Jesus waved his arms in despair. “I didn’t say that! I didn’t say that!” he shouted. “I said, ‘Brothers, love!’ ”

But the poor were driven wild by hunger: how could they listen!

“Andrew is right,” they yelled. “First fire and the ax, then love!”

Andrew heard this, standing at Jesus’ side, but his head was bowed in thought, and he did not reply. When his teacher in the desert spoke, he was thinking, his words fell on men’s heads like stones and crushed them. But this man next to him portioned out his words to men like bread… Who was right? Which of the two roads led to the world’s salvation-force or love?

While all this was spinning in his mind he felt two hands on his scalp. Jesus had drawn near and gently placed his palms on the top of Andrew’s head. The fingers were beautifully supple and so very long that whatever they grasped, they embraced-they had spread out over Andrew’s entire head. Andrew did not budge. He felt the suture lines of his skull open and an unutterable honey-thick sweetness flow in, descend to his brain, reach his mouth, neck and heart, continue to his loins, ramify to the very soles of his feet. He rejoiced with his whole body, his whole soul-deeply, with the very roots of his being, like a thirsty tree that is watered. He did not speak. If only these hands above him would never go away! Now, after so much struggle, he finally felt security and inner peace.

A short distance away, Philip and simple Nathanael, the two inseparable friends, were having words.

“I like him,” said the gangling cobbler. “His words are as sweet as honey. Would you believe it: listening to him, I actually licked my chops!”

The shepherd was of a different opinion. “I didn’t like him. He says one thing and does another; he shouts, ‘Love! Love!’ and builds crosses and crucifies!”

“That’s all over and done with, I tell you, Philip. He had to pass that stage, the stage of crosses. Now he’s passed it and taken God’s road.”

“I want works!” Philip insisted. “The itch has begun to attack my sheep. Let him come first to say a blessing over them. If they’re cured, then I’ll believe in him. Otherwise, he can go you know where with the rest of his kind. Why shake your head? If he wants to save the world, let him start with my sheep.”

Night fell and covered lake, vineyards and the faces of men. David’s wain appeared in the sky. In the east a red star hung like a drop of wine over the desert.

Jesus suddenly felt tired and hungry. He wanted to be alone. The people gradually recalled the journey home, and their houses and the small children who awaited them. Their daily cares crushed down on them again. This was a flash of lightning-they had let themselves be swept away, but now it had passed and they had been recaptured by the wheel of everyday need. Singly, and in pairs-furtively, like deserters-they slipped away and left.

Overcome by melancholy, Jesus lay down on the ancient marble. No one held out his hand to bid him goodbye; no one asked him if he was hungry or if he had a place to spend the night. His face turned toward the darkening earth, he heard the hurried steps recede, recede… and then die out. Suddenly all was quiet. He lifted his head: no one. He looked around him: darkness. The people had left. Around him, nothing but the stars above; within him, nothing but fatigue and hunger. Where could he go? At which door could he knock? He curled up again on the ground, feeling reproachful and aggrieved. “Even the foxes have lairs in which to sleep,” he murmured, “and I have none.” He closed his eyes. A smarting cold had come down with the night, and he was shivering.

Suddenly he heard a groan from behind the marble and then muffled weeping. Opening his eyes, he perceived a woman crawling toward him on all fours in the darkness. When she arrived she unplaited her hair and began to sponge his feet, which had been cruelly lacerated by the stones. He recognized her by her scent.

“Magdalene, my sister,” he said, placing his hand on her warm, perfumed head, “Magdalene, my sister, return to your home and sin no more.”

“Jesus, my brother,” she said, kissing his feet, “let me follow in your shadow until I die. Now I know what love is.”

“Return to your home,” Jesus repeated. “When the hour comes, I shall call you.”

“I want to die for you, my child.”

“Do not be impatient, Magdalene. The hour will come, but it has not come yet. I will call you when it does. Now, go.”

She was about to object when she heard his voice again, and this time it was extremely stern: “Go!”

Magdalene began to descend the hill. Her light steps were audible for a short while; then, little by little, they were snuffed out, and nothing remained but the smell of her body in the air. But the night breeze blew and carried this away too.

The son of Mary now remained completely alone. Above him: God, his ebony night-face splashed with stars. Jesus cocked his ear as though he wanted to hear a voice in the starry darkness. He waited… Nothing. He wanted to open his mouth and ask the Invisible: Lord, are you pleased with me? but did not dare. He wanted to say many things to the Invisible, but did not dare. He was terrified by the abrupt silence which closed in upon him. Surely the Lord must be displeased with me, he suddenly thought, shuddering. But why am I to blame, Lord? I’ve told you, how many times have I told you: I cannot speak! But you have pushed me more and more, sometimes laughing, sometimes frowning with anger; and this morning at the monastery when the monks chased me in order to make me Abbot-unworthy that I am-and bolted all the doors to prevent my escape, you opened a tiny hidden gate for me, you dug your talons into my hair and threw me down here in front of this immense crowd. “Speak,” you ordered me; “the hour has come!” But I kept my lips squeezed tight and said nothing. You shouted, but I said nothing. Finally your patience gave out and you darted forward and opened my mouth. I did not open it, you opened it for me-by force; you anointed it not with lighted coals as you are accustomed to anoint the lips of your prophets, no, not with lighted coals, but with honey! And I spoke. My heart was angry; it incited me to cry: God is fire!-yes, just like your prophet the Baptist-God is fire, he’s coming! Men without law, without justice, without honor: where will you hide? He is coming!… That’s what my heart tried to make me shout, but you anointed my lips with honey, and instead, I cried, “Love! Love!”

“Lord, O Lord,” he murmured, “I cannot fight with you. Tonight I surrender my arms. Your will be done!”

As soon as he said this, he felt relieved. Lowering his head to his breast like a drowsy bird, he closed his eyes and slept. Straightway it seemed to him that he withdrew an apple from under his shirt, split it, removed a seed and planted it in front of him in the ground. No sooner had he done so than the seed germinated, pushed up through its covering of earth, formed a stem, sprouted branches, leaves, flowers-and produced fruit: hundreds of red apples…

The stones shifted; a man’s footsteps were heard. Jesus’ sleep took fright and fled. He raised his eyelids and saw someone standing before him. Happy that he was no longer alone, he calmly, mutely, welcomed the man’s warm presence.

The night visitor came forward and knelt. “You must be hungry,” he said. “I’ve brought you bread, honey and fish.”

“Who are you, my brother?”

“Andrew, the son of Jonah.”

“They all abandoned me and left. Yes, it is true that I am hungry. How is it, my brother, that you remembered me and brought me bread, honey and fish, all the riches of God? Nothing is wanting but the kind word.”

“I bring you that too,” said Andrew, the darkness giving him courage. Jesus did not see the youth’s trembling hands, nor the two tears which rolled down his pale cheeks.