The Island of the Innocent Page 2

  The man turned and looked hard at Philemon. “Who are you?”

  “Philemon, son of Hector. And who are you?”

  “My name is Paul.”

  “Paul? Aren’t you a Jew?”

  “Very well,” he said sharply. “I’m Saul ben Jorah.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  Looking into the court, Philemon saw that the dancers now seemed to be possessed. One was shouting, “Blessed be our youth!” and another, “Blessed be our later years that atoned for our youth!” and a third, “Blessed be he who has not sinned!”

  The men known as the Pious continued to dance and hurl their torches, and the congregation began to chant a hymn in praise of the Name. While listening to the joyful chanting, which was supported by musicians and by the boyish tenor of the Levites, Philemon became aware that Paul was studying him. Without turning he said “Do I look like a spy?”

  Paul’s faint smile was cynical. “All people in Jerusalem are spies. Why are you here?”

  “Have I no right to be here?” When Paul did not answer, Philemon added: “I’m looking for a girl named Judith.”

  “All Jews have a sister named Judith.”

  “I’m looking for a friend named Reuben. By the way, you speak my language perfectly. Where did you study?”

  “In Alexandria.”

  “Praise the gods! I’m on my way there.”

  “I’m not.” Over Paul’s face there came a look of pity, mixed, it seemed to Philemon, with contempt. Speaking slowly, coldly, he said: “You’re very bold to come here. The Court of Gentiles is yonder.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you received the beating of a rebel would you understand?”

  In a low voice Philemon asked: “Do you mean that my life is in danger?”

  A little later Philemon slipped away and on the sixth day of the festival he realized the measure of his folly. By this time most of the celebrants had been exhausted by their outpouring of rapture and their need of sleep. Those who did not live here but had journeyed to the holy city had worn themselves out before reaching the gates; and since then they had been abandoned night and day to an orgy of thanksgiving. Never had Philemon seen a city more disheveled and demoralized by religious passions.

  In the forenoon of the sixth day, just before the hour which Greeks called the full market, he went to the arena where workmen were building a palestra. It was, he observed, similar in plan to that at Olympia, though the central courtyard was smaller and the colonnade was roofed only along one side. The apodyterion or undressing-room was absurdly small; and so were the clubrooms, bathrooms and storage rooms. Jerusalem stood on two hills with deep vales roundabout; there was no room here for a palestra of the kind with which Greeks were familiar.

  After watching the workmen for a little while, Philemon was turning away when he heard the awful screams of someone in pain. He was looking anxiously toward the temple when two men, an Egyptian and a Parthian, came running from the palestra court.

  “It’s up there!” cried the Egyptian to Philemon, speaking in Greek.

  The two men then ran toward the temple, with Philemon at their heels; and presently they all came in view of an angry mob who were dragging a bleeding creature by his feet.

  “Maybe he’s a leper,” the Egyptian said. The Parthian said something in a language unknown to Philemon; and the Egyptian, putting a finger to his nose, said thoughtfully: “I can’t smell any stink.”

  Philemon now realized that these two men had left their work because they had hoped to find here a few moments of entertainment. Their eyes were wide and aglow. Their mouths were relaxed. Both looked expectantly toward the approaching mob which was dragging a man whose arms were wildly fighting to free himself. To the Egyptian Philemon said:

  “Who is this man and why do they punish him?”

  “Maybe he isn’t a Jew. Maybe he’s unclean.”

  “You mean he’s been on holy ground?”

  “By the breasts that fed Horus, the poor uncircumcised dog must have gone into the temple courts! Ah, look!”

  The Egyptian and his friend began to dance up and down with joy. The Egyptian’s wig fell off, revealing a polled head; and the Parthian ceased his dancing and stared with malicious delight at the bald elongated skull. The Parthian had curled his hair and frizzed his beard. He had long mustaches, oiled and scented.

  “Hah!” cried the Parthian suddenly, and pointed to his friend who was fitting his wig to his skull.

  Philemon understood that the mob was taking the unclean one off holy ground. When they had him off holy ground, some of the executioners ran away to find stones and returned with their hands filled. There were thirty or more men and they were very angry. One of them seemed to be the leader. He flung his arms about and shouted and ran back and forth as though searching out the boundaries of the holy ground. The Egyptian and the Parthian, both grinning all over, waited for the stoning. The unclean one seemed to be conscious but exhausted. Several men were holding him by his hands and feet.

  When the leader gave a signal the men who were holding the condemned one leapt back, and a moment later a dozen of the men hurled stones. This, the Egyptian rapturously confided to Philemon, was known as the beating of a rebel. The Egyptian was so delighted that he was making gurgling sounds and movements with his arms, as though eager to hurl stones he found pleasure in making the gestures. The Parthian was grinning so broadly that the black halves of his mustache lay straight across his cheeks.

  It was all over in a few moments. When the Jews began to hurl stones the unclean one made a feeble effort to rise and fell back. Then a stone smote his skull and he stretched out, twitching, with one hand reaching up and grasping at emptiness. The fingers opened and closed several times and then the arm fell. When the dying one was helpless something seemed to be released in one of the men who had stoned him. He leapt in and kicked the man and beat him over the skull with a piece of mortar. Philemon felt enraged and sickened. The Egyptian and the Parthian, still grinning, turned back to their labors. The stoning was over now. The man was dead. Two men took him by his heels and dragged him away to cast him somewhere beyond the city’s gates.

  So this is what Paul meant! This was the beating of a rebel, of an unclean one, in the name of Israel’s God. This was religious fanaticism in the seed of Abraham. No wonder that Reuben had gone to Alexandria to study philosophy in the Museum’s quiet impersonal halls. No wonder that it was felt here that a great crisis was impending and that the sons of Israel would have to fight for their city and hills and vineyards, for their Torah and their lives.

  2

  BECAUSE THE WALLS of all houses were blind on the street side it was impossible for Philemon in passing to look in; but he did walk back and forth over the hills, hoping by some divination to find Reuben’s abode. The houses, separated by narrow crooked lanes, most of them shabby and filthy, all looked much alike, save only that some were larger and cleaner. In the course of a day he passed many people and looked sharply at all of them. When viewing men from behind he studied their clothes, knowing that pious Jews never mixed materials but wore all wool or all linen, if they could afford these. Reuben’s dress would, he imagined, be that of a Greek. He might affect the exquisite garb of the dandy, with a purple tunic over a crimson undershirt, held at the waist with a belt of fine leather and a clasp of silver or gold. His knees would be bare but his lower limbs might be covered with silken leggings of the same color as his tunic, against which the gold fastenings of the sandals would be conspicuous. His head would be uncovered, his hair curled, anointed and saturated with sweet scents. In Alexandria Reuben had shown great fondness for elegant raiment and sumptuous living. Philemon recalled that he had worn on the forefinger of his left hand the head of Zeus carved on an amethyst, and on his right hand the likeness of Apollo.

  “Not,” Reuben had said, “that I give a damn about Apollo and Zeus. But to put Abraham and Moses out of my life I shall for the moment let Zeus and Apollo in. Then I’ll throw them all aside, saying with Pittakos that though an honest man is not to be found, we can, if strong, cultivate truth, reason, and comradeship. Didn’t he say that wisdom is the only treasure that moths do not corrupt, nor thieves steal?”

  On the seventh day the great festival came to a close. The people had beaten the holy earth with willow branches until they had worn the branches out. They had sung hymns to the Name until their throats were hoarse. Some of them had debauched themselves with wine and love and now lay exhausted in their booths or along the city’s walls or down in the vale of the cheese-makers. On the eighth day a weary and subdued multitude left the city and went back to their villages, leaving behind them the odor of unguents, of crushed boughs, of human sweat and passion; leaving above all else their bored and contemptuous blood-brothers who were determined to assimilate to the nations around them the insignificant spot called Israel.

  Then one day in the palestra grounds Philemon found Reuben and he was so delighted to see him that he seized him and kissed his cheeks and forehead. After gazing at him fondly for a few moments he kissed him again.

  “Why, you son of Abraham, where in the name of the Virgin have you been?”

  “Son of Zeus, I’m tickled to death to see you! Tell me, have you read Euhemerus?”

  “For days I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Ah, I think you’ve been wenching, for I can smell it. Why are you here?”

  “To see you.”

  “Oh no. To see some woman, I suspect. Come, let’s go to my house and eat and talk.” And on the way Reuben asked again, his tone gravely mocking: “Have you read Euhemerus? Man, he proves that all the gods were only men to begin with. Was Yahweh, do you suppose? Was he Moses or Abraham? Was he
Adam? Tell me, why are you in this dreadful city?”

  “Why are you?”

  Reuben glanced round him and said: “Keep your voice down if you would live long enough to bless your sons—and you do have sons, I’m sure, recalling your way with women in Alexandria. Tell me, did life develop first in the oceans, as Anaximander says? What do you think?”

  “I think you’re dodging my question.”

  Houses in the country were only huts, modeled on the shape of the tents which they had replaced; but the basic structure of the city house was the walled court, upon which opened chambers and arched alcoves. Reuben had one of the handsomest homes in Jerusalem, but for a Greek, accustomed to the architecture of Greece and Egypt, it was offensively barren and commonplace. But a house in Israel was not built to invite attention; it concealed its master from passers-by.

  Philemon followed Reuben to the court and entered by the only ‘door’ of the house, a gateway leading to a narrow passage. From the court they ascended by clay-brick steps to the roof, for it was on the roof of his house that the typical gentleman of Israel took his siesta or sat over wine to talk to friends. On this roof there was an open court and several small chambers, one of which Reuben assigned to Philemon. He went then to the head of the stairway and shouted down into the courtyard. When a servant appeared, Reuben told him to fetch blankets and wine and figcakes. Philemon observed that Reuben spoke to the servant in his own tongue. Indeed, he despised his own language, which was so much less versatile than Greek; and once in Alexandria had cried: “I’d ask you to dinner, speaking as a Jew, but there’s no word for dinner in my language!—no, good God, nor even for a meal!”

  After they had sat with a flagon of wine before them, Reuben said: “Now tell me, you insatiable goat, why are you in this awful city, where brother hates brother and the father curses his own son? You tell me you met one named Paul, who is my friend. Did you know him in Alexandria?”

  “No.”

  “Poor unhappy fellow, poor brother of Hosah! Paul is bitter. Paul is vengeful. Paul hates Paul because he’s a Jew. That’s stupid,” said Reuben, and passed his cup back and forth under his nostrils, sniffing. “Until recently I had the pale yellow wine of Thasos—and how exquisite it is, like the refined scent of sun-ripened apples.”

  “This is good,” said Philemon, holding his cup up and turning the wine to catch the light. “What is it?”

  “Something from Laconia….Well, we were speaking of Paul. Have you seen Hosah?”

  “Who is he?”

  “You’ll find out, my sly fellow, for I know why you’ve come to this city. Hosah? He’s a dull and ridiculous creature who spends all his time with the writings of Moses. Hosah?—did you ask? An idiot who hates athletics, art, beauty, freedom, science, change—yes, change above all. And Paul hates Hosah even more than Hosah hates Aristotle.”

  “They are brothers?”

  “They have the same parents….Now tell me, why are you here? But don’t lie, for I know.”

  “I’m on my way to Alexandria.”

  “Lucky dog! Would that I were going with you! Beautiful Alexandria! What freedom is there! What brilliant teachers! What marvelous things I learned in Alexandria!—that the year has three hundred and sixty-five days and six hours and fifteen minutes and forty-one seconds. Great Naburianos! Great Epicurus, beautiful and wise Epicurus, who taught me that a body free from pain, a mind unruffled by desire or care—ah, what greater good can there be in life? Let no one, he said, delay to study philosophy while young; and when old, let him not weary of it. But Hosah! Flanked on one side with Jose ben Joezer, on the other with Jose ben Johanan, with Amiel ben Micah looking down from the clouds—Hosah at this moment is trying to figure out how many heathen souls it takes to equal one son of Israel in the sight of the Name! Has he heard of Heraclitus who said that all things were once fire and will return to fire? Oh no, he mutters in his beard and says Yahweh created the world when he spoke a word! When I think of Hosah I always remember that among the Persians fire is called the son of God.”

  Philemon was smiling.

  “Philemon, I’m so confounded glad to see you that I could almost treat you as my woman! By Artemis with her thousand breasts I could!”

  Philemon’s smile broadened. Jews, he had learned, were volatile. “Why don’t you go to Alexandria with me?”

  Reuben looked round him and listened. “Because, my friend, I’ve quit philosophy for politics. Some of us intend to make all Jews citizens of the world.” Spreading his hands and shrugging, he added: “Why should any fool have pride in race? What is the difference between two enlightened men? None. But I can’t go to Alexandria now. Why don’t you stay here and help us?”

  “In conspiracy and war?”

  Reuben began to speak, broke off and shrugged and picked up his cup; and Philemon added quickly: “Forgive me. But are you serious?”

  “I’ve asked myself that question. Why should I give a hoot in Hades whether stupid Jews go on being stupid and finally get themselves exterminated? Can it matter to me if some of them think Homer stole his stuff from Moses? Do I care if Hosah and his sister Angela and his sister Judith are going to be murdered by the King’s mercenaries?”

  “Judith?…What Judith?”

  “Do I care…”

  “Does Hosah have a sister named Judith?”

  Reuben leaned forward and stared at Philemon for a long moment. “By the God of Israel!” he cried. “Don’t tell me you’re back here looking for that simple wench! You fool, have you lost your mind?”

  “A little more wine,” said Philemon and offered his cup. When his cup was filled he said: “Instead of taking the more pleasant way by sea, I’m here. Is it to find you and assure you of my eternal devotion? Is it to find Melanie? Is it—”

  “Melanie!” cried Reuben, astonished. “Do you know Melanie?—tall, buxom, with her hair dyed yellow?”

  “Does she still dye her hair?”

  “God, it must be the same Melanie! You goat, where did you lie with her?”

  “In Antioch. And you?”

  “Here—I mean in her chambers—though as a matter of fact she comes here to drink wine with me and sing Sappho’s lyrics.”

  “Are her ways in love still as delightful as they were?”

  “What they were,” said Reuben, “I can never know. They ravish my senses. Gorgeous Melanie! So you came here to find her!”

  “Are you jealous? To tell you the truth I came to find Judith.”

  “Oh no, that’s too absurd! You could never lie with Judith unless you married her—and you can never marry her until you’re circumcised and pray three times a day. I hadn’t forgotten that you had an interest in this simple child; but by the nose of the high priest do you know who she is?…Well, I’ll not tell you. We must have a good dinner and delightful talk. Let’s not spoil our pleasures with women.”

  There joined them for dinner the young man named Paul. He was slender, almost frail, with delicate hands, a sensitive but handsome face, the heavy lustrous hair which crowned most Jews, and unusually large eyes suffused with sadness. Slaves had been busy, and when Paul came up the stairs the table was laid. Its principal meat course, roast lamb, Reuben had got, he explained with heretical delight, from a son of Aaron who took his priestly duties lightly. Besides the lamb there were two or three kinds of fish, a half-dozen vegetables, fruits, sweets, cakes and flagons of wine. All the food, it seemed to Philemon, was of choice quality and skilfully prepared.

  When Paul came up, Reuben arose and greeted him with a kiss and then ushered him into a tiny chamber, where a slave removed his sandals and washed his feet. Philemon was given the place of distinction on his host’s right. Reuben affected the Greek custom of reclining on a couch when he ate.

  Before Paul came, he had been telling Philemon that a very critical condition had developed in Jerusalem and in the whole of Israel. The new king, Antiochus, was clearly a man of monstrous ambitions, for already he was calling himself Epiphanes, meaning the Illustrious, though he had been wearing the crown only a little while and had in no way distinguished himself. He seemed to be a pretty good fellow—vain—but what king was not?—a little crazy—but weren’t they all?—pompous, treacherous, but, all in all, one with whom the Letzim expected to get along.