The Collected Novels of José Saramago (135 page)

In the silence that followed, one could hear off in the mist, although from which direction one could not tell, the noise of a man swimming this way. To judge from the puffing and panting, he was no great swimmer and close to exhaustion. Jesus thought he saw God smiling and felt sure He was deliberately giving the swimmer time to reach the circle of clear air around the boat. The swimmer surfaced unexpectedly on the starboard side, Jesus was looking on the port side, it was a dark, ill-defined shape which at first he mistook for a pig, its ears sticking out of the water, but after it took a few more strokes he saw it was a man or a creature with human form. God turned His head to the swimmer, not out of idle curiosity but with real interest, as if encouraging him to make one last effort, and this turn of the head, perhaps because it came from God, had an immediate effect, the final strokes were rapid and regular, as if the swimmer had not covered all that distance from the shore. His hands clutched the edge of the boat, although his head was still half in the water, they were huge, powerful hands with strong nails, hands belonging to a body that had to be tall, sturdy, and advanced in years, like God’s. The boat swayed, the swimmer’s head emerged from the water, then his torso, splashing water everywhere, then his legs, a leviathan rising from the depths, and it turned out to be Pastor, reappearing after all these years. I’ve come to join you, he said, settling himself on the side of the boat, equidistant between Jesus and God, and yet oddly enough this time the boat did not tip to his side, as if Pastor had no weight or he was levitating and not really sitting, I’ve come to join you, he repeated, and hope I’m in time to take part in the conversation. We’ve been talking but still haven’t got to the heart of the matter, replied God, and turning to Jesus, He told him, This is the devil whom we have just been discussing. Jesus looked from one to the other and saw that without God’s beard they could have passed for twins, although the devil was younger and less wrinkled. Jesus said, I know very well who he is, I lived with him for four years when he was known as Pastor, and God replied, You had to live with someone, it couldn’t be with Me, and you didn’t wish to be with your family, so that left only the devil. Did he come looking for me or did You send him. Neither one nor the other, let’s say we agreed that this was the best solution. So that’s why, when he spoke through the possessed man from Gadara, he called me Your son. Precisely. Which means that both of you kept me in the dark. As happens to all humans. But You said I was not human. And that is true, but you have been what might technically be called incarnated. And now what do you two want of me. I’m the one who wants something, not he. But both of you are here, I noticed that Pastor’s appearance came as no surprise, You must have been expecting him. Not exactly, although in principle one should always expect the devil. But if the matter You and I have to resolve affects only us, what is he doing here and why don’t You send him away. One can dismiss the rabble in the devil’s service if they become troublesome in word or deed, but not Satan himself. Then he’s here because this conversation concerns him too. My son, never forget what I’m about to tell you, everything that concerns God also concerns the devil. Pastor, whom we shall sometimes refer to as such rather than constantly invoke the Enemy by name, overheard all this without appearing to listen or care, as if in contradiction of God’s momentous statement. It soon became clear, however, that his inattentiveness was a sham, because when Jesus said, Let’s now turn to the second question, Pastor immediately pricked up his ears.

God took a deep breath, looked at the mist around Him, and murmured in the hushed tone of one who has just made
a curious discovery, This is not unlike being in the desert. He turned His eyes toward Jesus, paused awhile, then began speaking, as if resigning himself to the inevitable, Dissatisfaction, My son, was put into the hearts of men by the God who created them, I’m referring to Myself, of course, but this dissatisfaction, one of the qualities which make man in My image and likeness, I nursed in My own heart, and rather than diminish with time it has grown stronger, more pressing and insistent. God stopped for a moment to consider this preamble before going on to say, For the last four thousand and four years I have been the God of the Jews, a quarrelsome and difficult race by nature, but on the whole I have got along fairly well with them, they now take Me seriously and are likely to go on doing so for the foreseeable future. So, You are satisfied, said Jesus. I am and I am not, or rather, I would be were it not for this restless heart of Mine, which is forever telling Me, Well now, a fine destiny you’ve arranged after four thousand years of trial and tribulation that no amount of sacrifice on altars will ever be able to repay, for You continue to be the god of a tiny population that occupies a minute part of this world You created with everything that’s on it, so tell Me, My son, if I should be satisfied with this depressing situation. Never having created a world, I’m in no position to judge, replied Jesus. True, you cannot judge, but you could help. Help in what way. To spread My word, to help Me become the god of more people. I don’t understand. If you play your part, that is to say, the part I have reserved for you in My plan, I have every confidence that within the next six centuries or so, despite all the struggles and obstacles ahead of us, I will pass from being God of the Jews to being God of those whom we will call Catholics, from the Greek. And what is this part You have reserved for me in Your plan. That of martyr, My son, that of victim, which is the best role of all for propagating any faith and stirring up fervor. God made the words martyr and victim seem like milk and honey on His tongue, but Jesus felt a sudden chill in his limbs, as if the mist had closed over him, while the devil regarded him with an enigmatic expression which combined scientific curiosity with grudging compassion.

You promised me power and glory, stammered Jesus, shivering with cold. And I intend to keep that promise, but remember our agreement, you will have them after your death. What good will it do me to have power and glory when I’m dead. Well, you won’t be dead in the absolute sense of the word, for as My son you’ll be with Me, or in Me, I still haven’t decided. You haven’t decided how I will not be dead. That’s right, for example you’ll be venerated in churches and on altars to such an extent that people will even forget that I came first as God, but no matter, abundance can be shared, what is in short supply should not be. Jesus looked at Pastor, saw him smile, and understood, Now I see why the devil is here, if Your authority extends to more people in more places, his power also spreads, for his territory will be the same as Yours. You’re quite right, my son, and I’m delighted to see how quick you are, for most people overlook the fact that the demons of one religion are powerless to act in another, just as any god, confronting another, can neither vanquish him nor be vanquished by him. And my death, what will that be like. A martyr’s death should be painful and, if possible, ignominious, that the believers may be moved to greater devotion. Come to the point and tell me what kind of death I can expect. A painful and ignominious death on a cross. Like my father. You’re forgetting that I’m your father. Were I free to make a choice, I’d choose him despite his moment of shame. But you have been chosen and therefore have no say. I want to end our covenant, to have nothing more to do with You, I want to live like any other man. Empty words, My son, don’t you see that you’re in My power and that all these documents we call covenants, agreements, pacts, or contracts, in which I figure, could be reduced to a single clause, wasting less paper and ink, a clause that bluntly says, Everything in the law of God is necessary, even the exceptions, and since you, My son, are an exception, you are as necessary as the law and I who made it. But with the power You have, wouldn’t it be simpler and more honest for You to go out and conquer those other countries and races Yourself. Alas, I cannot, it is forbidden by the binding agreement between the gods ever to interfere directly, can you imagine Me in a public square, surrounded by Gentiles and pagans, trying to persuade them that their god is false while I am their real God, this is not something one god does to another, besides, no god likes another god to come and do in his house what the latter forbids in his own. So You make use of men instead. Yes, My son, man is a piece of wood that can be used for anything, from the moment he is born to the moment he dies, he’s always ready to obey, send him and he goes, tell him to stop and he stops, tell him to withdraw and he withdraws, whether in peace or in war, man generally speaking is the best thing that ever happened to the gods. And the wood from which I’m made, since I’m a man, what use will it be put to, since I’m Your son. You will be the spoon I dip into humanity and bring out filled with people who believe in the new god I intend to become. Filled with people You will eat. There’s no need for Me to eat those who eat themselves.

Jesus lowered his oars back into the water and said, Farewell, I’m going home, and you can both go back the way you came, you by swimming and You by disappearing as mysteriously as You appeared. Neither God nor the devil stirred, so Jesus added ironically, Then you prefer to go by boat, better still, I’ll row you ashore myself so that everyone can see how alike God and the devil are and how well they get on together. Jesus turned the boat to face the direction from which he had come, and rowing vigorously,
he entered the mist, which was so thick that he could no longer see God or the devil’s face. Jesus felt alive, happy, and unusually strong. The prow of the boat rose with each stroke of the oars like the head of a horse in a race, and he rowed harder, they must be almost there, he wonders how people will react when he tells them, The one with the beard is God, the other is the devil. Glancing over his shoulder at the shore ahead, Jesus could make out a light, and he announced, We’re here, and continued rowing, expecting any second to feel the bottom of the boat glide softly over thick mud, and the playful grazing of tiny loose pebbles, but the prow of the boat was pointing instead to the middle of the lake, and as for the light, it was now the same magic circle of light, the bright snare which Jesus thought he had escaped. His head fell, he crossed his arms over his knees in exhaustion, one wrist resting on the other, as if waiting to be bound, he even forgot to pull in the oars, convinced that any further action was futile. But he would not be the first to speak, he would not acknowledge defeat in a loud voice and ask to be forgiven for having defied God’s will and also indirectly the devil’s interests, the devil being the beneficiary of the consequences of His plan. The silence was short-lived. Sitting there on the bench, God arranged the folds of His tunic and the hood of His cape, then with mock solemnity, like a judge about to pass sentence, said, Let us start again, going back to where I revealed that you are in My power, for until you submit humbly to this truth you waste your time and Mine. Let us start again, agreed Jesus, but be warned, I refuse to work any more miracles, and without miracles Your plan will come to nothing, a mere sprinkle from heaven which cannot satisfy any real thirst. You would be right if it lay within your power not to work miracles. Don’t I have that power. What an idea, I work miracles both great and small, naturally in your presence, so that you may reap the benefits on my behalf, but you are superstitious, believing the miracle worker must stand at the patient’s bedside for the thing to take place, yet if I so wished, a man dying alone, with no one at his side, without a doctor, nurse, or beloved relative within sight or hearing, if I so wished, I tell you, that man would be saved and go on living as if nothing had happened to him. Then why not do it. Because he would imagine he’d been cured by his own merit and start boasting, I am too good to die, and with all the presumption there already is in this world I’ve created, I have no intention of encouraging such nonsense. So all my miracles are Yours. All you have worked and will work, and even if you persist in opposing My will, and go out into the world and deny you are the son of God, I will cause so many miracles to occur wherever you pass that you will be obliged to accept the gratitude of those thanking you and thereby thanking Me. Then there is no way out. None whatever, and don’t play the lamb taken to be sacrificed, who struggles and bleats pitifully, for your fate is sealed, the sword awaits. Am I that lamb. You are the lamb of God, My son, which God himself will carry to the altar we are preparing here.

Jesus looked to Pastor, not so much for help as for a signal, Pastor’s understanding of the world must be different, he is not a man or ever has been, or a god, a glance or raised eyebrow might suggest a reply that would allow Jesus to extricate himself, at least momentarily, from this difficult situation. But all he reads in Pastor’s eyes are the words the shepherd spoke to him when he banished him from the herd, You’ve learned nothing, begone with you. Now Jesus realizes that to disobey God once is not enough, that having refused to offer Him his sacrificial lamb, he must also refuse Him His own lamb, one cannot say yes to God and then say no, as if yes and no were one’s left and right hands and the only good work the kind done with both. Because notwithstanding His manifestations of power, the universe and stars, lightning and thunder, voices and
flames on mountaintops, God did not force you to slaughter the sheep, it was out of ambition that you killed the animal, and its blood could not be absorbed by all the sand in the desert, see how it has even reached us, that thread of crimson which will follow us wherever we go, you and God and me. Jesus said to God, I will tell men I am Your son, the only son God has, but I do not think that even in this land of Yours it will be enough to enlarge Your kingdom as much as You wish. At last you speak like a true son, you’ve given up those tiresome acts of rebellion which were beginning to anger Me, you’ve come around to My way of thinking, therefore know that whatever their race, color, creed, or philosophy, one thing is common to all men, only one, such that none of them, wise or ignorant, young or old, rich or poor, would dare to say, This has nothing to do with me. And what might that be, asked Jesus with interest. All men, replied God, as if imparting wisdom, whoever and wherever they may be and whatever they may do, are sinners, for sin is as inseparable from man as man from sin, man is like a coin, turn it over and what you see is sin. You haven’t answered my question. Here is My answer, the only word no man can say does not apply to him is repentance, because all have succumbed to temptation, entertained an evil thought, broken a rule, committed some crime, serious or minor, spurned a soul in need, neglected a duty, offended religion and its ministers, or turned away from God, to all such men you need only say, Repent, repent, repent. But why sacrifice Your own son’s life for so little, surely all You have to do is send a prophet. The time when people listened to prophets has passed, nowadays one must administer stronger medicine, shock treatment, to touch men’s hearts and stir their feelings. Such as a son of God hanging from a cross. Yes, why not. And what else am I supposed to say to these people, besides urging them to repent, if they grow tired of hearing Your message and turn a deaf ear. Yes, I agree, it may not be enough to ask them to repent, you may have to use your imagination, and don’t make any excuses, look at the cunning way you avoided sacrificing your lamb. That was easy enough, the animal had nothing to repent. A subtle reply but meaningless, although meaninglessness too has its charm, people should be left perplexed, afraid that they don’t understand and that it is their fault. So I’m to make up stories. Yes, stories, parables, moral tales, even if it means distorting holy law a little, don’t let that bother you, the timid always admire it when liberties are taken, I myself was impressed by the way you saved that adulteress from death, and remember, it was I who put that punishment into the commandments I gave. It’s a bad sign when You start allowing men to tamper with Your commandments. Only when it suits Me and is useful, you must not forget what I told you about the law and its exceptions, for whatever I will becomes instantly necessary. You said I must die on the cross. That is my will. Jesus looked askance at Pastor, who seemed to be preoccupied, as if contemplating a moment in the future, unable to believe his eyes. Jesus dropped his arms and said, Then do with me as You will.