Nikos Kazantzakis - The Last Temptation of Christ

“Exactly! Death and immortality… Great Martyr, I’ve brought you precisely where I want you. Prepare yourself for death, Magdalene, so that you may become immortal.”

“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to become immortal. Let me continue to live on the earth, and afterward, turn me into ashes.”

“Death is a caravan laden with spices and perfumes. Do not be afraid, Magdalene. Mount the black camel and enter the desert of heaven.”

“Oh, who are those frenzied travelers who emerged from behind the cypresses?”

“Don’t be afraid, Magdalene; they are my camel-drivers. Shade your eyes with your hand. Don’t you see the black camel they are leading, the one with the red velvet saddle on which you’ll ride? Do not resist.”

“Lord, I’m not afraid of death, but I have a complaint to make. Just now, for the first time, my flesh and soul were considered worthy of having the same mouth; for the first time, both of them were kissed-and must I die?”

“This is an excellent moment for you to die, Magdalene. You won’t find a better one, so do not resist.”

“Oh! what are those cries, threats and peals of laughter I hear? Lord, do not abandon me. They’re coming to kill me!”

She heard the voice, still calm and satisfied, but far away now in the distance. “Magdalene, you have attained the highest joy of your life. You can go no higher. Death is kind… Until we meet again, First Martyr!”

The voice disappeared. From a bend in the ravine the mob of frenzied Levites and bloodthirsty slaves of Caiaphas emerged with knives and hatchets. They saw Magdalene, and cleavers, dogs and men fell upon her.

“Mary Magdalene, whore!” they howled in fits of laughter.

A black cloud covered the sun; the earth grew dark.

“I’m not, I’m not!” the unfortunate woman cried out. “I was, but am not. Today I was born!”

“Mary Magdalene, whore!”

“I was, but I’m not now, I swear it. Don’t kill me. Mercy! Who are you, you with the bald head, the fat belly, the crooked legs-you, the hunchback? Don’t touch me!”

“Mary Magdalene, whore! I am Saul. The God of Israel sent me from Damascus and gave me the authority to kill him.”

“To kill whom?”

“Your lover!”

He turned to his gang.

“On her, lads! She’s his lover, she’ll know. Tell us where you’ve hidden him, strumpet!”

“I won’t!”

“I’ll kill you!”

“In Bethany!”

“Liar! We’ve just come from there. You’ve got him hidden somewhere near here. The truth now!”

“Let go of my hair! Why do you want to kill him? What has he done to you?”

“Whoever lifts his hand against the holy Law-death!”

While the hunchback spoke he looked at her passionately and came closer and closer, his breath on fire.

Magdalene fluttered her eyelids. “Saul,” she said, “look at my breasts, my arms, my throat. Wouldn’t it be a shame if they perished? Don’t kill them!”

Saul came still closer. His voice was smothered, hoarse. “Confess where he is and I won’t kill you. I like your breasts, your arms, your neck. Pity your beauty and confess! Why do you look at me like that? What are you thinking?”

“I was just thinking, Saul-and sighing-just thinking what miracles you would perform if God suddenly flashed within you and you saw the truth! To conquer the world my beloved needs disciples like you-not fishermen, peddlers and shepherds, but flames like yourself, Saul!”

“Conquer the world! Does he want to conquer the world? How? Speak, Magdalene, because that’s just what I want to do.”

“With love.”

“With love?”

“Saul, listen to what I’m going to tell you. Send the others away-I don’t want them to hear. This man you’re hunting and want to kill is the son of God, the Saviour of the world, the Messiah! Yes, by the soul which I shall render to God!”

A skinny, tubercular Levite with a scanty gray beard hissed: “Saul, Saul, her arms are wolf snares. Beware!”

“Go away!”

He turned again to Magdalene. “With love? I too want to conquer the world. I go down to the ports, see the ships leaving, and my heart burns. I want to reach the ends of the earth, but not as a beggarly slave of a Jew: no, as a king, with my sword! But how? It’s impossible. I feel so wretched I want to kill myself. In the meantime I find relief by killing others.”

He was quiet for a moment and then, coming still closer to the woman, “Where is your master, Magdalene?” he asked in a gentle tone. “Tell me so that I can go find him and speak with him. I want him to tell me what love is, and which kind of love will conquer the world… Why are you crying?”

“Because I do want to reveal to you where he is. I want the two of you to meet. He is all sweetness; you all fire. Together, you will conquer the world. But I don’t trust you; no, I don’t trust you, Saul-and that’s why I’m crying.”

She was still speaking when a stone whistled through the air and broke her jaw.

“Brothers-in the name of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob-strike!” howled the consumptive Levite. It was he who had seized the first stone and had struck her.

The heavens thundered. In the distance the setting sun was bathed in blood.

“Here’s for her thousand-kissed mouth!” howled one of Caiaphas’s slaves. Magdalene’s teeth scattered on the ground.

“Here’s for her belly!”

“And for her heart!”

“And for the bridge of her nose!”

Magdalene buried her head in her breast to protect it. Blood gushed from her mouth, her breasts, her womb. The death rale commenced.

The hawk beat its wings. Its round eyes had seen everything. Uttering a piercing cry, it returned, found its body still lying under the lemon trees, and entered. Jesus’ eyelids fluttered; a large drop of rain fell on his lips. He awoke and sat up on the rich mortuary soil, lost in thought. What had he just dreamed? He could not remember. Nothing remained in his mind but stones, a woman and blood… Could the woman have been Magdalene? Her face rippled, flowed like water, would not stay fixed so that he could see it. As he struggled to distinguish it the stones and blood seemed to turn into a loom, and now the woman was a weaver sitting before her machine and singing. Her voice was exceeding sweet, and full of complaint.

Above his head the lemons gleamed all gold between the dark leaves of the lemon tree. He pressed his palms into the damp soil and felt its coolness and vernal warmth. He glanced quickly around him: no one was watching. Leaning over, he kissed the earth.

“Mother,” he said softly, “hold me close, and I shall hold you close. Mother, why can’t you be my God?”

The lemon leaves stirred, there were light footsteps on the damp earth, an invisible blackbird whistled. Jesus raised his eyes and saw his green-winged guardian angel standing before him, pleased and merry. The curly fuzz on his body glittered in the oblique rays of the setting sun.

“Hello,” Jesus said. “Your face is sparkling. What more good news do you bring me? I have faith in you: the green of your wings is like the grass of the earth.”

The angel laughed and folded his wings. Squatting next to Jesus he crumpled a lemon flower and smelled it ardently, then gazed at the western sky, which was now the color of sour cherries. A gentle breeze rose from the earth, and all the leaves of the lemon tree rustled joyously and danced.

“How happy you human beings must be!” he said. “You are made of soil and water, and everything on the earth is made of soil and water. That’s why you all match: men, women, meat, vegetables, fruit… Aren’t you of the same soil, the same water? Everything wants to join together. Why, just now on my way I heard a woman calling you.”