The Collected Novels of José Saramago

by José Saramago

The rest of the journey to Jerusalem was not so easy. In the first place, there are Samaritans and there are Samaritans, which means that even in those days one swallow was not enough to make a summer, it took two, two swallows, that is, not two summers, provided there was a fertile male and female and they had offspring. No more doors opened when Jesus knocked, so our traveler had to find somewhere to sleep outdoors, once under a fig tree of the large spreading variety that resemble a dirndl skirt, on another occasion by joining a caravan which, fortunately for Jesus, had to pitch tent in the open countryside because the nearby caravansary was full. We say fortunately because before this, while crossing some uninhabited mountain, the poor boy was attacked by two cowardly thieves, who took the little money he possessed, which meant that Jesus had no hope of finding lodgings at any of the inns, where everything had to be paid for. Anyone witnessing that episode would have looked with pity on the lad, abandoned to his fate by those heartless rogues, who went off laughing at his plight. He lay there in a lamentable state, with nothing but the sky overhead and the surrounding mountains, the infinite universe stripped of moral significance and peopled with stars, thieves, and executioners. One might argue that a boy of thirteen could not have had sufficient knowledge of science and philosophy, or even sufficient experience of life, for such thoughts, and that this boy in particular, notwithstanding his religious studies in the synagogue and his natural talent for debate, was not capable of the words and deeds attributed to him. There is no lack of carpenters' sons in these parts, or of sons whose fathers were crucified, but even if another man's son had been chosen, we are confident that whoever he was, he would have given us just as much food for thought as young Jesus. First because it is well known that every man is a world unto himself, by the path either of transcendence or immanence, and secondly because this land has always been different from any other, one need only consider how many people, both rich and poor, have traveled here to preach and prophesy, from Isaiah to Malachi, nobles, priests, shepherds, men from every conceivable walk of life, which teaches us to be cautious about jumping to conclusions, the humble origins of a carpenter's son do not give us the right to dismiss him. This boy who is on his way to Jerusalem at an age when most children do not venture outside the front door may not be a genius or luminary, but he deserves our respect. His soul, as he himself confessed, has been deeply wounded, and since the wound is unlikely to heal quickly, given his reflective nature, he has gone out into the world, perhaps to combine his scars into one definitive sorrow. It may seem inappropriate to put the complex theories of modern thinkers into the head of a Palestinian who lived so many years before Freud, Jung, Groddeck, and Lacan, but if you will pardon our presumption, it is not all that foolish, when one considers that the scriptures from which the Jews derive their spiritual nourishment consistently teach that a man, no matter the age in which he lives, is the equal in intellect of all other men. Adam and Eve are the only exceptions, not just because they were the first man and woman but because they had no childhood. And while biology and psychology may be invoked to prove that the human mind as we know it today can be traced back to Cro-Magnon man, that argument is of no interest here, inasmuch as Cro-Magnon man is not even mentioned in the Book of Genesis, which is all Jesus knew about the beginning of the world.

  Distracted by these reflections, which are not entirely irrelevant to the gospel we have been telling, we forgot, to our shame, to accompany Joseph's son on the last leg of his journey to Jerusalem, where he is just now arriving, penniless but safe. Although his feet are badly blistered after the long trip, he is as steadfast as when he left home three days ago. He has been here before, so his excitement is no greater than one might expect from a devout man whose God is about to manifest himself. From this mountain known as Gethsemane, or the Mount of Olives, one can get a view of Jerusalem's magnificent architecture, of the city's Temple, the towers, palaces, and houses, which give the impression of being within reach, but this impression depends on the degree of mystical fervor, which can lead the faithful to confuse the limitations of the body with the infinite power of the universal spirit. The evening is drawing to a close, and the sun is setting over the distant sea. Jesus begins his descent into the valley, wondering where he will spend the night, whether inside or outside the city walls. On other occasions, when he accompanied his parents at Passover, the family spent the night outside the walls, in a tent thoughtfully provided by the civic and military authorities to receive pilgrims, all of them segregated, needless to say, the men with the men, the women with the women, and the children divided according to sex. When Jesus reached the city walls, the night air had already turned chilly. He arrived just as the gates were being closed, but the watchmen allowed him to enter, and as those great wooden crossbars slammed into position, Jesus may have begun to feel remorse for some past sin, imagining himself caught in a trap, its iron teeth about to snap shut, a web imprisoning a fly. At the age of thirteen, however, he cannot have sins that numerous or serious, he is not at an age yet to be killing or stealing or bearing false witness, to be coveting his neighbor's wife or house or fields, his neighbor's male or female slave or ass or ox or any other thing that belongs to his neighbor, therefore this boy walks pure and undefiled, though he may have lost his innocence, for no one can witness death without being affected.

  The roads become deserted at this hour as families gather for supper, and on them there are only beggars and vagabonds, who will also retreat into their dens and hideaways, because any minute now Roman soldiers will be scouring the streets in search of malefactors that venture even into the capital of Herod Antipas's kingdom to commit every manner of crime and iniquity despite the severe sentences that await them if they are caught, as we saw in Sepphoris. At the end of the road a night patrol with torches blazing marches past amid the clang of swords and shields and to the rhythm of feet clad in military sandals. Hiding in a dark corner, the boy waited for the soldiers to disappear, then went to look for a place to sleep. He found one among the many building sites around the Temple, a gap between two great stone slabs, with another slab on top to form a roof. There he munched what remained of his hard, moldy bread, along with some dry figs he found at the bottom of his pack. He was thirsty but resigned himself to going without water. Stretching out on his mat, he covered himself with the little mantle he carried as part of his baggage and, curling up to protect himself from the cold, which penetrated from both sides of his precarious refuge, he managed to fall asleep. Being in Jerusalem did not prevent him from dreaming, but perhaps because he was close to God's holy presence, his dream was merely a repetition of familiar scenes that merged with the arrival of the patrol he encountered earlier. He awoke as the sun was rising. Wrapped in his mantle, he dragged himself out of that hole cold as a tomb and saw the houses of Jerusalem before him, low-lying houses made of stone, their walls painted pale crimson by the morning light. Then, with great solemnity, coming as it did from the lips of one who after all is still a boy, he offered up a prayer of thanksgiving, Thanks be to You, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who through the power of Your mercy restored my soul. There are certain moments in life that should be arrested and protected from time, and not simply be transmitted in a gospel or a painting or, as in this modern age, a photograph, film, or video. How much more interesting it would be if the person who lived those moments could remain forever visible to his descendants, so that those of us alive today could go to Jerusalem and see with our own eyes young Jesus, son of Joseph, all wrapped up in his little threadbare mantle, beholding the houses of Jerusalem and giving thanks to the Lord who mercifully restored his soul. Since his life is just beginning at the age of thirteen, one can assume there are brighter and darker hours in store for him, moments of greater joy and despair, pleasure and grief, but this is the moment we ourselves would choose, while the city slumbers, the sun is at a standstill, the light intangible, and a young boy wrapped in a mantle looks wide-eyed at the houses, a pack at his feet and the entire world, nea
r and far, waiting in suspense. Alas, he has moved, the instant is gone, time has carried us into the realm of memory, it was like this, no, it was not, and everything becomes what we choose to invent.

  Now Jesus walks through the narrow, crowded streets, it is still too early to go to the Temple, the teachers, as in all ages and places, only start appearing later. Jesus is no longer cold, but his stomach is rumbling, those two remaining figs served only to whet his appetite, Joseph's son is famished. Now he could do with the money those rogues stole from him, for city life is quite unlike that leisurely existence in the country, where one goes around whistling and looking for what may have been left behind by God-fearing laborers who carry out His commandments to the letter, When you are harvesting your fields and leave a sheaf behind, do not turn back to retrieve it, When you pick olives, do not go back to collect those still hanging on the branches, When you gather grapes from your vineyard, do not go rummaging for any you overlooked, leave them to be gathered by the stranger, orphan, or widow, and always remember that you were once a slave in the land of Egypt. Now, because it is a large city, and despite God's decree that His earthly dwelling be built here, these humanitarian precepts are not observed in Jerusalem, so that for anyone arriving without thirty or even three pieces of silver in his pocket the only recourse is to beg and almost certainly be refused, or to steal and run the risk of being flogged, imprisoned, or worse. But this youth is incapable of stealing and much too shy to beg. His mouth waters as he stares at the stacks of loaves, the pyramids of fruits, the cooked meats and vegetables set out on stalls up and down the streets, and the sight of all that food after three days of fasting, if we don't count the Samaritan's hospitality, almost makes him faint. It is true that he is heading for the Temple, but notwithstanding the claims of those mystics who believe in fasting, his mind would be in better condition to receive the word of the Lord if his body were fed. Fortunately, a Pharisee who happened to be passing noticed the boy's weak condition and took pity on him. Posterity will unjustly give the Pharisees the worst possible reputation, but at heart they were decent people, as this encounter clearly shows, Where are you from, asked the Pharisee, and Jesus replied, I'm from Nazareth of Galilee. Are you hungry, the man asked, and the boy lowered his eyes, there was no need to say anything, hunger was written on his face. Have you no family. Yes, but I'm traveling on my own. Did you run away. No, and it is true, he did not run away. We must not forget that his mother and brothers bade him an affectionate farewell at the gate, and the fact that he did not turn back even once does not mean he fled. The words we use are like that, to say yes or no is the most straightforward answer possible and in principle the most convincing, yet the world demands that we start indecisively, Well no, not really, I didn't exactly run away, at which point we have to hear the story all over again, but do not worry, this is unnecessary, first because the Pharisee, who reappears in our gospel, does not need to hear it and, secondly because we know the story better than anyone else. Just think how little the main characters of this gospel know about one another, Jesus does not know everything about his mother and father, Mary does not know everything about her husband and son, and Joseph, who is dead, knows nothing about anything. Whereas we know everything that has been done, spoken, and thought, whether by them or by others, although we have to act as if we too are in the dark, in that sense we are like the Pharisee who asked, Are you hungry, when Jesus' pinched, wan face spoke for itself, No need to ask, just give me something to eat. And that is exactly what the compassionate man did, he bought two loaves still hot from the oven and a bowl of milk, and without a word handed them to Jesus. As the bowl passed between them, it so happened that a little milk spilled on their hands, whereupon they both made the same gesture, which surely comes from the depths of time, each lifted his wet hand to his lips to suck the milk, like kissing bread when it has fallen to the floor. What a pity these two will never meet again after they have sealed such an admirable and symbolic pact. The Pharisee went about his affairs, but not before taking two coins from his pocket and saying, Take this money and return home, the world is much too big for someone like you. The carpenter's son stood there clutching the bowl and the bread, no longer hungry, or perhaps still hungry but not feeling anything. He watched the Pharisee walk away, and only then did he say, Thank you, but in such a low voice that the Pharisee could not possibly have heard him, and if the man expected to be thanked, then he must have thought to himself, What an ungrateful boy. In the middle of the road, Jesus suddenly regained his appetite. He lost no time in eating his bread and drinking his milk, then gave the empty bowl to the vendor, who told him, The bowl is paid for, keep it. Is it the custom in Jerusalem to buy the bowl with the milk. No, but that's what the Pharisee wanted, though you can never tell what's on a Pharisee's mind. So I can keep it. I already told you, it's paid for. Jesus wrapped the bowl in his mantle and tucked it into his pack while thinking that he would have to handle it carefully. These earthenware bowls are fragile and easily broken, they are only made of a little clay on which fortune has precariously bestowed a shape, and the same could be said of mankind. His body nourished and his spirits revived, Jesus set off in the direction of the Temple.

  A LARGE CROWD HAD ALREADY GATHERED ON THE CONcourse facing the steep stairway that led up to the entrance. Ranged along the walls on either side were the tents of the peddlers and traders selling animals for sacrifice, and here and there were money changers at their stalls, groups of people engaged in conversation, gesticulating merchants, Roman soldiers on foot and on horseback, keeping a watchful eye, slave-borne litters, camels and donkeys laden with baggage, and frenzied shouting everywhere, interrupted by the feeble bleats of lambs and goats, some carried in people's arms or on their backs like tired children, others dragged by a rope around their neck, but all destined to perish by sword or fire. Jesus passed the bathhouse used for purification, climbed the steps, and without stopping crossed the Court of the Gentiles. He entered the Court of the Women through the door between the Chamber of the Holy Oils and the Chamber of the Nazirites, and there he found what he was looking for, the assembly of elders and scribes who traditionally gathered to discuss holy law, answer questions, and dispense advice. They stood in groups, and the boy joined the smallest of these just as a man was raising his hand to ask a question. The scribe invited him to speak, and the man asked, Can you tell me if we should accept, word for word, the commandments given by the Lord to Moses on Mount Sinai, when He promised peace on earth and told us no one would disturb our sleep, when He promised that He would banish dangerous animals from our midst, that the sword would not pass through our land, and that if our enemies pursued us, they would fall under our sword, for as the Lord Himself said, Five of you will pursue a hundred men, a hundred of you ten thousand, and your enemies will fall under your sword. The scribe eyed the man suspiciously and, thinking he might be a rebel in disguise sent by Judas the Galilean to stir up trouble with wicked insinuations about the Temple's passive resistance to Roman rule, he replied brusquely, Those words were spoken by the Lord when our forefathers were in the desert, having fled the Egyptians. The man raised his hand a second time and asked another question, Are we to understand, then, that the Lord's words on Mount Sinai were meaningful only so long as our forefathers did not enter the promised land. If that is how you interpret them, you are not a good Israelite, the words of the Lord must prevail in every age, past, present, and future, for they were in His mind before He uttered them and remained there after He spoke. But it was you yourself who said what you forbid me to think. And what do you think. That the Lord allows that our swords should not be raised against this military force which oppresses us, that a hundred of our men lack the courage to face five of theirs, that ten thousand Jews cower before a hundred Romans. Let me remind you that you are in the Temple of the Lord and not on some battlefield. The Lord is the God of legions. True, but do not forget that God imposed His condition. What condition. The Lord said, So long as you observe my laws
and keep my commandments. But what are these laws and commandments we have ignored, that we should accept Roman rule as just and necessary punishment for our sins. The Lord must know. Yes, the Lord must know, and how often man sins without knowing, but would you care to explain why the Lord should make use of the Roman army to punish us instead of confronting His chosen people and punishing us Himself. The Lord knows His intentions and chooses His means. So you're trying to tell me that the Lord wants the Romans to govern Israel. Yes. Well, if that is so, then the rebels fighting the Romans are opposing the Lord and His holy will. You jump to the wrong conclusion. And you, scribe, contradict yourself. God's will may be not-to-will, and that not-to-will may be His will. So the will of man is genuine yet of no importance in the eyes of God. That's right. So man is free. Yes, free so that he might be punished. A murmur went up among the bystanders, some stared at the person who had asked the questions, based on the texts yet politically inopportune, and they looked at him accusingly, as if he were the one who should answer for the sins of all Israel, while the skeptical were reassured by the victory of the scribe, who acknowledged their praise and applause with a complacent smile. The scribe looked around him confidently and asked if there were other questions, like a gladiator who, having dispatched a weak opponent, seeks a more worthy opponent in order to gain greater glory. Another hand went up, and a different question was raised, The Lord spoke to Moses and told him, The stranger in your midst shall be treated as one of your own and you will love him as you love yourselves, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. But before the man could finish speaking, the scribe, still flushed from his victory, interrupted in a sarcastic voice, I hope you are not about to ask me why we do not treat the Romans as our compatriots since they, too, are foreigners. No, what I want to ask is whether the Romans would treat us as their compatriots if both sides spent less time arguing about the differences between their laws and gods. So you too have come here to anger the Lord with blasphemous interpretations of His holy word, said the scribe. On the contrary, all I ask is whether you truly believe that we are obeying the holy word of the Lord when strangers are strangers not so much to the land in which we live as to the religion we profess. To which strangers do you refer. To some in our own day and age, to many in the past, and probably many more in the years to come. I've no time to waste on enigmas and parables, make yourself clear. When we arrived from Egypt, there were other nations living in the land we now call Israel, whom we had to fight, and in those days we were the strangers, and the Lord commanded us to exterminate the people who opposed His will. The land was promised to us but had to be conquered, we did not buy it, nor was it offered to us. And now we find ourselves living under foreign rule, we have lost the land we made our own. Israel fives forever in the spirit of the Lord, so that wherever His people may be, whether united or dispersed, there the land of Israel will be. In other words, wherever we Jews find ourselves, others will always be the stranger. Certainly, in the eyes of the Lord. But the stranger who lives among us, according to the word of the Lord, must be our compatriot and we must love him as we love ourselves, for we were once strangers in Egypt. That is what the Lord said. In that case, the stranger we are expected to love must also be those who, living among us, are not so powerful that they can rule us, as at present with the Romans. Yes, I agree. Then tell me, do you believe that if one day we become powerful, the Lord will permit us to oppress the stranger He commanded us to love. All Israel can do is obey the will of the Lord, and since the children of Israel are His chosen people, the Lord wills only what is good for them. Even if it means not loving those we should. Yes, if so willed. Willed by whom, the Lord or Israel. By both, for they are one and the same. Thou shalt not violate the stranger's rights, says the Lord. When that stranger has rights and we acknowledge them, replied the scribe. Once again, those present murmured their approval, and the scribe's eyes gleamed like those of a champion wrestler, discus thrower, gladiator, or charioteer.