“My kingdom is not on earth.”

“Where, then: on the water, in the air?” asked Pilate, bursting into laughter.

“In heaven,” Jesus calmly replied.

“Fine,” said Pilate. “You can take heaven as a present, but don’t touch the earth!”

He removed the thick ring he was wearing on his thumb, lifted it high into the light and looked at the red stone. Carved upon it was a skull surrounded by the words, “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die.”

“I find the Jews disgusting,” he said. “They never wash themselves, and they have a God in their own image: long-haired, unwashed, grasping, boastful, and as vindictive as a camel.”

“Know that this God has already lifted his fist over Rome,” Jesus said, again calmly.

“ Rome is immortal,” Pilate answered, yawning.

“ Rome is the huge statue which the prophet Daniel saw in his vision.”

“Statue? What statue? Whatever you Jews yearn for while you’re awake, you see in your sleep. You live and die with visions.”

“That is the way man begins his campaign-with visions. Little by little the shade thickens and solidifies, the spirit dons flesh and descends to earth. The prophet Daniel had his vision, and because he had it: that’s that!-the spirit will take on flesh, descend to earth and destroy Rome.”

“Jesus of Nazareth, I admire your audacity-or is it idiocy? It seems that you don’t fear death, and that’s why you speak with such freedom… I like you. Well, tell me about Daniel’s vision.”

“One night the prophet Daniel saw a huge statue. Its head was of gold, its breast and arms of silver, its stomach and thighs of bronze. Its shins were of iron, but its feet, at the very bottom, were of clay. Suddenly an invisible hand slung a stone at the earthen feet and shattered them; and immediately the entire statue-gold, silver, bronze and iron-rolled to the ground… The invisible hand, Pontius Pilate, is the God of Israel, I am the stone, and the statue is Rome.”

Pilate yawned once more. “I understand your game, Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews,” he said wearily. “You insult Rome in order to make me angry, so that I’ll crucify you and you’ll swell the ranks of the heroes. You prepared everything very cleverly. You’ve even started, I hear, to revive the dead: yes, you’re clearing the road. Later on, in the same way, your disciples will spread the word that you didn’t die, that you were resurrected and ascended to heaven. But, my dear rascal, you’ve missed the boat. Your tricks are out of date, so you’d better find some new ones. I’m not going to kill you, I’m not going to make a hero of you. You’re not going to become God-so get the idea out of your head.”

Jesus did not speak. Through the open window he watched Jehovah’s immense Temple flash in the sun like a motionless man-eating beast with multicolored flocks of men moving and entering its black gaping jaws. Pilate played with his delicate golden chain and did not speak either. He was ashamed to ask a favor of a Jew, but he had promised his wife he would, and now had no choice.

“Is that all?” Jesus asked. He turned toward the door.

Pilate rose. “Don’t leave,” he said. “I have something to tell you-that’s why I called you here. My wife says she dreams about you every night. Because of you she hardly dares close her eyes. She says you complain to her that your compatriots Annas and Caiaphas seek your death and you beg her every night to speak to me and convince me not to let them kill you. Last night my wife screamed, woke up with a start and began to cry. It seems she pities you (I don’t know why: I keep my nose out of female nonsense). Well, she fell at my feet to make me call you and tell you to go away and save yourself. Jesus of Nazareth, the air of Jerusalem isn’t good for your health. Return to Galilee! I don’t want to use force-I’m telling you as a friend. Return to Galilee!”

“Life is war!” Jesus answered in the same resolute, always tranquil voice, “and you know it because you’re a soldier and a Roman. But what you don’t know is this: God is the commander and we his soldiers. From the moment that man is born, God shows him the earth and upon the earth a city, village, mountain, sea or desert, and says to him, ‘Here you shall wage war!’ Governor of Judea, one night God seized me by the hair, lifted me up, brought me to Jerusalem, set me down in front of the Temple and said, ‘Here you shall wage war!’ I am no deserter, Governor of Judea-it is here that I shall wage my war!”

Pilate shrugged his shoulders. He already regretted that he had asked the favor and revealed a household secret to a Jew. As was his habit, he went through the motions of rinsing his hands.

“Do as you please,” he said. “I wash my hands of the whole matter. Go!”

Jesus raised his arm and took his leave. But as he was crossing the threshold, Pilate called to him teasingly, “Hey, Messiah, what is this fearful news I hear you bring the world?”

“Fire,” Jesus replied, again tranquilly, “fire to cleanse the earth.”

“Of Romans?”

“No, of unbelievers. Of the unjust, the dishonorable, the satiated.”

“And then?”

“And then on the scorched, purified earth, the new Jerusalem shall be built.”

“And who is going to build the new Jerusalem?”

“I am.”

Pilate burst into laughter. “Well, well, I was right when I told my wife you were mad. You must visit me now and again-it will help me pass the time. All right now: go! I’m tired of you.”

He clapped his hands. The two colossal Negroes entered and showed Jesus to the door.

Judas was waiting anxiously outside the tower. Some hidden worm had been eating the master lately. Each day his face grew more wrinkled and fierce, his words sadder and more threatening. He often went and stayed all alone for hours on Golgotha, a hill outside of Jerusalem where the Romans crucified insurgents; and to the degree he saw the priests and high priests around him grow frantic and dig his grave, by so much-and even more-did he assault them and call them venomous adders, liars, hypocrites who trembled at the thought of swallowing a mosquito and then went ahead and swallowed a camel! Every day he stood from dawn to dusk outside the Temple and uttered wild words as though deliberately seeking his death; and one day when Judas asked him when he would finally throw off the lambskin so that the lion could appear in all its glory, Jesus shook his head, and never in his life had Judas seen a bitterer smile on human lips. From that time on, Judas had not left his side. Even when he saw him mount Golgotha, he went secretly behind lest some hidden enemy lift his hand against him.

Judas paced up and down outside the accursed tower and glanced fiercely at the motionless Roman guards with their armor of brass and heavy boorish faces; and at the godless standard behind them which, with its eagles, waved back and forth at the top of a high pole. What did Pilate want with him, he asked himself, why had he called him? Judas knew-the Zealots of Jerusalem kept him informed-that Annas and Caiaphas went continually in and out of this tower and that they accused Jesus of wanting to start a revolution in order to chase out the Romans and make himself king. But Pilate did not agree. “He’s completely insane,” he would say, “and he doesn’t mix himself up in Rome ’s business. I once purposely sent men to ask him, ‘Does the God of Israel want us to pay taxes to the Romans-what’s your opinion?’ And he, quite truly, quite intelligently,. answered, ‘Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s!’ He’s not as crazy as a saint,” Pilate would say, laughing; “he’s crazed by saintliness. If he steps on your religion, punish him-I wash my hands of the whole affair. But he does not concern Rome.” This is what he always told them, and then he sent them away. But now… Could he have changed his mind?