing merchants used to ask, and they stopped their caravans, got off their camels and filled my lap with gifts. Then, suddenly, a wind blew and I was stripped bare. I fold my arms over my fallow b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Lord, your will has been done: you made me blossom, you blew, the petals fell away. Is there no hope I may blossom again, Lord?

Is there no hope my heart may grow calm? her son asked himself early the next morning. He had gone around the lake and now he saw the monastery opposite him, wedged in among green-red rocks. As I proceed and near the monastery, my heart becomes more and more troubled. Why? Havenat I taken the right road, Lord? Itas toward this holy retreat youave been pushing me, isnat it? Why then do you refuse to extend your hand and gladden my heart?

Two monks dressed all in white appeared at the monasteryas large door. They climbed up onto a rock and gazed out in the direction of Capernaum.

aStill no sign,a said one of them, a half-crazy hunchback with a behind which nearly sc.r.a.ped the ground.

aHeall be dead by the time they arrive,a said the other, a huge elephant of a man whose mouth, a shark-like slit, reached fully to his ears. aGo ahead, Jeroboam, Iall keep on the look-out here until the camel appears.a aFine,a said the delighted hunchback, sliding down from the rock. aIall go and watch him die.a The son of Mary stood irresolutely on the monasteryas threshold, his heart oscillating like a bell: should he enter or not? The cloister was circular and paved with flagstones. Not a single green tree graced the courtyard, not a flower, not a bird: only wild p.r.i.c.kly pears all around. Along the circ.u.mference of this round, inhuman desolation were the cells, carved into the rock like tombs.

Is this the kingdom of heaven? the son of Mary asked himself. Is this where manas heart grows calm?

He looked and looked, unable to decide to cross the threshold. Two black sheep dogs flew out of a corner and began to bark at him.

The stunted hunchback noticed the visitor and silenced the dogs with a whistle. Then he turned and scrutinized the newcomer from top to toe. The young manas eyes seemed full of affliction to him, the clothes he wore were very poor, and blood trickled from his feet. He felt sorry for him.

aWelcome, brother,a he said. aWhat wind has tossed you out here into the desert?a aG.o.d!a the son of Mary answered in a deep, despairing voice. The monk got frightened: he had never heard human lips p.r.o.nounce G.o.das name with such terror. Folding his arms, he said nothing.

After a short pause, the visitor continued. aIave come to see the Abbot.a aMaybe youall see him, but he wonat see you. What do you want with him?a aI donat know. I had a dream. ... Iave come from Nazareth.a aA dream?a said the half-crazy monk with a laugh.

aA terrible dream, Father. Since then my heart has had no peace. The Abbot is a saint; G.o.d taught him how to explain the languages of birds and dreams. That is why I came.a It had never entered his mind to come to this monastery to ask the Abbot to explain the dream he had on the night he constructed the cross: that wild chase in his sleep and the redbeard rushing in front and the dwarfs who followed him with their instruments of torture. But now as he stood irresolutely on the threshold, suddenly the dream tore across his mind like a flash of lightning. Thatas it! he shouted to himself. Iave come because of the dream. G.o.d sent it in order to show me my road, and the Abbot is going to untangle it for me.

aThe Abbot is dying,a said the monk. aYouave arrived too late, my brother. Go back.a aG.o.d commanded me to come,a the son of Mary replied. aIs he capable of hoaxing his children?a The monk cackled. He had seen a good deal in his lifetime and had no confidence in G.o.d.

aHeas the Lord, isnat he? So, he does whatever comes into his head. If he wasnat able to inflict injustice, what kind of an Omnipotent would he be?a He slapped the visitor on the back. He meant this slap to be a caress, but his huge paw was heavy, and it hurt the youth.

aAll right, donat get worried,a he said. aHere, step inside. Iam the guest master.a They entered the cloister. A wind had arisen; the sand swirled over the flagstones. An opaque windstorm girded the sun. The air grew dark.

Gaping in the middle of the yard was a dried-out well. At other times it was filled with water, but now it had become filled with sand. Two lizards emerged to warm themselves on its corroded brim. The Abbotas cell was open. The monk took his visitor by the arm. aWait here while I ask the brothers for permission. Donat budge.a He crossed his hands over his chest and entered. The dogs had placed themselves on either side of the Abbotas threshold. Their necks stretched forward, they sniffed the air and yelped mournfully.

The Abbot lay stretched out in the middle of the cell, his feet toward the door. Around him the waiting monks dozed, exhausted by their all-night vigil. The moribund, stretched out as he was on his mat, kept his face continually tensed and his eyes open, riveted on the gaping doorway. The seven-branched candelabrum was still next to his face. It illuminated the polished arch of his forehead, the insatiable eyes, the hawk-like nose, the pale blue lips and the long white beard which reached his waist and covered the naked, bony chest. The monks had thrown incense kneaded with dried rose petals onto the lighted coals of an earthenward censer, and perfume invaded the air.

The monk entered, forgot why he had done so and squatted on the threshold, between the two dogs.

The sun had the door in its grasp now and was trying to enter to touch the Abbotas feet. The son of Mary stood outside, waiting. There was no sound save the whining of the two dogs and, in the distance, the slow rhythmic blows of the sledge on the anvil.

The visitor waited and waited. The day advanced; they had forgotten him. There had been a frost during the night, but now as he stood outside the cell he felt the delicious warmth of the morning sun enter his bones.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the voice of the monk who was doing sentry duty on the rock: aTheyare coming! Theyare coming!a The monks in the Abbotas cell awoke with a start and flew outside, leaving the Abbot all alone.

Nerving himself, the son of Mary advanced two steps, timidly, and stopped on the threshold. Inside was the calm of death, of immortality. The Abbotas pale, slender feet gleamed, bathed in sunlight. A bee buzzed near the ceiling; a fuzzy black insect flitted about the seven lights, hopping from one to the next as though trying to select its crematorium.

Suddenly the Abbot stirred. Exerting all his strength, he raised his heada"and at once the eyes popped out of his head, his mouth dropped open, his nostrils sniffed the air, twitching insatiably. The son of Mary put his hand to his heart, lips and forehead in the sign of greeting.

The Abbotas lips moved. aYouave come ... youave come ... youave come ...a he murmured, so imperceptibly that the son of Mary did not hear. But a smile of unspeakable bliss spread over the Abbotas severe, embittered face and straightway his eyes closed, the nostrils remained motionless, his mouth shut and the two hands which were crossed over his breast rolled one to the right and the other to the left and rested on the ground with open, upturned palms.

In the courtyard meanwhile, the two camels had knelt. The monks rushed forward to help the old rabbi dismount.

aIs he alive, is he still alive?a the young novice asked in anguished tones.

aHeas still breathing,a answered Father Habakkuk. aHe sees and hears everything, but does not speak.a The rabbi entered first, followed by the novice with the precious wallet containing the healeras salves, herbs and magic amulets. The two black dogs, their tails between their legs, did not even turn their heads. Their necks were stretched out against the ground and they were yelping woefully, like human beings.

The rabbi heard them and shook his head. Iave come too late, he reflected, but he did not speak.

He knelt by the Abbotas side, leaned over his body and placed his hand on his heart. His lips were almost touching those of the Abbot.

aToo late,a he whispered. aIave come too late. ... Long may you live, Fathers!a Crying out, the monks stooped and kissed the corpse, each according to his length of service, as prescribed by custom: Father Habakkuk the eyes, the remaining monks the beard and upturned palms, the novices the feet. And one of them took the Abbotas crosier from the empty stall and laid it next to the holy remains.

The old rabbi knelt and regarded him, unable to tear away his eyes. What was this triumphant smile? What meaning had the mysterious gleam around the closed eyes? A sun, an unsetting sun, had fallen over this face and remained there. What was this sun?

He looked about him. The monks, still on their knees, were paying homage to the deceased; John, his lips glued to the Abbotas feet, wept. The old rabbi shifted his glance from one monk to the next as though questioning them; and suddenly his eye was caught by the son of Mary standing motionless and tranquil in the back corner of the cell, his hands crossed on his breast. But spread over the whole of his face was the same calm, triumphant smile.

aLord of Hosts, Adonai,a whispered the terrified rabbi, awill you never cease tempting my heart? Help my mind now to understanda"and decide!a The next day an angry blood-red sun ringed by a dark tempest bounded out of the sand. A fiery east wind arose from the desert; the world turned black. The monasteryas two ebony dogs tried to bark, but their mouths filled with sand and they remained still. The camels, glued to the ground, closed their eyes and waited.

Slowly, linked one to the next in a chain, the monks groped their way forward, struggling not to fall. Squashed together in a row and holding the Abbotas remains tightly in their arms so that the wind would not take him from them, they proceeded, going to bury him. The desert swayed: rose and fell like the sea.

aItas the desert wind, the breath of Jehovah,a murmured John, leaning his entire body against the son of Mary. aIt withers every green leaf, dries up every spring, fills your mouth with sand. Weall simply leave the sacred remains in a hollow, and the waves of sand will come to cover them up.a The moment they pa.s.sed over the monasteryas threshold the red-bearded blacksmith, his hammer over his shoulder, rose up black and enormous out of the swirling mist and looked at them for an instant, but immediately disappeared, enveloped by the sand. The son of Zebedee saw this ogre in the middle of the sandstorm. Terrified, he clutched his partneras arm.

aWho was that?a he asked softly. aDid you see him?a But the son of Mary did not reply. G.o.d arranges everything perfectly, and exactly as he desires, he reflected. Look how he brought Judas and me togethera"here in the desert, at the very ends of the earth. Well, then, Lord, let your will be done.

Bent over, they advanced all together, planting their feet in the burning sand. They tried to block their mouths and nostrils with the edge of their robes, but the fine sand had already descended to their throats and lungs. The wind suddenly took hold of Father Habakkuk, who was in the lead. It twirled him around and threw him down. The monks, blinded by the clouds of sand, walked over him. The desert whistled, the stones jingled; old Habakkuk uttered a hoa.r.s.e cry, but no one heard.

Why shouldnat Jehovahas breath be the cool breeze which comes to us from the Great Sea? the son of Mary was thinking. He wanted to ask his companion but could not open his mouth. Why couldnat the wind of Jehovah fill the dried-out wells of the desert with water? Why couldnat the Lord love the green leaf and feel pity for men? Oh, if only one man could be found to approach him, fall at his feet and succeed, before being reduced to ashes, in telling him of manas suffering, and of the suffering of the earth and of the green leaf!

Judas still stood in the low doorway of the isolated cell which the monks had given him as a workshop. Splitting with laughter, he watched the funeral procession which rolled and pitched, sank away and vanished at one moment, reappeared at the next. He had caught sight of the person he was hunting, and his dark eyes gleamed with pleasure. aGreat is the G.o.d of Israel,a he whispered. aHe arranges everything beautifully. He has brought the traitor right to the point of my knife.a He went inside, stroking his mustache with delight. The cell was dark, but in a small furnace in the corner, the burning coals glowed fiercely. The low-rumped monk, half saint, half lunatic, was poking the fire, bellows in hand.

The blacksmith was in a good mood. aHey, Father Jeroboam,a he said, ais this what they call the wind of G.o.d? I like it, I like it very much. I would blow that way myself, if I were G.o.d.a The monk laughed. aI wouldnat blow at alla"Iam worn out.a He abandoned the bellows in order to sponge the sweat from his forehead and neck.

Judas approached him. aWill you do me a favor, Father Jeroboam?a he asked. aYesterday a young man with a small black beard came as a guest to the monastery, a half lunatic like Your Worship. He was barefooted and wore a red-spotted kerchief on his head.a aI was the first to see him,a said the monk, putting on airs. aBut my dear smith, heas no half lunatic; heas as crazy as they come! He says he had a dream and traveled from Nazareth so that the Abbota"may he rest in peacea"could disentangle it for him.a aAll right, then, listen: youare the guest master, arenat you? Whenever anyone comes, isnat it you who fits up his cell, makes his bed, takes him to eat?a aThatas me, no doubt about it! It seems Iam hopeless in any other function, so they made me the guest master. I wash, I sweep, and I feed the visitors.a aFine! Put his bed in my cell tonight. I canat sleep alone, Jeroboama"how can I explain it to you? I have nightmares, Satan comes and tempts me, Iam afraid Iall be d.a.m.ned to h.e.l.l. But as soon as I feel a human being breathing near me, I grow calm. Go on, do it. Iall give you a present: a pair of sheep shears so you can trim your beard. You can barber the monks too, and clip the camelsa"and no one will call you untalented any more. Do you hear what I say?a aBring me the shears!a The blacksmith rummaged through his bag and extracted a pair of huge rusty scissors. The monk s.n.a.t.c.hed them, brought them close to the light, opened them, closed them. His admiration was endless.

aLord, you are great, and wonderful are your works,a he whispered, completely stupefied.

aWell?a said Judas, shaking him violently to wake him up.

aYou shall have him tonight,a the monk answered, and, seizing the scissors, he left.

The others had returned already. They had not been able to go very far, for the wind of Jehovah twirled them around and threw them to the ground. They found a pit, rolled the carca.s.s in and called for Father Habakkuk to say the prayer, but he was nowhere to be found, and the old rabbi of Nazareth bent over the pit and shouted to the evacuated, soul-less flesh: aDust you are, return to dust. The soul within you has fled, you are needed no longer, you have accomplished your duty. Flesh, you have accomplished your duty: you aided the soul to descend to its earthly exile, to walk for a few suns and moons over the sand and stones, to sin, to feel pain, to yearn for heaven, its fatherland, and for G.o.d, its father. Flesh, the Abbot no longer needs you: dissolve!a Even while the rabbi spoke, a layer of fine sand was deposited over the Abbotas corpse: the face, beard and hands sank away. Still more clouds of sand arose, and the monks hurriedly retreated. The moment the half-crazy guest master s.n.a.t.c.hed his sheep shears and left the blacksmith, the monks, blinded, their lips cracked, their armpits chafed, burrowed into the monastery, carrying old Habakkuk, whom they had found on the way back, half buried in the sand.

The old rabbi brushed his eyes, mouth and neck with a damp cloth and squatted on the ground in front of the Abbotas empty stall. Through the bolted door he could hear the breath of Jehovah parch and obliterate the world. The prophets strode across his brain, from temple to temple. It was in fiery air such as this that they had cried out to G.o.d; and at the approach of the Lord of Hosts they must have felt a similar burning of their lips and eyes. aOf course! G.o.d is a scorching wind, a flash of lightning I know that,a he murmured. aHe is not an orchard in bloom. And the heart of man is a green leaf: G.o.d twists its stem and it withers. What can we do, how can we behave toward him to make his expression grow sweeter? If we offer him sacrificial lambs, he shouts, aI donat want them, I donat want flesh; my hunger is satisfied only with psalms.a If we open our mouths and begin to sing the psalms, he shouts, aI donat want words. Nothing but the flesh of the lamb, of the son, of the only son, will satisfy my hunger!a a The old rabbi sighed. Thinking about G.o.d had driven him furious and worn him out. He looked for a corner where he could lie down. The monks, exhausted from lack of sleep, had scattered to their cells to go to bed and dream about the Abbot. His spirit would roam the monastery for forty days, would enter their cells to see what they were doing, and to give them advice or scold them. They lay down, therefore, both to rest and to see him in their sleep. The old rabbi turned and looked around him. He saw no one. The cell was empty except for the two black dogs. They had entered, had lain down on the flagstones, and were mournfully sniffing the deserted stall. Outside, the rabid wind beat on the door: it wanted to come in too.

But as the rabbi prepared to lie down next to the dogs, he discovered the son of Mary standing motionless in the corner, watching him. All at once the sleep fled from his drowsy eyelids. Troubled, he sat up and nodded to his nephew to approach. The youth seemed to have been waiting for the invitation. He came forward, a bitter smile quivering about his lips.

aSit down, Jesus,a said the rabbi. aI want to talk to you.a aIam listening,a the youth replied, and he knelt opposite him. aI want to talk to you too, Uncle Simeon.a aWhat are you seeking here? Your mother goes around the villages looking for you, and lamenting.a aShe seeks me; I seek G.o.d. We shall never meet,a answered the youth.

aYou are heartless. You never loved your father and mother as a human being should.a aSo much the better. My heart is a lighted coal. It burns whomever it touches.a aWhatas the matter with you? How can you talk like that? What is lacking in you?a said the rabbi, stretching forth his head to get a better look at the son of Mary. The youthas eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. aA hidden pain is devouring you, my boy. Confess it to me and relieve yourself. A pain hidden deep downa"a aOne?a interrupted the youth, and the bitter smile spread over his entire face. aNot one, many!a The heart-rending sound of this outburst terrified the rabbi. He placed his hand on the youthas knee, to give him courage. aIam listening, my boy,a he said gently. aBring your sufferings into the light, draw them up out of your bowels. They thrive in darkness, but light kills them. Donat be ashamed or afraida"speak!a But the son of Mary had not the slightest idea how to begin or what to say: what to keep unrevealed deep in his heart, what to confess in order to relieve himself. G.o.d, Magdalene, the seven sins, the crosses, the crucifieda"all were pa.s.sing through him and lacerating his insides.

The rabbi regarded him with a look of mute supplication and patted his knee.

aCanat you, my child?a he said finally, in a low, tender voice. aCanat you?a aNo, Uncle Simeon, I cannot.a aAre you beset with many temptations?a he asked, his voice even softer now and tenderer.

aMany,a answered the youth, with terror, amany.a aWhen I was young, my child,a the rabbi said with a sigh, aI too suffered much. G.o.d tormented and tested me just as he does you: he wanted to see if I would bear up, and for how long. I too had many temptations. I wasnat afraid of somea"the ones with savage facesa"but others, the tame ones, the ones full of sweetness, those I feared; and as you know, in order to find a respite I came to this monastery, just as you have done. But G.o.d did not give up the chase, and it was here, right here, that he caught me. He sent a temptation dressed like a woman. Alas, I fell before this temptation; and since thena"perhaps that is what G.o.d wanted, perhaps that is why he tormented mea"since then I have been tranquil, and so has G.o.d: we were reconciled, and now we are friends. In the same way, my child, you will become reconciled with G.o.da"and be cured.a The son of Mary shook his head. aI do not think I shall be cured so easily,a he murmured. He remained silent, as did the rabbi next to him. They were both breathing rapidly, gasping.

aI donat know where to begin,a said the youth, starting to rise, aI shall never begin: Iam too ashamed!a But the rabbi kept a firm hold on the youthas knee. aDonat get up,a he commanded, adonat go away. Shame is also a temptation. Conquer ita"stay! Iam going to ask you some questions; Iall do the asking and youare going to be patient and answer me. ... Why did you come to the monastery?a aTo save myself.a aTo save yourself? From what? From whom?a aFrom G.o.d.a aFrom G.o.d!a the rabbi cried out, troubled.

aHeas been hunting me, driving his nails into my head, my heart, my loins. He wants to push mea"a aWhere?a aOver the precipice.a aWhat precipice?a aHis. He says I should rise up and speak. But what can I say? aLeave me alone; I have nothing to say!a I shouted at him, but he refused. aAha! so you refuse, do you?a I said to him. aAll right, then, now Iall show youa"Iall make you detest me, and then youall leave me alone. ...a I fell, therefore, into every conceivable sin.a aInto every conceivable sin?a cried the rabbi.

But the young man did not hear. He had been carried away by his indignation and pain.

aWhy should he choose me? Doesnat he uncover my breast and look in? All the serpents are entwined and hissing there, hissing and dancinga"all the sins. And above all ...a The word stuck in his throat. He stopped. Sweat spouted from the roots of his hair.

aAnd above all?a asked the rabbi softly.

aMagdalene!a said Jesus, raising his head.

aMagdalene!a The rabbias face had grown pale.

aItas my fault, mine, that she took the road she did. I drove her to the pleasures of the flesh when I was still a small childa"yes, I confess it. Listen, Rabbi, if you want to be horrified. It must have been when I was about three years old. I slipped into your house at a time when no one was home. I took Magdalene by the hand; we undressed and lay down on the ground, pressing together the soles of our naked feet. What joy that was, what a joyful sin! From that time on Magdalene was lost; she was losta"she could no longer live without a man, without men.a He looked at the old rabbi, but the other had placed his head between his knees and did not speak.

aItas my fault, mine! mine!a the son of Mary cried, beating his chest. aAnd if it were only this!a he continued after a moment. aBut ever since my childhood, Rabbi, Iave not only kept the devil of fornication hidden deeply within me but also the devil of arrogance. Even when I was tinya"I could hardly walk at the time; I used to go along the wall, clinging to it to keep myself from fallinga"even then I shouted to myselfa"oh, what impudence! what impudence!a"aG.o.d, make me G.o.d! G.o.d, make me G.o.d! G.o.d, make me G.o.d!a And one day I was holding a large bunch of grapes in my arms, and a gypsy woman pa.s.sed by. She came over to me, squatted, and took my hand. aGive me the grapes,a she said, aand Iall tell you your fortune.a I gave them to her. She bent over and looked at my palm. aOh, oh,a she cried, aI see crossesa"crosses and stars.a Then she laughed. aYouall become King of the Jews!a she said, and went away. But I believed her and swaggered; and ever since then, Uncle Simeon, I havenat been in my right mind. Youare the first person Iave told, Uncle Simeona"until now I hadnat confessed it to a soul: ever since that day I havenat been in my right mind.a He was quiet for a moment, but then: aI am Lucifer!a he screamed. aMe! Me!a The rabbi unwedged his head from between his knees and clamped his hand over the young manas mouth.

aBe still!a he ordered.

aNo, I wonat be still!a said the overwrought youth. aNow Iave started, and itas too late. I wonat be still! Iam a liar, a hypocrite, Iam afraid of my own shadow, I never tell the trutha"I donat have the courage. When I see a woman go by, I blush and lower my head, but my eyes fill with l.u.s.t. I never lift my hand to plunder or to thrash or killa"not because I donat want to but because Iam afraid. I want to rebel against my mother, the centurion, G.o.da"but Iam afraid. Afraid! Afraid! If you look inside me, youall see Fear, a trembling rabbit, sitting in my bowelsa"Fear, nothing else. That is my father, my mother and my G.o.d.a The old rabbi took the youthas hands and held them in his own, in order to calm him. But Jesusa body was quivering convulsively. aDo not be frightened, my child,a the rabbi said, comforting him. aThe more devils we have within us, the more chance we have to form angels. aAngela is the name we give to repentant devilsa"so have faith. ... But I would like to ask you just one thing more: Jesus, have you ever slept with a woman?a aNo,a the youth answered softly.

aAnd you donat want to?a The youth blushed and did not breathe a word, but the blood was throbbing wildly at his temples.

aYou donat want to?a the old man asked once more.

aI do,a the youth answered, so softly that the rabbi could hardly hear.

But all at once he gave a start as though he had just waked up, and cried, aNo, I donat, I donat!a aWhy not?a asked the rabbi, who could find no other cure for the youthas pain. He knew from his own experience and from the mult.i.tudes of those possessed with demons who came to him cursing, frothing at the mouth and screaming that the world was too small for them: they married, and suddenly the world was no longer too small; they had children, and grew calm.