The rabbi spoke extremely softly. It was not right for the others to hear such words while they ate. Jesus listened, bowed over in despair. This was precisely the favor he wished to ask of the rabbi this evening: to talk to him about death, so that he could find strength. He ought at this time to have death always in front of him, in order to get used to it. But now… He wanted to put forth his hand to stop the old rabbi, to shout at him, That’s enough! but at this point, how could he hold the old man back? The rabbi could not wait to recount all the filth, to draw it out of his memory and cleanse himself.

“My salves were worthless; the worms ate them too. But a devil was still enthroned in that filth and he gave orders. He commanded all the rich and powerful of Israel to assemble, and he penned them up in his courtyard. As he was dying he called for his sister Salome. ‘As soon as I give up the ghost,’ he said, ‘kill them all, so that they won’t rejoice at my death!’ He perished. Herod the Great perished, the last king of Judah. I hid behind the trees and began to dance. The last king of Judah had perished-the blessed hour had come, the blessed hour which Moses prophesied in his Testament: ‘At the end there will come a king debauched and dissipated, his sons unworthy; and out of the west will come barbarous armies and a king to occupy the Holy Land. And then, it will be the end of the world!’ That’s what the prophet Moses predicted. It has all taken place. The end of the world has come.”

Jesus gave a start. It was the first time he had heard this prophecy. “Where is it written?” he shouted. “Who is the prophet? This is the first I hear of it!”

“Not many years ago in a cave of the Judean desert a monk found an ancient parchment in a clay jar. He unrolled it and saw at the top in red letters: ‘The Testament of Moses.’ Before he died the great patriarch had called his successor, Joshua, son of Nun, and dictated to him all that was going to happen in the future. And lo! we’ve reached the years he prophesied. The debauched king was Herod, the barbarous armies the Romans; and as for the end of the world, if you lift your head, you’ll see it coming in through the door!”

Jesus rose. The house constricted him. He went past the companions who were eating, free of cares, and emerged into the yard. There, he lifted his head. The moon, large and sorrowful, was at that moment rising from behind the mountains of Moab. It was at last about to become entirely full and to issue in the Passover.

He gazed at it, astonished, as though he saw it for the first time in his life. What is the moon, he asked himself, this moon which rises from the mountains and makes the frightened dogs thrust their tails between their legs and bark at it? It mounts, silent in the terrifying silence, and drips venom. The heart of man becomes a pit which fills with venom… Jesus felt an envenomed tongue over his cheeks and neck and arms, a tongue which licked him, which wrapped his face and body in a white light, a white shroud.

John had a presentiment of the master’s suffering. He came out into the yard and saw him, his whole body submerged in moonlight. Speaking softly so that he would not frighten him, he said, “Rabbi…” and approached on tiptoe.

Jesus turned and looked at him. The tender, beardless adolescent vanished, and an old man, a very old man, stood in the middle of the yard under the moon. He held a blank book open in one hand and in the other a quill, long, like a copper-tipped lance. And his all-white beard flowed down to his knees.

“Son of Thunder,” Jesus cried, drawn out of himself, “write: ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, he who was, is, and shall be, the Lord of Hosts.’ Did you hear a loud voice like a trumpet?”

John was terrified. The rabbi’s mind had begun to totter! He knew that the moon inebriates-that was why he had come out into the yard: to get Jesus and bring him indoors. But alas! he had arrived too late. “Be still, Rabbi,” he said. “I am John, whom you love. Let’s go inside. This is Lazarus’s house.”

“Write!” Jesus again commanded. “’There are seven angels around God’s throne, each with a trumpet in his mouth.’ Do you see them, son of Thunder? Write: ‘The first angel fell to the earth, hail and fire, mixed with blood. One third of the earth was burned up, one third of the trees, one third of the green grass. The second angel sounded his trumpet. A mountain of fire fell into the sea, and one third of the sea became blood, one third of the fish died, one third of the sailing ships sank. The third angel sounded his trumpet. A great star fell from heaven and one third of the rivers, lakes and fountains were poisoned. The fourth sounded his trumpet. One third of the sun became dark, and one third of the moon, and of the stars. The fifth sounded his trumpet. Another star hurled forth, the Abyss opened and out poured clouds of smoke and in the smoke locusts which flowed, not over the grass or trees, but over men; and their hair was long like women’s hair, and their teeth like lions’ teeth. They wore iron armor and their wings thundered like many-horsed chariots rushing into battle. The sixth angel sounded his trumpet…”

But John could stand it no longer. He burst into tears and fell at Jesus’ feet. “My rabbi,” he cried, “be still… be still…”

Jesus heard the weeping, quivered, bent over and saw the beloved disciple at his feet. “John, beloved,” he said, “why do you cry?”

John was ashamed to reveal that for a moment, under the moon, the teacher’s mind had tottered. “Rabbi,” he said, “let’s go inside. The old man is asking what happened to you, and the disciples want to see you.”

“And is it because of that you weep, John, beloved?… Let us go in.”

He entered and sat down once more next to the old rabbi. He was extremely tired. His hands were sweating, he was burning up-yet shivering.

The old rabbi gazed at him, frightened. “My child, do not look at the moon,” he said, clasping Jesus’ dripping hand. “They say that it is the nipple of Satan’s chief love, the Night, and flows with-”

But Jesus’ mind was on death. “Father,” he said, “I believe you spoke badly about death. Death does not wear Herod’s face. No, it is a great lord, the keeper of God’s keys, and it opens the door. Try to recall other deaths, Father, and comfort me.”

The disciples had finished their meal. They cut short their chattering in order to listen. Martha cleared away; the two Marys collapsed at Jesus’ feet. From time to time the one glanced stealthily at the other’s arms, bosom, eyes, mouth and hair, anxiously calculating who was the more beautiful.

“My child, you are right,” said the old man. “I spoke badly of God’s black archangel. He always wears the face of the moribund. If Herod dies, he becomes Herod; but if a saint dies, his face shines like seven suns. A great lord, he comes with his chariot and lifts the saint from the ground and brings him up to heaven. Do you want to see the face you will have in eternity? Then look to see how death appears before you at the last hour.”

They all listened open-mouthed, and each, within his mind, anxiously weighed his own soul. For a long time silence fell over them all, as though each one was struggling to see the face of his death.

Finally Jesus opened his mouth and spoke. “Once, Father, when I was twelve years old, I went to the synagogue and listened to you relate the prophet Isaiah’s martyrdom and death to the people of Nazareth. But that was years ago, and I’ve forgotten it. Tonight I have a great desire to hear about his end once more, so that my soul may be soothed and I may become reconciled with death: for you have made my soul extremely angry with your talk of Herod, Father.”

“Why do you want us to talk only about death this evening, my child? Is this the favor you wished to ask of me?”

“Exactly. There is none greater.” He turned to the disciples. “Do not fear death, comrades. May it be blessed! If death did not exist, how could we reach God and remain with him forever? Truly I say to you, death holds the keys and opens the door.”