If only he could amble along like this with Theo.
Uri’s mind was uneasy. Apollos! Impossible! What on Earth did he see in these fanatics?
Marcellus, walking beside him, was unforthcoming; obviously he too was at a loss for what to make of the events of that evening, though Uri suspected that he did not have any cause for rejoicing. He had been wanting to break off relations with his father at all costs, and his his father had the cheek to join in a gathering of his new family, where not only was he greeted decently but cherished by them, as they visibly clasped him to their bosom. It must have been a big blow for the boy to feel that his father was butting into his life. He needed to find a way to reassure him.
Uri felt sorry for his son, but the news of Apollos’s conversion had hit him hard.
Apollos had been an extremely clever boy. He must have seen something in the sect that Uri was missing.
Uri therefore tried to look at the fanatics through Apollos’s eyes, and he had to admit that they preached their doctrine from a purely rational point of view. It was a message that every cowardly Greek and Jew in any city with a mixed population (most of them, in other words) desired: that Greeks and Jews should not kill each other as in Alexandria or Jamnia. Let not the powerful (in other words, Roman government) play them against one another; let them join forces in a common religion that preached equality between all men, whatever station they had been born into, exactly like the Stoics and Epicureans, or the most humanitarian of the minds borne out of Greek philosophy.
Philo had sought to communicate that same idea, in his own fashion. But he did not get through to the masses — how could he have, as his works were purely academic, full of complex intellectual material?
Perhaps it was more clearly visible from Corinth what had to be attained, and maybe also how. All that evening the references had been solely to Greek cities in which sizable Jewish minorities resided — those were the places inhabited by the adherents of the sect. They were trying desperately to invite the Greeks and the Jews into one camp before they set to slaughtering each other, which could happen any moment.
Jews who were living in minority communities or in mixed marriages in Greek towns were terrified that Alexandria’s Bane was going to reach them, and they were doing everything they could to forestall it. It could not be done from a position of power, as the Greeks were wealthier; it also could not be done by cultivation, for they themselves did not possess it, which left only the spiritual route.
A pity, though, to do it by way of such a demented faith! If there is a Messiah, there ought to be a radical change, too. If there is none, then the well-intentioned faith will simply crumble!
Uri came to a halt on the Fabricius Bridge, and Marcellus followed suit. Uri looked down into the darkness, where the Tiber flowed even more darkly below them.
This risen-again Messiah was not such a good idea. Only crackpots would believe in that — the weak, the feeble, the born losers. Those people would never become strong.
“Is the Anointed of the House of David?” Uri turned unexpectedly toward Marcellus.
Marcellus, startled, pondered a while.
“Isn’t that what you proclaim: that the Anointed is of the House of David?”
Apologetically, Marcellus explained:
“I haven’t been with them long, so I haven’t heard that.”
Uri shook his head and then went on to ask another question:
“How did that resurrection occur?”
Marcellus was relieved, because that he knew.
“Well, the way it happened was that the Messiah was accused of proclaiming that he was the Anointed, the king of Israel, so he was taken before the prefect, who interrogated him, then he was scourged and crucified.”
“And who was the prefect?”
“Pontius Pilate.”
Uri shuddered.
“A Roman prefect has no authority in religious affairs,” he said. “The Jewish court has jurisdiction! It should have been dealt with by the Sanhedrin.”
Marcellus knew nothing of the legal niceties, but he did say that as he was dying the Anointed had managed to convert one of the malefactors.
“Who was that?”
“Two malefactors, two thieves, were crucified together with him, so one of them.”
Uri broke out in a sweat and felt faint.
“What sort of thieves?”
Marcellus did not know: just some malefactors.
“Did Pilate sentence them too?”
“Yes.”
“They too were Jews?”
“Yes.”
“But the Roman prefect does not pass sentence on Jewish miscreants; no way does he waste his time with piddling matters like that! They are dealt with by the local Jewish courts, but then again the Jews don’t use crucifixion! Nor do they hand common criminals over to the Romans!”
Feeling very awkward, Marcellus kept quiet.
“When did it happen?” Uri asked.
Marcellus knew that.
“He was crucified just before Passover, on Friday afternoon, at the third hour, and the Messiah yielded up the ghost to the Creator in the sixth hour.”
Uri wiped off the sweat, which despite a cold breeze blowing from the west was trickling from his neck and the crown of his head.
He could picture his cell in Jerusalem. There were four of them: himself and three others.
“Dear son,” said Uri, “in the end, what is it that your people preach about the Anointed: is He a man or is He God?”
Marcellus closed his eyes and concentrated.
“He existed before the Creation,” he stuttered, “but that became manifest after His resurrection… Everything that the Lord has hidden from view becomes manifest sooner or later…”
“If the Anointed was there even before the Creator created the world,” Uri noted sharply, “then He could hardly have hidden Him from view.”
Marcellus yelled out:
“He has existed from the beginning of time, but only now has He manifested Himself!”
“Does He have an existence over and above the Creation?”
“Yes!”
“The Anointed is the Creator’s emissary, isn’t He?”
“He is!”
“Don’t you see a contradiction here? If the Anointed is subject to the Creator, then He couldn’t have existed before the Creation!”
His lips pressed tightly together, Marcellus obstinately said nothing.
Uri groaned:
“What is it that your people claim?” he asked. “Was the Messiah born a man? Did He have a mother and father?”
“He did!”
“Joseph and Mariamne, you said.”
“Joseph and Mariamne!”
“How is it possible then, that He was born to them when He existed before the Creation?”
“He’s the Messiah; for Him anything is possible! He’s the one for whom we have been waiting! And He came among us!”
Uri studied the face of his second-born son in the moonlight. Was it right to open his eyes?
“My dear son,” he said. “Are you aware of any other cases when Pilate had other Jews executed in the same way?”
“No, we aren’t,” Marcellus stated firmly. “The Eternal One marked Him out for this one and only offense.”
“Let me tell you something,” said Uri. “There was a time once when I was held in a prison cell in Jerusalem. Two rogues were locked up with me; they had not been sentenced… That Thursday night, late in the night, a new prisoner was brought in… He had overthrown the tables of the moneychangers, those who bought and sold in Temple square…”
Marcellus was horrified, shuddering, Uri could see.
“Did this Messiah of yours do anything of the kind?”
Marcellus groaned:
“Yes.”
“Did He kick up a fuss?”
“Yes, He did, but that’s not why He was crucified!”
“Did He get into a brawl in Temple square?”