Christ the Lord - Anne Rice [87]
I went on speaking against their silence.
“And you must trust in me how I will do it,” I said. “Whether in signs and wonders, whether in moments of personal calling, whether in pointed and trivial or enormous demands! I call on you to follow me. To discover it with me.”
No answer.
“It begins now at this wedding,” I said. “And the wine you've drunk is for the whole world. Israel is the vessel, yes. But the wine flows from now on for all. Oh, I wish I could fix this as the final triumph, this lovely morning with its gentle paling sky. I wish I could open the gates for all to come and drink of this wine here and now, and that all pain and suffering and suspense would come to an end.
“But I wasn't born for that. I was born to find the way to do this through Time. Yes, it is the Time of Pontius Pilate. Yes, it is the Time of Joseph Caiaphas. Yes, it is the Time of Tiberius Caesar. But those men are nothing to me. I've entered history for the whole of it. And I won't be stopped. And I go now, disappointing you, yes, and to what village and town I head next, I don't know, only that I go proclaiming that the Kingdom of God is on us, that the Kingdom of God is with us, that all must turn and take heed, and I will declare it where the Father tells me I must, and I will find before me the listeners—and the surprises—He has in store.”
“We are with you, Master,” whispered Peter.
“With you, Rabbi,” said John.
“Yeshua, I beg you,” James said softly. “The Lord gave us the Law on Sinai. What do you mean—do you mean you will go now to roam through villages and towns? To cure the sick by the side of the road? To work wonders such as this in a tiny hamlet like Cana?”
“James, I love you,” I said. “Believe in me. Heaven and earth were made for you, James. You'll come to understand.”
“I fear for you, Brother,” he said.
“I fear for myself,” I said. I smiled.
“We are with you, Rabbi,” said Nathanael. Andrew and James bar Zebedee said the same. My uncle nodded, and let the others come between us with their clamoring, their outstretched arms.
My mother had appeared sometime during all of this and she stood far off, listening perhaps, or simply watching. I did not know. Little Salome, my sister, was there, with sleepy Little Tobiah by the hand.
Beyond them and far to the left, on the farthest margin of the garden away from us, amid a small grove of shining trees, there stood a tiny robed figure with her back to us, rocking from side to side, her veiled head bowed.
Tiny and alone, this dancer, seemingly watching the rising sun.
Little Salome came forward. “Yeshua, we must go home now to Capernaum,” she said. “Come with us there.”
“Yes, Rabbi, come back to Capernaum,” said Peter.
“We'll go with you wherever you go,” said John.
I thought for a moment and then I nodded. “Get ready to leave,” I said. “And those of you who will not, we must say, for now, our farewells as best we can.”
James was brokenhearted. He shook his head. He turned his back. My brothers clustered around him in perplexity and misery.
“Yeshua,” said Jason, “do you want me to come with you?” His face was filled with innocent urgency.
“Can you give up all you have, and follow me, Jason?” I asked.
He stared at me, blankly. And then slowly he frowned and looked down. He was hurt and torn.
I looked away again at the small distant figure.
I motioned for them to stay behind me here and I went across the garden towards her, the little dancer who appeared to face the light rising above the wall.
I walked the full length of the house, past the curtained rooms of the women. I walked over the scattered petals where earlier