Fifth Gospel(126)

By the time the members of the council had left the tribunal the crowds had descended upon Jesus and were revelling in trampling upon the fallen greatness of the man they had welcomed to Jerusalem like a king only a few days before. He was clubbed and beaten with fists and insulted and hit with staves and in the midst of this brutality, this coarseness and ferocity and profanity, he fell, and was swallowed up by the crowds and Jacob saw him no more.

Jacob was aghast. The representatives of the highest human knowledge in Jerusalem had failed to see the Messiah of their people! But he was soon reminded of that peaceful morning when, looking into Joseph’s workshop, the image of his brother had surfaced on the face of Jesus, and he had not wished to see that Jesus was really one with his brother.

Was he any better than these men?

And so it was. On that terror-full night, when all hell was let loose on the world, Jacob finally found the purpose of his life and his spirit home…

And it had come too late.





63


WAGES OF SIN




Judas was present during the trial in the palace of Caiaphas. Among the crowds he watched and listened and clasped that bag of silver tight to his chest, talking to himself and making strange gestures in the air. Divergent thoughts flitted like phantoms across his mind and fought for dominion over his reason. He considered them his unruly companions.

He looked for Magdalena and found her with her brother and the stepmother of Jesus. Her sorrowing face told him that she was in that agony he had prepared for her, and he was glad for it. He was glad for it all, for the screaming of the masses and the abuses of his master and the hooting of laughter and derision.

Glad.

And yet not glad!

For a small voice now began to take from him his gladness.

Look scorpizein! Look at what you have made! You will long be remembered! Yes…your name will be a curse on every man’s lips!

He shooed the thought away – a dirty insect of a thought it was.

Betrayer!

He took a swipe at it.

Lover of demons.

He cowered.

All faces seemed now to bear down on him, their countenances full of strangely distorted grimaces and frowns.

They accused him with their stares and pointed at him with grimaces.

This is the one! Look at him!

He felt disordered, broken into a thousand pieces, all of them ugly and disfigured, rotten, despoiled and shrivelled up. His soul was eaten to the nub. He could smell the stench of his own decay, the putrid manure of his being. He looked at his hands and the skin began to split apart to reveal maggots, maggots and flies were everywhere around him. He swatted them. His breathing grew quick but he could not catch air for the flies trying to enter into his mouth. Round and round was his head turned by voices. Too many people, too many fingers pointing, too much whispering, too many maggots and flies!

He stumbled out of the palace, through the courts and out to the streets where the wind pursued him like furies. It caught his garments and pulled at his hair and poked at his eyes. The wind entered into his head and moved about in his mind. The wind was a woman, as cold as the Pascha moon, as cold as death. It was a dead hag looking for living things to kill. It was a pale virgin trembling with wrath. It was a demon with sharp talons and long teeth and yet, with skin as soft as a lover’s bare breast! It was a phantom, come to devour his soul and if it so desired it he would freely give it! For the wind was Magdalena! Beautiful, cruel Magdalena! And when she shrieked her vengeance upon him he heard the sound of a thousand birds and there came a vision of them feasting on the carrion meat on his bones.

He ran out of the city and found a cave in which to hide. With his head between his knees and his hands to his ears he fell into a fitful sleep.

When he woke the sun was up and the streets were quiet. He betook himself to the temple, to where he knew the priests would be preparing for the morning ritual. He ran, slipping and falling on the smooth marble steps. He saw some members of the council conferring in the court of the Gentiles and went to them. Frantic he tore the bag of silver from his belt. He was a child, weeping for the breast, weeping for a father’s approving glance.

‘Take it back!’ he pleaded, ‘Take back your dirty silver…release him! I have sold innocent blood!’

But the faces of the priests were turned into the faces of hellish imps, frowning through the folds of flesh at him.

They seemed both annoyed and amused, both fascinated and revolted.

‘What have we to do with your sin? If you think you have sold innocent blood that is your own affair! You have earned your wages this night for Jesus is already judged guilty and today will be crucified. Now go on your way, before you defile us!’

Horror struck a note of discord in his spine, and clutching the bag close he turned his dismal mind to what he should do. It came then, the thought, and he took to his heels. He went through the courts of the Gentiles, over the steps and through the Beautiful Gates to the Court of the Women and onwards to the Courts of Israel making for the sanctuary, where was situated the altar and the Holy of Holies.