Chapter 22 - The God of Death
It rained for several days straight, which was unusual for these parts. Such a fine rain, as if the odalisques of Jupiter had passed it through a heavenly sieve to turn the drops into dust. The disciples had each gone their separate ways. Andrew said he was going to Chorazin and Bethesda, Matthew. Where the rest were, I did not know. Judas stayed with me as always, and we almost didn't leave our granary, smoking the last remnants of kif and drinking mead. I had found spiritual peace, and this meager granary was like a spacious stone palace whose ceiling was curved like a torque as if it were a vault of heaven and also set with glaze as brilliant as hundreds of little stars of orichalcum. Among these couple, I was a law and felon, a woman and a girl, a wild animal, and a bird. I imagined myself in the course of heaven's bodies and drank the heavenly nectar. I was ugly as an infant and clean as a newborn cherub. I was adamant and bold, only to hide my face shamefully behind the feathers of my wing a moment later. Up a couple of times, legionnaires came by to make sure there was no more kif, and there also came a crazed female who dreamed of being impregnated by a ghost. As far as I could tell from her incoherent words, it was the ghost of a man who had died years ago. I rather gruffly summoned her to return home.
One day, it got dry towards evening. I walked to the water's edge. The Sea of Galilee looked endless in the damp mist, like a sea. The opposite shore was a milky white dissolved. It seemed like you could pass through the lake into other vast waters and sail past jagged landscapes and unoccupied islands inhabited by people who knew no lying shame.
I untied one of the fishing boats, took no place, pushed the boat off the dock, and slowly removed myself from Capernaum and its layers and stratagems. Soon, the shore was out of sight, and the sounds of the city could no longer be heard. It had become pitch black. I lay down on the bottom and closed my eyes.
I wanted to find out how to proceed. I knew my languages, had crossed all of Palestine, had been to Egypt and Libya, and had spent all that time studying the wisdom of books and the accuracy of words. With a single glance, I could cause almost any random woman to undress and flop down with me. I had learned how to make a crowd submit to me.
I gained an eye for the original basis of verbal matter, doors of places of worship opened before me, and the buds of flowers.
But all this brought me colors and feelings that could not comfort me. I lay at the bottom of the boat and wept because I was lonely amid my disciples, casual women, and the sick and distraught people who came to me.
It was suddenly all too painfully clear to me that this lake was just a lake and that there was no escape. I carry this boat across the surface of the water, as if on a platter, in front of those who were preparing to plunge his ritual knife into me.
I understand that this journey was only a removal from my childhood home, Nazareth, where I faced the naïve dream of dropping a grain of meaning into the world.
For a long time, I had made no attempt to find out where my mother was because her job was tormenting me. I did not find out Coby was my real father, and I understand that this one, even if he was still alive, wanted nothing to do with me.
But I suddenly felt insanely ashamed that I had been so heartless to old Joseph. I had laughed at his craft as a carpenter, and he knew it but had kept his mouth shut. He had never laid a finger on me other than my mother. Yes, he was my stepfather, but he was, I believe, the only one who had truly loved me, even if he never flaunted that love. He had been so happy to help me once when I assembled a small boat from wood chips to launch it in the village pond...
According to Jewish law, I was a stranger to him, an illegitimate bastard, a mamzer, and he wanted to teach me the carpentry trade, which he loved so much. Perhaps I would have become happy if I had helped him make furniture and crosses for crucifixions; in the end, in that way, often real bastards who deserved death received their just punishment.
Where was I rushing to? What else had I acquired but an exceptional level of despair so strong that I could offer people healing me?
Who had any use for my discoveries? The mean, who carried prophets on their hands, and then, after the admonitions of Levites, demanded to crucify or stone him...? First, Jews washed some unfortunate prophet's feet with their tears. Then they ran to Jerusalem before the prefect's stretcher, begging him to kill the false prophet because the miracle had failed. Yet another miracle.
A short time ago, news had come that Herod Antipas had had John put to death, whom I had seen as the Messiah. Beautiful that Antipas had chosen a quick and painless death for him; we got John foolishly cut off his head with a tale of his Patriarch scimitar, as carried by the guards in his court....
Let those motley people believe that this death sentence of John was a miracle! If you want miracles, you can get them too.
People did not care whether I had read a human being or glued a broken amphora.
Then what was I doing it all for? Perhaps because silent learned Jews wrote down all those ringing stories, twisted them mercilessly to their own tastes in the process, and in the process imagined themselves the creators of the universe?
I couldn't even have buried poor Joseph, that quiet father of mine, devoid of any pride. Yes, father. That was the best way I could call him. I should have brightened his old age; he was turning 111.
I suddenly understood that he had been the only one I had loved myself... But on the 26th day of the month of Abib, he died.
What was I now? A talkative and kif merchant who had brought the entire Roman garrison into higher, I swear. A renegade. A boatload. I didn't even know the fate of my own children, whom I had made with all kinds of women in all sorts of places over all these years. What should I talk to myself about when I meet along the way? About the properties of numbers and letters? I would spit it in my face! Ignoramus! What did you know?
I did not know what was with me before I was born and most likely what would be after I died. In fact, I am surrounded by total and absolute ignorance. And the private knowledge I did have, it wasn't even worth a penny....
I wept, huddled on the bottom of the boat, with my knees folded on my arms, as I had often done as a child. At that moment, my despair could no longer be the source of my strength. I just sincerely wanted to die because I knew that this one had something horrible about it. I understood how excellent that feature of the day was. It had us be free of everything, devoid of a hint of fear or haughtiness, cowardice or betrayal.
And the untouchability. And the chance to meet Joseph.
Suddenly, I felt I was pressed against the bottom of the boat as if some gigantic, invisible hands were lifting it quickly and cautiously to the sky. I opened my eyes and saw a giant black resigned with a long nose above me. It was stunningly handsome, almost merging with the sky, and it looked at me with yellow almond-shaped eyes in which compassion could be read. Above these bright eyes, no human eyes, and the narrow forehead breaks long pointed ears. It was the face of absence, for whom all that lived lost its meaning and experienced a rapturous shudder through me.
I looked overboard into the boat at a dizzying height. In the distance, peaks could be seen in the light of the starry mountain, while the lake below me seemed like a vague, dark pool with irregular banks. Why here and there tiny dots of light could be seen, there burned the neighbors of travelers and fishermen....
On either side of the majestic black head, a large crowd of appearing, semi-translucent naked people, reminiscent of Egyptians, dried up; they seemed to walk after each other but suddenly stopped. They looked at me strangely, expecting something. Something was wrong with each of them. I discerned a man with his stomach ripped open, a deadly skinny woman, an infant whose umbilical cord had not been cut, and a young man with his hand held off....
The black creature that held my boat in its palm radiated power and greatness. I understood my shock that Anubis was accompanying the caravan of people who had died that day to eternity. They were at the beginning of a journey and had to continue to follow the orbit of the planets.
As I longed for death, the scarlet walk of grief around me had been so bright that Anubis must have seen it with his divine gaze on the deserted, ripple-free plane of the lake. He took pity and decided to help. Somehow, I understood that to express my agreement and join the procession, I had to say that one word, "yes," in Egyptian. Anubis would take me with him to swear that there would be no more sorrow. Still, I hesitated; it was a weighty decision.
The brilliant black head moved its ears impatiently, and I thought I heard the voice of Judas, full of excitement and love.
The same instant I came to, at the bottom of the boat. The fog over the lake had lifted; there were stars. A point of light flickered somewhere off to the side in the darkness. The boat bobbed on the still water not far from the dock. Judas had lit the lamp and walked with it to the waterfront to look for his teacher, which saved my life. My little Judas, jildi ...! In the little boat, there was only one belt. I grabbed it and steered the little ship to the shore.
