They believed that he was taking John's place as a rebel leader.
"No," he muttered at them as he looked around at their expectant faces. "No, I am the messiah. I cannot free you.
I can't. . . ."
They did not hear him above their own shouts.
Karl Glogauer entered Christ. Christ entered Jerusalem.
The story was approaching its climax.
"Osha'nal"
It was not in the story. He could not help them.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me. Then the disciples looked one on another, doubting of whom he spake. Now there was leaning on Jesus' bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved. Simon Peter therefore beckoned to him, that he should ask who it should be of whom he spake. He then lying on Jesus' breast saith unto him, Lord, who is it? Jesus answered, He it is, to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it. And when he had dipped the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon. And after the sop Satan entered into him. Then said Jesus unto him, That thou doest, do quickly. -
(John 13:21-27)
Judas Iscariot frowned with some uncertainty as he left the room and went out into the crowded street, making his way towards the governor's palace. Doubtless he was to perform a part in a plan to deceive the Romans and have the people rise up in Jesus' defense, but he thought the scheme foolhardy. The mood amongst the jostling men, women and children in the streets was tense. Many more Roman soldiers ~
than usual patrolled the city.
Pilate was a stout man. His face was self-indulgent and his eyes were hard and shallow. He looked disdainfully at the Jew.
"We do not pay informers whose information is proved to be false," be warned.
"I do not seek money, lord,'* said Judas, feigning the ingratiating manner that the Romans seemed to expect of the Jews. "I am a loyal subject of the Emperor."
"Who is this rebel?"
"Jesus of Nazareth, lord. He entered the city today . . ."
"I know. I saw him. But I heard he preached of peace and obeying the law."
"To deceive you, lord."
Pilate frowned. It was likely. It smacked of the kind of deceit he had grown to anticipate in these soft-spoken people.
"Have you proof?"
"I am one of his lieutenants, lord. I will testify to his ~
guilt."
Pilate pursed his heavy lips. He could not afford to offend the Pharisees at this moment. They had given him enough trouble. Caiaphas, in particular, would be quick to cry "in-justice" if he arrested the man.
"He claims to be the rightful king of the Jews, the descendant of David," said Judas, repeating what his master had told him to say.
"Does he?" Pilate looked thoughtfully out of the window.
"As for the Pharisees, lord . . ."
"What of them?"
"The Pharisees distrust him. They would see him dead. He speaks against them."
Pilate nodded. His eyes were hooded as he considered this information. The Pharisees might hate the madman, but they would be quick to make political capital out of his arrest.
"The Pharisees want him arrested," Judas continued. "The people flock to listen to the prophet and today many of them rioted in the Temple in his name."
"Is this true?"
"It is true, lord." It was true. Some half-a-dozen people had attacked the money-changers in the Temple and tried to rob them. When they had been arrested, they had said they had been carrying out the will of the Nazarene.
"I cannot make the arrest," Pilate said musingly. The situation in Jerusalem was already dangerous, but if they were to arrest this "king," they might find that they precipitated a revolt. Tiberius would blame him, not the Jews. The Pharisees must be won over. They must make the arrest.
"Wait here," he said to Judas. "I will send a message to Caiaphas."
And they came to a place which was named Gethsemane: and he saith to his disciples. Sit ye here, while I shall pray.
And he taketh with him Peter and James and John, and began to be sore amazed, and to be very heavy; And saith unto them. My soul is exceeding sorrowful unto death: tarry ye here, and watch. > (Mark 14:32-34)
Glogauer could see the mob approaching now. For the _firsttime since Nazareth he felt physically weak and exhausted. Tfiev were going to kill him. He had to die; he accepted that, buil he was afraid of the pain that was to come.
He sat down oo.the ground of the hillside, watching the torches as they came closer.
"The ideal of martyrdom only ever existed in the minds of a few ascetics," Monica had said. "Otherwise it was morbid masochism, an easy way to forgo ordinary responsibility, a method of keeping repressed people under control. . . ."
"It isn't as simple as that. . . ."
"It is, Kari."
He could show Monica now. His regret was that she was unlikely ever to know. He had meant to write everything down and put it into the time machine and hope that it would be recovered. It was strange. He was not a religious man in the usual sense. He was an agnostic. It was not conviction that had led him to defend religion against Monica's cynical contempt for it; it was rather lack of conviction in the ideal in. which she had set her own faith, the ideal of science as a solver of all problems. He could not share her faith and there was nothing else but religion, though he could not believe in the kind of God of Christianity. The God seen as a mystical force of the mysteries of Christianity and other great religions had not been personal enough for him. His rational, mind had told him that God did not exist in any personal form. His unconscious had told him that faith in science was not enough.
"Science is basically opposed to religion," Monica had once said harshly. "No matter how many Jesuits get together and rationalize their views of science, the fact remains that religion cannot accept the fundamental attitudes of science and it is implicit to science to attack the fundamental principles of religion. The only area in which there is no difference and need be no war is in the ultimate assumption. One may or may not assume there is a supernatural being called God.
But as soon as one begins to defend one's assumption, there must be strife."
"You're talking about organized religion. . . ."
"I'm talking about religion as opposed to a belief. Who needs the ritual of religion when we have the far superior ritual of science to replace it? Religion is a reasonable substitute for knowledge. But there is no longer any need for substitutes, Karl. Science offers a sounder basis on whjch_,to formulate systems of thought and ethics. We don't need the '"
carrot of heaven and the big stick of hell any more when science can show the consequences of actions and men can judge easily for themselves whether those actions are right or wrong."
"I can't accept it."
"That's because you're sick. I'm sick, too, but at least I can see the promise of health"
"I can only see the threat of death. . . ."
As they had agreed, Judas kissed him on the cheek and the mixed force of Temple guards and Roman soldiers surrounded him.
To the Romans he said, with some difficulty, "I am the King of the Jews." To the Pharisees' servants be said: "I am the messiah who has come to destroy your masters." Now he was committed and the final ritual was to begin.
It was an untidy trial, an arbitrary mixture of Roman and Jewish law which did not altogether satisfy anyone. The ob-ject was accomplished after several conferences between Pontius Pilate and Caiaphas and three attempts to bend and merge their separate legal systems in order to fit the ex-pediencies of the situation. Both needed a scapegoat for their different purposes and so at last the result was achieved and the madman convicted, on the one hand of rebellion against Rome and on the other of heresy.
A peculiar feature of the trial was that the witnesses were all followers of the man and yet had seemed eager to see him convicted.
The Pharisees agreed that the Roman method of execu-tion would fit the time and the situation best in this case and it was decided to crucify him. The man had
prestige, however, so that it would be necessary to use some of the tried Roman methods of humiliation in order to make him into a pathetic and ludicrous figure in the eyes of the pilgrims. Pilate assured the Pharisees that he would see to it, but he made sure that they signed documents that gave their approval to his actions.
And. the soldiers led him away into the hall, called Prae-torium; anA-lhey .call together the whole band. And they clothed him with purple, and platted a crown of thorns, and put it about his head. And began to salute him. Hail, King of the Jews! And they smote him on the head with a reed, and did spit upon him, and bowing their knees worshipped him. And when they had mocked him, they took off the purple from him, and put his own clothes on him, and led him out to crucify him.
(Mark 15:16-20)
His brain was clouded now, by pain and by the ritual of humiliation; by his having completely given himself up to his r61e.
He was too weak to bear the heavy wooden cross and he walked behind it as it was dragged towards Golgotha by a Cyrenian whom the Romans had press-gauged for the purpose.
As he staggered through the crowded, silent streets, watched by those who had thought he would lead them against the Roman overlords, his eyes filled with tears so that his sight was blurred and he occasionally staggered off the road and was nudged back onto it by one of the Roman guards.
"You are too emotional, Karl. Why don't you use that brain of yours and pull yourself together? . . ."
He remembered the words, but it was difficult to remember who had said them or who Karl was.
The road that led up the side of the hill was stony and he slipped sometimes, remembering another hill he had climbed long ago. It seemed to him that he had been a child, but the memory merged with others and it was impossible to tell.
He was breathing heavily and with some difficulty. The pain of the thorns in his head was barely felt, but his whole body seemed to throb in unison with his heartbeat. It was
.like a drum.
-It was evening. The sun was setting. He fell on his face, cutting his head on a sharp stone, just as he reached the top of the hill. He fainted.
And they bring him unto the place Golgotha, which is, being interpreted. The place of a skull. And they gave him to drink-wine mingled with myrrh: but he received it not..
(Mark 15:22-23)
He knocked the cup aside. The soldier shrugged and reached out for one of his arms. Another soldier already held the other arm.
As he recovered consciousness Glogauer began to tremble violently. He felt the pain intensely as the ropes bit into the flesh of his wrists and anides. He struggled.
He felt something cold placed against his palm. Although it only covered a small area in the center of his hand it seemed very heavy. He heard a sound that also was in rhythm with his heartbeats. He turned his head to look at the hand.
The large iron peg was being driven into his hand by a soldier swinging a mallet as he lay on the cross which was at this moment horizontal on the ground. He watched, wondering why there was no pain. The soldier swung the mallet higher as the peg met the resistance of the wood. Twice he missed the peg and struck Glogauer's fingers.
Glogauer looked to the other side and saw that the second soldier was also hammering in a peg. Evidently he missed the peg a great many times because the fingers of the hand were bloody and crushed.
The first soldier finished hammering in his peg and tamed his attention to the feet. Glogauer felt the iron slide through his flesh, heard it hammered home.
Using a pulley, they began to haul the cross into a verti-cal position. Glogauer noticed that he was alone. There were no others being crucified that day.
He got a clear view of the lights of Jerusalem below him.
There was still a little light in the sky but not much. Soon it would be completely dark. There was a small crowd looking on. One of the women reminded him of Monica. He called to her.
"Monica?"
But his voice was cracked and the word was a whisper.
The woman did not look up.
He felt his body dragging at the nails which supported it.
He thought he felt a twinge of pain in his left hand. He seemed to be bleeding very heavily.
It was odd, he reflected, that it should be him hanging here. He supposed that it was the event he had originally
<~-to witness. There was little doubt, really. Everything had gone perfectly.
The pain in his left hand increased.
He glanced down at the Roman guards who were playing dice at the foot of his cross. They seemed absorbed in their game. He could not see the markings of the dice from this distance.
He sighed. The movement of his chest seemed to throw extra strain on his hands. The pain was quite bad now. He winced and tried somehow to ease himself back against the wood.
: The pain began to spread through his body. He gritted his teeth. It was dreadful. He gasped and shouted. He writhed.
There was no longer any light in the sky. Heavy clouds obscured stars and moon.
From below came whispered voices.
"Let me down," he called. "Oh, please let me down!"
The pain filled him. He slumped forward, but nobody released him.
A little while later he raised his head. The movement caused a return of the agony and again he began to writhe on the cross.
"Let me down. Please. Please stop it!"
Every part of his flesh, every muscle and tendon and bone of him, was filled with an almost impossible degree of pain.
He knew he would not survive until the next day as he had thought he might. He had not realized the extent of his pain.
And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? which is, being interpreted, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
(Mark 15:34)
Glogauer coughed. It was a dry, barely heard sound. The soldiers below the cross heard it because the night was now so quiet.
"It's funny," one said. "Yesterday they were worshiping him. Today they seemed to want us to kill him, even the ones who were closest to him."
"I'll be glad when we get out of this country," said another.
The shouldn't kill a child he thought.
He heard Monica's voice again. "It's weakness and fear, Karl, that's driven you to this. Martyrdom is a conceit. Can't you see that?"
Weakness and fear.
He coughed once more and the pain returned, but it was duller now.
Just before he died he began to talk again, muttering the words until his breath was gone. "It's a lie. It's a lie. It's a lie."
Later, after his body was stolen by the servants of some doctors who believed it to have special properties, there were rumors that he had not died. But the corpse was already rotting in the doctors' dissecting rooms and would soon be destroyed.
Table of Contents
Behold the Man
Enter the SF Gateway
Contents
Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
Michael Moorcock, Behold the Man
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