Departure (23 page)

And, indeed, that is how it came about—that when the Rabbi and his followers came close, Iscariot went to them. I was not there, but from one who was I had it that the Rabbi looked at him, and that was such a long, searching look that another would have melted. But when love is gone, where is pity; and when honor had departed, where is truth?

Now you come to greet me, my child—is what the Rabbi said, smiling that curious smile of his, which you remember so well, I am sure; and then, without answering or speaking a word, Judas Iscariot kissed him full upon the lips, marking him, so that they were able to take him.

That same day, I saw this unspeakable person myself, and it is not true that he was noticeably disturbed. If anything, he wore an expression of pious assurance, and I heard a woman remark that in him the spirit was hardly concealed by the flesh. As time passed, this changed to a sort of patient resignation, filled with righteousness, a silent acceptance of some unspoken sorrow. But in conjunction with that, you must understand, there were new clothes, new slaves, new living quarters, an amazing variety of perfumes and women—so that while the soul exudes patient suffering, the flesh does very well indeed.

Whence rose the legend that he had slain himself, I am at a loss to know; that I must place with the thirty pieces of silver. If they were thirty, then the true miracle is how they have grown, for already Iscariot owned four ships, a house on the hill, and seventeen slaves. He does a very brisk business in slaves, Jewish as well as gentile, and he employs six people in his countinghouse.

Just the other night, Pilate gave a banquet for him; for he has relieved Pilate of the embarrassment of Claudia, for which the Roman is inordinately grateful. This was Iscariot's first appearance in more than a week, since he underwent a very painful operation to remove the signs of circumcision; and it was said that the spiritual qualities in him were intensified, as well they might be now that he is a Roman citizen. It is also accepted that he will marry Claudia.

I saw him myself earlier today. I was walking along the street as his litter approached, borne by four well-groomed slaves. I naturally would have passed by, but he stopped the litter and barred my way. You too? he said to me, and when I made no answer, he went on to say, You cannot understand, can you? You can only hate. At least I no longer hate. I no longer live in a world where everything is black or white.

All this he said in rather bad Latin; and, listening to him, I seemed to gather more of the nodule of the Rabbi's preaching than ever before, for I understood that Iscariot himself was no more than the evil odor that arises from any pool of corruption, and that he is a shortsighted man, indeed, who sees only the miasma and not the source. For him, then, at that moment, I had neither love nor hatred, admiration nor condemnation, fear nor trust. Quite coolly and detachedly, I looked at him, at the whole measure of the man, and then I went on my way.

Did I say he was not unhappy? He is not, I think; but happiness and unhappiness, in our terms, are as closed to him as color is to the blind. He has shaved off his beard, and his face is round and sleek. He has put on a good deal of weight, and in his Roman clothes, until he speaks, he might well be taken for a successful citizen. Soon he will leave for Rome, making proper provision here for his interests, and will take up residence there. It is also rumored that he plans to write a true account of the Rabbi and of the movement the Rabbi led, and it is surprising how readily it is accepted that this one is well fitted to speak of the man he sold.

What his other pretensions are, I do not know, nor do I particularly care. To write of him is not a pleasant experience, but it is necessary—even as constant and unprejudiced curiosity is the basic requirement of any student of people.

Forgive me for being so lengthy; but recognize, too, that a supernatural interpretation of a most understandable procedure can hardly do honor to the name of our beloved teacher. Far better that all should know the whole truth of this shameful creature, so that we may approach a time when the weakest of men will not be driven, by their own fear, to drag all that is godly in them through the filth.…

A Biography of Howard Fast

Howard Fast (1914-2003), one of the most prolific American writers of the twentieth century, was a bestselling author of more than eighty works of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and screenplays. Fast's commitment to championing social justice in his writing was rivaled only by his deftness as a storyteller and his lively cinematic style.

Born on November 11, 1914, in New York City, Fast was the son of two immigrants. His mother, Ida, came from a Jewish family in Britain, while his father, Barney, emigrated from the Ukraine, changing his last name to Fast on arrival at Ellis Island. Fast's mother passed away when he was only eight, and when his father lost steady work in the garment industry, Fast began to take odd jobs to help support the family. One such job was at the New York Public Library, where Fast, surrounded by books, was able to read widely. Among the books that made a mark on him was Jack London's
The Iron Heel
, containing prescient warnings against fascism that set his course both as a writer and as an advocate for human rights.

Fast began his writing career early, leaving high school to finish his first novel,
Two Valleys
(1933). His next novels, including
Conceived in Liberty
(1939) and
Citizen Tom Paine
(1943), explored the American Revolution and the progressive values that Fast saw as essential to the American experiment. In 1943 Fast joined the American Communist Party, an alliance that came to define—and often encumber—much of his career. His novels during this period advocated freedom against tyranny, bigotry, and oppression by exploring essential moments in American history, as in
The American
(1946). During this time Fast also started a family of his own. He married Bette Cohen in 1937 and the couple had two children.

Congressional action against the Communist Party began in 1948, and in 1950, Fast, an outspoken opponent of McCarthyism, was called before the House Un-American Activities Committee. Because he refused to provide the names of other members of the Joint Anti-Fascist Refugee Committee, Fast was issued a three-month prison sentence for contempt of Congress. While in prison, he was inspired to write
Spartacus
(1951), his iconic retelling of a slave revolt during the Roman Empire, and did much of his research for the book during his incarceration. Fast's appearance before Congress also earned him a blacklisting by all major publishers, so he started his own press, Blue Heron, in order to release Spartacus. Other novels published by Blue Heron, including
Silas Timberman
(1954), directly addressed the persecution of Communists and others during the ongoing Red Scare. Fast continued to associate with the Communist Party until the horrors of Stalin's purges of dissidents and political enemies came to light in the mid-1950s. He left the Party in 1956.

Fast's career changed course in 1960, when he began publishing suspense-mysteries under the pseudonym E. V. Cunningham. He published nineteen books as Cunningham, including the seven-book Masao Masuto mystery series. Also, Spartacus was made into a major film in 1960, breaking the Hollywood blacklist once and for all. The success of
Spartacus
inspired large publishers to pay renewed attention to Fast's books, and in 1961 he published
April Morning
, a novel about the battle of Lexington and Concord during the American Revolution. The book became a national bestseller and remains a staple of many literature classes. From 1960 onward Fast produced books at an astonishing pace—almost one book per year—while also contributing to screen adaptations of many of his books. His later works included the autobiography
Being Red
(1990) and the
New York Times
bestseller
The Immigrants
(1977).

Fast died in 2003 at his home in Greenwich, Connecticut.

Fast on a farm in upstate New York during the summer of 1917. Growing up, Fast often spent the summers in the Catskill Mountains with his aunt and uncle from Hunter, New York. These vacations provided a much-needed escape from the poverty and squalor of the Lower East Side's Jewish ghetto, as well as the bigotry his family encountered after they eventually relocated to an Irish and Italian neighborhood in upper Manhattan. However, the beauty and tranquility Fast encountered upstate were often marred by the hostility shown toward him by his aunt and uncle. "They treated us the way Oliver Twist was treated in the orphanage," Fast later recalled. Nevertheless, he "fell in love with the area" and continued to go there until he was in his twenties.

Fast (left) with his older brother, Jerome, in 1935. In his memoir
Being Red
, Fast wrote that he and his brother "had no childhood." As a result of their mother's death in 1923 and their father's absenteeism, both boys had to fend for themselves early on. At age eleven, alongside his thirteen-year-old brother, Fast began selling copies of a local newspaper called the
Bronx Home News
. Other odd jobs would follow to make ends meet in violent, Depression-era New York City. Although he resented the hardscrabble nature of his upbringing, Fast acknowledged that the experience helped form a lifelong attachment to his brother. "My brother was like a rock," he wrote, "and without him I surely would have perished."

A copy of Fast's military identification from World War II. During the war Fast worked as a war correspondent in the China-Burma-India theater, writing articles for publications such as PM,
Esquire
, and
Coronet
. He also contributed scripts to
Voice of America
, a radio program developed by Elmer Davis that the United States broadcast throughout occupied Europe.

Here Fast poses for a picture with a fellow inmate at Mill Point prison, where he was sent in 1950 for his refusal to disclose information about other members of the Communist Party. Mill Point was a progressive federal institution made up of a series of army bunkhouses. "Everyone worked at the prison," said Fast during a 1998 interview, "and while I hate prison, I hate the whole concept of prison, I must say this was the most intelligent and humane prison, probably that existed in America." Indeed, Fast felt that his three-month stint there served him well as a writer: "I think a writer should see a little bit of prison and a little bit of war. Neither of these things can be properly invented. So that was my prison."