Once, when Jesus was only five years old, he sat on the doorstep outside
his father’s workshop, in Nazareth, and made clay cuckoos from a lump of
clay which the potter across the way had given him. He was happier than
usual. All the children in the quarter had told Jesus that the potter
was a disobliging man, who wouldn’t let himself be coaxed, either by
soft glances or honeyed words, and he had never dared ask aught of him.
But, you see, he hardly knew how it had come about. He had only stood on
his doorstep and, with yearning eyes, looked upon the neighbor working
at his molds, and then that neighbor had come over from his stall and
given him so much clay that it would have been enough to finish a whole
wine jug.
On the stoop of the next house sat Judas, his face covered with bruises
and his clothes full of rents, which he had acquired during his
continual fights with street urchins. For the moment he was quiet, he
neither quarreled nor fought, but worked with a bit of clay, just as
Jesus did. But this clay he had not been able to procure for himself. He
hardly dared venture within sight of the potter, who complained that he
was in the habit of throwing stones at his fragile wares, and would have
driven him away with a good beating. It was Jesus who had divided his
portion with him.
When the two children had finished their clay cuckoos, they stood the
birds up in a ring in front of them. These looked just as clay cuckoos
have always looked. They had big, round lumps to stand on in place of
feet, short tails, no necks, and almost imperceptible wings.
But, at all events, one saw at once a difference in the work of the
little playmates. Judas’ birds were so crooked that they tumbled over
continually; and no matter how hard he worked with his clumsy little
fingers, he couldn’t get their bodies neat and well formed. Now and then
he glanced slyly at Jesus, to see how he managed to make his birds as
smooth and even as the oak-leaves in the forests on Mount Tabor.
As bird after bird was finished, Jesus became happier and happier. Each
looked more beautiful to him than the last, and he regarded them all
with pride and affection. They were to be his playmates, his little
brothers; they should sleep in his bed, keep him company, and sing to
him when his mother left him. Never before had he thought himself so
rich; never again could he feel alone or forsaken.
The big brawny water-carrier came walking along, and right after him
came the huckster, who sat joggingly on his donkey between the large
empty willow baskets. The water-carrier laid his hand on Jesus’ curly
head and asked him about his birds; and Jesus told him that they had
names and that they could sing. All the little birds were come to him
from foreign lands, and told him things which only he and they knew. And
Jesus spoke in such a way that both the water-carrier and the huckster
forgot about their tasks for a full hour, to listen to him.
But when they wished to go farther, Jesus pointed to Judas. “See what
pretty birds Judas makes!” he said.
Then the huckster good-naturedly stopped his donkey and asked Judas if
his birds also had names and could sing. But Judas knew nothing of this.
He was stubbornly silent and did not raise his eyes from his work, and
the huckster angrily kicked one of his birds and rode on.
In this manner the afternoon passed, and the sun sank so far down that
its beams could come in through the low city gate, which stood at the
end of the street and was decorated with a Roman Eagle. This sunshine,
which came at the close of the day, was perfectly rose-red—as if it had
become mixed with blood—and it colored everything which came in its
path, as it filtered through the narrow street. It painted the potter’s
vessels as well as the log which creaked under the woodman’s saw, and
the white veil that covered Mary’s face.
But the loveliest of all was the sun’s reflection as it shone on the
little water-puddles which had gathered in the big, uneven cracks in the
stones that covered the street. Suddenly Jesus stuck his hand in the
puddle nearest him. He had conceived the idea that he would paint his
gray birds with the sparkling sunbeams which had given such pretty color
to the water, the house-walls, and everything around him.
The sunshine took pleasure in letting itself be captured by him, like
paint in a paint pot; and when Jesus spread it over the little clay
birds, it lay still and bedecked them from head to feet with a
diamond-like luster.
Judas, who every now and then looked at Jesus to see if he made more and
prettier birds than his, gave a shriek of delight when he saw how Jesus
painted his clay cuckoos with the sunshine, which he caught from the
water pools. Judas also dipped his hand in the shining water and tried
to catch the sunshine.
But the sunshine wouldn’t be caught by him. It slipped through his
fingers; and no matter how fast he tried to move his hands to get hold
of it, it got away, and he couldn’t procure a pinch of color for his
poor birds.
“Wait, Judas!” said Jesus. “I’ll come and paint your birds.”
“No, you shan’t touch them!” cried Judas. “They’re good enough as they
are.”
He rose, his eyebrows contracted into an ugly frown, his lips
compressed. And he put his broad foot on the birds and transformed them,
one after another, into little flat pieces of clay.
When all his birds were destroyed, he walked over to Jesus, who sat and
caressed his birds—that glittered like jewels. Judas regarded them for
a moment in silence, then he raised his foot and crushed one of them.
When Judas took his foot away and saw the entire little bird changed
into a cake of clay, he felt so relieved that he began to laugh, and
raised his foot to crush another.
“Judas,” said Jesus, “what are you doing? Don’t you see that they are
alive and can sing?”
But Judas laughed and crushed still another bird.
Jesus looked around for help. Judas was heavily built and Jesus had not
the strength to hold him back. He glanced around for his mother. She was
not far away, but before she could have gone there, Judas would have had
ample time to destroy the birds. The tears sprang to Jesus’ eyes. Judas
had already crushed four of his birds. There were only three left.
He was annoyed with his birds, who stood so calmly and let themselves be
trampled upon without paying the slightest attention to the danger.
Jesus clapped his hands to awaken them; then he shouted: “Fly, fly!”
Then the three birds began to move their tiny wings, and, fluttering
anxiously, they succeeded in swinging themselves up to the eaves of the
house, where they were safe.
But when Judas saw that the birds took to their wings and flew at Jesus’
command, he began to weep. He tore his hair, as he had seen his elders
do when they were in great trouble, and he threw himself at Jesus’ feet.
Judas lay there and rolled in the dust before Jesus like a dog, and
kissed his feet and begged that he would raise his foot and crush him,
as he had done with the clay cuckoos. For Judas loved Jesus and admired
and worshiped him, and at the same time hated him.
Mary, who sat all the while and watched the children’s play, came up and
lifted Judas in her arms and seated him on her lap, and caressed him.
“You poor child!” she said to him, “you do not know that you have
attempted something which no mortal can accomplish. Don’t engage in
anything of this kind again, if you do not wish to become the unhappiest
of mortals! What would happen to any one of us who undertook to compete
with one who paints with sunbeams and blows the breath of life into dead
clay?”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: In the Temple]