Nikos Kazantzakis - The Last Temptation of Christ

“I too fought as well as I could, Judas, my brother. In my youth I set out, like a youth, to save the world. Afterward, when my mind had matured, I stepped into line-the line of men. I went to work: plowed the land, dug wells, planted vines and olives. I took the body of woman into my arms and created men-I conquered death. Isn’t that what I always said I would do? Well, I kept my word: I conquered death!”

Judas suddenly lashed out, pushed aside Peter and the women, who had placed themselves in front of him, and uttered a great, savage cry. “Traitor!”

They all turned to stone. Jesus grew pale and placed his hands on his breast.

“Me? Me, Judas?” he murmured. “You’ve uttered a grave word. Take it back!”

“Traitor! Deserter!”

The tiny old men turned yellow and started for the door. Thomas had already reached the street.

The two women jumped forward.

“Brothers, don’t leave,” Mary cried. “Satan has raised his hand against the rabbi. He’s going to strike him!”

Peter was slinking toward the door to escape. “Where are you going?” said Martha, grabbing him. “Will you deny him again-again?”

“I’m not getting mixed up in this,” said Philip. “Iscariot has a mighty arm, and I’m old. Let’s go, Nathanael.”

Judas and Jesus were now standing face to face. Judas’s body steamed. It smelled of sweat and putrescent wounds.

“Traitor! Deserter!” he bellowed again. “Your place was on the cross. That’s where the God of Israel put you to fight. But you got cold feet, and the moment death lifted its head, you couldn’t get away fast enough! You ran and hid yourself in the skirts of Martha and Mary. Coward! And you changed your face and your name, you fake Lazarus, to save yourself!”

“Judas Iscariot,” Peter interrupted at that point (the women had given him courage, “Judas Iscariot, is that the way one talks to the rabbi? Don’t you have any respect?”

“What rabbi?” howled Iscariot, brandishing his fist. “Him? But don’t you have eyes to see with, minds to judge with? Him, a rabbi? What did he tell us, what did he promise us? Where is the army of angels which was supposed to come down to save Israel? Where is the cross which was supposed to be our springboard to heaven? As he faced the cross this fake Messiah went dizzy and fainted. Then the ladies got hold of him and installed him to manufacture children for them. He says he fought, fought courageously. Yes, he swaggers about like the cock of the roost. But your post, deserter, was on the cross, and you know it. Others can reclaim barren lands and barren women. Your duty was to mount the cross-that’s what I say! You boast that you conquered death. Woe is you! Is that the way to conquer death-by making children, mouthfuls for Charon! Mouthfuls for Charon! That’s what a child is-a mouthful for Charon! You’ve turned yourself into his meat market and you deliver him morsels to eat. Traitor! Deserter! Coward!”

“Judas, my brother,” Jesus murmured, beginning now to tremble all over, “Judas, my brother, speak more affectionately.”

“You broke my heart, son of the Carpenter,” bellowed Judas, “how do you expect me to speak to you affectionately? Sometimes I want to scream and wail like a widow and bang my head against the rocks! Curse the day you were born, the day I was born, the hour I met you and you filled my heart with hopes! When you used to go in the lead and draw us along behind you and speak to us about heaven and earth, what joy that was, what freedom, what richness! The grapes seemed as big as twelve-year-old boys. With a single grain of wheat we were filled. One day we had five loaves of bread: we fed a crowd of thousands, and twelve basketfuls remained. And the stars: what splendor, what an outpouring of light in the sky! They weren’t stars; they were angels. No, they weren’t angels; they were us-us, your disciples, and we rose and set, and you were in the center, fixed like the north star, and we were all around you, dancing! You took me in your arms-do you remember?-and begged, ‘Betray me, betray me. I must be crucified and resurrected so that we can save the world!’ ”

Judas stopped for a moment and sighed. His wounds had reopened and begun to drain. The little old men, glued again one to the next, struggled with bowed heads to remember and to bring themselves back to life.

A tear popped into Judas’s eye. Crushing it angrily, he resumed his shouting. His heart was still not empty. “ ‘I am the lamb of God,’ you bleated. ‘I go to the slaughter so that I may save the world. Judas, my brother, do not be afraid. Death is the door to immortality. I must pass through this door. Help me!’ And I loved you so much, I trusted you so much, that I said, ‘Yes’ and went and betrayed you. But you… you…”

Foam gushed from his lips. Grasping Jesus by the shoulder, he shook him forcefully, glued him to the wall. He began again to bellow. “What business do you have here? Why weren’t you crucified? Coward! Deserter! Traitor! Was that all you accomplished? Have you no shame? I lift my fist and ask you: Why, why weren’t you crucified?”

“Quiet! Quiet!” Jesus begged. The blood began to run from his five wounds.

“Judas Iscariot,” Peter interrupted again, “have you no pity? Don’t you see his feet, his hands? Put your hand to his side if you don’t believe. It’s bleeding.”

Judas forced himself to laugh. Then he spat on the ground and shouted, “Eh, son of the Carpenter, you’re not putting anything over on me-no! Your guardian angel came during the night.”

Jesus shook. “My guardian angel…” he murmured with a shudder.

“Yes, your guardian angel: Satan. He stamped the red spots on your hands, feet and side so that you could deceive the world and deceived yourself. Why are you looking at me like that? Why don’t you answer? Coward! Deserter! Traitor!”

Jesus closed his eyes. He felt faint but managed to keep himself on his feet. “Judas,” he said, his voice trembling, “you were always intractable and wild; you never accepted human limits. You forget that the soul of man is an arrow: it darts as high as it can toward heaven but always falls back down again to earth. Life on earth means shedding one’s wings.”

Hearing this, Judas became frantic. “Shame on you!” he screamed. “Is that what you’ve come to, you, the son of David, the son of God, the Messiah! Life on earth means: to eat bread and transform the bread into wings, to drink water and to transform the water into wings. Life on earth means: the sprouting of wings. That’s what you told us-you, traitor! They’re not my words, they’re yours. In case you forgot, I’m reminding you of them!”

“Where are you, Matthew, scribe? Come here! Open your weighty papers-you always carry them next to your heart, the same way I carry my knife. Open your writings. They’ve been devoured by time, moths and sweat, but quite a few words can still be seen. Open your writings, Matthew, and read so that the gentleman in question may hear and remember. One night an important notable of Jerusalem, Nicodemus by name, came to him secretly and asked, ‘Who are you? What is your work?’ And you, son of the Carpenter, you answered him-remember!-‘I forge wings!’ As you said that we all felt wings shoot out from our backs. And now what have you come to, you plucked cock! You whine away and say, ‘Life on earth means shedding one’s wings.’ Ugh! Out of my sight, coward! If life isn’t all lightning and thunder what do I want with it? Don’t come near me, Peter, you windmill; nor you, gallant Andrew. Don’t screech, women. I won’t bother him. Why lift my hand against him? He’s dead and buried. He still stands up on his feet, he talks, he weeps, but he’s dead: a carcass. Let God forgive him-God, because I cannot. May Israel’s blood, tears and ashes fall upon his head!”