Jesus bowed his head and did not speak. This sinful woman, so tortured by her solicitude for God, deeply agitated his heart.
He struggled for her sake, struggled within himself to find the right words to console her. Suddenly he lifted his head. His face was gleaming.
“Woman, keep what I shall tell you deep in your heart. The day will come—it has already come—when men will worship God neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. God is spirit, and spirit must be worshiped only in spirit.”
The woman was confused. She leaned over and looked anxiously at Jesus. “Can you be ...” she asked, slowly and in a trembling voice, “can you be the One we’re waiting for?”
“Whom are you waiting for?”
“You know. Why do you want me to pronounce his name? You know it. My lips are sinful.”
Jesus leaned his head against his breast. He seemed to be listening to his heart, as though he expected it to give him the answer. The woman, bending over him, waited feverishly.
But while the two of them, both troubled, stood in silence, happy voices were heard, and the disciples appeared, triumphantly waving a loaf of bread. Finding the teacher with an unknown woman, they halted. Jesus was delighted to see them, for now he was saved from having to answer the woman’s terrible question. He nodded to the companions to approach.
“Come,” he called. “This good woman has come from the village, sent by God to draw water for us to drink.”
The companions approached, all except Judas, who stepped aside in order to avoid being contaminated by Samaritan water.
The woman tipped her jug, and the thirsty men drank. She refilled the jug, placed it skillfully on her head and proceeded toward the village, thoughtful and silent.
“Rabbi, who was that woman?” Peter asked. “You were talking together as though you’d known each other for years and years.”
“She was one of my sisters,” Jesus answered. “I asked her for water because I was thirsty, and it was her thirst that was quenched.”
Peter scratched his thick skull. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jesus replied, patting his friend’s gray head. “Don’t be impatient. You will understand in time, bit by bit. ... Right now we’re hungry; let’s eat!”
They stretched. out beneath the date palms. Andrew began to relate how they entered the village and started asking for alms. “We knocked at the houses and were hooted and chased from door to door. Finally, at the opposite end of the village, a tiny old lady half opened her door and looked carefully up and down the street. Not a soul in sight. She handed us a loaf of bread on the sly and immediately shut the door. We grabbed it and ran for our lives.”
“It’s a shame we don’t know the old lady’s name,” said Peter. “We could ask God to remember her.”
Jesus laughed. “Don’t feel bad on that account, Peter,” he said. “God knows her name.”
Jesus took the bread, blessed it, gave thanks to God for having put the old lady there to give it to them, and then divided it into six large pieces, one for each of the companions. But Judas pushed his portion away with his staff and turned aside his face. “I don’t eat Samaritan bread,” he said; “I don’t eat pork.”
Jesus did not argue with him. He knew that Judas’s heart was hard and that for it to soften, time was needed—time and skill and much love.
“We shall eat,” he said to the others. “Samaritan bread becomes Galilean when eaten by Galileans, and pork becomes the flesh of men when eaten by men. So, in God’s name!”
Laughing, the four companions ate with relish. Samaritan bread tasted delicious, like all bread, and they were elated. After the meal they crossed their hands. They were tired, and they slept—all except Judas, who remained awake and struck the ground with his stick as though thrashing it. Hunger is better than shame, he reflected, and this consoled him.
The first drops of rain began to beat against the reeds. The sleepers jumped to their feet.
“It’s the first rain,” said Jacob. “The earth is going to quench its thirst.”
But as they began to consider where to find a cave in which to shelter themselves, a wind arose from the north and chased away the clouds. The skies cleared. They resumed their march.
The figs which remained on the fig trees gleamed in the damp air. The pomegranate trees were loaded with fruit. The companions reached out, picked some pomegranates and refreshed themselves. The farmers were lifting their heads from the ground. They looked with amazement at the Galileans. What business had they in Samaria? Why were they mixing with Samaritans and eating their bread and picking fruit from their trees? They’d better get out of our sight, quickly!
One old man could not bear it. He left his orchard and stood before them. “Hey, Galileans,” he shouted, “your unlawful law hurls the anathema on the sanctified land which you now tread. So, what are you doing on our soil? Out of our sight!”
“We are going to holy Jerusalem to worship,” Peter answered him, and he stopped in front of the old man and bulged out his chest.
“You should worship here, apostates, on Gerizim, the mountain trodden by God,” the old man thundered. “Haven’t you ever read the Scriptures? It was here at the foot of Gerizim, under the oak trees, that God appeared to Abraham. He showed him the mountains and the plains from one end to the other, from Mount Hebron to Idumea and the Land of Midian, and said, ‘Behold the Promised Land, a land that flows with milk and honey. I gave you my word I would present it to you, and present it to you I will.’ They shook hands and sealed the agreement. Do you hear, Galileans? That is what the Scriptures say. Whoever wants to worship, therefore, ought to worship here in this holy land and not in Jerusalem, which murders the prophets!”
“Every land is holy, old man,” Jesus said with a calm voice. “God is everywhere, old man, and we all are brothers.”
The other turned, astonished. “Samaritans and Galileans too?”
“Samaritans and Galileans too, old man—and Judeans. All!”
Stroking his beard, the old man fell deep into thought. He examined Jesus from head to toe.
“God and the devil too?” he asked finally. He spoke in a lowered voice so that the invisible powers would not hear.
Jesus was terrified. Never in his life had he been asked if God’s mercy was so great that one day he would forgive even Lucifer and welcome him back into the kingdom of heaven.
“I don’t know, old man,” he replied; “I don’t know. I am a man, and my concern is for men. What’s beyond is God’s affair.”
The old man did not speak. Still stroking his beard and still deep in thought, he watched the strange passers-by proceed, two by two, and disappear under the trees.
Night fell; a cold wind arose. They found a cave and burrowed in, huddling all together in a ball to keep warm. A left-over piece of bread remained for each, and they ate. The redbeard went out, collected wood and lighted a fire. This revived the companions, and they sat in a circle, silently watching the flames. They heard the whistling of the wind, the howling of the jackals, the faraway, muffled thunderclaps which rolled down from Mount Gerizim. Through the opening of the cave a large comforting star could be seen in the sky, but soon clouds came and covered it up. The companions closed their eyes and leaned their heads on each other’s shoulders. John secretly threw the woolen cloak he was wearing over Jesus’ back, and all of them, squeezed closely together like bats, slept.
The next day they entered Judea. They observed a gradual change in the trees. The road was now lined with yellow-leafed poplars, locusts heavy with fruit, and ancient cedars. The region was rocky, arid, rough; even the peasants who appeared in the low, dark doorways were made of flint. Now and then a blue wildflower, humble and graceful, emerged from between the rocks; and sometimes in the mute loneliness, deep in a ravine, a partridge cackled. It must have found a sip of water to drink, Jesus thought as he heard it, and he felt the bird’s warm breast in his palm and rejoiced.
; As they came closer to Jerusalem the land grew fiercer and fiercer. God changed too. The earth here did not laugh, as it did in Galilee, and God himself, like the villages and the people, was made of flint. The heavens, which in Samaria had tried for a moment at least to rain and refresh the earth, here were red-hot iron. The panting companions marched forward in this deep furnace. When nightfall came again they saw a large group of tombs cut into the rocks and shining in all their blackness. Thousands of their ancestors had decomposed inside and turned again to stone. They burrowed into the empty tombs, lay down and went to sleep early, in order to be fresh for their entry into the holy city the next day.
Jesus was the only one who did not sleep. He roamed the tombs, listening intently to the night. His heart was uneasy. Inside him were obscure voices, a great wailing, as though thousands of suffering men were shouting. ... Toward midnight the wind stopped and the night grew silent. And then, in this silence, a heart-rending cry tore through the air. At first he thought it was a hungry jackal, but then he understood, with terror, that it was his own heart.
“Dear God,” he murmured, “who is shouting within me? Who is weeping?”
Fatigued, he too entered one of the tombs, crossed his hands, and gave himself up to God’s mercy. At dawn he had a dream. It seemed that he was with Mary Magdalene, and that both of them were flying tranquilly and noiselessly above a large city, just grazing the rooftops. When they reached the edge of the city the very last door opened, and a huge old man appeared. He had a flowing beard and blue eyes which shone like stars. His sleeves were rolled up, his hands and arms were covered with mud. Lifting his head and seeing them fly above him, he shouted, “Stop. I have something to tell you.” They stopped.
“What, old man? We’re listening.”
“The Messiah is he who loves the whole world. The Messiah is he who dies because he loves the whole world.”
“Nothing else?” asked Magdalene.
“Isn’t that enough for you?” the old man shouted angrily.
“May we enter your workshop?” Magdalene asked.
“No. Can’t you see that my hands are all covered with clay? Inside I am constructing the Messiah.”
Jesus awoke with a start. His body was truly weightless; he felt he was flying. Day broke. The companions had already risen, and their eyes leaped from rock to rock, hill to hill, in the direction of Jerusalem.
They set out, anxious to arrive. They marched and marched, but the mountains in front of them always seemed to recede and the road to become longer and longer.
“I don’t think we’ll ever get to Jerusalem, brothers,” said Peter in despair. “What is happening to us? Don’t you see—she gets farther and farther away.”
“She comes closer and closer,” Jesus answered him. “Courage, Peter. We take a step to find Jerusalem, and she takes a step to find us. Like the Messiah.”
“The Messiah?” asked Judas, turning abruptly.
“The Messiah is coming,” Jesus said in a deep voice. “You know very well, Judas, my brother, whether or not we are going in the right direction to find him. If we do a good or noble deed, if we pronounce a kind word, the Messiah quickens his pace and approaches. If we are dishonest, evil, afraid of everything, the Messiah turns his back on us and moves farther away. The Messiah is a Jerusalem in motion, brothers. Jerusalem is in a hurry, and so are we. Let’s move fast and find her! Have faith in God and in the immortal spirit of man!”
Encouraged, they all quickened their pace. Judas again went in front, his whole face happy now. He speaks well, he said to himself as he marched. Yes, the son of Mary is right. The old rabbi shouts the same thing at us: salvation depends on us. If we cross our hands the land of Israel will never be delivered. If we all take up arms, we shall see freedom.
Judas continued on, talking to himself. But suddenly he stopped, confused. “Who is the Messiah?” he murmured. “Who? Is it perhaps the entire people?”
Grains of sweat began to run down his fiery brow. Is it perhaps the entire people? This was the first time this thought had come to him, and he felt troubled. Can the Messiah be the entire people? he asked himself over and over. But then, what need do we have for all these prophets and false prophets? Why must we grope in an agony, trying to see which one is the Messiah? That’s it: the people are the Messiah—I, you, every one of us. The only thing we have to do is take up arms!
He started marching again, waving his club in the air; and while he proceeded, playing happily with his new thought as with the club, suddenly he uttered a cry. In front of him, flashing on a double-peaked mountain, was Holy Jerusalem, beautiful, white and proud. He did not shout to the others, who were coming up behind him. He wanted to enjoy the sight by himself as long as he could. Palaces, towers and castle doors glittered in the pupils of his blue eyes; and in the very center, protected by God, was the Temple, all gold, cedar and marble.
The remaining companions caught up, and they too shouted for joy.
“Come, let us sing the beauty of our Lady,” suggested Peter, the good singer. “Ready men, all together now!”
All five began to dance in a circle around Jesus, who stood motionless in the center and started the sacred hymn:
I was glad when they said to me,
“Arise, let us go to the house of the Lord!”
My feet have stopped before
your courtyards, O Jerusalem.
Jerusalem, stoutly built fortress,
peace be within your strong towers,
happiness within your palaces.
For my brethren and companions’ sake,
peace, peace be upon you, Jerusalem!
STREETS, rooftops, courts, squares: Jerusalem was entirely clothed in green. It was the great autumn festival, and the Jerusalemites had constructed thousands of tents from olive and vine branches, palm boughs, pine and cedar as prescribed by the God of Israel in remembrance of the forty years which their forefathers had spent under tents in the wilderness. The harvest and vintage were finished, the year had ended, and the people had suspended all their sins around the neck of a black, well-fed billy goat and, stoning him, had chased him out into the desert. Now they felt greatly relieved. Their souls were purified, a new year had begun, God had opened a new ledger, and for eight days they would eat and drink under the green tents and sing the glories of the God of Israel who blessed the harvest and the vintage and also sent them the billy goat to bear their sins. He too was a God-sent Messiah: he bore all the sins of the people, perished of hunger in the desert—and with him perished their sins.
The wide courtyards of the Temple overflowed with blood. Every day flocks of burnt-offerings were slaughtered. The holy city stank from the smell of meat, dung and drippings. The sacred air echoed with horns and trumpets. The people overate, over-drank, and their souls grew heavy. The first day was all psalms, prayers and prostrations; and Jehovah, invisible, strode joyously into the tents and celebrated too, eating and drinking with his lips and wiping his beard. But starting with the second and third days, the excessive meat and wine went to the heads of the people. The dirty jokes and the laughter and the bawdy tavern songs began, and men and women coupled shamelessly in broad daylight, at first within the tents, and then openly in the roads and on the green grass. In every neighborhood the celebrated prostitutes of Jerusalem appeared, plastered with make-up and smeared with aromatic oil. The simple farmers and fishermen who had come from the ends of the Land of Canaan to adore the holy of holies fell into these accomplished arms and were amazed. They had never dreamed that a kiss could involve such art and such savor.
Holding his breath, Jesus strode hurriedly, angrily, through the streets and over the dead-drunk people who were rolling on the ground. The smells and filth and the shameless guffawing nauseated him. “Quickly, quickly!” he exhorted his companions. Holding his right arm around John and his left around Andrew, he proceeded.
But Peter was continually halting, encountering pilgrims from Galilee who offered him a glass of wine
, a bite to eat, and engaged him in conversation. He would call Judas; Jacob would come too—they did not wish to give grounds for complaint to any of their friends. But the three in front were in a hurry. They continually called the tarriers and made them start out again.
“Good God, the teacher won’t let us breathe freely like human beings,” grumbled Peter, who had already fallen into a gay mood. “What have we got ourselves into?”
“And where have you been all this time, my poor Peter?” said Judas, shaking his head. “Do you think we’ve come here to have a good time? Do you think we’re going to a wedding?”
But while they were running, they heard a hoarse voice from one of the tents: “Hey, Peter, son of Jonah, you lousy Galilean—you pass by, we practically knock our heads together and you don’t even notice. Stop a minute to have a drink. It’ll clear your sight and you’ll be able to see me!”
Peter recognized the voice and stopped. “Halloo! Nice to bump into you, Simon, you filthy Cyrenian!”
He turned to his two companions. “Lads, this time we can’t escape: let’s stop and have a drink. Simon is a famous drunkard, keeper of a celebrated inn near the gate of David. He deserves to be hanged and have his head impaled on a stake, but he’s a nice fellow all the same, and we ought to do him the honor.”