“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:
“That’s enough,” said Jesus, sighing.
He turned to the companions. “It is I,” he said quietly. “The prophet Isaiah is speaking about me: I am the lamb that is being led to the slaughter, and I shall not open my mouth.” After a pause, he continued. “They have been leading me to the slaughter ever since the day of my birth.”
The amazed disciples stared at him with gaping mouths, struggling to understand what he had told them; and suddenly, all together, they hid their faces against the tables and raised the dirge.
For a moment even Jesus lost heart. How could he abandon these wailing companions? He lifted his eyes and looked at Judas. But the other’s hard blue eyes had been pinned on Jesus for a long time. He had divined what was happening inside the master and how easily love could paralyze his strength. The two glances joined and wrestled in the air for a split second, the one stern and merciless, the other beseeching and afflicted. A split second only-and straightway Jesus shook his head, smiled bitterly at Judas, and turned again to the disciples.
“Why do you weep?” he asked them. “Why are you afraid of Death? He is the most merciful of God’s archangels, the one who loves man the most. It is necessary that I be martyred and crucified, and that I descend to hell. But in three days I shall jolt out of my tomb, ascend to heaven and sit next to the Father.”
“Are you going to leave us again?” John shouted, weeping. “Take us with you to hell and heaven, Rabbi!”
“The task on earth is also a heavy one, John, beloved. You must all stay here on the soil, and work. Fight, here on the earth; love, wait-and I shall return!”
Jacob had already become reconciled to the rabbi’s death and was spinning in his mind what they would do when they were left on earth without him.
“We cannot oppose God’s will and the will of our master. As the prophets tell us, Rabbi, it is your duty to die, ours to live: to live so that the words you spoke shall not perish. We’ll establish them firmly in new Holy Scriptures, we’ll make laws, build our own synagogues and select our own high priests, Scribes and Pharisees.”
Jesus was terrified. “You crucify the spirit, Jacob,” he shouted. “No, no, I don’t want that!”
“This is the only way we can prevent the spirit from turning into air and escaping,” Jacob countered.
“But it won’t be free any more; it won’t be spirit!”
“That doesn’t matter. It will look like spirit. For our work, Rabbi, that’s sufficient.”
A cold sweat flowed over Jesus. He threw a quick glance at the disciples. No one lifted his head to object. Peter looked at Zebedee’s son with admiration. His was a creative mind: he’d taken on all the shining traits of his father, the captain; and now you would see-he was going to set everything in order for the master himself…
Jesus, despairing, lifted his hands. He seemed to be asking for help. “I shall send you the Comforter, the spirit of truth. He will guide you.”
“Send us the Comforter quickly,” John cried, “so that we won’t be led astray and fail to find you again, Rabbi!”
Jacob shook his hard, obstinate head. “It too-this spirit of truth you’re talking about-it too will be crucified. You must realize, Rabbi, that the spirit will be crucified as long as men exist. But it doesn’t matter. Something is always left behind, and that, I tell you, is enough for us.”
“It’s not enough for me!” Jesus shouted in despair.
Jacob felt troubled when he heard this painful cry. He approached and took the master’s hand. “Yes, it’s not enough for you, Rabbi,” he said. “That is why you are being crucified. Forgive me for contradicting you.”
Jesus placed his hand on the obstinate head. “If God wills it thus, let the spirit be eternally crucified upon this earth, and may the cross be blessed! Let us bear it with love, patience and faith. One day it will turn to wings on our shoulders.”
They did not speak. The moon was now high in the heavens, and a funereal light spilled over the tables. Jesus crossed his hands.
“The day’s work is done,” he said. “What I had to do, I did; what I had to speak, I spoke. I think I have done my duty. Now I cross my hands.”
He nodded opposite him to Judas, who rose, tightened his leather belt and grasped his crooked staff. Jesus waved his hand at him, as though saying goodbye.
“Tonight,” he said, “we shall be praying under the olive trees of Gethsemane, past the Cedron Valley. Judas, my brother, go-with God’s blessing. God be with you!”
Judas parted his lips. He wanted to say something, but changed his mind. The door was open. He rushed out, and his large feet were heard stamping heavily down the stone stairs.
Peter felt uneasy. “Where is he going?” he asked. He started to get up in order to follow him, but Jesus held him back.
“Peter, the wheel of God has begun to roll. Do not step in the way.”
A breeze had arisen. The flames on the seven-branched candelabra flickered. Suddenly there was a vehement gust of wind and the candles went out. The entire moon entered the chamber.
Nathanael was frightened and leaned over to his friend. “That wasn’t the wind, Philip. Someone came in. Oh God! do you think it was Charon?”
“And what do you care if it was!” the shepherd answered him. “He isn’t looking for us.” He slapped the back of his friend, who still had not recovered his equilibrium.
“Big ships, big storms,” he said. “Thank God we’re only rowboats and walnut shells.”
The moon had seized Jesus’ face and devoured it. Nothing remained but two pitch-black eyes. John was frightened. He stealthily held his hand to the rabbi’s face to see if it still existed. “Rabbi,” he murmured, “where are you?”
“I haven’t left yet, John, beloved,” Jesus replied. “I was lost for a moment because I thought of something an ascetic on holy Mount Carmel once told me: ‘I was immersed in the five troughs of my body,’ he said, ‘like a pig.’
“ ‘And how were you saved, Grandfather?’ I asked him Was it a great struggle?’
“ ‘Not at all,’ he answered me. ‘One morning I saw a flowering almond tree and was saved.’…
“A flowering almond tree, John, beloved: that is how death appeared to me for an instant just now.”