Twenty-seven

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."

During this time, Jesus, who was standing beside Mary, 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 went off.

Mary joined the little crowd leading Lazarus back home. No one missed Jesus until they were halfway back, when Martha began saying, "Where is he? We never even thanked him!"

"He has been thanked," answered Mary. "He had to leave Judea--for obvious reasons."

Martha protested, but there was nothing to be done, and it was imperative to get Lazarus home and washed and dressed properly as soon as possible, so that he could bear hearing what had actually happened to him. All the way to the house, he was asking questions, but in such a tone that no one dared to tell him the truth plainly. He saw their evasions, and guessed at what must have happened, and became more and more incensed. Everyone tried to turn his mind to the practical considerations of getting back to normal and resting, but he kept insisting on wanting to know what had happened, and declaring that he did not appreciate having jokes played on him.

Most of the people not of the immediate household were among the polite society of Jerusalem, and had enough tact not to extend their stay and create further embarrassment for the poor man; and so, congratulating him without specifying what for, they left him at the door and went away to the city, buzzing among themselves as soon as they were out of earshot.

If it had not been for the fact that they were all there at the tomb, it would have been impossible to convince Lazarus that he had actually died. As it was, he did not really begin to believe it until the next day, when he had gone over all the possibilities and found none except that one which made any sense at all--and after he had talked to Zebediah, who had come running over as soon as he heard what had happened.

He made out quite a convincing case, though he did not tell the whole truth. He told Lazarus that he had become very ill, and that he had tried everything he knew of to save him, and as a last resort had sent for Jesus; but before Jesus could arrive, it was too late. And then the others told briefly what happened when Jesus finally did come. Martha finished with, "He risked his life for you, Lazarus."

Lazarus, sitting in his accustomed corner with his eyes on the floor, raised them in anguish and looked at her, then at Mary, and winced in agony, and then, glancing at Judith on the way, over at Zebediah, and said, "I suppose I should be grateful." He looked back at the floor and lapsed into silence.

The others then realized what the whole episode looked like from his point of view, and said nothing.

After a while, Lazarus said, "If only he could have done it when no one was there to--well, it is done. I am a living miracle now, for men to stare at." He looked around with a wild expression in his eyes, and, half laughing, said, "We are certainly a family! What will it be like when it is your turn, Martha?" --and then once again studied the floor.

They sat together there in the room for a time, no one even daring to move. Finally, Zebediah rose and went over to Lazarus, put his hand on his shoulder, and said to his bowed head, "Do not be worried, Lazarus. They are good people. Everyone will understand."

Lazarus looked up at him, and then down again, shaking his head. "Oh yes," he said bitterly. "I am certain that they will." Zebediah remained for a brief time with his hand on his shoulder, and then turned to go out.

As he was leaving, Mary rose to follow him. Just outside the door, he turned, and she took his hands in hers, and said, "Thank you, Zebediah, for all you have done."

He looked into her eyes. "After he died, I heard about what it was that I think was bothering him. But you were forgiven?"

"Not by Lazarus, I fear." He took in his breath, and saw that hope flashed before him in an instant, and then he colored. She added, "But Jesus saved me. That part of my life is over." Judas suddenly appeared before her mental vision, and she concluded, "I hope."

His expression underwent a change which would have been imperceptible except to her--a change into despair. But he only said, kindly, "It will be hard for him."

"Yes," she said, knowing that he had won his own battle, and loving him for it. "Yes, it will be hard," she said. "Hard for all of us."

"May I come to see him occasionally?"

"Please do. He will appreciate it."

"Thank you. Goodbye, Mary."

"Goodbye, Zebediah. And God bless you."

"He already has. I am forgiven also. You convinced me."

Lazarus, understandably enough, did not go to Jerusalem the next day--or the next, or the day after that. On the third day, Zebediah returned to talk to him, and stayed an hour or two. He spoke of trivial subjects, avoiding mention of Lazarus' return to life, and did his best to draw Lazarus into the conversation; but he would only answer direct questions with a word or two, though he showed himself grateful for Zebediah's efforts; but it was clear that he could not bring himself to hold up his end of the conversation.

And as time went on after that, and Lazarus stayed at home, he withdrew more and more into himself. He was aware of his surroundings, to be sure, and would reply when spoken to; and he was still polite when visitors, who had heard about him in Jerusalem, came to see him and ask embarrassing questions. It seemed as if it did not matter to him; but he would always sigh with relief when they left, and resume his brooding.

Martha tried to persuade him to go back to his banking-table, to take his mind off what had happened; that the only people who came to see him were those who had no tact, for whom his making a spectacle of himself was of interest. But he had a great many friends, she said, in Jerusalem, who would be glad to see him return, and would understand and act as if nothing had happened.

"But something has happened," he said morosely. "And as soon as they see me, they will be reminded of it."

She tried often and often; and even Mary spoke to him, once she saw that he did not look at her with loathing. Actually, it was that which frightened her more than anything; she had rather hoped that hatred for her and anger at what she had done to him would wake him from this lethargy; but nothing whatever seemed to matter to him any longer. Though he had been brought back to life, everything in him had died, and his body was simply sitting there, continuing to breathe and eat until the moment came when he could cease breathing and be done with it.

The only one who did not try to rouse him, oddly enough, was Judith. She sat there by him for hours and hours, in as much agony as himself, because he never gave the slightest hint that he realized that she was there. It was as if she did not dare speak to him, for fear that he would not hear her--or worse, that he would look up in bewilderment at this total stranger. She evidently could not bear the thought that she did not exist for him, and had not the courage to put it to the test.

"What can we do?" said Martha to Mary.

"I know not. I have--I know not."

And thus it continued for days, and then weeks, and the weeks lengthened to more than a month; and the two women and Zebediah still did not know what to do. And Judith and Lazarus still sat, silent, doing nothing whatever. People came to visit less and less often, and the family was more and more alone.

Mary took to wandering in the woods behind the house for hours on end, sometimes trying to sort matters out, but more often simply gripped by the hopelessness of the insoluble problem. She could not understand how Jesus could have brought him back to life if it was to be thus; there must be something he had in mind that would turn matters around and restore Lazarus to real living.

Because she believed in Jesus now; it was impossible not to interpret his remark to her as a direct refutation of everything she had thought about him. He had even said, just before he called Lazarus out of the tomb, "Father, thank you for listening to me; I know, you always listen to me," which was a rebuttal to Mary's--and Judas's--theory that the Father was a power that filled him and used him willy-nilly. No, he had the Father under his control as much as the Father controlled him. "I am in the Father and the Father is in me," he had said; "the Father and I are one and the same thing." Somehow, then, this infinite spirit must be this man, however much the mind might boggle at it. What other explanation was there?

And he answered her prayer, but not what she prayed. She wanted Lazarus not to die, and told him in her prayer that if he would prevent him from dying, she would believe in him. But she would not have done; she had seen that sort of thing before, and did not believe. He had done much more than she asked, by refusing what she asked, and done it in just such a way that there was no alternative except to believe that he was God. "Let us say that it was arranged," he had once said. "I will have no conditions put upon faith in me." He had always refused demands for a sign; but he was ready to supply all the signs anyone needed if one took the trouble to attend. It was all of a piece.

But still, it was impossible that he would have used Lazarus simply as a vehicle to force Mary finally to accept that he was indeed God--how fantastic it sounded, even now!--and would let him live a life of dreary misery with no hope but a second death.

After she had considered it and turned it about and looked at it from every side, it occurred to her that it might be a gambit on Jesus's part to force Lazarus into a position where he too would have to accept Jesus for what he was--accept everything for what it was--and not simply look down on him from his lofty height as an eccentric who after all was not "like oneself."

If so, it seemed to have failed. True, he was forced to admit that he had died and been brought back to life by Jesus. But he apparently could not see it in any other light except how ridiculous it made him appear in the eyes of those who mattered; and since his life had meaning only on that level, his life was, for all practical purposes, over.

But this was not because Lazarus bore any ill-will to Jesus; it was simply that, having lived thus for over thirty years--almost forty--he was unable to see anything from any other point of view. And if Jesus was God, he must have known this also.

But then if Jesus was God, he had not failed; God does not fail; and so this must be the first step toward a new Lazarus. Mary thought back to her own case. He had had to destroy who she was, did he not, to leave her as nothing whatever, before he could infuse new life into her? And Lazarus was now nothing at all. What he required was another shock: a shock so severe that he would awaken to the reality of things, rather than to their appearance. A shock that would make him realize that appearances were totally secondary.

Something would have to happen that was so outrageous that Lazarus would have to react, would have to face it. Something which, from his point of view, was even worse than his walking out of a grave--which after all only made him look foolish. Something . . .

Suppose they invited Jesus once again to dinner. Would that be enough? No. He would either forbid it, or simply sit there, letting it happen.

What could be done so shocking that Lazarus would not be able to bear it? Suppose something happened at that dinner . . .

What if she repeated her performance of washing Jesus's feet, but now before Lazarus' very eyes? He would be forced to look upon his sister as a sinner, and upon Jesus as one who forgave sins and created new life out of hopelessness. And he would be forced to do so before everyone!

But suppose he simply sat there and let it happen, ignoring it?

If so, it was hopeless. But how could he do so? In his own house, his own sister, groveling before a wonder-worker, deliberately this time exposing herself to ridicule--before his friends! That would do it! If they invited his friends, not telling him Jesus would be there, and if Jesus suddenly showed up--if so, he could not refuse to let him in--and then, suppose Mary, before all of them--but could she bring herself to go through that once again?

But if the prospect of doing it filled her with such dread, what would seeing it seem to Lazarus, whose whole life consisted in appearances and in what people thought of him and those connected with him? It might succeed. She would have to--"

"You must be thinking extremely deep thoughts," said a voice in her ear. "You are completely lost in them." She felt a chest touch her back.

It was Judas's voice.

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