The Last Temptation of Christ (52 page)

“Old Zebedee,” Jesus answered, “countless armies of angels fly around God’s throne. Their voices are silver, gold, clear running water, and they praise God—but from a distance. No angel dares come too close, except one.”

“Which?” asked Zebedee, opening wide his well-wined eyes.

“The angel of silence,” Jesus answered, and spoke no more.

The master of the house choked, filled his cup with wine, and emptied it in one gulp.

This visitor is certainly a kill-joy, he said to himself. You feel as if you’re sitting at table with a lion. ... No sooner had this thought come to him than he became frightened, and rose.

“I’m going to find old Jonah so that we can talk a bit like human beings,” he said, making for the door. But at that instant some light footsteps were heard in the yard.

“Look, here’s our visitor,” said old Salome, rising. They all turned. On the threshold stood the old rabbi of Nazareth.

How he had aged and melted away! There remained of him nothing but a few bones wrapped in a sun-baked hide—just enough to give the soul something to catch hold of so it would not fly away. Lately the rabbi had been unable to sleep, and when he sometimes did fall asleep, at dawn, he would have a strange and recurring dream: angels, flames ... and Jerusalem in the form of a wounded, howling beast which had scrambled up Mount Zion. The other day at dawn he had dreamed the dream again and his endurance had given out. He jumped up, left his house, reached the fields, traversed the plain of Esdrelon. God-trodden Carmel towered before him. The prophet Elijah would surely be standing at its summit. It was he who dragged the rabbi onward and gave him the strength to mount. The sun went down when the old man reached the top of the mountain. He knew that three great upright rocks stood as an altar on the sacred summit and that around them were the bones and horns of the sacrifices. But as he approached and raised his eyes, he uttered a cry: the stones were gone! This evening three men with gigantic bodies stood on the summit. They were dressed all in white, like snow, and their faces were made of light. Jesus, the son of Mary, was in the center. To his left stood the prophet Elijah clutching burning coals in his fists; to his right Moses with twisted horns and holding two tables inscribed in letters of fire. ... The rabbi fell on his face. “Adonai! Adonai!” he whispered, trembling. He knew that Elijah and Moses had not died, and that they would reappear on earth on the fearful day of the Lord. It was a sign that the end of the world had come. They had appeared—there they were!—and the rabbi shook with fear. He raised his eyes to look. Gleaming in the dusk were the three gigantic sun-drenched rocks.

The rabbi had been opening the Scriptures for many years; for many years he had breathed in the breath of Jehovah. He had learned how to find God’s hidden meaning behind the visible and the invisible—and now he understood. He raised his crosier from the ground—where did his ramshackle body find such strength?—and set out for Nazareth, Cana, Magdala, Capernaum—everywhere—in order to find the son of Mary. He had heard of his return from the desert of Judea, and now as he followed his trail throughout Galilee he saw how the farmers and fishermen had already begun to compose the new prophet’s legend: what miracles he performed, what words he uttered, which stone he stood on to speak, and how the stone was suddenly covered with flowers. ... He questioned an old man whom he met on the road. The old man lifted his hands to heaven. “I was blind. He touched my eyelids and gave me my sight. Though he instructed me not to say a word about it, I’m making the rounds of the villages, telling everyone.”

“And can you inform me where he is now to be found, old man?”

“I left him at Zebedee’s house, in Capernaum. Step lively to catch him before he ascends to heaven.”

The rabbi stepped lively, was overtaken by nightfall, found old Zebedee’s house in the dark, and entered. Old Salome jumped up to welcome him.

“Salome,” the rabbi said, striding over the threshold, “peace be on this house, and may the wealth of Abraham and Isaac fall to its owners.”

He turned and was dazzled by the sight of Jesus.

“Many birds pass over me and bring me news of you,” he said. “My child, the road you have taken is rough and exceedingly long. God be with you!”

“Amen!” Jesus answered in a grave voice.

Old Zebedee put his hand to his heart and greeted the visitor. “What wind blows you to my house, Father?” he asked.

But the rabbi—perhaps he did not hear—sat down next to the fire without replying. He was tired, cold and hungry, but he had no desire to eat. Two or three routes stretched before him, and he did not know which to take. Why had he set out and come? To reveal his vision to Jesus. But if this vision was not from God? The rabbi knew very well that the Tempter could take on God’s face in order to delude men. If he disclosed what he had seen to Jesus, the demon of arrogance might take possession of his soul, and then he would be lost and he, the rabbi, would have to answer for it. Should he guard his secret and follow him wherever he went? But was it right for him, the rabbi of Nazareth, to follow this most bold of revolutionaries, a man who boasted he would bring a new law? Just now on his way, had he not found Cana in confusion because of something Jesus had said which was contrary to the Law? It seemed that on the holy Sabbath he had gone to the fields and had seen someone at work clearing ditches and irrigating his garden. “Man,” he had said to him, “if you know what you are doing, may joy descend upon you; if you know not, may you be cursed, for you transgress the Law.” When the old rabbi heard this, he felt troubled. This rebel is dangerous, he reflected. Look sharp, Simeon, or you’ll find yourself damned—and at your age!

Jesus came and sat down beside him. Judas was lying on the ground; he had closed his eyes. Matthew had gone to his place under the lamp and was waiting, pen in hand. But Jesus did not speak. He watched the fire devour the wood and felt the rabbi next to him puffing as though he were still on the road.

Meanwhile old Salome made up a bed for the rabbi. He was an old man; he must have a soft mattress and a pillow. She also placed a small pitcher of water next to the bed so that he would not be thirsty during the night. Old Zebedee saw that the new visitor had not come for him. Taking his cudgel, he went out to find Jonah in order to breathe the breath of a human being again—his house was filled with lions. Magdalene and Salome withdrew to the inner rooms so that Jesus and the rabbi could be alone. They had a presentiment that the two men had weighty secrets to discuss.

But Jesus and the rabbi did not talk. They both understood perfectly that words can never empty and relieve the heart of man. Only silence can do that, and they kept silent. The hours went by. Matthew fell asleep with the quill in his hand; Zebedee returned after having had his fill of talk and lay down next to his old wife. It was midnight. The rabbi had had his fill also—of silence. He got up.

“We said a good deal tonight, Jesus,” he whispered. “Tomorrow we shall resume!” He drew toward his bed with sagging knees.

The sun rose and mounted in the sky. It was almost noontime, but the rabbi still had not opened his eyes. Jesus had gone to the lake shore to talk with the fishermen. He climbed into Jonah’s boat to give him a hand with the fishing. Judas walked around aimlessly, all by himself, like a sheep dog.

Old Salome leaned over the rabbi to try to hear if he was still breathing. He was. “Glory be to God, he is still alive,” she murmured. She was about to go away when the old rabbi opened his eyes, saw her leaning over him, understood, and smiled.

“Don’t be afraid, Salome,” he said. “I’m not dead. I can’t die yet.”

“We’ve both grown old,” Salome replied severely. “We’re traveling further and further from men and are approaching God. No one can know the hour or the moment. It’s a sin, I believe, to say, ‘I can’t die yet.’ ”

“I can’t die yet, dear Salome,” the rabbi insisted. “The God of Israel gave me his word: ‘You will not die, Simeon, unless you have seen the Messiah!’”

But as he said this his eyes opened wide with fear. Could he already have seen the Messiah? Could Jesus be the Messiah? Was the vision on Carmel a vision sent by God? If so, the time had come for him to die! A cold sweat bathed his whole body. He did not know whether to rejoice or to begin to wail. His soul rejoiced: the Messiah had come! But his faltering body did not want to die. Panting, he got up, crawled to the door, sat down on the threshold to sun himself, and fell deep into thought.

Jesus returned toward nightfall, exhausted. He had fished with Jonah all day long. The boat overflowed with fish, and Jonah, overjoyed, opened his mouth to speak but then changed his mind and waded knee-deep into the mass of twitching fish, looked at Jesus—and laughed.

That same night the disciples returned from the near-by villages. They squatted around Jesus and began to relate everything they had seen and done. Deepening their voices in order to frighten the farmers and fishermen, they had proclaimed the coming of the day of the Lord; but their auditors had continued to mend their nets tranquilly or to dig their gardens. Now and then they shook their heads, said, “We’ll see ... we’ll see ...” and then changed the subject.

While the disciples were relating this, lo! the three apostles suddenly returned. Judas, who was silent and sitting off to one side, could not contain his laughter when he saw them.

“What’s this mess you’re in, apostles!” he shouted. “Poor devils, they must have beaten you silly!”

And truly, Peter’s right eye was swollen and running, John’s cheeks were full of scratches and blood, and Jacob limped.

“Rabbi,” said Peter with a sigh, “the word of God is a lot of trouble, a lot of trouble indeed!”

They all laughed, but Jesus looked at them thoughtfully.

“They did beat us silly,” continued Peter, who was in a hurry to reveal everything and relieve his mind. “At first we said each one should take his own road. But then we were afraid, each one alone, and the three of us reunited and began the preaching. I climbed up on a rock or in a tree in the village square, clapped my hands or put my fingers to my mouth and whistled, and the people assembled. John spoke whenever there were plenty of women. That’s why his cheeks are all scratched. When the men were in the majority, Jacob with his deep voice, took over; and if he grew too hoarse, I got up and spoke. What did we say? The same things you say. But they received us with rotten lemons and boos because we brought, as they said, the ruin of the world. They fell on us, the women with their nails, the men with their fists, and now look, just look at the state we’re in!”

Judas guffawed again, but Jesus turned and with a severe look closed the impudent mouth.

“I know that I send you as lambs among wolves,” he said. “They will revile you, stone you and call you immoral because you make war on immorality; they will slander you, saying you want to abolish faith, family and fatherland because our faith is purer, our house wider and our fatherland the whole world! Gird yourselves well, comrades. Say goodbye to bread, joy and security. We are going to war!”

Nathanael turned and glanced anxiously at Philip. But Philip signaled to him as if to say, Don’t be afraid—he talks that way just to test us.

The old rabbi was very tired. He had lain down again on his bed, but his mind was wide open: he saw and heard everything. He had made his decision now and felt tranquil. A voice rose up within him—his own? God’s? perhaps it was both—and commanded him: Simeon, wherever he goes, follow him!

Peter prepared to reopen his mouth. He had more to tell, but Jesus put out his hand. “That’s enough!” he said.

He got up. Jerusalem rose up before his eyes: savage, full of blood and at the height of despair—which is where hope begins. Capernaum vanished along with its simple fishermen and peasants. The lake of Gennesaret sank away within him. Zebedee’s house narrowed—the four walls approached each other and touched him. Suffocating, he went and opened the door.

Why did he stay here and eat, drink, have the fire lighted for him and the table set noon and night? He was spending his time aimlessly. Was this how he intended to save the world? Wasn’t he ashamed of himself?

He went into the yard. There was a warm wind which carried the smell of budding trees. The stars were strings of pearls around the neck and arms of the night. Below, at his feet, the earth tingled as though countless mouths were suckling at its breasts.

He turned his face toward the south, toward holy Jerusalem. He seemed to be listening intently and to be trying in the darkness to discern her hard face of blood-stained stones. And while his mind, ardent and despairing, flowed like a river past mountain and plain and was at last about to touch the holy city, suddenly it seemed to him that he saw a huge shadow stir in the yard under the budding almond tree. All at once something darker than night itself (that was how he was able to distinguish it) arose in the black air. It was his gigantic fellow voyager. In the still night he could clearly hear her deep breathing, but he was not afraid. Time had accustomed him to her breath. He waited, and then slowly, commandingly, a tranquil voice from under the almond tree said, “Let us go!”

John had appeared at the doorway, troubled. He thought he heard a voice in the darkness. “Rabbi,” he whispered, “whom are you talking to?”

But Jesus entered the house, put out his hand and took his shepherd’s staff from the corner.

“Friends,” he said, “let us go!” He marched toward the door without looking back to see if anyone was following him.

The old rabbi jumped out of his bed, tightened his belt and seized his crosier. “I’m coming with you, my child,” he said, and he was the first to start for the door.

Old Salome was spinning. She rose also. She placed the distaff on her trunk and said, “I’m coming too. Zebedee, I leave you the keys. Farewell!” She unbelted the keys from around her waist and surrendered them to her husband. Then she wrapped herself tightly in her kerchief, surveyed her home and with a nod of her head bid it goodbye. Her heart had suddenly become that of a twenty-year-old girl.