He stumbled along in a cloud of dust. Bethany appeared at the top of the hill, fully devoured by the sun. Puffing, he began the ascent.

Lazarus’s house was open. The villagers ran in and out in order to see and touch the resuscitated man, to listen carefully for his respiration, to discover if he could speak and if he was really alive-or if, perhaps, he was a ghost! Fatigued and reticent, Lazarus sat in the darkest corner of the house, for light bothered him. His legs, arms and belly were swollen and green, like those of a four-day corpse. His bloated face was cracked all over and it exuded a yellowish-white liquid which soiled the white shroud which he continued to wear: it had stuck to his body and could not be removed. In the beginning he had stunk terribly, and those who came close held their noses; but little by little the stench had decreased, until now he smelled only of earth and incense. From time to time he shifted his hand and removed the grass which had become tangled in his hair and beard. His sisters Martha and Mary were cleansing him of the soil and of the small earthworms which had attached themselves to him. A sympathetic neighbor had brought him a chicken, and old Salome, squatting by the fireplace, was at present boiling it so that the resurrected man could drink the broth and regain his strength. The peasants came and stayed just a few moments to examine him attentively and speak to him. He answered their questions wearily with a laconic yes or no; and then others came from the village or the surrounding towns. Today the blind village chief came too. He put out his hand and fingered him avidly. “Did you have a pleasant time in Hades?” he asked, laughing. “You’re a lucky fellow, Lazarus. Now you know all the secrets of the underworld. But don’t reveal them, wretch, or you’ll drive everyone up here crazy.” He leaned over to his ear and, half joking, half trembling, asked, “Worms, eh? Nothing but worms?” He waited a considerable time, but Lazarus did not answer. The blind man became enraged, took his staff, and left.

Magdalene stood in the doorway and gazed down the road which led to Jerusalem. Her heart was crying like a small infant. All these nights she had been having bad dreams: she saw Jesus marry, and that meant death. The night before, it seemed she dreamed of him as a flying fish which opened its fins, jolted out of the water and fell onto the land. It flapped spasmodically on the pebbles of the beach, struggling in vain to open its fins once more. Suffocating, its eyes began to grow dim. It turned and looked at her, and she all but perished in an effort to grasp it and replace it in the ocean. When she bent down and took it in her hand, however, it was dead. But all the time she held it, lamenting and bathing it in her tears, it grew, filled her embrace and became a dead man.

“I won’t let him return to Jerusalem… I won’t let him…” She sighed and gazed down the white road in case he should appear.

But it was not Jesus who appeared on the road from Jerusalem. Instead, Magdalene saw her old father, all bent over and stumbling. Poor shrunken old man, she thought. In the awful state he’s in, why does he want to follow our rabbi wherever he goes, like an aged faithful dog. I hear him get up at night, go out into the yard, prostrate himself and cry to God, “Help me, give me a sign!” But God allows him to torture himself, apparently punishing him because he loves him: and in this way the poor man is comforted…

She watched him mount now, supporting himself on his crosier. He frequently halted, looked back toward Jerusalem and stretched wide his arms, to catch his breath… All these days that father and daughter were together at Bethany they both forgot the past and spoke to each other again. Seeing that his daughter had abandoned the evil road, the rabbi forgave her. He knew that all sins are washed away by tears, and Magdalene had wept much.

The old man arrived, breathless. Magdalene stepped aside so that he could go through the door, but he stopped and imploringly took her hand. “Magdalene, my child,” he said, “you are a woman: your tears and caresses have great power. Fall at his feet, beg him not to return to Jerusalem. The Scribes and Pharisees grew even more ferocious today. I saw them talking secretly among themselves, poison dripping from their lips. They are plotting his death.”

“His death!” exclaimed Magdalene, and her heart felt crushed. “But can be die, Father?”

The old rabbi looked at his daughter and smiled bitterly. “We always speak that way about those we love,” he murmured, and then was silent.

“But the rabbi is not a man like all the rest; no, he’s not!” Magdalene said in despair. “He’s not! He’s not!” she repeated over and over again, in order to charm away her fears.

“How do you know?” asked the old man. His heart leaped up because he believed in the presentiments of women.

“I know,” Magdalene answered. “Don’t ask me how. I’m sure of it. Do not be afraid, Father. Who will dare touch him now that he’s raised Lazarus?”

“Now that he has raised Lazarus, they’re more frantic than ever. Earlier, they listened to his preaching and shrugged their shoulders. But now that the miracle has been made known, the people have found courage. ‘He’s the Messiah,’ they shout; ‘he revives the dead, his power is from God-let’s go and join him.’ Today men and women took palm branches and ran behind him. The cripples lifted their crutches and threatened; the poor became unruly. The Scribes and Pharisees see all this and fly into a maniacal rage. ‘If we leave him a little while longer, we’re done for,’ they say, and they go incessantly to Annas, and from Annas to Caiaphas and from Caiaphas to Pilate-digging his grave… Magdalene, my child, clasp his knees, don’t let him ever enter Jerusalem again. We must all go back to Galilee!”

He recalled a somber, pock-marked face. “Magdalene,” he said, “on my way here I saw Barabbas roaming about, his face as dismal as Charon’s. When he heard my steps he hid himself in the bushes. That is a bad sign!”

His weak body went slack. His daughter took him in her arms and brought him inside. She fetched him a stool, and he sat down. She knelt at his side.

“Where is he now?” she asked. “Where did you leave him, Father?”

“At the Temple. He shouts and his eyes throw out flames: he’ll set the holy building on fire! And what words-my God, what blasphemies! He says he’ll abolish the Law of Moses and bring a new Law. He won’t go to meet God at the top in Sinai; he’ll meet him in his own heart!”

The old man lowered his voice. “Sometimes, my child,” he said, trembling, “I fear I’m going out of my mind. Or perhaps Lucifer-”

“Silence!” Magdalene commanded, and she placed both her hands over the old man’s lips.

They were still talking when the disciples, one behind the other, appeared at the door. Magdalene jumped up and looked, but Jesus was not among them.

“And the rabbi,” she asked in a heart-rending voice, “where is the rabbi?”

“Don’t be afraid,” Peter answered her with a sullen expression; “he’s coming right away.”

Mary jumped up too. She left her brother and anxiously approached the disciples. Their faces were dark and troubled, their eyes dull. She leaned against the wall.

“The rabbi?” she murmured weakly.

“He’s coming presently, Mary, he’s coming…” answered John. “If anything happened to him, would we leave him?”

The sulking disciples scattered throughout the house, one far away from the next.

Matthew drew his papers out from under his shirt and prepared to write.

“Speak, Matthew,” said the old rabbi. “Say something, and you’ll have my blessing.”

“My father,” answered Matthew, “just now as we were returning all together, Rufus the centurion overtook us at the gate of Jerusalem. ‘Stop!’ he cried. ‘I have orders for you!’ We were all paralyzed with fear. But the rabbi gave his hand tranquilly to the Roman. ‘Welcome, friend,’ he said. ‘What do you want with me?’