Kotikokura grinned.
Jerusalem! Was this Jerusalem indeed? The hills and the sky were unchanged,—but where were the houses, the streets, the cemeteries? I wandered about as in a dream, trying to find something that I recognized, that could serve as a guide. As in a dream, everything dissolved, shrank, united grotesquely together. I drew a map. Like a lost dog, I followed each line carefully, my eyes riveted to the soil.
Where my father’s shop used to be, there was a marsh now. Large frogs croaked, and a million insects buzzed ominously. Where the temple was, moss-covered rocks piled together. The palace of Pilate,—a highway upon which a driver urged a donkey whose ribs were piercing his sides like sharp elbows.
Kotikokura accompanied me silently, like a dog, faithful but puzzled.
I assiduously avoided one spot. Something told me that it had not changed, had remained perfectly intact, expecting my arrival—and perhaps another one’s. And yet, like some magnet that draws metal toward it, draws it and will not relinquish,—so the spot drew me, drew me.
“I must go, Kotikokura. I must go.”
He looked at me, not understanding.
“I must go alone…without you, alone!”
He looked startled. His arms fell and he bent almost in two.
“No, do not fear, Kotikokura. Ca-ta-pha must go only for a day or less…must see something…alone. He will return.”
I walked as a somnambulist walks, choosing neither one road nor another, allowing my legs to find their way. They would lead me to the place, I was certain.
The sun had climbed half way the hill to my right. The moon, like a bit of gray gauze, already torn to shreds, was vanishing quickly; two or three stars winked a few more times in great effort. Now and then my steps echoed noisily, as if to announce my arrival.
Had I whirled about myself many times? Did the earth under my feet rock as a boat? What whirlwind was blowing against my ears? I seated myself upon a rock, my head tightened between my hands. I dared not stir.
Why had I come alone? Why had I not fled away? The hurricane howled on. The earth rocked. If I only dared to raise my head to see where I was…if I only– – What was there to fear? If death, let it be death!
I stood up. What was this? Had I gone insane? Had all these centuries been merely a dream? Was I a captain in the Roman army? Was I no longer Cartaphilus, the wanderer?
“Thou must tarry until I return! Thou must tarry until I return! Thou must tarry until I return!”
“Stop!” I shouted.
The Cross shook. Was it the wind? Was it the earth? His eyes like two long swords pierced my head. I screamed. It was the same agony I had once experienced. A thousand years had not obliterated its memory.
“Tarry until I return!”
“Stop!”
I tightened my head with my hands, and began to run desperately. I fell.
“Tarry– —”
I staggered to my feet again. I looked at my hands. They were covered with blood. I wiped them in the dust.
“Tarry until– —”
I dared not look back.
“Tarry– —”
It was like a far-away echo. I began to run again and did not stop until I reached the city. I seated myself on a curbstone. For a long time, I panted, my mouth open. I rose and walked homeward. My legs were weak and unsteady, like a man’s who had just recovered from a severe illness.
A knight in armor galloped by. Two monks, hiding their hands in their sleeves like Chinamen, were grumbling against the rations of food they were receiving; several crusaders, ragged and thin, were sitting propped against the fence; in the distance, the tinkling of a leper’s bells…
“What a storm we had,” I said to a sentinel on his way to the barracks.
“Storm? When?”
“Just now…a little while ago… I thought the whole city would be shattered to pieces.”
He glared at me. “My good man, you had better go home and lie down. You must be drunk or ill.”
“Was there no storm?”
“Of course not. It is as fine a spring day as you have ever witnessed. Hunger must have driven you out of your mind. The good Lord Jesus doesn’t seem to be particularly overjoyed with the fact that we have recovered His Sepulchre. He lets us starve. Well, He knows best.”
How silly of me to have asked about a storm! I should have known that it was my own excitement, my own over-sensitiveness,—the storm in my breast… And yet, who knows? It seemed so real! Those eyes! The voice! Why had I not taken Kotikokura with me? He would have comforted me. He could tell me if what I saw was a phantasm or the truth. No, perhaps it was better this way! Some things must be suffered alone! Jesus suffered his Cross alone! Every man…
A soldier interrupted my thoughts.
“Sir, my master entreats you to follow me.”
I accompanied him a few steps. He helped his master, a knight in full armor, from the horse, and left us alone.
Was I in the presence of a great monarch? The armor made of red gold, was encrusted with precious jewels. The helmet was surmounted by a large rare plume, the tips of which were studded with pearls. The buckle on the scabbard of his sword was a tortoise of lapis-lazuli.
I bowed deeply.
The knight raised the helmet. I looked bewildered.
“Don’t you know me, Cartaphilus?”
“Salome!”
“You have just come from there… Cartaphilus?”
“Yes.”
“I was there yesterday…”
“Was there…a storm?”
She nodded.
“Jerusalem is not for us, Cartaphilus. We are stirred by too many memories.”
“Is it only that?”
“Who knows?”
“Did you see…him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he speak?”
“Yes.”
“Was it magic, Salome?”
“If magic…it was stronger and stranger than ours.”
We were silent for a while.
“Were you with the Crusaders, Salome?”
“I am the Red Knight, famous for many exploits,” she smiled.
“You should not have run any risks.”
“I have not run any. Can we afford to be hurt? I have heard of the chivalrous deeds of Count de Cartaphile of Provence, planting the Cross over the Crescent…”
“What a sorry victory for Jesus, Salome!”
“All victory is sorry…”
“Save only– —” I looked steadily into her eyes—“the conquest of Salome.”
She shook her head and tapped me on my shoulder.
“I must go, Cartaphilus.”
“May I go with you?”
“No. The time is not yet ripe. We must still seek…and must seek alone.”
“What?”
“I do not know. Perhaps that which when found is not worth the seeking.”
We remained silent.
“Salome, what shall it profit a man to be a thousand years old, if he cannot understand more than at thirty?”
“What are a thousand years, Cartaphilus? Only to those who live one generation or two, a thousand years seems a very long stretch of time. To us, ten thousand years are no longer than ten thousand days.”
“Ten thousand days are long without you…”
“Farewell, Cartaphilus!” She barely touched my cheek with her lips.
“Since you command it,—farewell, Salome, Queen of Women!”
She kissed my other cheek.
“Even in hell, Cartaphilus would be gallant.”
“And Salome a Queen, even in hell.”
We set out the next morning by the road I had taken at my first departure from Jerusalem. The second evening, as we reached the foot of a rocky hill, we saw two men fighting desperately, their faces covered with blood, their clothing torn to shreds. At our approach, they stopped, caught their breaths for a while, and were about to begin once more.
They were two brothers fighting over a piece of silver. I asked them for information as to the roads, and rewarded them each with a purse. When they were out of sight, I laughed heartily. Kotikokura looked at me, puzzled.