“Judas!” Jesus shouted again, desperately.

“Here!” the redbeard replied. He pushed aside the other disciples in order to pass through.

“What do you want, Rabbi?”

“Stay next to me, Judas. Keep me company.”

“Don’t worry, Rabbi, I won’t leave you.” He took the rope from Peter’s hand and began to lead.

“Do not abandon me, Judas, my brother,” Jesus said once more.

“Why should I abandon you, Rabbi? Haven’t we already decided all that?”

At last they came close to Jerusalem. The holy city, brilliantly white in the merciless sun, towered before them on Mount Zion. They passed through a tiny hamlet and from one end to the other heard a dirge, tranquil and sweet, like warm springtime rain.

“Whom are they lamenting? Who died?” asked Jesus with a shudder.

But the villagers who ran behind him laughed. “Don’t be troubled, Master. No one died. The village girls are singing a dirge while they turn the hand mill.”

“But why?”

“To get used to it, Master. To know how to lament when the time comes.”

They climbed up the cobbled lane and entered the cannibalistic city. Noisy, richly bedecked flocks from all the ghettos of the world-each bringing its local smells and filth-were hugging and kissing each other: the day after next was the immortal festival, and all Jews were brothers! When they saw Jesus mounted on the humble ass with the crowd behind him waving palm branches, they laughed.

“Now who in the world is this?”

But the cripples, the diseased and the ragamuffins lifted their fists and threatened: “Now you’ll see! This is Jesus of Nazareth, the king of the Jews!”

Jesus dismounted and hurriedly climbed the steps of the Temple, two by two. He reached Solomon’s Porch, stopped, and looked around him. Stalls had been set up. Thousands of people were selling, buying, bargaining, arguing, hawking their wares: merchants, money-changers, innkeepers, prostitutes. Jesus’ bile rose to his eyes; a sacred rage took possession of him. He lifted the ox-goad and swept down upon each of the wine stands, refreshment stalls and workshops; overturned the tables, struck the tradesmen with his goad. “Away! Out of here! Out of here!” he shouted, brandishing the ox-goad and advancing. Within him was a quiet, bitter entreaty: Lord, Lord, what you have decided must happen, let it happen-but quickly. I ask no other favor of you. Quickly-now while I still have strength.

The mob rushed behind him; it too frantically screamed, “Out of here! Out of here!” and looted the stalls. Jesus halted at the royal arcade, above the Cedron Valley. Smoke rose from his entire body, his long, raven-black hair streamed over his shoulders, his eyes threw out flames. “I have come to set fire to the world,” he shouted. “In the desert John proclaimed, ‘Repent! Repent! The day of the Lord is coming near!’ But I say to you, You no longer have time to repent. It has come, it has come. I am the day of the Lord! In the desert John baptized with water; I baptize with fire. I baptize men, mountains, cities, boats. I already see the fire engulfing the four corners of the earth, the four corners of the soul-and I rejoice. The day of the Lord has come: my day!”

“Fire! Fire!” shouted the mob. “Bring fire, burn up the world!”

The Levites grabbed lances and swords. Jacob, the brother of Jesus, took the lead, his amulets hanging around his neck. They rushed out to seize Jesus. But the people became ferocious; the disciples mustered up courage and in one body, bellowing, rushed to join the others in the fray.

High up in the palace tower the Roman sentries watched them and laughed.

Peter grabbed a lighted torch from one of the stalls. “After them, brothers,” he shouted. “Fire, lads. The hour has come!”

Much blood would then have been spilled in God’s courtyard if the Roman trumpets had not resounded menacingly from Pilate’s tower. And the great high priest Caiaphas emerged from the Temple and ordered the Levites to put down their arms. He had personally and with much skill dug a trap into which the insurgent would fall without fail-and without clamor.

The disciples encircled Jesus and looked at him with anguish. Would he or would he not give the sign? What was he waiting for? How long would he wait? Why was he delaying, and why, instead of raising his hand in a signal to heaven, was he staring at the ground? He, to be sure, need be in no hurry, but they-they were poor men who had sacrificed everything, and the time had come for them to be repaid.

“Decide, Rabbi!” said Peter, red-faced and sweating. “Give the sign!”

Jesus, motionless, had closed his eyes. Sweat ran in drops from his forehead. Your day is approaching, Lord, he said over and over to himself; the end of the world has come. I know that I shall bring it-I-but by dying… Repeating this again and again, he found courage.

John came up to him too. He touched his shoulder and pushed him to make him open his eyes. “If you don’t give the sign now,” he said, “we’re finished. What you’ve done today means death.”

“It means death,” Thomas joined in, “and, for your information, we don’t want to die.”

“Die!” cried Philip and Nathanael, startled. “But we came here to reign!”

John leaned close to Jesus’ breast. “What are you thinking about, Rabbi?” he asked.

But Jesus pushed him away. “Judas, come here beside me,” he said, and he supported himself on the redbeard’s sturdy arm.

“Courage, Rabbi,” Judas whispered. “The hour has come; we mustn’t let them be ashamed of us.”

Jacob stared with hatred at Judas. Earlier, the master would not even turn to look at him, and now, what was this friendship and secret whispering? “They’re cooking up something, the two of them. What do you say, Matthew?”

“I don’t say anything. I listen to what all of you say and do, and I write. That’s my job.”

Jesus squeezed Judas’s arm. Suddenly he felt dizzy. Judas supported him. “Are you tired, Rabbi?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m tired.”

“Think of God and you’ll feel refreshed,” the redbeard replied.

Jesus recovered his balance and turned to the disciples. “Come, let us go,” he said.

But the disciples stood still. They did not want to leave. Where? Again to Bethany? And for how long? They had had enough of this shuttling back and forth.

“I think he’s teasing us,” Nathanael remarked softly to his friend. “I’m not budging!” Having said this, he followed the rest of the disciples, who had started to go sullenly back toward Bethany.

Behind them, the Levites and Pharisees guffawed. A youngish Levite, ugly and round-shouldered, slung a lemon rind which struck Peter square in the face.

“Nice throw, Saul! You hit the bull’s-eye!”

Peter started to turn around to charge the Levite, but Andrew held him back. “Be patient, my brother,” he said. “Our turn will come.

“When? Damn it, when, Andrew?” Peter grumbled. “Can’t you see the mess we’re in?”

Humiliated and silent, they took to the road. The crowd behind them had dispersed, cursing. No one followed them any more; no one laid out his ragged garment for the rabbi to walk upon. Philip dragged the donkey now, while Nathanael, behind, held the tail. Both were in a hurry to return the animal to its master so that they would not get into trouble. The sun was burning; a warm breeze blew; clouds of dust rose up and suffocated them. As they approached Bethany, there in front of them was Barabbas with two savage, huge-mustached companions.

“Where are you taking your master?” he shouted. “Mercy on us, he’s scared right out of his pants!”

“They’re taking him to resurrect Lazarus!” replied Barabbas’s companions, bursting into guffaws.

When they reached Bethany and entered the house they found the old rabbi breathing his last. The women were kneeling around him, silently and motionlessly watching him depart. They knew that there was nothing they could do to bring him back. Jesus approached and placed his hand on the old man’s forehead. The rabbi smiled but did not open his eyes.