The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ by Philip Pullman Page B
Authors: Philip Pullman
Ads: Link
whenever they want. Real charity would be a pretty young whore coming down here and giving us a good time for nothing. Can you imagine a sweet-faced girl with skin like silk coming and laying herself down in my arms, with my sores oozing pus all over her and stinking like a dungheap? If you can imagine that, you can imagine real goodness. I'm damned if I can. I could live a thousand years and never see goodness like that.'
'Because it wouldn't be goodness,' said the blind man. 'It'd be wickedness and fornication, and she'd be punished and so would you.'
'There's old Sarah,' said the lame man. 'She come down here last week. She does it for nothing.'
'Because she's mad and full of drink,' said the leper. 'Mad enough to lie with you, anyway. But even she wouldn't lie with me.'
'Even a dead whore wouldn't lie with you, you filthy leper,' said the blind man. 'She'd get out of her grave and crawl away in her bones sooner than that.'
'You tell me what goodness is, then,' said the leper.
'You want to know what goodness is? I'll tell you what goodness is. Goodness would be to take a sharp knife and go round the city by night and cut the throats of all the rich men, and their wives and their children, and their servants too, and every living thing in their houses. That'd be an act of supreme goodness.'
'You can't say that'd be good,' said the lame man. 'That'd be murder, rich men or not. That's forbidden. You know it is.'
'You're ignorant. You don't know the scriptures. When King Sennacherib was besieging Jerusalem the angel of the Lord came down in the night and slew one hundred and eighty-five thousand of his soldiers while they was all asleep. That was a good deed. It's righteous and holy to slay the oppressor - always has been. You tell me if we poor people aren't oppressed by the rich. If I was a rich man I'd have servants to fetch and carry for me, I'd have a wife to lie with me, I'd have children to honour my name, I'd have harpists and singers to make sweet music for me, I'd have stewards to look after my money and manage my fields and livestock, I'd have every convenient thing to make life easy for a blind man. The high priest would call on me, I'd be praised in the synagogues, I'd be respected all through Judea, blind or not.'
'And would you give charity to a poor cripple by the pool of Bethesda?' said the lame man.
'No, I wouldn't. Not a penny. And why not? Because I'd still be blind, and I wouldn't be able to see you, and if anyone tried to tell me about you, I wouldn't listen. Because I'd be rich. You wouldn't matter to me.'
'Well, you'd deserve to have your throat cut, then,' said the leper.
'That's what I'm saying, isn't it?'
Christ said, 'There's a man called Jesus. A holy man, a healer. If he came here--'
'Waste of time,' said the leper. 'There's a dozen or more beggars who come here every day, pretending to be cripples, hiring themselves out to the holy men. A couple of drachmas and they'll swear they've been crippled or blind for years and then stage a bloody miraculous recovery. Holy men? Healers? Don't make me laugh.'
'But this man is different,' said Christ.
'I remember him,' said the blind man. 'Jesus. He come here on the sabbath, like a fool. The priests wouldn't let him heal anyone on the sabbath. He should've known that.'
'But he did heal someone,' said the lame man. 'Old Hiram. You remember that. He told him to take up his bed and walk.'
'Bloody rubbish,' said the blind man. 'Hiram went as far as the temple gate, then he lay down and went on begging. Old Sarah told me. He said what was the use of taking his living away? Begging was the only thing he knew how to do. You and your blether about goodness,' he said, turning to Christ, 'where's the goodness in throwing an old man out into the street without a trade, without a home, without a penny? Eh? That Jesus is asking too much of people.'
'But he was good,' said the lame man. 'I don't care what you say. You could feel it, you could see it in
'Because it wouldn't be goodness,' said the blind man. 'It'd be wickedness and fornication, and she'd be punished and so would you.'
'There's old Sarah,' said the lame man. 'She come down here last week. She does it for nothing.'
'Because she's mad and full of drink,' said the leper. 'Mad enough to lie with you, anyway. But even she wouldn't lie with me.'
'Even a dead whore wouldn't lie with you, you filthy leper,' said the blind man. 'She'd get out of her grave and crawl away in her bones sooner than that.'
'You tell me what goodness is, then,' said the leper.
'You want to know what goodness is? I'll tell you what goodness is. Goodness would be to take a sharp knife and go round the city by night and cut the throats of all the rich men, and their wives and their children, and their servants too, and every living thing in their houses. That'd be an act of supreme goodness.'
'You can't say that'd be good,' said the lame man. 'That'd be murder, rich men or not. That's forbidden. You know it is.'
'You're ignorant. You don't know the scriptures. When King Sennacherib was besieging Jerusalem the angel of the Lord came down in the night and slew one hundred and eighty-five thousand of his soldiers while they was all asleep. That was a good deed. It's righteous and holy to slay the oppressor - always has been. You tell me if we poor people aren't oppressed by the rich. If I was a rich man I'd have servants to fetch and carry for me, I'd have a wife to lie with me, I'd have children to honour my name, I'd have harpists and singers to make sweet music for me, I'd have stewards to look after my money and manage my fields and livestock, I'd have every convenient thing to make life easy for a blind man. The high priest would call on me, I'd be praised in the synagogues, I'd be respected all through Judea, blind or not.'
'And would you give charity to a poor cripple by the pool of Bethesda?' said the lame man.
'No, I wouldn't. Not a penny. And why not? Because I'd still be blind, and I wouldn't be able to see you, and if anyone tried to tell me about you, I wouldn't listen. Because I'd be rich. You wouldn't matter to me.'
'Well, you'd deserve to have your throat cut, then,' said the leper.
'That's what I'm saying, isn't it?'
Christ said, 'There's a man called Jesus. A holy man, a healer. If he came here--'
'Waste of time,' said the leper. 'There's a dozen or more beggars who come here every day, pretending to be cripples, hiring themselves out to the holy men. A couple of drachmas and they'll swear they've been crippled or blind for years and then stage a bloody miraculous recovery. Holy men? Healers? Don't make me laugh.'
'But this man is different,' said Christ.
'I remember him,' said the blind man. 'Jesus. He come here on the sabbath, like a fool. The priests wouldn't let him heal anyone on the sabbath. He should've known that.'
'But he did heal someone,' said the lame man. 'Old Hiram. You remember that. He told him to take up his bed and walk.'
'Bloody rubbish,' said the blind man. 'Hiram went as far as the temple gate, then he lay down and went on begging. Old Sarah told me. He said what was the use of taking his living away? Begging was the only thing he knew how to do. You and your blether about goodness,' he said, turning to Christ, 'where's the goodness in throwing an old man out into the street without a trade, without a home, without a penny? Eh? That Jesus is asking too much of people.'
'But he was good,' said the lame man. 'I don't care what you say. You could feel it, you could see it in
Similar Books
