The Last Temptation of Christ (61 page)

“Tomorrow, on the Passover. I’ll see you then, Father!”

The old rabbi crossed his hands. “Release your servant now, O Lord,” he murmured. “My eyes have seen my Saviour!”

THE SUN had reached the horizon and, brilliantly red, was about to set. At the opposite end of the sky a bluish-white glow had already appeared in the east. Soon the paschal moon would emerge, enormous and mute. The pale rays of the sun still entered the house, fell obliquely over Jesus’ thin face, caught the foreheads, noses and hands of the disciples and, going into the corner, caressed the old rabbi’s calm, happy, now-immortal face. Mary sat at her loom. She was in a deep shadow and no one saw the tears which ran peacefully down her cheeks and chin and onto the half-woven cloth. The house was still fragrant; Jesus’ fingertips dripped with myrrh.

Suddenly, while they sat there in silence, each one feeling more and more heart-stricken as the night approached, a swallow came like a sword-thrust through the window, circled three times over their heads, peeped joyously, turned again toward the sun and left like a dart. They hardly had time to see its white belly and serrated wings.

As though this was the mysterious sign he had been waiting for, Jesus rose. “The time has come,” he said.

He threw a lingering glance around him at the fireplace, the work tools, household utensils, lamp, water jug, loom; then at the four women—old Salome, Martha, Magdalene and Mary the weaver; lastly at the white old man who had entered the life everlasting.

“Farewell,” he said, waving his hands.

None of the three younger women was able to answer. But old Salome said, “Don’t look at us like that, my child. You seem to be saying goodbye to us forever.”

“Farewell,” Jesus repeated. He approached the women and placed his palm first on Magdalene’s hair, next on Martha’s. The weaver then rose and came near. She too bowed her head. They felt as though he were blessing and embracing them, as though he were going to take the three of them with him—always. But then all three abruptly began the dirge.

They went out into the yard. The disciples followed behind him. On the hedge of the yard, above the well, a honeysuckle had blossomed. Now that night had fallen, its perfume spilled forth. Jesus put out his hand, picked a flower and passed it between his teeth. May God give me strength, he prayed within his heart, may God give me strength to hold this tender flower between my teeth all through the great throes of crucifixion and not bite into it!

On the threshold of the street door he stopped once more, lifted his hand and cried in a deep voice, “Women, farewell!”

None of them answered. Their lamentations resounded in the courtyard.

Jesus took the lead, and the group started along the road to Jerusalem. The full moon rose from the mountains of Moab, the sun set behind the mountains of Judea. For a moment the two great jewels of the sky stopped and looked at each other. Then the one mounted, the other sank down.

Jesus nodded to Judas, who came and marched by his side. The two of them must have had secrets to exchange, for they spoke softly. Sometimes Jesus would lower his head, sometimes Judas; and each carefully weighed his words of response to the other, as though each word were a gold piece.

“I’m sorry, Judas, my brother,” Jesus said, “but it is necessary.”

“I’ve asked you before, Rabbi—is there no other way?”

“No, Judas, my brother. I too should have liked one; I too hoped and waited for one until now—but in vain. No, there is no other way. The end of the world is here. This world, this kingdom of the Devil, will be destroyed and the kingdom of heaven will come. I shall bring it. How? By dying. There is no other way. Do not quiver, Judas, my brother. In three days I shall rise again.”

“You tell me this in order to comfort me and make me able to betray you without rending my own heart. You say I have the endurance—you say it in order to give me strength. No, the closer we come to the terrible moment ... no, Rabbi, I won’t be able to endure!”

“You will, Judas, my brother. God will give you the strength, as much as you lack, because it is necessary—it is necessary for me to be killed and for you to betray me. We two must save the world. Help me.”

Judas bowed his head. After a moment he asked, “If you had to betray your master, would you do it?”

Jesus reflected for a long time. Finally he said, “No, I do not think I would be able to. That is why God pitied me and gave me the easier task: to be crucified.”

Jesus took him by the arm and spoke to him softly, enticingly. “Do not abandon me; help me. Didn’t you speak to the high priest Caiaphas? The Temple slaves who’ll seize me, aren’t they ready and armed? Hasn’t everything happened just as we planned, Judas? Let us therefore celebrate the Passover tonight all together, and I shall give you a sign to rise and fetch them. The dark days are only three; they will pass by like lightning, and on the third day we shall exult and dance all together—at the resurrection!”

“Will the others know?” Judas asked, pointing with his thumb to the flock of disciples in back.

“I’ll tell them tonight. I don’t want them to offer any resistance when the soldiers and Levites seize me.”

Judas wrinkled his lips in contempt. “They offer resistance! Where did you find them, Rabbi? One is worse than the next.”

Jesus lowered his head and did not reply.

The moon rose and flowed over the earth, anointing stones, trees and men. Dark blue shadows fell on the land. In back the disciples, flocked together, talked and bickered. Some licked their chops at the thought of the banquet, some spoke with concern of Jesus’ piercing words; and Thomas remembered the poor old rabbi. “It’s all over with him. Here’s to our turn!”

“What, will we die too?” said Nathanael, surprised. “Didn’t we say we were headed for immortality?”

“Right, but it seems we first have to go by way of death,” Peter explained to him.

Nathanael shook his head. “We’re taking a bad route to immortality,” he grumbled. “Mark my words, we’ll find it damned unpleasant down there in hell!”

White and diaphanous like a ghost, Jerusalem now towered all moonlit in the air before them. The houses, in the moonlight, seemed to be detached and suspended above the ground. A din compounded of men singing psalms and animals being slaughtered rose more and more clearly into the night.

Peter and John stood waiting at the eastern fortress gate. Their faces flashing under the brilliant moon, they ran out happily to receive them. “Everything happened just as you said it would, Rabbi. The tables are set. Dinner is served!”

“And if you ask for the master of the house,” John added, laughing, “he prepared everything and then disappeared.”

Jesus smiled. “That is the supreme hospitality: for the host to disappear.”

They all quickened their pace. The streets were full of people, lighted lanterns and myrtles. The Passover psalm resounded triumphantly from behind the closed doors:

When Israel went forth from Egypt,

  
when the house o f Jacob was delivered

     
from the barbarians,

The sea looked and fled,

  
Jordan reversed its course;

The mountains skipped like rams,

  
the hills like lambs.

What ailed you, sea, that you fled,

  
and you, Jordan,

     
that you turned front to back?

What ailed you, mountains,

  
that you skipped like rams,

 
   
 
and you, hills, like lambs?

Tremble before the Lord, O Earth,

  
before the God o f Israel,

Who with his touch turns the rocks into lakes;

  
and stones spout cool waters!

As the disciples marched through the streets they too began to chant the Passover psalm. Peter and John went in front and led them. All, with the exception of Jesus and Judas, had forgotten their cares and fears and were running toward the waiting tables.

Peter and John halted, pushed open a door marked with a fingerprint made with the blood of the slain lamb, and entered. Jesus and the hungry procession followed. Passing through the yard, they climbed up a stone staircase to the upper story. The tables were set. Three seven-branched candelabra illuminated the lamb, the wine, the unleavened bread, the appetizers, even the staffs they were supposed to hold as they ate, as though they were ready to depart on a long journey.

“We’re delighted to meet you!” said Jesus. He lifted his hand and blessed the invisible host.

The disciples laughed. “Whom are you greeting, Rabbi?”

“The Invisible,” Jesus answered, and he looked at them severely.

He tied a large towel around his waist, took water, knelt, and began to wash the disciples’ feet.

“Rabbi, I’ll never agree to let you wash my feet!” Peter cried.

“Peter, if I do not wash your feet, you will not join me in the kingdom of heaven.”

“Well, in that case, Rabbi, wash not only my feet but my hands and head too.”

They seated themselves around the tables. They were famished, but no one dared put out his hand. The teacher’s face was stern this evening and his lips embittered. He looked at the disciples one by one: at Peter on his right, John on his left—all; and opposite him, at his grave, unaccommodating accomplice with the red beard.

“First of all,” he said, “we must drink the salt water, to remember the tears which our fathers shed in the land of slavery.”

He took the pitcher with the salt water and started by filling Judas’s glass to overflowing, then poured a few sips into the glasses of the others, and lastly filled his own brimful.

“May we remember the tears, the pain and the anguish men suffer for the sake of freedom!” he said, and he emptied his brimful glass in a single gulp.

The others drank with contorted mouths. Like Jesus, Judas emptied his glass in one gulp. He showed it to the master and turned it upside down. Not a single drop remained.

“You’re a brave warrior, Judas,” Jesus said, smiling. “You can endure even the most severe bitterness.”

He took the unleavened bread and divided it. Next, he served the lamb. Each one put out his hand and took his share of the bitter herbs prescribed by the Law: oregano, bay and savory. Then, red gravy was poured over the meat in remembrance of the red bricks which their ancestors manufactured during their captivity. They ate hurriedly, as the Law prescribed, and each one grasped his staff and kept one foot raised in the air, prepared to depart.

Jesus watched them eat, not eating himself. He too held his staff and kept his right foot in the air, ready for a great journey. No one spoke. The only sounds were from the clacking of jaws, the clinking of wineglasses, and tongues licking the bones. The moon entered through the skylight above them. Half of the tables were brightly illuminated, half plunged in purple darkness.

After a deep silence Jesus opened his mouth. “Passover, my faithful fellow voyagers, means passage—passage from darkness to light, from slavery to freedom. But the Passover that we celebrate tonight goes even further. Tonight’s Passover means passage from death to eternal life. I go in the lead, comrades, and clear the way for you.”

Peter shuddered. “Rabbi,” he said, “you’re speaking about death again, and again your words are a double-edged knife. If any calamity hangs over you, speak freely. We’re men.”

“It’s true, Rabbi,” said John. “Your words are bitterer than these bitter herbs. Have pity and speak to us clearly.”

Jesus took his still-untouched portion of bread and divided it mouthful by mouthful among the disciples.

“Take it and eat,” he said. “This is my body.”

He also took his glass of wine, which was still full, and passed it from mouth to mouth. They all drank.

“Take it and drink,” he said. “This is my blood.”

Each of the disciples ate his mouthful of bread and drank his sip of wine. Their minds reeled. The wine seemed to them thick and salty, like blood; the portion of bread descended like a burning coal into their very bowels. Suddenly, terrified, they all felt Jesus take root within them and begin to devour their entrails. Peter leaned his elbows on the table and began to weep.

John bent over to Jesus’ breast. “You want to depart, Rabbi, you want to depart ... to depart ...” he mumbled over and over, unable to utter anything more.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Andrew yelled. “The other day you said, ‘Let him who has no knife sell his cloak to buy one!’ We’ll sell our clothes, we’ll arm ourselves; and then let Charon come in—if he dare—to touch you!”

“You shall all abandon me,” Jesus said uncomplainingly. “All.”

“I never!” shouted Peter, wiping away his tears.

“Peter, Peter, before the cock crows, you will deny me three times.”

“I? I?” Peter bellowed, beating his chest with his fists. “I deny you? I’m with you to the death!”

“To the death!” groaned all the disciples, jumping to their feet in a trance.

“Sit down,” Jesus said tranquilly. “The hour has not yet come. This Passover I have a great secret to confide to you. Open your minds, open your hearts, do not let yourselves be afraid!”

“Speak, Rabbi,” John murmured, his heart trembling like a reed.

“You have eaten? You are no longer hungry? The body is filled? Will it finally allow your soul to listen in peace?”

Trembling, they all hung on Jesus’ lips.

“Beloved companions,” he cried, “farewell! I depart!”

The disciples cried out, fell upon him and held him so that he would not leave. Many were weeping. But Jesus turned calmly to Matthew.

“Matthew, you know the Scriptures by heart. Get up and in a strong voice tell them Isaiah’s prophetic words in order to steady their hearts. You remember: ‘He grew up in the eyes of the Lord like a small, frail tree ...’ ”

Rejoicing, Matthew jumped to his feet. He was stoop-shouldered, bow-legged, desiccated, and his long, slender fingers were endlessly smudged; but suddenly, how straight he stood! His cheeks caught fire, his neck swelled, and the words of the prophet echoed in the high-ceilinged attic, full of bitterness and strength: