Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

  He expected her to ask him if Cleophas had come to warn him that inquiries were on foot regarding the disappearance of the body of one of the crucified, but she asked no questions, and he knew not whether she refrained from discretion or because her interest in things was dying. Not dying but dead, he said to himself as he scanned the years that her face and figure manifested, and judged them to be eighty.

  Now Esora, I’ll go and lie down for a little while, and lest I should oversleep myself I’ll tell the girl to call me. But how shall I recompense thee for this care, Esora? I am too old, Master, to hope for anything but your pleasure, she answered, and when he returned she told him that Jesus was fallen into another swoon, and they began talking of the sick man. His mind wanders up and down Galilee, she said. And now I’ll leave you to him. I’ve that girl on my mind. And while Jesus slept, Joseph pondered on the extraordinary adventure that he found himself on, giving thanks to God for having chosen him as the humble instrument of his will.

  CHAP. XXI.

  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.