The Last Temptation of Christ (44 page)

Peter finally opened his mouth. He was the first to speak. “Rabbi, will angels come down from heaven to help us?”

“We are God’s angels on earth, Peter,” Jesus replied. “There are no other angels.”

“But do you think we can manage all by ourselves, Master?” asked Jacob.

Jesus rose. The bridge of his nose was quivering. “Go away,” he shouted. “Abandon me!”

“I won’t forsake you, Rabbi,” cried John. “I’m with you to the death!”

“Me too, Rabbi,” Andrew exclaimed, and he hugged the teacher’s knees.

Two large tears rolled from Peter’s eyes, but he did not speak; and Jacob, who was a strapping young man, bowed his head in shame.

“And you, Judas, my brother?” Jesus asked, seeing the mute redbeard gaze savagely at all the rest.

“I don’t bother with words,” Judas blustered, “and I don’t blubber like Peter. As long as you hold the ax, I’m with you. You abandon it: I abandon you. I’m not following you, as you very well know. I’m following the ax.”

“Aren’t you ashamed to talk like that to the rabbi?” said Peter.

But Jesus was glad. “Judas is right,” he said. “Friends, I follow the ax myself.”

They all stretched out on the ground, their backs against the cedar. In the sky the stars multiplied.

“From this moment onward,” Jesus said, “we unfurl God’s banner and set out for war. A star and a cross are embroidered on the flag of the Lord. God be with us!”

They were all silent. They had made their decisions; their hearts had become valorous.

“I shall speak once more in parables,” Jesus said to the companions, who had finally been swallowed up by the darkness. “One last parable before we depart for battle. ... Know that the earth is fastened on top of seven columns, and the columns on water, and the water on clouds and the clouds upon the winds, and the winds on the tempest, and the tempest on a thunderbolt. And the thunderbolt rests at God’s feet, like an ax.”

“I don’t understand,” said John, blushing.

“John, son of the Thunderbolt!” Jesus replied, caressing his beloved companion’s hair. “You will understand when you grow old and go to become an ascetic on an island and the heavens open above you and your mind catches fire!”

He was silent. It was the first time he had so clearly seen what God’s thunderbolt was: a burning ax at the feet of the Lord; and hanging from this ax like a string of beads were the tempest, wind, cloud and water: the entire earth. Though he had lived for years with men, for years with the Holy Scriptures, no one had ever revealed to him this terrible secret. What secret: that the thunderbolt is the Son of God, the Messiah. It was the Messiah who was going to cleanse the world.

“Fellow partisans,” he said—and Peter perceived two flames, like horns, suddenly fly out from his forehead—“I went to the desert, as you know, to meet God. I was hungry, thirsty, broiling hot. I sat curled up on a rock and called God to appear. Wave after wave of devils pounded over me, broke, frothed and then turned around and flowed back. First were the devils of the body, then the devils of the mind and lastly the all-powerful devils of the heart. But I held God before me as a shield of bronze, and the sand around me filled with fragments of claws and teeth and horns. And then I heard a great voice above me: ‘Rise, take the ax brought you by the Forerunner, strike!’”

“Will no one be saved?” Peter cried.

But Jesus did not hear. “All at once my arm grew heavy as if someone had wedged an ax into my grasp. I started to get up, but as I did so I heard the voice once more: ‘Son of the Carpenter, a new flood is lashing out, not of water this time, but of fire. Build a new ark, select the saintly, and place them inside!’ The selection has begun, friends. The ark is ready; the door is open still. Enter!”

They all stirred. Creeping forward, they swarmed around Jesus as if he were the ark and they were trying to go in.

“And I heard the voice again: ‘Son of David, as soon as the flames subside and the ark casts anchor in the New Jerusalem, mount your ancestral throne and govern mankind! The old earth will have vanished, the old sky will have disappeared. A new heaven will stretch itself over the heads of the saints. The stars—and the eyes of men—will shine seven times brighter than ever before.’ ”

“Rabbi,” Peter again cried, “all of us who have fought the fight with you must not die before we see that day and sit to the right and left of your throne!”

But Jesus did not hear. Plunged in the fiery vision of the desert, he continued. “And for the last time I heard the voice over my head: ‘Son of God, receive my blessing!’”

Son of God! Son of God! each one shouted to himself, but no one dared open his mouth.

All the stars had now appeared. They were hanging low tonight, halfway between sky and men.

“And now, Rabbi,” Andrew asked, “where do we begin our military life?”

“God,” Jesus answered, “took earth from Nazareth and fashioned this body of mine. It is therefore my duty to begin the war in Nazareth. It is there that my flesh must commence its transformation into spirit.”

“And afterward we’ll go to Capernaum,” said Jacob, “to save my parents.”

“And then to Magdala,” suggested Andrew, “to get poor Magdalene and put her in the ark too.”

“And then to the whole world!” shouted John, pointing to the east and west.

Peter heard them and laughed. “I’m wondering about our bellies,” he said. “What’ll we eat in the ark? I suggest that we take along only edible animals. Goodness gracious, what use have we for lions and gnats?”

He was hungry, and his mind and thoughts were on food. The others all laughed.

“All you can think about is dinner,” Jacob scolded him. “We’re speaking here about the salvation of the world.”

“The rest of you have the same thought I have,” Peter objected, “but you won’t admit it. I say frankly whatever comes into my head, whether good or bad. My mind goes round and round, and I go round and round with it. That’s why the gossips call me Windmill. Am I right, Rabbi, or am I not?”

Jesus’ face brightened into a smile. An old story came to his mind. “Once upon a time there was a rabbi who desired to find someone who could blow the horn so skillfully and loud that the faithful would hear and come to the synagogue. He announced therefore that all good horn-blowers should present themselves for an audition. The rabbi himself would choose the best. Five came—the most skilled in town. Each took the horn and blew. When they all had finished, the rabbi questioned them one by one: ‘What do you think of, my child, when you blow the horn?’ The first said, ‘I think of God.’ The second: ‘I think of Israel’s deliverance.’ The third: ‘I think of the starving poor.’ The fourth: ‘I think of orphans and widows.’ One only, the shabbiest of the lot, stayed behind the others in a corner and did not speak. ‘And you, my child,’ the rabbi asked him, ‘what do you think of when you blow the horn?’ ‘Father,’ he answered, blushing, ‘I am poor and illiterate and I have four daughters. I’m unable to give them dowries, poor things, so that they can get married like everyone else. When I blow the horn, therefore, I say to myself: God, you see how I toil and slave for you. Send four husbands, please, for my daughters!’ ‘Have my blessing,’ said the rabbi. ‘I choose you!’ ”

Jesus turned to Peter and laughed. “Have my blessing, Peter,” he said. “I choose you. You have food on your mind, and you talk about food. When you have God on your mind you’ll talk about God. Bravo! That’s why men call you Windmill. I choose you. You are the windmill which will grind the wheat into bread so that men may eat.”

They had one piece of bread. Jesus divided it. Each man’s share was only a mouthful, but the rabbi had blessed it, and they were filled. Afterward they leaned against one another’s shoulders and slept.

All things sleep, relax and grow during the night—even stones, water and souls. When the companions awoke in the morning, their souls had branched out and invaded every inch of their bodies, filling them with assurance and joy.

They started out before dawn. The air today was cool. Clouds gathered—it was an autumn sky. Late-journeying cranes flew by, carrying the swallows toward the south. The carefree disciples ate up the road: heaven and earth had joined in their hearts, and even the humblest stone glistened, filled with God.

Jesus marched all alone in front. His mind was sluggish; it hung on the mercy of God. He knew that he had finally burned his bridges behind him and could no longer turn back. His fate marched in front and he was following it. Whatever God decided, that was what would take place. ... His fate? Suddenly he again heard the mysterious footsteps which had been mercilessly following him for such a long time. He strained his ear and listened. They were rapid, heavy, decisive. But now they were not behind him; they were in front, guiding him. ... It’s better, he reflected, better. Now I can no longer lose my way. ...

Rejoicing, he lengthened his stride. It seemed to him that the feet were hurrying, so he hurried too. He advanced, whispering “Onward! Onward!” to the invisible guide; stumbled forward over rocks, jumped ditches, ran. Suddenly he uttered a cry. He felt a horrible pain in his hands and feet, as though he had been pierced by nails. He collapsed onto a rock, the sweat pouring over him in cold granules. For a moment his head swam. The earth sank away from under his feet and a fierce dark ocean spread itself out before him. It was deserted but for a tiny red skiff which sailed bravely along, its sails puffed out, ready to burst. ... Jesus looked and looked, then smiled. “It is my heart,” he murmured, “it is my heart. ...” His head became steady again, the pains subsided, and when his disciples arrived, they found him tranquilly seated on the rock and smiling.

“Onward, lads, faster!” he said, and he rose.

IT IS SAID that the Sabbath is a well-fed boy at rest on God’s knees. With him rest the waters, birds refrain from building their nests, and men do not work. They dress, ornament themselves and go to the synagogue to watch the rabbi unroll the holy scroll with its Law of God written in red and black letters and to hear the learned search every word, every syllable and discover—with great art—the will of God.

It is the Sabbath today. At this very moment the faithful are leaving the synagogue of Nazareth, their eyes still dazzled by the visions which Simeon, the old rabbi, called up before them. The light in their eyes is so strong they all stumble like blind men. They disperse throughout the village square and promenade slowly under the tall date palms to recover their equilibrium.

Today the rabbi had let the Scriptures fall open according to chance. They opened to the prophet Nahum. He placed his finger, again according to chance, and it fell upon the following sacred text: “Behold, upon the mountain are heard the feet of him who brings good tidings!”

The old rabbi read these words, reread them, worked up steam. “It’s the Messiah!” he screamed. “He’s coming. Look around you, look within you. The signs of his coming are everywhere. Within us: wrath, shame, hope, and the cry, ‘We’ve had enough!’ ... And outside: look! Satan sits on the throne of the Universe. He holds and caresses man’s rotten body on one knee; on the other, man’s prostituted soul. The years which the prophets prophesied have come—and it is God who speaks through the mouths of the prophets. Open the Scriptures. What do they say? ‘When Israel is hurled from its throne and our holy soil is trodden by barbarian feet, the end of the world will have come!’ And what more do the Scriptures say: ‘The last king will be dissolute, unlawful, atheistic; his children will be unworthy. And the crown will slip from Israel’s head.’ The dissolute and unlawful king came: Herod! I saw him with my own eyes when he called me to Jericho to heal him. I took along my secret herbs—I knew all about such lore—and went. I went, and from that day on, I have not been able to eat meat, for I saw his putrescent flesh; I have not been able to drink wine, for I saw his blood filled with worms. I have retained his stench in my nostrils for over thirty years. ... He died; his carcass rotted. His sons came: trivial, unworthy dregs. The royal crown slid from their heads. ...

“The prophecies, therefore, have been fulfilled: the end of the world is here! A voice resounded by the Jordan: ‘He’s coming!’ A voice resounds within us: ‘He’s coming!’ Today I opened the Scriptures and the letters drew together and cried, ‘He’s coming!’ I’ve grown old, my eyes are dim, my teeth have fallen out, my knees grown slack. I rejoice! I rejoice because God gave me his word. ‘Simeon,’ he said, ‘you shall not die before you see the Messiah.’ Thus the nearer I come to death, the nearer to us comes the Messiah. Courage, my children. There is no slavery, no Satan, there are no Romans. There is only the Messiah, and he is coming! Men, strap on your arms: this is war! Women, light the lamps, the bridegroom arrives! We do not know the hour or exact moment—it may be today, it may be tomorrow. Keep the vigil! I hear the stones of the near-by mountains shift under his feet. He’s coming! Go out, perhaps you will see him!”

The people went out and dispersed under the tall date palms. The rabbi’s words were extremely disorganized and his auditors struggled to forget them completely so that the roaring flames would subside and their souls could once more dispose themselves around cares still at hand. And while they promenaded, anxiously awaiting the hour of noon when they could return to their homes and by talking, arguing and eating forget the sacred words—look! there with his torn clothes, barefooted, his face a flash of lightning, was the son of Mary. The four disciples flocked timidly behind him; and bringing up the rear, dark-eyed and unsociable, was Judas the redbeard.

The burghers were astonished. Where did this riffraff come from—and was that not the son of Mary in the lead?

“Look how he walks. He puts out his arms and flaps them like wings. God has swelled his head and he’s trying to fly.”

“He’s mounting a rock and gesturing. He’s going to speak.”

“Let’s go and amuse ourselves!”

Jesus had indeed stepped onto a rock in the middle of the square. Laughing, the people gathered around, glad that this clairvoyant had appeared. Now they would be able to forget the rabbi’s grave words. “This is war,” he had told them. “Keep the vigil; he’s coming!” He had been booming this hymn into their ears for years and years, and they were sick of it. Now, thank God, the son of Mary would help them relieve their minds.