Barabbas Page 3

  Suddenly Barabbas heard that the dead man had been crucified, and that it had happened yesterday. Yesterday …?

  He strained his ears to hear more, but they lowered their voices again and he could catch nothing.

  Who was it they were talking about?

  People were walking past out in the street and it was quite impossible to hear a word. When it was more or less quiet again, he made out enough to know it was as he thought—it was him they were talking about. He who …

  How strange … He had been thinking about him a while ago himself. He had happened to pass the archway leading into the courtyard, and this had brought him to mind. And when passing the spot where the cross had been too much for the man, he had also thought of him. And here they were sitting talking about that very man.… Strange. What had they to do with him? And why did they whisper the whole time? The big red-haired man was the only one who was audible occasionally; his body didn’t seem suited to whispering.

  Were they saying anything about—about the darkness? About its having grown dark when he died …

  He listened tensely, so eagerly that they must have noticed it. They suddenly fell completely silent, not uttering a word for a long time, merely sitting and looking at him out of the corners of their eyes. Then they whispered something amongst themselves which he couldn’t catch. And after a while they took leave of the big man and went away. There were four of them; there was not one he liked the look of.

  Barabbas was left sitting alone with the big man. He had half a mind to speak to him, but could not think how to begin. The man sat there pursing his lips, and now and then shaking his big head. As is the way with simple folk, he gave bodily expression to his troubles. At last Barabbas asked him outright what was worrying him. He looked up in perplexity with his round blue eyes without answering. But after gazing frankly at the stranger for a moment he asked if Barabbas was from Jerusalem. No, he wasn’t.—But you seem to be, from your speech? Barabbas replied that his home was not so far from here, away in the mountains to the east. The man evidently found this more reassuring. He didn’t trust these people here in Jerusalem, not an inch, he made no bones about it; he was sure most of them were downright robbers and scoundrels. Barabbas gave a smile and quite agreed with him. And what about himself? Himself? Oh, his home was a long, long way from here. His childlike eyes tried to express just how far away it was. And he wanted very much to be where he belonged, he confided ingenuously to Barabbas, not in Jerusalem or anywhere else in the world. But he didn’t suppose he would ever get back to his native soil and live and die there as he had meant to do, as he had once imagined. Barabbas thought it sounded queer.—Why not? he asked. Who was to stop him? Isn’t every man his own master?

  —Oh no, the big man replied musingly. That is not so.

  —What was he doing here then, Barabbas could not help asking. The big man did not answer at once, but then said uncertainly that it was because of his Master.

  —Master?

  —Yes. Had he not heard about the Master?

  —No.

  —Oh. About the one who was crucified yesterday on the hill of Golgotha?

  —Crucified? No, he had not heard about it. Why?

  —Because it was ordained that such a thing must come to pass.

  —Ordained? Was it ordained that he was to be crucified?

  —Yes, indeed. It said so in the scriptures and, besides, the Master himself had foretold it.

  —Had he? And it said so in the scriptures? Well, personally, he was not so familiar with them that he knew of it.

  —No, nor am I. But that’s how it is.

  Barabbas did not doubt it. But how was it that his Master had to be crucified and what was the point of it anyway? It was all very strange.

  —Yes, that’s what I think. I can’t see why he had to die. And in such a horrible way. But it had to be as he had prophesied. It must all come to pass as it was ordained. And he used to say so many times, he added, bowing his great head, that he must suffer and die for us.

  Barabbas glanced up at him.

  —Die for us!

  —Yes, in our stead. Suffer and die, innocent, in our stead. For you have to admit that we are the guilty ones, not he.

  Barabbas sat gazing out into the street and asked no more for a time.

  —It is easier now to understand what he meant, the other man said to himself.

  —Did you know him well? Barabbas enquired.

  —Yes, indeed. Indeed, I did. I was with him from the very first moment he began up there amongst us.

  —Oh, did he come from the same part as you?

  —And since then I’ve been with him the whole time, wherever he went.

  —Why?

  —Why? What a question! It’s easy to see you don’t know him.

  —What do you mean?

  —Well, you see, he had power over one. A remarkable power. He would merely say to one: follow me, and one had to follow. There was nothing else to be done. Such was his power. If you had known him you would have experienced it. You too would simply have followed him.

  Barabbas sat for a moment in silence. Then he said:

  —Yes, he must have been an extraordinary man, if all you say is true. But surely the fact that he was crucified proved that he had no special power?

  —Oh no, you’re wrong there. I thought so too at first—and that’s what is so terrible. That I could believe such a thing for one moment! But now I think I understand the meaning of his shameful death, now that I’ve thought things over a bit and talked to the others, who are more at home with the scriptures. You see, it’s like this, he had to suffer all this, although he was innocent, he even had to descend into hell for our sakes. But he shall return and manifest all his glory. He is to rise again from the dead! We are quite sure of it.

  —Rise from the dead? What nonsense!

  —It’s not nonsense. Indeed he will. Many even think it will be tomorrow morning, for that is the third day. He is supposed to have said that he would remain in hell for three days, though I never heard him say so. But that’s what he is supposed to have said. And at sunrise tomorrow …

  Barabbas gave a shrug.

  —Don’t you believe it?

  —No.

  —No, no … How can you …? You who have never known him. But many of us believe. And why shouldn’t he rise again himself when he has raised so many from the dead?

  —Raised from the dead? That he never did!

  —Yes, indeed. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

  —Is it really true?

  —Of course it’s true. Indeed it is. So he has power, all right. He has power to do anything, provided he wants to. If only he had used it for his own sake, but that he has never done. And why did he let himself be crucified if he had so much power …? Yes, yes, I know.… But it’s not easy to grasp, I grant you. I am a simple man, you see, it’s not easy to understand all this, you may be sure.

  —Are you not sure that he will rise again?

  —Yes, yes, of course I am. I am quite sure it’s true what they say. That the Master is to return and reveal himself to us in all his power and glory. I am quite certain of that, and they know the scriptures much better than I do. It will be a great moment. They even say that then the new age will begin, the happy age when the Son of Man will reign in his kingdom.

  —The Son of Man?

  —Yes. That’s what he called himself.

  —The Son of Man …?

  —Yes. So he said. But some believe … No, I can’t say it.

  Barabbas moved closer to him.

  —What do they believe?

  —They believe … that he is God’s own son.

  —God’s son!

  —Yes.… But surely that can’t be true, it’s almost enough to make one afraid. I would really much rather he came back as he was.

  Barabbas was quite worked up.

  —How can they talk like that! he burst out. The son of God! The son of God crucified! Don’t you s
ee that’s impossible!

  —I said that it can’t be true. And I’ll gladly say it again if you like.

  —What sort of lunatics are they who believe that? Barabbas went on, and the scar under his eye turned dark red, as it always did when there was anything the matter. The son of God! Of course he wasn’t! Do you imagine the son of God comes down onto the earth? And starts going around preaching in your native countryside!

  —Oh … why not? It’s possible. As likely there as anywhere else. It’s a humble part of the world, to be sure, but he had to begin somewhere.

  The big fellow looked so ingenuous that Barabbas was inclined to smile, but he was far too worked up. He twisted and turned and twitched at his goat-hair mantle the whole time as though it had slipped off one shoulder, which it hadn’t.

  —And the wonders that occurred at his death, the other man said, have you thought of them?

  —What wonders?

  —Don’t you know that it grew dark when he died?

  Barabbas glanced away and rubbed his eyes for a moment.

  —And that the earth quaked and the hill of Golgotha was rent asunder where the cross stood?

  —It certainly was not! You’ve just made all that up! How do you know it was rent asunder? Were you there?

  A sudden change came over the big man. He looked uncertainly at Barabbas and then down on the ground.

  —No, no, I know nothing about it. I cannot testify to it, he stammered. And for a long time he sat silent, sighing deeply.

  At last, laying his hand on Barabbas’s arm, he said:

  —You see … I was not with my Master when he suffered and died. By then I had taken to my heels. Forsaken him and fled. And before that I had even denied him. That is the very worst of all—that I denied him. How can he forgive me, if he returns? What shall I say, what shall I answer when he asks me about it?

  And hiding his great bearded face in his hands, he rocked to and fro.

  —How could I do such a thing, how is it possible for one to do such a thing …?

  The bright-blue eyes were full of tears when at last he raised his head again and looked at the other man.

  —You asked what was troubling me. Now you know. Now you know the kind of man I am. And my Lord and Master knows even better. I am a poor, miserable wretch. Do you think he can forgive me?

  Barabbas answered that he thought so. He was not particularly interested in what the other man told him, but he said it all the same, partly by way of assent and partly because he could not help liking this man who sat there accusing himself like any criminal, though he had done nothing. Who hasn’t let somebody else down in one way or another?

  The man gripped his hand and held it tightly in his.

  —Do you think so? Do you think so? he repeated in a thick voice.

  At that moment a group of men walked past outside in the street. When they caught sight of the big red-haired man and saw who it was he sat talking to and holding by the hand, they started as though unable to believe their eyes. They hurried forward, and although approaching the shabbily dressed man in a curiously respectful way they burst out:

  —Don’t you know who that man is?

  —No, he answered truthfully, I don’t know. But he is a kind-hearted man and we have had a good talk together.

  —Don’t you know that it was in place of him that the Master was crucified?

  The big man released Barabbas’s hand and looked from one to the other, unable to conceal his dismay. The newcomers showed their feelings even more plainly, breathing violently in agitation.

  Barabbas had got to his feet and was standing with his back turned so that his face was no longer visible.

  —Get thee hence, thou reprobate! they said to him fiercely.

  And pulling his mantle about him, Barabbas walked off down the street alone without looking back.

  The girl with the hare-lip was unable to sleep. She lay looking up at the stars and thought of what was soon to come to pass. No, she did not want to fall asleep, she wanted to keep watch this night.

  She was lying on some twigs and straw she had gathered in a hollow outside the Dung Gate, and around her she could hear the sick groaning and moving restlessly in their sleep and the tinkle of the leper’s bells, the one who sometimes got up and walked about because of the pain. The stench of the large refuse-heaps filled the whole valley and made it difficult to breathe, but she was so used to it that she no longer noticed it. No one here noticed it any longer.

  Tomorrow at sunrise … Tomorrow at sunrise …

  What a strange thought. Soon all the sick would be well and all the starving be fed. It was almost beyond belief. How would it all come about? But soon the heavens would open and the angels descend and feed them all—at least all the poor. The rich would no doubt continue to eat in their own houses, but the poor, all those who were really hungry, would be given food by angels, and here by the Dung Gate cloths would be spread out over the ground, white linen cloths, and food of all kinds would be laid out on them and everyone would lie down and eat. It wasn’t really so very hard to imagine if one just thought that everything would be completely different from what it was now. Nothing would be like anything one had seen or experienced before.

  Perhaps she too would be in other clothes, one never knew. White, possibly. Or perhaps in a blue skirt? Everything would be so different because the son of God was risen from the dead and the new age had dawned.

  She lay thinking of it all, of how it would be.

  Tomorrow … Tomorrow at sunrise … She was glad she had been told about it.

  The leper’s bells sounded closer at hand. She recognized them; he usually made his way up here of a night, though it was not allowed; they had to keep inside their enclosure at the very bottom of the valley, but now in the night-time he took the risk. It was as if he sought human companionship and, for that matter, he had once said that was the reason. She saw him picking his way between the sleepers in the starlight.

  The realm of the dead … What was it like there really? They said that he was now wandering about in the realm of the dead.… What did it look like? No, she had no idea …

  The old blind man moaned in his sleep. And a little further away the emaciated young man lay panting, the one who could always be heard. Quite near her lay the Galilean woman, whose arm twitched because she had someone else’s spirit in her. There were many around her who thought they would be made whole by the mud in the spring, and there were poor wretches who lived on refuse from the garbage heaps. But tomorrow no one would go rooting about there any more. They lay twisting in their sleep, but she was not sorry for them any more.

  Perhaps the water would be purified by an angel breathing on it? And they would really be healed when they stepped down into it? Perhaps even the lepers would be healed? But would they be allowed to step down into the spring? Would they really? One didn’t know for sure how it would be.… No, one knew very little really …

  Perhaps nothing would happen to the spring and no one even bother about it. Perhaps the angelic hosts would float along through the whole Ge-Hinnom valley and over all the earth, sweeping away disease and sorrow and misfortune with their wings!

  She lay thinking that perhaps that was how it would be.

  Then she thought of that time when she met the son of God. Of how kind he had been to her. Never had anyone been so kind to her. She might well have asked him to cure her of her deformity, but she didn’t want to. It would have been easy for him to do so, but she didn’t want to ask him. He helped those who really needed help; his were the very great deeds. She would not trouble him with so little.

  But it was odd, very odd, what he had said to her as she knelt there in the dust by the wayside, when he had turned and walked back to her.

  —Do you too expect miracles of me? he asked.

  —No, Lord, I don’t. I only watched you as you passed.

  Then he had given her such a tender yet sorrowful look, and he had stroked her cheek and touche
d her mouth without anything at all happening to it. And then he had said:—You shall bear witness for me.

  How strange! What did he mean? Bear witness for me? She? It was incredible. How could she?

  He had had no difficulty at all in understanding what she said, as everyone else did; he had understood at once. But it was not surprising, seeing that he was the son of God.

  All kinds of thoughts came to her as she lay there. The expression of his eyes as he spoke to her and the smell of his hand as he touched her mouth … The stars were reflected in her wide-open eyes, and she thought how strange it was that there were more and more the longer she gazed up into the sky. Since she had stopped living in a house she had seen so many stars … Just what awere stars anyway? She didn’t know. They were created by God, of course, but what they were she didn’t know.… Out in the desert there had been a lot of stars.… And up in the mountains, in the mountains at Gilgal … But not that night, no, not that night …

  Then she thought of the house between the two cedar trees.… Her mother standing in the doorway looking after her as she walked down the hill with the curse over her.… Oh yes, naturally they had to turn her out and she had to live like the animals in their lairs.… She remembered how green the fields were that spring, and her mother standing looking after her just inside the darkened doorway to avoid being seen by the man who had uttered the curse.…

  But it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered now.

  The blind man sat up and listened; he had awakened and heard the tinkling of the leper’s bells.

  —Be off with you! he shouted, shaking his fist at him in the darkness. Go away! What are you doing here!

  The sound of the bells died away in the night and the old man lay down again, mumbling, with his hand over his vacant eyes.

  Are children who are dead also in the realm of the dead? Yes, but surely not those who die before they leave the womb? It was not possible, surely? They couldn’t suffer there in torment. It couldn’t be like that, surely? Though she didn’t know for certain … Didn’t know for certain about anything …—Cursed be the fruit of thy loins …