Disclaimer: still not mine...
Author's note: Find the hidden lyrics! This is my longest chapter until now, so please read it all and not just the half. This is Judas' Death, part 2, seen from his view... Oh yeah, in the first chapter I wrote something about the Bible... Well it should be the Torah... The Bible wasn't written then! Thank you Poggey!
Jesus… Jesus…
Are you listening? Can you even hear me? No, of course you can't, I know you can't hear me, if you're not still being beaten up, you probably fainted. And you're far away. Far away from me. Jesus…
They had told me your hair was as fair as the sun, and your eyes as blue as the sea.
Bullshit. Your hair was black, although it was quite light, almost brown when the sun shone on it. And your eyes… God, they were brown. God, they scared me. They do still. I don't have to close my eyes to see you. I see you even now, every line, your smile, your hair fluttering in the wind, how you always looked at me, friendly and innocent…
Do you remember you told me once my logic, my intelligence would never fail me? It doesn't even leave me now. I know perfectly well what I've done. But I only did what you wanted me to.
I've killed you. I've killed you. And with that, you've killed me.
I love you.
There, I finally said it. I love you, I love you, I love you, I-love-you…
Where am I? I don't know. I don't recognise anything. My head aches. Have I cried? I think so. My whole face is wet. There's nobody around. I'm totally alone. Maybe it's best. I have been spattered with innocent blood. They'd probably spit on me. Judas Iscariot, the Betrayer. They'll hate me over centuries. I shall be dragged through the slime and the mud. The biggest crook, the greatest murderer, the cruellest criminal will even be too good to be called Judas Iscariot. The Traitor.
They paid me thirty silver coins. Blood money. It wasn't worth a finger of you. Jesus, I'd sell out the nation, for I have been settled with the murder of you.
I am not going to try to apologise, Jesus, I know perfectly well there's no way to make it up to you. I'm just going to explain. It is true I also was worried about you; look how wrong everything had gone. It was the only reason I fought so many times with you, I just wanted to make you clear how worried I was and that you were in danger. I was sure one day you would be killed. I just had no idea it would be me. The main reason was my love- No. That's not true. It was my jealously and my anger. My jealously at Mary and my anger when you chose her above me. The feelings which caused me to hurt you rather than her.
I'm so sorry.
I've cried. Actually I'm still crying. I feel the tears running down my cheeks. I had never cried before I met you. I was so afraid that you'd use it against me the first weeks I knew you. That you'd consider me weak. Not worth paying attention to.
But you cried yourself.
I hear somebody frantic mumbling in his sleep. I sit up and see Peter coming on his feet. I look around, but he quickly walks over to you and kneels down beside you. "Jesus! Jesus! Wake up!"
I stand up and kneel at your other side. "Is he having a nightmare?"
"Uh-huh." Peter frowns. "Com'on, Jesus!" He pokes with his finger against your shoulder. I look around. All the others are still asleep, but seeing the volume in which you mumble and sometimes give a cry, they won't be asleep long.
"Jesus! Calm down. You're having a nightmare." I grab your shoulders and softly shake them. "Wake up. It's alright now."
Your eyes fly open, bewildered and tears in the corners. You softly weep and, clinging to me, bury your face in my shoulder. I awkwardly pat your head, murmuring: "It's alright. It's alright." I raise my eyebrows questioning at Peter, who gestures I should go on like I'm doing. So I, feeling very strange, put my arms carefully around you and stroke your hair, which is even softer than I imagined it to be.
You slowly calm down and even manage to smile to me and Peter. "It… it was that old dream again, Peter."
I look curious, but don't ask anything. You still don't let go of me, and I am strangely peaceful, feeling you lying against me. But you don't probably need me anymore, and there is no reason for me to stay, so I reluctantly start to get up.
Your both arms immediately cling around me, with a force I hardly expected from you. "Don't go," you whisper. "Please don't go. They'll come back if you do."
Peter nods to me, so I slide back beside you, almost rejoicing. "Will you need any help, Judas?" Peter asks. I shake my head. He makes a respectful move and goes back to his blanket. I slowly caress your hair, thinking of Jonathan, and instead of my normal rage, I feel still strangely happy.
"What are you thinking of?"
"Of Jonathan." I answer honestly.
"Oh." You are silent for a moment. "Thank you for staying."
"You're welcome."
"You won't go away, will you?"
"Of course not."
"I don't think I've ever had such a good friend."
I smile. "I don't think I ever had a friend before."
"Then I'll be one. And Peter and all the others will be too." You sound very sleepy. You close your eyes and let your head rest against my shoulder. After some time I hear your breath go slow, so you have to be asleep.
I can easy place you under your blanket and leave, but I don't. I tell myself I don't because I have promised you to stay, but somewhere I know it was because you make me feel even happier than I felt when I was around Jonathan.
When I wake up, it's starting to get light. Peter sits beside the ashes of last night's fire and looks up when I stiffly stand up, placing you under the blanket. You have a beautiful smile on your lips. Then I join him at the fire. I'm afraid he's going to accuse me of sleeping with you; after all, at his view, there has been no reason for me to stay. Strangely, I'm more afraid for what he will say to you than to me. After all, nothing happened.
I open my mouth. "Peter… we… I- I swear-"
He interrupts me. "I know Judas," he says firmly, "and to be honest, I don't care."
I nod gratefully.
Why did I think of that again? I don't remember. All is black. Peter…I think he knew. He could sometimes look at me- but he never said a word to me, not even he found us like that the second time, or the third… you used to call him you tower of strength, your cliff in the breaks. He just knew, but he never told anyone, not even you, how much I loved you…
I just don't know how to love you. I don't know why you move me. You're a man, you're just a man. You're not a king, you're just the same as everyone I've ever met.
You scare me so.
When you're cold and- dead, will you let me be? Do you love me too? Do you still care for me?
Oh, my head… I've seen them, Jesus. I believe they were actually afraid of me. Their faces were pale and, except her and Peter, they all looked horrified. I suppose I must've looked terrible.
I always was your best friend. You called me your friend, while no one had called me like that ever before. Thanks to you I could tell my stories again. I hadn't been able to since Lisa. When I recall the look that lit up your face when I told one, I still smile. Everything was well. I only was your friend, but I could live with that, for I also was your 'brother', like you sometimes called me, the person who stood the closest to you. I didn't need you to say you loved me, like I actually knew you would never say, I could imagine it. And that was enough.
Do you remember the times when I taught you to read and write? Somehow you had been skipped by the rabbi and you could only talk Hebrew. And I could teach it to you.
"What are you doing, Judas?"
I look up. You stare over my shoulder at the book with good interest. It was the Torah, the first of the three Books, but you don't seem to recognise it. "I'm reading the Torah." Peter doesn't look up, but I see he's listening intentionally.
"Really? I can't read."
Normally I would look very surprised when I hear that, but somehow I manage to keep my face blank. "How's that possible?" Bartholomew and Simon start following the conversation.
"I don't know." You sit down beside me, still looking curious at the book.
"But I heard you quoting the Torah."
"Yeah, the rabbi taught me it by heart, but he never told me how to read or write."
I get an idea, that comes forth both from your curious, eager, brown eyes and the warmth you're radiating. "Do you want me to teach you?"
"Yes!" You're gloating. A better reward I couldn't get.
"Okay." I start rummaging in my knapsack. "Here I've got some- charcoal." I gaze at it for a minute. "Oh well, it'll do. And I've got some parchment, but we'll have to be thrifty. I won't let you write in my books. Caesar is a little too good to be ruined."
"Of course not."
"That's not that of course. Yesterday I had to stop Andrew or he would've drawn something on Aristotle."
"Andrew!" You cast a look at the other side of the fire. Andrew's face turns slowly to a bright pink.
"Don't worry, Jesus. I told him I 'd kill him if he'd ever try again."
"Simon!" You actually look shocked.
"Another wonderful remark of Simon," I observe dryly. "I believe your intelligence is actually growing, Simon, this can only be your fifth stupid remark of the day." Simon grins at me. No matter how much we fight, I like that imprudent idiot.
"Just kidding, Nazareth. Just kidding."
You sigh, cast your eyes to heaven, which causes some chuckles, and look at me again. "What do I have to do?"
"Well, look." I quickly scratch something on the parchment. "This is 'Jesus'." You bow over the paper, a serious expression on your face. "This is the 'j', the 'e', the 's', the 'e' and again the 's'." I point at the symbols. "But you gotta watch out. The 'j' also can stand for the 'i', and the 'e' can also be an 'a'. So it really depends on what exactly you are reading." I speak slow, not so slow that you'd think I think you an idiot, but just slow enough that you get everything.
"I think I understand." The most apostles watch now, some just amused, others really interested.
"Now your turn." I hand you the parchment and the charcoal. "Try to rewrite your name. Just copy it."
I look for a moment, but you hold the charcoal completely wrong. "No, wait." You obediently stop. I look for a moment for a way to guide your hand and then carefully put my arm around you, so I can lay my own hand over your right. I softly correct your grip and then guide your hand while you, with a frown, try again. My mouth is close to your ear and I can smell your hair. "That's better," I whisper, while I reluctantly let go. You smile at me.
And then she came.
Your little whore. No! She wasn't yours. She can't be yours. Oh, who am I fooling. I'm gonna be honest to you. She was yours. You loved her. And I knew it. And I hated her. Not because she loved you, I knew perfectly well how wonderful you were, so I couldn't blame her for that. But you loved her too, and I hated her and you because of it. Why did she have to come, everything was fine without her… oh, I'm raving. It was so clear.
I darkly stare over the river, brooding, when I hear your voice. "You seem a little tense, Judas." I look up in your twinkling eyes.
"Really? I hadn't noticed," I reply sarcastic.
Is there something wrong?"
"Hmph." I stare at the water again. "I'm feeling wonderful, thank you." I don't think you notice my slight ironic tone.
"When I am tense, Mary always massages me." My anger is boiling. So she massages you! But with your next words it immediately disappears again. "Do you want me to massage you?"
I shrug my shoulders. "If you wish to," I say in what I hope an off-hand way. You stand up and lay your warm hands on my shoulders. In spite of myself I strain totally.
"You will have to relax," you laugh. I quickly do as you say, cursing myself. You start kneading my shoulders and warm trills hover through my entire body. I close enjoying my eyes. "A penny for your thoughts," you whisper in my ear.
I can't help smiling. "My thoughts are a silver coin each."
Laughing you sit down beside me. "You cheat!" I open my eyes lazily.
"No nightmares anymore?" I ask nonchalant.
"No." You smile silently. "Not since Mary is here. She's so wonderful, Judas!"
I turn away so he won't see the anger burning in my eyes. "Good for you."
"I wanted to thank you," you say tenderly. "I know it must've been a bore for you, sitting almost every night up with me like that."
I can't look in your eyes, so I gaze at your lips, trying not to kiss them, I smile strained and mutter: "Oh, no problem at all."
Someone left a rope here. I took it with me, though I don't know why. It's in my hand now. What will I do with it? Something tells me that I don't want to know.
I think I could have controlled myself if I hadn't seen her kiss you. I think you were asleep, you had nothing to do with it. But she still kissed you! So I acted like I wanted to kiss her, to see how you would react and to show she was only a whore. Well, it did work in one way. But not like I wished. I had my proof; you were angry with me because I had tried. You would never leave her. You would even leave me in order to stay with her. So I went. I admit I immediately went to the priests to report you. They probably thought me crazy, a part of me was trying to stop me still. I'm not sure I wasn't insane at that moment, though I thought then I was perfectly calm.
I only know now I don't want to see you die. At first I wanted to, I was planning on looking every minute of your suffering. But I can't. I really can't. Even the arrest didn't go like I had planned it. I was supposed to kiss your cheek, and then I'd look at you with my usual smirk: see, this is why I've done it. And then you would be surprised, maybe even disgusted. It wasn't supposed to go like this. Nothing was supposed to go like this.
My mind is in darkness now. My God, I am sick. I've been used. And you knew, didn't you? My God, I'll never, ever know why you chose me for your crime! Your foul, bloody crime! You have murdered me! You have murdered me! You have murdered me, murdered me, murdered me…
I still feel your flesh burning against my lips… It was the first time I ever kissed you. Jesus…
I recognise it here. This is the way you will come when they take you to Pilate again. That can't be far anymore…I hear people shout. They are coming this way. The rope is in my hand. An olive tree is standing near. And… why not, Jesus? I don't deserve to live, do I? I just wish you could hear me now.
I really love you.
Jesus…
There were shouts on the street. "That must be Jesus," Andrew muttered. They all stood together up and walked over.
Peter saw Mary pushing her hands against her mouth in order not to scream. Their leader was covered in blood, his clothes were torn apart, everywhere were bruises and cuts… but still there was something in his attitude. A sort of calm dignity. His brown eyes stood sad, but when they fell on them, he managed somehow to smile to them. The soldiers around him looked bored. They had the order to keep him whole, but, let's face it, their attitude said, what's left of him that's whole? Only one, slightly older man, really protected him and looked severe to people who tried to come near Jesus to punch him.
The apostles followed silently, Peter first. He was the leader now, he realised, and he remembered what Jesus had told him. "Take care of them, Peter." He would.
Suddenly the shouts stopped and the crowd diverted. Peter looked forward and then quickly pushed with Simon and Bartholomew Mary, John, the youngest James and Andrew aside so they couldn't see anything. But the four swiftly slipped past them and Peter saw Mary pushing again her hands against her mouth.
There stood a lonely olive tree along the way, with a rope. The end of the rope was around Judas' neck.
"Well," the captain of the soldiers said grumpily, "cut him down. The streets don't get prettier with him hanging there."
One of the soldiers with a lot of pimples did as he was told. Judas fell on the ground with a sickening noise. "He's still warm," the soldier quickly reported, while he searched through his bags. "And he doesn't have a penny. Can't be dead for more then ten minutes."
"Wait a minute," one of the others frowned, "that's that Iscariot-guy. How can't he have any money, I saw Annas give him an entire bag."
"Ohh, Isabella," an old lady after Peter whispered against her friend, "that's that man I have seen, the one who laughed so maddening in our street and threw all those silver coins on the ground, you know, the one who was yelling 'blood money' all the time."
"Hush," Isabella hissed. "I'm trying to listen."
"What d'we do with 'im, governor?" one of the soldiers asked.
"Let him lie. We'll pick him up later."
Peter looked at Jesus, just like, he saw, the older soldier who had protected Jesus. Jesus slowly knelt beside Judas and stroked some hair of his forehead. "Poor, old Judas," Peter heard him mutter. "Goodbye, my friend."
He slowly stood up. "Will we continue, captain?"
The captain looked suspicious, but gave his orders. Jesus smiled one last time at the body at the foot of the tree, looked behind him and mouthed at them: "Bury him, please." He turned again.
I LUV REVIEWS! and if you don't know what I mean now...
