Chapter 32

It was not the length of Mathias' discourse, nor his eloquence, Hazael said, that caused my senses to swoon away. My age will not permit me to listen long. I would be with Jesus, and I would that ye, Saddoc and Manahem, return to the lecture-room at once, else our brother will think his discourse has failed. Jesus is here to give the attendance I require. Go, hasten, lest ye miss any of his points. The brethren were about to raise a protest, but at a sign from Jesus they obeyed; Mathias' voice was heard as soon as the door of the lecture-room was opened, but the brethren did not forget to close it, and when silence came again Hazael said: Jesus, come hither, sit near me, for I would speak to thee, but cannot raise my voice. Thou'lt sleep here to-night, and to-morrow we shall meet again. And this is well, for my days are numbered. I shall not be here to see next year's lambs and to agree that this new shepherd shall be recompensed by a gift of eighteen, as is the custom. And Jesus, understanding that the president was prophesying his own death, said: why speakest like this to me who have returned from the hills to strangers, for all are strangers to me but thou. I shall be sorry to leave thee, Jesus, for our lives have been twisted together, strands of the same rope. But it must be plain to thee that I am growing weaker; month by month, week by week, my strength is ebbing. I am going out; but for what reason should I lament that God has not chosen to retain me a few months longer, since my life cannot be prolonged for more than a few months? My eighty odd years have left me with barely strength enough to sit in the doorway looking back on the way I have come. Every day the things of this world grow fainter, and life becomes to me an unreal thing, and myself becomes unreal to those around me; only to thee do I retain anything of my vanished self. So why should I remain? For thy sake, lest thou be lonely here? Well, that is reason enough, and I will bear the burden of life as well as I can for thy sake. A burden it is, and for a reason that thou mayest not divine, for thou art still a young man in my eyes, and, moreover, hast not lived under a roof for many years listening to learned interpretations of Scripture. Thou hast not guessed, nor wilt thou ever guess, till age reveals it to thee, that as we grow old we no longer concern ourselves to love God as we used to love him. No one would have thought, not even thou, whose mind is always occupied with God, and who is more conscious of him perhaps than any one I have known, no one, I say, not even thou, would have thought that as we approach death our love of God should grow weaker, but this is so. In great age nothing seems to matter, and it is this indifference that I wish to escape from. Thou goest forth in the morning to lead thy flock in search of pasture, if need be many hours, and God is nearer to us in the wilderness than he is among men. This meaning, Jesus said, that under this roof I, too, may cease to love God? Not cease to love God: one doesn't cease to love God, Hazael answered. But, Hazael, this night I've yielded up the flocks to a new shepherd, for my limbs have grown weary, and what thou tellest me of old age frightens me. Thou wouldst warn me that God is only loved on the hills under the sky---- I am too weak to choose my thoughts or my words, and many things pass out of my mind, Hazael answered. Had I remembered I shouldn't have spoken. But why not speak, Father? Jesus asked, so that I may be prepared in a measure for the new life that awaits me. Life never comes twice in the same way, Hazael replied; nor do the same things befall any two men. I know not what may befall thee: but the sky, Jesus, will always be before thine eyes and the green fields under thy feet, even while listening to Mathias. But thou didst live once under the sky, Jesus said. Not long enough, Hazael murmured, but the love of God was ardent in me when I walked by day and night, sleeping under the stars, seeking young men who could give up their lives to the love of God and bringing them back hither into the fold of the Essenes. In those days there was little else in me but love of God, and I could walk from dusk to dusk without wearying; twelve and fifteen hours were not too many for my feet: my feet bounded along the road while my eyes followed white clouds moving over the sky; I dreamed of them as God's palaces, and I saw God not only in the clouds but in the grass, and in the fields, and the flower that covers the fields. I read God in the air and in the waters: and in every town in Palestine I sought out those that loved God and those that could learn to love God. I could walk well in those days, fifteen hours were less than as many minutes are now. I have walked from Jerusalem to Joppa in one day, and the night that I met thy father outside Nazareth I had walked twelve hours, though I had been delayed in the morning: eight hours before midday, and after a rest in the wood I went on again for several hours more, how many I do not know, I've forgotten. I did not know the distance that I had walked till I met thy father coming home from his work, his tools in the bag upon his shoulder. His voice is still in my ear. But if it be to Nazareth thou'rt going, come along with me, he said. And I can still hear ourselves talking, myself asking him to direct me to a lodging, and his answering: there's a house in the village where thou'lt get one, and I'll lead thee to it. But all the beds in that house were full; we knocked at other inns, but the men and women and children in them were asleep and not to be roused; and if by chance our knocking awakened somebody we were bidden away with threats that the dogs would be loosed upon us. Nazareth looks not kindly on the wayfarer to-night, I said. Yet it shall not be said that a stranger had to sleep in the streets of Nazareth, were thy father's very words to me, Jesus. Come to my house, he said, though it be small and we have to put somebody out of his bed, it will be better than that our town should gain evil repute. Thou canst not have forgotten me coming, for thy father shook thee out of thy sleep and told thee that he wanted thy bed for a stranger. I can see thee still standing before me in thy shift, and though the hours I'd travelled had gone down into my very marrow, and sleep was heavy upon my eyes, yet a freshness came upon me as of the dawn when I looked on thee, and my heart told me that I had found one that would do honour to the Essenes, and love God more than any I had ever met with yet. But I think I hear thee weeping, Jesus. Now, for what art thou weeping? There is nothing sad in the story, only that it is a long time ago. Our speech next day still rings in my ear--my telling thee of the Pharisees that merely minded the letter of the law, and of the Sadducees that said there was no life outside this world except for angels. It is well indeed that I remember our two selves sitting by the door on two stools set under a vine, and it throwing pretty patterns of shadow on the pavement whilst we talked--whilst I talked to thee of the brethren, who lived down by the Bitter Lake, no one owning anything more than his fellow, so that none might be distracted from God by the pleasures of this world. I can see clearly through the years thy face expectant, and Nazareth--the deeply rutted streets and the hills above.

The days that we walked in Nazareth are pleasant memories, for I could never tell thee enough about the Essenes: their contempt of riches, and that if there were one among them who had more than another, on entering the order he willingly shared it. We were among the hills the day that I told thee about the baker; how he put a platter with a loaf on it before each of the brethren, how they broke bread, deeming the meal sacred, and it was the next day that we bade farewell to thy father and thy mother and started on our journey; a long way, but one that did not seem long to us, so engaged were we with our hopes. It was with me thou sawest Jerusalem for the first time; and I remember telling thee as we journeyed by the Jordan seeking a ford that the Essenes looked upon oil as a defilement, and if any one of them be anointed without his approbation it is wiped off, for we think to be sweaty is a good thing, and to be clothed in white garments, and never to change these till they be torn to pieces or worn out by time.

And of the little band that came with us that day from Galilee there remain Saddoc, Manahem and thyself. All of you learnt from me on the journey that we laboured till the fifth hour and then assembled together again clothed in white veils, after having bathed our bodies in cold water. But, Jesus, why this grief? Because I am going from thee? But, dear friend, to come and to go is the law of life, and it may be that I shall be with thee longer than thou thinkest for; eighty odd years may be lengthened into ninety: the patriarchs lived till a hundred and more years, and we believe that the soul outlives the body. Out of the chrysalis we escape from our corruptible bodies, and the beautiful butterfly flutters Godward. Grieve for me a little when I am gone, but grieve not before I go, for I would see thy face always happy, as I remember it in those years long ago in Nazareth. Jesus, Jesus, thou shouldst not weep like this! None should weep but for sin, and thy life is known to me from the day in Nazareth when we sat in the street together to the day that thou wentest to the Jordan to get baptism from John.

Ah! that day was the only day that my words were unheeded. But I am saying things that would seem to wound thee, and for why I know not! Tell me if my words wound or call up painful memories. Thy suffering is forgotten, or should be, for if ever any man merited love and admiration for a sincere and holy life thou---- I beg of thee, Father, not to say another word, for none is less worthy than I am. The greatest sinner amongst us is sitting by thee, one that has not dared to tell his secret to thee.... The memory of my sin has fed upon me and grown stronger, becoming a devil within me, but till now I have lacked courage to come to thee and ask thee to cast it out. But now since thou art going from us this year or the next, I wouldn't let thee go without telling it; to none may I tell it but to thee, for none else would understand it. I am listening, Jesus, Hazael answered.

The mutter of the water in the valley below them arose and grew louder in the silence; as Jesus prepared to speak his secret the doors of the lecture-room opened and the monks came out singing:

In the Lord put I my trust: How say ye to my soul, Flee As a bird to your mountain? For, lo, the wicked bend their Bow, they make ready their arrow Upon the string, that they may privily Shoot at the upright in heart. If the foundations be destroyed, what Can the righteous do? For the righteous Lord loveth Righteousness; his countenance Doth behold the upright.

The words of the psalm are intended for me, Jesus whispered, and now that the brethren are here I may not speak, but to-morrow---- There may be no to-morrow for us, the president answered. Even so, Jesus answered, I cannot speak to-night. It is as if I were bidden to withhold my secret till to-morrow. We know not why we speak or why we are silent, but silence has been put upon me by the words of the psalm. Be it so, the president answered, and he was helped by Saddoc and Manahem to his feet. Our Brother Jesus, he said, has given over the charge of our flocks to a young shepherd in whom he has confidence, and Jesus sleeps under a roof to-night, the first for many years, for, like us, he is getting older, and the rains and blasts of last winter have gone into his bones. All the cells, Father, Saddoc replied, are filled. I know that well, Saddoc, Hazael said as he went out; Jesus can sleep here on these benches; a mattress and a cloak will be sufficient for him who has slept in caverns, or in valleys on heaps of stones that he piled so that he might not drown in the rains. Manahem will get thee a mattress, Jesus; he knows where to find one. I am strong enough to walk alone, Saddoc. And disengaging himself from Saddoc's arm he walked with the monks towards his cell, joining them in the psalm:

All the powers of the Lord Bless ye the Lord; praise and Exalt him above all for ever.

As the doors of the cell closed Saddoc approached Jesus, and, breaking his reverie, he said: thou hast returned to us at last; and it was not too soon, for the winter rains are cold on bones as old as thine. But here comes Manahem with a mattress for thee. On the bench here, Manahem; on the bench he'll lie comfortably, and we'll get him a covering, for the nights are often chilly though the days be hot, we must try to make a comfortable resting-place for him that has guarded our flocks these long years. Wilt tell us if thou beest glad to yield thy flock to Jacob and if he will sell ewes and rams to the Temple for sacrifice? Ask me not any questions to-night, Brother Saddoc, for I'm troubled in mind. Forgive me my question, Jesus, Saddoc answered, and the three Essenes, leaning over the edge of the gorge, stood listening to the mutter of the brook. At last, to break the silence that the brook rumpled without breaking, Jesus asked if a wayfarer never knocked at the door of the cenoby after dark asking for bread and board. None knows the path well enough to keep to it after dark, Saddoc said; though the moon be high and bright the shadows disguise the path yonder. The path is always in darkness where it bends round the rocks, and the wayfarer would miss his footing and fall over into the abyss, even though he were a shepherd. Thyself wouldst miss it. Saddoc speaks well; none can follow the path, Manahem said, and fortunately, else we should have all the vagrants of the country knocking at our door.

We shall have one to-night--vagrant or prophet, Jesus said, and asked his brethren to look yonder; for it seemed to him that a man had just come out of the shadow of an overhanging rock. Manahem could see nobody, for, he said, none could find the way in the darkness, and if it be a demon, he continued, and fall, it will not harm him: the devil will hold him up lest he dash himself at the bottom of the ravine. But if it be a man of flesh and blood like ourselves he will topple over yon rock, and Manahem pointed to a spot, and they waited, expecting to see the shadow or the man they were watching disappear, but the man or the shadow kept close to the cliffs, avoiding what seemed to be the path so skilfully that Saddoc and Manahem said he must know the way. He will reach the bridge safely, cried Saddoc, and we shall have to open our doors to him. Now he is crossing the bridge, and now he begins the ascent. Let us pray that he may miss the path through the terraces. But would you have him miss it, Saddoc, Jesus asked, for the sake of thy rest? He shall have my mattress; I'll sleep on this bench in the window under the sky, and shall be better there: a roof is not my use nor wont. But who, said Saddoc, can he be?--for certainly the man, if he be not an evil spirit, is coming to ask for shelter for the night; and if he be not a demon he may be a prophet or robber: once more the hills are filled with robbers. Or it may be, Jesus said, the preacher of whom Jacob spoke to me this evening; he came up from the Jordan with a story of a preacher that the multitude would not listen to and sought to drown in the river, and our future shepherd told me how the rabble had followed him over the hills with the intent to kill him. Some great and terrible heresy he must be preaching to stir them like that, Manahem said, and he asked if the shepherd had brought news of the prophet's escape or death. Jesus answered that the shepherd thought the prophet had escaped into a cave, for he saw the crowd dispersing, going home like dogs from a hunt when they have lost their prey. If so, he has been lying by in the cave. Who can he be? Saddoc asked. Only a shepherd could have kept to the path. Now he sees us ... and methinks he is no shepherd, but a robber.

The Essenes waited a few moments longer and the knocking they had expected came at their door. Do not open it, Saddoc cried. He is for sure a robber sent in advance of his band, or it may be a prisoner of the Romans, and to harbour him may put us on crosses above the hills. We shall hang! Open not the door! If it be a wayfarer lost among the hills a little food and water will save him, Jesus answered. Open not the door, Jesus; though he be a prophet I would not open to him. A prophet he may be, and no greater danger besets us, for our later prophets induced men to follow them into the desert, promising that they should witness the raising of the dead with God riding the clouds and coming down for judgment. I say open not the door to him, Jesus! He may be one of the followers of the prophets, of which we have seen enough in these last years, God knows! The cavalry of Festus may be in pursuit of him and his band, and they have cut down many between Jerusalem and Jericho. I say open not the door! We live among terrors and dangers, Jesus; open not the door! Hearken, Saddoc, he calls us to open to him, Jesus said, moving towards the door. He is alone. We know he is, for we have seen him coming down a path on which two men pass each other with difficulty. He is a wayfarer, and we've been safe on this ledge of rock for many years; and times are quieter now than they have been since the dispersal of the great multitude that followed Theudas and were destroyed, and the lesser multitude that followed Banu; they, too, have perished.

Open not the door, Jesus! Saddoc cried again. There are Sicarii who kill men in the daytime, mingling themselves among the multitude with daggers hidden in their garments, their mission being to stab those that disobey the law in any fraction. We're Essenes, and have not sent blood offerings to the Temple. Open not the door. Sicarii or Zealots travel in search of heretics through the cities of Samaria and Judea. Open not the door! Men are for ever fooled, Saddoc continued, and will never cease to open their doors to those who stand in need of meat and drink. It will be safer, Jesus, to bid him away. Tell him rather that we'll let down a basket of meat and drink from the balcony to him. Art thou, Manahem, for turning this man from the door or letting him in? Jesus asked. There is no need to be frightened, Manahem answered; he is but a wanderer, Saddoc. A wanderer he cannot be, for he has found his way along the path in the darkness of the night, Saddoc interjected. Open not the door, I tell thee, or else we all hang on crosses above the hills to-morrow. But, Saddoc, we are beholden to the law not to refuse bed and board to the poor, Manahem replied, returning from the door. If we do not open, Jesus said, he will leave our door, and that will be a greater misfortune than any that he may bring us. Hearken, Saddoc! He speaks fair enough, Saddoc replied; but we may plead that after sunset in the times we live in---- But, Manahem, Jesus interjected, say on which side thou art.... We know there is but one man; and we are more than a match for one. Put a sword in Saddoc's hand. No! Manahem! for I should seem like a fool with a sword in my hand. Since thou sayest there is but one man and we are three, it might be unlucky to turn him from our doors. May I then open to him? Jesus asked, and he began to unbar the great door, and a heavy, thick-set man, weary of limb and mind, staggered into the gallery, and stood looking from one to the other, as if trying to guess which of the three would be most likely to welcome him. His large and bowed shoulders made his bald, egg-shaped skull (his turban had fallen in his flight) seem ridiculously small; it was bald to the ears, and a thick black beard spread over the face like broom, and nearly to the eyes; thick black eyebrows shaded eyes so piercing and brilliant that the three Essenes were already aware that a man of great energy had come amongst them. He had run up the terraces despite his great girdlestead and he stood before them like a hunted animal, breathing hard, looking from one to the other, a red, callous hand scratching in his shaggy chest, his eyes fixed first on Saddoc and then on Manahem and lastly on Jesus, whom he seemed to recognise as a friend. May I rest a little while? If so, give me drink before I sleep, he asked. No food, but drink. Why do ye not answer? Do ye fear me, mistaking me for a robber? Or have I wandered among robbers? Where am I? Hark: I am but a wayfarer and thou'rt a shepherd of the hills, I know thee by thy garb, thou'lt not refuse me shelter. And Jesus, turning to Saddoc and Manahem, said: he shall have the mattress I was to sleep upon. Give it to him, Manahem. Thou shalt have food and a coverlet, he said, turning to the wayfarer. No food! he cried; but a drink of water. There is some ewe's milk on the shelf, Manahem. Thou must be footsore, he said, giving the milk to the stranger, who drank it greedily. I'll get thee a linen garment so that thou mayst sleep more comfortable; and I'll bathe thy feet before sleep; sleep will come easier in a fresh garment. But to whose dwelling have I come? the stranger asked. A shepherd told me the Essenes lived among the rocks.... Am I among them? He told me to keep close to the cliff's edge or I should topple over. We watched thee, and it seemed every moment that thou couldst not escape death. It will be well to ask him his name and whence he comes, Saddoc whispered to Manahem. The shepherd told thee that we are Essenes, and it remains for thee to tell us whom we entertain. A prisoner of the Romans---- A prisoner of the Romans! Saddoc cried. Then indeed we are lost; a prisoner of the Romans with soldiers perhaps at thy heels! A prisoner fled from Roman justice may not lodge here.... Let us put him beyond our doors. And becoming suddenly courageous Saddoc went up to Paul and tried to lift him to his feet. Manahem, aid me!