Twenty-One

'Come and see, Master,' they said, and as they were going over to the tomb, he looked at Mary, who was a bit in front of him, shook his head, and wept.

"See how he loved him," said some. No, they had missed the point. He was not weeping out of sympathy for Lazarus. Who could weep out of sympathy for Lazarus? He was weeping because no one seemed to have faith that he was really God. And he had reason to weep. Though I was all but convinced that he was but a man deeply inspired by God, every single one of the others suspected it.

We came up to the tomb, which was a cave with a large stone over the entrance. Jesus heaved another sigh, as he looked in John's direction--why in John's direction?--and said, "Take away the stone."

At this, Martha came up beside him and whispered, "Master, he is already decaying. He has been there four days!" Martha did not believe.

Jesus whirled around to face her and snapped, "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see how great God is?"

Martha, stung by the rebuke, fell back--and then looked over at a couple of the men, and nodded. They went up to the stone, and with great effort, rolled it away.

Jesus then looked up to heaven and said, "Father, thank you for listening to me. I know, you always listen to me. I am saying this because of the people here, so that they will believe that you sent me." And then he looked into the tomb, held his hand out in front of him, and shouted in a voice which made the hills echo, and which was loud enough to reach deep into the pit of the abyss, "Lazarus! Come out to me!"

And the dead man, bound hand and foot in linen, and with his face covered with a cloth, hobbled out. Of course he did. It was arranged. Of course it was.

"Untie him," said Jesus matter-of-factly, 'and let him go."

For a few moments, everyone stood paralyzed; it seemed as if it was the corpse of Lazarus walking, and no one dared go near and touch him. Then, from under the face cloth came a muffled cry of "Help me!" and two or three of the men rushed over and with trembling hands undid the straps that held it round his neck.

The shroud, upon which he had been laid and which was doubled over to cover the front of his body, was still covering his face; and the men pulled it aside so that he could see. He was at first blinded by the brilliant sunlight, but as his eyes accustomed themselves while the men were unwrapping his body, he kept blinking and opening and closing his mouth like a fish, saying, "What? . . . What? . . . What? . . ."

Martha, laughing and crying at once, ran up to him and embraced him, saying, "Oh, Lazarus! You are back! I knew it! Thank God! Thank God!"

"Back? . . . Back?" he said.

"Stop that!" cried Judith to the men who were unwinding him, upon whom Martha had almost trampled. "Do you want to undress him here in public? Find a robe for him first!"

"Here, take my cloak," said one of the men. "We must get you back home and wash those spices off."

"Spices?--Thank you, Ebenezer," said Lazarus, bewildered. "But what are you doing here? And where am I? This looks like my father's grave. And what is it doing open thus?" --And then he looked down at the wrappings, and the expression on his face was so dumbfounded that everyone burst out in laughter.

He flushed and looked angrily around. "Is this a joke? I know not what you have done to me, but I do not find it at all amusing!"

Everyone immediately lapsed into an embarrassed silence. Martha said, "Do not be angry, Lazarus. Everyone is merely so happy to see you alive!"

"Alive? Why should I not be alive?"

Ebenezer looked at him as he put the cloak on and let the shroud fall to his feet. "Do you remember nothing of the past few days?"

Lazarus, startled, turned to look him full in the face. Then he stared off into the distance, as if making an effort to recall--and then looked over at Martha, and then Mary, and afterwards Judith, with an expression of intense pain. He closed his eyes in anguish, and then reopened them and once again looked at the landscape. "I remember that I was in Zebediah's house," he said musingly, "and I believe I did not feel well. I fell asleep, and it seems as if I dreamed a fantastic dream--but I cannot recall now what it was. It was something about . . . no, it is gone. And then I thought I heard the Master call me, and I was lying down in the dark, tied up. I struggled to my feet and tried to walk--and . . . then you were here, and--I do not understand it."

Everyone was silent. Finally, Ebenezer said quietly, "I think we had best get you home."

I must say that it was a superb job of acting, on the part of every one of the principals, especially Lazarus, who certainly looked as if he had been startled out of the sleep of death. They must have done a good deal of rehearsing in those days when we were traveling to meet them.

During this time, Jesus, who was standing beside Mary, with Matthew on his other side, whispered in her ear, "I think I will return now; it is dangerous for me to be here--even more dangerous because of this. I do not wish anyone to notice me."

She looked at him, tears filling her eyes, and reached out to touch him. "Thank you, Master! Oh, thank you so very much!" she whispered.

In a mock-serious tone, he replied, "You two have given me more trouble than any dozen others! But know this: I will not have conditions put upon faith in me. Now see to your brother." And he nodded to the other students and we began to return to where we had been.

I thought it was a colossal tactical blunder. To have the "miracle" happen to one of his good friends and not a total stranger left Jesus open to the accusation of having the whole thing arranged--as it must have been. What could be easier? Have your friend disappear, and then hide in the grave for a few days, and come out when you called him. Of course, it would take collusion by Martha and Mary, but they could be easily persuaded. And it would require some acting skills, which frankly, I did not think they had, to this level at least. In that respect, it was superbly done.

But really.

The man born blind was clearly much more effective. His friends and those who knew him could testify that he had had no contact with Jesus earlier, and so Jesus had to have done an impossible thing to him, just by putting mud on his eyes.

And even if the whole Lazarus episode was true (as, conceivably, it could be, if one stretched gullibility a bit), then it was effective for those who knew Lazarus, but not for much of anyone else, since it cried out that it was a fraud.

This would be reported. There was no doubt it would be. The Judeans would now have to confront a man who claimed to be God, and who called upon his Father, who "always listened" to him, and--allegedly--brought back to life a man who was "already decaying." Those who were already disposed to believe his claims would take it as true, those who were not would be confirmed in their opinion of him as a mountebank.

This time, Jesus did not go back across the Jordan, but instead decided that they would go north of Jerusalem into the deserted country around Ephraim. The Passover was only a month or so away, and it was likely that Jesus wished to be more available to enter Jerusalem during the feast. Apparently, he also had the idea that the Judeans--and everyone else--had all the evidence needed. The claim was clear: he was "I AM," one and the same as the Father, but somehow his Son, as well as being the Son of Man. If they wished to accept him as King, and in so doing never die and presumably never suffer, then they now knew what the terms were. They could not accept him as King without simultaneously accepting God as King. Would they be up to such a leap of faith?

It was preposterous. If I could not believe it, with all my good will and my exposure to him for three years, how could any ordinary man do so? Of course, there were thousands who did not realize what his claim really entailed--so perhaps he could have some followers after all.

But not unless he came back to life after being killed, and that was simply not going to happen. It was time for me to do something about my own security.

There was also the problem of Mary. I was growing wild with desire for her, and was convinced that she was as full of desire for me. It was merely that we had not been able to get together, since there was still the possibility that Jesus had not really abandoned her, and was simply keeping her in reserve for use later, after all the fuss about the Passover was done with. It was very unlikely, but I was--originally--quite nervous about taking Mary from him and being the object of his wrath.

But it was becoming unbearable. I was walking up and down the encampment, not really speaking to anyone if I could avoid it, and in general calling attention to myself in a way I did not wish. If I was to turn Jesus over to the Judean authorities, as it seemed most sensible for me to do, then it behooved me to appear to be friendly with him until the last minute.

But this stay in the camp at least accomplished one thing for me: I could leave on the grounds that I had to see to the funds I had stored in my house, to prepare for the Passover. It was a fairly lame excuse to get away, but I was desperate. I had to contact Zebulun and see what they would give me if I handed Jesus over; it would have to be something substantial, I imagined: fifty pieces of silver or so. That would help my little fund.

And I had to see Mary, somehow; I simply could not breathe until I did so. So I told Jesus I was going to see to the finances for the Passover, and left--noticing that David and that black Satan observed me and were about to dog my footsteps.

Fortunately, I was far too clever for those fools, and so I lost them quickly, simply by pretending I was going to my house, and then suddenly racing down a narrow corridor between two buildings and making a couple of other turns, and then waiting to see if anyone followed. They did not--of course.

Rejoicing at how frustrated they must be, I made my way to Zebulun's house. I chose him because he lived apart from others, but of course, had easy access to important people in the Sanhedrin.

I gave him my proposal, that I knew where Jesus went to sleep in the environs of Jerusalem--something, amazingly enough, that they had not been able to discover--though, of course, how amazing was it, since Jesus had the power somehow of not being noticed when he did not want to be seen. In any case, they were exceedingly eager for me to tell them where he went.

And, of course, I saw through this, and said I would lead them to him after we had eaten the Passover meal. It would look extremely suspicious if I did not attend, and if I left earlier, they would change the place for the dinner. We arranged a signal, and on the spur of the moment I suggested that I go up to him and kiss him, thinking how ironic it would be, but little realizing at the time how I was inviting a dagger-thrust by one of the fools who was more astute than the others.

I named a price of a hundred pieces of silver, and Zebulun all but laughed me out of his house. We both knew that it was too much, but it formed a basis of haggling, and we got into it seriously. Eventually, after two and a half hours, I accepted thirty pieces of silver. I would have held out for the fifty I had originally thought I could get, but the time was dragging on, and it was becoming dangerous for me to be there any longer.

With that settled, I walked the hour or so walk to Mary's house--and fortunately found her wandering in the woods behind it, pondering some serious problem she seemed to be having.

I came up behind her and said in her ear,"You must be thinking extremely deep thoughts; you are completely lost in them." I touched her back with my chest, and she stiffened. I put my arm around her, pulling her to me. I was standing slightly to her left behind her, and my whole right side was against her. I was completely aroused, and had but to turn a bit, and she would feel it. She did not seem able to breathe--and I was having trouble in that direction myself.

Still holding her tightly against me, I said, "What were you thinking of?"

"I was--" she tried to say, but no sound came. She cleared her throat. "I was thinking of Lazarus."

"That is strange," I said; "so was I. I was wondering why you did it."

Still looking straight in front of her, she said with surprise, "Why I did what?"

"Perhaps, then, it was not you, and you had to agree. I need to know that."

She tried to turn to look at me, but I still held her in such a way that she could not. She turned her head, and could see my face--So close!--out of the corner of her eye. She almost fainted. After a moment, she recovered enough to say, "I know not what you are saying."

"Who was it arranged for Lazarus to appear dead, so that he could call him out of the tomb?"

She was so startled that her sudden turn to face me took me by surprise and made me release her. "What do you mean?"

"Come, now!" I said, and took her hands. "Am I so hateful?"

She looked at my face, and then dropped her eyes. "No."

I laughed. "You have not changed, have you Mary? Not in all these years!"

She looked up at me. "What do you mean? I do not understand."

I smiled. "You are acting remarkably obtusely, my dear; if I were not aware how intelligent you were, I would think you genuinely did not know what I was saying. But you cannot tell me that you do not remember, that you did not recognize me that first night. I knew you the instant I saw you; and I saw you look at me. You knew me also."

She stared at me speechless, and suddenly seemed to remember that she recalled me from somewhere that night when she first saw me in the encampment.

"I always wondered," I went on, clarifying things a little, in case she really had forgotten, "if the little girl in the Temple was the famous Mary of Magdala; but I never dared to try to find out. I had been poisoned once, and it took me months--years--to drive it out of my system. I could not afford another dose. But I wondered; one does, you know. And when the others told me what you were like, with your apparent innocence, and your blaming them for seducing you--who else could do that as well as you?" I laughed.

"So I was all but certain," I continued. "But I never really knew until that night; and there you were--even more beautiful, after all those years, than you were that afternoon when the little girl said so demurely, 'I can show you what he did to me if you will take me inside.' I knew not what I was capable of until that moment! Would you believe that that little episode in the room in the Temple was my very first time? I was virtuous until I met you!" And I laughed once again.

"But . . ." she said, "But why are you . . . here? Now?" Her very hands were burning with desire inside mine; but her mind was clearly in turmoil.

"To ask a question. Did you have anything to do with that little masquerade with your brother? Or did they do it in spite of you?"

"Masquerade?"

"Mary, Mary, I am not naive. --Very well. I suppose you would never admit it. And I suppose that that is not really what I must know. Tell me this, then: Did Jesus tell you to do it?"

"To do what?"

"Mary, please, credit me with some sense. I am not stupid enough to become involved with you again if you are still his. He may not be able to resurrect people, but I would have no doubt he could kill someone if he chose. But I thought that when you left, he had grown tired of you, and it would be safe. But just when I had made up my mind to come here and claim you for myself, he announced that he was going back to Judea to see his 'good friend Lazarus,' who had died. Well, what was I to think? I now had to assume that the reason you left him was that people suspected what was going on between you, and he had to part from you temporarily, but--"

"What are you saying?"

"You need not act thus, Mary. He--and you--will be safe with me, believe me. And this pretense at innocent bewilderment does not really become you with someone who knows you so--shall we say intimately? --Oh, very well, you need not even admit this, I suppose; I know that you want me too much to see me killed--and so if you say nothing, I will know that you are no longer his mistress--"

She slapped my face.

I looked at her in surprise. "Why did you do that?"

"You think I was the mistress of Jesus!"

"Well of course! Why--"

"And you think he grew tired of me and threw me aside!"

"That is what I need to assure myself of. Because--"

"And you wonder why I slapped your face!"

I was still holding one hand. I pulled her to me and clasped her to my chest. She felt me burning against her, and I felt her burning desire also. "And now I know," I said huskily, "and even if I did not know, I am past caring. I said you poisoned me once, and I had got over it until I saw you again; but then I had a relapse, and only the fear of what he would do to me kept me from you. You know that. You saw me looking at you. You knew. And you wanted me also; I could see it. You still do."

She still did--more desperately than ever; it was clear with everything she did.. But she started to struggle.

"Now be still!" I said, pushing her and holding her so close that she could not get any leverage. We were on a small slope, and she began going down backwards. Perfect. "I have learned a thing or two," I said, "since last we met."

She tried to cry out as I forced her slowly down, but I kissed her in such a way that she could not bite me, and was holding her so close that struggling was of no avail. I had my hand at her throat now, and she knew that it was too late; all her training as a prostitute told her that struggle now would only lead to her death. She made a slight move to try to escape, and felt the pressure. I also knew. She relaxed.

"That is better," I said, but kept my hand on her throat as I--I suppose you would say--raped her, though I could see she was enjoying it fully as much as I was. Finally, I rose, leaving her sobbing on the ground.

"Really, Mary!" I said. "You would think that you were virtue deflowered! Let us hope that the next time you will allow me to be more gentle; this was a bit more exercise than I had bargained for--though I must admit, it was interesting. They were right when they said that you were many things, but never dull."

Looking back toward the house to see if anyone had noticed, I made off through the woods in the direction of Jesus's encampment.

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