“Jesus, are you awake?” he whispered in the darkness.
Jesus pretended not to hear. It pleased him immensely to remain silent and listen to the newborn in the quiet of the night. But he smiled. He had become much endeared to this Negro. All day long the boy ran errands for him and helped him shape the wood. Then in the evening when the day’s work was finished, he sat on the doorstep and piped for him. Listening, Jesus would forget the day’s toil; and when the first star appeared they would all sit down together at the same table to eat, and the Negro would chuckle and joke ceaselessly, teasing poor Martha and embarrassing her on account of her virginity.
“Out in my homeland Ethiopia,” he would say, laughing and eying Martha coquettishly, “we don’t hide our inner longings and fret our hearts out as do you Jews; we discuss our desires honestly, openly, and act on them. If I want to eat a banana—who cares if it’s my own or someone else’s—I eat it. If I want to go for a swim, I go for a swim. If I want to kiss a woman, I kiss her. And our God doesn’t scold us, either. He’s a black and he loves the blacks. He wears golden rings in his ears and he too does whatever he pleases. He is our big brother; we both have the same mother—Night.”
“Does your God die?” Martha asked one evening, to tease him.
“So long as a single Negro is alive, our God will not die!” the Negro answered, stooping to tickle the sole of Martha’s foot.
Each night as soon as the lamp was extinguished the guardian angel unfolded his wings in the darkness and laid himself down next to his companion. They spoke together in whispers so that no one would hear, and the angel gave advice for the following day. Then he became the Negro boy again, crept over the wood shavings to his place and went to sleep.
But tonight he could not sleep. “Jesus, are you awake?” he repeated, raising his voice. When he saw that he received no answer he jumped up, came close to Jesus and gave him a push.
“Ho, Master Lazarus, I know you’re not asleep. Why don’t you answer?”
“I don’t want to talk. I’m happy,” said Jesus, closing his eyes. “Are you satisfied with me?” asked the angel, with pride. “Have you any complaint?”
“None, my boy, none.” His heart grew warm, rose up. “What an evil road I took to find God,” he murmured. “What a forsaken incline, all cliffs and precipices! I called and called, my voice rebounded from the uninhabited mountain and I thought it was an answer!”
The angel laughed. “Alone, you cannot find God. Two persons are needed, a man and a woman. You didn’t know that—I taught it to you; and thus, after so many years of seeking God, you finally found him—when you joined Mary. And now you sit in the darkness, you listen to him laugh and cry, and you rejoice.”
“That is the meaning of God,” Jesus murmured, “that is the meaning of man. This is the road.” He again closed his eyes.
His former life flashed through his mind, and he sighed. Extending his arm, he found the angel’s hand. “My guardian angel,” he said tenderly, “if you had not come, my boy, I would have been lost. Stay near me always.”
“I shall; don’t be afraid. I won’t leave you. I like you.”
“How long will this happiness last?”
“As long as I’m with you and you’re with me, Jesus of Nazareth.”
“For all eternity?”
The angel laughed. “What is eternity? Haven’t you been able yet to get rid of big words, Jesus of Nazareth, of big words, big ideas, kingdoms of heaven? Does this mean that even your son hasn’t succeeded in curing you?” He banged his fist on the ground. “Here is the kingdom of heaven: earth. Here is God: your son. Here is eternity: each moment, Jesus of Nazareth, each moment that passes. Moments aren’t enough for you? If so, you must learn that eternity will not be either.”
He was silent. Light footsteps were heard in the yard. Bare feet approached.
“Who’s there?” Jesus asked, getting up.
“A woman,” answered the angel with a smile. He went and unbolted the door.
“What woman?”
The angel shook his finger as though scolding him. “I told you once before—have you forgotten? There is only one woman in the world; one, with innumerable faces. One of those faces is coming. Get up to greet it. I am leaving.”
Like a snake, he slid into the shavings and vanished.
The bare feet halted outside the door. Turning toward the wall, Jesus closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. A hand pushed open the door and a woman slid inside, holding her breath. She went forward slowly, reached the corner where Jesus lay and, without talking or making any noise, rolled herself up at his feet.
Jesus felt a warmth rise from the soles of his feet to his knees, thighs, heart and neck. He lowered his hand, found the tresses and examined the woman’s face, throat and breasts in the darkness. She stooped, all expectation and submission, and did not speak; but her flesh trembled and her entire body was covered with a frosty sweat.
The man spoke softly, tenderly, full of compassion. “Who are you?”
The woman trembled and did not speak. Jesus was sorry he asked, for once again he had forgotten the angel’s words. Of what importance was her name, where she came from, or the shape, color, beauty or ugliness of her face? It was the feminine face of the earth. Her womb was smothering her: many sons and daughters were within, suffocating and unable to emerge. She had come to the man so that he might open a way for them. Jesus’ heart overflowed with compassion.
“I am Ruth,” the woman murmured, trembling.
“Ruth? What Ruth?”
“Martha.”
DAYS WENT BY, months, years. In the house of Master Lazarus the sons and daughters multiplied, and Martha and Mary competed to see who would give birth to the most. The man wrestled, sometimes in the workshop with pine, kermes oak and cypress, throwing them down and forcing them into tools for men; sometimes in the fields with winds, moles and nettles. In the evening he would return, exhausted, to sit in his yard, and his women would come and wash his feet and calves, light a fire, lay the table for him and open wide their arms. And then, just as he worked the wood, liberating the cradles which were within it, just as he worked the land, liberating the grapes and ears of grain which were within it, so too he worked the women and liberated from within them: God.
What happiness this is, Jesus reflected, what profound correspondence between body and soul, between earth and man! ... And Martha and Mary held out their hands and touched the man they loved and the children which issued from their wombs and resembled him, touched them to see if they and all this joy and sweetness were real. So much happiness seemed much too much to them, and they trembled.
One night Mary had a horrible dream. She got up, went into the yard and saw Jesus, who had washed himself and was sitting contentedly on the ground, his palms pressed into the soil. She went near him and sat down at his side. “What are dreams, Rabbi?” she asked him softly. “What are they made of? Who sends them?”
“They are neither angels nor devils,” Jesus answered her. “When Lucifer started his revolt against God, dreams could not make up their minds which side to take. They remained between devils and angels, and God hurled them down into the inferno of sleep. ... Why do you ask? What did you dream, Mary?”
But Mary burst into tears and did not answer. Jesus stroked her hand. “As long as you keep it within you, Mary, it will eat away your insides. Bring it out into the light so that you can be rid of it.”
Mary wanted to begin but was so afraid she could hardly breathe. Jesus caressed her, gave her courage.
“The whole night the moon was so bright I could not sleep. But at dawn I must have fallen asleep, because I saw a bird ... No, it wasn’t a bird: it had six fiery wings—it must have been one of the seraphim that surround God’s Throne. He came, fluttered silently around me and then suddenly rushed down and wrapped his wings about my head. He put his beak into my ear and spoke to me. ... Rabbi, I prostrate myself, I kiss your feet. Order me to be quiet!”
“Courage, Mary. I’m with you, aren’t I? Why are you afraid? ... Well, he spoke to you. What did he say?”
“That all this, Rabbi, is ...”
Once again she could not breathe. She grasped Jesus’ knees and squeezed them forcefully between her arms.
“That all this is ... Is what, dearest Mary?”
“A dream.” She burst into tears.
Jesus shuddered. “A dream?”
“Yes, Rabbi. All this a dream.”
“What do you mean by all this?”
“You, me, Martha, our embraces at night, the children ... All, all—all lies! Lies created by the Tempter to deceive us! He took sleep, death and air and fashioned them into ... Rabbi, help me!”
She rolled to the ground, quivered convulsively for a moment and then suddenly became stiff. Martha ran out with some rose vinegar and chafed her- temples. Mary came to, opened her eyes and, seeing Jesus, clutched his feet.
“She moved her lips, Rabbi,” said Martha. “Bend down. She wants to say something to you.”
Jesus leaned over and raised her head. She moved her lips.
“What did you say, beloved Mary? I could not hear.”
Mary called up all her strength. “And that you, Rabbi ...” she murmured.
“That I? Speak!”
“... were crucified!” She said this and then once more rolled to the ground in a swoon.
They laid her on her bed. Martha stayed with her. Jesus opened the door and went out to the fields. He was suffocating. He heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw the young Negro.
“What is it?” he shouted at him angrily. “I want to be alone.”
“I’m afraid to leave you alone, Jesus of Nazareth,” the Negro replied, his eyes glistening. “This is a difficult moment. Your mind might waver.”
“That’s just what I want. There are times when my confounded mind hinders my sight.”
The Negro laughed. “Are you a woman? Do you believe in dreams? Let the ladies cry. They’re females, they can’t endure great joy, so they cry. But we, we endure, don’t we?”
“Yes. Be quiet!”
They went along quickly and climbed up onto a green hill. Anemones and yellow daisies were scattered in the grass. The earth smelled of thyme. Jesus could see his house between the olive trees. Peaceful smoke rose from the roof, and Jesus’ soul felt relieved. The women have recovered their forces, he reflected. They have squatted before the hearth and lighted a fire. ... “Let’s go back without breathing a word,” he said to the Negro. “They’re women: have pity on them.”
Days went by. One evening a strange, half-drunk wayfarer appeared. It was the Sabbath and Jesus was not working. He sat on the doorstep holding his youngest son and youngest daughter on his knees, playing with them. It had rained in the morning, but the weather cleared in the afternoon and now thin, cherry-colored clouds floated toward the west. Between them the sky was solid green, like a meadow. Two cooing doves were on the roof. Mary sat at Jesus’ side, her breasts pendulant and full.
The wayfarer halted, glanced maliciously at Jesus and laughed. “Ho, Master Lazarus,” he said, stammering, “well, you’ve certainly had good luck! The years run past your door and depart while you sit like the patriarch Jacob with his two wives Leah and Rachel. You’ve got two wives yourself—Martha and Mary. The one, so I hear, is in charge of the house and the other is in charge of you; while you are in charge of everything: wood, land, wives—and God. But show yourself a little, stick your nose out of your door, shade your eyes against the sun and gaze out over the world to see what’s going on. ... Have you ever heard of Pilate, Pontius Pilate? May his bones roast in tar!”
Jesus recognized the half-drunk wayfarer and smiled. “Simon of Cyrene, man of God and wine, welcome! Take a stool and sit down. Martha, a cup of wine for my old friend.”
The wayfarer sat down on the stool and took the cup between his palms. “All the world knows me,” he said proudly. “Everyone has come to do worship in my tavern. You must have too, Master Lazarus—but don’t change the subject. I was asking you if you’d heard of Pilate, Pontius Pilate. Did you ever see him?”
The Negro appeared. He leaned against the door post and listened.
“A thin cloud passes across my mind,” said Jesus, struggling to remember. “Two cold eyes, ash gray like a hawk’s; a laugh full of mockery; a gold ring ... I don’t remember anything else. Oh, yes—a silver basin he had brought to him so that he could wash his hands. Nothing else. It must have been a dream, the hoar frost of the mind. Up came the sun and it vanished. ... But now that you remind me of him, Cyrenian, I do remember: he tormented me greatly in my sleep.”
“Curse him! I’ve heard that in God’s eyes dreams weigh more heavily than the reality of the day. Well, God punished Pilate. He’s been crucified!”
Jesus uttered a cry: “Crucified!”
“Why get excited? Serves him right! They found him yesterday, at dawn—crucified. It seems his mind began to totter. He couldn’t sleep. He would get out of bed, find a basin and wash his hands all night long, shouting, ‘I wash and rinse my hands; I am innocent!’ But the blood remained on his hands, and he would get more water and wash them again. Then he would go out and roam Golgotha. He could find no rest. Every night he ordered his two faithful Negro slaves to beat him with his own whip. He gathered thorns, made them into a crown, pushed it onto his head, and the blood flowed.”
“I remember ... I remember ...” Jesus murmured. From time to time he glanced stealthily at the Negro boy who, leaning against the door post, was listening intently.
“Afterward he fell to drink and went the rounds of the taverns. He came to mine too, drank, became a cock and a pig. His wife got disgusted and abandoned him. Then orders came from Rome to dismiss him. ... Are you listening, Master Lazarus? Why do you sigh?”
Jesus stared at the ground and did not reply. The boy refilled Simon’s cup. “Quiet!” he hissed softly in his ear. “Go away!”
But Simon became angry. “Why should I be quiet! To make a long story short, yesterday at dawn your friend Pilate was found at the top of Golgotha, crucified!”
Jesus suddenly felt a stab in his heart as though he was being pierced with a lance; and the four blue marks on his hands and feet swelled and turned red.
Mary saw him grow pale. She approached and stroked his knees. “Beloved,” she said, “you are tired. Come inside and lie down.”
The sun had set; the air grew cool. The Cyrenian, now completely drunk, was tired of talking. He fell asleep. The Negro seized his arm, raised him with one heave and dragged him out of the village.
“You were delirious,” he said to him angrily, pointing to the road to Jerusalem. “Leave!”
The boy returned anxiously to the house. Jesus, stretched out in his workshop, had his eyes pinned on the skylight. Martha was arranging the dinner. Mary suckled the youngest child and silently watched Jesus. The Negro boy entered, his eyes still flashing with anger.
“He’s gone,” he said. “He was completely drunk; he didn’t know what he was saying.”
Jesus turned and looked at the Negro in an agony. He bit his lips so that they would not dare part and speak. Once more he turned to the Negro. He seemed to be asking his aid. But the boy put the finger to his lips and smiled at him.
“Go to sleep,” he said, “go to sleep.”
Jesus closed his eyes. His lips relaxed, the wrinkles in his forehead disappeared, and he slept. The next day at dawn when he awoke, he felt joy and relief, as though he had escaped from a great danger. The Negro had also awakened. Chuckling to himself, he was putting the workshop in order.
“What are you laughing at?” asked Jesus, winking at him.
“I’m laughing at mankind, Jesus of Nazareth,” he answered in a low voice, so that the women would not hear. “What terrors your wretched minds have to pass at every moment! Sheer cliffs to the right, sheer cliffs to the left, sheer cliffs behind you. No passage but in front, and there: a string stretch
ed out over the abyss!”
“For a moment,” said Jesus, laughing also, “my mind stumbled on your string and all but fell. But I escaped!”
The women entered, and the talk took a different turn. The fire was lighted; the day began. A mob of laughing children flew into the yard and set about playing blindman’s bluff.
“Mary, do we have so many children?” said Jesus, laughing. “Martha, the yard is full. We’ve either got to enlarge the house or stop giving birth.”
“We’ll enlarge the house,” answered Martha.
“They’re almost ready to climb the walls and trees of the yard like field mice and squirrels. We’ve declared war on death, Mary. Blessed be the organs of women. They are full of eggs, like those of fish, and each egg is a man. Death will not overcome us.”
“No, death will not overcome us, Beloved. You just take care of yourself and stay well,” Mary replied.
Jesus was in a good mood and wanted to tease her. Besides, Mary pleased him very much this morning, only half awake as she was, and standing before him combing her hair.