“That I? Speak!”

“… were crucified!” She said this and then once more rolled to the ground in a swoon.

They laid her on her bed. Martha stayed with her. Jesus opened the door and went out to the fields. He was suffocating. He heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw the young Negro.

“What is it?” he shouted at him angrily. “I want to be alone.”

“I’m afraid to leave you alone, Jesus of Nazareth,” the Negro replied, his eyes glistening. “This is a difficult moment. Your mind might waver.”

“That’s just what I want. There are times when my confounded mind hinders my sight.”

The Negro laughed. “Are you a woman? Do you believe in dreams? Let the ladies cry. They’re females, they can’t endure great joy, so they cry. But we, we endure, don’t we?”

“Yes. Be quiet!”

They went along quickly and climbed up onto a green hill. Anemones and yellow daisies were scattered in the grass. The earth smelled of thyme. Jesus could see his house between the olive trees. Peaceful smoke rose from the roof, and Jesus’ soul felt relieved. The women have recovered their forces, he reflected. They have squatted before the hearth and lighted a fire… “Let’s go back without breathing a word,” he said to the Negro. “They’re women: have pity on them.”

Days went by. One evening a strange, half-drunk wayfarer appeared. It was the Sabbath and Jesus was not working. He sat on the doorstep holding his youngest son and youngest daughter on his knees, playing with them. It had rained in the morning, but the weather cleared in the afternoon and now thin, cherry-colored clouds floated toward the west. Between them the sky was solid green, like a meadow. Two cooing doves were on the roof. Mary sat at Jesus’ side, her breasts pendulant and full.

The wayfarer halted, glanced maliciously at Jesus and laughed. “Ho, Master Lazarus,” he said, stammering, “well, you’ve certainly had good luck! The years run past your door and depart while you sit like the patriarch Jacob with his two wives Leah and Rachel. You’ve got two wives yourself-Martha and Mary. The one, so I hear, is in charge of the house and the other is in charge of you; while you are in charge of everything: wood, land, wives-and God. But show yourself a little, stick your nose out of your door, shade your eyes against the sun and gaze out over the world to see what’s going on… Have you ever heard of Pilate, Pontius Pilate? May his bones roast in tar!”

Jesus recognized the half-drunk wayfarer and smiled. “Simon of Cyrene, man of God and wine, welcome! Take a stool and sit down. Martha, a cup of wine for my old friend.”

The wayfarer sat down on the stool and took the cup between his palms. “All the world knows me,” he said proudly. “Everyone has come to do worship in my tavern. You must have too, Master Lazarus-but don’t change the subject. I was asking you if you’d heard of Pilate, Pontius Pilate. Did you ever see him?”

The Negro appeared. He leaned against the door post and listened.

“A thin cloud passes across my mind,” said Jesus, struggling to remember. “Two cold eyes, ash gray like a hawk’s; a laugh full of mockery; a gold ring… I don’t remember anything else. Oh, yes-a silver basin he had brought to him so that he could wash his hands. Nothing else. It must have been a dream, the hoar frost of the mind. Up came the sun and it vanished… But now that you remind me of him, Cyrenian, I do remember: he tormented me greatly in my sleep.”

“Curse him! I’ve heard that in God’s eyes dreams weigh more heavily than the reality of the day. Well, God punished Pilate. He’s been crucified!”

Jesus uttered a cry: “Crucified!”

“Why get excited? Serves him right! They found him yesterday, at dawn-crucified. It seems his mind began to totter. He couldn’t sleep. He would get out of bed, find a basin and wash his hands all night long, shouting, ‘I wash and rinse my hands; I am innocent!’ But the blood remained on his hands, and he would get more water and wash them again. Then he would go out and roam Golgotha. He could find no rest. Every night he ordered his two faithful Negro slaves to beat him with his own whip. He gathered thorns, made them into a crown, pushed it onto his head, and the blood flowed.”

“I remember… I remember…” Jesus murmured. From time to time he glanced stealthily at the Negro boy who, leaning against the door post, was listening intently.

“Afterward he fell to drink and went the rounds of the taverns. He came to mine too, drank, became a cock and a pig. His wife got disgusted and abandoned him. Then orders came from Rome to dismiss him… Are you listening, Master Lazarus? Why do you sigh?”

Jesus stared at the ground and did not reply. The boy refilled Simon’s cup. “Quiet!” he hissed softly in his ear. “Go away!”

But Simon became angry. “Why should I be quiet! To make a long story short, yesterday at dawn your friend Pilate was found at the top of Golgotha, crucified!”

Jesus suddenly felt a stab in his heart as though he was being pierced with a lance; and the four blue marks on his hands and feet swelled and turned red.

Mary saw him grow pale. She approached and stroked his knees. “Beloved,” she said, “you are tired. Come inside and lie down.”

The sun had set; the air grew cool. The Cyrenian, now completely drunk, was tired of talking. He fell asleep. The Negro seized his arm, raised him with one heave and dragged him out of the village.

“You were delirious,” he said to him angrily, pointing to the road to Jerusalem. “Leave!”

The boy returned anxiously to the house. Jesus, stretched out in his workshop, had his eyes pinned on the skylight. Martha was arranging the dinner. Mary suckled the youngest child and silently watched Jesus. The Negro boy entered, his eyes still flashing with anger.

“He’s gone,” he said. “He was completely drunk; he didn’t know what he was saying.”

Jesus turned and looked at the Negro in an agony. He bit his lips so that they would not dare part and speak. Once more he turned to the Negro. He seemed to be asking his aid. But the boy put the finger to his lips and smiled at him.

“Go to sleep,” he said, “go to sleep.”

Jesus closed his eyes. His lips relaxed, the wrinkles in his forehead disappeared, and he slept. The next day at dawn when he awoke, he felt joy and relief, as though he had escaped from a great danger. The Negro had also awakened. Chuckling to himself, he was putting the workshop in order.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Jesus, winking at him.

“I’m laughing at mankind, Jesus of Nazareth,” he answered in a low voice, so that the women would not hear. “What terrors your wretched minds have to pass at every moment! Sheer cliffs to the right, sheer cliffs to the left, sheer cliffs behind you. No passage but in front, and there: a string stretched out over the abyss!”

“For a moment,” said Jesus, laughing also, “my mind stumbled on your string and all but fell. But I escaped!”

The women entered, and the talk took a different turn. The fire was lighted; the day began. A mob of laughing children flew into the yard and set about playing blindman’s bluff.

“Mary, do we have so many children?” said Jesus, laughing. “Martha, the yard is full. We’ve either got to enlarge the house or stop giving birth.”

“We’ll enlarge the house,” answered Martha.

“They’re almost ready to climb the walls and trees of the yard like field mice and squirrels. We’ve declared war on death, Mary. Blessed be the organs of women. They are full of eggs, like those of fish, and each egg is a man. Death will not overcome us.”

“No, death will not overcome us, Beloved. You just take care of yourself and stay well,” Mary replied.

Jesus was in a good mood and wanted to tease her. Besides, Mary pleased him very much this morning, only half awake as she was, and standing before him combing her hair.

“Mary,” he said, “don’t you ever think about death, don’t you seek God’s mercy, don’t you worry what will become of you in the next world?”