The Last Temptation of Christ (31 page)

Old Salome heard his words, but her mind was on John, her beloved. Where could he be? What was this honey that dripped from the new prophet’s lips? She wanted so much to see him again, to hear him speak once more and bring God down into the hearts of men! My son did well, she reflected; he took the right road, and I give him my blessing. She recalled the dream she had had a few days earlier in which she pulled open the door and slammed it behind her, leaving this house with its wine presses and bursting larders in order to follow the new prophet. I ran behind him, barefooted and hungry, she thought, and for the first time in my life, I understood the meaning of happiness.

“Are you listening to me?” demanded old Zebedee, who saw his wife’s eyes momentarily droop. “Where is your mind?”

“I’m listening,” Salome replied, and she looked at him as though she had never seen him before.

At that moment the old man heard familiar voices in the street. He raised his eyes.

“”There they are!” he shouted. Seeing the man in white, flanked by his own two sons, he flew to the doorway, his mouth still full of food.

“Hey, lads,” he shouted, “where are you headed? Is this the way to pass my house? Stop!”

He was answered by Peter, while the others went on ahead: “We’ve got a job on our hands, Zebedee.”

“What job?”

“A very involved, complicated job,” said Peter, and he burst out laughing.

The old man’s eyes popped out of his head. “You too, Jacob, you too?” he cried, swallowing his mouthful unchewed. With his throat torn in two he went inside and looked at his wife.

“Say goodbye to your sons, Zebedee,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s taken them from us.”

“Jacob too?” said the old man, not knowing what to think. “But he had some sense in his head. It’s impossible!”

Salome did not speak. What could she say to him? How could he understand? No longer hungry, she got up, placed herself in the doorway and watched the happy company take the royal highway which followed the Jordan toward Jerusalem. She lifted her aged hand and spoke softly, so that her husband would not hear: “My blessing upon you all.”

At the exit of the village they encountered Philip, who had led his sheep to the edge of the lake to graze. He had climbed high up on a red rock and, using his staff as a support, was bending forward to admire his shadow, a black ripple on the blue-green waters of the lake below. When he heard the crunching of pebbles beneath him on the road, he stood up straight.

“Hello!” he shouted, recognizing the passers-by. “Hey, can’t you see me? Where are you headed?”

“For the kingdom of heaven!” shouted Andrew. “Are you coming?”

“Look here, Andrew, speak sensibly, will you? If you’re on your way to Magdala for the wedding, I’m with you. Nathanael invited me too, you know. He’s marrying off his nephew.”

“Won’t you go farther than Magdala?” Jacob yelled at him.

“I have sheep,” Philip answered. “Where can I leave them?”

“In God’s hands,” said Jesus without turning.

“The wolves will eat them!”

“Let them!” shouted John.

Good God, those fellows have gone completely mad, the shepherd concluded, and he whistled to gather together his flock.

The companions marched along. Judas, carrying his crooked staff, again took the lead. He was in the greatest hurry to arrive. The hearts of the others were joyous. They whistled like the blackbirds and laughed as they went. Peter approached Judas, the leader, the only one whose expression was somber. He did not whistle, did not laugh; he led the way, anxious to arrive.

“Judas, tell me once and for all where we’re going,” Peter said to him softly.

Half of the redbeard’s face laughed. “To the kingdom of heaven.”

“Stop joking, for God’s sake, and tell me where we’re going. I’m afraid to ask the teacher.”

“To Jerusalem.”

“Ouch! Three days’ march!” said Peter, pulling at his gray hairs. “If I’d only known, I would have brought my sandals, and a loaf of bread and a gourdful of wine, and my stick.”

This time the whole of the redbeard’s face laughed. “Ah, poor Peter,” he said, “the ball is rolling now and can’t be stopped. Say goodbye to your sandals and your bread and wine and stick. We’ve left—can’t you understand that, Peter—we’ve left the world; left the land and the sea, and gone into the air!” He leaned over to Peter’s ear: “There’s still time. ... Go!”

“How can I go back now?” said Peter, and he spread his arms and turned them in every direction as though he were hemmed in and suffocating. “All this seems tasteless to me now,” he said, pointing to the lake, the fishing boats and the houses of Capernaum.

“Agreed!” said the redbeard, shaking his large head. “Well, then, stop your grumbling, and let’s go!”

FIRST THE VILLAGE DOGS picked up his scent and began to bark. Soon the children were running to Magdala with the news: “He’s coming! He’s coming!”

“Who, boys, who?” the villagers asked, opening their doors.

“The new prophet!”

The thresholds filled with women young and old; the men abandoned their work; the sick jumped for joy and prepared to crawl out to touch him. He had already won a great name for himself in the vicinity of the lake of Gennesaret. His gifts and powers had been proclaimed from village to village by the epileptics, the blind and the paralyzed whom he had cured:

“He touched my darkened eyes and I saw the light.”

“As soon as he ordered me to throw down my crutches and walk, I began to dance.”

“Whole armies of demons were feeding on my insides. He lifted his hand and commanded them: ‘Be gone, go to the pigs!’ Straightway they bounded out of my bowels, kicking, and entered the pigs that were grazing on the shore. The animals went mad. One climbed on top of the other, and they hurled themselves into the water and drowned.”

When Magdalene heard the good news she came out of her cottage. She had not appeared at her door since the day the son of Mary ordered her to return home and sin no more. She had wept and cleansed her soul with tears, had struggled to erase the past from her mind, to forget everything—the shame, the joys, the all-night vigils—and be born again with a virgin body. For the first few days she beat her head on the ground and wailed, but in time she grew calm, her pain abated, the nightmares which had tormented her disappeared, and now, every night, she dreamed that Jesus came, opened her door like the man of the house and sat down in the yard under the blossoming pomegranate tree. He had traveled a great distance and was tired, covered with dust, and much embittered by men. Every evening Magdalene would heat water, wash his holy feet and then, letting out her hair, wipe them dry. And he, he would relax, smile, and chat with her. She never remembered what he said, but when she awoke in the morning she jumped out of bed buoyant and exhilarated; and the last few days she had begun—in a low voice, so that the neighbors would not hear—to chirp sweetly like a goldfinch. Now, hearing from the children’s shouts that he was coming, she leaped up, lowered her kerchief to hide all of her much-kissed face except her two large, all-black eyes, unbolted the door and went out to receive him.

This evening the village was all astir. Young girls had begun to don their jewelry and make ready their lamps for the wedding. Nathanael’s nephew was getting married. A cobbler like his uncle, he was a chubby, brown, overgrown child with a nose like a cudgel. The bride, covered with a veil so thick that you could see only the two eyes which bored through it and the large silver rings on her ears, sat on a raised armchair in the middle of her home, waiting for the gentlemen guests and the village girls with their lighted lamps, waiting for the rabbi to come to unroll the Scriptures and read the blessing, waiting, finally, for the moment when everyone would decamp and she would remain all alone with her cudgel nose.

Nathanael heard the children shout, “He’s coming, he’s coming!” and ran out to invite his friends to the wedding. He found them sitting by the well at the entrance to the village, drinking water to quench their thirst. Magdalene was kneeling in front of Jesus. She had washed his feet and was now wiping them dry with her hair.

“Tonight my nephew is getting married,” he said. “If you’ll be so kind, please come to the wedding. We’ll drink the wine made from the grapes I trod in Zebedee’s yard this summer.”

He turned to Jesus. “We hear a great deal about your sanctity, son of Mary. Do me the honor of coming to bless the new couple so that they will give birth to sons, for Israel’s glory.”

Jesus rose. “The joys of men please us,” he replied. “Companions, let us go.”

He grasped Magdalene’s hand and helped her up. “Join us, Mary,” he said.

Feeling in good spirits, he took the lead. He liked festivities. He loved the people’s glowing faces; he loved to see the young marry and keep the fires burning in the hearth. Plants, beetles, birds, animals, men—all are sacred, he reflected as he proceeded to the wedding; all are God’s creatures. Why do they live? They live to glorify God. May they continue to live, therefore, forever and ever!

The freshly bathed girls already stood in their white robes outside the closed richly ornamented door. They held their lighted lamps in their hands while they sang the ancient wedding songs which praised the bride, teased the groom and called on God to deign to come in and join the rest of the company. A wedding was taking place, an Israelite was being married, and the two bodies which would couple that night might engender the Messiah. ... The girls sang to deceive the time, for the groom was late. They were waiting for him to come and throw open the door so that the ceremony could begin.

But while they were singing, Jesus appeared with his train. The virgins turned. As soon as they saw Magdalene their song came to an abrupt standstill and they recoiled, glowering. What business had this slut among virgins? Where was the old village chief to bar her? The wedding was soiled! The married women turned also and eyed her fiercely; wave after wave of movement could be seen in the murmuring crowd of guests, the respectable householders, who were also waiting outside the closed door. Magdalene, however, was resplendent, a lighted torch. Standing by Jesus’ side, she felt her soul newly virgin and her lips unkissed. Suddenly the crowd made way and the village chief, a tiny, desiccated old man whose nose dripped venom, came up to Magdalene, touched her with the end of his staff and nodded for her to leave.

Jesus felt the envenomed glances of the people on his hands, face and uncovered chest. His body became inflamed, as though pricked by countless invisible thorns. Looking at the old chief, the honest wives, the scowling men and flustered virgins, he sighed. How long would the eyes of men remain blind and fail to see that all were brothers?

The murmur had now grown intense; the first threats already resounded in the darkness. Nathanael went up to speak to Jesus, but the teacher calmly pushed him aside and, making his way through the crowd, approached the virgins. Lamps swayed; room was made for him to pass. He stopped in their midst and raised his hand. “Virgins, my sisters, God touched my mouth and confided a kind word to me to present to you on this holy wedding night. Virgins, my sisters, open your ears, open your hearts; and you, my brothers, be quiet, for I shall speak!”

They all turned, uneasy. From his voice the men divined that he was angry, the women that he was sad. No one spoke. The two blind musicians in the courtyard of the house could be heard tuning their lutes.

Jesus raised his hand. “Virgins, my sisters, what do you suppose the kingdom of heaven is like? It is like a wedding. God is the bridegroom, and the soul of man is the bride. A wedding takes place in heaven, and the whole of mankind is invited. Forgive me, my brothers, but God speaks to me thus, in parables, and it is in parables that I shall speak now.

“There was to be a wedding in a certain village. Ten virgins took their lamps and went out to receive the bridegroom. Five were wise and took along flasks filled with oil. The other five were foolish and carried no extra oil with them. They stood outside the house of the bride and waited and waited, but the bridegroom was late and they grew tired and slept. At midnight there was a cry, ‘Behold, the bridegroom is coming! Run out to receive him!’ The ten virgins jumped up to fill their lamps, which were about to go out. But the five foolish virgins had no more oil. ‘Give us a little oil, sisters,’ they said to the wise virgins, ‘for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘We haven’t any left for you. Go and get some.’ And while the foolish virgins ran to find oil, the bridegroom arrived, the wise virgins went in, and the door was shut.

“A little while later the foolish virgins returned, their lamps lighted, and began to pound on the door. ‘Open the door for us!’ they cried and pleaded. But inside, the wise virgins laughed. ‘It serves you right,’ they answered them. ‘Now the door is closed. Go away!’ But the others wept and begged, ‘Open the door! Open the door! Open the door!’ And then ...”

Jesus stopped. Once more he surveyed the old chief, the guests, the honest housewives, the virgins with the lighted lamps. He smiled.

“And then?” said Nathanael, who was listening with gaping mouth. His simple, sluggish mind had begun to stir. “And then, Rabbi, what was the outcome?”

“What would you have done, Nathanael,” Jesus asked, pinning his large, bewitching eyes on him, “what would you have done if you had been the bridegroom?”

Nathanael was silent. He still was not entirely clear in his mind what he would have done. One moment he thought to send them away. The door had definitely been closed, and that was what the Law required. But the next moment he pitied them and thought to let them in.

“What would you have done, Nathanael, if you had been the bridegroom?” Jesus asked again, and slowly, persistently, his beseeching eyes caressed the cobbler’s simple, guileless face.

“I would have opened the door,” the other answered in a low voice so that the old chief would not hear. He had been unable to oppose the eyes of the son of Mary any longer.

“Congratulations, friend Nathanael,” said Jesus happily, and he stretched forth his hand as though blessing him. “This moment, though you are still alive, you enter Paradise. The bridegroom did exactly as you said: he called to the servants to open the door. ‘This is a wedding,’ he cried. ‘Let everyone eat, drink and be merry. Open the door for the foolish virgins and wash and refresh their feet, for they have run much.’ ”