Nikos Kazantzakis - The Last Temptation of Christ

“To tell you the truth,” answered the old man, “I have no confidence in red hairs. You’re from the stock of Cain, who murdered his brother. Go to the devil, my friend. I don’t want to talk with the likes of you!”

This said, he turned his back on him.

The redbeard gave the donkey a swat with the forked stick. The beast drew up its head, slid back into the yoke, bolted forward and began to run.

“Never fear, old parasite,” Judas murmured; “the Messiah will come to put everything in order.”

When he had got around the rocks, he turned. “We’ll have a chance to discuss all this again, Zebedee,” he shouted. “The Messiah will come one day, won’t he? He will, and then, personally, he’ll put every rascal in his place. You’re not the only one who has confidence! See you again-on the day of judgment!”

“Go to hell, red hair!” was Zebedee’s reply. The womb of the net had finally become visible, and it was filled with giltheads and red mullets.

Philip stood between the two of them, unable to take sides. What Judas had said was true, and courageous. The shepherd had often felt like smearing such words in the old man’s ugly face or beating them over his head, but he had never had the courage. This unregenerate was a potent landlord, strong on land and sea. He owned every one of the meadows in which Philip grazed his goats and sheep-so how could the shepherd attack him? One had to be either a madman or a hero, and Philip was neither. He simply talked big, and much; and he never took an unnecessary chance.

He had remained silent, therefore, while the other two quarreled, and was still standing by, bashful and irresolute. The fishermen had now pulled in the nets. He bent down with them and helped fill the hampers. Even Zebedee was plunged waist deep in the water, where he directed men and fish.

But while they all admired the overflowing hampers, completely elated, the redbeard’s hoarse voice suddenly echoed from the rock opposite. “Hey, Zebedee!”

Old Zebedee played deaf.

Once more the voice thundered. “Hey, Zebedee, take my advice and go collect your son Jacob!”

“Jacob!” the old man cried out in a ferment. As far as his younger son was concerned, the damage was done: he had lost him. He did not want to lose this one too. He had no other son, and he needed him in his work. “Jacob!” he called to Judas in a worried voice. “What do you have to say about Jacob, you confounded red hair?”

“I saw him on the road getting friendly with the cross-maker. They were having a pleasant chat!”

“What cross-maker, infidel? Speak clearly!”

“The son of the Carpenter, the one who builds crosses in Nazareth and crucifies the prophets… Too late! Poor old Zebedee-Jacob’s lost too. You had two sons. God snatched the one and the devil the other.”

Old Zebedee stood with gaping mouth. A flying fish bounded out of the water, winged over his head, then dived back into the lake and disappeared.

“A bad sign, a bad sign!” murmured the old man in a panic. “Is my son going to leave me like this, like the flying fish, and disappear beneath deep waters?”

He turned to Philip. “Did you see the flying fish? Nothing that happens in the world is without its meaning. Tell me, what was the meaning of this fish? You shepherds…”

“If it had been a lamb, I’d be able to tell you, Father Zebedee, even if I’d seen only its back. But fish are not in my department.” He was angry because, unlike Judas, he lacked the courage to speak out like a man. “I’m off to see to my animals,” he said. Putting his crook over his shoulders, he jumped from rock to rock and caught up with Judas.

“Wait, brother,” he called to him. “I want to talk to you.”

“Go to your sheep, coward,” the redbeard answered him, without turning, “go to your sheep; keep your nose out of men’s affairs. And don’t call me ‘brother.’ I’m no brother of yours!”

“Wait, I tell you. I have something to say to you. Don’t get angry.”

Judas halted now and eyed him with disdain. “Why didn’t you open your mouth? Why are you afraid of him? Can you still be afraid when you know what’s happening, who is coming, where we are headed? Or maybe you haven’t got wind of it yet. Well, poor devil, the time is near, the king of the Jews is approaching in all his glory-and woe be to cowards!”

“More, Judas, more,” Philip implored. “Haul me over the coals, lift the forked stick you’re holding and beat some self-respect into me. I’m fed up with always being afraid.”

Judas approaching him slowly and grasped his arm. “Does this come from the heart, Philip, or are you just speaking hollow words?”

“I’m fed up, I tell you. I was disgusted with myself today. Go in front, Judas, go in front and show me the way. I’m ready.”

The redbeard looked around him and lowered his voice. “Philip, can you kill?”

“Men?”

“Naturally. What did you think-sheep?”

“I haven’t killed a man yet, but I’d be able to, yes, without a doubt. Last month I felled and killed a bull all by myself.”

“A man’s easier. Come with us.”

Philip shuddered. He understood. “Are you one of them-one of the Zealots?” he asked, his face bathed in terror. He had heard a great deal about this awful brotherhood, the “Saint Assassins” as it was called. They terrorized everyone, from Mount Hermon down to the Dead Sea, and even farther south, as far as the desert of Idumea. Armed with crowbars, ropes and knives, they went about proclaiming: Don’t pay tribute to the infidels. We have only one Lord, Adonai. Kill every Jew who disobeys the sacred Law, who laughs, speaks or works with the enemies of our God, the Romans. Strike, kill, clear the road so that the Messiah may pass! Cleanse the world, make ready the streets: he is coming!

They entered villages and cities in broad daylight to assassinate, without consulting anyone but themselves, a traitorous Sadducee or a bloodthirsty Roman. The landowners, priests and high priests trembled before them and called down the anathema: they were the ones who incited insurrections and brought out the Roman troops, with the result that massacres broke forth at regular intervals and rivers of Jewish blood were spilled.

“Are you one of them-one of the Zealots?” Philip repeated in a hushed voice.

“Afraid, my brave friend?” asked the redbeard, laughing with scorn. “Don’t be alarmed, we’re not murderers. We’re fighting for freedom, Philip, to emancipate our God, to emancipate our souls. Arise. The moment has come when you too can show the world that you’re a man. Join us.”

But Philip stared at the ground. He already regretted having been so effusive with Judas about such matters. Brave words are fine, he reflected. It’s delightful to sit with a friend, to eat, drink, start weighty discussions, say, “I shall do” and “I shall show…” But on your guard, Philip; don’t go any further, or you’ll find yourself in hot water.

Judas leaned over him and spoke to him in a changed voice. His heavy paw now touched Philip’s shoulder gently and caressed it. “What is the life of man? What is it worth? Nothing, if it isn’t free. We’re fighting for freedom, I tell you. Join us.”

Philip was silent. If he could only get away! But Judas kept a firm hold on his shoulder.

“Join us! You’re a man: decide! Do you have a knife?”

“Yes.”

“Keep it on you at all times, under your shirt. You may need it at any minute. We’re passing through difficult days, my brother. Don’t you hear buoyant steps coming closer and closer? It’s the Messiah, and he must not find the road closed. The knife is more of a help in this than bread. Here, look at me!”