Six

Matthew all but staggered up to the gate, completely overwhelmed by what had just happened. Longinus had been studying the dogs, and now he looked up and saw their master approach.

"I need--I require a few moments--" Matthew faltered.

"One can see that," returned Longinus. "To change your clothes, at least." Matthew looked down and saw how dirty he was.

"Is it too late? Can you wait?"

"Now that I know you are here, I can wait all day. Of course, those who wish to cross the river might become impatient. You are unaware of the time? It lacks very little. You look as if you have been up all night."

Matthew did not know what to answer, and so he simply said, "Yes."

"This does not sound quite like Levi the Tax-Collector," said Longinus. "But you had best go in. The dogs, for one thing, are hungry."

Matthew opened the gate and gave the dogs a sharp command, at which they slunk off behind the house. He then entered, calling out to Gideon, and found him on his bed, bound, blindfolded, and gagged.

"Master!" said Gideon, as soon as Matthew had pulled out the gag. "Has he done you harm? I could not see who it was; he came in I knew not how, and overpowered me from behind. He told me that he would come back and release me after he had killed you! It sounded like a boy, but he was very strong. I wanted to warn you, but there was nothing I could do, and I heard you in there, and then you left--so long ago! I was sure you had been killed, and he was the one who was returning! Thank God you are here! But look at you! You cannot go out thus, and the soldier will be here any moment! I will--

"The soldier is already here, but he will wait. I need fresh clothes. I will bathe in the stream. . . And something to eat."

"Yes, Master; that is what I was about to say. New clothes. Those may have to be thrown away; they are not only dirty but torn. Are you cut beneath them? I can find--

"Gideon! Gideon! Enough! You have not said ten words to me in all the years we have lived in this house together, and suddenly the floodgates have been opened! We are both all right, and have nothing further to fear."

"Thank God for that! Are you sure?"

"Oh, and feed the dogs first; I do not want to be eaten while I bathe."

"Yes, Master. Immediately."

Gideon bustled off, and Matthew went to the small spring beside the house, surrounded by the only bushes on his property, which supplied their drinking and bathing water, and where Gideon took the clothes for washing, and immersed himself. The shock of it went completely through him. Ordinarily, he would have had water heated, but there was no time. He rubbed off the dirt, climbed out and dried himself, shivering, listening to the dogs attack the meat that Gideon had thrown to them.

He was surprised, as he entered and found the clothes laid out, at the fact that he was not tired at all, though he could not believe that he was really alert; he was still in the condition of coping with emergencies, where one seems normal until the crisis passes, after which everything collapses. "I must prepare myself for that," he thought as he went inside. "I hope it will not be before I face the day." The image of what he would be doing floated before him, and he quailed from it in dread.

How could he manage? How could he face those people, any one of whom might be on the verge of suicide, as his father was, when a tax collector had pushed him over. He was already responsible for one death, one so terrifyingly like the one he had put out of his mind these many years; how could he risk another?

But Jesus had said that he should continue "at least for the day." Dare he not go back? If there was any hope to continue living, he would have to rely on this Jesus, whoever and whatever he was. He would have to see the father, Joseph, as soon as possible to find out more about him.

Did Jesus know that he would be able to endure the day? He seemed to know all about him. But how? How could he have heard about the prison the soldier had referred to? And it did seem as if he had been speaking directly to him when he quoted "set broken people free." It was as if he knew that Matthew had been broken, and how could he have known that? Did he see that Matthew was shattered as a jar is when struck with a hammer?

He looked into the glass reflecting his haggard face, and recoiled. He would have to strive to erase that look of horror somehow, if he were to show himself to others. He began to untangle his hair and beard, and make himself as presentable as possible, though he still looked as if he were pursued by demons. God grant that the demon Jesus was benevolent!

He suddenly realized that again he had thought of God as if God were something real. The experience in the synagogue seemed to make it possible. Someone seemed to know what he was going through, and Jesus seemed to have contact with him. Absurd. But how else account for his knowing?

But he was tarrying, and if he were to face the day, he must hasten. He turned away from the reflection in the glass, which seemed to be spying on him out of a dark room, half wondering if there actually was some other world inside the mirror, and went into the dining area of the house.

Gideon, meanwhile, had revived the fire and reheated some of the fish they had had to eat the previous day, setting it on the table with bread, wine, and some raw leeks. Matthew suddenly realized that he was famished, and made short work of the meal, mixing the wine with a good deal more water than normal, partly because he was thirsty, and partly because he needed all the control of himself that he would be able to muster. Wine did not "give him courage," as some people claimed it did; all it ever accomplished was to make him sleepy, and give him nightmares. He had enough nightmares the previous night and this very morning to last him for the rest of his life--"which may not be long," he said aloud.

"Master?" said Gideon.

"I was speaking to myself. I merely said it must . . . not be long before I leave, or I will be very late."

"Is there anything more I can do?"

"No. . . Yes. . . I know not. I will return this evening (he added "perhaps" under his breath) if not sooner." He would return sooner if he simply could not bear it--or never, if he took out his dagger and thrust it into his heart.

He had actually not delayed very long in his preparations, though it had seemed an eternity, before he emerged to meet Longinus once again, and they began their walk to the booth. "I would suppose your assistants have already begun," Longinus said. "You seem to have had an adventure." Matthew was silent.

As they neared the booth, he could see a good deal of commotion. Jethro had taken over his task of probing the sacks of grain, and was evidently being over-scrupulous. If the farmers complained about Matthew, they were shouting at Jethro, threatening to take their carts and ford the river without paying anything. "You know not even what to exact!" screamed one, as he watched from the line. Joram simply stood by, looking helpless.

Someone noticed Matthew and Longinus, and the noises changed to a kind of relief. Matthew heard, "At last! It might be possible for us to move within the week!" Matthew thought ironically that this was the first time any one of them had been glad to see him.

He took the probe from Jethro, and asked "Did you find anything?" and on receiving a negative answer, looked over the wheat and said, "A denarius."

"What? Are you sure?" the farmer said. He could not believe it; it was a third of what he was expecting. Matthew looked at the laden carts (he had three) and said. "It is all wheat?"

"No, one cart is barley.."

"Then perhaps six ases less." The farmer blinked. The amount was what in fact Rome would expect, but no farmer had ever been charged thus by any tax collector. "Time is being wasted!" came the shout from the line. "Pay and be gone!" The farmer paid and crossed the river, elated to have escaped before Matthew came to his senses.

"Are you mad?" said Jethro.

"Write it down in the account," Matthew answered with acerbity, cutting off any reply, wondering whether he could go through this another time.

And so began a day of exquisite torture for Matthew, who barely knew what was happening, partly because he was ready to fall over from exhaustion. It saved him, in a sense, because he could not think. All the while he had the image of his father and the boy's father swinging before him, and it required all his force to keep from screaming aloud. Fortunately, he had done what he was now doing so many times that it could happen automatically, because it was impossible to concentrate on it, or on anything else. Everything swam before him.

His two assistants could not make head or tail of what was happening, since he could not bring himself to charge the exorbitant fees that he had been accustomed to, and he gave them no reason for the change. He was also extremely superficial in his examinations of what the farmers were bringing, mainly taking their word for what they had, and merely going through the motions of testing from time to time.

He kept shaking his head as a donkey does at flies, trying to rid himself of the hanged men hovering before him. He could almost hear them saying, "You drove us to this, and you continue! You do not deserve to breathe!" Had he not also had the image of Jesus saying that he should continue at least for the day, he would simply have dropped everything and waded out into the water and drowned himself.

After every person was released he said to himself, "I cannot! I cannot go on!" He felt as he had felt hanging from the handles of the plow, with the donkey kicking mud into his face, and the whole universe before him nothing but untilled ground.

But the next man would come up with his pathetic cart, and he would think, "This one is the last; I simply cannot bear it!" and out would come the probe, and he would ask the routine questions, and it would be over, and he would think, "Now! I must leave now! I must kill myself! I cannot go on!"

And then the next man would be there, and somehow he would not leave, and he would get through this one by telling himself it was the last, and somehow he did not leave and kill himself, because that would be to make a decision, and not simply to go through motions that meant nothing; and this was all he was capable of.

Halfway through the day, the thought occurred to him that he was making no money, and a wave of heat swept over him. If he did not charge more, he would soon be reduced to poverty! It was not to be borne! But how could he bring himself to charge more? But if he could not now bear what he was doing, how could he bear being poor? But how could he exact more than the very minimum needed to pay the tribute to Caesar?

His whole self was tearing itself to shreds and spilling itself out of him onto the ground. He had nothing left. What he had once thought was the road to making him happy had turned into a road to torture; and was to end at the very place he had been working so hard to escape all his life! He felt like a man trying to run through a wall, finding that his way was totally blocked and nothing was happening but cutting and bruising himself on the stone with no hope of getting through, but running harder and harder against it nonetheless, and each time becoming more and more bruised and lamed. Because each farmer was worse than the last; each seemed more despairing, and Matthew felt that, even if he charged him no more than he had to (this Longinus was on the watch, with a bemused smile on his face), the poor man would not last the night.

To survive, he tried to revive the hatred he had had for these wretches, the conviction that they were trying to cheat him, which once had carried him through the tedious days; but now he looked at the farmer before him and could see nothing but poverty, fatigue, and misery. And even if they cheated, who were they cheating but Caesar? What did Matthew care about Caesar? And in fact was it not he, Matthew, who was the one cheating Caesar of more than half the money he exacted? No, he was not cheating Caesar, he had been cheating these poor insects before him for all these years, and driving them to a despair equal to what he felt now.

How could he have done this? Only by the pretense that they were trying to cheat him. And even if they did, what did it matter? But the fact was, he had not thought about them all this time, except as a vehicle by which he could make himself rich--and escape the fate that he had brought on at least one of them!

He glanced into the man's face for an instant, and immediately turned away, covered with shame. At meeting the man's eyes, Matthew felt himself dripping with filth, as if he had just emerged from the manure pit beside someone's barn. In confusion, he took out his probe, signaled to a bag of--what was it? Wheat?--it mattered not, murmured a figure, and saw the man smile with relief and hasten onward before Matthew changed his mind. It was too much! He could not bear it! He would not!

And there was the next man, standing before him in patient despair.

He finally realized, in utter hopelessness, that there was no escape. He was doomed to this forever and ever, because he somehow could not leave and kill himself.

--But he had to leave and kill himself! He even turned and started toward the river, but after one step, he froze. He simply could not do it. Could fear of death be that great? To keep him living when living was a thousand deaths?

"If you wish to be freed, that too is possible" came back to him. But how? "If you believe." But how believe? Believe what? Believe in what or whom? A carpenter? Absurd. There was no hope.

But not to believe was not possible. Did the man not know all? But how? How could he have known what was happening to Matthew? What of that thunder that spoke with words? Was he meant to hear that? Was that a preparation for this moment? Who was this carpenter? What was he? And how did he manage simply to vanish when the whole crowd had him all but pinned?

"How much?" came the voice.

"For this? What is it?"

"I just told you. Barley."

"Let me . . . three ases."

"But . . . Never mind." He gave Matthew the coins, took his carts and oxen, and went into the river.

It was nearly evening. But he could not bear this last hour! He could not!

Suddenly he became almost calm, in control. He thought for a moment in a rather matter-of-fact way that he would somehow manage to break out of this and kill himself. Drown himself, perhaps, he could not, but . . . He went back into his booth to look for the dagger he had left there, with his assistants gazing at him with anxious expressions ("as if they cared!" Matthew said to himself.) He almost managed to call up a fragment of hatred for them, which might give him the strength to go through with it; it would be but a moment. His hand closed on the dagger.

"Come, follow me," said the voice he somehow knew he would hear. Matthew looked up, and there was Jesus, with a small group of followers. And now, Matthew realized, he was free. He now had the power to kill himself, or to follow this man.

And then, a whole reasoning process flashed in an instant before him. Follow the man? Where? To do what? But what did it matter? No, what had he to gain by it? To go on living? But how could he escape himself? Even if he did nothing more, he had done things which deprived him of any claim on the breath of life. And so many things! Each person he had exacted taxes from was a potential suicide, and how many had carried it through? And how would the followers look on him--those people over there, gazing at him with puzzled and anything but welcoming expressions. No, the dagger was in his hand; he would end it all now and cheat them all!

Cheat them! And confirm himself as a cheat! What had he been but a cheat, his whole life? How would killing himself make amends, or take revenge? They would be pleased, probably. No, he would follow this man, this carpenter, this wizard, whatever the consequences! What had he to lose? The only alternative was to lose his life, and what good would that do anyone?

All this happened during the time his hand closed around the dagger and then opened, placing it quietly back on the hidden shelf.

He moved around out of the booth toward Jesus, and simultaneously Longinus and his two assistants moved toward him. Jesus said to Longinus, "This man has decided to become a student of mine, and will no longer be working here. You will let him go, and you may tell his--friend--that he will soon be glad to have eyes and ears in the company of Jesus of Nazareth. The name is not unknown in Judea, even now."

"I will be required to confirm that." said the soldier.

"I and my followers will not be difficult to find. If you need to locate Levi, you will have no trouble."

"You are leaving us, Master?" said Jethro.

Matthew, who had almost started to go back to the dagger, turned instead to him and said, "No. Yes. . . .Yes. I have decided to follow this man and learn from him." What that meant, he had no idea. But now his mind began to function. He continued to Jethro, "You know how to carry on what we have been doing. Use today's numbers as a guide to what Rome exacts, and add enough to earn your own keep. You will have no trouble. But be not too exacting." He speaking thus!

"But you cannot simply leave us!"

Matthew made no reply. What reply was there to make?--and turned to follow after Jesus, who had confidently walked away, as if everything had been settled satisfactorily. Both Jethro and Joram kept expostulating, but all Matthew heard were sounds; the words made no sense. Longinus followed for a step or two, as if he would object, and then shrugged his shoulders, and began speaking to the two assistants.