John (25 page)
'What do you ask of me?'
The voice is cold, drops the words from the raised seat like lesser coins.
'I am sent with the good news,' Papias says falteringly. 'Though we are small in number now, we will soon . . .'
'Again, what do you ask of me?'
The frankincense stings in the nostrils.
'We ask that you will receive us. We seek dwelling that we may go about the city to gather to us the community of faith. You have many buildings.'
'Wherefore should I receive you?'
'Because we are come in the company of the Apostle to bring the good news.'
'The apostle John?'
'Yes, the Beloved.'
'The one called the apostle John is dead.'
'No.'
'He is dead. Another pretends to be him; he you follow.'
Papias blinks. The world shifts out of its focus. Do the walls slide slightly? Does the light buckle? 'It is not true!' he says loudly. 'He lives. It is he. I have lived by his side these years past on Patmos.'
'John is dead. He was killed in Rome, stoned and crucified, years since. This man is another,' Diotrophes replies, his voice unchanged, his manner cool, as though he but tells the hour. 'I have it on good account. You are fools. It is widely reported. Your numbers have diminished as the truth has enfolded. This man tells outrageous falsehood and some believe him. It is the way
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the world. Ignorance is everywhere.'
Papias does not know what to say. The man sits before him, his hands upon his knees, his deep eyes slow and spiritless, as though he studies dull wares.
'This John,' Diotrophes says. 'He speaks of Jesus the Galillean?'
'Our Lord Jesus the Christ.'
Diotrophes shakes his head slowly. 'The Christ?'
'The Son of God.'
The phrase makes the elder man respond; he blows a half sneer to the ceiling. 'I have not heard it said outright until now,' he says. 'I had heard it reported but not spoken in my own presence. Jesus the Galillean, the Son of God! I should drive you from my house for blasphemy. You are a fool who has been taken for a fool.' Diotrophes's face warms with anger. His eyes now dark, he points a finger at the other. 'I should spit upon you for speaking such, have you beaten by my servants.' He sighs, looks above him, his nostrils wide as he draws to him the frankincense. 'But Diotrophes must be great of spirit,' he says. 'And is great of spirit. Your hope lies only in your ignorance. That you may be instructed. You are ignorant. John son of Zebedee was a fisherman who followed Jesus a prophet. Nothing more. Jesus was a wise teacher. Nothing more. John claimed for him this. Nothing more. John was killed in Rome by Romans. The rest is lies.'
'Jesus was the Son of God,' Papias says. His voice is quieter than he wants, as if he tells himself.
'Again, the Son of God?' Diotrophes raises his voice. Spittle flecks whitely his beard.
'It is what John believed,' the disciple says, then corrects himself, 'what John
believes.'
'There is no John, you fool. You know nothing of God. Do not you speak to me of God! Do not utter it! Do not defile my house with your blasphemy. What gives you right to say this man was the Son of God, or that one? Why not my servant Galen? Why not Absalom, why not Ezra, why not my fatted goat, why not my horse? Any one of them no further from the truth. God the One forgive you, for you are ignorant. You are not fit to say his name. Be gone. Go before Diotrophes is removed from Diotrophes and is ruled by anger. Go, tell this John he is false. Tell him to go back to his island. To die with the fools who follow him. Tell him Diotrophes knows God the One, the True. Tell him a new age is come, that his Gallilean Jesus is forgotten and his John with him. The holy are not ignorant fishermen now, not carpenter's sons, but wealthy and important people. Look at my house. Do you see my house? Is this the house of an ignorant follower of your Jesus? Is this not the house of one whom God loves? If God loves me not, why do I prosper? Diotrophes is preeminent in God's eye. You tell this. Go. Go tell him this. Be gone from my house.'
Papias does not move. What is happening cannot be happening. It is a dream. It is the infection in his blood speaking. His mind is disordered. He stares up at the bearded man, whose head shakes in scorn. What is he to say? What reply can be make?
Beside him appears the flaxen-haired servant. His audience is over. He is touched on the elbow to be led away. But Diotrophes cannot let go yet of the outrage, and before Papias has reached the doorway, he calls after him, 'Tell him he is discovered a liar and a blasphemer! Tell him if he comes to my door I will have him beaten away! Diotrophes will punish him for God. I will bring the wrath of God upon him. Tell him that!'
Diotrophes puts hand in fist behind his back, walks from the dais and out into a side chamber.
Papias's head spins. His cheeks are aflame. He is like a bird stunned from flight, falling. He cannot see what he passes.
Then he is outside in the street once more, and past the cypress trees and the avenue.
He cannot think what to think. Is he blind or seeing? There is such sudden dark. He leans to a wall to steady himself.
He does not see Auster watching, nor Matthias pass on his way into the house.
In the evening they are gathered again. Lemuel has good report of Gaius, who received him well, as did Demetrios, Meletios. Josiah was ill, Eli tells.
'What of Diotrophes?' asks Danil.
Papias looks at the serene face next to him. He is the apostle John, Papias knows he is. But he cannot unhear what Diotrophes said, nor can he break to John the news of hatred.
'Diotrophes, Papias?' Lemuel prompts. 'Did he receive you?'
'No. No, he was elsewhere; his servant told he was away,' he lies. He looks at his hands, sees tiny specks of dead gnats. He has not told John yet that Kester is not returned.
Their host, Martha, brings them wine and bread, her children about her. The disciples, unused to the presence of a woman and of children, sit quiet in humility. But John most easily demonstrates gratitude. He finds in Martha virtues forgotten. Or perhaps it is that in her he traces back to others of the women in his life. Perhaps in her modest manner, in her voice, in the soft sounds of her movements, he is carried back into the century past where was his mother, and Mary and the Magdalen and another Martha, and others, too, such women. Perhaps it is only now, after years on Patmos, that he recognises how greatly he has missed the virtue of woman. He is deeply moved, it is clear.
So, too, by her children. In the day the disciples have been absent, he has become familiar to them, and sometime in their presence reaches his hand out into the air and one or another takes it briefly, and the Apostle's face breaks in smile.
No other dwelling has yet been found. They must burden their host a little longer. Martha tells them they are welcome, though the space is small. At sunrise they pray together, the first frail day of their return over.
The darkness is past. The light is again.
We are in fellowship with you.
We walk in the light now, and have no occasion for stumbling.
In the morning John tells that he will go about in the city. The disciples, having witnessed the crush and noise of crowd, rough traffic of human commerce, are concerned for his safety.
'He will be knocked aside,' Meletios says. 'The numbers are too great. You all saw how the streets are thronged. He should remain here. You must tell him, Papias.'
'I?'
'Yes, you can tell him it is unsafe.'
'He is resolved. I have never known him to turn.'
'Then we must bear him on a litter,' Danil says. 'Or a chair, that he be out of the crowd. Ephesus is not Patmos. And if a number rushed forwards to touch him, even that they might touch one who had touched the Christ, what then might befall? Calamity and grief.'
'You should tell him, Papias, that if he must come, we will bear him above us.'
The Apostle is seated outside the doorway, his face to the morning light. The habits of his life on the island remain with him. His robe has been washed by Martha and all but shines whitely.
'Master?'
'What troubles you, Papias?'
'It is thought the city is too dangerous.'
'I am come not to stay hidden. I go into Ephesus to begin to prepare the way.'
'I have told that you would not remain here. Danil says that we bear you on a litter, or a chair shouldered between us.'
John smiles. 'Go, tell that they must not fear. I will walk. And I will come to no harm.'
Papias has known this would be the answer. He turns to bring the news inside when John says, 'Papias, the boy Kester did not return with you?'
The disciple pauses on the precipice of truth. 'He went away from me in the street,' he says. 'I could not find him after. I thought he would be returned here. But he is not come back.'
The old man nods slightly, says nothing.
They leave the house soon after in small phalanx, Papias and the Apostle at the rear. The day is already hot, the merchants and traders already installed. They come the narrow streets slowly.
Some standing in conversation, or idling in shadow, take notice of the thin figure robed in white, his long wisp hair, his blind eyes. What new sage is this? What soothsayer? Where will he set up? Perhaps he can read fortunes. Look, already he has followers.
The disciples head toward the open square of the State Agora and the basilica. Short, tense, Danil squares his chest, leads at the front. Noise of voices, cries of exchange and barter, of prices, weights, matters mercantile, swells the streets. Goods of all kind are borne to and fro. In his blindness, what must the Apostle think? He is as one bearing a candle flame. What readiness he might have to meet the jostle of the traders is nothing to what he needs next when they are arrived at the square. For here, in clusters tight and disparate, are gathered preachers, mentors, masters and followers, domini of varied belief. Here the trade is creeds, and the stock measured in disciples. Men call out for custom, promise reward, promise the favour of God, promise a place at the right hand. Some, in extravagant dress with red sash, with purple stole, or covering of snakeskin, make high drama, dance steps, drumbeat. All is clamour. All seek the attention of each passerby, make urgent claim of knowledge. Here seem assembled all those who interlocute between man and God, who have been variously touched by light, by fire, by vision. As the disciples move among them, their sleeves are pulled by youths in day employ to bring listeners.
'Come, come hither, listen to my master. Save your soul.'
'Here, hear the great Athos. Hear the salvation of the world.'
'Do not touch us, let go.' Lemuel spins back to see a youth try to drag the blind apostle to where a number of men stand in brown robes. With two hands Papias knocks the youth forcefully back.
'Stop! Stand back. Do not touch him!'
'Come, come to hear the word of John,' the youth says, and points.
'Of John?' Papias asks, startled.
'Of John, yes, John, come,' the youth nods.
And the Apostle and the disciples move across to stand then in stunned amaze and listen.
'Learn of the water of life,' cries one of the men. 'Unless you be baptised of the water of life you cannot enter to the kingdom of God.'
A man, wizened, gum-shrunk, approaches, upon his cheek a constellation of sores.
'All can be saved and given eternal life in the name of John the Messiah.'
'John was not the Messiah!' Lemuel cries. The crowd stirs about to consider him. But the baptiser is not deterred; he is used to all manner of objection, the goldsmiths have decried him, all and sundry.
'Yes, John was the Messiah. John came from God,' he calls down, 'came from the right hand of God to show the way to heaven. In his ministry here on earth he performed many miracles. Made the blind to see, the lame to walk. Often in the waters of the Jordan came healing, came salvation thanks to John.'
The old man drops to his knees. The crowd that has gathered presses forwards. Some who have been attending less dramatic presentations hurry over for the spectacle. Something may happen. You never know the hour. The sun burns hotly. There is brilliance of white light.
'John was not the Messiah!' Lemuel cries once more. 'John came before. To bear witness. He was sent by God to bear witness to the light that was to come.'
There are murmurs and the crowd presses to see, a swathe of sun-browned faces and dark beards. Is there to be a fight? Which tells the truth? Will they wrestle each other for victory of God?
The disciple is prepared to elbow forwards to further argue, but John says, 'Lemuel, come away.'
The Apostle turns and tells Papias to lead them to a quieter place in the square.
'Come back and find salvation!' the baptiser exhorts.
The disciples in a loosened knot slip back from the crowd. Some shake their heads at them for cowardice or remaining unclean of spirit. Then another has stepped forwards to be baptised and takes all attention.
In the square there are everywhere islands of proclaimers, about them small gatherings that stand and disperse as interest or boredom decide. Here are loud hollerers, ones who beat their chests across with thorned sticks and cry out to the blue sky, here others in heavy chains, so long worn as to have enwreathed the flesh with running calluses, red and purple and yellow. So, too, are small assemblies in attendance to doctrines obscure, prophets from distant lands whose names are unfamiliar but were, too, emissaries of God. There are desert gods, mountain gods, river gods, gods of rain, gods of particular places, particular months, days. Gods who demand sacrifice, payment, service. At one larger gathering there is proclaimed a great god of insects; those who would be his disciples may take inside them the very body and spirit of their god who is come on earth in the low form of beetles, centipedes, such. A man with great wool of hair and whiter-than-white of eye blears about, chants in tongues, then dips his hand into a timber bucket and draws from it the long wriggling body of a horned insect. Fine black antennae twist in the air. 'Take inside you the body and spirit of God!' he cries out, then opens wide his mouth and drops the insect inside. There is chorus of mixed admiration and revulsion both. He chews roundly, shuts his eyes, and intones some manner of prayer.
