My First Two Thousand Years; the Autobiography of the Wandering Jew

by George Sylvester Viereck

  Kotikokura accompanied me silently, like a dog, faithful but puzzled.

  I assiduously avoided one spot. Something told me that it had not changed, had remained perfectly intact, expecting my arrival—and perhaps another one’s. And yet, like some magnet that draws metal toward it, draws it and will not relinquish,—so the spot drew me, drew me.

  “I must go, Kotikokura. I must go.”

  He looked at me, not understanding.

  “I must go alone…without you, alone!”

  He looked startled. His arms fell and he bent almost in two.

  “No, do not fear, Kotikokura. Ca-ta-pha must go only for a day or less…must see something…alone. He will return.”

  I walked as a somnambulist walks, choosing neither one road nor another, allowing my legs to find their way. They would lead me to the place, I was certain.

  The sun had climbed half way the hill to my right. The moon, like a bit of gray gauze, already torn to shreds, was vanishing quickly; two or three stars winked a few more times in great effort. Now and then my steps echoed noisily, as if to announce my arrival.

  Had I whirled about myself many times? Did the earth under my feet rock as a boat? What whirlwind was blowing against my ears? I seated myself upon a rock, my head tightened between my hands. I dared not stir.

  Why had I come alone? Why had I not fled away? The hurricane howled on. The earth rocked. If I only dared to raise my head to see where I was…if I only– – What was there to fear? If death, let it be death!

  I stood up. What was this? Had I gone insane? Had all these centuries been merely a dream? Was I a captain in the Roman army? Was I no longer Cartaphilus, the wanderer?

  “Thou must tarry until I return! Thou must tarry until I return! Thou must tarry until I return!”

  “Stop!” I shouted.

  The Cross shook. Was it the wind? Was it the earth? His eyes like two long swords pierced my head. I screamed. It was the same agony I had once experienced. A thousand years had not obliterated its memory.

  “Tarry until I return!”

  “Stop!”

  I tightened my head with my hands, and began to run desperately. I fell.

  “Tarry– —”

  I staggered to my feet again. I looked at my hands. They were covered with blood. I wiped them in the dust.

  “Tarry until– —”

  I dared not look back.

  “Tarry– —”

  It was like a far-away echo. I began to run again and did not stop until I reached the city. I seated myself on a curbstone. For a long time, I panted, my mouth open. I rose and walked homeward. My legs were weak and unsteady, like a man’s who had just recovered from a severe illness.

  A knight in armor galloped by. Two monks, hiding their hands in their sleeves like Chinamen, were grumbling against the rations of food they were receiving; several crusaders, ragged and thin, were sitting propped against the fence; in the distance, the tinkling of a leper’s bells…

  “What a storm we had,” I said to a sentinel on his way to the barracks.

  “Storm? When?”

  “Just now…a little while ago… I thought the whole city would be shattered to pieces.”

  He glared at me. “My good man, you had better go home and lie down. You must be drunk or ill.”

  “Was there no storm?”

  “Of course not. It is as fine a spring day as you have ever witnessed. Hunger must have driven you out of your mind. The good Lord Jesus doesn’t seem to be particularly overjoyed with the fact that we have recovered His Sepulchre. He lets us starve. Well, He knows best.”

  How silly of me to have asked about a storm! I should have known that it was my own excitement, my own over-sensitiveness,—the storm in my breast… And yet, who knows? It seemed so real! Those eyes! The voice! Why had I not taken Kotikokura with me? He would have comforted me. He could tell me if what I saw was a phantasm or the truth. No, perhaps it was better this way! Some things must be suffered alone! Jesus suffered his Cross alone! Every man…

  A soldier interrupted my thoughts.

  “Sir, my master entreats you to follow me.”

  I accompanied him a few steps. He helped his master, a knight in full armor, from the horse, and left us alone.

  Was I in the presence of a great monarch? The armor made of red gold, was encrusted with precious jewels. The helmet was surmounted by a large rare plume, the tips of which were studded with pearls. The buckle on the scabbard of his sword was a tortoise of lapis-lazuli.

  I bowed deeply.

  The knight raised the helmet. I looked bewildered.

  “Don’t you know me, Cartaphilus?”

  “Salome!”

  “You have just come from there… Cartaphilus?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was there yesterday…”

  “Was there…a storm?”

  She nodded.

  “Jerusalem is not for us, Cartaphilus. We are stirred by too many memories.”

  “Is it only that?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Did you see…him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he speak?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it magic, Salome?”

  “If magic…it was stronger and stranger than ours.”

  We were silent for a while.

  “Were you with the Crusaders, Salome?”

  “I am the Red Knight, famous for many exploits,” she smiled.

  “You should not have run any risks.”

  “I have not run any. Can we afford to be hurt? I have heard of the chivalrous deeds of Count de Cartaphile of Provence, planting the Cross over the Crescent…”

  “What a sorry victory for Jesus, Salome!”

  “All victory is sorry…”

  “Save only– —” I looked steadily into her eyes—“the conquest of Salome.”

  She shook her head and tapped me on my shoulder.

  “I must go, Cartaphilus.”

  “May I go with you?”

  “No. The time is not yet ripe. We must still seek…and must seek alone.”

  “What?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps that which when found is not worth the seeking.”

  We remained silent.

  “Salome, what shall it profit a man to be a thousand years old, if he cannot understand more than at thirty?”

  “What are a thousand years, Cartaphilus? Only to those who live one generation or two, a thousand years seems a very long stretch of time. To us, ten thousand years are no longer than ten thousand days.”

  “Ten thousand days are long without you…”

  “Farewell, Cartaphilus!” She barely touched my cheek with her lips.

  “Since you command it,—farewell, Salome, Queen of Women!”

  She kissed my other cheek.

  “Even in hell, Cartaphilus would be gallant.”

  “And Salome a Queen, even in hell.”

  We set out the next morning by the road I had taken at my first departure from Jerusalem. The second evening, as we reached the foot of a rocky hill, we saw two men fighting desperately, their faces covered with blood, their clothing torn to shreds. At our approach, they stopped, caught their breaths for a while, and were about to begin once more.

  They were two brothers fighting over a piece of silver. I asked them for information as to the roads, and rewarded them each with a purse. When they were out of sight, I laughed heartily. Kotikokura looked at me, puzzled.

  “Kotikokura, my friend, this is the most delicious bit of irony I have witnessed for some time,—not the desire of the two brothers to kill each other. That is as old as Cain and Abel…”

  I examined the ground.

  He looked at me puzzled.

  “Wait…first let me ascertain if I am right.”

  I scrutinized the stars, studied a map, made some calculations on a piece of parchment.

  “Yes, this is it.”

  Kotikokura tied our horses to trees.

 
; “Help me roll away this small rock. And now, Kotikokura, you will see why I told you to bring a spade. Clear off this mud and dust. We can work with perfect freedom here. Nobody, save two silly brothers trying to murder each other for a silver coin, would think of passing this way.”

  The mud and dust was so deep that for awhile I thought I had made an error in my calculations. At last, however, the spade struck something metallic. I was elated.

  “Kotikokura, what if rocks become as overgrown with mud and debris, during the course of years as people with superstitions and prejudices? The stars are at their ancient posts, and mathematics is eternal. We shall be guided by both. We cannot but find what you will see presently.”

  I inserted a key into the iron trapdoor, which opened readily in spite of its rust.

  “Follow me, Kotikokura.”

  We descended a few steps.

  “Pull this cord. The door will shut over us. We must not take any useless risk.”

  We descended a few more steps, and turned to the right. Guided by the light of my lamp, we finally reached an alcove. I turned a knob, and a small door opened. I pushed my hand within it, and brought out three iron boxes, which I unlocked. Kotikokura’s mouth opened wide, as if his lower jaw had suddenly dropped away from the rest of his face.

  “Look, Kotikokura!” I raised and dropped fistfuls of jewels. “Diamonds and sapphires, and pearls and rubies that blind your eye and burn your hand! Play with them awhile, Kotikokura. It is a delicious sensation. What skin of woman rejoices as much as this?”

  He touched the stones lightly as if afraid of being burned indeed.

  “In this third box, I have gold coins. They are of far less value than the jewels just now, but when they become ancient enough, they may surpass them. He who lives long enough can never be poor, Kotikokura.”

  Kotikokura’s eyes continued to be riveted upon the jewels.

  “Those two brothers nearly killed each other for one silver coin, while underneath their feet, there was the wealth of a dozen kings!” I took only one of the coffers. “We shall leave the others here. We may need them some day. I shall teach you how to find this spot and others, Kotikokura. You may have to ransom me some day, or save a precious part of your own precious skin.”

  He grinned.

  We returned, Kotikokura covered the trapdoor with the debris, and stamped upon it. He smoothed the place with a spade. Everything was peaceful. Only our horses were impatient. We mounted them and galloped away.

  XLVII: THE ISLE OF BLISS—I MEET AN ARMENIAN BISHOP—KOTIKOKURA GROWLS—MY HEART IS IN MY MOUTH—THE ILL-TEMPERED SON OF AN IRASCIBLE FATHER

  “WHAT trees! What flowers! What a sky! The moon must be three times the size of all other moons I have ever seen,—and the people, Kotikokura, how generous, how kind, how honest! They never asked us who we are, where we come from, why we stop here. They offered us this little house and a bower of a thousand flowers. They have given us food and these garlands and leaves, which they call cloves. Tomorrow, we shall be given each a beautiful virgin as a wife.”

  Kotikokura danced, his head upon his chest like a goat.

  “You have known the joy of woman, Kotikokura, but you have never known the comfort of a wife. A good wife is the very bread of life. A bad wife…nothing is quite comparable to her. But can you imagine a shrew among these charming people?”

  He shook his head.

  “Alas, whether a woman be good or bad, she must inevitably become old. The lips that were red and full as cherries become pale and thin like parchment; the teeth that dazzled like small pearls in the sun turn yellow and drop out; the breasts that just filled the cupped hand, hang heavy and loose or become shrivelled and wrinkled. Alas, Kotikokura, that is the fate of a wife.”

  Kotikokura’s eyes glistened, one tear in each.

  “It is very fortunate, however, my friend, that women resemble one another very much, and one may supplant the other.”

  Kotikokura grinned.

  “Have you noticed, my friend, that these people have no religion, no churches, no bishops, or high priests? They greet the rising and the setting sun—symbols of Life and Death—a most beautiful and rational habit. Hail Life! Farewell Life!”

  Kotikokura continued his goat-like dance. I took his hand, and we danced together. Many natives gathered about us, clapped their hands, kept time with their feet, and soon formed a large circle about us, imitating us.

  How long did we live upon this island? Was it centuries or merely years? I could not tell. Our days passed on as smoothly, as noiselessly, as the river that faced our home. I had forgotten everything,—even Salome, even Jesus. It was like an exquisite dream that barely touches our sleep, but which makes us sleep longer and more profoundly.

  One day, however, as I was sitting on my threshold, I was awakened with a start, as if someone had struck my head a violent blow. On the side of one of the hills, I saw the shadows of three men and three large crucifixes.

  “Kotikokura, we are not destined, it seems, to live here peacefully forever, like those great trees which no one, for the last twenty generations, has ever remembered as young saplings bent by winds. Look! “

  Kotikokura rose, his head forward. I pulled him down.

  “The Christian Church, not content with the misery and ignorance and cruelty it has brought upon the people of Europe, must spread cruelty and misery everywhere—even upon this beautiful little island, uncharted on any map.”

  Kotikokura placed his head between his palms, and his elbows on his knees.

  “But we shall not let them spoil these people, Kotikokura. We shall tell our friends to beware of them, to shun them like leprosy.”

  Kotikokura opened and closed his fists.

  “I fear, however, that our struggle will be futile, for after the visit of the monks, the Pope always sends armies. If the people are not persuaded by sermons, they must accept the eloquence of the sword!”

  I warned the gentle natives not to listen to the words of the missionaries,—a bishop from Armenia accompanied by two monks. I told them that they were more ferocious than tigers, and sooner or later, they would destroy their homes and kill them. The people hid themselves in their houses or in bushes, and ran away at the sight of the Christians. I watched intently the movements of the Bishop. He was a man of about fifty or sixty, dressed in a white silk robe, in the manner of the Orientals, and wore a headgear that was nearly a turban. He reminded me of Mung-Ling and Apollonius, except that his eyes were clouded and sad, and his mouth too thin. Because of this resemblance, I suspected a good deal of kindness and intelligence in the man.

  I sat on the threshold of my house one evening. The Bishop, unaccompanied by the monks, approached me. He greeted me very cordially, and began to speak to me with his hands, uttering at the same time sounds that he had learned from the people. He believed he was addressing me in an intelligible language, but the words he uttered were devoid of all meaning. His efforts to make himself explicit seemed so ludicrous that I could not help laughing.

  He was not irritated, but on the contrary, laughed with me. I liked him. He seemed so different from the dignitaries of the Church I had known. He seated himself next to me and pointed to the moon, which was unusually beautiful. He made gestures to indicate how happy that made him. I remembered how Apollonius had loved the moon.

  He placed his hand upon my shoulder and pointed to the cross which hung about his neck. I shook my head. He did not insist. We remained silent for a long while. He was not impatient.

  Suddenly, I said in purest Greek: “Why do you come to torment these people?” He looked at me as a man awakened suddenly from a profound sleep looks at some strange creature sitting at his bedside.

  “Who…who speaks in you? Is it Satan or is it an angel?”

  “I have seen neither heaven nor hell…”

  “By what miracle have you acquired your impeccable Greek? Has the gift of tongues suddenly descended upon you?”

  I laughed. “If I told you
that God or Satan speaks through me, you would believe me.”

  “Before God, all things are possible, my son,” he said quietly. His voice was a melodious echo of Apollonius. ‘The spirit of the Tyanean must be lodging in this man,’ I thought, ‘but distorted by theology and the dark superstitions which now prevail in the world.’

  “Though all things are possible, Father, it is always best not to stretch forth our hands for the most far-fetched explanations.”

  “Yes, you are right, my son. One should seek the simplest explanations, and the most natural. You are a Greek who, weary of civilization, its iniquities, its futile glamor, has settled here. Now you fear that your peace may be interrupted again.”

  I nodded.

  “In a sense. I am here for the same purpose,—to forget the indignities heaped upon our Lord Jesus by false teachers, and the selfishness of man. Perhaps here, these simple, kind people will accept the Word of Jesus as it comes undefiled from His lips.”

  “They are perfectly happy now. Why disturb them?”

  “Life on earth lasts only a day, but in Heaven…or in Hell, it is eternal. Those who do not believe in our Lord cannot dwell in His Heaven.”

  “Are there not many mansions in my Father’s House…?”

  “True, but the door is barred to all heathens except by the long road of purgatory. Even saintly Plato, and Apollonius the Tyanean, must travel the road of darkness.”

  “Apollonius?”

  “Yes,—for whatever the ignorant rabble may say, he was a saint. Alas, he was not baptized!”

  “Where is he now, Father?”

  “In the outer rim of Purgatory, where he knows neither pleasure nor pain. But the Lord will soon shine upon him as a sun, and he will know indescribable joy.”

  “I am glad to hear you speak in this manner of Apollonius, my great Master.”

  “My Master too.”

  I looked at him.

  “His mind was too mighty for his heart. It is the heart, not the mind, that saves us.”

  “Do you believe that God’s mercy extends to all men?”

  “Eventually…certainly. His mercy is limitless.”