Thirty

They dispersed, thinking to go to the Mount of Olives, but as soon as they left the Temple precincts, there was Jesus, walking among them. Andrew, however, had spotted Judas, leaving by himself, and raced after him.

It was a while before he caught up with him; but finally, he came behind him and, grasping him by the shoulder, spun him around, and said, "I saw what you did with John!"

Suddenly, he found himself face down on the ground, with Judas standing behind him with a foot on his back, and his arm held in such a position that if he moved it toward his head, it would break. "What do you mean, 'what I did with John? It was what John did with me!'"

"Oh, please! I saw the two of you!"

"Then your eyes are defective! He came up to me as you did, and challenged me to a fight, spouting some nonsense he got from that slave Ezra that I had put a spider in Nathanael's pouch or something, and then I showed him that I knew a thing of two about fighting. But as I was trying to pin him down, he decided to pleasure himself against me--I had seen him look at me with lust in his eyes many times--and I was trying to keep him motionless, but I could not."

"Oh, of a certainty!"

"You may think what you may think, but facts are facts. And no doubt you have seen him look at you thus also."

"What!"

"Good heavens, Andrew, you are blind! What, did you think he admired you?" He laughed. "He admired your shoulders and your arms and your chest--and other parts of your body. Admired you? He wanted you, just as he wanted Ezra and me! Wake up!"

What he said went through Andrew like a shock. It had never occurred to him until this moment!

Judas evidently felt his stupefaction, and said, "It does not seem as if you are quite so eager to come to his defense now. No, Andrew, he is not the exemplary, holy young man that you thought he was. In a way, I feel sorry for you, and so I will let you go with just a bit of a warning to think before you try such things with such as I." and he moved Andrew's arm to the point where it gave him intense pain, but did not break it, and went away.

Andrew silently rubbed his throbbing arm; it had been bent until the muscles cried out for mercy; but it looked as if no real damage had been done.

To his arm.

Was it possible that what he thought was admiration was simple lust?

How could he face John after this?

Granted, it was Judas who said this, and Judas was a liar; but sometimes liars tell the truth. He had lied about John's arousing himself against him--at least deliberately--because Jesus had said that John had no sin there; but who was to say, if John had the impulses that he had, that he did not look on Andrew with desire?

And Andrew thought it was admiration! But now . . . True, John had made no advances toward him, but then, he seemed not to have made any advances toward Ezra either--and certainly none toward Judas, though Andrew did recall an incident or two in which the sight of Judas seemed to affect him. And Judas was extremely handsome. He did not realize in what way John was affected until now.

But he was resisting his impulses--and that made him an admirable person.

Perhaps. But not a person he could have as a friend any longer. Any friendly gesture from John would now have the overtone of his giving in--to some extent--to his attraction, and how could Andrew look on that except with loathing? Even if it were involuntary on John's part. Even if he intended to do nothing about it.

Andrew had lost a dear, dear friend, because the dear, dear friend wished he were more than a friend. He did not think he could bear it!

He now realized what it meant to be alone. Here he was, among people who ostensibly cared about him, but he had no one like John; and now he no longer had John. He had no one.

He had Jesus.

But Jesus was hastening to his death! Such a useless, futile death!

He walked dejectedly back into the city, and saw a commotion, with Jesus in the center. He had his hand upon the back of a man who had knelt before him. He said, looking off into the distance, "I have come into the world to separate people. To give sight to the blind, and to blind those who can see." How true! How horribly true!

One or two of the Pharisees who had come out to see what happened to the man said, "You mean, we are blind."

Jesus looked at them. "If you were blind, you would not be guilty of any sin. But when you say you can see, your sins stay fixed within you."

"What happened?" Andrew asked of James the owl.

"The man there, (hem) was blind from birth, and Jesus (ha) gave him his sight. On the (hem, hem) Sabbath. The Pharisees (hem) of course, are not happy about it."

Jesus was now saying something about sheep and shepherds and how his sheep knew his voice, but Andrew was too full of despair to catch more than a word here or there. What difference did it all make? What was the point of anything?

He heard this, however: "--I am ready to give up my life, and then take it back again. No one is going to take it from me; I am giving it up of my own free will. I have the right to give it up, and I have the power to take it back. This is the command I have from my Father."

Why was he giving it up? Why was this his Father's command? Even if he was to take it back again. The whole project of restoring the world was doomed! Why not let it all fall to ruin as it should? As Andrew's whole life had fallen to ruin! What difference did it make if he died and then came back to life? The whole thing was worthless!

"I told you that what I had said was only half the story," said Jesus, who was beside him as if he had been there all the time.

"Master! Again!" He was filled with chagrin.

"And you remember that I said that the other half involved not mattering to oneself; that I would not have come among you if I mattered to myself, let alone have come among you to die."

"I cannot understand it!" said Andrew with tears in his eyes. "I understand nothing!"

Jesus laughed. "You know, there is--or there will be--a follower of mine who will be called 'Doctor Nothing,' because he will see this so very clearly. This, Andrew, is love: not mattering to oneself, but paying attention to others."

"If I do not matter to myself, why should others matter to me?"

"Because they are. You matter to me simply because you are. What have I to gain from you? Or what do I have to lose, if it comes to that? Then why do I care about you? Because you are.

"That makes no sense."

"Yet I do care about you. You matter to me. That is love. To have an interest in someone, not for what that person can do for you, or even to you, but just because he is, and because he is what he is--whatever he makes of himself. To wish him well if he wishes himself well, and if he wishes to destroy himself, to be happy--yes, be happy!--that he has made himself what he wished to be. But to realize that one would be happier if he made himself happy rather than destroyed himself."

"It is a paradox, I admit, but the very existence of this world is a paradox. Why would my Father create this universe, if he is infinitely happy without it, and not a jot happier with it? Especially since he made it, in part, free, so that it could try to go against him and against itself--and since it would do this. Why would he do it?

"The only answer is that he could do it. Because it is better that the world exist, even in its damaged state, than not. In one sense, it did not matter to him what happened in this world, but because he chose that it matter to him, even if he himself gained nothing--because he chose that the world be what it chose to be.

"But he knows it could be better, even though the world does not know this. And he wishes to give it this chance, so that at the end, it can knowingly be what it chose to be; that it can do what it does with its eyes open, so to speak. I came for them to have life, and to have it to the full--even if they reject it.

"And know this: I will not be thwarted, though sin will be punished. But ultimately, it will be a better world than it would have been without me--and you, and all my followers.

"But as to you, in the world that actually will exist, those who move it in the right direction will have to give up their very selves. I have told you this, several times. You cannot be my follower unless you reject your very self--the self you thought you were--and take up your own cross, and follow me. Because you cannot find your true self unless you reject the false self that you thought you were.

"And you now have accomplished a good part of this. You have lost the self you thought you were--but now you think you have nothing; that you are nothing. But in losing yourself, and taking up your own special cross--it is in this agony that you will discover that you are finding yourself--and you will gain not only yourself, but a whole world full of the people you will influence by this sacrifice.

"This is the mystery of love, Andrew, and you, because of your love for me--and John, and perhaps even Judas, if you can ultimately manage it with my help--will be rejoicing with all those you love forever, me and my Father first, and in us all the rest.

"Believe me, it all does make sense, even if it seems complete nonsense; you will see. Believe in me and trust. I know it is hard, but the reward will be very great."

He paused, and Andrew said, in a voice he could barely manage because of his despair, "If you say so, Master."

"Fear not. I must tell you that the worst has not yet happened, but you will survive; and when I return, you will begin your journey to a delight you cannot even imagine. Trust me."

"I must. I have no one else to trust."

"You are learning. But I have others to see to." And he turned to leave, and said, "Know this: I told John not to be afraid to love anyone, or to hug him, if that was all it was to be."

What did that mean? Presumably, if John was not to be afraid to love and to hug Andrew, Andrew should not be afraid to love and hug him.

But he could not bring himself to do so.

As he went back to the garden to sleep, he looked around. There was John, the friend he no longer dared to treat as a friend, who seemed to be in a despair as black as his. He longed to go over and comfort him, but could not manage it; he would think he was awakening a desire in John. How horrible life was!

And then he looked at Matthew, who had just returned from somewhere, looking as if his soul had been shattered; and then Matthew was approached by Thomas, who had an expression on his face that mirrored his, and they talked for a while, before they parted, each shaking his head.

Well, if Jesus wanted his followers to rely on nothing but himself; then he supposed he would kick from under them every prop they had except himself. --All the while telling us that he would be gone, leaving us with nothing! Nothing! Except, as he said, that he would be there even when he was no longer there--whatever that might mean.

Like all the rest of them, he settled down to sleep. Or to pretend to sleep.

The next day, they traveled the hour-long walk over to Bethany, where Martha was busy preparing the meal, and Lazarus was not present, having told Martha to inform Jesus that pressing business had kept him in Jerusalem that night. Oh, of a certainty, thought Andrew. Clearly, it was not that he had discovered that his sister was the notorious Mary of Magdala, or there would have been a scene that would make the actors in the amphitheater at Caesarea proud. Most probably, he had begun to suspect that Jesus was becoming too controversial to be an asset, and wished to distance himself from him.

But the interesting thing was that Mary was not to be seen either. She would hardly be expected to be bustling about as Martha was, but she must be in the house somewhere. Was Mary another one who had all her props knocked from under her? It looked as if every one of the students had begun to realize what "take up your own cross" really meant.

Jesus sat outside the house to wait for the dinner, and Mary's former slave Judith came out to speak to him briefly, and then said, "I will try," and ran inside.

Shortly afterward, Mary emerged, blinded by the sun, obviously staggering under her cross, even before her relatives had found out who she really was. Something else had happened in Bethany.

Finally, she noticed Jesus and sat down on the bench beside him, looking at the ground. Jesus began speaking to her, and at first she said not a word, and then made a few laconic replies, in a tone of complete and utter despair.

Suddenly, Martha came out and said, in a voice clearly meant to be overheard by everyone, "Master, does it not concern you that my sister has left me alone to take care of waiting upon you?"

"Martha, Martha," said Jesus. "So much is important to you, and you have so much on your mind. But there is only one thing that matters. Mary has chosen the better part, and it will not be taken away from her." --Yet, from her demeanor, it certainly appeared as if Mary had chosen the worst of all possible parts.

Martha looked indignantly at the two of them, and marched back into the house, muttering (also for all to hear) that unless someone took the worse part, those who chose the better part would do so on empty stomachs. Jesus laughed, and resumed his conversation.

Mary then began to be more and more earnest, and finally she cried, "Stop! Stop!" and covered her ears.

"Mary, Mary," said Jesus audibly, "you worry too much."

"Master," she pleaded, "listen to me! I am no one, I am dirt, but listen to me! If you say such things in public, they will kill you!"

"I know. It does not matter."

"It matters to me!" she almost shouted.

Jesus's voice dropped, and no one could make out what he said. It mattered to everyone.

Mary said again in a loud voice, "I do not want to be chosen!"

To think that once--back what seemed decades ago--Andrew actually wanted to be chosen! But now that he was experiencing it, he would prefer to have been killed!

But not on a cross! Even with Jesus! Dear God! I cannot bear it!

But Mary survived this conversation, it seemed, and so did all the rest; because one continues to breathe, one bears what one cannot bear. They returned to Galilee after that. Jesus had apparently accomplished whatever it was he wanted in Judea, including saving Mary from suicide, or whatever she was contemplating. It seemed that everyone was on the brink of suicide, especially poor Thomas. Andrew had heard from Simon that Thomas's father had to be fired from the fishing business because he, of all people, was too drunk to be anything but a severe hindrance to it. Poor Malachi! Too drunk! But what can one do?"

Shortly after that, Ezra came to John, and gave him an embarrassed bow. John went over and hugged him--briefly--to show that he was his fond friend, even if it was to be merely a friend. "I understand you have been with Thomas," he said.

Ezra sighed. "Yes. Poor Thomas. His father--" he did not know how to finish the sentence.

"My father told me. How terribly, terribly sad."

"Well, it is not quite thus. You see, Thomas went and removed the curse from him--"

"He did! So he is cured?"

"Well, it was not quite so simple. You see, when he awoke, sober, and saw Thomas, he drove him away and essentially cursed him."

"How horrible!"

"And there was every probability that he would go right back to drinking himself into insensibility--he was almost at the state Thomas was--when I--you see, he knew me and was a friend of mine, and--and, well, I asked him if he intended to continue imitating Thomas."

"No!"

"It was the only thing that had a chance of working. I had to do it! And it did work! He swore that from that moment, the would drink nothing but water!"

"How--how dreadful! That he would do this out of hatred for his son!"

"Thomas is devastated. But he says, at least, that he is grateful that his father is sober. And also I saw Zebedee, and he is willing to take him back."

"Well, at least there is some good that came of it. And perhaps Thomas will some day be reconciled to his father."

"Jesus told him to pay attention to what happens to Lazarus, whatever that means."

"What does Lazarus have to do with it?"

"I have no idea. Except, of course, that he does not yet know that Mary Magdalene is his sister. It must be something connected with what happens when he finds out."

"I see. To keep the sky from falling then will be the miracle of miracles. If that can be reconciled, then anything can happen!"

"--By the way, there is one thing I have been wanting to tell you, but I have been too busy with Thomas."

"What is that?"

"You see, I happened to see from a distance the fight you had with Judas." Andrew wondered where he was. So there were two observers of that fight.

John closed his eyes in pain.

"You need not feel ashamed. It was obvious that Judas had studied fighting, and you simply fought when you were younger. My first owner not only trained us in giving pleasure, but he knew that we would be attacked, and so he trained us to fight also. I know what Judas did, you see." So that was why Judas had bested me, thought Andrew.

"Well, at least that part of it was not something I am to blame for, then, I suppose."

"Not at all. Not any of it. But it was another thing that Judas did that infuriated me. And also, just before we came here to Galilee, he met Thomas, and slashed that wineskin he kept under his tunic, and ruined it, spilling everything on the ground."

"My God! He did not!"

"He did indeed. But--you remember that episode of the woman caught in adultery?"

"How well I remember it!"

"Well, Bartholomew and I had resolved to kill Judas, and Jesus wrote, 'Thou shalt not kill' and looked straight at us."

"He knew. He would."

"How could we have thought he would not?"

"So for some incredible reason, he does not want him killed."

"I know. I cannot understand it. But what could I do? But this was all too much! And shortly after the incident of the wineskin, I met Judas alone, and grabbed the front of his tunic, resolved that he would pay! And he said, 'What? First the little boy and now the man of coal? You wish to fight? Very well, strip, and I will teach you a lesson also!'

"We threw off our mantles and tunics, and squared off at each other. He tried the same maneuver he had with you, and I was ready for it--but I had had rather more experience than he, and it was not long before I was standing behind him, holding his arm in such a way that if I moved it up a bit, it would break.

Just as Judas held mine, thought Andrew.

"He knew enough to realize this, and so there we were: he in front of me, and I behind him. And then--well, let me say that I introduced myself where I was not welcome. Do you follow me?"

John, who understood too well, looked at him with horror. As did Andrew, from his vantage-point.

"Now what I did can be a very enjoyable experience, if one knows how to receive someone thus, if I may so put it; but he apparently had no education in this sort of thing, and in that case, it is apt to be rather painful--very painful, if his--guest--is as large as I am.

"He screamed, and so I moved myself about to see if I could find a position he found more comfortable. But everything I did only seemed to make matters worse. Well, this went on for a considerable time--I have a good deal of self-restraint, and, in spite of the fact that I was enjoying myself a great deal, I wished to prolong the experience as much as possible."

Andrew almost laughed aloud. John had his hand over his mouth in shock. Ezra gave him an amused look, and continued, "After a short time, I let his arm go, because he was beginning to collapse before me, begging me to stop--it was music to my ears--and I had to hold up his hips so that we could stay together. But eventually I grew rather tired; it is hard work, when all is said and done, and so finally, to let him know that I no longer had what you might call any hard feelings toward him, I left a little present inside him--actually, a rather large present--and let him fall groaning to the ground.

Andrew could not help it; the revenge was too sweet. He rejoiced that he had overheard this--and then reproached himself for rejoicing. But still . . .

He turned away and heard no more. It was too delicious; something to savor on this day of horrors.

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