Chapter 28 - Chorazin
If the comedy continues like this, another temple will be dedicated to me after my death. What do you do about it, then people deserve it. I don't need a big temple. Rather one, of marble from Carrara, in the form of a hexagonal tower somewhere on the steep slope of a mountain and in such a way that from the steps of the entrance down you can see a turquoise sea. The floor may consist of a mosaic depicting gods, semaphores, naked nymphs and rabbits of Olympus, within the center, me, in the guise of a white lion. It is desirable that blue and green tones predominate in the mosaic. Tall, narrow windows. The entrance from the south side, with above it, between two pillars, a golden wreath, decorated with all kinds of fruits of the land: bunches of grapes, ears of corn, dates, olives Phoenician apples. To depict them, stones of a corresponding color should be used: ruby, emerald, onyx, amber and rock crystal. The staircase to the entrance is a serpentine with yellow and black veins.
Late ivy is carved on the pillars, encircled by thorny branches and a vine with bunches of grapes.
An altar is not necessary.
Come to me, laden with your calamity, your fear, your bile, your stupidity and lack of education, your half-hearted admiration, I will but each of you listen! No one ever comes to me late. And if anyone comes in the evening and he is terrified of descending again in the dark along the stony path along the precipice to the valley, let this man ask the sentry for a reed mat and put himself to sleep on the floor of the temple, I will bless him with a light sleep. But before finding oblivion on his wicker mat, this pilgrim must light a candle or a lamp, dig up oil, bread and wine from his knapsack and have a small meal. I will share the dish with him, even if he does not see it, but perhaps he will feel the presence of my spirit. Let him drink wine and sing a song, sad or joyful, under the vaults of the temple. Or play a beautiful melody on a flute of deer bone. And when it is a new moon, let him blow the horn!
But if the purposeful traveler under the vaults of my temple minnows a youth or a girl, as lusty as they are lithe, then their groans will be the best, most vivifying music for me, and a fragrant light will shine down on gen.
The time will come when I will speak to the living in the language of the dead, and everyone will understand me. The river of fire that goes out from under the throne of glory will cool, I will open the door of the seven wards of Avadon, the mountains of darkness will give way, and from there, at last, like the turtles of Passover, the souls of sinners will flutter up, because it is long past time to put an end to it. 'The cloud dissolves and vanishes; thus the descended shall not enter into outer darkness,' said Job, blinded by his zeal to please his clubbing God at all costs, but we shall see: when the wind turns, the cloud will turn into a blue-black thundercloud, a giant hematoma, from which a red rain erupts, and every dishonorable and lawless one will try to catch the life-giving droplets with his scorched mouth. I let it thirst with myself.
No, none of that makes any sense.
I thought about that as I walked with my disciples from Capernaum to Chorazin, then Matthew had found a new berth for us, in the house of two good sisters. They were old spinster sisters who lived at the expense of a large land asset they had inherited. They owned orchards, arable land, where the great winter wheat grew for which Chorazin is famous, as well as several mills. A crowd of day laborers from the surrounding spots worked for the sisters.
Matthew had skillfully edited him, regurgitated a lot of strong stories about me and our company, and they thirsted to see Jesus, the wandering teacher from Nazareth.
We walked almost without a pack because they had almost nothing. I was glad to leave the barn in which I had spent so much time. It had been sad to spend the rest of my life in our barn. We left town quietly, without saying a word to anyone, and I assumed that for some time I would be immune from all the poor sick people who had visited me in Capernaum.
Pity the healthy and rich do not need a doctor, dealing with him would have been more cheerful and beneficial.
On the eve of our departure, Venedad from Gergesa had sent one of his servants to me several times, asking me to pay the 10 staters, and by leaving Capernaum behind us we disappear for a while from the sight of this money-grubber who did not hesitate to demand interest from me, from a Jew the same as him.
Besides, I reasoned, if my conversation with the nagids had not convinced him of my innocence, and the holy court wanted to have me taken into custody, then the spiritual authorities would also search for me all first in Capernaum. No, Chorazin was not far away, only two days away, but it could be my salvation, since the rumors often go out for those who claim the right to execute the judgment of God, I could have time to flee.
Across the road a woman on a donkey approached us. She was sitting with her legs to one side and not even looking at us. As with many Jewesses, her timidity was learned, like a dog's place. Such behavior always annoyed me, from women who were ashamed to cast a glance at someone they didn't know. They lived wordlessly and silently, perhaps only dreaming of a new dress or a silver ring ... but what was the use of such a life? They bore endless children, like kittens, and thought that this will help them acquire eternity, but nothing at all, that is one of the better illusions, seeing your children as the continuation of yourself, because after all, no one has yet managed to move with his soul to his child's body, then to his grandchild's and so on. The hermits of Qumran rightly mined that by multiplying the flesh we only multiply grief, but their irrational seriousness did not permit them to enjoy women. Looking at this Jewess, I suddenly understood that donkeys will one day become mechanical. Made of metal, they would no longer need food and would be stubborn, but the women, ashamed to see their legs wide, would still not sit straddling them.
Amazing! A gleaming bronze-colored donkey, capable of carrying a huge load... I shared these thoughts with my disciples, but they were silent, contemplating that I had said something insane. Judas looked at me worriedly, trying to figure out if I had not overheated in the blazing afternoon sun. But reality is always more incomprehensible than our wildest expectations, which is why one day not only the donkeys will be mechanized, but also the people. After all, that's the best way to get warriors who don't fear death and don't demand salaries. The only question is how to equip them with intelligence. That question is no less interesting than the methodology for taming dragons, in the treatise of Aristej the ''Ancient On Spatial Places.'' Yes, with thought equipped many-headed monsters you come to tame and with the help of rituals and willpower force them to serve you, you could even paint them over from green and red and vice versa, but they were traditionally incapable of thought, and how did you blow reason into the heads of metal warriors? Clearly, such required human sacrifice....
The sisters from Chorazin received us warmly. With their reddishness, cheerfulness and good-heartedness, and pleasantly plump, they were with old bags of new wagon still fermenting, which was wonderful. Both were approaching 50, but they had retained a curious freshness, perhaps because the erotic fire they embodied had allowed them to warm men up until then, although they had often been allowed to greet guests: prophets, itinerant sages and healers. The sedate, carefree life did not give them all the time they needed to seek the truth.
The oldest was named Gita, the youngest Tali.
The heavy shutters on the windows of their beautiful home were a godsend against the heat.
Made of stone, with its upper floor, its outbuildings, it was one of the best houses in Chorazin, even though it was at the very edge of town, immediately south of it stretched the huge, well-tended olive grove that belonged to the sisters. Such a lying down of the house pleased me, especially because in case of need you could easily escape through the orchard and hide among the surrounding hills, after all, I still did not know what the clergy had decided after the meeting in the synagogue of Capernaum. At any moment I come to have shield guards on my roof.
In the cool cellars of the house were stored a large quantity of eaters' wares: stocks of flour, cheese, sausages, wine and other things.
Gita was not as affable as her younger sister, but I liked her better. So as not to be too naive and jealous of the younger one, I did not express that feeling and got along equally well with both virgins, at least for the first time.
The sisters allowed us to take up residence on the upper floor. One room, with a large window on the orchard, Judas and I took; the other was for the other students.
There was staff in the house. The rich sisters offered us the chance to live on dignified terms. But in return I spoiled him every day with conversation and cheerfulness and also as much as I could.
My students stayed close to me those days, because in that wonderful house they found everything they needed and did not have to wander through the surrounding spots in search of an accidental piece of bread. Every evening in the large room on the first floor, I set up an elaborate dish. The servants would lie down and give us our eating utensils, set out all the delicacies on a rug, and the room would turn into a residence in which everyone would listen to me reverently, where, seated under the copper candlestick in the shape of a satyr's head, I would tell them histories from Scripture and clarify obscure places. Using words I give my disciples and our two hostesses on the wings of the prophets heavenward, I felt him through the ages: the lawgiver Moses had opened for us the sea, because we could leave the hated Egypt; before our eyes you said yes with the help of prayer killed several thousand Assyrians and made the shadow do as many as 10 steps backwards by submitting the sun same to his will; before our eyes an Ezekiel was stoned for his testimony of the coming of the Messiah...
The heavy oak door of the house was closed with an iron bolt, darkness reigned in the streets of Chorazin, but in the room with the whitewashed walls it was cozy: lamps were burning, on the painted dishes was delicious food, and the good old spinsters heaved their sighs as they listened to me, wiped away their tears as an offended levite with a knife cut his who sleeps into 12 pieces, and they waited as the donkey woman said in a human voice to the frenzied Bileam: 'What have I done wrong to you, that you beat me a third time?'
A service gets dry from the cellar, a two-handled barrel full of chilled wine from Phassos, I poured it into the cups and felt the happiest of symposiarchs. Although, unlike the Hellenic masters of drinking and eating, I never spoiled wine with water. You may only mix wine with old, thick wine, in order to improve the boy's taste.
We had butter, and bread of first-class flour, lamb, smoked fish, mature cheese and smoked olives; poultry, smothered in goat's milk. Oh, if the hearts of men had mastered the wisdom of the world as easily as their bodies, the food! Then there would have been no wickedness and misunderstanding, no envy and war, not even sainthood.
Gita fell in love with me. When she listened to my stories, she would look at me long and dreamy, with a slightly opened mouth, containing the strong white teeth of a young girl.
Thanks to us, the old spinsters were soon no longer virgins, but we could not redeem him from old age. Only death saves from old age. Such was the harmony of two women and six men, they had enough with us, and we were thickly satisfied with them.
But we had lit the fire they had been putting out in themselves for so long! They became real grubby beasts in bed, which was great.
It should be added that Gita had more freckles on cheeks and nose, that detail seems to me to be of eminent importance, for by number and placement of the stars one can find the way to the home, if it exists, and by the spotlights on the cord of a fiery, no longer so young woman, the way to momentary happiness. To my justification, I add that long-term happiness does not exist anyway. Or does it?
In the warm nights I bent over Gita, sinking my fingers into her full red hair and kissing her lips, touching her two magnificent incisors with the tip of my tongue, and then she rode me, like a Parthian cataphract, everything around her studded with the arrows of her passion. When my powers were at an end, she was indulged by my disciples, among whom was also Matthew, this old bag of shit hundreds likewise to the musky-haired female flesh. Sometimes, after a debauched night, I woke up in the arms of Tali (Her womb was just a little narrower, and she moaned just a little louder), and sometimes, in the arms of my own blood Judas. Philippus was the one who relished the least with the sisters, but that was understandable: we had once possessed the narrow hole of a young lad and always found a reason to stay out of the woman's trap. He often thought back to Jonah, his lover who had snuck out, and he cursed the Helleen with whom he had taken legs.
