Steel (14 page)

Biblical drivel.

WHAT'S HAPPENING, JAIRUS?

Well, he's been put up. The cross is, of course, not at all as pictured in religious rite. It's really a low wooden structure resembling a letter T. The stem was already in the ground as I've said and the cross beam was put on top of it and nailed and lashed. The feet of the three men are only inches from the ground. That serves the purpose as well as if it were many feet.

And, speaking of feet, the feet of the three men were lashed, not nailed to the stake. And between their legs is a-a spar, a peg. It supports their bodies. I'd rather expected one under their feet too. Apparently I'm wrong on that count.

It is—
bizarre
though, how people in our time can believe a man weighing—oh, it must be at least one-hundred seventy pounds—could
hang
from a cross merely by nails through palms and feet. They attribute to the human flesh far more durability than it possesses.

Now the soldiers are …

WHAT ABOUT THE TITULAR INSCRIPTION, PROFESSOR?

Oh, yes, yes. Well, they
are
in three languages, it appears. There's Greek. There's Hebrew and Latin. Let me see … uh …
Jesus of … Nazareth
—yes—
Jesus of Nazareth. The … King … King of the Jews.
That's the complete inscription. Have you got that?
Jesus of Nazareth. The King of the Jews.
Apparently John had some factual information about the crucifixion anyway. Even if he isn't here as he claimed.

Ah, yes. The soldiers are holding a drink up to Jesus. I assume it's the soporific intended to induce stupefaction that the Jerusalem women are reputed to have prepared for all such condemned criminals.

Ah.
He refuses it. He turns his head to the side. The soldier is angry. He draws back as if he means to strike Jesus. But he changes his mind.

The other two men are drinking the wine and myrrh the soldiers hold to their lips. They're smacking their lips. One of them says something. I didn't hear all of it. I heard the word
good
though. They're both smacking their lips.

One of them, apparently, is asking for the drink Jesus refused. He doesn't get it. He turns and jeers at Jesus for not drinking it. He speaks so fast I can't catch his words. I think he must be half drunk with terror anyway. Soon he'll be insensible from the drink though. That will be his release. Jesus chooses to have no release.

That's his privilege as self-appointed martyr.

YOU WERE SAYING BEFORE ABOUT THE SOLDIERS, PROFESSOR?

The soldiers? Oh—oh
yes.
They're casting lots for the clothes. I imagine I don't have to tell you that there's no robe I can see that has no seam. They're all three very ordinary robes with very visible seams.

Well, that seems to complete the basic details. The three are up. I'll study Jesus now a little. May I move closer?

IF YOU WISH. BUT BE ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN YOU REMAIN WITHIN THE ENERGY SCREEN.

I'll be careful. I'm moving. I'm about six yards away now. Five—three—t … this will do. I don't think I should … I don't think I'd better get any closer.

IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT?

Quite—quite all right, I-uh-
am
a little nervous, that's all. After all, this
is
Jesus. I almost feel as if he can—well, that's absurd. How powerful a hold superstition holds on the mind.

Yes, he's quite young. In his thirties, I'd judge. As I said, in good health and groomed, he might be a stunning figure. He might even understandably be taken for some sort of messianic deliverer.

His skin is clear. Dirty, of course, but … clear. His mouth is rather wide, full lipped. A strong line. His nose isn't hooked. It looks almost—oh, I don't know—almost Grecian, you might say. He
is
quite handsome. Yes. He's quite a handsome man.

The eyes are …

PROFESSOR?

Well, at least our theories are vindicated that later description of the crucifixion is almost primarily based on prophecy. It's obvious that very little in the Bible transcription of the scene is factual. There is no John, no mother of Jesus, no Mary of Magdalene, no others supposed to be here. I've heard no words from Jesus. No one has jeered at him except that thief and that was only because the thief was angry he didn't get the second drink of drugged wine. And there are no signs.

No, I think we can safely say that the later chroniclers, intent on substantiating the old Psalms auguries, put together the account of the crucifixion with Old Testament in lap. These Psalms, the 22nd, 31st, 38th and 69th to the fore, plus Christian imagination—made the crucifixion something—
quite
different from what it actually was. From what it
is
as I stand here.

I …
oh

WHAT IS IT, PROFESSOR?

He just …
spoke.

He spoke. He said—Eloi. He said
God
in his own language. His face is white and drawn. The lines of
pain
on it …

His face—it's so … so
gentle.
Even now in this moment of terrible pain, he …

Undoubtedly auto-suggested hypnosis, easily effected due to his exhaustion and emotional fervor. I'm sure the poor dev—man must feel some sort of … violent ecstasy of pain. Maybe he doesn't even feel pain at all. Perhaps his heightened body functioning, his exacerbated adrenaline flow—prevent feeling. It's perfectly feasible. His eyes are … his—his eyes are …

ARE THERE ANY SIGNS OF NATURAL DISORDER, PROFESSOR JAIRUS?

I assume you—refer to the earthquake recorded or the dark skies or the tombs rent open or a half dozen other things spoken about in the Bible and other sources.

No, I'm afraid not.

No dark skies. The sun is still very bright and very hot. The ground is as steady as a rock. The records
err
slightly. Obviously the authors of the records weren't satisfied with this and decided to add religious significance to an otherwise unreligious moment. Hand of God and all that rot.

It makes me furious, really. Isn't the moment enough in itself? Isn't it terrible and violent enough for … oh, the damnable pedantry of—!

PROFESSOR, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?

What?

ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? ARE YOU FEELING ILL?

I'm … quite well. Thank you.

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

PROFESSOR?

Those eyes. Those
eyes.
My God, they're so—they're so
hurt!
Like a father who's been beaten by his own children. Yet who still loves his children. Who's been set upon by loved ones and
stripped
and
beaten
and
nailed
and
humiliated!
Is there no—

PROFESSOR.

I'm—I'm—I'm all right. I'm quite—quite all right. It's just that … it
is
upsetting. This man has done nothing and—oh, my God, there's a
fly
on his lips!
Get off!

WHAT'S HAPPENING, PROFESSOR JAIRUS? ARE YOU—

They're giving him a drink. He must be horribly thirsty. The sun is so hot. I'm thirsty myself.

A soldier just dipped a sponge into a pail of
posca
, the soldiers' drink of vinegar and water. Now he's put the sponge on a broken reed which was lying on the ground. He touches the sponge to the mouth of Jesus.

He … sucks the sponge. His lips tremble. It must taste horrible—
bitter
and
warm.
God, why don't they give him a real drink—some cool water? Have they no pity for the—

PROFESSOR, YOU'D BETTER GET READY TO COME BACK NOW. YOU'VE BEEN GONE ALMOST FORTY MINUTES ALREADY. YOU'VE DONE WHAT'S TO BE DONE.

No, don't take me back yet—not just yet. A little while. Just a little while. I'll be all right. I swear I'll be all right. J-just let me—stay here with him. Don't take me, not now.
Please.

PROFESSOR JAIRUS.

His eyes, his eyes—
his eyes!
Oh my God in heaven, they're looking at me! He
sees
me! I'm sure of it! He
sees
me!

WE'RE BRINGING YOU BACK.

No, not yet. I'm—I must … I …

DON'T GET OUT OF THE SCREEN.

Out of the screen? Yes, maybe I can—I could …

YOU'RE COMING BACK.

No!
No, I'll break the screen if you try to bring me back! I'll—I'll go
through
it! I swear I will—don't touch me!

PROFESSOR, STOP IT!

I've got to stop them! I've got to
stop
them! I'm here, I can save him! I
can!
Why can't I take him into the screen with me and take him away?

JAIRUS, USE YOUR HEAD!

Why not, damn it, why
not!
I'm not going to stand here and let them destroy him! He's too good, too gentle. I can save him—I
can!

JAIRUS, YOU'VE DONE YOUR JOB! NOW LET HIM DO
HIS!

No!

LOCK THE SCREEN.

What! What are you doing?

WE'LL HAVE TO CHANCE BRINGING HIM BACK IN THE FEW SECONDS THE SCREEN LOCK WILL HOLD.

Let me out! God help me, let me free! Stop it, you don't know what you're doing!

QUICKLY!

No! Stop—
stop!
Don't take me!
Don't!
LOOK OUT!

*   *   *

They dragged him, frenzied and kicking from the platform. They carried him into the office and put him down on a cot and Doctor Randall drove a syringe into his arm.

In a half hour Professor Jairus was quiet enough to swallow a glass of brandy. He sat in a big leather chair, staring straight ahead, his eyes lifeless. His mind had not returned with his body—it was still back on a lonely hill beyond Jerusalem.

There were things he could have told them; word pictures to bolster history. He could have described the clothes worn on Golgotha, the words spoken there, the moment in its bleak and brutal entirety—all this he could have told them. Told them especially that, in bringing him back so quickly, they had caused the phenomena which the Bible recorded as a quaking of earth and a renting of rocks.

None of these things did he tell them.

He told them he wanted to go home.

He put on his coat and hat and overshoes and walked into the gray murk of afternoon. His rubber covered shoes crunched in the hard packed snow, his eyes stared into the curtain of soft-falling snow.

The other things are not important, he was thinking. True or untrue they didn't matter. The water into wine, the lepers cleansed, the sick healed, the walking on water, the return from the grave—none of them mattered. Men who sought for hope in physical miracles only were childish dreamers who could never save the world.

A man had given up his life for the things he believed in.
That was miracle enough for anyone.

It was Christmas Eve and it was a lovely time to find a faith.

WHEN DAY IS DUN

Now bray goodnight to Earth

For day is dun and man's estate

Is cast into the vault of time

Tuck in the graveclothes of forever

Snuff the candle of attempt

And let fall across our eyes

That secret shroud of fusion

With dark mystery.

He sat upon a rock and wrote his text on wood, using as pen a charcoaled finger. It is just, he mused, that the concluding theme should be set down with this digit in limbo, this beggarly palpus which once pointed at earth and sky to arrogate—I am your master, earth, your master, sky—and now lies grilled and temperate among the rubbish of our being.

I sit at Earth's wake and shed no tear.

Now he raised funereal eyes to float across the plain a glacial contemplation. Between his fingers rolled the sooty stylus and breath showed nasal evidence of his disgust. Now here am I, he brooded, perched upon a tepid boulder and inspecting that momentous joke which man has finally played upon himself.

He smote his brow and “
Ah!
” he cried, spiritually swept overboard. His great despairing head flopped forward on his chest and quavering moans beset his form. Birthright disemboweled, he sorrowed, golden chance arust, man has found the way—but to extinction.

Then he straightened up to make his back a ramrod of defiance. I shall not be a cur bowwowing, he avowed. This mortuary moment shall not have the best of me. Yea, though death bestride me and plucks with spectral fingers at my sores I shall not cry for less; I am inviolate.

The tatters quivered royally upon his shoulders. He bent to write again:

Now let me relish death

As Earth gloats o'er her own demise

With eyes of shimmering slag.

One leaden edge of tongue peeped out through barricades of lip. Now he was hot.

Birds crow a serenade to man

Incinerated he

Prostrate sauteed skeleton

For all the gods to see

Birds peck a saucy tune with bristly nibs

Upon the xylophone of man's forgotten ribs.

“Capital!
Capital!
” he cried, stamping one unbooted foot upon the ashy soil. In the excitement of the phrase, he dropped his pen and stopped to pluck it up. Here, deposed antennae, he grimaced the thought, and then he wrote again.

Odd it was
, he scrolled,
that man throughout his ill-tuned history never ceased to plot man's own destruction.

Chorus:

More than fantastic

This alien two

Lived together

And never knew.