The Last Temptation of Christ (25 page)

She leaned her head against her elderly friend’s knees and began to weep.

John appeared with a brass cup filled with water and five or six figs on a fig leaf. “Don’t cry,” he said to her, placing the figs in her lap. “A holy glimmer runs around your son’s entire face. Not everyone sees it, but one night I did: I saw it licking his face and devouring it, and I was frightened. And after the Abbot died, Father Habakkuk dreamed of him every night. He says he held your son by the hand and took him from cell to cell, pointing to him with his outstretched finger, not speaking, just smiling and pointing to him. Finally Father Habakkuk jumped out of bed in terror and roused the other monks. They struggled all together to disentangle the dream. What did the Abbot wish to tell them? Why did he point to their new guest and smile? Suddenly, the day before yesterday, the day I left, the monks were illumined by God and they untangled the dream. The dead man was instructing them to make your son Abbot. Without losing a moment, the whole monastery-full of monks went and found your son. They fell at his feet and shouted that it was God’s will he should become Abbot of the monastery. But your son refused. ‘No, no, this is not my road,’ he said. ‘I am unworthy; I shall leave!’ I heard his cries of refusal at noon, just as I left the monastery. The monks were threatening to lock him into a cell and place sentries in front of the door to prevent his escape.”

“Congratulations, Mary,” said old Salome, her aged face gleaming. “Fortunate mother! God blew into your womb and you don’t even realize it!”

The woman loved by God heard and shook her head, unconsoled. “I don’t want my son to be a saint,” she murmured. “I want him to be a man like all the rest. I want him to marry and give me grandchildren. That is God’s way.”

“That is man’s way,” said John softly, as though ashamed to offer an objection. “The other is God’s way, the one your son is following.”

They heard voices and laughter from the direction of the vineyards. Two young, flushed carriers entered the yard.

“Bad news, bosses,” they shouted, splitting with laughter. “It looks like Magdala’s risen up. The people have taken stones and are hunting their mermaid in order to kill her!”

“What mermaid, lads?” yelled the treaders, stopping their dance. “Magdalene?”

“Yes, Magdalene, bless her! Two mule drivers brought us the news as they went by. They said the bandit chief Barabbas—phew! all fear and trembling he is!—they said he left Nazareth and invaded Magdala yesterday, Saturday.”

“There’s another one for you!” growled Zebedee in a rage. “A plague on him! He says he’s a Zealot and will save Israel, him and his beastly snout. May he rot in hell, the filthy bastard! ... Well?”

“Well, he went by Magdalene’s house in the evening and found her yard full-up. The excommunicate was working on the holy Sabbath! This impiety was too much for him. In he rushes, yanks his knife out from under his shirt, the merchants draw their swords, the neighbors crowd in too, they all rush at each other, and before you know it the yard turns into a tangled mass of arms and legs. Two of our men fell wounded; the merchants mounted their camels and ran for their lives. Barabbas broke down the door to find the lady in question and slaughter her. But where was Magdalene? She’d flown the coop, gone out through the back door, unseen! The whole village took up the hunt, but soon it got dark, and there was no chance of finding her. In the morning they scattered in every direction, searched, and got on her trail. It seems they found her tracks in the sand—and she’s headed for Capernaum!”

“What luck if she comes, lads!” said Philip, licking his protruding, goat-like lips. “She was the one thing missing from our Paradise. Yes, we forgot Eve, and now we’ll certainly be delighted to see her!”

“Her water mill is open on the Sabbath too, bless her!” said simple Nathanael, smirking craftily in his beard. He remembered how once, on the eve of the Sabbath, he had bathed, put on clean clothes and shaved. Then the temptation of the bath came and took him by the hand. They went together to Magdala and made a beeline for Magdalene’s house—bless her! It was winter, business was bad, and Nathanael remained at her mill the whole of the Sabbath, all by himself—and ground. He smiled with satisfaction. A great sin, one might say. Yes, indeed, a great sin; but we place all our trust in God, and God forgives. ... Calm, poor, harassed, unmarried, Nathanael spent his whole life sitting in front of a small bench in one corner of the village street making clogs for the villagers and thick sandals for the shepherds. What kind of a life was that! Once, therefore, one precious time in his whole life, he had thrown everything overboard and enjoyed himself like a man—even if it was on the Sabbath. As we said, God understands this sort of thing—and forgives. ...

But old Zebedee scowled. “Troubles! Troubles!” he grumbled. “Do they always have to settle their rows in my yard? First prophets, then whores or weeping fishermen, and now Barabbases—this is too much!” He turned to the treaders. “You, my fine lads, attend to your work. Tread the grapes!”

Inside the house, old Salome and Mary the wife of Joseph heard the news, looked at each other and, without saying a word, immediately bowed their heads. Judas abandoned his hammer and went to the street door, where he leaned against the jamb. He had heard everything and had engraved it all in his mind. On his way to the door he threw a savage glance at old Zebedee.

He stood in the doorway and listened. He heard voices and saw a cloud of dust rise up. Men were running; women were screaming, “Catch her! Catch her!” and before the three men had time to jump out of the wine press or old stuff-pockets to slide down from his platform, Magdalene, her clothes in rags and her tongue hanging out of her mouth, entered the yard and fell at old Salome’s feet.

“Help!” she cried. “Help! They’re coming!”

Old Salome took pity on the sinner. She got up, closed the window and told her son to bolt the door.

“Squat down on the ground,” she said to Magdalene. “Hide yourself.”

Mary the wife of Joseph leaned over and looked at this woman who had gone astray, looked at her with both sympathy and horror. None but honest women know how bitter and slippery honor is, and she pitied her. But at the same time this sinful body seemed to her a wild beast, shaggy, dark and dangerous. This beast had almost snatched away her son when he was twenty years old, but he had escaped by a hair’s breadth. Yes, he escaped the woman, Mary thought, with a sigh, but what about God. ...

Old Salome placed her hand on Magdalene’s burning head. “Why are you crying, my child?” she asked with compassion.

“I don’t want to die,” Magdalene replied. “Life is good. I don’t want to die!”

Mary the wife of Joseph extended her hand now too. She did not fear her any longer, nor did she detest her. “Do not be afraid, Mary,” she said, touching her. “God protects you; you won’t die.”

“How do you know, Mary?” asked Magdalene, her eyes gleaming.

“God gives us time, Magdalene, time to repent,” Jesus’ mother replied with certainty.

But as the three women talked and were about to be united by pain, cries of “They’re coming! They’re coming! Here they are!” flowed forth from the vineyards, and before old Zebedee could slide down again from his platform, huge incensed men appeared at the street door, and Barabbas, flushed and drenched with sweat, strode over the threshold, bellowing.

“Hey, Zebedee,” he shouted, “we’re coming in, with or without your permission—in the name of the God of Israel!”

This said, and before the old proprietor could open his mouth, Barabbas ripped the house door off its hinges with one shove and seized Magdalene by her braids.

“Outside, whore! Outside!” he roared, hauling her into the yard. The citizens of Magdala entered at this point. They grabbed her, lifted her up, brought her amidst boos and fits of laughter to a pit near the lake, and threw her in. Then both men and women scattered all around and loaded their aprons and tunics with stones.

Old Salome meanwhile had jumped off her couch despite the pains which tortured her and had dragged herself into the yard in order to berate her husband.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she shouted at him. “You let those rowdies set foot in your house and grab a woman right out of your hands, a woman who was seeking mercy of you.”

She turned also to her son Jacob, who stood irresolutely in the middle of the yard.

“And you—you follow in your father’s footsteps. Shame on you! Aren’t you going to turn out any better? Are you going to let profits be your God too? Go ahead, run! Run to protect a woman that an entire village wants to kill. An entire village! They should be ashamed of themselves!”

“Calm down, Mother, I’m going,” answered her son, who feared no one in the whole world except his mother. Every time she turned upon him with anger he was overcome with fright because he felt that this wild, severe voice was not hers; it was the ancient, desert-roughened voice of the obstinate race of Israel.

Turning, Jacob nodded to Philip and Nathanael, his two companions. “Let’s go!” he said. He searched all around the barrels in order to find Judas, but the blacksmith had gone.

“I’m coming too,” said Zebedee, who felt irritated because he was afraid to stay alone with his wife. He bent over, picked up his club and followed his son.

Magdalene was screeching. Covered with wounds, she had collapsed into one corner of the pit and put up her arms to protect her head. The men and women stood around the rim and looked at her, laughing. Carriers and vintagers from all the vineyards of the vicinity had left their work and were approaching, the young men panting to see the famous body in its bloody, half-naked state; the girls because they hated and envied this woman who enjoyed all men while they had none.

Barabbas lifted his hand as a signal for the shouting to cease. He wanted to pronounce the decree and set the stoning in motion. At that moment Jacob appeared. He started to advance toward the bandit-chief Zealot, but Philip held him tightly by the arm.

“Where are you going?” he said. “Where are any of us going? We’re a mere handful, and they’re the whole village. We haven’t a chance!”

But Jacob continued to hear his mother’s savage voice within him. “Hey, Barabbas, hey, cut-throat,” he shouted, “you’ve come to our village to kill people, have you? Well, leave the woman alone; we’ll judge her. The elders of Magdala and Capernaum will come to judge her; and her father the rabbi of Nazareth will come too. That’s the Law!”

“My son is right,” interrupted old Zebedee, who had arrived with his heavy club. “He’s right, that’s the Law!”

Barabbas swung his whole body around and stood directly in front of them. “The village elders have greased palms,” he shouted, “and so has Zebedee. I don’t trust them. I’m the Law, and if any one of you brave lads dares, let him come forward and match his strength with me!”

Men and women from Magdala and Capernaum swarmed around Barabbas, murder glittering in the pupils of their eyes. A troop of boys arrived from the village, armed with slings.

Philip grabbed Nathanael by the arm and stepped back. He turned to Jacob. “Go, son of Zebedee, go on by yourself if you want—but as for us, we’re staying put. Do you think we’re crazy?”

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves, cowards?”

“No, we’re not. Go on, go on by yourself.”

Jacob turned to his father, but Zebedee coughed.

“I’m an old man,” he said.

“Well?” shouted Barabbas, guffawing.

Old Salome arrived, leaning on her younger son’s arm. Behind them came Mary the wife of Joseph, her eyes filled with tears. Jacob turned, saw his mother, and quivered. In front of him was the terrifying cut-throat with the mob of frenzied peasants; behind him, his mother, savage and mute.

“Well?” Barabbas bellowed again, rolling up his sleeves.

“I won’t make them ashamed of me!” murmured Zebedee’s son. He stepped forward, and at once Barabbas advanced directly at him.

“He’ll kill him!” said the younger brother, trying to shake himself loose in order to run to Jacob’s side. But his mother held him back.

“You keep quiet,” she said. “Don’t interfere.”

But just as the two opponents were about to come to grips a happy cry was heard from the edge of the lake: “
Maran atha
!
Maran atha
!” A sunburned youth jumped in front of them, panting and waving his hands.

“
Maran atha
!
Maran atha
!” he shouted. “The Lord is coming!”

“Who’s coming?” they all cried, circling him. “Who?”

“The Lord,” answered the youth, and he pointed behind him toward the desert. “The Lord—there he is!”

Everyone turned. The sun was going down now; the heat was abating. A man could be seen climbing up from the shore. He was dressed all in white, like a monk from the monastery. The oleanders at the lake front were in bloom, and the white-robed man put out his hand, picked a red one and placed it between his lips. Two seagulls were walking on the pebbles; they stepped aside to let him pass.

Old Salome lifted her white-haired head and sniffed the air. ‘Who’s coming?” she asked her son. “The wind has changed.”

“My heart is ready to burst, Mother,” the boy answered. “I think it’s him!”

“Who?”

“Shh, don’t talk!”

“And who are those people in back of him? Good grief, there’s a whole army running behind him.”

“They’re the poor who glean the leavings of the vintage, Mother. They’re not an army; don’t be afraid.”

And truly, the swarm of ragamuffins which began to appear in his train was like an army. They immediately scattered all through the harvested vineyards—men, women and children, with sacks and baskets—and began to search. Each year at the reaping, the vintage and the olive harvest these flocks of hunger poured out of the whole of Galilee and collected the wheat, grapes and olives which the landowners left for the poor, as ordered by the Law of Israel.

The man in white suddenly halted. The sight of the multitude had frightened him. I must leave! he said to himself, overwhelmed by the old fear. This is the world of men. I must leave; I must return to the desert, where God is. ... Once more his fate hung on a delicate thread. Which way should he go—forward or back?