Francis awoke full of enthusiasm. "Did you put on your iron sandals?" he asked me. "We have a long ascent ahead of us."
"Why, of course. Here they are!"
I showed him my naked feet, all covered with wounds. "May God take pity on us at long last!" I murmured, crossing myself; and with this, we began the journey to our newly converted mountain.
Francis was thoughtful, silent. We had left the castle behind us. Not a leaf was stirring, and the banners drooped limply from their poles like so many varicolored rags. The sky was overcast; to our right a gray, hairless sun began to mount behind the clouds, imparting a dull luster to the leaves. Only the quivering raindrops at their edges glittered brightly. The sound of the cocks crowing at the castle could still be heard in the damp air.
"We're going to have a change in the weather, Brother Francis. Listen to the cocks. More rain, I'm afraid."
But Francis' mind was elsewhere. "Brother Leo," he said to me, "the circle is about to close at last; the end is approaching--glory be to God. In the beginning I prayed the Almighty to let me remain all alone in the wilderness, to let me address Him from there. He granted my request; but then He quickly seized me by the scruff of the neck and tossed me among men. 'Abandon your solitude,' He shouted at me. 'You have settled down too comfortably all by yourself, and this displeases me. Go, go the rounds of cities and villages; preach, choose companions, form an order, and then set out all together to deliver the Holy Sepulcher: the heart of man!' I gave up my solitude accordingly (but not without a sigh, Brother Leo); I chose the brothers, and we set out. What saintly poverty we enjoyed , in those early days! What love, harmony, chastity! Do you remember how our unbounded joy used to make us all burst suddenly into tears? Trees, birds, stones, streams, and men all seemed to have just issued fresh from God's hands. And Christ was with us; we did not see Him, but we felt His sacred breath in the air, His palms resting on our heads. We saw Him only at night, when our flesh was asleep and the soul had opened its eyes. But after that . . . after that--"
Francis' voice failed him. He glanced at me. Large tears were hanging from his eyes.
"After that," I said, "wolves entered the sheepfold and we dispersed."
"They threw me out," said Francis, sighing. "They threw me out, Brother Leo. . . . The circle is closing, I tell you; I am returning again to solitude. Once at the top of this lonely mountain I shall howl in seclusion, howl like a wild beast. There are "many demons still inside me, pounds of flesh still round my soul. Ah! If only God gives me time to do away with the flesh, to obliterate it so that my soul may be left free to escape! To escape, Brother Leo, to escape!"
He jerked his arms vehemently toward the sky, and for a moment I thought he had sprouted wings and begun to fly away--so great was his anticipated joy. Afraid of being abandoned, I seized hold of his frock and clung to it. Just then a peasant appeared along the road; he was pulling a tiny donkey at the end of a rope, and upon the donkey was a woman nursing an infant, her breast exposed. Francis halted and stared at her with protruding eyes.
"Give us your blessing, Father," said the peasant, placing his hand over his heart. "This is my wife, and the baby is my son. Bless us."
"God be with you," Francis replied. "Happy voyage, Joseph!"
The amazed peasant began to laugh. But he was in a hurry, and did not have time to stop.
"Joseph, Brother Francis?" I said. "How did you know his name?"
"But didn't you understand, lamb of God? The man was Joseph, and his wife was the Virgin Mary suckling God. They were on their way to Egypt.
"How many times must I tell you, Brother Leo," he continued after a moment, "to use your inner sight as well as your outer? Your eyes of clay show you a peasant with his wife and child. But the others, the eyes of the soul--what a miracle they see! The Blessed Mother of God astride a donkey; Joseph; Christ nursing: all pass before us once again, and they shall continue to pass, Brother Leo, for all eternity."
I sighed. Alas! My hide was thick, my heart smothered beneath layers of fat. When would I too be able to push aside this world and see the other world behind it, the eternal one? The first drops began to fall, slapping to the ground the few leaves which still remained on the fig trees. It was almost evening. Ahead of us atop a rocky ledge we saw a small deserted church, its white walls glistening in the rain.
"God loves us," I said. "Look, He sent a church where we can spend the night."
We pushed open the door and entered. As the evening light came in behind us, we were able to see that the walls were covered from the floor right up to the dome with colorful, densely populated frescoes representing the temptation of Saint Anthony. We saw the holy anchorite struggling in desperation against an entire battalion of devils. Some were dragging him by the beard, some by the armpits; others had caught hold of his cowl, cincture, feet. . . . Further up, two devils were turning a lamb on a spit while the ascetic gazed at it, pale, fainting from hunger, his nostrils flared, and the laughing devils beckoned him to approach. On the opposite wall: a blond, naked woman with greedy eyes, pressing her huge breasts against the ascetic's knees. He was ogling her desirously, and from his mouth a red ribbon unrolled straight up toward heaven, and upon the ribbon, written in black letters, were the words: "Lord, Lord, help!"
I became extremely upset. Suddenly I had a satanic yearning to reach out and touch the woman's accursed body. So great was this yearning that I began to tremble all over, and Francis turned and looked at me questioningly. Calling up all my strength, I checked my hand in mid-air. But my arm was numb and painful.
Francis took a candle from the candelabrum, lighted it at the lamp which hung before the icon of Christ, and went from painting to painting. He did not speak, but his hand was shaking.
I stood at his side and joined him in gazing at the paintings by the light of the flickering candle. Suddenly I heard him murmur: "Lord, O Lord, why didst Thou make temptation so beautiful? Has Thou no pity for man's soul? I am but a lowly worm, yet I pity it."
We still had some bread and meat left over from what I had begged at the castle. Sitting down on the stone floor, I spread out our fare. Francis knelt opposite me and leaned forward to blow out the candle.
"It will be better if we don't see," he said.
He blew, but his hand was trembling and the still-burning candle fell onto his robe, igniting it. I darted forward to extinguish the fire, but Francis resisted.
"Don't put it out! Don't put it out!" he screamed at me.
But I, not being able to discern the invisible world behind the visible one, saw the fire already touching his skin, and immediately threw the edge of my robe over the flames, smothering them.
"You shouldn't have done that; no, you shouldn't have murdered Sister Flame," he complained to me. "What did she want? To eat, to devour my flesh. But that is exactly what I wanted, Brother Leo! To be released!"
Without taking a single bite, he lay down and closed his eyes. But I ate heartily and then, sated and drowsy, stretched out next to him and fell asleep at once. Toward midnight, however, I was awakened by the sound of Francis screaming. I opened my eyes and was able, in the light of the sanctuary lamp, to see him waving his arms in the air as though struggling with something.
"Brother Francis!" I called. "Brother Francis!"
But there was little chance of his hearing me. He must have been in the middle of a horrible nightmare, for he was beating his hands and feet against the floor, and bellowing.
Leaning over him, I touched his forehead. The sweat was running in torrents; his hair was sodden and dripping. I grasped his shoulders, shook him. He opened his eyes.
"Don't be afraid, Brother Francis," I said, caressing his quivering hands. "Don't be afraid, it was only a dream--a plague on it!"
He sat up and tried to talk, but could only stammer unintelligibly.
"Calm yourself, Brother Francis. It's almost morning. Day will come and dispel the phantoms of the night."
"They weren't phantoms, Brother Leo, they weren't phantoms. All those paintings are alive! As soon as they saw I had closed my eyes, they climbed down from the walls. At the same time all the demons inside me came forth and, together, both began to attack me. O God, it was unbearable!"
With the sleeve of his frock he sponged his bleeding eyes. He was panting, his teeth chattering. Outside, a strong wind whistled through the pines which surrounded the little church. From time to time lightning flashes entered through the tiny window of the sanctuary and fell like saber blows across Francis' livid bloodstained features. He quickly covered his face each time with the sleeve of his frock. I remember he once told me that thunderbolts were the glances of the Almighty, and now he was ashamed to let the Lord see him--for the vapor of the temptations was still rising from his flesh.
We both waited anxiously for the dawn, neither of us uttering a word. I too had begun to be afraid. The little church now seemed haunted to me also, full of dangerous unseen presences; and when the lightning illuminated the storied walls I covered my face with my robe so that I would not see the paintings and the paintings would not see me and pounce upon me. Next to Francis as I was, my mind as well as his had begun to totter--or was it perhaps that my inner eyes were opening and enabling me to see the invisible?
Francis recovered his composure little by little. Soon he had placed his hand in mine; apparently he wished to comfort me.
"Do not be distressed, Brother Leo. Even fear is an aid to salvation. It too is holy; it too is man's friend." The thunderclaps had come nearer now. All of a sudden the squall broke out. We heard the rain beating with happy, cackling laughter against the church roof. It's just as well, I said to myself. Francis is exhausted from his struggle last night with the demons. He may as well remain lying down a little while longer to recover his strength.
The first feeble, bemired light entered through the tiny window; on the walls long white beards and pale ascetic faces began to shine, as did the horns, tails, and guffawing mouths around them. But it was day now; God's light had come and I was not afraid. We could hear a bird peeping. The earth was awakening amidst all the rain and mud. Francis had closed his eyes again and was listening exultantly to the sound of the male waters falling from heaven.
"Brother Leo, don't you feel intense joy, just as the earth does, whenever the floodgates of heaven open? Oh, if I could only be a clod of soil and could dissolve into the celestial waters! But the soul, not being made of earth, keeps a firm grip on the body and prevents it from dissolving."
"Why does it hold on like that, Brother Francis? It should let go, the way you want it to, and allow the body to be lost --and saved!"
Francis shook his head. "It is trying to go somewhere, Brother Leo; yes, without a doubt it is trying to go somewhere and it possesses no other donkey to carry it. Thus it feeds and waters this donkey until it reaches its destination; then it dismounts joyfully, gives the beast a kick, and abandons it in the earth, to return to dust."
Two or three birds were chirping now. The rain had grown more gentle.
"Let's go," said Francis. "It stopped raining. . . . In God's name!"
He tried to get up, but his knees gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor.
"Your donkey is tired, Brother Francis. Let the poor thing rest a little so that it will be able to carry you some more."
"We mustn't allow our donkeys to do as they please, Brother Leo. If I had listened to mine I would still be living in Sior Bernardone's house; I would still be singing serenades beneath windows. Come, help me. Let's make the beast get up."
I grasped Francis under the arms, drew him to his feet, and then followed behind as he proceeded to the door with faltering steps.
The world outside was drenched. The stones glistened; the soil had turned to mud; the sky above loomed pitch black. The pine trees had been pummeled by the torrents, and they exuded a balm like honey.
"It's going to rain again, Brother Francis."
"Let it. The soul won't allow its body to be dissolved just yet, so have no fears, Brother Leo. Come!"
We began our march, wading through mud which reached up to our ankles. Our feet were soon as heavy as lead, and we could hardly lift them.
One hour, two hours had passed in this way when suddenly I saw Francis plunge headlong to the ground, his face burrowing into the mire. In desperate haste I sped to lift him up before he suffocated. Placing him across my shoulders, I commenced to run. I felt like cursing his obstinacy, also my own imbecile desire to do things contrary to my nature. It had begun to rain again. I continued to walk with my burden for a half-hour more and then--praise the Lord!--I saw some houses among the pine trees. Though I was ready to drop, this gave me the strength to keep going, and I finally arrived, covered head to toe with mud. Francis was still unconscious. Finding one of the street doors open, I entered. An old peasant rushed out into the yard, followed by his wife, a gaunt creature all shriveled up like a raisin.
"Eh, good Christians," I said, "my companion fainted from exhaustion. In Christ's name, let me lay him down for a while in your cottage--until he comes to."