The Last Temptation of Christ (45 page)

Jesus waved his arms, signaling them all to gather around him. The place filled with beards, skullcaps and striped robes. Some of the crowd were munching dates to deceive their hunger, others sunflowers, and the oldest and most god-fearing were telling long chaplets with beads made of tiny knots of blue cloth each containing a text from the Holy Scriptures.

Jesus’ eyes flashed. Though he was in front of such a great multitude, his heart felt no fear. He parted his lips. “Brothers,” he shouted, “open your ears, open your hearts, hear the words I shall speak. Isaiah cried: ‘The spirit of the Lord has flowed over me, he chose me to bring good tidings to the poor, he sent me to proclaim freedom to the slaves and light to the blind!’ The prophesied day has come, brothers. The God of Israel has sent me to bring the good tidings. He anointed me out in the Judean desert, and from there I come! He entrusted me with the great secret. I received it and came across plains and mountains—didn’t you hear my footsteps upon the hills?—I ran here to the village of my birth to announce the happy news for the first time. What happy news? The kingdom of heaven has come!”

An old man with a double hump like a camel’s lifted his chaplet and cackled, “Vague words, the words you speak, son of the Carpenter, vague, groundless words. ‘Kingdom of heaven,’ ‘justice,’ ‘freedom’ and ‘grab what you can, boys, it’s all for the taking.’ I’ve had enough! Miracles, miracles! I want you to do something here and now. Perform some miracles to make us believe in you. Otherwise, shut up!”

“Everything is a miracle, old man,” Jesus replied. “What further miracles do you want? Look below you: even the humblest blade of grass has its guardian angel who stands by and helps it to grow. Look above you: what a miracle is the star-filled sky! And if you close your eyes, old man, what a miracle the world within us! What a star-filled sky is our heart!”

They heard him, astonished, one turning to the next.

“Isn’t this the son of Mary? How does he talk with such authority?”

“It’s a devil speaking through his mouth. Where are his brothers to tie him up so that he won’t bite anyone?”

“He’s opened his mouth again. Shh!”

“The day of the Lord has come, brothers. Are you ready? You have few hours left. Call the poor and portion out your belongings. What do you care about the goods of this earth? The fire is coming to burn them up! Before the kingdom of heaven, the kingdom of fire. On the day of the Lord the stones of the houses of the rich will stand up and crush the inhabitants; the pieces of gold in the coffers of the rich will exude sweat, and over the prosperous will flow the sweat and blood of the poor. The heavens will open, flood and fire will pour down, and the new ark will float above the flames. I hold the keys and I open the ark and select. My brothers of Nazareth, I begin with you. You are the first I invite. Come, enter. The flames of God have already begun to descend!”

“Boo! Boo! The son of Mary has come to save us!” hooted the crowd amid fits of laughter. Several people bent down, filled their hands with stones, and waited.

A running figure appeared at the edge of the square. It was Philip, the shepherd. He had made a dash as soon as he heard of his friends’ arrival. His eyes were swollen and enflamed as from much weeping, and his cheeks had sunk away. The very day he said goodbye to Jesus and the companions by the lake and laughingly called to them, “I’m not coming, I have sheep, where can I leave them?” bandits had rushed down from Lebanon and seized him, leaving him nothing but his shepherd’s staff. He kept it still and went from village to village, mountain to mountain, an unthroned king, still seeking his flock. He cursed and threatened, sharpened a wide dagger and said that he was going to journey to Lebanon. But at night when he was all alone, he wept. ... He ran now to join his old friends and tell them about his suffering so that all of them could set out together for Lebanon. He heard the laughing and booing. “What’s going on over there?” he murmured. “Why are they laughing?” He came closer.

Jesus had now grown furious. “What are you laughing at,” he shouted. “Why are you gathering stones to strike the son of man? Why do you brag about your houses and olive groves and vineyards? Ashes! Ashes! And your sons and daughters: ashes! And the flames, the great bandits, will rush down from the mountains to seize your sheep!”

“What bandits, what sheep?” grumbled Philip, who was listening with his chin resting on his staff. “What are these flames he’s bringing us now?”

While Jesus spoke, more and more of the soil-colored people of the slums arrived. They had heard of the appearance of a new prophet for the poor and had run. It was said that in one hand he held heavenly fire to burn up the rich, and in the other a pair of scales for portioning out their goods to the poor. He was a new Moses, the bringer of a new, juster Law. The people stood and listened to him, enthralled. It had come, it had come! The kingdom of the poor had come!

But as Jesus again parted his lips to speak, four arms fell upon him, seized him and brought him down from the rock. A thick rope was quickly wrapped around him. Jesus turned and saw the sons of Joseph, his own brothers Simon the lame and Jacob the devout.

“Go on home, home—inside! You’re possessed with devils!” they screamed, rapidly dragging him along.

“I have no home. Release me. This is my home; these are my brothers!” cried Jesus, and he pointed to the crowd.

“Go home, go home?” The burghers also shouted, laughing. One of them lifted his arm and slung the stone be was holding. It grazed Jesus’ forehead: the first drop of blood flowed.

The old man with the double hump screeched, “Death! Death! He’s a sorcerer, he’s casting spells over us, he’s calling the fire to come and roast us—and it will come!”

“Death! Death!” was heard on every side.

Peter raced forward. “Shame on all of you,” he cried. “What has he done to you? He’s innocent!”

A young stalwart flew at him. “It looks as if you’re on his side, eh!” He grabbed him by his Adam’s apple.

“No! No! I’m not!” screamed Peter, fighting to unfasten the huge hand from his throat.

The other three of Jesus’ companions were scared out of their wits. Jacob and Andrew stood by, taking stock of their forces; John’s eyes filled with tears. But Judas opened a way through the crowd with his arms, pulled the two frenzied brothers away from the rabbi, and undid the rope.

“Away,” he shouted at them, “or you’ll have to deal with me! Off with you!”

“Go to your own town if you want to give orders!” screeched Simon the lame.

“I give orders wherever my fists are, short-leg!” He turned to the four disciples. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves, denying him already! Forward! Form a circle around him so that no one can touch him!”

The four were ashamed. The paupers and ragamuffins jumped forward, shouting, “Brothers, we’re on your side! Let’s murder them!”

“And I’m with you too,” cried a wild voice. Philip flourished his staff and pushed aside the crowd in order to pass through. “I’m coming too!”

“Welcome, Philip,” the redbeard answered him. “Come, join us! The poor and the wronged—all together!”

When the burghers saw these slum dwellers rebelling against them, they flew into a frenzy. The son of the Carpenter has come to put ideas into the heads of the poor, to turn the established order of the world upside down. Didn’t he say he was bringing a new Law? Death! Death!

They flared up and charged, some with staffs, some with knives, some with stones. The old ones remained on the side and shrieked encouragement. Jesus’ friends made their bulwark behind the plane trees at the edges of the square; others rushed out into the open. Jesus himself went forward and stood between the two opposing camps. He spread his arms and shouted, “Brothers! Brothers!” but no one listened to him. The stones were now being slung with fury and the first of the wounded were already groaning.

A woman flew out from a narrow street. A purple kerchief was wrapped tightly around her face, covering all but half of her mouth and her large black eyes, which were submerged in tears.

“For God’s sake, don’t kill him!” she cried in her high voice.

“Mary, his mother!” people murmured.

But how could the old men pity the mother at this point: they had become rabid. “Death! Death!” they howled. “He’s come to awaken the people, to incite a rebellion, to divide our goods among the barefooted rabble. Death!”

The opponents had now come to grips. Joseph’s two sons rolled on the ground, howling. Jacob had seized a stone and cracked open their heads. Judas stood with drawn dagger in front of Jesus, allowing no one to approach. Philip remembered his sheep. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he blindly swung his staff at his opponents’ heads.

“In God’s name,” Mary’s voice was again heard, “he’s sick! He’s gone out of his senses. Have pity on him!”

But her cry was drowned in the uproar. Judas had now seized the strongest of the stalwarts and was stepping on him, his knife at his throat. But Jesus arrived in time to pull back the redbeard’s arm.

“Judas, my brother,” he cried, “no blood! no blood!”

“What, then—water?” shouted the redbeard, enraged. “Have you forgotten that you hold an ax? The hour has come!”

Even Peter had grown ferocious, incited by the blows he received. He grasped a huge heavy stone and fell upon the old men.

Mary entered the very center of the brawl and approached her son. She took his hand. “My child,” she said, “what has happened to you? How did you descend to this? Return home to wash, change your clothes and put on your sandals. You’ve made yourself all dirty, my son.”

“I have no home,” he said. “I have no mother. Who are you?”

The mother began to weep. Digging her nails into her cheeks, she spoke no more.

Peter slung his stone. It crushed the foot of the old man with the double hump. The victim bellowed with pain and hobbled away, going through the alleyways toward the rabbi’s house. But at that moment the rabbi appeared, panting. He had heard the uproar and had jumped up from his table, where with face buried in the Holy Scriptures he had been toiling to extract God’s will from the words and syllables. But when he heard the tumult he took up his crosier and ran to see what was happening. He had encountered several of the wounded along the way and learned everything. He now pushed aside the crowd and reached the son of Mary.

“What is all this, Jesus?” he said severely. “Is this you, the bearer of love? Is this the kind of love you bring? Aren’t you ashamed?”

He turned to the crowd. “My children, return to your homes. This is my nephew. He’s sick, unfortunate man; he’s been sick for years. Do not bear any malice against him for what he has said, but forgive him. It is not he who speaks, but someone else who uses his mouth.”

“God!” Jesus exclaimed.

“You keep quiet,” the rabbi snapped, and he touched him reprovingly with his crosier.

He turned once more to the crowd. “Leave him alone, my children. Bear no grudge against him, for he knows not what he says. All—rich and poor—we are all seeds of Abraham. Do not quarrel among yourselves. It’s noontime; return to your homes. I shall cure this unfortunate man.”

He turned to Mary. “Mary, go home. We’ll come presently.”

The mother threw a final glance at her son, a glance of great longing, as though she were saying goodbye to him forever. She sighed, bit her kerchief, and disappeared into the narrow lanes.

While the people were murdering each other clouds had covered the heavens; rain was preparing to fall and refresh the earth. A wind arose. The stems of the last leaves of the plane and fig trees separated from their branches and the leaves scattered over the ground. The square had emptied.

Jesus turned to Philip and held out his hand. “Philip, my brother, welcome.”

“I’m glad to see you, Rabbi,” the other replied, squeezing Jesus’ hand and surrendering his crook to him.

“Take this to lean on,” he said.

“Come, fellow partisans,” said Jesus, “let us go. Shake the dust from your feet. Farewell, Nazareth!”

“I’ll keep you company until the edge of the village so that no one will bother you,” the old rabbi said.

He took Jesus’ hand, and they went in the lead together. The rabbi felt Jesus’ palm burning in his grasp.

“My son,” he said, “do not take the cares of others upon yourself. They will devour you.”

“I have no cares of my own, Father. Let those of others devour me!”

They reached the end of Nazareth. The orchards came into view and, beyond, the fields. The disciples in back had stopped for a moment to wash their wounds in a spring. With them were a good number of the paupers and cripples, plus two blind men—all chattering and waiting for the new prophet to perform his miracles. They were excited and merry, as though returning from a great battle.

But the four disciples marched along in silence. Uneasy, they were hurrying to approach the rabbi so that he could comfort them. Nazareth, the master’s home, had hooted and banished them: the great campaign had started off badly! And if we’re chased out of Cana too, they were thinking, and out of Capernaum and everywhere else around the lake of Gennesaret, what will become of us? Where will we go? To whom will we proclaim the word of God? Since the people of Israel refuse us and hoot us, to whom shall we turn? To the infidels?

They looked at Jesus, but no one opened his mouth to speak. Jesus saw the fear in their eyes, however, and took Peter’s hand.

“Peter, man of little faith,” he said, “a black beast with bristling hair sits shriveled up and trembling inside the pupils of your eyes. It is fear, Peter, fear. Are you afraid?”

“When I’m far from you, Rabbi, yes, I am afraid. That’s why I’ve come close; that’s why all of us have come close. Speak to us and steady our hearts.”

Jesus smiled. “When I bend far down into my soul,” he said, “I don’t know how and why the truth always issues from within me in the form of a parable. So, friends, once more I shall speak to you in parables:

“A great nobleman once commanded a rich dinner to be made ready in his palace for his son’s marriage. As soon as the bulls were slain and the tables set, he sent his servants to announce to those who were invited: ‘Everything is ready. If it so pleases you, come to the wedding.’ But each of the invited found a pretext for not coming: ‘I bought a field which I must go to see,’ said one. ‘I’m newly married myself and can’t come,’ said the next. ‘I purchased five pairs of oxen and I’m off to try them out,’ the next gave as his excuse. The servants returned and said to their master, ‘None of the invited is able to come. They all say they’re busy.’ The nobleman became angry. ‘Run quickly to the squares and crossroads, gather together the poor, lame, blind and deformed and bring them here. I invited my friends but they refused. I shall therefore fill my house with the uninvited so that they may eat, drink and rejoice at the wedding of my son.’ ”