The Apostle is renewed. He has a vigour and resolve unfamiliar but to Ioseph, who has known him the longest. He sits by Papias, who tells him, 'You need not care for me, Master. I recover quickly.'
'Call me not "Master", call me Brother, or call my name, John.'
'I cannot, Master.'
'My name is John.'
Papias lowers his brow, his complexion waxy and pale, his eyes glossed. 'I must call you "Master",' he says, then adds, 'and Master, I must confess.'
'And you will be forgiven.' John bows his head and Papias tells him in whisper the story of the woman Marina and her children and the vanity of thinking he could bring them back from the dead. He confesses to temptation and concealment, to the potent seduction of power. His face reddens as before a fire. His voice drops further so the words are smallest sounds. John listens, holds out his right hand and prays. 'Walk in the light,' he says.
After, he tells Papias, 'I, too, must confess. I have forgotten myself. I have forgotten love. I have been harsh and have tired of the burden I carry within me, which burden now is made light as air. Papias, from this day forth the sun shall not set but I will have told you and all our brothers the word of our Lord Jesus. The sun shall not set but I will have related what was, that it will be still. My telling will continue while does my breath till he come again. I confess to you, I have forgotten myself. I have fallen down, but now stand up, my burden light.' John's face smiles, deep furrows paired, cheekbones prominent. He is both the Gallilean fisher, Zebedee's son, John, brother of James, mender of nets a lifetime ago, fleet barefoot boy who ran one end of his father's boat to the other, untoppling, gifted with balance, and also this other, this man who seems footed in two worlds, this and the next. He is the boy and the old man both.
Now he rises. 'We must make ready,' he says.
Ioseph brings him a white stole he lays over the Apostle's shoulders. With Papias he draws two tables together, and for them benches.
The sun retreating, the elders approach. They bring some of the flat fire-baked bread the islanders make, two skins of winter-berry wine. The events of the night past are still in their minds but age and experience and faith quiet the questions. They come nonetheless with the awareness of heightened moment; the storm, the death and return of Papias, the fall of seabirds, are as currents that converge. The call to communion is another such. So as they enter the cave the disciples bear themselves as if to counsel and revelation both. Something is happening, and they are its witnesses.
They stand. John goes to each and takes their hands. None speak of Matthias and the younger disciples, though all notice they are not there. Ioseph goes outside to look. Behind clouds the sun nears the sea. He returns, tells nothing. There opens a long pause.
'My brothers, sit,' the Apostle says at last.
And they do, gathered in the yellow lamplight about the tables, Papias at the right hand of John.
'Brothers, whom I love in the truth, the darkness is past and the true light now shines. Let us give thanks and break bread and take of wine in memory of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Father.'
'Amen.'
The bread is broken and passed. The elder men watch the Apostle for signs. They can see in his demeanour renewed vigour and purpose. The communion is not yet properly begun when Matthias comes.
'O Beloved. Why do you begin without us? Are we not also chosen children of the Father?' About and behind him Linus, Auster, and the other disciples bear torches and stand in fire glow.
'Indeed you are welcome, brothers,'John says. 'All are welcome to give thanks to our Lord Jesus Christ. There is room at the table. Sit.'
'We do not come to sit,' Matthias says and comes forwards. 'We come to announce the true light. The Divine.'
There is a murmur. Some of the disciples look down. John says nothing, his face held upward, as though to take a blow. Matthias walks to the top of the table.
'I come to speak the truth. For it has been given to me. "I am come a light into the world that whosoever believeth in me should not abide in darkness." '
'You cite the words of our Lord Jesus?' John's anger flares.
But Matthias turns from him, throws open his arms, booms his voice. He glares down at the assembly. 'Why do you speak of Jesus as a messiah? Any of you? Because this ancient says so? Because this Jesus was his friend, because he was the beloved disciple, of this carpenter's son, a Galillean like himself? The Christ? How convenient! His own relation, his neighbour!'
' "I am the resurrection and the life," said the Lord, "he that believeth in me though he were dead shall he live",' John calls.
'How, old man, how shall he live being dead? You are a fool. And all of you who follow him fools, too, who cannot see how he has led you. That he might have caretakers in his ancient years, attendants who serve him in his dotage.'
'Matthias! Be silent,' Ioseph calls.
'I will be silent hereafter. I come this time and this time only to announce to those who will follow. Hear me: there is a light divine. It is the One. It was from the beginning and ever shall be. It is as the prophets tried to tell us. Even as the prophet Jesus. Its illumination I have felt, have touched. I myself His right hand he slaps on his chest twice.
John stands. 'Jesus said: "Verily, verily I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep. All that ever came before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not hear them. I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved." '
'The sheep! The door of the sheep! Is that what you think? What you believe, all of you? Are you sheep? Is that what you were born for, to be sheep? Is that a man? A sheep? Is that why you remain here on this rock? O apt indeed! Sheep going through a door?'
Ioseph stands up beside John. 'Blasphemer!'
'Ioseph,' John extends his hand, holds back the other by the shoulder. 'Leave him. Let him to speak.'
'He takes the name of our Lord in vain, Master. Though I am old, I would strike him down.'
John shakes his head. 'Leave be, Ioseph.'
Emboldened, Matthias moves down along the table. 'Listen, listen now this time that ye might know the truth and choose for yourselves. I, Matthias, son of Ignatius of Amphipolis, have been chosen by the One that I might bear his light as witness into the world. The light that was from the beginning and is and ever will be. Which light makes other lights a darkness. Though others preach their own words of God, these are but poor versions of the truth, as candles to the sun. Listen now, I am come to tell you what is. We must be soldiers, not sheep. We must leave here and go out into the world. I fear not. I fear no Roman, nor any man. Nor should any who follows me.'
He comes along the line of disciples, passes Lemuel and Simon and Meletios until he stands behind Papias. Both hands Matthias places on the youth's shoulders.
'I have faced death. I have faced him and fought him myself for this youth who was taken from us. The divine light shone upon me. I was as one lifted from myself. Not in this world nor the next. But in the Presence. The Presence who made me all-powerful against death.' He leans down, his face next to Papias, and speaks loudly. 'This youth was given back to me. As proof. That you might know, that you might believe. Stand, Papias.'
Under the scrutiny of all, uncertain, puzzled, full of torn pieces, hearing for the first time the extraordinary account of his resurrection, Papias stands.
'Look upon him. See. Believe. Behold the miracle.' Matthias allows his witness a moment; he takes a half step back, opens wide his arms as if the youth is a thing conjured out of the dark. He smiles, his head inclined away to better view the marvellous, then he says, 'Papias, go and stand by the others.'
But Papias does not move. His face reddens. All are looking at him.
'Papias,' Matthias raises his voice.
When still the youth does not move, Matthias taps him on the shoulder, then leans in to whisper: 'Papias, you will be the wonder of the world as we walk in it. You will be marvelled at and praised. In time you will recall the truth of what happened and
tell to gathered multitudes how death came for you and be living witness of that other darkness. You will spread fear and wonder. You will tell what was and is on the other side of this mortal domain. You shall be by my side as an angel to the Divine, testament to the Omnipotent. Men and women shall fall before your feet. The sick and infirm shall seek the hem of your cloth. Consider. You have been chosen and cannot deny it. It is your destiny I bring you, good Papias. Go, take your place at the forefront of the others.'
Along the table the disciples' faces are turned towards him; in firelight by the cave entrance Linus, Auster, Cyrus, Baltsaros, and the others watch. Papias is still weak; his ear wound pulses. All seems stopped. In the mute delay comes the vision of himself as another, as this Lazarean disciple, this thin figure of return still printed by the fingers of death. Lands far and strange whose names he does not yet know, places of dust and sand, blue rivers, villages where they might arrive like ones traversed down from another world: these he sees. He would walk at the front beside Matthias. He would wear a white robe. Perhaps the Divine might touch him, too, and give him the power to resurrect. Why not? It was likely. Had not Matthias just said as much? And it would all be in the name of goodness. There would be no gain sought. It would be for the glory of the Creator. If he could do that, would that be wrong?
'Good Papias.' Matthias's face moves close to him again, his voice low. 'Beloved Papias, be not afraid, go.'
Pain beats at his temples. Papias must close his eyes. His head he inclines slightly.
'Auster, Linus, come, help our disciple, he is yet weak.'
'Leave him!' the Apostle cries out. 'Lay not your hands upon him!' He comes forwards so he stands facing Matthias, his white head back. 'Papias, be not seduced, but abide with us here. This is the very voice of the Antichrist amongst us. Listen not.'
'Old man, old fool!' Matthias shouts, 'Jesus-lover! You dwindle to nothing.'
'Brother Matthias!' Lemuel shouts, standing stoutly, and Matthias flares back at him. 'Brother? I am not your brother,' he says, his eyes narrow and dark, his lips spitting the words. 'Why call each other brothers, ye are not so. Some of you mistrust the others, some envy and despise. Brothers! This is a mockery, a mask ye hide beneath. I know you all. Brothers! Call me not Brother. I am Matthias, son of Ignatius of Amphipolis, who has known the Divine, the One. Stand back, old man. Your time is past.' Matthias turns to the youth. 'Papias, come with us to your glory.'
There is a moment, the cave like one breath held.
In whisper, dream voice and eyes as if upon a distant truth, Papias says, 'I will not.'
Matthias leans nearer. 'Be not a fool! Do not let the old man sway you. You have no need of loyalty to him. Do not be afraid. You are of us, and know it.'
Papias says nothing. His lips quiver and he presses them together as if they might utter betrayal.
'He has spoken, leave him!' The Apostle touches Matthias's shoulder, who shakes the hand roughly away.
'I could break you like a stick. I could make you fall to the ground with vomiting and wailing, old man, if it were my will. Touch me not. You know not with whom you deal.'
'I have no fear!'John replies sternly. 'We come gathered here for communion, for our community of believers, brothers in our Lord Jesus Christ. If you are not of us, then be gone.'
'We will be gone. By sunrise we will have left this hell.' Matthias paces down the table length. 'And you, you all, old men, what will you do? Stay here till death, like Prochorus, lie beneath mounds of stones and be forgotten? Yes, forgotten. Old man, old teller of a tale, your tale is threadbare and runs to nothing. This carpenter's son messiah. Do you wait, all of you, do you wait yet? That the carpenter will come again? Ha! Because the hour is at hand?'
'Matthias stop!' Papias cries.
'You will be bones and dust. Dust and bones. All of you. And your Jesus not even dust on the pages of the books of history. Remembered a few more years, then forgotten. You are fools, credulous fools, to follow an old fool.'
Papias comes forwards as though he will strike the other. Matthias stops and looks into his face.
'And you, the greatest fool if you do not come to your destiny.'
'Be gone.'
There is a moment, the face of Matthias an implacable mask inches from the youth, his lips pressed tightly, his dark eyes burning. Then, as if he releases in disgust what he himself has caught, he wheels away.
'So be it.' He walks swiftly to the cave entrance, stops. 'Hear ye. We, the chosen, the believers in the Divine, will leave this island at sunrise. Those who will follow are welcome. Consider well, Papias. Those who remain on Patmos will die on Patmos. Your Jesus does not come. Your Jesus does not care. Because your Jesus was a man, and is dead. Behold, the truth. Fools of Jesus, farewell.'
Matthias raises his two hands and brings them together in a loud clap. Then he turns on his heel and leads the others from the cave into the night.
17
When the bell rings at sunrise, the Christians do not know their number. In their separate huts they do not know who will have left and who remained. In the aftermath of Matthias's departure from the cave, the Apostle called them to sit again for the supper communion, Papias at his right hand. There was a pause first for prayer and contemplation. Then John broke the bread and gave thanks. He spoke the words of blessing they had heard many times, but there was a hardened edge to his voice, as though now there was an imperative. 'Jesus said: "I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger, he that believeth in me shall never thirst." ' The Apostle held aloft the cup of wine and said, 'Who is he that overcometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God.' After, he had turned his head to each as though he could see and spoken loudly: 'My brothers, truly our fellowship is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ. God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.'
He spoke on and the disciples listened, marvelling at urgency of voice, the vigour and conviction that seemed of old. He spoke of the light as if the darkness was nearer now. Papias and the elders attended as though the words were newly necessary, and in their telling remade the world, as if therein were retraced maps for the lost.
The old Apostle had taken the hands of each as they left the cave and went out across the dark. The night was blown about, unruly winds and heavy starless sky. Papias and Ioseph had remained. In the course of the night they woke and slept both, but neither could say they saw the Apostle rest.
Now, at the rising of a timid sun, the bell rings, its leaden clapper hand-beat to make a dull sound as the disciple Lemuel crosses the first thin light on the island and comes along the upper ridge to sound the call for prayer. In the chill gloom are shadow figures, silent, stepping the stone path to assembly. Birds are not yet astir; nothing sounds but the sea turning the key of its tide. In grey, like shades crossed from another world, the Christians. First there is only Lemuel, the bell ringer, then the woken form of Danil, then Meletios, and others, each uncertain as they come outside if they alone are left, if all will have followed Matthias. They take comfort from one another's company, but say nothing. They cross as always up the beaten way to the promontory where the flat table rock stands.
The sun rises.
The Apostle and Ioseph and Papias come - they, too, feeling the human consolation of community, and more, the enduring witnessing of their belief. The disciples have each prepared themselves in the night to be the only remaining in the dawn, and thinking so having ventured into the wild dark of their own spirits, to seek the truth of what they believe and then live by it — they have accepted it. Each has thought to abide with the old apostle in a community of two or three, if so be it, to wait in prayer for the coming of Jesus the Christ. But now they see, there remains all who sat to the supper communion, nine in number. And though they are less than half the community of before, from this each takes strength.
By the table rock they stand. The daylight reveals them where they pray to the Father.
Below, the sea
unveiled, a boat waits. To it, in form like a snake, Matthias and his followers come. Behind them they leave their huts afire that nothing be left but darkened prints upon the ground.
I think of the multitude.
I think of the great multitude who followed you because they had seen your miracles on those who were diseased. The crowd whose number Simon Peter could not count but said were more than five thousand. Up the stony ground of the mountain following, the time of Passover near. The multitude in the heat of day. I looked back upon them, marvelling. How many there were. Philip saying to me, 'We become a nation.'
As we believed and were witness thereof.
The great company murmuring, whispering, expecting, climbing the mountain behind you to the place you led, where was a grassy expanse.
'Whence shall we buy bread that these may eat?'
The boy who carried five loaves and two small fishes. The sun shining upon the multitude.
I saw the loaves and fishes carried to you in the one basket. Your prayer of thanks over them, your eyes to the heavens. And breaking the loaves and fishes that they might be distributed among many and sending forth: 'Gather up the fragments that remain that nothing be lost.'
The twelve baskets that were filled. And again, and again, so a clamour arose among the multitude. They stood and cried out. 'O Prophet! O Most Mighty! Hail Holy King! Hail Holy King!'
For, in fervour then, they were for coming and taking you by force to be their king. The great multitude of your believers.
But you departed hence alone into the mountain.
We stood before the great assembly. Philip said, 'What number in the world there will be of us will outnumber stars.'