It was after she had persuaded him to take a little soup, which he did
with some show of appetite, that Esora began to think she might save
him: if his strength does not die away, she said. But will it? Joseph
inquired. Not if he continues to take food, she replied; and two hours
later she returned to the bedside to feed him again, and for a few
seconds he was roused from his lethargy; but it was not till the seventh
day that his eyes seemed to ask: who art thou, and who am I? And how
came I hither? Thou'rt Jesus of Nazareth, and I am Joseph of Arimathea,
whom thou knewest in Galilee, and it was I that brought thee hither, but
more than that I dare not tell lest too much story should fatigue thy
brain. I do not remember coming here. Where am I? Is this a holy place?
Was a prophet ever taken away to heaven from here? Afraid to perplex the
sick man, Joseph answered that he never heard that anything of the sort
had happened lately. But thou canst tell me, Jesus continued, why
thou'rt here? Thou'rt the rich man's son. Ah, yes, and my sorrow for
some wrong done to thee brought thee hither. His eyelids fell over his
eyes, and a few minutes afterwards he opened them, and after looking at
Joseph repeated: my sorrow brought thee here; and still in doubt as to
what answer he should make, Joseph asked him if he were glad he was by
him. Very glad, he said, and strove to take Joseph's hand. But my hand
pains me, and the other hand likewise; my feet too; my forehead; my
back; I am all pain. Thou must have patience, Esora broke in, and the
pain will pass away. Who is that woman? A leper, or one suffering from a
flux of blood? Tell her I cannot impose my hands and cast out the wicked
demon that afflicts her. He mustn't be allowed to talk, Esora said; he
must rest. And on these words he seemed to sink into a lethargy. Has he
fallen asleep again? It is sleep or lethargy, she answered, and they
went to the door of the cottage, and, leaning against the lintels, stood
balancing the chances of the sick man's recovery.
We can do no more, she said, than we are doing. We must put our trust in
my balsam and give him food as often as he'll take it from us. Which
they did day after day, relieving each other's watches, and standing
over Jesus' bed conferring together, wondering if he cared to live or
would prefer that they suffered him to die....
For many days he lay like a piece of wreckage, and it was not till the
seventh day that he seemed to rouse a little out of his lethargy, or his
indifference--they knew not which it was. In answer to Esora he said he
felt easier, and would be glad if they would wheel his bed nearer to the
door. Outside is the garden, he whispered, for I see boughs waving, and
can hear the bees. Wilt thou let me go into the garden? As soon as I've
removed the dressing thou shalt have a look into the garden, Esora
replied, and she called upon Joseph to pull Jesus forward. All this, she
said, was raw flesh a week ago, and now the scab is coming away nicely;
you see the new skin my balsam is bringing up. His feet, too, are
healing, Joseph observed, and look as if he will be able to stand upon
them in another few days. Wounds do not heal as quickly as that, Master.
Thou must have patience. But he'll be wanting a pair of crutches very
soon. We might send to Jerusalem for a pair. There is no need to send to
Jerusalem, he answered. I think I'd like to make him a pair. Anybody can
make a pair of crutches, however poor a carpenter he may be; and every
evening as soon as his watch was over he repaired to the wood-shed. They
won't be much to look at, Esora reflected, but that won't matter, if he
gets them the right length, and strong.
Come and see them, he said to her one evening, and when she had admired
his handiwork sufficiently he said: tell me, Esora, is a man's mind the
same after scourging and crucifixion as it was before? Esora shook her
head. I suppose not, Joseph continued, for our minds draw their lives
from our bodies. He'll be a different man if he comes up from his
sickness. But he may live to be as old as I am, or the patriarchs, she
returned. With a different mind, he added. So I've lost him in life whom
I saved from death.
Esora did not ask any questions, and fearing that her master might tell
her things he might afterwards regret having said, she remarked that
Jesus would be needing the crutches in about another week.
And it was in or about that time, not finding Jesus in the cottage, they
came down the pathway in great alarm, to be brought to a sudden stop by
the sight of Jesus sitting under the cedars. How did he get there? Esora
cried, for the crutches were in the wood-shed. They were, Esora, but I
took them down to the cottage last night, and seeing them, and finding
they fitted him, he has hobbled to the terrace. But he mustn't hobble
about where he pleases, Esora said. He is a sick man and in our charge,
and if he doesn't obey us he may fall back again into sickness. The
bones have not properly set---- We don't know that any bones were
broken, do we, Esora? We don't; for the nails may have pierced the feet
and hands without breaking any. But, Master, look! Didst ever see such
imprudence? Go! drive away my cat, or else my work will be undone.
Her cat, large, strong and supple as a tiger, had advanced from the
opposite wood, and, unmindful of a bitch and her puppies, seated himself
in the middle of the terrace. As he sat tidying his coat the puppies
conceived the foolish idea of a gambol with him. The cat continued to
lick himself, though no doubt fully aware of the puppies' intention, and
it was not till they were almost on him that he rose, hackle erect, to
meet the onset in which they would have been torn badly if Jesus had not
hopped hastily forward and menaced him with his crutches. Even then the
puppies, unmindful of the danger, continued to dance round the cat. You
little fools, he will have your eyes, Jesus cried, and he caught them up
in his arms, but unable to manage them and his crutches together, he
dropped the crutches and started to get back to his seat without them.
It was this last imprudence that compelled Esora to cry out to Joseph
that her work would be undone if Joseph did not run at once to Jesus and
give him his crutches: now, Master, I hope ye told him he must leave
cats and dogs alone, she said as soon as Joseph returned to her. If he
doesn't we shall have him on our hands all the winter. All the winter!
Joseph repeated. It is for thee to say, Master, how long he is to stay
here; three weeks, till he is fit to travel, or all the winter, it is
for you to say. Fit to travel, Joseph repeated. Why should he leave when
he is fit to travel? he asked. Only, Master, because it will be hard to
keep him in hiding much longer. Secrets take a long time to leak out,
but they leak out in the end. But I may be wrong, Master, in thinking
that there is a secret. I hardly know anything about this man, only that
thou broughtest him back one night. So thou'rt not certain then that
there is a secret, Esora? Joseph said. I won't say that, Master, for I
can see by his back that he has been scourged, and cruelly, she
answered. His hands and feet testify that he has been on the cross.
Therefore, Joseph interposed, thou judgest him to be a malefactor of
some sort. Master, I would judge no one. He is what thou choosest to
tell me he is. Come then, Esora, Joseph replied, and I will tell thee
his story and mine, for our stories have been strangely interwoven. But
the telling will take some time. Come, let us sit in the shade of the
acacia-trees yonder; there is a seat there, and we shall be in view of
our sick man, ready to attend upon him should he require our attention.
She sat listening, immovable, like a figure of stone, her hands hanging
over her knees. And when he told how Jesus opened his eyes in the tomb,
and how he carried him through the rocks, seeking perhaps to astonish
her a little by his account of the darkness, and the wild beasts, he
said: now tell me, Esora, if I could have done else but bring him here
on my shoulders. True it is that Pilate believed he was giving me not a
live but a dead body; but Pilate wouldn't expect me to go to him with
the tidings that Jesus was not dead, and that he might have him back to
hoist on to a cross again. Pilate did not want to give him up for
crucifixion. He found no fault with him. Dost understand, Esora? I
understand very well, Master, that Pilate would think thee but a false
friend if you had acted differently. He would not have thanked thee if
thou hadst brought back this man to him. But, Esora, thy face wears a
puzzled look. One thing puzzles me, she answered, for I cannot think
what could have put it into his head that he was sent into the world to
suffer for others. For are we not all suffering for others?
The simplicity of her question took Joseph aback, and he replied: I
suppose thou'rt right in a way, Esora. Thou hast no doubt suffered for
thy parents; I have suffered for my father. I left Galilee to keep my
promise not to see Jesus; when I heard he was going to ride into
Jerusalem in triumph on an ass from Bethany I ran away to Jericho. Could
a man do more to keep his promise? But it was of no avail, for we may
not change in our little lives the fate we were branded with a thousand
years before we were born.
Thou'rt of one mind with me, Esora, that I couldn't have left him to die
in the sepulchre? Thou couldst not have done such a thing and remained
thyself; and it was God that gave you those fine broad shoulders for the
burden. I saw thee a baby, and thou hast grown into a fine image like
those they've put up to Cæsar in Tiberias; and then, as if abashed by
her familiarity, she began: Master, I wouldn't wish him to return to
Jerusalem, for they would put him on the cross again, but he had better
leave Judea. Art thou weary, Esora, of attendance on him? Joseph asked,
and the servant answered: have I ever shown, Master, that I found
attendance on him wearisome? He is so gentle and patient that it is a
pleasure to attend on him, and an honour, for one feels him to be a
great man. The highest I have met among men, Joseph interposed, and I
have searched diligently, wishing always to worship the best on earth.
He is that, and maybe there's no better in heaven; after God comes
Jesus.
It wouldn't be a woman then that thou wouldst choose to meet in heaven,
but a man? Men love women, Joseph said, for their corruptible bodies,
and women love men for theirs; but even the lecher would choose rather
to meet a man in heaven, and the wanton another woman. If we would
discover whom we love most, we can do so by asking ourselves whom we
would choose to meet in heaven. Heaven without Jesus would not be heaven
for me. But if he be not the Messiah after all? Esora asked. Should I
love him less? he answered her. None is as perfect as he. I have known
him long, Esora, and can say truly that none is worthy to be the carpet
under his feet.
I have never spoken like this before, but I am glad to have spoken, for
now thou understandest how much thou hast done for me. Thou and thy
balsam and thy ministration. My balsam, she answered, has done better
than I expected it would do. Thou sawest his back this morning. One can
call it cured. His hands and feet have mended and his strength is
returning. In a few days he will be fit to travel. This is the third
time, Esora, that thou hast said he'll be able to travel soon--yet thou
sayest he is so patient and gentle that it is a pleasure to attend on
him; and an honour. But, Master, the danger is great, and every day
augments the danger. Secrets, as I've said, take a long time to leak
out, but they leak out in time. Her words are wise, he thought to
himself, and he overlooked her, guessing her to have shrunken to less
than her original size; she seemed but a handful of bones and yellow
skin, but when she looked up in his face her eyes were alive, and from
under a small bony forehead they pleaded, and with quavering voice she
said: let him go, dear Master, for if the Pharisees seek him here and
find him, he will hang again on the cross. Thou wouldst have me tell
him, Esora, that rumours are about that he did not die on the cross and
that a search may be made for him. I wouldn't have thee speak to him of
Pilate or his crucifixion, Master, for we don't know that he'd care to
look back upon his troubles; he might prefer to forget them as far as he
is able to forget them. But thou canst speak to him of his health,
Master, which increases every day, and of the benefit a change would be
to him. Speak to him if thou wouldst of a sea voyage, but speak not of
anything directly for fear of perplexing him. Lead rather than direct,
for his mind must be a sort of maze at present. A great deal has
befallen, and nothing exactly as he expected. Nor would I have thee
speak to him of anything but actual things; speak of what is before his
eyes as much as possible; not a word about yesterday or of to-morrow,
only so far as his departure is concerned. Keep his thoughts on actual
things, Master: on his health, for he feels that, and on the dogs about
his feet, for he sees them; he takes an interest in them; let him speak
to thee of them, which will be better still, and in your talk about dogs
many things will happen. The hills about Cæsarea may be mentioned; see
that they are mentioned; ask him if they are like the hills above
Jericho. I cannot tell thee more, Master, but will pray that thou mayest
speak the right words.
A shrewd old thing, Joseph thought, as he went towards Jesus, looking
back once to see Esora disappearing into the wood. She'd have me keep
his thoughts on actual things, he continued, and seeing that Jesus had
called the puppies to him and was making himself their playmate, he
asked him if he were fond of dogs; whereupon Jesus began to praise the
bitch, saying she was of better breeding than her puppies, and that when
she came on heat again she should be sent to a pure Thracian like
herself. Joseph asked, not because he was interested in dog-breeding,
but to make talk, if the puppies were mongrels. Mongrels, Jesus
repeated, overlooking them; not altogether mongrels, three-quarter bred;
the dog that begot them was a mongrel, half Syrian, half Thracian. I've
seen worse dogs highly prized. Send the bitch to a dog of pure Thracian
stock and thou'lt get some puppies that will be the sort that I used to
seek.
Joseph waited, for he expected Jesus to speak of the Essenes and of the
time when he was their shepherd; but Jesus' thoughts seemed to have
wandered from dogs, and to bring them back to dogs again Joseph
interposed: thou wast then a shepherd? But Jesus did not seem to hear
him, and as he was about to repeat his question he remembered that Esora
told him to keep to the present time. We do not know, she said, that he
remembers, and if he has forgotten the effort to remember will fatigue
him, or it may be, she had added, that he wishes to keep his troubles
out of mind. A shrewd old thing, Joseph said to himself, and he sat by
Jesus considering how he might introduce the subject he had come to
speak to Jesus about, the necessity of his departure from Judea. But as
no natural or appropriate remark came into his mind to make, he sat like
one perplexed and frightened, not knowing how the silence that had
fallen would be broken. It is easy, he thought, for Esora to say, speak
only of present things, but it is hard to keep on speaking of things to
a man whose thoughts are always at ramble. But if I speak to him of his
health an occasion must occur to remind him that a change is desirable
after a long or a severe illness. It may have been that Joseph did not
set forth the subject adroitly; he made mention, however, of a
marvellous recovery, and as Jesus did not answer him he continued: Esora
thought that thou wouldst be able to get as far as the terrace in
another week, but thou'rt on the terrace to-day. Still Jesus did not
answer him, and feeling that nothing venture nothing win, he struck
boldly out into a sentence that change of air is the best medicine after
sickness. Jesus remaining still unresponsive, he added: sea air is
better than mountain air, and none as beneficial as the air that blows
about Cæsarea.
The word Cæsarea brought a change of expression into Jesus' face, and
Joseph, interpreting it to mean that Jesus was prejudiced against those
coasts, hastened to say that a sick man is often the best judge of the
air he needs. But, Joseph, I have none but thee, Jesus said; and the two
men sat looking into each other's eyes, Joseph thinking that if Jesus
were to recover his mind he would be outcast, as no man had ever been
before in the world: without a country, without kindred, without a
belief wherewith to cover himself; for nothing, Joseph said to himself
as he sat looking into Jesus' eyes, has happened as he thought it would;
and no man finds new thoughts and dreams whereby he may live. I did not
foresee this double nakedness, or else might have left him to die on the
cross. Will he, can he, forgive me? A moment afterwards he recovered
hope, for Jesus did not seem to know that the hills beyond the terrace
were the Judean hills, and then, as if forgetting the matter in hand
(his projected residence in Cæsarea), he began to speak of Bethlehem,
saying he could not think of Bethlehem without thinking of Nazareth, a
remark that was obscure to Joseph, who did not know Nazareth. It was to
make some answer--for Jesus seemed to be waiting for him to answer--that
Joseph said: Nazareth is far from Cæsarea, a remark that he soon
perceived to be unfortunate, for it awakened doubts in Jesus that he was
no longer welcome in Joseph's house. Why speakest thou of Cæsarea to me?
he said. Is it because thou wouldst rid thyself of me? Whereupon Joseph
besought Jesus to lay aside the thought that he, Joseph, wished him
away. I would have thee with me always, deeming it a great honour; but
Esora has charge of thy health and has asked me to say that a change is
needed.
My health, Jesus interrupted. Am I not getting my strength quickly? do
not send me away, Joseph, for I am weak in body and in mind; let me stay
with thee a little longer; a few days; a few weeks. If I go to Cæsarea I
must learn Greek, for that is the language spoken there, and thou'lt
teach me Greek, Joseph. Send me not away. But there is no thought of
sending thee away, Joseph answered; my house is thy house for as long as
thou carest to remain, and the words were spoken with such an accent of
truth that Jesus answered them with a look that went straight to
Joseph's heart; but while he rejoiced Jesus' mind seemed to float away:
he was absent from himself again, and Joseph had begun to think that all
that could be said that day had been said on the subject of his
departure from Judea, when a little memory began to be stirring in
Jesus, as Esora would say, like a wind in a field.
I remember thee, Joseph, as one to whom I did a great wrong, but what
that wrong was I have forgotten. Do not try to recall it, Joseph said to
him, no wrong was done, Jesus. Thou'rt the rich man's son, he said, and
what I remember concerning thee is thy horse, for he was handsomer than
any other. His name was Xerxes. Dost still ride him? Is he in the
stables of yon house? He was sold, Joseph answered, to pay for our
journey in Syria, and some of the price went to pay for thy cloak. The
cloak on my shoulders? Jesus asked. The cloak on thy shoulders is one of
my cloaks. Thou earnest here naked. I was carried here by an angel,
Jesus replied, for I felt the feathers of his wings brush across my
face. But why that strange look, Joseph?--those curious, inquisitive
eyes? It was an angel that carried me hither. No, Jesus, it was I that
carried thee out of the sepulchre up the crooked path. What is thy
purpose in saying that it was no angel but thou? Jesus asked; and
Joseph, remembering that he must not say anything that would vex Jesus,
regretted having contradicted him and tried to think how he might mend
his mistake with words that would soothe Jesus; but, as it often is on
such occasions, the more we seek for the right words the further we seem
to be from them, and Joseph did not know how he might plausibly unsay
his story that he had carried him without vexing Jesus still further: he
is sure an angel carried him, Joseph said: he felt the feathers of the
wings brush across his face, and he is now asking himself why I lied to
him.
As Joseph was thinking that it might be well to say that Bethlehem was
like Nazareth, he caught sight of Jesus' face as pale as ashes, more
like a dead face than a living, and fearing that he was about to swoon
again or die, Joseph called loudly for Esora, who came running down the
pathway.
Thou mustn't call for me so loudly, Master. If Matred had heard thee and
come running---- But, Esora, look. As likely as not it is no more than a
little faintness, she said. He has been overdoing it: running after
puppies, and talking with thee about Cæsarea. But it was thyself told me
to ask him to go to Cæsarea for change of air. Never mind, Master, what
I told thee. We must think now how we shall get him back to bed. Do thou
take one arm and I'll take the other.