Easter (1) And He, bearing his cross, went out to a place called the Place of a Skull, which is called in Hebrew, Golgotha. Where they crucified Him and two others with Him, one on either side and Jesus in the centre. Now Pilate wrote a sign and put it on the cross. And the writing said: JESUS OF NAZARETH, THE KING OF JEWS." John 19:17-19 Ivan had just zipped up his pants standing in front of the urinal, when he was suddenly attacked from behind and a strong hand inserted a dusty rag into his mouth. Then his gagged body, torn off the floor and wriggling furiously in the hard grip of two strangers, was quickly carried out of the comfort station and thrown into a Toyota minibus, where another guy with a fast, sure movement, sent Ivan into a deep chloroformed sleep. In a moment the car started with a jerk, left the spot and drove off down the street. On coming back to his senses, Ivan found himself lying on the floor of the car, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his head aching terribly. He didn't know who the three men were, the driver and two guys on the seats near him, neither did he know where he was being driven to and why the hell he had been captured. But he knew for sure that he had missed his St Petersburg - Moscow flight and that his wife, who was supposed to meet him at the airport, would be very alarmed when he didn't arrive. He managed to take a glimpse at the watch on the wrist of one of his captors. It was about two hours since he had decided to visit that cursed bathroom. Maybe, if he hadn't needed to go there, he would have been flying home now. "Damn it," he whispered and closed his eyes. Before long he felt with all his body that the even highway had turned into a bumpy dirt road. After twenty minutes of bouncing over pits and bumps, which gave Ivan none too pleasurable sensations, the car stopped and the driver shut down the engine. "Here we are, buddy, get up," said one of the strangers, "I see you ain't sleeping any more. Come on, get up and out." Ivan had no choice but to submit and leave the car. A heady, resinous fragrance, mingled with the bracing odour of spraying water, burst through his nostrils and filled his chest, replacing the stale air his lungs were full of after his unexpected ride. He looked around to see that he was standing on the dusty track lying between a spruce wood and a river. Sparkling, frothing waters pushed their way with a buzzing hubbub through the rapids of smooth, grey boulders that stretched across the fifty-meter's of the frisking stream up to the opposite bank fringed with slender fir-trees. "Don't be scared, you're safe here. Let's go to the house," the same voice interrupted his observation of the river and he noticed that he stood by a wooden fence that surrounded a small glade, from the far end of which could be seen a log cabin. A dozen goats peacefully strolled over the land whose soil had not yet forgotten the numbing coldness of snow, and which April had not yet dyed verdurous. A few noisy geese enjoyed the first hot sunbeams, paddling in a dirty pool that was obviously a recent snowdrift. After the creaking gate was opened, the company crossed the fenced area and entered the cabin. Having passed through the low antechamber, they came into a room faintly lit with sunrays penetrating through the small square of the only window. At the long table set in the middle sat five more men. On seeing Ivan, the tallest and most handsome of them arose and with a benevolent smile headed towards the captive. "Glad to see you, Ivan. Oh, you haven't yet untied his hands. Please do it immediately and then join us at the table," there was no trace of aggressiveness in his soft, suave voice, "I have an apology to make for the way you've been brought here," said the man as he enclosed Ivan's hands, now released from the rope, in his big, warm palms. "But there was no other way to convey you here." "Where am I?" were the first words that Ivan uttered. The man relinquished his hold of Ivan's hands and took a step back. "We're at the woods of Novgorod region. The river you've seen is the Msta. Well, take any seat at the table you like." Ivan cast a look at the table set with demijohns of homemade wine and crusty loaves of rye bread. "Thanks, but first of all I'd like to know who you are and to what I owe my being here. How dare you hold me in this ramshackle hut now, when my plane's landing in Moscow. What the hell does all this mean?" "My dear friend, I do understand your resentment," replied the man, whose behaviour proclaimed him as the host, "and, of course, you're absolutely right, we must introduce ourselves to you. My name's Pontius Pilate." "What? Pontius Pilate?" "Yeah, and the people you see at the table are Peter the apostle, then Andrew, John, James. The guys that came with you are Phillip, Mathew and Thomas. The rest of the saint apostles are going to come over here tonight." "Are you a kind of sect?" Pontius Pilate filled a glass with wine and emptied it in a gulp. "It's not the best name for our company, but you may call it so, if you like." "It's all very amusing, but I'd like to inform you that I've nothing to do with any sect." Ivan drew a chair from the table, sat down on it and crossed his legs. "So, you're the apostles," he said maliciously, "nice to meet you, saint martyrs. But I see there's one person missing. Where is your Good Shepherd?" "You mean Jesus Christ?" Pilate put the empty glass on the table. "Yeah, the King of the Hebrews. You see I happen to have read a bit of the Gospels." "There's no better thing in the world than reading the Bible," Pilate broke a piece of bread off a loaf and put it into his mouth. Having chewed and swallowed it, he went on, "Yes, Jesus Christ was missing for so long time, but now at last He's with us." "Could you kindly introduce me to Him?" asked Ivan, "'cause I've never seen the Saviour standing by anyone's side." "And you'll never see Him beside you," responded Pilate, "because our Jesus Christ is now sitting before me in a vulgar posture and speaking in a tone that doesn't befit His divine dignity." "What?!" Ivan nearly tumbled off his seat. "You mean me? I'm Christ? Who could believe that? How utterly absurd!" "You'd better try some of our wine to calm yourself down," Andrew the apostle joined in the conversation. "Yes, my friend's right, you shouldn't refuse our frugal dinner." Pilate tasted some more bread. "Now, my dear friend, relax and attend to my words. We've been looking for you everywhere, and now, after so many years of searching all over the world, we've got you here, and we at last can help you to fulfil your sacred mission." "What the hell mission?" "To save mankind through martyrdom and death." "But I'm not gonna die at all," rebelled Ivan. "Maybe you are not, but it's me who's called Pontius Pilate, and it's up to me to have you crucified." "Nonsense," Ivan shook his head in confusion, "you must be kidding." "It's not nonsense," replied Pilate, "it's inevitable reality." "Then you're nothing but a mob of maniacs." Ivan got up and went on in a tremulous tone: "Who gave you the right to capture a man in broad daylight, carry him scores of kilometres away and after all that, talk rubbish about saving the whole world by means of the death of this absolutely innocent person. You'd better look at yourselves, at your boozers mugs." "You're getting abusive, Ivan," the sweetness of Pilate's voice was replaced by evident irritation." "Abusive? You ought to be not only abused, but accused of an attempt to murder me in a sadistic way." "Do stop blaspheming for Heaven's sake," yelled Peter and hurled an empty glass at Ivan. Ivan dodged and made a dash toward the door, but Pilate's hefty grasp grabbed him by the collar and flung him on to the floor. "I tell you once again," Pilate roared over the prostrate figure, "I'm Pontius Pilate and you're Jesus Christ. Your sacred predestination is to be crucified by me in order to save all the people of the earth and deliver them from their sufferings. And should you not agree, I'm not going to be very kind to you at all." "Yeah, buddy, Pontius speaks the truth," said Phillip the apostle. "He's a nice fellow, but it's his ungrateful fate to kill you." Ivan shook the dust off his clothes and reoccupied his seat. "Well, Ivan, please don't try driving me crazy any more," Pilate had obviously regained his temper. "I understand very well that this kind of situation is pretty peculiar to you, but there's no need to be so afraid. It's not going to be as dreadful as you might first imagine. Everything will be made according the letter of the Holy Scripture. Today's Thursday. Tomorrow's going to be Good Friday. In the morning we'll take you to the hill we call Golgotha, it's not far from here. There we'll nail you to a wooden cross and when you're dead, we'll put your body in a tomb at the foot of Golgotha. And then, on Sunday, when everybody celebrates Easter, you'll resurrect successfully and it'll be the beginning of the new era that puts an end to Man's previous sinful way of life. You see there's nothing so fearful in that." "Okay," Ivan sighed deeply, "maybe all you say is true, but please explain why you've chosen me to be Christ. I've never seen any of you before, I know none of you." "But we know you very well," pronounced Pilate, "The first reason is that you're thirty-three years old - the age of Christ." "Oh, millions of men are thirty-three." "But you're the most sinless of them all." "Me?" Ivan cast a look of distrust at Pilate. "Yes, you've happened to make the least number of infringements of the Ten Commandments." "Incredible! I wasn't aware of that until now. In that case I should be in Paradise, not here," ' "No doubt you will be, but your way to Paradise lies through the act of crucifixion." "Well," Ivan stretched his hands out, "do you mind proving my crystal-clear purity?' "You haven't murdered anybody." "Most people have never committed that kind of crime." "You've stolen nothing." "Not only I have been properly brought up by parents." "You've never borne false witness against your neighbour." "I've just never been called to witness in the court. If I had, nobody knows what I'd have said." "But fact is fact, and what's more you've never coveted your neighbour's property. "Stop, stop, stop, please. Maybe the statement about the property is correct, but I remember now. I stole once." "What did you steal?" enquired an astonished Pilate. "When I was eight I swiped a handful of candies in the supermarket." "Ivan, don't be so droll. It was just a child's prank, not a crime. And the last thing - you've never committed adultery." "Well, d'you wanna know why I haven't? Because I'm very bashful. I would have been unfaithful to my wife millions of times. I wanted to do it, but it's my natural shyness and timidity toward the opposite sex that prevented me from doing so. It wasn't easy for me even to kiss my wife for the first time. You see I'm not a sinless person at all," Ivan's voice grew more and more tremulous. "If I've got no serious sins, it's only because of the dull life I'm leading, the way that it's never given me a chance to enjoy life through numerous sorts of sin, as most people of the world do. You must realize I'm just a poor kind of creature, a nonentity, not God's eon at all. A mere accountant can't be Jesus Christ." "Don't get so agitated, my dear pal. Now we can only see you being rather self-critical. It's not a bad quality at all, I must say. Of course, you've got some minor sins, but they can't be compared to those a common man commits during his life, so your case is a very rare one." Pilate splashed some wine into a big beaker and brought the vessel up to Ivan's lips. "I guess it's the right thing for you at the moment." "Hope it ain't poisoned," said Ivan. Pilate grinned. "Nope, the one doomed to crucifixion can't be poisoned." Ivan took the beaker and, with a few thirsty gulps, emptied it. "Great, Ivan. Take some more. Help yourself to bread!" the apostles became animated and boisterous. "Thanks," Ivan took a breath and put the vessel down on the table. "Okay, let's suppose you've convinced me that I'm perfectly suited for the role of Jesus. But the thing you'll never be able to persuade me of, is that I can resurrect in three days after crucifixion." "Nobody's going to persuade you of anything, dunce," Pilate flared up, "Don't you believe me yet?" "Or don't you trust the Holy Writ?" echoed Peter. "Yes, Ivan, look here," Pilate came up to the corner, took a we11-thumbed bible from the small shelf hanging under an icon, leafed through the book for a while and started reciting: 'For He will be delivered to the Gentiles and will be mocked and insulted and spit upon. They will scourge and kill Him. And the third day He will rise again.' Well, Ivan, do you have any objection to that?" "Anyway you can't make me believe that my death is able to change anyone's life for the better. It's just gonna be absolutely useless." "Okay, Ivan, Jesus Christ, as well as you, doubted the necessity of His execution. Listen, please," Pilate turned over a few pages and quoted another piece of the writing: 'He went a little farther, and fell on the ground, and prayed that if it be possible, the hour would pass from Him. And He said, 'Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Take this cup away from Me; nevertheless, not what I will, but what You will.'" "That's the limit!" cried out Ivan. "You may talk as much as you like of Jesus Christ, but I don't have the least wish to save mankind in the way you've been describing." "Why?" Pilate put the book aside. "Now, when mankind's been wallowing in dirty sins, endless wars, bloody terrorism and daily increasing crime; now, when the world is overfilled with envy, deception and spite, when millions are suffering from hunger, incurable diseases and every possible sort of natural calamity, at this very moment you're the only remedy for all the people who long to get rid of all those imprecations that have been tirelessly swooping upon our planet. Two thousand years ago God gave His Son not to let anyone perish, and now He's Just waiting for people to give one of their sons. Only after the hero's sacrificed, can the Lord grant everybody everlasting life. I wonder why Man is always so willing to accept someone's bounty, even if it costs the donor a great deal, and why a human being is so reluctant to return someone's generosity?" Pilate walked closer to Ivan and glared straight into his eyes: "Thousand of years many people were fighting with evil, but all in vain. Why? They didn't know the secret. They used to think that by exterminating evil, they were doing good for mankind, but in fact they became as sinful as their enemies in that cruel fight. Yes, they often sacrificed themselves for the welfare of other people, but they lost their lives in battles while they were slaying their foes who, as well as they, were human beings. There's no need to destroy anyone to defeat evil. To achieve that aim Man must kill only Himself without intending to take anyone else's life. Christ killed no one save Himself. That's the secret! You see it's so simple!" Ivan jumped up to his feet: "That's enough! I'm fed up with your demagogy and hypocrisy! You're impudent impostors and nothing more. Don't you understand that after my death the world will go on with all its sins as it's been doing during all of human history? People will never stop killing each other, deceiving, stealing, bribing or whatever. This situation will endure forever. Nothing will change, all will remain the same, while my body's gradually decaying in that damn tomb of yours. Under the pretence of a noble aim you simply wanna quench your perverted thirst for blood, but you shall answer for everything." "Shut up!" roared Pilate. "No more discussion! For so long time we've been striving to find the right man and now nothing can stop us. I don't care whether you like it or not, but I'll crucify your and help every sufferer to put an end to their hardship. I will do what I must do. By any means, I'll carry out my predestination." Pontius Pilate guzzled some wine from a bottle to soothe himself and then slapped Ivan on the shoulder: "Cheer up, guy. Now I want you to visit Golgotha and see the spot where the sacred mystery of crucifixion will take place. I guess the excursion will be very interesting for you. Brothers," he addressed the apostles, "please tie up his hands again. He once tried to escape and we must prevent him from doing it again." Within twenty minutes Ivan, escorted by Pilate and the seven apostles, was strolling through the wood along a path strewn with faded pine needles. The company had walked about two kilometres, when the track led them to the open, sunlit space of a meadow, bordered with the sparkling ribbon of the Msta on one side, and the high sheer wall of a granite outcrop on the other. "Here we are," Pilate stretched out his hand to point at the cliff, "welcome to Holy Mount Golgotha." "Let's show him the tomb first," proposed Peter. "Sure. Come on Ivan," Pilate led the group over to the foot of the rocky wall where a narrow opening could be seen, "this cave will be your tomb for the three days following the crucifixion," pronounced Pilate as the men stood before the crack in the granite monolith. "I guess, Ivan, you wouldn't mind seeing the inside. Friends, light the lamp please." When a steady flame blazed up in the kerosene lantern James had been carrying, Pilate's strong hand shoved Ivan into the cool darkness, where he was met by the anxious flapping of bat wings over his head. Before long, the darkness was dispelled by the light of James' lamp. The rest of the apostles and Pilate joined them, pushing themselves one by one through the narrow cave mouth. It was a small grotto two meters wide and five in length, its walls painted with obscenities. A few empty food cans were scattered round a heap of ashes, the trace of a recent bonfire. "Not too wet and pretty comfy," declared Pilate. "We've got to clear it up a little before we put the body over here," added Andrew. "No problem, we'll do it tomorrow," Pilate turned to Ivan "Well, my dear friend, how do you find this abode of your flesh? Yeah, it's a bit gloomy, but never mind. Now we'd better see the cross on the summit of the mount. I say, everybody, let's go outside." After they scrambled out of the grotto, the apostles conducted Ivan round the corner of the cliff, where the vertical granite wall turned into a less steep slope covered with thick brushwood. "Now we're going to climb up the hill," announced Pontius Pilate. "You know, Ivan, according to Saint John, Christ was carrying His cross up to Golgotha, but this slope is very steep, so we've made your task much easier. We've already erected the cross. Come on and have a look!" "I've got my hands tied," protested Ivan, "it's gonna be very difficult..." "Don't worry," Pilate grinned and nudged Ivan, "we won't let you roll down head over heels." Pushed from behind, Ivan made his way upwards, struggling through springy shrub stems. Panting and sweating, with frequent respites to catch his breath, he gradually, step by step, neared the top of the hill. Once upon the flat, grassy ground that was the destination of their journey, Ivan was confronted with the sight of a huge, tall wooden cross erected in the centre of the spot. On a large chest beside the cross, sat a man. On seeing the company, he got up and hurried towards them. "Ivan, let me introduce our friend Judas the Betrayer," said Pilate, when the man halted before the nine exhausted climbers. "For his sin of betrayal he's been ordered to keep watch over the cross day and night 'til the very moment of crucifixion so, that no one can do any harm to the sacred construction." Peter drew a jack-knife out of his pocket: "Pontius, I guess we can release this guy's hands? He was a real brick climbing up here." "Sure; let him shake hands with Judas," Pilate winked at Ivan. "I never shake hands with betrayers," Ivan said peevishly as he rubbed his reddened wrists. "Me neither," Pilate patted Judas' cheek, "but Christ teaches us to forgive. Well, it's your right to dislike such a swine as Judas." "We'd better let the guy take a good look around," said Phillip. "Sure, come on, Ivan," Pilate grasped Ivan's hand and dragged him to the cross. "Behold, Ivan, how marvellously it's made, how thoroughly it's polished. We've even varnished it all over so that no splinter will hurt your flesh. And now I'll show you the nails you'll be crucified with." Pilate flung the chest lid open and extracted a dozen big steel nails. "Aren't they nice? No rust. We'll be sure to boil them before the crucifixion in order to prevent you from catching any infection. And here is the wonderful sledge-hammer the nails will be rammed in with." Feeling like vomiting, Ivan darted up to the very brink of the precipice and bent over it. With heaving, unrestrained movements of his stomach, he threw out its contents over the cliff. When his abdomen had nothing left to disgorge, he straightened himself up and spat, trying to get rid of the unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth. Before his eyes lay a spectacular landscape of spring countryside. From below could be heard the muttering Msta which, after passing the rapids, regained its placid temper. Merry swallows flaunted their flying skills, performing aerial stunts over the turbid river waters. Bonfire smoke curled upwards above a bright orange tent pitched by tourists on the opposite bank. The green tract of dense fir forest extended far away, melting into a vaguely visible strip of brown field marked with a tiny cluster of wooden houses near the horizon. Ivan felt a gentle touch on his back. He turned around to see Pontius Pilate. "Beautiful scenery, isn't it? I hope you'll enjoy it tomorrow when you're crucified," Pilate smiled, baring the two rows of even, white teeth.
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