The old proprietor lowered his head and did not speak again.
Just then the door opened and Philip appeared on the threshold. Behind him was an immense gawky bean stalk, Nathanael. His heart no longer chimed two bells at once: he had made his decision. He approached Jesus, stooped and kissed his feet.
“My master,” he said, “I am with you to the death.”
Jesus placed his hand on the curly buffalo-like head. “Welcome, Nathanael. You make sandals for everyone else and go barefoot yourself. That pleases me very much. Come with me!” He seated him at his right and handed him a slice of bread and a cup of wine. “To become mine,” he said, “eat this mouthful of bread and drink this cup of wine.”
Nathanael ate the bread, drank the wine and all at once felt strength flow into his bones and soul. The wine rose like the sun and vermeiled his mind. Wine, bread and soul became one.
He was sitting on hot coals. He wanted to speak but was too bashful.
“Speak, Nathanael,” the master said to him. “Open your heart and relieve yourself.”
“Rabbi,” he replied, “I want you to know that I’ve always been poor. I’ve lived and eaten from day to day and have never had time to study the Law. I’m blind, Rabbi. Forgive me. ... That’s what I want you to know. I’ve had my say and I feel better.”
Jesus caressingly touched the newly enlightened man’s broad shoulders. “Don’t sigh, Nathanael,” he said, laughing. “Two paths lead to God’s bosom. One is the path of the mind, the other the path of the heart. Listen to the story I shall tell you:
“A poor man, a rich man and a rake died on the same day and appeared before God’s tribunal at the same hour. None of them had ever studied the Law. God frowned and asked the poor man, Why didn’t you study the Law while you were alive?’
“ ‘Lord,’ he answered, ‘I was poor and hungry. I slaved day and night to feed my wife and children. I didn’t have time.’
“ ‘Were you poorer than my faithful servant Hillel?’ God asked angrily. ‘He had no money to pay to enter the synagogue and hear the Law being explained, so he climbed onto the roof, stretched himself out and listened through the skylight. But it snowed and he was so absorbed in what he heard that he did not realize it. In the morning when the rabbi entered the synagogue he saw that it was dark. Raising his eyes, he discovered a man’s body over the skylight. He mounted to the roof, dug away the snow and exhumed Hillel. He took him in his arms, carried him down, lighted a fire and brought him back to life. Then he gave him permission to enter and listen after that without paying, and Hillel became the famous rabbi whom the whole world has heard of. ... What do you have to say to that?’
“ ‘Nothing, Lord,’ murmured the poor man, and he began to weep.
“God turned to the rich man. ‘And you, why didn’t you study the Law while you were alive?’
“ ‘I was too rich. I had many orchards, many slaves, many cares. How could I manage?’
“ ‘Were you richer,’ God snapped, ‘than Harsom’s son Eleazar, who inherited a thousand villages and a thousand ships? But he abandoned them all when he learned the whereabouts of a sage who was explaining the Law. What do you have to say for yourself?’
“ ‘Nothing, Lord,’ the rich man murmured in his turn, and he too began to weep.
“God then turned to the rake. ‘And you, my beauty, why didn’t you study the Law?’
“ ‘I was exceedingly handsome and many women threw themselves at me. With all the amusement I had, where could I find time to look at the Law?’
“ ‘Were you handsomer than Joseph, who was loved by the wife of Putiphar? He was so beautiful that he said to the sun, “Shine, sun, so that I may shine.” When he unfolded the Law the letters opened up like doors and the meaning came out dressed in light and flames. What do you have to say?’
“ ‘Nothing, Lord,’ murmured the rake, and he too began to weep.
“God clapped his hands and called Hillel, Eleazar and Joseph out from Paradise. When they had come, he said, ‘Judge these men who because of poverty, wealth and beauty did not study the Law. Speak, Hillel. Judge the poor one!’
“ ‘Lord,’ answered Hillel, ‘how can I condemn him? I know what poverty means, I know what hunger means. He should be pardoned!’
“ ‘And you, Eleazar?’ said God. ‘There is the rich one. I hand him over to you!’
“ ‘Lord,’ replied Eleazar, ‘how can I condemn him? I know what it is to be rich—death! He should be pardoned!’
“ ‘And you, Joseph? It’s your turn. There is the handsome one!’
“ ‘Lord, how can I condemn him? I know what a struggle it is, what a terrible martyrdom, to conquer the body’s loveliness. He should be pardoned!’ ”
Jesus paused, smiled, and looked at Nathanael. But the cobbler felt uneasy.
“Well, what did God do next?” he asked.
“Just what you would have done,” Jesus answered with a laugh.
The simple cobbler laughed too. “That means I’m saved!” He seized both of the master’s hands and squeezed them hard. “Rabbi,” he shouted, “I understand. You said there were two paths leading to God’s bosom, the path of the mind and the path of the heart. I took the path of the heart and found you!”
Rising, Jesus went to the door. A strong wind had come up and the lake was billowing. The stars in the heavens were innumerable fine grains of sand. He recalled the desert, shuddered, and closed the door. “Night is a great gift from God,” he said. “It is the mother of man and comes quietly and tenderly to cover him. It rests its cool hand on his forehead and effaces the day’s cares from his body and soul. Brothers, it is time to surrender ourselves to night’s embrace.”
Old Salome heard him and rose. Magdalene also got up from the corner by the fire where, bowed over, she had been happily listening to the Beloved’s voice. The two women laid out the mats and brought covers. Jacob went to the yard, carried in an armful of olive logs and heaped them on the fire. Jesus, standing erect in the middle of the house with his face turned toward Jerusalem, lifted his hands and in a deep voice pronounced the evening prayer: “Open your doors to us, O Lord. The day goes down; the sun falls, the sun disappears. Eternal, we come to your doors. We implore you: Pardon us. We implore you: Have mercy upon us. Save us!”
“And send us good dreams, Lord,” Peter added. “In my sleep, Lord, let me see my aged green boat all new and with a red sail!” He had drunk much and was in a jolly mood.
Jesus lay down in the center, surrounded by the disciples. They occupied the entire length and breadth of the house. Zebedee and his wife, finding no room, went to an outbuilding; and with them went Magdalene. The old man grumbled. He was deprived of his comforts. Turning in a rage to his wife, he said in a loud voice, so that Magdalene would hear, “What next! Thrown out of my own house by a pack of foreigners. Look what we’re reduced to!”
But the old lady turned to the wall and did not answer him.
This night Matthew again remained awake. He squatted under the lamp, removed the partly filled notebook from under his shirt and began to compose—how Jesus entered Capernaum, how Magdalene joined them, and the parable told by the master: There was once a very rich man. ... When he finished writing he blew out the lamp and then he too went to bed, but a little to one side, because the disciples still had not become accustomed to his breath.
No sooner had Peter closed his eyes than he fell asleep. Straightway an angel came down from heaven, quietly opened his temples and entered him in the form of a dream. A great crowd seemed to be assembled on the shore of the lake. The teacher stood there too, admiring a brand-new boat, green with a red sail, which was drifting in the water. On the rear part of her prow gleamed a great painted fish, identical with the fish that was tattooed on Peter’s chest. “Who does that beautiful boat belong to?” Jesus asked. “It’s mine,” Peter proudly replied. “Go, Peter, take the rest of the companions and sail out to the middle so that I can admire your courage!”
?
??With pleasure, Rabbi,” said Peter. He detached the cable. The rest of the companions jumped in. A favorable wind blew over the stern, the sail swelled out and they reached the open sea singing.
But suddenly a whirlwind arose. The boat twirled around, her creaking hull ready to crack. She started to ship water and sink. The disciples, fallen face-down on the deck, raised a great lament. Peter seized hold of the mast and shouted, “Rabbi, Rabbi, help!” and lo! there in the thick darkness he perceived the white-clad rabbi walking toward them over the waters. The disciples lifted their heads and saw him. “A ghost! A ghost!” they cried out, trembling.
“Don’t be afraid,” Jesus said to them, “it’s me!”
Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is really you, order me also to walk on the waves and to come and meet you.”
“Come!” Jesus ordered him.
Peter jumped out of the boat, stepped on the waves, and began to walk. But when he saw the enraged sea he became paralyzed with fear. He started to sink. “Lord, save me,” he screamed, “I’m drowning!”
Jesus put out his hand and pulled him up. “Man of little faith,” he said, “why were you afraid? Have you no confidence in me? Look!” He raised his hand over the waves and said, “Be still!” and all at once the wind subsided, the waters became calm.
Peter burst into tears. His soul had been put to the test this time also, and once more it had emerged with disgrace.
Uttering a loud shout, he awoke. His beard was sprinkled with tears. He sat up on the mat, leaned his back against the wall and sighed.
Matthew, who was still awake, heard him. “Why did you sigh, Peter?” he asked.
For a second Peter resolved to play deaf and not answer him. To be sure, he did not relish conversations with publicans. But the dream was choking him and he felt he had to pull it out from within him in order to find relief. He therefore crawled near to Matthew and began to relate it to him, and the more he related, the more he embroidered. Matthew listened insatiably, recording it all in his mind. Tomorrow at daybreak, God willing, he would copy it into his book.
Peter finished, but within his breast his heart still pitched, just like the boat in the dream. Suddenly he shook with fright. “Could the master really have come in the night and taken me with him to the open sea in order to test me? Never in my life have I seen a sea more alive, a boat more real or fear more palpable. Perhaps it wasn’t a dream. ... What do you think, Matthew?”
“It most certainly wasn’t a dream. This miracle definitely took place,” Matthew answered, and he began to turn over deeply in his mind how he could set it down the next day on paper. It would be extremely difficult because he was not entirely sure it was a dream, nor was he entirely sure it was the truth. It was both. The miracle happened, but not on this earth, not on this sea. Elsewhere—but where?
He closed his eyes to meditate and find the answer. But sleep came and took him along.
The next day there was a continuous downpour with strong winds, and the fishermen did not set sail. Shut up in their huts they mended their nets and talked about the odd visitor who was lodging at old Zebedee’s. It seemed he was John the Baptist resuscitated. Immediately after the executioner’s stroke the Baptist bent down, picked up his head, replaced it on his neck and was off in a flash. But to prevent Herod from catching him again and once more cutting off his head, he went and entered the son of the Carpenter of Nazareth and they became one. Seeing him, you went out of your mind. Was he one, or two? It was bewildering. If you looked him straight in the face, he was a simple man who smiled at you. If you moved a bit, one of his eyes was furious and wanted to eat you, the other encouraged you to come closer. You approached and grew dizzy. Without knowing what was happening to you, you abandoned your home and children and followed him!
An old fisherman heard all this and shook his head. “This is what happens to those who don’t get married,” he said. “All they want to do is save the world, by hook or by crook. The sperm rises to their heads and attacks their brains. For God’s sake, all of you: get married, let your forces loose on women and have children in order to calm yourselves!”
Old Jonah had heard the news the previous evening and bad waited and waited in his shack. This can’t last, he thought. Surely my sons will come to see if I’m dead or alive. He waited the whole night, hoped and then lost hope, and in the morning put on the high captain’s boots which were made when he got married and which he wore only on great occasions, encased himself in a torn oilcloth and went off in the rain toward the house of his friend Zebedee. Finding the door open, he entered.
The fire was lighted. Ten or so men and two women sat cross-legged in front of the fire. He recognized one of the women—it was old Salome. The other was young. He had seen her somewhere, but he could not remember where. The house was in half darkness. He recognized his two sons Peter and Andrew when they turned momentarily and their faces were illuminated by the fire glow. But no one heard him come in and no one turned to see him. All were listening with heads thrust forward and mouths agape to someone who faced directly toward him. What was he saying? Old Jonah, all ears, opened his mouth and listened. Now and then he caught a word: “justice,” “God,” “kingdom of heaven. ...” The same and more of the same—year in, year out! He was sick of it. Instead of telling you how to catch a fish, mend a sail, caulk a boat, or how to avoid getting cold, wet or hungry, they sat there and spoke about heaven! Confound it, didn’t they have anything to say about the earth and the sea? Old Jonah became angry. He coughed so that they would hear him and turn around. No one turned. He raised his huge leg and brought his captain’s boot thundering down—but in vain. They were all hanging on the lips of the pale speaker.
Old Salome was the only one who turned. She looked at him but did not see him. Old Jonah went forward, therefore, and squatted in front of the fireplace, just behind his two sons. Putting out his huge hand, he touched Peter on the shoulder and shook him. Peter turned, saw his father, placed his finger to his lips in a signal for him not to speak, and once again turned his face toward the pale youth just as though this was not Jonah, his own father, just as though it was not months since he had seen him last. First Jonah felt aggrieved, then angry. He took off his boots (which had begun to pinch him) so that by throwing them in the teacher’s face he could silence him at long last and be able to talk to his children. He had already lifted the boots and was swinging them to gather momentum when he felt a restraining hand behind him. Turning, he saw old Zebedee.
“Get up, Jonah,” his friend whispered into his ear. “Let’s go inside. Poor fellow, I’ve got something to tell you.”
The old fisherman put his boots under his arm and followed Zebedee. They entered the inner part of the house and sat down side by side on Salome’s trunk.
“Jonah,” Zebedee began, stammering because he had drunk too much in an attempt to drown his rage, “Jonah, my much-buffeted friend, you had two sons—write them off. I too had a pair of sons, and I wrote them off. It seems their father is God, so why are we butting in? They look at us as if to ask, ‘Who are you, graybeard?’ ... It’s the end of the world, my poor Jonah!
“At first I got angry too. I felt like grabbing the harpoon and throwing them out. But afterward I saw there was no solution, so I crawled back into my shell and handed the keys over to them. My wife sees eye to eye with them, poor thing. She’s getting a little senile, you know. So mum’s the word, old Zebedee, and mum’s the word, old Jonah—that’s what I wanted to tell you. What’s the use of lying to ourselves? Two and two make four: we’re beaten!”
Once more old Jonah put on his boots and wrapped himself in his oilskin. Then he gazed at Zebedee to see if he had anything more to say. He had not, so Jonah opened the door, looked at the sky, looked at the earth: darkness like pitch; rain, cold. ... His lips moved: “We’re beaten,” he grumbled, “we’re beaten,” and he splashed through the mud back toward his hut.
While Jonah went puffing along, the son of Mary held his palms o
ut to the fire as if praying to the spirit of God which, hidden in the flames, gives warmth to men. His heart had opened up; he held out his palms and spoke.
“Think not that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets; I have come not to abolish the old commandments but to extend them. You have seen inscribed on the tables of Moses: You shall not kill! But I say to you that whoever is even angry with his brother and lifts his hand against him, or only speaks an unkind word to him, will be hurled down into the flames of hell. You have seen inscribed on the tables of Moses: You shall not commit adultery! But I say to you that whoever even looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery in his heart. The impure glance brings the lecher down to hell. ...
“The old law instructs you to honor your father and your mother; but I say, Do not imprison your heart within your parents’ home. Let it emerge and enter all homes, embrace the whole of Israel from Mount Hermon to the desert of Idumea and even beyond: east and west—the entire Universe. Our father is God, our mother is Earth. We are half soil and half sky. To honor your father and your mother means to honor Heaven and Earth.”