Great Lion of God (71 page)

“—
Saul, yet breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord, went to the High Priest and desired of him letters to Damascus to the synagogues, that if he found any of this way, whether they were men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. And, as he journeyed, he came near Damascus
—” (Acts 9:1-3)

“He sickens,” said a Roman legionnaire, leaning from his horse to speak in a whisper to his nearest companion.

“He is mad,” said the companion. “They say he has the divine disease.”

“The Jews say he has a devil,” said the first rider, and laughed.

But the second soldier said, “The Furies have him by the hair, and Medusa has turned his face to stone.”

“I would that I were in Rome,” said the first, wiping his sweltering face with the back of his hand, and cursing. “What a wilderness is this! It is as if Phaeton were driving his father’s chariot too close to the earth, and it has seared up all life and water and plant and man and beast. Regard those black vultures swinging against the sky! They are waiting to pick our bones.”

If not the vultures, then the Jews,” said the other Roman sourly. Nowhere are we hated as we are here.”

“Even their God hates us,” said the first soldier, and they both laughed though their eyes were uneasy, for the hatred of gods is a fearful thing. As they were very young and superstitious, they both furtively touched the region of their amulets under their armor.

They had left Jerusalem six days before, crossing the green Jordan narrow but full and in spate in the early season of the spring, her banks bursting with almond flowers and rue and mint and thyme and wild blossoms and the feathery gold of young trees, the fresh leaves on the oaks shimmering in rising light, the infant vines, gnarled and small but sturdy, and black, grasping the steaming soil, and all about them the intense emerald of fecund meadows and bright water leaping from stone and distant mounts growing round and soft with verdure and olive trees thrusting forth new silver and grazing cattle and little lambs bounding about their mothers. They saw little white houses standing shyly among sycamores and pomegranate trees, and flowering palms, and geese running indignantly before their horses, and children wading in pools and women milking goats.

The young soldiers were delighted by all this laughter and joy of the earth, as they passed through the Damascus Gate and crossed the river. They saw distant Jericho, her tall brown houses sullenly meshed together. But on the second day the earth was no longer exuberant with life and greenness. The wilderness was about them, stark and terrible and blasted, the sky white with heat, the desert floor gray and olive and rough with gravel, dust and stones and boulders, the far mounts like brass. Here lived silence and thorns and brambles and jackals and vultures, and springs were far and scarce, and strange mirages palpitated on the horizon—unearthly cities and oases and lakes and trembling purple shadows and columned temples and even the shores of a nameless sea.

They camped at night under monster stars both vivid and icy cold, and the desert wind bit through their leather armor and even their blankets, and they slept armed for fear of the robbers who roamed the wilderness searching for caravans. They slept about fires to keep away the beasts of the desert and often they saw yellow eyes glaring at them in the red light, and fearsome howls tore the appalling stillness of this abandoned land. They ate together, the young soldiers and their subaltern, but one sat apart, wrapped in his brown cloak, his eyes fixed on the fire, seeming never to sleep, rarely eating, drinking but a little, his face hidden in the shadow of his hood, his chin on his bent knees. And the soldiers would whisper together and shrug and wonder at his strength by day on his horse, and his sleeplessness at night, for never did he lie down and when he spoke they were startled, forgetting the infrequent sound of his authoritative voice.

“A direful man is this Paul of Tarsus,” the young officer would mutter, gazing at the man apart over his shoulder. “One cannot understand these Jews; one is particularly unable to understand this Jew. What are we about? To arrest his people in Damascus for blasphemy! If it were not so mysterious it would be absurd.”

“Still,” said one of his men, “I have heard tales that their God rises easily to wrath and vengeance and flies in a storm of fire, and has an outrageous temper, and levels mountains with the glance of His eyes and demolishes cities by the mere raising of His hand and can, if He wishes, divide the earth like an apple with His sword. One does not trifle with such a Deity.”

“I have heard,” said another soldier, “that His God is also tender and merciful and loves man. But that is manifestly ridiculous! What god can love men? Unless it is maidens and nymphs and dryads of much beauty.”

“It is possible that he is an oracle,” said still another, “or a soothsayer, and a wise man does not enrage such for fear of death.”

“Hah!” said the subaltern, lifting his big young shoulders, “I have been in this land of the Jews for longer than any of you, and I have seen one they call Yeshua but whom we call Jesus of Nazareth, and I saw him die, and many called him their God, but he died only as a man. They say he rose from the dead, but that is a tale of women. Nevertheless, I have also heard that the Jews are often sorcerers, so let us keep our peace and obey our orders.”

The soldiers were accustomed to campaigns and austerities and denials and adversity and hardship, and though these were not to be desired they could endure them. But they marveled that a civilian, a man reputed to be a scholar and a rabbi, and a man of the cities, and not a soldier, could endure what they endured without complaint, and be the first on his horse in the morning. One or two of the soldiers were convinced that he was either demented—and therefore had superhuman strength—or that he was semi-divine—and therefore had superhuman strength. No ordinary man, they thought, could live as he lived and not die of it, days ago.

Sometimes they found a cave in which to sleep, for which they were thankful.

And sometimes they heard Saul of Tarshish murmuring under the vast loneliness of the moon and the stars, and they made signs against portents and Furies and Hecate and Hecuba and the evil eye before they slept. It did not come to them that they accompanied a man in torment and agony and deep in the dark night of the soul. They rode behind him, seeing his powerful shoulders under his poor cloak and they caught glimpses of his pallid set face and nose and leonine expressions and afflicted eye and tortured mouth, and to them he was an enigma and often an object of fear.

“I have served You all my life, Lord, King of the Universe,” he would pray. “I have dreamt that You had turned Your Face to me knowing that I have obeyed all Your Commandments except for one evil day in my youth; I have believed You listening. I would rejoice to die at Your Hand! My Lord and my God—how I adore You! But there is suffering in my heart now, a greater suffering than I have ever known before. There is only silence where I thought there was a Voice. How have I offended You? If I have offended by a single breath—destroy me, for I cannot live in such pain! What is my sin? I do not know. I have imprisoned and flogged Your enemies, those who dared to blaspheme You. I am on my way, my heart one enormous burning, to right the wrongs committed against You. Gaze upon me, Lord, a beggar, a worm at Your blessed Feet, a sparrow beating against the prison of Your Fingers, a dry mouth open in weeping. What am I, that You should notice me? Nevertheless, I have served You with all my spirit and all my heart’s longing. Deign to give me but one radiant flash of Your approval, lest I die in my yearning for You and for Your Word.”

Out of his exhaustion and his pain and inexplicable sorrow, he would fall briefly asleep near the fire, his face on his bent knees. Sometimes he dreamed of Stephen ben Tobias, and he would cry out to the shining whiteness of that dead face: “I would have saved you, but you refused the saving, and I mourn for you, you youth of beauty and resignation!” On awakening he would say to himself, “Can it be I am being beguiled by a demon? Is that the reason for the blackness and melancholy of my spirit, for surely he was a sinner before the Lord!” But the depression and misery remained.

On the ninth day they knew they were approaching the fabulous city of Damascus for sometimes at noon, sometimes at sunset, they would see distant caravans on the horizon which were not mirages, and the awful desert air would bring to them faint voices and the petulant complaints of camels. Once at an oasis they saw that only night before an entourage had been there, for the spring was muddied and the pungent herbs trampled. The hot sky was becoming hotter; the young men suffered from rashes and their heads were under their helmets, and they wondered anew at the stamina fortitude of the man of the cities who led them, tireless and silent. The desert floor yellowed, the sky became a flame; shadows were sharp and black. The soldiers yearned for the nearing city and thought of girls and water and perfumes and something more to eat than dried beef and cheese and stale bread and more to drink than the common wine of the country, and fruit on sun-cracked lips and unguents on sun-blackened skin. They had compassion for their horses, whose eyes were starting and reddened and whose hides frothed, and they cared for them at oases before they cared for themselves. They did not observe Saul of Tarshish watching their boyish ministrations. He would think: I did not know that Romans had pity in their hearts for man or beast! And he was ashamed, and he remembered that the Messias would be a Light unto the Gentiles and he marveled that once he had rejected that prophecy, and he was humbled. They are only boys, he commented to himself. They are younger than myself, and I am young also.

On the morning of the tenth day he said to the officer, “I have been preoccupied with many thoughts of my mission, and so have given thought to nothing else. But in my pouch there are salves, and bottles of good wine I have not drunk, and excellent cheese and dates wrapped in silk. Tonight, you shall have them, for I need them not.”

The young officer stared at him, incredulous, then exclaimed, “Lord, you are a veritable divinity, in your kindness!” His boyish face was so burned that he was almost as black as a Nubian, and he went off to boast to his men that he had persuaded the rich and incomprehensible Jew to share his wealth with them. Saul overheard this. He had not smiled for a long time, perhaps for years, but now he smiled and the smile was youthful and even gentle. And, as he smiled, some of his anguish lifted.

On the tenth day he said to the subaltern: “Let us press on, even into the night, for then at dawn we shall be in Damascus, and can rest, weary though we shall be. As you know, Lucius, I am to be the guest of a man named Judas on the large street called Straight, you will go to your military quarters and remain there until send for you.”

Lucius saluted and agreed that they should press on, even into the night, for now the endurance of his young soldiers was lagging and fatigue was heavy on their limbs. But he again marveled that Paul of Tarsus, as they called him, betrayed little weariness and that his iron-blue eyes were not cloudy nor reddened.

The soldiers received fresh strength, knowing they were approaching the end of their wretched journey, and that night they celebrated with Saul’s wine and refreshments, then neatly put out their fire and gathered up their belongings and leaped upon their horses again.

The night was peculiarly lucent, the moon full and huge and burning in white fire, the desert floor streaked with black shadows. The sound of the horses, the voices of the men, the occasional laugh or snatch of ribald song, awoke gigantic echoes in the crushing silence, but now the young men did not glance superstitiously over their shoulders nor search for their many amulets. They would sleep in Damascus.

The moon rose higher. Midnight came and departed. The harness on the horses tinkled like little bells. The soldiers were quiet now. Sometimes they dozed in their creaking saddles, weary again. The hoofs of the horses struck fire on stones.

It was not possible, thought Saul, that the silence can become even more silent! He looked about him. The desert floor was like a still sea of white milk, scarred only by their shadows, and it had an odd shimmering on it, flashing and shifting and sparkling. The moon appeared to enlarge, to advance on the earth. The stars were one shaking mantle of light. Saul gazed about him with a quick sharpening of awe, and he searched his mind for a fitting Psalm to repeat. But nothing came to him. It was as if his mind had been emptied like a cup, a vessel, and naught was within now but a thin and unbearable thrilling. He put his hand to his brow, afraid of fever, but the sweat of the day had dried and his skin was cool. His heart, as if affrighted, began to beat in his throat and ears, and his flesh started.

It was then that fear struck him, a fear so profound that he became cold as death. It was an enigmatic fear, beyond mortality, overwhelming and nameless. Am I about to have a seizure? he thought with terror, remembering his mission. Am I about to fall from my horse, perhaps even to die on this desert? Lord, have mercy upon Your servant, Lord, have mercy—

But his mouth did not dry. His tongue did not cleave to his lips. His sight was clear and not distorted by rainbow scintillatings. There was no severe and sudden pain in his head, no tremblings nor preliminary jerking of his limbs. In truth, his sight was keener than ver before, and all his senses were alert like soldiers awakened by shout. He looked about him at the desert and then at the moon and the quaking stars, and his fear deepened until he was afraid he would die of it and his blood chilled. But what he feared he did not know. He glanced behind him at the soldiers. They were quiet now, some yawning, some drowsing. There was no fear in them.

But the fearsome terror mounted in him. His hand fell to the shoulder of his horse and to his increasing alarm he felt the animal quivering as if it, too, was startled into fear. It shivered, faltered, stared before it. But there was nothing there but the silent milky sea of the desert. Saul searched frantically for a prayer. His mind was as blank as a babe’s, and this affrighted him more, for never had his thoughts betrayed or fled from him. I am weary, weary, he thought in his terror. It is only that, and the enormity of this desert moon, and the lonely places and the ghostly silence, and the suffering I have endured. It will pass.