Nikos Kazantzakis - The Last Temptation of Christ

The youth stood in the middle of the room, unable to make up his mind whether to stay or go. Which was God’s will? It was pleasant here, and warm; he had even become accustomed to the nauseating odor. Outside: wind, rain and cold. He knew no one in Magdala, and Capernaum was far away. Should he go or stay? His soul swung back and forth like a ringing bell.

“It’s coming down in buckets, Jesus. I bet you haven’t eaten a thing today. Help me light the fire and we’ll cook.” Her voice was tender and attentive, like a mother’s.

“I’m going to leave,” said the youth, turning toward the door.

“Sit down and we’ll eat together!” Magdalene ordered. “Does the thought disgust you? Are you afraid you’ll pollute yourself by eating with a whore?”

The youth took logs and kindling from the corner, bent down by the stone jamb of the fireplace, in front of the two andirons, and lighted the fire.

Magdalene’s heart had grown calm. Smiling now, she filled a pot with water and placed it on the fire. From a sack hanging on the wall she took two heaping handfuls of de-eyed broad beans and threw them in. Then she knelt in front of the lighted fire and listened. Outside, the floodgates of heaven had opened up.

“Jesus,” she said quietly, “you asked me if I remembered when we were children and played together…”

But the young man, kneeling like Magdalene in front of the hearth, simply stared at the fire, his mind far away. He felt as though he had already reached the monastery in the desert, as though he had put on the white robe and begun to promenade in the solitude; and his heart was a small, happy goldfish swimming in the deep, tranquil waters of God. Outside, the world was falling apart; within him, peace, love and security.

“Jesus,” the voice next to him repeated, “you asked me if I remembered when we were children and played together…”

Magdalene’s face, reflecting the light of the flames, glowed like red-hot iron. But the youth, submerged in the desert, did not hear.

“Jesus,” the woman said again, “you were three and I was one year older. There were three steps leading to the door of our house and I used to sit on the highest one and watch you struggle for hours, unable to mount the first step. You fell, you got up again, and I did not even lift my little finger to help you. I wanted you to come to me, but not before you suffered greatly… Do you remember?”

A devil, one of her seven devils, was goading her on to speak to the man and tempt him.

“Hours later you would finally manage to climb up the first step. Then you struggled to mount the second, then the third-where I sat, motionless, waiting for you. And then-”

The youth gave a start and held out his hand. “Be still,” he shouted; “don’t go further!”

But the woman’s face gleamed and flickered; the flames licked her eyebrows, lips, chin and uncovered throat. She took a handful of laurel leaves, threw them in the fire, and sighed.

“Then you took me by the hand-yes, you took me by the hand, Jesus-and we went inside and lay down on the pebbles of the yard. We glued the soles of our feet together, felt the warmth of our bodies mix, rise from our feet to our thighs, from our thighs to our loins. Then we closed our eyes and-”

“Quiet!” the youth shouted again. He lifted his hand in order to cover her mouth, but restrained himself-he was afraid to touch her lips.

The woman sighed now and continued, lowering her voice to a murmur. “Never in my whole life have I felt such sweetness.” She paused, and then: “it is that sweetness, Jesus, which I’ve been seeking ever since from man to man; but I have not found it.”

The youth buried his face between his knees. “Adonai,” he murmured, “Adonai, help!”

The warm, peaceful chamber was silent except for the bubbling of the fragrant pot of beans, and the hissing of the fire as it devoured the wood. Outside, the male waters poured out of the skies with a roar and the earth opened its thighs and giggled.

“Jesus, what are you thinking about?” asked Magdalene, not daring now to face the man.

“I’m thinking about God,” he answered in a strangulated voice, “about God, Adonai…”

As he spoke, he repented of having pronounced the sacred name in a house such as this.

Magdalene jumped up and paced back and forth between the fire and the door. Her mind had grown furious.

God is the great enemy, she was thinking; yes, God. He never fails to intrude; he is evil, jealous; he won’t let a person be happy. She stopped behind the door and cocked her ear. The heavens were bellowing. A whirlwind had arisen and the pomegranates in the yard knocked against one another and were ready to break.

“The rain has let up a little,” she said.

“I’ll go,” replied the youth, rising.

“Eat first and put some strength into your body. Where can you go at such an hour? It’s pitch-black outside and still raining.”

She took down a round mat from the wall and spread it out on the floor. She removed the casserole from the fire, opened a small cupboard recessed in the wall and took out a toasted barley roll and two earthenware soup plates.

“This is the prostitute’s meal,” she said. “Eat, you essence of piety, eat-if it doesn’t disgust you.”

The hungry youth did not hesitate to put out his hand. The woman tittered.

“Is that the way you eat?” she hissed. “Without saying grace? Hadn’t you better give thanks to God for sending bread, broad beans and whores?”

Jesus’ mouthful stuck in his throat.

“Why do you hate me, Mary?” he said. “Why do you tease me? Look, tonight I am about to break bread with you; we have become friends again. Let bygones be bygones, and forgive me. That’s why I’ve come.”

“Eat, and stop your whining. If the forgiveness is not given, take it! You’re a man.”

She lifted her hand and divided the bread, laughing. “Blessed be the name of Him who sends bread, broad beans and whores to the world-and pious guests!”

They remained kneeling one opposite the other under the light of the lamp, and said nothing more. Both were hungry, both had suffered much anguish on this day, and they ate to replenish their forces.

The rain outside began to subside. The sky had found relief; the earth was filled. There was no sound except the cackling laughter of the rivulets which ran happily down the village’s cobbled streets.

They finished eating. The tiny cupboard also contained a sip of wine, which they drank, and several fully ripe dates for the sweet tooth. For some time, both remained silent and watched the fire, which was about to go out. Their minds rose and fell, danced with the dying flames.

It was cold. The youth got up and put more wood on the fire; Magdalene took another handful of laurel leaves and threw them on top: perfume filled the room. She went to the door and opened it. A wind had arisen; the clouds had already scattered. Two large stars, freshly bathed and immaculate, gleamed brilliantly over her yard.

“Is it still raining?” asked the youth, who stood again in the middle of the room, unable to make up his mind.

But Magdalene did not answer. She unrolled a mat, went to her trunk, took out sheets and thick woolen blankets-gifts from her lovers-and made up a bed in front of the fire.

“You’ll sleep here,” she said. “It’s cold and windy out, and almost midnight. Where can you go? You’ll catch your death of cold. Here’s where you’re going to sleep: next to the fire.”

The youth shuddered. “Here!”

“Are you afraid? Well, rest assured, my innocent dove, I won’t bother you. No, I won’t tempt you, I won’t touch your virginity, my pet-such as it’s worth!”

She put still more wood on the fire and lowered the wick of the lamp. “Pleasant dreams,” she said. “Tomorrow we both have much to do. You’ll set out along the road again, to seek your salvation; I’ll set out along another road, my own, and I too will be seeking salvation. Each his own road, and we shall never meet again. Good night.”