Chapter 6 - The Letter

That day, I went with my disciples to an olive grove not far from Cana. We had no women with us. We decided to have lunch there, away from the sick, weak, and nauseous who flocked to me. We had brought all kinds of food and spread it on a cloth on the ground. We drank wine from Askol, and we were all in high spirits. In addition to Judas, Simon, and Andrew, Phillippus and Matthew were permanently in my presence. The quiet, engaging Phillippus had abandoned their wife and children for his irrepressible wanderlust; how Matthew had lived before meeting me, I do not know to this day. What appealed to me about this contemplative, gray-bearded man was his development, a rarity among truth seekers with no savings and rarely a roof over their heads. He was constantly diligently noting what was happening to us, using papyrus and pieces of skin, as well as some Judaic manuscripts and mundane Roman documents that he had been able to get his hands on. Matthew scraped away the old text to write again, or my whipped-up actions found a place among the lines of Latin: from trivial government deeds, promissory notes, and wills, reports of tax collection, and private letters. Where did Matthew get all that from? He appropriated all that through his ability to gain the trust of this and that, whether it was an illiterate, ordered, enslaved person or a Roman business advocate. People felt sorry for and believed him; he always referred to me. Whenever we left some small town, Matthew could bring a letter from someone with a beautiful vow to give it to Yelisej in Haifa or Susanne in Hebron. Still, as a result, a detailed description of our evening meal would appear on the cleaned parchment or my exhortation to a remorseful murderer who might have acted justly by avenging a family member. Still, openly condoning murder was not something I wanted to do.

Now, it so happened that Matthew never showed me his notes, and with time, I did understand that they had little to do with reality; he created a fantastic world in which he felt like a fish out of water and cared little about the truth content. I understand that truth, after Aristotle, refers only to the union or separation of concepts. Still, when it comes to one's own life, the events of the underfoot seem highly real.

Anyway, that day, we ate smoked meat in that Gaard and sweets and drank strong Sikora, and I was allowed to fall out of my den of an impeccable teacher again. When the good hope had stirred our hearts, we set loudly to a fisherman's song, whose words were tender and rough at the same time, and therefore, we did not at once take notice of the horsemen who were leading us from the road to Capernaum

approached.

We were singing a joyful song of the fishermen of Galilee, not one of those slow lamentations like the fishermen of the Mediterranean make. It is because the Sea of Galilee does not make its fishermen long for home; they always see their familiar shores. 'Without letting go of the sweet-voiced cymbal, you, my friend, had a miraculous catch of fish,' we sang. 'The net, the spear, the harpoon, some sweet words, the spring month of Nisan, the clean ones in your nets.'

There were five men. The captain, a Roman in rich equipment and a fine tunic rose from his horse, handed the harness to a helper, walked up to us, and asked which of us was Jesus. Fighting my fear, I stood up, faced him, and smiled pleasantly.

He had a handsome, nervous face. The courtesy with which he welcomed me surprised me, which was not peculiar to Roman army leaders when dealing with Jewish vagabonds; he balled his right hand into a fist, placed it against his chest, and made a slight bow. The gilded emblems of his belt sparkled, as did his breastplates and the smoothly polished hilt of his sword. This man of noble standing radiated danger and embodied the very nature of power, and for a moment, I thought he had come to capture me but then, for some reason, wanted to do so with maximum courtesy.

'My name is Marcus Sextus, commander of the auxiliaries,' he said. 'I have come from Jerusalem to ask you for help because the number 10 brings me luck... That brings me to you.'

"What happened? I asked.

'My son has been sick for a long time, but now he is doing very badly. He is dying. You are my last hope. Doctors cannot cure him, not those from here or Egypt. I heard in Cana which way you had gone; that's how I found you...'

From the rest of my conversation with Marcus, I gathered that his seven-year-old son sometimes had seizures, fever dreams, and visions. I asked what visions exactly. It turned out that the last time the boy had cried out that he wanted to shed his skin, like a snake, to be born again, the heavy skin prevented him from flying...encouragingly, in the process, he did not have a bellyache or vomit.

I understood that it was not a fatal ailment but was also hereditary; the tendency toward that proposition was inherent in Marcus' movements, his manner of speaking, and his ecstatically gleaming eyes. The bottom line was that sometimes his son saw things as they were, which was peculiar to children. They were often visited by people whose worst his parents could only suspect.

If time flows nowhere and the world is a fiery ball, as a wise man from the tribe of Ishmael once told me, then the son of Mark in his fever dreams could be anything, even the staff in the hand of the prophet Moses. That same staff that turned into a serpent. Yes, it was a complex language, but it was the only one in which God spoke to us when he wasn't too busy to say anything. And this language was incomparably higher than the suffocating reality that was worse than a severe illness.

Yes, I was not very sober at the time. Still, the famously frothy shikhara had made me extra confident. I said sternly to Marcus, looking him straight in the suffering eyes, "Don't worry, your son is already better.

I was, of course, taking a risk. But it was not very likely that the child would suddenly die (after all, according to his father's words, he had gone through these attacks of fever several times), while my reputation as a teacher needed to be shored up; just as a vine, planted in the arid earth, needed constant watering, so to my image of teacher needed real miracles (as it turned out later no it the boy

indeed better, and the attacks had ceased).

Marcus believed me and changed storage. His face brightened. How did he get so much faith? It would have been enough for all the spiritual servants of the temple, including the head of the guard. It was truly amazing! But perhaps also deadly normal. Faith in God and faith in a miracle were one faith, the same thing that made prophets open their mouths, children be born, and kingdoms and cities founded.

Mark pulled a double-folded papyrus leaf from the leather bag on his belt, reached out to me, and said, "Now, this letter does not reach its destination, so great is my gratitude, Jesus.

Then he made a bow, mounted his horse, and left accompanied by his legionaries. When the horsemen were out of sight, Matthew, who knew Latin well, read the letter aloud, converting it into our language, and I have memorized every word, having reread it several times afterward:

'Valerius is Gratus, prefect of the province of Judea,

To senator Publius Lentulus

You asked me about the state of affairs in the province. I understand that you need that for your new report to Caesar, which is why I gave you detailed notice of almost everything in my previous letter and tried to keep it brief because he does not like verbiage, to which I am sorry to say, I have sometimes been inclined: both the climate and the people of Judea entrusted to me are so horrible that you unwittingly seek salvation in the regular writing of letters, comments, and reminiscences, sitting in the coolness of the residence behind tall doors of cypress wood.

Thus, I want to tell you, in addition to what is already known to you, of the danger emanating from the religion of the Jews. Their clergy may turn into army leaders and the cities into impregnable fortresses. They are fanatical and intransigent in the desire to please their deity, who, in their opinion, teaches them to hate Rome. Unfortunately, this deity does not allow itself to be destroyed, if only because it has no image. But all the life of the Jews is steeped in religion. It is easier to prohibit by law the hot wind from rolling clouds of thorny plants through the desert than to prohibit these people from making offerings in their colossal Temple, which is constantly being rebuilt and enlarged. Here, plots are forged in every house of worship; in every square, a prophet goes on a rampage, calling for something of freedom; even though these people cannot be free, they are victims in the hands of their deity.

There is no doubt that the rabbis are the greatest troublemakers in this matter, which is why I used to replace the supreme cleric every year, even though this evoked even greater hatred toward me on the part of the people. I approved the candidacy of Anna Groes, but a year later, he turned into the equal of a petty tyrant who prophesied about "the voice of the blood of the people. After him, I confirmed that Ismael, the son of Fabius, was in that position, and everything repeated itself. Afterward, in those roles performed: Elisha, the son of Arian, Afterwards Simon... Since then, and to this day, Joseph is the supreme clergyman, nicknamed Caiaphas, and he is madly good-natured and wise, and on these two qualities, on these two pillars rests what we will call the 'mind.' Like his predecessors, Joseph rules over the Sanhedrin, something like our college of priests-pontiffs, who direct the religious life of the land and bicker year after year over this or that aspect of the shadow cast by a donkey. Joseph is a valuable mediator between me and the people of Judea. We will see how it continues.

Besides, I am constantly engaged in the pursuit and destruction of gangs led by desperate orators who hate me and their rabbis in equal measure. One such chatterbox and rascal, who brought no little grief to the people and wanted to insult me during interrogation, I killed with my sword. It does no harm to recall that he had reportedly been a servant of King Herod in his youth:

Now, in all probability, both serve Pluto in the realm of the dead. Where do they get these fiery Jews, for whom crime and revelation are the same? By the way, God gives this evil bull only short horns, and these ungrateful people may be cunning but will never be able to speak to me from a position of strength.

May the condemned to death be forgotten, and I list here the rioters who roam freely, so that you may pass their names on to Caesar, should he suddenly wish to know them: Zechariah from Jaffa;; John the water saint; John the burning bush; Shelemiah the voice of God; Samuel, the son of Joseph; Theodosius from Chaloetsa; Joseph the Anachoreet (The vault to roams throughout the province with his cronies); Joseph the naked; Jesus of Nazareth; Joseph the potter; Joseph the martyr; Levi Great Lamp; Jonathan, son of Eshle Mia; Johanan, son of Zebedeeus; Nestia of Samaria (a murderer, exonerated by the sanhedrin); Avrea son of thunder; Bartholomew, son of Tammaj; Thomas Jehuda; Jeremiah the Wordsmith; Abraham Redbeard; Abraham, son of Levi (organized a Greek pogrom in Jaffa); Abraham Crier; the teacher from Macheron (His name is as yet unknown, pretends to be king); Theodotus Speaking Cedar; Samuel, son of Judah; Adej, son of Alfej; Arsam from Lidda; Jason Sacred Oak; Natfej Fish Eye; Theophilus Goldenmouth; Theophilus, son of Simon; Aviit Former Legionnaire; Savvaty of the Crimea (was the leader of a pirate gang, sentenced to death in absentia); Aviit, son of Joseph; Chavrius the raging; Simon Zelotus; in addition to Anna the Immaculate Mother from and Emmaus and Geula the eloquent.

Some are educated but go barefoot and bareheaded to impress gullible people, ostentatiously playing the role of martyr; some possess prophetic gifts (unfortunately, thieves can also make use of this divine gift), some are ordinary lunatics, while others again are as conscious as consistent enemies of Rome. And each considers it his duty to speak edifying words to the full. Obeying this, the people leave their homes, expose themselves to physical tribulations, lack sleep for nights on end, fast, lapse into morbid jubilation, distribute their possessions as alms, and carry out acts of willfulness and other crimes. These orators cause unrest in the province and threaten the empire.

There is a sad irony of fate in the fact that I, prefect, being curtailed in my course of action, even though I could, in a month, round up all the false prophets and conspirators and put them to death, as Quintilius Varus did after the taking of Jerusalem when he had 2,000 insurgents crucified. On one side, there is Caesar's command; on the other, there is the threat of riots that could take hold of the territory entrusted to me.

Sometimes I walk out onto the balcony of my residence in Caesarea, where there is always a sea breeze, You can do without a slave with a fan, look at the forest of motley ships in the harbor and catch myself thinking that I want to sail away from here at the first opportunity. I envy foreign merchants who are guests here for a short time and set sail again without the need to see these faces and hear this language.

It happens that I catch a criminal, and the Sanhedrin releases him. On top of that, the Jews, in the absence of even a few evil gods, elevate me to godhood and dream of poisoning me or stabbing me with a dagger.

The very nature of these people is such that, with a mouth full of virtue, they dream of revenge and holy war because, for them, the Torah, the collection of local legends, replaces any development.

We can assist these people, but they will be willing to commit any crime to avoid exposing their impositions. They do not want to befriend the gods but believe they must submit to their one-headed deity, like slaves. They do not recognize civil laws and cannot mint two one-headed coins of the same weight. They do not even know that you can build a city according to a plan to prevent it from becoming a chaotic accumulation of structures. They believe in the wails of insane people at the city gate but do not recognize either medicine or public law. And among themselves, there is no peace either; they have often come to me, accusing each other of blasphemy and demanding retribution, until instead of judicial investigation, I put both accusers and accused in jail for a month.

As you see, I crave the counsel of the camera of Egeria here. Still, surely even she does not know what to do with the religion of the Jews, which it seems to me may soon change into something even more extravagant. My agitation in this letter is meant only for you, Publius,

I do not want Caesar to mistake me for a weak alarmist. No, I am bold and tough when necessary. Otherwise, I could not have led this barren province with its dark future for so long.

Your most dedicated

V.G.

Jerusalem, seventh month, 13th year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius.

This letter saddened me and my students even more. It indicated that to the prefect of the province, I was an enemy of the empire and, therefore, to everyone else. My name had emerged from obscurity; one could reckon with me at any moment, and the only salvation from this was to stop bearing witness to the living God, to let my disciples go, to lie on the ground, as fak Moshe Rabin, taking another name... What reassured me, however, was that the letter would not reach Rome (at least if it was not a copy) and that Valerius Gratus dared not persecute the Jewish prophets without the Emperor's permission. I had to get used to the fact that, , the hunt could be on for me at any moment and not attach too much significance to it. I requested Matthew to keep the letter and strictly forbade him from ruining it with a new annotation on top of the text.

I understood why Marcus had come to me; I was the tenth person on the list who could help him.

To encourage my students, I urged them to marvel at the faith Mark was filled with, even though he was not a Jew. A man from the tribe of conquerors, a representative of the haughty and rapacious empire of Rome, Mark demonstrated a love that truly deserved God's love, and he, Mark, would share salvation, unlike many indifferent sons of our kingdom.

What also pleased me was that my name was engraved on those of the highest clergy, figured in the letter. As for the other names,, I have met some of these preachers, and they were harmless and stupidly unworthy of mention. Abraham Redbeard was a dead ordinary drunkard, albeit not without charisma; Theodotus Speaking Cedar was a pitiful dreamer who believed he had received divine revelation from a squirrel who lived in the cedar. At the same time, Geula, The Well-spoken, organized children's weddings, arguing that there was an ample supply of Jewish souls piled up in the heavens that needed to be given bodies as soon as possible.

We stayed in the grove all day, and at sunset, when the rocky hills first turned golden and then, with the coming of dusk, red and violet, we went back to Cana, to one of those perfectly inconspicuous houses of which we had so many.