April 23, 2013: To those of you who have been waiting for this chapter, I apologize. RL kind of exploded at me and I ended up with no time to finish editing this and post it. Hopefully you'll find it worth the long wait. -.-;;;
Chapter 3
Peter, Simon - most of the apostles - were beside themselves with joy when we finally arrived in Jerusalem. Even I could not help but be swept up in the celebration. There were throngs of people surrounding us, insisting on laying down palm branches over which we were to walk. As an outpouring of support and love, I had never seen its like, nor would I ever, again. I will admit to having been moved by the showing, even as my heart ached with foreknowledge of what was to befall me in this city, beyond this welcome.
As Simon did, these people expected me to bring about change, to bring them closer to G-d and thus ensure them success and avarice. They wished for a messiah to come and raise them from the depths of their despair and cast out the Romans who so oppressed them - but I was not Moses. I had no power to do such a thing. I knew it. Judas knew it. We had all known it once. I was merely a rabbi, a teacher, a man leading by example of what we must all do together to improve our lot. That was the only power I had... to inspire others to acts of kindness and love equal to those I practiced, myself. I had no military might, no great strength. That was Simon's domain. I had no cunning, no great ability for stealth. That was Peter's. I had no great intelligence, no head for strategy, for putting together the pieces into a whole with which we could work. That was Judas' domain.
No. My great secret was this: my strength, my power, my might... came to me from G-d in the form of my followers. I had no great skills of my own other than compassion for my fellow human beings, an eloquence of speech and this dreaded foreknowledge of events to come. And in my compassion, I was like only unto one other in our company - Mary. She, too, had a great compassion of spirit, an unflagging love for myself and for those I preached to that knew no end. I admired her for it and I loved her for it, for she was the only one among my apostles who understood me in that way. Judas tried, but there was some fundamental gap between himself and his fellow men that he needed me to bridge for him. He cared for me. He loved me. He had endless amounts of patience and compassion... for me. And through me, he could channel it to others - no other way.
Still, I knew the strengths and weaknesses of my companions by rote. Together, they twelve and I, we had all the strength and skill we needed for any endeavor we undertook. But even my Twelve wished things of me that I did not wish to give, that were not in my power to give. Simon expected me to roust the Romans from their places of power and send them packing. Peter wanted me to take the place of the high priests in the temple, wanted to worship me as he had once worshipped them. That idolatry, that worship, that faith in my abilities that I did not share... it made me distinctly uncomfortable.
Only Judas seemed to see clearly what it was that I was - and was not - capable of. He worried over it like a dog with a bone, fretting himself to pieces over the fact that we drew so much attention these days, constantly nagging at me that we should return to our humbler roots, stop shaking the trees where we could be seen. I wished with all my heart that I could listen to him, could tell him that I understood his fears, and more, that I agreed with them... but it was already too late for that. Events had been set in motion that I could no longer halt, no matter how much I might wish I could.
And I did.
I wished to bring all of this to an end. I wished nothing more than to take Judas and Mary and run to a land far, far from this one, a land where no one knew us, where no one judged us, where no one expected anything of us... where we could just be. I wished that with all my heart, that I could shrug off this burden for someone else to take up, for my own sake... for Judas' sake, for Mary's. But I could not. There was no one else to take this burden up should I lay it down. And so we marched on, ever on.
Judas and Mary walked side by side, hand in hand, as we passed through the crowds. I alone understood my friend's abrupt about-face on the subject of Mary's presence among us, but, of course, I said nothing. They did not know that I had seen them, nor did I wish them to know. I was merely glad that now, of all times, I did not have to split my focus between the task at hand and the necessity of mediating between them... though, I will admit that I was jealous of the support they were now able to lend each other. I had never felt the weight of my position more than I did in that moment, walking several paces in front of Judas and Mary, unable to share in the comfort they gave each other by that simple contact. I forced myself to ignore that selfish desire and merely be glad of the fact that they, at least, were able to partake of each other's nearness and support.
The priest, Caiaphas, met us at the gates to the city, staring down at us from on high as we approached. That would not do. I needed to meet the high priests as an equal, as a fellow rabbi, if our movement was to have any chance at all. I could not meet them groveling at their feet like a sycophant, not even this once. I climbed the stairs opposite his position, met him height for height, met his attempts to quell the noise of the chanting crowd with an arrogant contempt that left me feeling sick for portraying it. As those self-important words left my lips, I could see Judas below me leaning against the balustrade, desperately calling my name to try to get my attention, to hush my words before I could bury myself any deeper into this grave I was busily digging. His urgency, his desperation, were like living things, beating against my chest, my back, clawing at my legs and arms, a palpable wave of fear to which I could not - to which I would not - respond. I did not understand yet that his fear was not entirely for me.
When I rebuffed Caiaphas' orders, his eyes turned from mine in disgust and frustration. The irony was that I truly did sympathize with his position. It was just that I could not cave to that sympathy. I could not give him what he wanted. That was not my destiny. As Caiaphas turned away, I took that moment to meet Judas' eyes, to try to reassure him that I knew what I was about, but when our eyes met... Good G-d. When our eyes met, his were filled with an almost unreasoning terror. It was the terror of a child abandoned in a crowded marketplace, the terror of a mouse caught in the sights of a great bird of prey. He barely saw me in that moment, but he followed me up those stairs, desperate for whatever small protection I could afford him... but from what? Of what was he so afraid? He had been afraid all morning, so tense that I had been amazed he could even turn his head, but I had thought that fear all for me. This, though... this fear was different. As he crept up the stairs after me, Judas had eyes for only one man - Caiaphas. As Caiaphas descended his own stairs, Judas took several steps towards him, as though he could not help but be drawn in, and the look Caiaphas turned on him as he approached... it was disdainful. It was contemptuous. It was predatory. At that look, Judas fled back up the steps towards me and made himself as small as he possibly could. And his fear was understandable, suddenly far too understandable, as in a flash of insight, I understood that there was a history here of which I knew nothing. I had, in my ignorance, marched my nearest and dearest straight into the lion's den with no warning and no protection.
Damn all this secrecy! I still knew next to nothing about Judas' life before he joined us three years ago. He didn't speak of it, didn't allude to it. I only knew what I had gleaned from three years of watching him and what little I had overheard by listening in on conversations he had had with Mary. He was from Judea - that much I had known - but I did not know from where. I did not know the places he had traveled before coming to me. I did not know the people he had known. I had not known he had ever been to Jerusalem. I had not known that he knew Caiaphas or that Caiaphas knew him. I had not known he had a connection to the very Temple I had come here to rattle. And with the advent of this knowledge, another piece of the puzzle that was Judas fell into place then and pierced my heart. For the first time since I learned of my fate, so, so long ago... deep within my soul, far from anyone's prying eyes, at long last, far too late... I began to rebel.
Simon had once again attempted to convince me to take the waiting crowd and use it, to use their devotion, their love, for destructive purposes. He used different words, words like "freedom," "liberty," "victory," "home"... but he meant the same thing with all of them: "War." Simon wished us to overthrow the Romans, the priests, all who would oppress us. He saw the influence my words carried and sought to use them for his own purposes. The crowds knew no better. Most of my apostles knew no better. Even Mary was swept up in the moment, not recognizing the danger in Simon's words, seeing only the passion and faith in his eyes.
Judas, alone amongst the crowd, sensed the danger in Simon's words. I saw him, huddled apart, still afraid, still unsure, hand clutched around his hamsa, lips moving in silent prayer. I recognized the words on his lips immediately, of course... "Love the Lord your G-d with all your mind, with all your strength, with all your being. Set these words which I command you this day upon your heart..." Of course I knew them. And they were a powerful reminder of exactly why I could not do as Simon wished. I was not G-d. It was not given unto me to deliver our people from this self-wrought bondage.
It was good that Judas did this, reminded me in this way of the dangers of pride, the dangers in not keeping control of what my apostles were doing. In these last days I was finding it far too easy to forget. I tried to explain, to help Simon and the crowds to see that I could not do as they wished, but to no avail. They did not wish to listen, did not wish to see. In the end, I gave up, admitting defeat to myself, if to no one else. We dispelled the crowds and I sent my apostles into the city on the last missions I would ever ask of them, though they knew it not.
I sent Simon and Peter to scout the city for information. Clearly, I did not have as much of it as I truly needed. John and James I sent to secure us lodging. I sent everyone in pairs. No one was to be abroad in the city alone. Even I could feel the tension in the air, the danger awaiting us around every corner. This city was not safe for me and mine and no one knew that better than I. After all... I was to die here not more than four days hence.
Judas and Mary, of course, I took with me. I had a mission of my own to complete and I wanted no one but they to bear witness. The rebellion in my heart, the pain, the growing anger over my helplessness to truly affect any change - they tore at me, gave me no peace. What I was about to do, I already regretted, already felt remorse for, but it would not stop me from doing it. I had come here to make pilgrimage... and pilgrimage I would make.
As we approached the great Temple, Judas and Mary drew back from me, left me to lead the way, once again clutching at each other for support. I could feel Judas' tension behind me, ratcheting slowly higher with each step we took. By the time we reached the temple, he was fair vibrating with it. Mary was torn between us, sensing my anger, sensing Judas' fear, and she did not know to which one of us she should turn. I loved her for that - that she even considered it a question. It gave me hope that maybe they two would be able to comfort each other after I was gone. Bringing them together... it was perhaps the one truly good and unselfish thing I had ever done.
When we reached the steps of the Temple, however, I froze, unable to take another step. This... this was what they had made of my Temple? Of G-d's most holiest of holy houses? No. This could not be. Arrayed in the yard and around the stairs were money lenders, gambling rings and prostitutes. On the very steps of the Temple itself. They were arrayed on those stairs in their scant clothing, leaving little to the imagination, dancing and writhing in suggestive postures. It was an abomination. I stepped away from Judas and Mary, slowly stalked around the yard, growing more and more furious with each step I took. This was what they had made of our holy land. It was no wonder the Romans overtook us so easily. We were already corrupt, already ripe for their debauchery. I trembled with the horror of it.
Mary had left Judas' side to cleave to mine - perhaps sensing I was about to do something foolish... and because she was right, I most certainly did not wish her that close. I had no place at her side feeling as I did now. This burning anger inside of me was going to find an outlet somewhere and I feared that whoever was nearest me was going to end up hurt. It was why I had walked away from Judas. I did not want to risk turning this beast on him, because I did not know what it would do if it found a target in him. I might hurt him as I had, all unthinkingly, just the day before... or I might do worse.
I might treat him no better than one of the whores on the temple stairs. I could feel my own potential for that behavior building inside me... for I now understood why Judas had acted as he did that night that he had first met Mary, why he had come so viciously, so eagerly to my tent. This anger... in its own way it was an aphrodisiac, this need for violence. Were I another man, a different kind of man, this atmosphere, the anger it roused in me... In spite of my best intentions, I turned towards Judas, primal thoughts focusing far too easily on his face, his body. And what I saw when I looked... it made me angrier still.
Judas was distracted, staring at those on the steps, hardly noticing that I was there at all. And his eyes... there was that same fear in them as when he had looked on Caiaphas. Fear, pain... and recognition. He knew this Temple, knew these steps, perhaps even knew those gyrating upon them. He had been here before. Here was another piece to his past to which I had not been privy. And the way those on the stairs looked on him was worse, still - as though he were so much meat to be eaten. Those who managed the whores of the Temple were already circling, eyes gleaming. They stayed away from Mary as she was at my side, but Judas... He stood alone. They recognized in him the same beauty I did, and that they and I should have anything in common was the final straw.
Sensing them circling him, Judas had finally unfrozen from the courtyard entrance and begun to move in my direction, thinking that that was the safer place to be. Of course, with these thoughts raging in my head, he could not have been more wrong. Before he could reach me, however, one of the women placed herself in his path, cutting off his route of escape. A look passed between them, a knowing look, a look of recognition, almost of kinship, and I knew then... they had known each other before. This woman, this prostitute... she had known Judas - my Judas.
She smiled, eyes warm and teasing, full of knowledge that I did not have. She bent at the waist, temptingly writhing in front of Judas, trying to draw him in to join in the debauchery. The knowing look in her eyes hinted that he had done so in the past. Not today. Today, he was not tempted. He was horrified, looked as though he might be sick right then and there... and I could not stand idly by while this particular neighbor bled, shot through the heart by someone who somehow knew him better than I.
I rushed towards them, blazing anger in my eyes. I thought I merely intended to free Judas from the paralysis this horror had settled around him. I truly thought that was my intent. Now... I am forced to consider that it may not have been altruism that drove my actions that day but jealousy. Everywhere I turned I found people to whom Judas had given away pieces of himself which he would not even let me glimpse from afar: Mary. Caiaphas. And now this woman. I had no right to think I had sole claim over him. I had no right to feel that he belonged to me. I had no right to act as though he were beholden to share his every secret with me, to think as though I had a right to be everything to him when even I knew that such pure dependency could never be healthy. I did not understand my motivation then as I do now. All I knew was that I had to free him from his paralysis, his inability to look away from this woman's temptation.
And free him I did. Better than I had hoped I would. Seeing me coming for them, Judas did unfreeze... and moved to place himself between me and the woman in question as though he somehow feared I would do her harm. And as I had done before... as I always seemed to... in that moment, I let my anger turn upon itself and strike the very one for whom I had become angered to defend. Who was this woman to him that he would think to defend her against me for whom he professed his love? How could he think I even would harm another? Had he listened to none of my teachings all this time?
Judas held out his hands beseechingly in front of him, eyes begging me to calm, to reconsider my actions. I could not. I cast him from me, so full of the righteous blaze of anger that I hardly noticed as he fell into the dust of the yard. I hardly noticed as Mary finally left my side, ran to him, helped him to rise. I hardly noticed as Judas, in turn, held Mary back from returning to my side as my rage began spiraling outward. I hardly noticed as they eventually left the courtyard, terrified by my rage in a way they had never been of any of the horrors we had seen while traveling together. I had no room in me for anything but that blinding fury. I was angry at the Romans for bringing this corruption into my holy land. I was furious with the priests for allowing us to become ripe for that Roman deflowering. Most of all... most of all, I was angry with G-d. I was furious with G-d. How could he let this happen? How could he imbue me with the desire to fix it and then strip me from the people before I had barely begun to accomplish that end?
And so I raged. I blindly destroyed. I spent my fury on the fire pits, the bottles of wine, the trays of money and gambling chits. And when I finished my destruction, when I had chased them all from the Temple - at least for that night - I fell into despair.
I wandered the streets, hopeless, dark and dismal thoughts crowding my mind. My work was not finished. I had accomplished but the smallest portion of what G-d had surely meant for me to do. I did not understand how my death would serve that purpose when my life had not. I did not understand.
The sky grew dim around me, the streets dark and twisted. This place was not safe. I knew it. I could feel it. And when the second stooped figure in ragged cloth stumbled across my path, I knew with certainty where my steps had led me... the leper colony. I could not even summon the will to be afraid. If I already knew the time and place I was to die, why should it matter? What difference would it make if I were to contract leprosy beforehand?
The things they wanted were both simpler and more complex than what the crowds had wanted. They wanted my touch, my grace. They wished to be healed of their hurts, to spend their lives in less misery... to be noticed, to be shown a modicum of care. I did what I could, doled out my compassion and my empathy to them as though I had them in boundless supply to be shared and still they took more. They took and they took and they took. One became two, who became four, who became eight... sixteen... thirty-two... and more. There were so many I could not count them all. They pressed in, begging for a release from the pain, for me to heal what could not be healed, for me to be the Messiah they had so longed for to deliver them from the evils of this world... and I could not be. I could not be for them what they wished. I could not save them. I could not even save myself.
The crowd pressed in, clawing at me, pushing me, shoving me, shaking me when I failed to give them what they wanted. I hoped then... I hoped for a terrible thing. I hoped to die. I hoped that their skeletal, claw-like and bleeding hands would rip me to shreds and leave of me nothing for the priests or the Romans to use to make an example. I wished that they would overturn G-d's plan for me and end my own suffering.
That prayer, of course, went unanswered, and my salvation came in a most unlikely form. When my last attempt to win free of the mob failed and I screamed out my desperate pleas for them to leave me be, for them to fix their own sordid lives for I could not... there was Judas. My love. My hope. My salvation. He fought his way through the crowd to my side like an avenging angel, sent the lepers and the beggars away with one furiously protective look.
I almost could not meet his eyes, not after what I had done, but to my surprise when I did... there was no condemnation there. There was only pain. Be it pain for me or for himself, though, I could not have said. When I attempted to speak, to explain to him my fear, my anger, my own pain... he simply shook his head, shushed me. He settled his outer robe over me and pulled me back to rest against his chest, the smell of him in the fabric and the feel of his arms around me doing more to warm me than the course linen alone ever could have. He eased me to the ground, leaned over me to press a gentle kiss against my forehead. I moved to pull him down with me, to keep him at my side as I had the previous night, needing him close... but he pulled away. He pulled away, his eyes so desolate that it made me wish to weep. I reached for him but no words or action on my part had ever been able to sway Judas once his mind was set. It was no different now. He left my side, took up a post nearby to watch over me as I slept... and ceded his place at my side to Mary.
I knew then that the moment I had feared had come. After my earlier display, I had well and truly lost him. I had finally pushed Judas away from me one time too many. This time... this time he would not return. My earlier fears had been prophetic. And with Judas' withdrawal, I knew one more thing - one more thing that I desperately wished I could unknow.
I had always known this - that it would be one of my own apostles who would be the one who delivered me into the hands of the priests and ultimately the Romans. I had known this since I was small. And Judas - my own, my beloved Judas - my nearest and dearest... I now knew that he would be the one to do it and, worse, that my own careless actions had been what would drive him to such desperate action. Heart heavy with that knowledge, I turned my face into Mary's chest... and wept.
I do not know what I expected that morning. What I do know is that waking up with Mary draped over me and Judas' presence scarce but for the lingering scent of him in the fabric of his robe was as great a disappointment as any I had ever had. I did not know to where he had fled that night, nor did I know where he was that morning, but I do know that Mary tried to hide what little of his presence remained when the other apostles finally joined us. She gathered up his robe to her breast and inhaled deeply of his scent before hiding it away from Simon's narrowed, prying eyes. He did not entirely approve of my association with Mary. I do not believe he knew of my relations with Judas, at all... though if he did not it was because he chose not to know. Judas was discreet, to be certain, but tent walls are thin and when he did not share tent space with me, Judas bunked with Peter and Simon.
Peter, at least, had come around to a more friendly attitude towards Mary. I often caught them, heads bent together in conversation, smiles on their faces. Peter had taken my teachings most to heart of all my apostles and fought to view Mary on her own merits, tried to see in her what I saw. It gave me pleasure to see him succeed, even as it worried me that such understanding was causing a rift in my apostles greater than the one that had initially been between Mary and Judas. Judas... Surely Simon and Peter had noticed his periodic absences at night. Perhaps that was why Peter was so kindly disposed towards Mary. Perhaps he hoped that with her presence, tainted and used though it might be, I might settle down with her, cease this forbidden relationship he, too, surely knew I must have with Judas.
I fought not to dwell on it. Regardless of whether Simon had known or not, regardless of whether Peter had known or not... there was no longer anything to know. I knew that with as much certainty as I knew the time and place of my own death. Judas would never again come to my tent at night. Judas would never again be mine to claim, nor I his. That was over as surely as if I had buried it myself and I mourned its loss as deeply as though I had. I wanted nothing more than to have Judas by my side in that moment. I wanted to run after him, find him out wherever he had gone the night before and spill the entire truth to him. I needed him to understand. I needed him to know that none of this was his fault, that he had a great part to play in this drama and it was one I would never have wished on he who was my most dear, that I would save him all this suffering if I could. The truth, though, was even simpler than that. I just... needed him. And I would never have him, again.
I forced my mind from those thoughts, forced myself to focus on the gathering crowd, on my apostles, on the growing camaraderie between Mary and Peter and how the advent of that alliance made Simon scowl all the more. There was trouble brewing there, between Simon and Peter, Simon and Mary. I would have to trust in them to sort it out themselves. I could spare no more attention for the petty squabbles that took place in our camp. I was out of time.
I did not see Judas all of that day. My apostles kept me busy, introducing me around the city, trying to sway me yet again to their own plans. I would have none of it, could not engage even in this small way. Finally, they gave up, left me to wander the city as I would with only Mary at my side. We spoke little, did less still than that. I do not think it such a far reach to think that we both dwelled upon Judas' absence that day. The difference was that Mary worried over what he might be doing... and I did not. I knew very well what he was doing, what he must be doing to fulfill prophecy. And so, I steered us clear of the Temple. Judas was there, even now, handing me over to the priests in word, if not in deed... and that was difficult enough. I did not want to compound the situation by risking us catching him out before it was time. And, still I wished with all my heart that I could take this burden from him. Perhaps I stayed away for that reason, as well. If I strayed too close, I would be tempted to turn my own self in just to spare Judas the pain of having to do it... and that was not what I had foreseen.
We returned to camp outside the city walls that night. After my display in the town square the day prior and my fit of anger at the temple, it was not safe for us to stay inside the city. Judas returned late, refused Peter's offer of food, refused Simon's query for news. He refused hospitality from all among the apostles, eyes haunted, mouth tight with pain, posture hunched as though to ward off a blow. My heart ached for him.
I went to him, unable to help myself, reached out a hand to touch the dark curls of that bowed head. Judas jerked his gaze upwards at my touch, stared at me out of those frightened, haunted eyes and it was all I could do not to take him in my arms right then, to try to explain that I understood he was only doing as he must. I realized then, the danger in that impulse. Judas would not understand that this had to happen. His loyalty was to the movement, yes, but his love was for me. As vilely as I had accused him of not putting me first in his affections, I had known even as I did so that it was a false accusation. For Judas, I always came first... it was just that he understood that I placed my ideals above my self and fought to allow me the luxury of doing so. As well as I knew that, though, I also knew that such devotion to my cause would not extend to helping me martyr myself. I knew that. And so, I could not explain, could not take the risk that he would somehow talk me out of my decision.
I let my hand drop, looked away. Judas watched me for a moment more before once again dropping his own gaze, focusing back on the fire. I walked away. As I left his side, though, I passed Mary walking in the opposite direction. She had a determined look on her face as she walked, but she spared a scornful one for me as she passed. She loved me. I knew that. But she did not approve of how I had been treating Judas of late, for, really... she loved him, too. That knowledge - that she loved us both equally - made me want things, things I knew I could not have.
I wanted a life with Judas and Mary at my side - a simple life. A life I could spend building with my hands - chairs, tables, homes. A life I could spend raising mine and Mary's children... perhaps Judas and Mary's children, as well. A life I could spend loving them both, pleasing them both, caring for them both. A life I could spend in a small town, teaching the local children to grow into adults who cared, who loved, who would spread light in the world. I would spend endless hours sitting in the gardens, in the alehouses, teaching my lessons to any who would listen, giving away my love, my knowledge, to any who wanted it.
Mary would care for me, bringing me pitchers of water to quench my thirst as I yet again talked myself hoarse in the square. She would bring me baskets of bread and cheese to share with the children who clambered over me, eager to hear my stories, to bask in my light. And at the end of the day, no matter where I was... Judas would come for me, a fond, exasperated smile on his face as he saw I had once again whittled the day away with my teaching, forgetting my latest project on the workbench. He would sit and he would listen, the same fond, attentive expression on his face as I taught any who would listen along with him... though he would know my words, as always, were really for him. As the day grew long and began to darken around us, he would come closer, drop a gentle hand onto my shoulder and grip it lightly, tell me it was time to go. He would reassure the children that he would allow me back tomorrow if I accomplished my work first. Then, when all the children were gone, he would bend over me, press his lips to mine to hide his amused smile.
That one gentle kiss would turn into two, into ten, into twenty, as he let his continued hunger for me take rein for just a moment. Then he would draw me away - away from the gardens, away from the tavern, away from the courtyard or the dusty street corner. He would tempt me with teasing smiles and touches, fanning my own hunger into a blaze until by the time we reached our home - a small, modest tent or shack on a small piece of land that perhaps we did not even own - we would be so hungry for each other that any thought of eating the meal Mary had prepared would be forgotten and we would instead turn to enticing her into forgetting it, as well.
I wanted that life. I wanted it so badly I fair ached with it. And I could have it. I knew I could. If I would just forget this duty, this hated responsibility, it could be mine. If I hinted, for even a moment, that I wanted those things, Judas would find a way to ensure I had them - somewhere safe, far from this corrupt and desolate land. That was why I could do no such thing. This dream, this desire for that simpler life, had to remain my secret alone or I would never have the courage to do what must be done... or to allow Judas to do what he must do.
I doubled back on myself moments later, unable to resist watching my two most precious on this, possibly my last night to do so. They spoke in hushed tones, heads bent together as they spoke. Judas' shoulders shook and I could not see from here if he wept... but in my heart, I knew he did. He wept for me, for himself, for the dreams he could feel dying around us in this dark city. Eventually he calmed, allowed Mary to draw him into her arms and stroke his hair, his back. I wondered for a moment if I might catch them out, again, as I had the other night, but it was clear after a moment that such activities were the furthest thing possible from their minds. They began to speak again, voices still low to avoid being overheard. In answer, I simply crept closer.
The conversation had turned to talk of me. Judas leaned against Mary, his dark eyes intent and a little afraid. He said, "When they say he is the son of G-d... moreover, when they say he is G-d, himself... Mary... do you believe them?"
Mary's eyes widened, her face became troubled and she looked away. I wished to go to them, to tell them that this should not even be a matter of debate between them, that they, as my closest companions should know the untruth of those words... but I did not. I could not interfere, because, in a way, I needed to know her answer as badly as Judas did and I hated myself for it.
Mary took Judas' hand in hers, her eyes softening, "Judas... my friend, my brother... you know as well as I that Jesus is no more than a man. He is a good man. He is a kind man. He is an exceptional man... but he is still just a man." Though my heart melted in relief at those words, at this sign that the situation had not spun that far beyond my control, it began to pound with fear again at her next words.
Mary placed a soft kiss into Judas' palm, then pressed his hand to her cheek, "But Judas, the things he does, the things he knows, the things his words can possess others to do..." Her voice turned hard for a moment, bitter, "I am a prostitute, a woman of ill-repute, yet he took me into his fold and gave me acceptance, gave me a better life, one of which I can be proud. He gave me back the ability to hold my head high in a crowd - he gave me back my soul. Is that not miraculous enough? Does he have to walk on water to be the son of G-d? So, sometimes... I wonder, my friend. I do wonder."
Judas slumped over, his curls falling forward to hide his expression from me, but his voice was rough with enough emotion when he spoke that I could clearly picture the look that would be on his face. He said, "Then I envy you those moments of wonder, Mary... my friend, my sister. I don't wonder. As you say, I know very well that Jesus is no more than a man... a good man, an idealistic man... a troubled man, but still, just a man. And as a man... I fear for him." Judas turned to face Mary, then, pulled his hand from her cheek to take both of her hands in his, "He believes in the essential goodness of mankind, believes that when they are told truth, told a better way, that they will lay down their swords and truly beat them into plowshares. He believes that they follow him because of the words he says, when truly they follow him for the belief that doing so will earn them a place in Heaven."
Judas rose to his feet, began to furiously pace back and forth, his hands buried in his hair and tugging at the curls. He said, "They no longer care about the words, Mary. They only care about pleasing him." He let out a bitter laugh, "The Messenger has become more important than his message... and I can't get him to see that!"
Ah, Judas... in that, you are wrong. I do see it. I see it and it causes me more pain than you can ever know. But it gave me hope that at least these, my closest, truest disciples, saw me for what I really was. It would make no difference in the end, but still... this one small truth brought me joy. The great wheels of fate were already set in motion here. I had laid the groundwork and my apostles would take up the work and continue it long after I was gone, would use these half-truths, use the wonder and the hope of people like Mary to bring all others to understand the importance of the message long after the Messenger had been taken from them... or so I hoped. It was the only positive thing I could imagine coming from this debacle, this warping of the simple truth of my teachings of love and acceptance.
Mary was soothing him, then, taming the force of Judas' anger, his fear, his despair. I would that it were me in her place, but it could not be. And there was some fundamental connection, some understanding between they two to which I was not privy and Judas now denied me the right of that closeness which we once both cherished. Mary had come between us in a way I did not foresee. I told myself that it was better this way, that they would have each other when I was gone... but that was cold comfort to me when I lay shivering and alone that night, pining after the warmth and connection I once had so close at hand.
Judas could not know this, though. I could not even let a hint of it reach him, for if it did, if he knew how much I missed him, still desired him... I knew he would come to me in a heartbeat. And that would have done neither of us any good service, especially not then. So I stayed silent and I watched and I envied Mary the right to take him in her arms as he wept out his fear and his pain... and then I took myself off to my cold, empty bedroll and cursed the inescapable truth of my existence and the loneliness which accompanied it like a bosom companion.
The next day dawned quiet, cold and with a sense of gloom in the air that hung over us like a shroud... my shroud. This day marked my last day of freedom upon this Earth, though none but I and Judas knew that it was so. He kept his distance from me in camp, always close enough to see me, but not always close enough to be seen. He was wild-shy around me like he had not been in months - years, almost - but it was his eyes that disturbed me most. Those eyes... anguished and sickened, they begged my forgiveness every time they met mine. I tried my best to give it as I could, to tell my dearest friend with my own eyes that he was forgiven for what he must do... but I still do not think he understood.
We went into the city that day, silent and solemn, to gather the supplies we would need for seder later that night. To my surprise, Judas chose to accompany Mary and myself, though he spoke little, choosing to act merely as a pair of hands and a strong back to carry what we purchased, turning himself into a mere beast of burden. I saw Mary at his side more than once that day, urging him to speak of what clearly troubled him, but he would not. His eyes, however, spoke more eloquently of it to me than words ever could.
Mary left us at one point, finding it easier to move about in the crowd without my far too recognizable face at her side. She slipped away into the marketplace, leaving Judas and I standing in the shadows. I opened my mouth, thought to attempt conversation, at least, but the pained look in Judas' eyes stopped me before I could speak even a single syllable. He stepped up behind me until there was no space left between our bodies and pressed his face to my shoulder, into the crook of my neck. We stayed there like that for several minutes, silent, both in pain, both unable to speak of what pained us. Had Mary not returned, I think I might have done anything in that instant to take this burden from him... from us. I would have told him all. I would have taken his hand and fled the city. I would have built that shed in some far off, ramshackle town. I would have resigned myself to a life of happy obscurity with none but he and Mary at my side. I would have thrown away my entire sacred mission just to enable him to lift his head once more.
But Mary did return. She returned to my side and Judas took the last of the supplies from her and pulled away, turning himself into a mere beast of burden once more. He would not meet my eyes again after that, stayed with us only long enough to deliver the supplies back to camp, then left, departed for G-d-only-knew-where... and my heart mourned his absence, mourned the precious hours, of which I had so few, that I would not spend in his presence. We did not see him again until that night at seder.
When Mary and I arrived, he was lurking around the edge of the table, barely close enough to be termed included, barely close enough for words to reach him. He moved as a man broken, beaten down. Mary sat down at my right and I took from her the unleavened bread, opened my mouth to say the prayers... and could not, not with Judas' broken eyes upon me from so far distant. It occurred to me then, that the only two people who would truly mourn my passing - would mourn the loss of the man I was, not the martyr I would become - were a whore... and a traitor. The others, my chosen, they would move on to the next Messiah, the next figurehead for their movement now that this one had run his course. And my two most loyal friends, my two best beloved... their names would be thrown into the mud for any to trample upon. Thinking that, dwelling upon it, I began to feel something that in all my time of foreknowledge of these events I had not felt. Deep in my heart... I began to rage.
I clenched the matzo in my hand so tightly it shattered into pieces. I could feel it as Judas drew nearer, pulled in by my flash of rage as he was by so little else, as though he could not help himself. I could hear it as Mary rocked back onto the balls of her feet, ready to rise to my aid should I require it. I did not. For this, I could speak for myself. I flung my words out across the table like poisoned barbs, hoping above all that this time they would find the appropriate targets and fearing above all that they would instead find the target they always seemed to - Judas. I said, "I would go easier unto the end were I not being delivered up to it by the hands of my own." Those at the table before me immediately leaned forwards, began babbling their assurances, their denials of my words. I held up a hand for silence, hardly daring to look up, to meet Judas' eyes for fear that he would take that contact as confirmation that my words were meant for him when that could not have been farther from the truth.
What Judas had done, he had done in love and in innocence. He truly did not believe that those in the Temple would do me harm, truly believed that there might be some peaceful solution that allowed us all to live. He was brilliant, my Judas... but he was naïve. The others at my table, the rest of my chosen, on the other hand... they had molded and manipulated me into the very martyr's end I had so fought to avoid for the first thirty years of my life and they had done it full well knowing to what end they brought me.
"I must have been mad, indeed, to believe that any of you would remember me even one hour past my demise!" I threw the matzo down onto the table, watched as Mary gingerly gathered it up and began passing it out. Instead, I picked up the goblet of wine, began pouring. And as Mary took the first sip, I spat out, "This wine... for all you care, you could be drinking my blood, such is the depth of your feeling for me. This bread may as well be my own flesh for all the difference it makes to you!" I picked up another of the matzo and broke it, ignored Judas' flinch at the loud crack it made as it broke, his aborted move to lift his hand and stay my actions. I said, "Remember this. Each time you raise food and drink to your lips, each time you recline in freedom at this table, remember whose blood, whose flesh and bone, bought you the freedom to do so." I turned bitterly from the table, said, "But that is a foolish wish indeed, for you to remember me so long after I am gone. One of you will deny me, not more than hours hence, disavow himself of any association with me. This is how much my teachings, my sacrifices, my long toil and pain have meant to my chosen. These are the rewards with which you shower me - denial and betrayal!"
Judas had come forward by then, an almost desperate hope in his eyes. We passed each other as I turned back to the table, our gazes meeting at last, and in his I saw such despair that it was its own kind of madness. He wanted me to reveal him, needed his sin publicly acknowledged, as though he wished to be punished and humiliated for the crime he had committed against me. This, though, I would deny him for as long as I could - not out of anger, but out of love. I turned instead to Peter, explained as gently as I could my foreknowledge of his public outcry of denial. I could not see why it would happen, but I could guess clearly enough. Once I was arrested, it would not be safe to be known to have stood at my side. I would not want my chosen to follow me into death and if such a denial would keep Peter alive to spread the word, to support Mary and Judas after I was gone... it was a price I would willingly pay. But I am human. I kept that understanding to myself, perhaps out of spite, perhaps out of envy, perhaps out of my newfound rage at my circumstances, who can know? Not I. I am not G-d.
As Peter wept at my feet, Simon half-rose to his and shouted back at me, "And what is this betrayal of which you speak, my Lord? None of us here has breathed even a word against you. We have done nothing but support you from the start. From whence come these wild and baseless accusations?"
I did not wish to say, did not wish to explain any further my meaning, but Judas... he beat me to it. Rising from the table, he shouted over even Simon's formidable bellow, "Cut out the dramatics! Surely your famed foreknowledge has not chosen now to fail. You know very well who will betray you!" I met his gaze for the second time that night, my own begging him to stand down, to let me spare him this pain, at least, but he persevered, pressed on, his tone changing to that of a plea as he came around the table, "At least allow me to explain why-"
No. No, that I could not allow. I could not allow that explanation, could not take the risk of it persuading me to alter my course. In my desperation, I lashed back, my words, as always, harsher than intended, "I don't care why you do it! Just go!"
Our gazes met over the heads of the others and Judas, as always, saw things in mine that I did not intend, would not have wished him to see. He breathed out, "You want me to do this... Jesus... you..." He looked around the table then, at the shining faces of our companions, the rapture as the zealots realized what my arrest would mean for their movement - a dead martyr is of more value to a warrior zealot than a live purveyor of peace on any day. As it dawned on him what I meant to do, that my arrest would be no escape, but would instead mean my certain death, I saw fear flood his body like the raging cold waters of the Nile. Judas reached for me, grabbed my arms and pulled me towards him, hissed out, "No. I will not do this. I will not allow you to make me the instrument of your destruction."
I shook my head, closed my eyes against the desperation in his, "It is already done, you fool. This has been predestined all along. They are waiting for you."
He gripped me tighter, shook me so hard it rattled my teeth. The very bones in my head seemed to reverberate with the movement. Judas said, "No. Jesus... I admire you, I love you, and I would do almost anything you ask of me... but I will not do this. I will dog your steps and ruin your every move for the cause if I must, but I will not sacrifice you on the alter of ambition - yours or theirs. You can not ask that of me!" He dropped his face to my chest then and I felt the warm dampness of his tears as he shed them against my tunic, "Please... Jesus, I beg you... do not ask this of me..."
It was selfish of me, I know, but I could not let it end this way, with Judas all but on his knees begging. I could not let my last view of him be of one broken and beaten, wailing and bemoaning his part in my fate. I needed him strong. I needed him full of fire, of anger. I needed him to be Judas Iscariot... my Judas Iscariot. I needed to carry that memory of him with me like a talisman, to know that he had passion enough to survive, to carry on my work without me. I allowed myself one brief moment, one last embrace. And even as I pulled him close, even as my body relished the feel of his against it, I spoke my poisoned words into his ear, "Save me your speeches. Save me your explanations and your honeyed words. I don't want to know. I don't care to know."
Judas jerked in my embrace, finally pulled away from me, eyes wild, breathing ragged, as my words hit home. He spat out my given title like the curse I had come to regard it as, "Christ. You deserve this. You deserve all of this." He lunged forwards then, as though to swing at me or perhaps to grab me in another embrace, but I will never know what he intended with that movement. Thomas and James leapt to their feet and restrained him before he could connect with it. He slumped in their hold, then, defeat written in every line of his body. His next words were so quiet that I had to lean forwards to hear them.
"To think... I once thought you were different. I thought..." Judas let out a bitter laugh, though there was nothing at all humorous in this situation, "I admired you. Jesus..." He raised his head then, eyes bleak with anger and despair, "Well, now that I know you have it in you to ask this of me... to use me for your own purposes without a care for my own will, my own desires - to use me like the whore I once was - now I despise you."
And, now, finally the truth - the truth I'd long suspected, but had not dared ask after. The truth of Judas' past, that he had shared with Mary, but never with me. And I could do nothing, say nothing, to ease the pain of my betrayal of him... nor his of me. I didn't dare. It would ruin everything and we'd gone too far down this road to turn back, now.
I raised my hands to cup Judas' cheeks, allowed myself the now-forbidden luxury of stroking them with my thumbs and said, "You liar... you Judas." He did not despise me. He could not despise me. I almost wished that he had it in him to do so. The truth was, he loved me still, as I did him, and so he would turn that hatred on himself, instead... and that was the bitterest tragedy of them all. I drew him out of the arms of my apostles, cradled him close to me for one last precious time - the instant yielding in his body to that embrace giving lie to his words of mere seconds before. I even went so far as to twine our fingers together before roughly forcing him from our company at last as I screamed, "Go!"
As he fled, a flurry of yellow to my right warned me just in time to catch Mary as she raced after Judas, arms outstretched. No. It was not yet time for that. This needed to be done. After... after it was over, she could go to him. I wanted her to go to him, to give him what comfort she could, to help him pick up what pieces there might be left to reassemble... but not now. Now, I still had need of her at my side... and I needed her not to interfere with Judas' now sacred task. She was stiff in my arms, refused to return my embrace as I clutched her to me, buried my face in her neck. She even went so far as to keep her arms raised away from my body, as though the very thought of touching me repulsed her... and my heart ached with it, desperate for one last embrace to show that I had not lost them both.
I was not to have it. Mary continued to hold her arms stiffly away from me, allowed me to embrace her while refusing to return that affection. She was angry, furious, and she would not forgive me easily for what I had just done. Perhaps she would understand in time, but not now. I let her go, then, let her run after Judas now that there was no chance of her catching him up. As she fled, I allowed myself to be led off by my apostles - and even in their company, I was more truly alone than I had ever been.
This was the beginning.
This was the end.
This was all there would ever be for me, forevermore.
I railed at G-d that night. I screamed and spat, begged and pleaded, howled out the grief and rage of a life unfulfilled, of a child abandoned, a lamb led to the slaughter. And still, I couldn't purge the pain. Worse, there was no answer. Worse still, I came to realize that I had not expected one. I could no longer hear G-d. His voice was silent to me, his wishes unexpressed. I was a child throwing a tantrum, refusing to act as bidden... and He perhaps had no patience for that. Or perhaps He realized, as I did, that it didn't matter, that the wheels were in motion and no matter how I raged, I would not escape this fate, so why waste His time convincing me it was so? Who is to say?
I knew that Judas would arrive soon, that he would come with a cadre of guards at his back, to take me away, to condemn me to my fate. Peter, John and James were asleep around me, ignorant of what was soon to befall us, even with my warning so recently rung in their ears. I had no reason to expect that tonight would bring anything but pain... that that pain would be all I would know for what remained of my life. I had no reason to expect anything different, but still... still I hoped.
He came to me on silent feet, his eyes hollow pits of despair, his body leaden with it. I didn't ask questions then, sensed that if I spoke, if I tried to bring the present into this moment, it would be lost, gone as though it had never been. Judas' lips, also, spoke no words. Still, we communicated. We had loved each other too long and too well not to understand what the other couldn't say. He had heard every word of my argument with my Father in Heaven, of that I'd no doubt. He knew, now, that I despised this end to which I'd brought us as much as he, was just as trapped in it and just as unable to see a way out. He did not speak of it. He did not even hint to me that he knew... but I could read him as well as he did me. I could hear the anguish in his hearbeat against mine, feel the anger in his hands on my body, taste the grief in his kiss. We were doomed, Judas and I. We always had been.
I did not know if the guards watched, if they were privy to all that happened between us. I didn't care. All I cared for was the feel of Judas in my arms, once more. In an echo of that very first time we had lain together, Judas lowered me to the ground, covered my body with his own. As he settled over me, as I realized his intent, to have from me what he had not since that first time, as I realized that he was no longer willing to yield to me in any way, even this, my heart leapt, rejoiced. It gave me hope - hope that Judas had found the strength he would need to survive me, to make his way on his own, hope that he might find happiness, might become his own man, capable of so much more than riding at my coattails.
I didn't understand then, that this meant none of those things. This was merely Judas finally granting me my own final wish - that we live as equals... that we part as equals. This was Judas saying goodbye.
We didn't have long, didn't even dare undress completely. We both knew we were stealing this time, attempting to make off with it like bandits in the night, yet knowing that we would never get past the gates of morning with our stolen treasure. Our coupling was fast, furtive, barely enough to satisfy even on a purely carnal level, much less the spiritual one we craved from each other. It wasn't enough, would never be enough. and still, we couldn't stop ourselves from reaching for more, from trying to hold on.
In the end, I lay wrapped around him, my arms holding him tightly to me, pulling his face down to merge his lips with my own. My body clenched tightly around him, ringing cries of pleasure and pain both from his lips, even as I devoured those cries with my mouth, desperate to keep as much of him to myself as I could, for as long as I could.
When we parted, as eventually we had to, Judas would not meet my gaze, refused to look up, to let me see what was in his eyes. But, then... I did not need to see. I knew. Judas' hands, his lips, his entire body, had screamed the truth to me as we lay entwined. He knew that I would not survive this morning... and now I knew that neither would he.
And so we come to it - the end of our sordid tale. I saw him again that morning, more than once - saw Mary, as well. In her extremity, she forgave me, and for that I am grateful. She pleaded with me to stop this, to give the Romans what they wanted so that I could live - she too sensed the darkness that had settled upon Judas and knew that she had no hope of redeeming him without me at her side, knew that if she could not convince me to live that she would lose us both. But it was not to be.
Judas shrank further and further into his own shadow, into mine, and in the end... I knew that I had truly lost everything. Judas took his own life that morning, unable to bear witness to what I had used him to do, unwilling to shoulder the last of that burden, perhaps determined to make me pick up my fair share of it - and I would. It was the least I could do.
At the end, when the Roman came to me, tried to convince me one last time to allow him to save my life, I could give him no answer but the grief and despair in my eyes - a grief and despair so absolute that they had become their own kind of madness. He could not save me. I could not even save myself. I would not save myself, not now that doing so would not save the one I loved, as well. That would have been a betrayal I could never live with. And so my fate is sealed. I am to die upon a Roman cross, follow my own, my Judas, into death. And that was fitting. More so than I can say. I am coming, Judas... wait for me.
The pain of the cross is almost welcome, the decay of my body in the burning hot desert sun a welcome relief from the pain in my heart. Mary stays by me, hour by hour, waiting for my body to finally give out, her tears the only sound I can hear over the roaring of my own failing heart.
I dream. I dream of that forbidden future, the one I had so desperately craved. I dream of Judas at my side, and Mary, of her belly swollen with our seed, of the family we would raise between us. I dream of futures more distant still, a glimpse of what may come as a reward for the pain of this life - a better life, one in which humanity's every need is granted as easily as it is wished for. I dream of a life of music, bright lights and dancing, of my Judas, sparkling bright as the sun and full of fire - all his promise realized. I dream of Mary, the heat of her passion, the gentle strength of her touch, her soaring laugh, free to be who she will, free of anyone's judgment but her own.
I dream and Judas and Mary are beside me, living that dream, living the life we should have had, the one I would have wanted for us... our every wish fulfilled.
I dream... and hope fervently never to wake.
A/N: And so we come to it. For those of you who wished a happy ending for them, I hope this was happy enough, or at least gave you enough closure to be satisfying. Thank you for sticking with me through the wait for RL to settle down. To have had any readers at all for this story was more than I even hoped for, so I thank you for that, too. ^_^ It's been a pleasure!