The Gospel According to Lazarus

by Richard Zimler

  I am unable to follow what Lucius then says, since he speaks in Latin. Annas nods as if he is in agreement, however. He stops before Havvah and Adam. ‘Tell me, Eliezer, how long ago were the first man and woman banished from Eden?’

  Can he truly believe that I would admit to a foe that I make use of the mysteries in my work? ‘I don’t know – some time after the sixth day of creation,’ I reply.

  ‘I see,’ he says, plainly aware that I am feigning ignorance of the higher meanings of the story. He gestures from Ziz to Adam. ‘And where are you in all this nonsense?’

  ‘I am standing right here before you.’

  He frowns. ‘Do you take me for an idiot?’

  ‘I apologize if I have given offence or … violated any holy law, honourable Annas.’

  ‘A great many people would think it silly of you to have a bird supporting a menorah. Or to imagine black flames under water.’

  ‘Like all artists,’ I reply, ‘I’ve had to learn that what others make of my creations is beyond my control.’

  The priest’s lips twist into a sour grimace, and he points at the King of the Birds. ‘Who do you mean this figure to be?’

  ‘Ziz.’

  ‘Yes, I know that! But who is it really?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Might it not be a certain woodworker from the Galilee?’

  ‘That was not my intention.’

  His brow furrows – he is pretending to be shocked by my reply. ‘So you don’t regard Yeshua ben Yosef as your king?’ he demands in a disbelieving voice.

  ‘I want no sovereign but the Lord our God.’

  ‘Then why put Ziz here in the first place?’

  ‘Birds are able to fly. They reveal to us that much more is possible than we might think.’

  ‘Would you like to fly?’

  ‘Wouldn’t everyone?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m perfectly content with the form that God has chosen for me.’ He holds out his hands. ‘Two arms, two hands, two legs … Are they not enough for you?’

  Never trust a man who does not wish to fly, I think, and I realize as well – jolted by my certitude – that he is lying to me: his sagging flesh has become a burden to him, and he would gladly steal my vigour if he could.

  Annas turns to my employer and asks in a voice of warning, ‘Are these mosaics important to you, Lucius?’

  ‘Important, no,’ he answers in Aramaic. ‘But they … amuse me.’ In Latin, he adds what seems to be an apology for his having very bad taste.

  He and the priest continue in Latin. I use my time to observe Annas. In the proud way he stands and in his dramatic hand gestures I see a flimsy and flaccid elder who grows hard again when he intimidates other men.

  He suddenly targets me with a malignant squint. ‘What if I were to have all this work of yours destroyed? And not just here but all of your mosaics in Yerushalayim.’

  ‘It would sadden me,’ I say.

  ‘Sadden, nothing more?’

  ‘Nothing more,’ I lie.

  ‘But what if I were to destroy two other creations of yours? Two small finely made figures.’ He smiles with glee and fiddles with the fabric of his robe near his waist; he is growing evermore excited.

  I make no reply because I am considering how I shall murder him without being caught.

  ‘Eliezer, you best start telling me more about what your friend has planned!’

  He believes he has conquered me, I think. But he has chosen the wrong strategy. ‘We spoke only of our days in Natzeret,’ I say

  ‘Still you persist with lies!’ he growls, and he limps closer to me, vibrating with rage. The urge to grab my hammer and end his assault forms my hands into fists.

  ‘Does Yeshua ben Yosef intend to begin an uprising?’ he asks.

  ‘We both know that you don’t need me to tell you what he intends.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Someone close to Yeshua must have spoken to you or you wouldn’t know about my meeting with him this morning. Whoever it was would also have told you of his plans.’

  He laughs falsely. ‘Can you really be such a perfect dolt?’ He turns to Lucius. ‘Is your mosaicist friend a simpleton after all?’

  Lucius begins to stammer a reply, but Annas waves it off and turns back to me. ‘If I already knew his plans, why would I have come to you?’

  I gaze down into the only possible explanation: someone from outside Yeshua’s inner circle found out about my encounter with Yeshua and went to Annas this morning.

  ‘Who betrayed us?’ I ask him.

  He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You can’t truly believe I’d tell you.’ Then, in a beseeching tone, feigning sympathy, he adds, ‘But I can see now that I may have overestimated your grasp of our political situation. Let me explain some truths to you.’ He smiles at me as if I am a child in need of his wisdom. ‘If a disturbance of any sort should disrupt the flow of goods in and out of Judaea, then the Emperor will fill the Great Sea with Jewish blood. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you understand that many of your friends and family will die.’

  ‘I didn’t discuss Rome with Yeshua.’

  ‘I know of your father’s murder at the hands of a Roman. You can be sure that I wish to reclaim Judaea for the Lord as much as you do.’

  ‘I haven’t given you permission to speak of my father,’ I warn him.

  ‘Permission? It’s not yours to give, I’m afraid.’ Then, more softly, he says, ‘Eliezer, can you possibly believe that I don’t remember what Elohim asked of Yehoshua? I swear to you, when the Almighty permits it, we shall cleanse the Land of Zion of all idolaters! Not even one Roman child shall be left alive.’

  A netting of dark foreboding spreads over me; the depth of his depravity exceeds even my worst speculations about him.

  ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you yearn to see the Romans chased from our land?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s not our land – it’s the Lord’s.’

  ‘Yes, of course. But we are the sons of Yaakov, his chosen ones.’

  ‘All those who recite the Shema in good faith are chosen.’

  ‘So you are able to interpret the words of Mosheh better than a priest of the Temple?’ he asks in disbelief.

  ‘I understand the Torah that waits for me, just as you understand the Torah that waits for you.’

  ‘You’re a strange man, Eliezer ben Natan.’

  ‘So I’ve been told on a countless occasions, Annas ben Seth.’

  ‘And one prayer is enough to turn a Roman into a Jew?’

  ‘I only know that if the Romans give up their swords I’ll welcome them as brothers.’

  ‘You’re as mad as Nebuchadnezzar!’

  ‘Am I? Have you forgotten the words of Mosheh: “You shall do no harm to the stranger who sojourns in your land.”’

  ‘“All who would make idols are nothing,”’ he retorts, citing Yeshayahu. ‘“And the things they treasure are worthless.”’

  ‘Let the Romans worship Zeus and Hera, and let me worship the King of Kings.’

  The crooked finger he points at me trembles. ‘Is that what Yeshua preaches?’

  ‘I never speak for him.’

  ‘But you’ve known him since you were boys.’

  ‘And all the many years we have had together has proved to me that I am nothing compared to him.’ I repeat a conclusion I came to long ago. ‘I dream dreams, but Yeshua dreams prophecy.’

  He pulls his head back, horrified. ‘You think he’s a prophet?’

  ‘That’s a determination I leave to others. I only know that he is what he will be.’

  ‘This Galilean prophet of yours cannot even see the most obvious truth – that Esau raises his sons only for conquest. Rome will never give up their empire. Its army will crush any rebellion he leads.’

  ‘Our Father has told Yeshua that they’ll give up their empire when they see that the Lord is One.’

  He clears
his throat and frowns as if he’s preparing to spit on me. ‘The God of Gods does not speak to woodworkers!’ he yells.

  ‘El Roi – the Lord Who Sees – speaks to all those who come to him to listen and to those who are granted grace.’

  ‘Heresy!’

  His shout seems to stun me into a state of greater awareness. Why? There are events that we have foreseen for many years, but, until they take place, we are not aware that we ever waited in expectation of them. It is as if we realize – in a lightning flash of clarity – that our dreams have been leading us by the hand all the time we thought we were making our journey without guidance. And so it is that I discover that I have known for years that a Temple priest would one day accuse me of heresy. And I know my reply as well; it is written on the scroll of everything I have ever done.

  ‘In Greek, heresy is simply the right to choose one’s own beliefs,’ I tell him.

  ‘But you aren’t Greek! You’re a Jew!’

  ‘I’m both, honourable Annas – as are tens of thousands of our brethren. Have you never been to Alexandria?’

  He points his finger of damnation at me again. ‘You think you’re clever! But tell me this – how does this prophet of yours intend to make the Emperor abandon his gods?’

  ‘He prays for those who torment and persecute us. And he counsels all the hungry and poor of spirit who come to him – Romans, Greeks, Egyptians, Samaritans, Syrians –’

  ‘Samaritans!’ he interrupts. ‘We’ve all seen what befalls these pious Samaritans who are silly enough to follow him!’

  ‘Yes, I was stained by Uriyah’s blood.’

  ‘I’m glad you were,’ he says, as if it is a lesson I had to learn.

  And this is what his bitter face confesses to me then: my heart is a tomb.

  ‘Why did Yeshua assemble his followers for his entry into Yerushalayim?’ he asks.

  ‘You know as well as I do!’

  ‘What I know is that you’re a man who tries never to speak plainly!’

  ‘He came to … prepare the city.’

  ‘So he’ll strike against the Romans in Yerushalayim?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  With slow delight, he designs a crucifix in the air. ‘The Emperor has a particular fondness for hangings. So tell your foolhardy and impertinent friend to go back to the Galilee and start his rebellion there, if he wants. He’s obviously very dear to you. Don’t you wish to safeguard him from harm?’

  ‘My protection would not add even a finger’s width to the height of the castellated walls that the Lord has erected around him.’

  He turns to Lucius. ‘This dunce has just admitted his life is of little use to him or Yeshua or anyone else. Can you tell me why he ought to be permitted to keep his head?’

  Lucius proffers a hesitant reply in Latin that I am unable to understand. He looks at me as if to say, Now would be an opportune time to plead for your life. But I have just realized that Annas would have already had me arrested or executed if that was his plan.

  With a certainty that seems to come from all that he implies but does not say, I realize that I must rush away now if I am ever to see my children and Yeshua again. I kneel down to put my hammer and my other tools inside my pack. The old priest shuffles to me and holds out the torc that I permitted him take from me and shakes it angrily.

  ‘If you don’t tell me exactly what his plans are,’ he says, ‘I shall remove your head and have it buried on the delta of the Nile, and the next Galilean sorcerer who wants to revive you will have to journey to Egypt and try to locate it first!’

  He says the word Galilean with a sneer, as if we are filth, but I cannot permit myself to be provoked. I toss my pack over my shoulder and walk to the ladder.

  I climb on to the first rung, then the second, and …

  So tremendous a blow strikes me on my back that I fall to the floor of the pool, and the air is knocked from me. Has the Lord Himself cast me down?

  When a gate opens in my chest, I pull the air into my chest in gulps. I soon see I am lying on my side on top of my mosaic, on the left wing of Ziz. Just to my right is Annas’ bodyguard. As he sheathes his sword, his eyes show amusement.

  Annas stands over me, his head high, as though posing for his portrait.

  All along he wanted me like this – on the ground before him.

  Trailing behind that thought is the hidden meaning of the composition he has created: He wishes to be worshipped!

  ‘Are you in pain?’ he asks, doubtless hoping I am.

  I am silent, because I am aware – for the first time – of a damning truth: he and the other priests have transformed themselves into idols!

  You have turned yourself into what you most despise! I tell Annas in my mind.

  ‘Speak!’ he commands.

  ‘You don’t regard anyone else as real, do you?’

  ‘What are you babbling about now?’

  ‘You believe that the Lord made Annas on the first day of creation, before anything else.’

  My criticism is not bravado. At that moment, the priest and I are alone in the world, and my discomfort is nothing compared to understanding that the man before me cannot really see me or anyone else.

  Lucius comes up behind Annas. His lips are but a fearful slit. He signals desperately with his hands for me to remain on the ground.

  ‘Eliezer ben Natan,’ the priest says sadly, ‘I can pardon you for your wilful disrespect and your scheming and your want of honesty. And, because of my affection for Lucius, I can forgive your making these vulgar effigies in stone. But you have also forced me to treat you harshly, and that … that, Eliezer, I cannot forgive.’

  I fight to sit up. ‘What is it you really want?’ I demand, since all the words we have exchanged prior to this moment now seem like a preamble.

  ‘When will you next see Yeshua?’

  ‘I’ve no intention of seeing him. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?’

  ‘What if he wishes to speak with you?’

  ‘Then he’ll send me a message – to which I won’t reply.’

  ‘No, no, no! I want you to meet with him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you will come to me after you speak to him. But be forewarned – I’ll know if what you tell me are lies. And those lies, dearest Eliezer, will make me even sadder than I am now, for they shall force me to have you chopped up and buried in pieces.’

  29

  A mosaic-maker from the Galilee lays himself down in the generous shade of a cedar tree and scans the ochre-coloured façade of the villa where he works, and the sunlight reflecting off the tile roof becomes tears on entering his eyes, and when he lowers his gaze he sees how the light folds around the columns of the portico, eager for the companionship of stone. He reaches out to the oleander bush beside him and pulls off a flower because its smooth pink scent has brought his childhood within grasp, and when a raucous cawing turns his head, he sees the frenzy of a black crow flapping out of reach of a small grey cat crouching on the wall near by, and the cat has a ring of soiled fur around his belly and is sniffing at the excitable gusts of warm wind, perhaps scenting its lost meal as clearly as he, the man, scents his own frailty and exhaustion.

  I come to myself in Lucius’ garden. I am lying on my belly, and in my hand – where I expect to find an oleander blossom – is a bloody tooth. My tongue finds a tender gap where my right canine used to be.

  The agony in my back makes me fear that I shall never again be able to stand, but for the moment it is gratitude and not pain that keeps me from moving: despite my errant tactics, I have survived. And I know now why Yeshua has long regarded the Temple priests as a peril equal to the Romans. Why didn’t he simply tell me that Annas and Caiaphas had transformed themselves into idols?

  Behind that question soon appears the answer: I would not have believed him.

  Something hard brushes against my arm. I turn in time to see Lucius withdrawing his hand. I look up into troubled eyes. He is kneeling besid
e me.

  ‘Can you stand?’ he asks.

  ‘I’d prefer to lie here a while longer before I find out.’

  The heavy calm in me seems to reside in an endless space. Perhaps it is where our spirits find refuge when we do not even have the strength to panic.

  Lucius’ face shows weariness and concern. ‘You said that Yeshua … that he is a prophet,’ he says.

  Lucius and I are speaking Greek, as we always do, and he employs the word mantis for prophet, which, when I whisper it aloud to myself, seems far more accurate than the Hebrew term navi. Navi would imply that Yeshua speaks for the Lord, but mantis describes an individual who lives in a state of holiness: God breathes in him and through him, which is why I tell Lucius, ‘He is the Living Torah.’

  ‘Which means what?’

  ‘That he is the horizon between Man and God.’

  Lucius sighs. ‘Well, if that’s anything close to the truth, then you’d think he could at least protect you from an old jackal like Annas.’

  ‘The priest is my test, not his.’

  ‘Do you know who betrayed you?’

  ‘No.’

  When I give the reply, it is the truth. But I realize a few moments later that the traitor may have been hiding from me in the most obvious place all along.

  Lucius pinches my left foot. ‘Can you feel this?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, but my thoughts are of Mia; I shall have to confirm with her that she told Marta I’d left the house to meet Yeshua – and learn, too, if she gave him the talisman of a lion-headed god that Marta made for him; in that case, he will need to be warned that it might be intended to bring misfortune and affliction upon him.

  ‘It appears that luck is with you,’ Lucius says. ‘You still have sensation in your legs.’

  ‘I’ll try to stand in a little while.’

  ‘Eli, you must have been mad to make for the ladder! How could you not have realized Annas would stop you from getting away? Didn’t you see the way I was signalling for you to remain calm – and to do all he asked of you?’

  ‘I saw, but I thought he wouldn’t risk the revenge of Yeshua’s followers by having me thrashed.’

  I next remember Lucius rousing me by calling my name and offering me wine in a crystal cup. I drink it, hoping to dull the pain.