“Well, sly Thomas, remind me-it might come in handy again. What is a prophet?”
“A prophet is the one who, when everyone else despairs, hopes. And when everyone else hopes, he despairs. You’ll ask me why. It’s because he has mastered the Great Secret: that the Wheel turns.
“It’s a dangerous thing for a man to talk with you, Thomas,” Jesus said, winking at him. “Inside your tiny, quick-moving crossed eyes I perceive a tail, two horns-and a spark of burning light.”
“True light burns, Rabbi-you know that, but you pity mankind. The heart takes pity: that’s why the world finds itself in darkness. The mind does not take pity: that’s why the world is on fire… Ah, you nod to me to be still. You’re right; I’ll be still. We mustn’t uncover such secrets in front of these simple souls. None of them has any endurance, except one: him!”
“Who is that?”
Thomas dragged himself as far as the street door and pointed, without touching him, to a colossus who stood on the threshold like a withered, lightning-charred tree. The roots of his hair and beard were still red.
“Him!” he said, shrinking back. “Judas! He’s the only one who still holds himself erect. Take care, Rabbi. He’s full of vigor, and unyielding. Speak to him gently, ingratiate yourself with him. Look, his obstinate skull is steaming with rage.”
“Well, then, to avoid getting bitten let’s catch this desert lion by sending a tame lion after him. Have we descended to this!” He raised his voice. “Judas, my brother, Time is a royal man-eating tiger. He is not satisfied with men: he also devours cities, kingdoms and (forgive me, God) even gods! But you he has not touched. Your rage has refused to boil away; no, you have never made your peace with the world. I still perceive the unyielding knife by your breast, and in your eyes hate, wrath and hope, the great fires of youth… Welcome!”
“Judas, can’t you hear?” murmured John, who had collapsed at Jesus’ feet. He was unrecognizable, with a white beard and two deep wounds on his cheeks and neck. “Can’t you hear, Judas? The master is greeting you. Greet him in return!”
“He’s pigheaded and obstinate like a mule,” said Peter. “He bites his lips to keep himself from talking.”
But Jesus had fixed his eyes on his old savage companion and was speaking to him sweetly. “Judas, the chattering messenger birds passed over the roof of my house and let fall the news, which then dropped into my yard. It seems you took to the mountains and made war against tyrants, both native and foreign. Then you went down to Jerusalem, seized the traitorous Sadducees, tied red ribbons around their necks and slaughtered them like lambs on the altar of the God of Israel. You’re a great, gloomy, desperate soul, Judas. Since the day we separated you haven’t seen a single day of gladness. Judas, my brother, I’ve missed you very much. Welcome!”
John’s terrified eyes regarded Judas, who was still biting his lips to prevent himself from speaking. “Dense smoke never ceases to curl up over his head,” he murmured, and he dragged himself back to the others.
“Take care, Rabbi,” said Peter. “He looks at you from every angle and weighs where he’s going to fall upon you first!”
“I’m speaking to you, Judas, my brother,” Jesus continued. “Can’t you hear? I greet you, but you don’t place your hand over your heart and say, ‘I’m glad to see you!’ Has Jerusalem’s suffering stricken you dumb? Do not bite your lips. You’re a man: bear up, don’t burst into lamentations. You did your duty bravely. The deep wounds in your arms, breast, face-all in front-proclaim that you fought like a lion. But what can a man do against God? Fighting to save Jerusalem, you were fighting against God. In his mind the holy city was reduced to ashes years ago.”
“Look, he’s come a step forward,” murmured Philip, frightened. “He’s sunk his head into his shoulders, like a bull. Now he’ll charge.”
“Let’s move to the sidelines, lads,” said Nathanael. “Now he’s raising his fist.”
“Rabbi, Rabbi, be careful!” called Martha and Mary, coming forward.
But Jesus tranquilly continued to speak. His lips, however, had begun to tremble just perceptibly.
“I too fought as well as I could, Judas, my brother. In my youth I set out, like a youth, to save the world. Afterward, when my mind had matured, I stepped into line-the line of men. I went to work: plowed the land, dug wells, planted vines and olives. I took the body of woman into my arms and created men-I conquered death. Isn’t that what I always said I would do? Well, I kept my word: I conquered death!”
Judas suddenly lashed out, pushed aside Peter and the women, who had placed themselves in front of him, and uttered a great, savage cry. “Traitor!”
They all turned to stone. Jesus grew pale and placed his hands on his breast.
“Me? Me, Judas?” he murmured. “You’ve uttered a grave word. Take it back!”
“Traitor! Deserter!”
The tiny old men turned yellow and started for the door. Thomas had already reached the street.
The two women jumped forward.
“Brothers, don’t leave,” Mary cried. “Satan has raised his hand against the rabbi. He’s going to strike him!”
Peter was slinking toward the door to escape. “Where are you going?” said Martha, grabbing him. “Will you deny him again-again?”
“I’m not getting mixed up in this,” said Philip. “Iscariot has a mighty arm, and I’m old. Let’s go, Nathanael.”
Judas and Jesus were now standing face to face. Judas’s body steamed. It smelled of sweat and putrescent wounds.
“Traitor! Deserter!” he bellowed again. “Your place was on the cross. That’s where the God of Israel put you to fight. But you got cold feet, and the moment death lifted its head, you couldn’t get away fast enough! You ran and hid yourself in the skirts of Martha and Mary. Coward! And you changed your face and your name, you fake Lazarus, to save yourself!”
“Judas Iscariot,” Peter interrupted at that point (the women had given him courage, “Judas Iscariot, is that the way one talks to the rabbi? Don’t you have any respect?”
“What rabbi?” howled Iscariot, brandishing his fist. “Him? But don’t you have eyes to see with, minds to judge with? Him, a rabbi? What did he tell us, what did he promise us? Where is the army of angels which was supposed to come down to save Israel? Where is the cross which was supposed to be our springboard to heaven? As he faced the cross this fake Messiah went dizzy and fainted. Then the ladies got hold of him and installed him to manufacture children for them. He says he fought, fought courageously. Yes, he swaggers about like the cock of the roost. But your post, deserter, was on the cross, and you know it. Others can reclaim barren lands and barren women. Your duty was to mount the cross-that’s what I say! You boast that you conquered death. Woe is you! Is that the way to conquer death-by making children, mouthfuls for Charon! Mouthfuls for Charon! That’s what a child is-a mouthful for Charon! You’ve turned yourself into his meat market and you deliver him morsels to eat. Traitor! Deserter! Coward!”
“Judas, my brother,” Jesus murmured, beginning now to tremble all over, “Judas, my brother, speak more affectionately.”
“You broke my heart, son of the Carpenter,” bellowed Judas, “how do you expect me to speak to you affectionately? Sometimes I want to scream and wail like a widow and bang my head against the rocks! Curse the day you were born, the day I was born, the hour I met you and you filled my heart with hopes! When you used to go in the lead and draw us along behind you and speak to us about heaven and earth, what joy that was, what freedom, what richness! The grapes seemed as big as twelve-year-old boys. With a single grain of wheat we were filled. One day we had five loaves of bread: we fed a crowd of thousands, and twelve basketfuls remained. And the stars: what splendor, what an outpouring of light in the sky! They weren’t stars; they were angels. No, they weren’t angels; they were us-us, your disciples, and we rose and set, and you were in the center, fixed like the north star, and we were all around you, dancing! You took me in your arms-do you remember?-and begged, ‘Betray me, betray me. I must be crucified and resurrected so that we can save the world!’ ”