Nikos Kazantzakis - The Last Temptation of Christ

“If you believe in God, Simon, my brother,” he said, “quiet down and tell us what happened: how, when and where; and if the teacher spoke.”

“He certainly did speak!” Simon answered. “’Damn you to hell, disciples!’-that’s what he said. Well-write! Why are you looking at me? Grab your pen and write: ‘Damn you to hell!’”

Lamentations arose from behind the barrels. John was rolling on the ground and screeching, and Peter was beating his head against the wall.

“If you believe in God, Simon,” Matthew begged him again, “tell the truth so that I can write it down. Can’t you understand that at this moment the future of the whole world depends on what you say?”

Peter was still beating his head against the wall.

“Blast it, don’t get desperate, Peter,” the innkeeper said to him. “I’ll tell you what you can do to win glory for all eternity. Listen: soon they’re going to lead him by here-I already hear the noise. Get up, open the door like a man, go take the cross from him and put it on your own shoulders. It’s heavy, curse it, and your God is very delicate, and exhausted.”

Laughing, he shoved Peter with his foot. “You’ll do it? I want to see some action, here and now!”

“I would do it, I swear to you, if there weren’t such a crowd,” Peter whined. “They’ll make mincemeat out of me.”

The enraged innkeeper spat. “Go to hell-all of you!” he shouted. “Will none of you do it? You, Nathanael bean-stalk? You, Andrew cutthroat? No one, no one? Pfou! To the devil with you all! Ah, my poor Messiah, what sterling generals you chose to help you conquer the world! You’d have done better choosing me-me! I may deserve to be hanged and have my head displayed on a stake, but I’ve got a little self-respect all the same, and when a fellow’s got self-respect it doesn’t matter if he’s a drunkard, a robber or a liar: he’s still a man. When you’ve got no self-respect, you might be an innocent dove, but pfou! you’re not worth a miserable shoe patch!”

Spitting again, he opened the door and stood on the threshold, puffing.

The streets had filled with people. Men and women were running, shouting, “He’s coming! The king of the Jews is coming. Boo! Boo!”

The disciples burrowed again behind the barrels. Simon whirled around. “Bah! Don’t you have any self-respect? You’re not going out to see him, eh? Won’t you even give the poor fellow the consolation of a glimpse of his disciples? All right, then: I’ll go out, I’ll wave to him. ‘It’s me,’ I’ll say, ‘me, Simon the Cyrenian-present.’ ”

With one bound he was in the road.

The multitude passed by, wave after wave. In front, Roman cavalry; behind, Jesus bearing the cross. Blood ran over him, and his clothes hung in tatters. He no longer had the strength to walk. His face pitched more and more forward; he continually stumbled, ready to fall, and they continually set him up straight again and kicked him onward. In back ran the lame, the blind and the maimed, enraged because he had not healed them. They cursed him and struck him with their crutches and canes. He frequently looked around him. Would none of the beloved companions appear? What had happened to them?

Outside the tavern he turned and saw the innkeeper waving his hand at him. His heart rejoiced. He started to nod his head to say goodbye to him but tripped on a stone and collapsed to the ground, the cross over his back. He groaned with pain.

The Cyrenian rushed forward, lifted him up, took the cross and loaded it upon his own back. Then he turned and smiled at Jesus. “Courage,” he said to him. “I’m here; don’t be afraid.”

They left by the gate of David and started up the slope which led to the summit of Golgotha-Golgotha: all stones, thorns and bones. Here the rebels were crucified, their remains left to the vultures. The air stank from carrion.

The Cyrenian put down the cross. Two soldiers began to dig and embed it between the rocks. Jesus sat down on a stone and waited. The sun hung high above them; the heavens were white, burning-and closed. Not a flame, not an angel, not even a small sign that someone there above was watching the events below on earth… And while he sat and waited, crumbling a small clod of earth between his fingers, he felt someone standing before him, looking at him. Raising his head calmly, without haste, he saw and recognized her.

“Welcome, faithful fellow voyager,” he murmured. “Here the journey ends. What you wanted has been accomplished; what I wanted has also been accomplished. All my life I toiled to turn the Curse into a blessing. I’ve done it, and we are friends now. Farewell, Mother!” He waved his hand languidly at the savage shade.

Two soldiers grabbed him by the shoulders. “Get up, Your Majesty,” they shouted at him. “Mount your throne!”

They undressed him, revealing his thin body. It was covered with blood.

The heat was intense. The people, tired of shouting themselves hoarse, watched mutely.

“Let him drink some wine to gain strength,” a soldier suggested.

But Jesus pushed away the cup and extended his arms to the cross. “Father,” he murmured, “your will be done.”

The blind, the leprous and the maimed now began to howl. “Liar! Cheat! Deceiver of the people!”

“Where is the kingdom of heaven, where are the ovens with the loaves?” howled the ragamuffins, and they barraged him with lemon peels and stones.

Jesus spread wide his arms and opened his mouth to cry, Brothers! but the soldiers seized him and hoisted him up onto the cross. Then they called the gypsies with the nails, but as the hammers were lifted and the first blow was heard, the sun hid its face; as the second was heard, the sky darkened and the stars appeared: not stars, but large tears which dripped onto the soil.

The crowd was overcome with fright. The horses on which the Romans were mounted became ferocious. Rearing, they began to gallop furiously and trample the Jewry. Then earth, sky and air suddenly grew mute, as at the beginning of an earthquake.

Simon the Cyrenian fell prone onto the stones. The world had shaken many times under his feet, and he was terrified. “Alas! now the earth will open up and swallow us all,” he murmured.

He lifted his head and looked around him. The world seemed to have fainted. Deathly pale, it was now just barely visible in the bluish darkness. The heads of the people had vanished and only their eyes-black holes-bored through the air. A thick flock of crows which had scented the blood and rushed to Golgotha now fled in terror. A feeble gasp of complaint descended from the cross, and the Cyrenian, tying his heart into a knot so that he would not weep, lifted his eyes and looked. Suddenly he uttered a cry. Jesus was not being nailed to the cross by gypsies! No, a multitude of angels had come down from heaven, holding hammers and nails in their hands. They flew around Jesus, swung the hammers happily and nailed the hands and feet; some tightly bound the victim’s body with stout cord so that he would not fall; and a small angel with rosy cheeks and golden curls held a lance and pierced Jesus’ heart.

“What is this?” murmured the Cyrenian, trembling. “God himself, God himself is crucifying him!”

And then-never in his life had the Cyrenian experienced such intense fear or pain-a great, heart-rending cry, full of complaint, tore the air from earth to heaven.

“ELI… ELI…”

The sufferer was unable to continue. He wanted to but could not: he had no more breath.

The Crucified inclined his head-and fainted.

HIS EYELIDS fluttered with joy and surprise. This was not a cross; it was a huge tree reaching from earth to heaven. Spring had come: blossoms covered the entire tree; and at the very very end of each branch a bird sat over the brink and sang… And he-he stood erect, his whole body leaning against the flowering tree. He lifted his head and counted: one, two, three…