But now with the dawning of the new age perhaps all curses were lifted of themselves? It may well be.… Though one couldn’t be sure …
Cursed … be … the fruit of thy loins …
She shivered, as though with the cold. How she longed for the morning! Wouldn’t it be soon now? She had been lying here for so long; was not the night nearly over? Yes, the stars above her were no longer the same, and the crescent moon had long since gone down behind the hills. The guard had been changed for the last time; three times now she had seen the torches up on the city walls. Yes, the night must be over. The last night …
Now the morning star was rising over the Mount of Olives. She recognized it at once, it was so big and clear, much bigger than all the others. Never before had she seen it shine like this. Folding her hands across her sunken breast, she lay looking up at it for a while with her burning eyes.
Then she got up swiftly and hurried away into the darkness.
He was lying crouched behind a tamarisk bush on the other side of the road, opposite the sepulchre. When it grew light he would be able to see across to it. He would have a good view of it from here. If only the sun would rise!
True, he knew that the dead man would not rise from the dead, but he wanted to see it with his own eyes to make quite sure. That was why he had got up very early, long before sunrise, and lain in wait here behind the bush. Though up to a point he was rather surprised at himself for having done so, for being here. Why was he bothering his head so much about it anyway? What had it really got to do with him?
He had expected several to be here to witness the great miracle. That was why he had hidden himself, to avoid being seen by them. But there was obviously no one else here. It was odd.
Yes, now he could make out someone kneeling a little in front of him, in the very road it seemed. Who could it be, and how had it happened? He had not heard anyone come. It looked like a woman. The grey figure was hardly discernible as it knelt there in the dust it resembled.
Now it was getting light, and soon the first rays of the sun were thrown on to the rock out of which the sepulchre was carved. It all happened so quickly that he couldn’t quite follow it—now of all times when he really should have had his wits about him! The sepulchre was empty! The stone was rolled away on the ground below and the carved-out space in the rock empty!
At first he was so amazed that he merely lay staring at the opening into which he had himself seen them put the crucified man, and at the great stone which he had seen them roll in front of it. But then he realized what it was all about. Nothing had happened in actual fact. The stone had been rolled away the whole time, before ever he came. And the sepulchre had been empty even then. Who had rolled it aside and who had made off with the dead man was not hard to guess. The disciples had of course done it some time during the night. Under cover of darkness they had carried off their adored and beloved Master so as to be able to say later that he had risen from the dead just as he had predicted. It wasn’t hard to work that out.
That was why there was no sign of them here this morning, at sunrise, when the miracle should really have happened. Now they were keeping out of the way!
Barabbas crept out of his hiding-place and went to inspect the sepulchre properly. As he passed the grey kneeling figure in the road he glanced down and saw to his amazement that it was the girl with the hare-lip. He stopped short, remained standing, looking down at her. Her starved ashen face was turned towards the empty sepulchre and her ecstatic eyes saw nothing else. Her lips were parted but she scarcely breathed; the disfiguring scar in her upper lip was quite white. She did not see him.
It gave him a peculiar feeling, almost of shame, to see her like this. And he recalled something, something he didn’t want to recall—that was how her face had looked then. Just as he had also had a feeling of shame then … He shook himself free of it.
At last she noticed him. She too seemed surprised at the meeting, that he should be here. It wasn’t to be wondered at; he was surprised himself at his being here. What business was it of his?
Barabbas would have liked to pretend that he had simply been walking along the road, that he had been passing by pure chance and had no idea what place this was and that there was a sepulchre here. Could he pretend? It would seem rather far-fetched perhaps; she might not believe him, but he said all the same:—Why are you kneeling there like that?
The girl with the hare-lip neither looked up nor moved, just went on kneeling as before, with her eyes turned towards the opening in the rock. He barely heard her whisper to herself:
—The son of God is risen …
It gave him a queer feeling to hear her say it. Against his will he felt something—he couldn’t make out what. He stood there for a moment not knowing what to say or do. Then he went up to the sepulchre, as he had thought of doing, and made sure it was empty; but he knew that already and it meant nothing one way or the other. Then he went back to where she was kneeling. Her face was so reverent and full of rapture that he really felt sorry for her. There was no truth at all in this thing that made her happy. He could have told her all about this resurrection; but hadn’t he done her enough harm already? He could not bring himself to tell her the truth. He asked her cautiously how she thought it had come to pass, how the crucified man had risen from the grave?
She looked up at him for a moment in surprise. Didn’t he know? But then in her snuffling voice she described rapturously and in detail how an angel in a mantle of fire had come rushing down from heaven with arm outstretched like the point of a spear. And the spear had been thrust in between the stone and the rock and parted them. It sounded as simple as could be and it was too, although it was a miracle. That’s how it had happened. Had he not seen it?
Barabbas looked down and said that he had not, and deep down inside he thought how very pleased he was not to have seen it. It showed that his eyes were all right now, like everybody else’s eyes, that he no longer saw any visions but only reality itself. That man had no power over him any more; he had not witnessed any resurrection or anything. But the girl with the hare-lip still knelt there, her eyes radiant with the memory of what she had seen.
When at last she got to her feet to move away, they walked together some of the way in towards the city. They said little, but he did find out that after they had left each other that time, she had come to believe in this man she called the son of God and whom he just called the dead man. But when he asked what it was this man really taught, she was reluctant to answer. She looked away and avoided his glance. When they reached the parting of the ways—she was evidently going to take the road leading down to the valley of Ge-Hinnom while he thought of going on to the Gate of David—he asked her again what the doctrine was that he preached and which she believed in, though actually it was no concern of his. She stood for a moment looking down on the ground; then, giving him a shy look, she said in her slurring voice:
—Love one another.
And so they parted.
Barabbas stood for a long time gazing after her.
Barabbas kept asking himself why he stayed on in Jerusalem when he had nothing to do there. He merely drifted about the city to no purpose, without turning his hands to anything. And he supposed that up in the mountains they were wondering why he was so long. Why did he stay? He didn’t know himself.
The fat woman thought at first that it was because of her, but she soon realized it wasn’t. She felt rather piqued, but heavens above, men are always ungrateful when they get what they want all the time, and she did have him sleeping with her and she liked that. It was lovely to have a real man for a while and one it was nice to fondle. And there was one thing about Barabbas, even if he didn’t care for you, he didn’t care for anyone else either; you could always be sure of that. He didn’t care for anybody. He never had. And, besides, up to a point she was rather glad he didn’t care for her. At any rate, while he was making love to her. Afterwards she sometimes felt a bit miserable and had a little cry all
to herself. But actually she didn’t mind that either. Even that could feel nice. She had great experience of love and did not disdain it in any form.
But why he mooned about here in Jerusalem was more than she could imagine. Or what he found to do all day long. It wasn’t as if he were one of those good-for-nothings who stood loafing about the streets; he was a man who had always been used to an active, dangerous life. It wasn’t like him to dawdle around doing nothing in this way.
No, he wasn’t really himself since that happened—since he was nearly crucified. He seemed to find it hard somehow to get used to the fact that he hadn’t been, she told herself with a loud laugh as she lay during the worst of midday heat with her hands across her big belly.
Barabbas could not avoid sometimes running into the followers of the crucified rabbi. No one could say that he did so deliberately; but there were a number of them here and there in the streets and marketplaces, and if he encountered them he liked to stop and talk for a while and ask them about him and that queer doctrine which he couldn’t make head or tail of. Love one another?… He steered clear of the temple square and the fashionable streets around it and kept to the alley-ways of the lower city, where the craftsmen sat working in their shops and the hawkers cried their wares. There were many believers among these simple folk and Barabbas liked them better than those he had met up in the colonnade. He got to know something of their peculiar ideas, but he never seemed to get anywhere with them personally or understand them properly. It may have been because they expressed themselves so foolishly. They were firmly convinced that their Master had risen from the dead and that he would soon come at the head of the heavenly hosts and establish his kingdom. They all said the same; it was evidently what they had been taught. But they were not all equally sure that he was the son of God. Some thought it strange if he really were, because they themselves had both seen and heard him, even spoken to him for that matter. And one of them had made a pair of sandals for him and taken his measurements and everything. No, they found that hard to imagine. But there were many who declared that he was, and that he would sit on the heavenly throne beside the Father. But first this sinful and imperfect world would be destroyed.
What kind of queer people were they?
They noticed that he didn’t for a moment believe as they did, and were on their guard against him. Some were downright suspicious and they nearly all showed that they didn’t particularly like him. Barabbas was used to that, but oddly enough this time he took it to heart—which he had never done before. People had always kept out of his way and shown that they would rather not have anything to do with him. Perhaps it was because of his appearance, perhaps the knife-wound deep down into his beard which no one knew the cause of, perhaps the eyes that were so deep-set that no one could see them properly. Barabbas was quite well aware of all that, but it didn’t matter to him what people thought! He had never bothered about it.
He had not known until now that it rankled.
They for their part kept together in every way through their common faith, and were very careful not to let anyone in who did not belong. They had their brotherhood and their love feasts, when they broke bread together as if they were one big family. It was probably all part and parcel of their doctrine, with their “love one another.” But whether they loved anyone who was not one of themselves was hard to say.
Barabbas had no wish to take part in such a love feast, not the slightest; he was put off by the very thought of such a thing, of being tied to others in that way. He wanted always to be himself and nothing else.
But he sought them out all the same.
He even pretended that he wanted to become one of them, if only he could understand their faith properly. They answered that it would make them happy and that they would gladly try and explain their Master’s doctrine to him as well as they could, but in point of fact they did not appear glad. It was most odd. They reproached themselves for not being able to feel any real joy at his advances, at perhaps gaining a new fellow-believer—a thing which normally made them so happy. What could be the reason for it? But Barabbas knew why. Getting up suddenly, he strode away, the scar under his eye crimson.
Believe! How could he believe in that man he had seen hanging on a cross! That body which was long ago quite dead and which he had proved with his own eyes had not been resurrected! It was only their imagination. The whole thing was only their imagination. There wasn’t anyone who rose from the dead, either their adored “Master” or anyone else! And besides, he, Barabbas, could hardly be blamed for their choice. That was their business. They could have chosen anyone at all, but it just turned out that way. The son of God! As if he could be the son of God! But supposing he were, there was surely no need for him to have been crucified if he had not wanted to be. He must have wanted it himself! There was something weird and horrid about it—he must have wanted to suffer. For if he really was the son of God, it would have been the easiest thing in the world to get out of it. But he didn’t want to get out of it. He wanted to suffer and die in that dreadful way and not be spared; and so it had been; he had got his own way about not being let off. He had let him, Barabbas, go free instead. He had commanded:—Release Barabbas and crucify me.
Though of course he was not the son of God, that was obvious.
He had used his power in the most extraordinary way. Used it by not using it, as it were; allowed others to decide exactly as they liked; refrained from interfering and yet had got his own way all the same: to be crucified instead of Barabbas.
They spoke of his having died for them. That might be. But he really had died for Barabbas, no one could deny it! In actual fact, he was closer to him than they were, closer than anyone else, was bound up with him in quite another way. Although they didn’t want to have anything to do with him. He was chosen, one might say, chosen to escape suffering, to be let off. He was the real chosen one, acquitted instead of the son of God himself—at his command, because he wished it. Though they suspected nothing!
But he didn’t care for their “brotherhood” and their “love feasts” and their “love one another.” He was himself. In his relationship to that crucified man they called the son of God he was also himself, as always. He was no serf under him as they were. Not one of those who went around sighing and praying to him.
How can one want to suffer, when there’s no need, when one’s not forced to? That sort of thing is beyond belief and the mere thought of it almost enough to turn the stomach. When he thought of it, he could see before him the lean, miserable body with arms hardly strong enough to hang by and the mouth that was so parched that it was all it could do to ask for a little water. No, he didn’t like anyone who sought out suffering in that way, one who hung himself up on a cross. He didn’t like him at all! But they adored their crucified one and his suffering, his pitiable death, which could probably never be pitiable enough for them. They adored death itself. It was horrid, it filled him with disgust. It put him right off both them and their doctrine and the one they said they believed in.
No, he didn’t like death, not one bit. He loathed it and would much rather never die. Perhaps that was why he didn’t have to? Why he had been chosen to be let off it? Supposing the crucified man really was the son of God, why, then he knew everything and was quite well aware that he, Barabbas, did not want to die, either suffer or die.
And so he had done so in his stead! And all Barabbas had had to do was to go with him up to Golgotha and see him crucified. That was all that was asked of him and even that he had thought difficult, disliking death as he did and everything connected with it.
Yes, he was indeed the one the son of God had died for! It was to him and no other that it had been said:—Release this man and crucify me!
Such were Barabbas’s thoughts as he walked away after trying to be one of them, as he strode away from the potter’s workshop in Potters’ Lane, where they had so plainly shown that they did not want him among them.
And he decided to go a
nd see them no more.
But next day, when he turned up again notwithstanding, they asked what it was in their faith that he didn’t understand; showing clearly that they felt sorry and reproached themselves for not having welcomed him properly and been glad to give him the knowledge for which he was thirsting. What was it he wanted to ask them about? That he didn’t understand?
Barabbas was on the point of shrugging his shoulders and replying that the whole thing was a mystery to him and, in fact, he couldn’t be bothered with it. But then he mentioned that a thing like the resurrection, for instance, he found hard to grasp. He didn’t believe that there was anyone who had risen from the dead.
Glancing up from their potters’ wheels, they looked first at him and then at each other. And, after whispering amongst themselves, the eldest among them asked if he would like to meet a man whom their Master had raised from the dead? If so, they could arrange it, but not before the evening after work, as he lived some little way outside Jerusalem.
Barabbas was afraid. This was not what he had expected. He had imagined they would argue about it and put forward their point of view, not try and prove it in such a pushing way. True, he was convinced that the whole thing was some queer fancy, a pious swindle, and that actually the man had not been dead. He was afraid all the same. He was not a bit keen on meeting the man. But he couldn’t very well say so. He must pretend he was grateful for the chance of convincing himself of their Lord and Master’s power.
He put in time by walking about the streets in a state of mounting agitation. When he returned to the workshop at closing-time, a young man accompanied him out through the city gates and up towards the Mount of Olives.
The man they sought lived on the outskirts of a little village on the slopes of the mountain. When the young potter drew aside the straw mat over the doorway they saw him sitting inside with his arms in front of him on the table and gazing straight out into the room. He seemed not to notice them until the young man greeted him in his clear voice. Then he slowly turned his head towards the door and returned their greeting in a curiously flat tone. The young man having given him a message from the brethren in Potters’ Lane and stated their errand, they were invited with a movement of the hand to sit down at the table.