Chapter 40 - The Sacrifice

I got up before dawn, when my students were still sleeping, with their arms around our wives. The purse of money I had earned in Chorazin was in Matthew's knapsack and it was under his head. Of course I should have taken that money, but I thought it would be sad to wake the old man: besides, it would not be free to claim the purse from him, as if I intended to abandon my pupils and take the legs. By the way, I still had some money hidden in my gondola. I kissed the sleeping Judas gently on the lips, gently grabbed my knapsack and walked outside. It was chilly and dark, here and there a light burned under the acroterium of a capital house. I walked down the street to the bottom. There were passersby; the streets of Jerusalem are never, at any time, completely deserted. I put on my hood, to hide my face, and figured that I had done well to shave myself in Roman fashion; after all, a worthless Messiah was unimaginable. I also figured that when I left I hadn't locked the door, but after all, it was impossible to close it from the outside, and I didn't want to wake anyone.

A fat woman passed by with tinkling jewelry, like the owner of a brothel, then two young Jews and an old man with baskets. There was no patrol in sight, so I remained relieved to choose a safe path to the orchard in the valley of Gethsemane. I had to get out of town without attracting attention. The flower gate at the shovel gate did not qualify. Sure, right next to it was a narrow archway through which a person could slip if necessary at any time of day or night, but a walker walking to the valley of Hinnom at night was quite suspicious, and I turn my separate attention to the eastern Commerce Gate, which was open at all hours and there was always a lot of people crowding in there.

The street sloped down and looked out on a poor neighborhood, and more to the left, above a drab accumulation of houses, rose the white walls of the temple, lit by a large number of fires. I remained standing for a few moments, watching, it was as if the temple went between the city and the black sky, like the visible vestibule of eternity. I suddenly saw myself as a little boy who had stepped over the centuries, saw how the earth breathed, how the screens of individual people had become the shadows of generations, and the light dust in the depths of the night sky, which was the gray of my father's beard; I was reminded again of Joseph, and now he was more than a kind and patient stepfather, he expressed in his being the whole sorrow and care of the world.

Someone put a heavy hand on my shoulder; I shuddered and turned around. It was a Roman, a tessarius, I could tell by his belt and helmet. He was with three legionnaires on patrol through the city, and they were now standing around me, holding their shorts along. Escape was no longer possible; resistance was futile. They had on soft sandals, without iron fittings, and so they moved silently, their gray coats of skins making sure they did not stand out in the night.

'Take off your hood,' the tesserarian said in Hebrew.

I obeyed.

'Who are you? What are you doing here?

'My name is Nikolaos,' I answer in Hellenic. 'I am a pilgrim from Antioch. I came to the city to celebrate Passover. I am looking for cheap accommodation. Don't you know where I could stay?'

'Say, speak Hebrew or human language here, I don't understand Greek,' the tesserarian said in exasperation; he was a head taller than me and possessed a gigantic chin bowl on a large, flat face that women probably found attractive.

By human language the tesserarian understood Latin, but I repeated the saying in Hebrew, so as not to appear too developed, and thus, suspicious.

'Look at him, boys,' the tesserarian said to his legionnaires, 'isn't he the man who threw a stone at our Centurion this week, when we broke up the protest feeders in the fish market?'

'He looks like it,' replied one of the soldiers, without looking at me, and I understood where the road to Miranda was: when I took off my hood the tesserarian had seen my glittering signet ring and decided to take it. He knew there was nothing else for me to do, his word and the testimony of one of the legionnaires were enough to throw me in jail, and if they found out who I really was....

Yes, it was a waste of the signet ring, and I had some silver coins in my belt, but it probably didn't work to buy you off of a night patrol with that, most likely they would pick up one as well as the other.

'friend, you bear a heavy responsibility with keeping the peace of the citizens of this city, not this signet ring as a gift from me, wholeheartedly.'

The tertiary quickly put the signet ring into the purse attached to his shoulder belt, and his face changed storage, as if he saw a dear brother in me.

'Thank you, Nikolaos,' he said with a smile. 'My name is Kaeso, remember it. Tesserarian Kaeso Crispus, commander of the night watch. If you ever get stopped by a patrol before the end of the night, tell them you are a personal informant of mine and are investigating a matter of state importance. And everything is for the best. Go ahead.

I took a few steps and looked back again, but the soldiers had already disappeared, as quickly and silently as they had appeared in the shadow of the wall there behind a tall cypress tree darkly stood out and gave off a spicy, sweet needle smell.

Remembering that the oil of the cypress was used by men who wanted to make their coitus last longer, I was stunned by these misguided thoughts and walked on quickly, repeating to myself excitedly: Tesserarian Kaeso Crispus, a matter of state.

At the bread warehouses I had to turn left, but this street, which led past barracks in houses of Levites, was too lively even at night, and I went straight ahead, along a dark, winding street that led over a small water through which all the city's waste flowed into the valley of Hinnom. Sometimes the water ran through a tunnel; sometimes it was open, as in the place where I crossed it via a bridge, gasping for breath from the stench. Behind it began the Tiropeon district; the houses here were shabby, the walls lower, and I was accompanied by the barking of dogs. There was no one in the small streets, which was an encouraging sign.

When I got to the soap factory, I looked left and walked up the hill along a long street with a row of new, as yet uninhabited houses. In one spot, where someone was building a house, among the piles of held bricks stood a young, lone olive tree whose narrow leaves were silvery appointments in the moonlight. It was obstructing construction, but, oddly enough, had not been cut down. I didn't think it would make it long, even though it could last another 500 years or so.

Across the East Gate, I lingered, in the shadow of a house, by a window with closed shutters, through the cracks where light came out. Probably tires inside a family, it was cozy and safe there, while I was terrified. Tomorrow people will celebrate Passover, I thought. They will gather at a joyous table, while I, best possible, will be captured and put to death. I wanted to become a bird again, like in my last dream, and fly over the city wall. I even felt the indignation that I was incapable of doing so. Or, if I could not turn into a bird, then at least into an old woman, able to walk restlessly through the gate. Nobody cared about an old woman. She could be on her way anywhere, perhaps to milk a goat or gather a basket of dry manure for the fireplace....

I saw that at the East Gate there were no Roman guards, but one from Judea, who were both more harsh and greedy. If anything, it was hard to get rid of them. Warriors with lamps and torches on behalf of everyone attentively who went out of the city at that hour at the end of the night.

Yes, it would be good to reach the true height of sorcery and turn into a bird when you wanted to, and then not in a dream, submitting to an unknown world. That was a lot more complicated than making a mud body move or comforting a madman. I hadn't even learned how to direct my own dreams. That was better. I thought I was flying on the wings of prophets, but in reality I was flying on the wings of tombs.

Crucified people probably didn't see much good in their dreams. There was one consolation, dreams never told directly about the future, they always had to be interpreted, sometimes in the most unexpected way, and so I probably hadn't seen myself hanging there on that cross. Probably not...

As I surveyed the gate, I watched as a horseman approached the head of the guard, a Roman deanus. They had a brief conversation, and de Ruyter disappeared around the corner.

Few people favored Jerusalem at that hour: a woman with two children, a few strokes with a hoe, for their work in the fields. Another Roman soldier passed by on horseback.

But one by one load wagons and heavily loaded donkeys did drive into the city, traders from the countryside brought their wares to the Jerusalem market, rushed into the squares to take those most advantageous spots.

I took off my hoodie, straightened my back and walked to the gate looking calm, but with a bated breath of fear, with my knapsack slung over my shoulder. It seems like it was easier for a rich plowman to enter the Kingdom of Heaven than for me to get out of this city with my flat bag.

There were five guards standing there. The night was coming to an end, they were obviously tired, they wanted to eat and sleep and were sullen. Their movements were slow.

I was already under the archway, pressing myself against the wall to let a woman with a jug on her shoulder through, when I was called by one of the bathhouse Bert, "Hey, you there, with that knapsack, halt!

I obeyed.

A twosome approached me. One had a lamp in his hand; he ~did~ it up and illuminated my countenance. His right hand was resting on the bronze vest of his sword, shaped like a lion's head. The other, the head of the guard, was small in stature, looking Pieter out of his eyes and had a short beard. They each wore a leather helmet, covered with round metal plates like shakes. From their faces and their accent, I understand they were Edomites.

"Where are you going? Add the head of the guard, and he yawned. He stood nearby, and I smelled his bad breath; he had something on his stomach or a rotten tooth.

What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say? Which lie sounded the most convincing? I was flustered and couldn't concentrate, all my powers of persuasion had suddenly disappeared like snow in the sun, all my strength was exhausted. I felt vulnerable as never before. If I had had a dagger up my sleeve at that moment, I would have decided to kill him and then dissolve into darkness beyond the gate. They slept... Stabbing the main man's dagger in the lower abdomen, giving the second Warrior as he drew his sword a tale of a kill... And taking the legs....

'I Am on my way to the Harcha-Zejtin Cemetery,' I heard my own voice, sounding quite confident. 'I want to visit my father's grave because of the holiday.'

'You're lying,' said the head of the guard promptly.

For a few seconds we were silent, looking at each other. I thought perhaps I should refer to tesserarian Kaeso Crispus, but that would be odd, since I had already mentioned that Cemetery, and an unknown Roman soldier would not be an authority for him either.

'But I can still tell by your shaved head that you are a robber and a murderer,' the small, hawkish male added. 'So where are you going?'

'To the cemetery.'

"We're all going to the cemetery," he chuckled, and a little softer he asked, "Do you have any money on you?

'Yes,' I said, glad I had held back some silver; the precious metal once again opened the way to my salvation.

"And what would you do with that in a graveyard? He asked. 'I can take it into custody for you and give it back to you when you return.'

'Thank you, that's a great idea, because soon I'm going to lose it on the road, and there's scum running around town too,' I said, and I unbuckled my belt, took out six circles and gave them to him. I didn't have a cent left.

'And what else do you have on you, suspicious man?' ' He asked, adding, 'They're currently all over town looking for a rioter named Jesus. Do you know that one?

'I have heard of him, but have never seen him,' I replied, and to finally be rid of this head of the mat I took the book of Nikolaos of Damascus from my knapsack and reached for the shirt saying, 'From this book you can learn how to turn rusty iron into gold using words, take it, I know it by heart anyway.'

"Oh, thank you!" he said, genuinely delighted. 'I love books. What language is it in? In Hellenic? Pity, I know almost no Hellenic, but at home my wife will read it aloud, I have a very educated wife. Well then, go on, friend, go on, visit your father.... A good thing...'

Once through the gate I was able to burst into jubilation, and I stood and watched with a satiated smile as people drove their loss into the city. How little you sometimes needed to be happy, just leaving Jerusalem behind. Preferably forever. But then I immediately understood that I had turned into a beggar, the guard had taken everything from me, even my favorite book. Of course, I had given it myself, but there was no other way... I was seized by anger, after which a new wave of despair washed over me, and I almost had to cry. I understood that I had to keep my self-control; in recent days I had wasted too much spirit power.

I walked without haste across the long bridge, into the darkness of the valley. Then I thought that the guard could come after me, and I quickened my stride.

To the left, beyond the city limits, from a tall tower shone the lights of the crystal lamps that were lit on holidays, on visits to Jerusalem by kings and prefects from the province, and also to warn the people of the dawning of a new moon. I thought that at that time those lamps were not burning in honor of Passover, but as a sign of my defeat.

My hopes were pinned on my students. Of course they will come, I thought feverishly, and together we will not be lost. I wonder where Matthew is hanging out. For he has our money. To Matthew I doubted more than those too, are really loved he did in this world only from his knapsack of scrolls. A knapsack! I suddenly hated my own knapsack, which contained only some clothes and a few flat, unleavened loaves, left over from the evening meal. It suddenly occurred to me that there was no more bitter fate than to lug this paltry knapsack along, on its way to the unknown, a symbol of human vanity. And gritting my teeth, I hurled it from the bridge into the ravine.

'Disappear, Jerusalem! I invoked the voice of the East, the voice of the best, the voice of the four winds,' I whispered the bus roads, furious with myself and with the whole city, and this wrath brightened my consciousness. 'My voice against Jerusalem! My voice against the grooms and brides, my voice against the whole people! Jerusalem be cursed! The people are cursed!'

The bed lay, but with something of hesitation, as if a human being was coming back to his senses after a serious illness. I took the road to Jericho, lying there along a few stadia off, for on the other side of the valley left a barely discernible path, and climbed up through the thorny scrub against the steep rocky slope to the Olive Garden, just at the very back of the old, half-collapsed house. I stepped inside, walked to a corner, lowered myself against the wall and dozed off.

I awoke just as the sun was now shining through the hole in the roof, and I understood that my disciples had abandoned me. They had become afraid, had lost faith in their teacher, had not had the strength to love the simple man in him who did believe in him, and sometimes was that not enough? Then an elevator went up to me: perhaps one of my students had been arrested and had betrayed my whereabouts? A moment later I heard footsteps beyond the hole of the door and Bert was so frightened that I did not even find the strength to come to the government.

It was Judas! He was the only one who, where I had been abandoned by all the other disciples (not to mention the women, who flew in all directions at the slightest breath of wind, like nut shells), had come to me. At a time when I had lost hope of seeing any of my loved ones. Where was Simon? Where were the others? Probably everyone had fled town, blindly. Stupid Matthew had taken his writing to safety... At that moment I wished that soldiers had captured him, and taken away his book scrolls and destroyed them, that they had given him a bit of a beating themselves, that was the only way to sober him up. What was to become of him, if everyone had managed to evade arrest? I thought. Philippus did find a youth and with him perhaps his fortune, Simon shall go into the service of a more successful Messiah or join the suit of thieves. Only after the future fate of Andrew remains guesswork, he was always so unpredictable.

'Jesus, I managed to get here as if by a miracle, there are patrols and spies everywhere, the whole city is talking about you...' the Judas hastily explained. 'Caiaphas demands of his soldiers that they get you at all costs. They have turned all of Jerusalem over, and now they are coming out of the area. You can no longer leave the Garden unseen ... A little more and they will be here ... I love you, you must get yourself to safety, Master. I have obtained women's clothes for you, charcoal Roger, a mirror and a bright headscarf, you dress up and measure that you get as far away from the city as possible. In the meantime, I fool them, distract them. We look alike, and the soldiers don't know you by face... I'll also make sure they beat me up on the way, I'll insult their head man, play him, it couldn't be better, all beat up faces look alike...'

I understood what he wanted. I hugged Judas, unless his head was on my chest, and told him that if the authorities had figured everything out and let him go, he would be able to find me in Damascus, which everyone there knew.

We were hiding like mice, in that long-abandoned house with the earth floor, littered with dirt. It had not been lived in by anyone in ages, not in 100 years had anyone feral or maintained it, no one had reaped the benefits. Those were my days in Paris, where I could wait for death. I had not a penny left of the ephemeral riches of the prophet, I was haunted, on my arms were the old and new scars of numerous veins, and most of all I wanted to smoke kif, to find peace in my soul. The only valuable thing I had left was the amber pipe I had received from the old scribe Shammai.

My stepfather's gray beard had long been mutilated with the earth, while my mother had lost all of her mind. God was playing with me and already pushing me through to the abyss, and if the poor Judas really hadn't been, it would have ended. What happened the moment everything ended? Probably then came the oblivion that resembled the warm, velvety soft mouth of a woman swaddling you, by now stripped of all sins.

Above Damascus it was now night. Running out of oil in the lamp, I got up, filled the lamp and put my mouth to good use, to write off these last lines. Looking out through the narrow window from the room where I was sitting, the city belched out one giant stone. Here and there a light burns. The moon is waning.

When people tell us about the life of an idol, it is always simple and purposeful, like a pole, but when I look at my own life, I shudder at its indeterminacy. Yes, the times of the prophets are over.

Probably they will keep the memory of me for a while (and yes, two yes, as long as the emperor does not make any new ergenisweak reforms). Allegedly, to get bread and wine, my disciples implore the gullible necks that they have remained faithful to me to the end. They just do. Standing under a tree looking at a star, it is as if it were among the branches' hands, so too was I only seemingly present among those whom I healed and taught, for after all, my spirit was somewhere far away. But surely there will be someone to find out everything that happened to me? After all, even the path of a star can be calculated, using ephemerides, Mathematica and Arabic instruments, and the unknown opens up on the basis of the known. Incidentally, man differs from a star in that his path cannot be strictly calculated. With what means did you have to equip yourself if you wanted to know the truth? Yes, at forms also only a weak reflection of reality, and now I am putting an end to these notes, and with them to my old life that had made me a prophet, even though I must confess that I was not worthy of it. I will not stay long in Damascus. I want one loving wife whom I love, not hundreds of fierce ecstatic women as before, I want to settle in a cedar forest, in a house by a stream, I want to build a small garden on a sunny terrace, with medicinal plants, let the Kingdom of Heaven take care of itself, because it is (what a time it took to find that out!) Not God's child bidding for salvation, but a Chimera pursuing its own inhuman goals.

I watched carefully as Judas walked up to the soldiers. The Centurion asked him his name. 'I am Jesus,' Judas said, and his hands were tied behind his back. He was calm and smiling. It was my recollection that the legionnaires did not take a look at the old house. Soon the footsteps were hushed, I hurriedly got up to put on the women's clothes. Judas had done this for me, and it had been his will. Will I be able to live on? Yes. You have to keep your mind clear and live, because you won't get a second chance.

The month of Elul...

The year 3793 since the creation of the world.