He nodded. Presbyter Johannes entered, followed by four priests. He seated himself. The priests remained standing, two on either side.
My captor crossed himself, and made a long complaint against Kotikokura and myself. We were disturbing the peace of the river; we were blasphemous and cynical; we were frivolous, and preferred sin and pleasure to virtue and righteousness. He asked that justice be unadulterated with pity.
Presbyter Johannes stared at me, his brows knit. Did he recognize me? Was I merely a culprit?
He ordered everybody except myself and Kotikokura to leave the courtroom and continued to stare at me for a long while, saying nothing.
“Once more you have blasphemed against our Lord!” he thundered.
“John…” I asked mildly.
“Yes, I am John…and you are Isaac… Isaac Laquedem!”
“John,” I whispered, almost pathetically.
“You rejected the words of the Lamb and you still wander like a hunted beast.” His lips twisted into a malevolent snarl.
“John.”
“I warned you, but you shrugged your shoulders. Do you believe in Jesus now?”
I shook my head.
“Cursed and damned forever!”
“John,” I whispered, and my eyes filled with tears.
“Weep, for you have reason to weep if your heart is stone and your brain a forest of thistles that will not permit truth to pass through except bleeding and mutilated.”
Kotikokura, not understanding the drift of our conversation, looked distressed and his eyes also filled with tears.
“Cursed wanderer and companion of men-beasts!”
“John.”
He looked up, crossing himself. “I thank Thee, O Lord, for having kept me alive long enough to meet Your enemy face to face again. I thank Thee, O Lord, for having permitted me to reach an age when my shameful sentiments toward Your enemy can no longer distort my reason. Amen.”
“John.”
His forefinger pointed at me, his words sharp and biting as a whip that is cracked, he continued: “And now you have come into God’s realm, and once more you have mocked Him! Once more you have rejected Him. You are neither man nor beast, neither Jew nor Christian, but a monster possessed by the Evil One.”
“John.”
“I could release you from your bondage; I could give you peace at last,—but I will not until you accept our Master and kneel before His Cross.”
I shook my head.
“No punishment that I can conceive can add to your curse. Go…wander again! Tarry, until the Lord Himself shall visit the earth again. And woe unto you, Isaac, when that day come to pass!”
I did not budge.
“Anti-Christ! Beast!” he shouted. Closing his eyes and raising his right hand, he continued: “I see the Beast rise out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns are crosses and upon his foreheads the names of his blasphemy.”
He remained silent.
“I see the Lord coming to slaughter the Beast. I see seven golden candlesticks. And in the midst of the seven candlesticks, I see the Son of Man: His head and His hair are white like wool, as white as snow, and His eyes are as a flame of fire. He has in His right hand seven stars, and out of His mouth goes a sharp two-edged sword, and His countenance is as the sun, shining in its strength…”
His teeth clenched, his legs stiffened. Two bits of foam dotted the corners of his mouth. I remembered that in his youth he had suffered from epileptic seizures. I was on the point of raising him in my arms as I did, so long ago, and speaking to him tenderly.
I yearned to whisper to him: “John, how have you forgotten your friend? I am Isaac,—he who loved you and whom you loved. Do you not remember the hours we spent together? Do you not remember that in each other’s company we discovered Woman? Oh, the starry nights when we walked together along the shore of the Jordan and upon the hills that surround Jerusalem! Oh, the golden words we uttered! John…has your heart turned to stone?”
The foam trickled over his beard. He had the appearance of some unclean animal. Could not Jesus relieve him of his affliction? He gave life without improving upon it. I had improved mine, but in spite of him…
John opened his bloodshot eyes.
“Go! Continue your devil’s work that your soul may become blacker and blacker. Fight the Lord, neglect virtue and sanctity that your punishment may be the greater. I shall remain in this place. When the Lord returns, He shall find one spot where His gospel is inviolate, one disciple more faithful than Peter…”
‘Still jealous of Peter,’ I thought. ‘My search for John is ended. That which may be found, is it worth the seeking? If time has such evil power, may I never behold the face of Mary again.’
“Go!”
“Come, Kotikokura,” I whispered.
I took Kotikokura’s arm and walked out slowly.
L: “KOTIKOKURA, WHAT ARE WE?”—DO THE STARS HAVE A PURPOSE?—GROWTH
THE Mediterranean had never been so beautiful nor I so sad.
“You cannot imagine, Kotikokura, what I have lost. You saw John…if it was really John and not merely the wraith of an evil dream– —”
Kotikokura made a grimace.
“But had you seen him in his youth– —”
He shrugged his shoulders and twisted his mouth. Kotikokura was jealous. Whenever I mentioned John’s youth and beauty, he became irritable or made gestures of depreciation.
John! John! Was it possible? Could a man change so, or was it merely a normal development? Was the youthful rebel destined to become the middle-aged hard and relentless zealot? Must the beautiful courtesan change into a hag, loveless and unforgiving? Had I escaped the inevitable only because I remained young? Were the mind and soul conditioned upon the functions of the body, upon a mere nerve, a slow or fast pulsing heart, a well-developed or atrophied muscle?
“Kotikokura, what are we? What are we?”
Kotikokura grinned.
“What shall I seek now, Kotikokura? Have I not already found what I sought?” Kotikokura continued to grin. He was not at all displeased by my disillusionment.
“And yet,—I cannot live without a purpose. It is foolish. Do the stars have a purpose? Does the Mediterranean have a purpose? Why should I?… And yet…”
“Whither shall we go, Kotikokura? Are we indeed wanderers, aimless and hopeless? Is it not for us scorners and unbelievers to crush under foot gods and circumstances? Are we not the flame that rises above the ashes?”
Kotikokura knit his forehead and pouted his lips.
“Let us never acknowledge defeat! Crusades, Jerusalems, Armenian Bishops, Johns,—what are they to us? We shall survive them all, destroying their illusions and superstitions.”
Kotikokura stamped his foot.
“Disillusioned? Why not? Disillusion is a sharp sword that cuts the chain about our necks. Pain? Sorrow? No matter! Does the mountain complain against the cloud that darkens it or the rain that beats against it or the snow that freezes its peaks? The mountain lives on. Living, after all, is what matters. If we live long enough, we shall conquer everything. We shall pluck and eat of every fruit on the Tree of Knowledge.”
Kotikokura struck his leg with his closed fist.
“God defeats man merely because He outlives him. Give man sufficient time and what god shall survive? Or if a god should survive, what a magnificent god he would be!”
“Ca-ta-pha—god.”
“Perhaps…but for that reason, Ca-ta-pha must be strong; must overcome himself, must step upon his heart as he steps upon withered leaves which trees shed in autumn; must grow—must become…”
Kotikokura’s eyes dashed to and fro.
“Kotikokura too must become– —”
He looked at me inquiringly.
“I do not know what, Kotikokura. That is unimportant. The seed which is sown does not dream of the possibilities that are within it. It must grow…it must break through the earth…it must rise high…high. That is sufficient.”