The Last Temptation of Christ Read Free

Captain!” shouted the dwarfs in unison, and they raised their big feet, ready to start.
    But one of them, the skinny, cross-eyed hunchback who held the crown of thorns, clutched a prickly shrub and resisted.
    “I’m not going anywhere,” he screamed. “I’m fed up! How many nights have we been hunting him? How many countries and villages have we tramped through? Count: in the desert of Idumea we searched the monasteries of the Essenes one after the other; we went through Bethany, where we practically murdered poor Lazarus to no avail; we reached the Jordan, but the Baptist sent us away, saying, ‘I’m not the One you seek, so be off with you!’ We left and entered Jerusalem, searched the Temple, the palaces of Annas and Caiaphas, the cottages of the Scribes and Pharisees: no one! No one but scoundrels, liars, robbers, prostitutes, murderers! We left again. We raced through Samaria the excommunicate and reached Galilee. In one lump we took in Magdala, Cana, Capernaum, Bethsaida. From but to hut, ca ï que to caïque, we searched for the most virtuous, the most God-fearing. Every time we found him we cried, ‘You’re the One, why are you hiding? Arise and save Israel!’ But as soon as he saw the tools we carried, his blood ran cold. He kicked, stamped, shrieked, ‘It’s not me, not me!’ and threw himself into a life of wine, gambling and women in order to save himself. He became drunk, he blasphemed, he whored—just to make us see he was a sinner and not the One we sought. ... I’m sorry, Captain, but we’ll meet up with the same thing here. Were chasing him in vain. We won’t find him: he still has not been born.”
    The redbeard grabbed him by the nape of the neck and held him dangling in the air for a long moment. “Doubting Thomas,” he said, laughing, “doubting Thomas, I like you!”
    He turned to the others. “He is the ox goad, we the laboring beasts. Let him prick us, let him prick us so that we may never find peace.”
    Hairless Thomas screeched with pain; the redbeard set him down on the ground. Laughing again, he swept his eyes over the heterogeneous company. “How many are we?” he asked. “Twelve—one from each of the tribes of Israel. Devils, angels, imps, dwarfs: all the births and abortions of God. Take your pick!”
    He was in a good mood; his round, hawk-like eyes flashed. Stretching out his great hand, he began to grip the companions angrily, tenderly, by the shoulder. One by one, he held them dangling in the air while he examined them from top to bottom, laughing. As soon as he released one, he grabbed another.
    “Hello, skinflint, venom nose, profit-mad immortal son of Abraham. ... And you, dare-devil, chatterbox, gobble-jaws. ... And you, pious milktoast: you don’t murder, steal or commit adultery—because you are afraid. All your virtues are daughters of fear … And you, simple donkey that they break with beating: you carry on, you carry on despite hunger, thirst, cold, and the whip. Laborious, careless of your self-respect, you lick the bottom of the saucepan. All your virtues are daughters of poverty. ... And you, sly fox: you stand outside the den of the lion, the den of Jehovah, and do not go in. ... And you, naïve sheep: you bleat and follow a God who is going to eat you. ... And you, son of Levi: quack, God-peddler who sells the Lord by the ounce, innkeeper who stands men God as a drink so that they will become tipsy and open their purses to you and their hearts—you rascal of rascals! ... And you, malicious, fanatical, headstrong ascetic: you look at your own face and manufacture a God who is malicious, fanatical and headstrong. Then you prostrate yourself and worship him because he resembles you. ... And you whose immortal soul opened a money-changing shop: you sit on the threshold, plunge your hand into the sack, give alms to the poor, lend to God. You keep a ledger and write: I gave so many florins for charity to so and so on such and such a day, at such and