Nikos Kazantzakis - The Last Temptation of Christ

The angel stood near him and smiled cunningly. “Don’t be afraid, Jesus of Nazareth. It’s a bull, a young virgin bull. Look how swiftly he moves his tongue and licks his moist nostrils, how he lowers his head and butts the olive tree, anxious to fight with it, how he shakes himself in order to break the rope and escape… Look down there in the meadow. What do you see?”

“Heifers, young heifers. They’re grazing.”

“They’re not grazing; they’re waiting for the young bull to break the rope. Listen once more how he bellows. What tenderness, what supplication, what power! Truly, like a dark and wounded god… Why has your face grown fierce, Jesus of Nazareth? Why do you look at me with those dark, unlaughing eyes?”

“Let us go,” Jesus bellowed softly. His voice was all tenderness, supplication and power.

“First I’ll release the bull,” answered the angel, laughing. “Don’t you feel sorry for him?”

He approached and untied the rope. For a moment the chaste beast did not move. But suddenly he understood: he was free. With a bound he rushed toward the meadow.

At precisely that instant Jesus heard the tinkling of bracelets and necklaces from within a lemon orchard. He turned. Mary Magdalene, crowned with lemon blossoms, was standing before him, bashful and trembling.

Jesus rushed forward and took her in his arms. “Magdalene, beloved Magdalene,” he cried, “oh, how many, how very many years I’ve longed for this moment! Who stepped between us and refused to leave us free-God?… Why are you crying?”

“Because of my great joy, Beloved; because of my great longing. Come!”

“Let us go. Lead me!”

He turned to say goodbye to his companion, but the angel had vanished into the air. Behind them, the great royal cortege of lords, ladies, kings, white horses and white lilies had also vanished. Below in the meadow, the bull was mounting the heifers.

“Whom are you looking for, Beloved? Why do you gaze behind you? Only we two remain in the world. I kiss the five wounds on your feet, your hands, your heart. What joy this is, what a Passover! The whole world has been resurrected! Come.”

“Where? Give me your hand; lead me. I trust you.”

“To a dense orchard. You’re being hunted; they want to seize you. Everything was ready-the cross, the nails, the mob, Pilate-but suddenly an angel came and snatched you away. Come-before the sun mounts and they see you. They’ve grown rabid: they want your death.”

“What have I done to them?”

“You sought their good, their salvation. How can they ever pardon you for that! Give me your hand, Beloved. Follow the woman. She, always sure, finds the way.”

She took his hand. Her fiery-red veil swelled as she walked hastily under the flowering, soon-fruitful lemon trees. Her fingers, entwined in those of the man, were burning hot, and her mouth smelled of lemon leaves.

Out of breath, she stopped for a moment and looked at Jesus. He shuddered, for he saw her eye frolic seductively, cunningly, like the eye of the angel. But she smiled at him.

“Don’t be afraid, Beloved. For years and years I’ve had something on the tip of my tongue, but I never had the courage to reveal it to you. Now I shall do so.”

“What is it? Speak without fear, Beloved.”

“If you’re in the seventh heaven and a passer-by requests a glass of water of you, descend from the seventh heaven in order to give it to him. If you are a holy saint and a woman requests a kiss of you, descend from your sanctity in order to give it to her. Otherwise you cannot be saved.”

Jesus seized her, threw back her head and kissed her on the mouth.

They both turned deathly pale. Their knees gave way. Unable to go further, they lay down under a flowering lemon tree and began to roll on the ground.

The sun came and stood above them. A breeze blew; several lemon flowers fell on the two naked bodies. A green lizard cemented itself to a stone opposite and watched them with its round, motionless eyes. Now and then the bull could be heard bellowing in the distance, rested now and satiated. A gentle drizzle cooled the two burning bodies and drew out the odor of the soil.

Purring, Mary Magdalene hugged the man, kept his body glued to hers.

“No man has ever kissed me. I have never felt a man’s beard over my lips and cheeks, nor a man’s knees between my knees. This is the day of my birth!… Are you crying, my child?”

“Beloved wife, I never knew the world was so beautiful or the flesh so holy. It too is a daughter of God, a graceful sister of the soul. I never knew that the joys of the body were not sinful.”

“Why did you set out to conquer heaven, and sigh, and seek the miraculous water of eternal life? I am that water. You have stooped, drunk, found peace… Are you still sighing, my child? What are you thinking about?”

“My heart is a withered rose of Jericho which revives and opens up again when placed in water. Woman is a fountain of immortal water. Now I understand.”

“Understand what, my child?”

“This is the road.”

“The road? What road, dearest Jesus?”

“The road by which the mortal becomes immortal, the road by which God descends to earth in human shape. I went astray because I sought a route outside the flesh; I wanted to go by way of the clouds, great thoughts and death. Woman, precious fellow worker of God, forgive me. I bow and worship you, Mother of God… What shall we name the son we are going to have?”

“Take him to the Jordan and baptize him as you please. He’s yours.”

“Let’s call him Paraclete, the Comforter!”

“Shh, I hear someone coming through the trees. It must be my faithful little Negro. I told him to keep watch so that no one would come near. Here he is!”

“Saul, ma’am.”

The boy’s brilliantly white eyes danced; his chubby body was frothing all over like that of a horse after a gallop.

Magdalene jumped up and placed her hand over his mouth. “Quiet!”

She turned to Jesus. “Beloved husband, you’re tired. Sleep. I shall return quickly.”

But Jesus had already closed his eyes. A sweet sleep had flowed over his eyelids and temples, and he did not see Magdalene go away under the lemon trees and disappear down the deserted road.

But his mind jolted up. Leaving his body on the ground to sleep, it started out after Magdalene. Where was she going? Why had her eyes suddenly filled with tears and the world grown dim? His mind, like a hawk, flew over those eyes and did not let her escape.

The frightened young Negro stumbled along in front. They passed the olive grove. The sun still had not set. They entered the meadow. The heifers were stretched out on the grass, chewing their cud. They went down into a shady, rocky ravine where they heard dogs barking and the panting voices of men. Terror took hold of the young Negro. “I’m leaving,” he said, and ran off.

Magdalene remained all alone. She looked around her. Rocks, flint, a few brambles. A wild, barren fig tree protruded horizontally from the face of the cliff. Two ravens-sentries on the vantage point of a jutting rock-caught sight of Magdalene and began to screech as though calling their mates.

She heard the sound of stones being dislodged. Men were climbing the cliff. A black, red-spotted dog appeared, its tongue hanging out. The ravine became filled, like a cemetery, with cypresses and palms.

A calm, satisfied voice was heard. “Welcome.”

Magdalene turned around. “Who spoke? Who greeted me?”

“I did.”

“Who are you?”

“God.”

“God! Let me cover my hair and hide my breasts. Turn away your face, Lord; you must not see my nakedness-I’m ashamed. Why did you bring me into this savage wilderness? Where am I? I see nothing but cypresses and palms.”