Chapter 39 - The raven
The old cedar tree towered up at the edge of a circle, its roots rising above the red stone soil that continued to crumble with each passing year. I never walked the earth like the people, who cut down almost all the trees in the valley. I only came down to earth sometimes, to take what was rightfully mine, and then lived again in the skies and in the trees that could become a home for me piece by piece, and at any time, as long as they were not at least possessed by one of my black friends.
The cedar had a thick naked Stan and a full cap of branches and its top. He was older than me, even though I can still remember the time when Judea was ruled by Queen High Priest Aristobulus, renowned for putting his mother in prison (I once saw him at an outdoor ceremony). One of the branches of the cedar, a long crooked one, pointed in the direction of Jerusalem, like a blessing hand, and there I sat on it, a gaaf from the genus Jenim.
It was evening and the walls of Jerusalem in front of me were covered by smoke, from early morning the mountains of garbage that people dragged from the city and its surroundings to the Valley of Hinnom were smoldering. Food scraps, old lorries, old broken things, manure, carcasses of cremated animals, and sometimes the bodies of people, murdered and silently transported by garbage cart to the dump. Along the slope facing the city, the filth flowed into the valley. The garbage dried out and was set on fire on the morning of the sixth day.
This massive fire repeated itself every week. Like many of my peers, I could always find something to eat among all the garbage, and I was outraged that the fire, leading up to the night of the Sabbath, consumed almost everything. Why did people bring God this fire sacrifice? People are indomitable, they destroy everything they cannot use, and what they cannot use, they hate. Thus they hate me even more strongly and curse, when they cannot hit me with a stone.
The garbage valley is my dwelling place, a place where thieves and poisoners meet, an arena for fencing and distributing stolen goods, often the last refuge for lepers chased away from everywhere, while the very cheapest prostitutes dragged their unfussy husbands here. Large groups of hyenas roamed here, legions of rats came rushing here from the city and returned there again, while children of beatings played games there trying to humiliate each other. I ruled over all that, flying over my territory and paying attention to every little thing, every movement, and storing everything in my memory. Isn't it great when there's still something on a bone that hasn't quite spoiled, or when you suddenly find a flat bread prepared with oil in a pile of old lories?
Everyone who came there was unwittingly in my power, in the shadow of my wings, even without knowing it. From time to time I could predict people's fate, but out of inability they saw only a bird in me. Although a dying person did see the sign of death in me, when I perched near him.
A sharp eye, an excellent memory and a quick understanding, behold the greatest treasures, well, and of course it is then desirable that you do not have broken wings.
I did not like the fruit of which the surrounding gardens were always so teeming. I was attracted to animal and fatty foods, and the most delicious, the tastiest, was, of course, a human fruit. When an anxious mother brought her illegitimately born or foolishly unwanted child, who could still squawk and squirm, wrapped in a baai cloth in silence to the valley of Hinnom, I was the first to find it and peck at the tender flesh with my beak.
That was not simply stealing hunger. When I held the infant's head firmly in my claws, I pecked at its face and its mouth longing for milk, and at that moment time itself was subservient to me, I prove to the heavens that a bird could also be endowed with power over man, and then my black feathers were equal to the gown of a judge.
It is freedom of action and clarity of thought that bring birds, like humans, closer to the truth. I didn't trust anyone, because I knew the world all too well, and not myself well enough: suppose at some point I got seduced by something, showed compassion and, gone? It was better to always be on your guard.
The wind changed direction the biting smoke covered my cedar tree, I shuffled to the end of my branch, it bent, I jumped off, but did not immediately control my wings to gain momentum, and for a few moments I hovered, only to rise higher and higher on the warm air currents without haste. To gain altitude I only had to spread my wings occasionally, and so I glided forward on the harsh waves of the wind, trying to conserve my strength as much as possible. I flew in the direction of Jerusalem. From the side the evening sun shone brightly, and long shadows drew out everything that was not hidden from view in the haze: roads, narrow strips of the ground, the vineyards on the terraces.
I ascended still higher and saw almost the entire city, surrounded by an irregular stone wall. It lay on two hills, divided by a valley into which rows of houses descended from both sides. It was a labyrinth of streets, almost devoid of plant growth, every spot was built on, and only in the yard of a high-powered person did the greenery stand out from the tops of cypress and pine trees. The streets were full of people, cattle and wagons; below there was no end to the bustle, but the sound of it did not drive them to the height at which I found myself. In doing so, I could distinguish not only every person below, but even a skittish mouse.
In the rays of the setting sun lay the shining bath of Shiloach, carved into the rock face. I wanted to drink, but I could not quench my thirst, because the bath was teeming day and night with people fetching water or washing themselves.
Down below, the Dirt Gate and the long, steeply sloping street that led to the temple drifted by, and I descended to a small tower, topped by a rainwater catchment, a stone bowl. I perched on the edge of it.
This boulder-built tower suddenly appeared to me as a pedestal, while I saw myself as the statue on it, but each sculpture was dead and unmoving, and I guested a few times to prove to myself and the world that I was alive.
I was proud of my wings and tail, my powerful legs and my strong beak. The body of a bird, of course, is more perfect than the equally colossal and clumsy body of a man, capable only of walking, jumping and cutting down trees, but in doing so, it is man (by some oil-dumb plan!) who is better able to subject the world to his rule.
It hadn't rained in ages, and there was very little water at the bottom of the com. I jumped in, turned my head so that the water naturally ran into my beak and drank to the fullest.
From the roof of one of the temple buildings came the sound of silver trumpets, the Levites announced the beginning of the evening service, it was the beginning of Passover, the people were preparing for the feast.
I made my way down and flew over a street immersed in bustle, smells and city traffic. Clothes of all colors flashed by, wagon wheels rattled across the pavement, horses' hooves, camels propelled by sticks uttered shrill cries, the footsteps and voices of thousands of people merged into an anonymous murmur.
The flat stone roofs of the houses formed another level of Jerusalem, invisible from below there the people did their mundane things: they practiced their craft there, dried the laundry, rocked the children, prepared the food, and a great throng of wisps of smoke rises above them; people slept there, had conversations, and copulated, if the place could not be seen from outside, but I saw everything.
At the end of the street stood the prison building; I made altitude again and flew over it.
Once I almost perished, when, out of curiosity, I had perched on a stone ledge in front of a window of this prison, behind which a murderer awaited his sentence. I knew he had not killed for money, but for pleasure, and had dishonored his deadly victims, and I liked that about him, because he acted toward people as they deserved, even though he himself was one of them. He hardly got to eat. Starving, he tried to catch birds, using a sturdy wire: he put the lesson on the ledge in front of the window, sprinkled dust on it and crumbs of bread. Pigeons became his diet. At the last moment I heard a suspicious rumor and flew up, otherwise the loop would have tightened around my leg. I flew to the market, stole a coin from the stall of a yawning merchant and brought it in my beak to the captive. When he saw what I had done, he laughed and stretched his hands out to me through the bars. I knew he could exchange the coin with the guard for food, if the guard would not cheat him. However, I didn't do it out of compassion: I liked stealing money, but I couldn't buy anything for it, and by giving it to the murderer I still get to use it.
What I especially enjoyed was stealing coins from the changers at the temple, only to watch their wrath from a safe distance. These people madly awakened a special hatred in me. On one occasion I watched as a man came to start shouting and turning over their tables with neatly displayed piles of silver and copper coins, and it was a pleasant sight.
I flew over the ravine and came above the neighborhood where the rich people lived. When I saw on the marble wall around a balcony a tri-colored cat sprawled out, I silently sailed from the side of his tail toward her and in my flight deliberately touched his horn with my wing. The cat shot upright, almost tumbled down, made a high back and blew something after me full of hatred.
In this neighborhood I often found rich food scraps, if, of course, they had not previously been nicked by servants or cats.
It was always a great comfort to me to sow confusion in the lives of people, and of animals who were on good terms with him. Once I had accomplished a feat, of which I am still proud: I pecked at the crown of the ancient King Herod, nicknamed the great one! He was 69 years old and knew he was going to die. One morning, servants carried him out onto one of the balconies of his palace in Jerusalem, where, plagued by pain in his belly and feet, he pondered the scenario for the national mourning for him. On a rug next to his seat, a boy sat a man playing a sad melody, on the kinnor. Invisible, from the side of the sun, I dropped from the sky like a stone, ducked under the large fan that a servant held up behind his back, and pecked the king as hard as I came in the bald head that was covered in brown age spots. The youthful musician guilty of fright rose to his feet, dropped his kinnor to the ground, bodyguards stormed towards us, but I deftly dodged their lances and flew under the arches and between the pillars to the other side of the balcony and a moment later was already floating in complete safety over the city.
I think my artifice had cost the lives of some servants and guards, for even while he was still healthy, Herod had had his sons and one of his wives put to death, and the burdens of old age had not made his character any milder. However, every act of a bird had a clear intention and conforms to an ancient law. What was behind this act? Well, this: I had become the king's daughter. Although it was not for long, I still kept forgetting the pain in my body and limbs by using my beak to divert his attention to the aching cock; moreover, mothers in oblivion are each other's brother and sister.
And then, thanks to me, the strings of the kinnor, as they fell, made a grievous sound that answered the king's melancholy thoughts better than any melody played on purpose.
I did not see Herod on that balcony again. The bell was that an archer kept watch there for a few days after my visit. The king soon moved to Jericho and died there. I flew to see him at his funeral, to accompany him on his final journey, because I too had had a share in his life's journey, and that might have repercussions on the fate of the world, after all, all events ultimately have a basis absolutely no larger than the tip of my beak. From on high I watched as he was carried, on a golden bier, under a purple robe, with the scepter in his hand, into the lap of eternity by his family and his battle-clad army. Probably god, if he existed, watch this funeral procession with me with wide eyes, and days his feathers black.
After passing the empty amphitheater, a few palaces and the praetorium, with the magnificent lances of legionnaires in the square in front, I kept more to the left, with my sights on a tall white tower.
Beyond the city wall was a hill called Golgotha, where capital punishment was regularly carried out. Convicts were usually first beaten off with a flagrum, at the stone tarp next to the courthouse, and then taken to the Hill, firmly tied to a wooden cross which they themselves had to carry. There the naked convicts went through their long agony, due to the heat, breathlessness and injuries inflicted on him with the knot.
I enjoyed making eye contact with him. It was one of the few attractions that were within my reach that had a higher meaning. I asserted my ancient power, that of the bird over man, the power of the original force of nature over human haughtiness, which is as immoderate as it is vicious.
There was no kindness in picking out the eyes of the dead, and you didn't get the chance to do it because with living people, which is why the half-living unlucky people on the cross were best suited for this ritual.
In given time there had been one stonemasonry at the foot of the hill, where white stone was quarried for the construction of the Temple, but now on Golgotha and around it there was a great crowd of crosses with people who had been put to death, and their fly-strewn bodies were in various states of decomposition, but there were at that moment about three fresh and alive, they had been crucified that morning, and they went in a row, facing the western city wall gilded by the evening sun.
Two of them were broad-shouldered, muscular and obviously of great strength, and I thought that they must be bandits, or soldiers who had had something to do with their crimes, which was after all almost the same thing: the former acted only in their own name, while the latter were sent out by some official to sow death and destruction; on top of that you needed strength in both cases, but not reason in either. But the mighty muscles of these two crucified therein now became useless, as did the shriveled seed rows between their legs. One of these crucified ones produced a hoarse sound, unaware of anything, and ready to give up the ghost at any moment, but the other shocked from time to time and bared his teeth, and I felt the waves of glowing hatred emanating from him. What he thirsted for most of all at that moment was revenge against those who had condemned him and were carrying out the death sentence. And he was right. He had maintained his dignity; it was clear that he did not beg for mercy or humble himself.
The two legionnaires who had crucified him were sitting nearby; they had placed a rug on a flat stone, apparently a garment belonging to one of the condemned, and were stacking their food on it: cheese, dried meat, bread and a small leather sack of wine. A little further on, a few women were weeping. There was no one else on the hill.
The third crucified huh, the one in the middle one, doesn't look like a robber or a soldier. His hands were finely groomed and clean, with nails clipped short, he obviously hadn't done any heavy work either, and I inferred that he was a scribe who had turned against the Romans. His face looked familiar, but I could not bring to mind where I had seen him before. From his fearsome neighbor on the cross, who for the time being was also still in his right mind, he was distinguished (I saw that immediately!) by the fact that he had not yet given up hope of salvation. He was a developed man, in his imagination the scenes of a miracle presented themselves to him: those soldiers would take pity on him and take him down from the cross, armed friends would free him and carry him to a secret place to heal his wounds, an invisible power would come to save him... That was written on his face.
That is precisely why I chose him; after all, that was the last thing you could take in a person, his hope.
What also attracted me was the sign hanging on the chest of these scribes with an unusual explanation of what he had done wrong. That sign read:
KING OF THE JEWS
I had seen a king before, and I knew that governing the people of Israel was no easier than that of a jaded cow on which you sat with your legs to one side. Leading the crucified one confirmed this. Probably he had proclaimed himself king, hung a laurel wreath on himself, but could not bear the weight of it, overestimated his powers, as so often happened to people with a star intellect but a weak will, who did not understand that only a cunning tyrant could maintain his power. Even a monkey can put a crown on his head, but his rule will be short-lived.
I flew closer, circling a bit. He opened his eyes. His arms tied to the crossbeam were spread, like slender wings stripped of feathers. The long hair fell in front of his face. He took a short, quick breath, as his posture did not allow him to take a deep breath.
He started shaking his head to chase me away, which I liked.
He let out a cry of fear because he saw in me a sign, at that moment I was the letter of death.
The women began to wail louder and came running. The eldest legionnaire stood up, threatened him with his lance, and they remained standing. One of the women dropped to her knees, gave a howl and began to push the hair out of her head.
I flew closer, took Crossed's head under my wings for a moment and with a precise movement pecked it in the left eye. Crossed once again uttered a cry in blood streaming down his cheek.
With the second peck of my beak I robbed him of his right eye, and at the same moment the sun set for good, thus confirming the correctness of my action: what was a man to do with eyes, if there was nothing to see at night anyway? He groaned and jerked at his crotch, and I was amazed to find that a peculiar kind of joy resounded in his groans. That's good, I thought, that means we're all acting in a force: me, the false King, the soldiers and the setting sun; we all formed one whole, one flesh, as if we had merged into one another in an industrious copulation; we were close to ultimate gratification, and only those silly women, with their whimpering outbursts, spoiled the glorious nature of this scene.
In the twilight I Gijs higher and higher, until I saw all of Jerusalem, whose borders were marked by points of light. The black hills supported the yellow sunset. I turned homeward and below me floated the city, built on the bones of men and birds.
