Seven Gothic Tales by Isak Dinesen

‘there are other things in life to give you pleasure than the wine of the tetrarch.’
    “ ‘Yes, I know,’ said the stranger, ‘but what if the same thing has happened to them? I have two lovely wives waiting for me at home, and just before this happened I purchased a virgin of twelve years. I have not seen her since. I could try them, if I chose. But the earthquake may have affected them as well, so that they may have neither flavor nor body, and what shall I do then?’
    “Now Peter began to wish that this man would stop his complaints and leave him to himself. ‘Why,’ he asked, ‘do you come to me about this?’
    “ ‘You remind me,’ said the stranger. ‘I will tell you. I have been informed that your Rabbi, on the night before he died, gave a party to his followers, and that at that time a special wine wasserved, which was very rare and had some highly precious body in it. Have you, now, any more of this wine, and will you consent to sell it to me? I will give you your price.’
    “Peter stared at the stranger. ‘Oh, God, oh, God,’ he cried, so highly affected that he upset his wine, which ran onto the floor, ‘you do not know what you are saying. This wine which we drank on Thursday night, the Emperor of Rome cannot pay for one drop of it.’ His heart was so terribly wrung that he rocked to and fro in his seat. Still, in the midst of his grief the words of the Lord, that he was to be a fisher of men, were brought back to him, and he reflected that it might be his duty to help this man, who seemed in some deep distress. He turned to him again, but as he was looking at him it came over him that of all people in the world, this young man was the one whom he could not help. To strengthen himself he called up one of the words of the Lord himself.
    “ ‘My son,’ he said kindly and gravely, ‘take up thine cross and follow him.’ The stranger, just at the same moment as the Apostle, had been about to speak. Now he stopped and looked very darkly at Peter. ‘My cross!’ he cried. ‘Where is my cross? Who is to take up my cross?’
    “ ‘No one but yourself can take up your cross,’ said Peter, ‘but He will help you to carry it. Have patience and strength. I will tell you much more about all this.’
    “ ‘What have you to tell me about it?’ said the stranger. ‘It seems to me that you know nothing of it. Help? Who is it who wants help to carry the sort of cross which the carpenters of Jerusalem make in these days? Not I, you may be sure. That bow-legged Cyrenean would never have had the opportunity to exhibit his strength on my behalf. You talk of strength and patience,’ he went on after a moment, still highly agitated, ‘but I have never known a man as strong as myself. Look,’ he said, and pulling back his cloak he showed Peter his chest and shoulders, crossed by many terrible deep white scars. ‘My cross! The cross of Phareswas to the right, and the cross of the man Achaz, who was never worth much, to the left. I should have taken up my cross better than any of them. Do you not think that I should have lasted more than six hours? I do not think much of that, I tell you. Wherever I have been, I have been a leader of men, and they have looked to me. Do not believe, because now I do not know what to do, that I have not been used to telling others to come and go as I liked.’
    “At the disdainful tone of this speech Peter was about to lose his patience with the stranger, but he had promised himself, since he cut off Malchus’s ear, to control his temper, so he said nothing.
    “After a while the man looked at him, as if impressed by his silence. ‘And you,’ he said, ‘who are a follower of this Prophet, what do you think is likely to happen to yourself now?’ Peter’s face, marred by sorrow, cleared and softened. His whole countenance radiated hope. ‘I trust and believe,’ he said, ‘that my faith, though it be tried with fire, be found unto praise and honor. I hope