JOHN THE BAPTIST

It’s the devil’s head. Silver! Gold! Diamonds! We shall all lose ourselves in our own flesh, yes, but what are these creeping things, these flying things, these slithering things? And they swarmed him. Swallowed! Sweet! I know you’ve taken a mighty toll.

Here you have your hands, strong, wide. Here you have your coat, threadbare, large. And your liver has become healthy with age, your blood is thick, your heart is strong. These two tree-trunks are planted deep in the healthy earth: their roots stretch out under the soil and gather together everything wet and moist and nutritious. These men are yellow: their hair is golden and their faces are pale and smooth. What are your names, you demons? Why have you come to me on this hilltop with your wonderful wine and meats, with your dancing women and your beautiful girls? We shall all know what it is to find something thirsty deep within our hearts, something starving, something ravenous. Alone!

And he bites them like a beast; and he uses no cup at the brook. The little head was crushed upon a tooth: this is wilder wildness, wilderness. But what are these mighty lightning rods doing here in this place of undergrowth and brush and cacti? Where will you get the great blessing of holy honey and milk? Are you a thief? Are you a murderer? Do you break your hands over flames and hot coals? Do you travel down under the earth and make a surprise attack upon the stronghold? Is your heart full of fire?

But what is this stillness, this peace? O where have you gone, my beautiful bride? Here you have drunkenness, here you have avarice, here you have lustfulness; and here is your heart, split in three parts, broken and tormented, crazed and alive. His drink is blood and his eyes cast a mantle over the land. And now you have the great tooth: these are the secret snakes, the creeping things of the lush wild places and the dry waterless lands. Now where are your words of comfort, your peaceful blessings, your gentle hands? Now your heart is hard with starvation and loneliness, your meat is bitter, the nights are cold.

And he knew the sands, he knew the gullies, he knew the thickness of the trees. Still, the city was split in three parts, the heart was split in three parts, the brain was split off from the heart; and everything grew and sprouted, grew and sprouted, a thick tangle of undergrowth. Now this is all very well, but what are you to do with such arrogant types? Will you spill the wine from the glasses, will you tear down the dance halls and overturn the feasting tables? Where did you get such gold? How did you so adorn yourself with diamonds? And where are your swords?—you cannot be unarmed, I know it. Such a devil hobbles along like a goat.

And he stole diamonds and gold, and replaced them with bland diets and fiery speeches. But now his arm has become thin, his face burned by the sun, his eyes dull, his mind cruel. Yes, he does go unarmed—but his tongue is a knife. He has become something wild like rushing water, and as mean spirited as the hard wind.

This is a portrait of John the Baptist: his liver still cleans his blood, and his liver is healthy. But how did those roses bloom in such an arid land? What are these fields of wildflowers doing in the desert? And the cave is the place of demons and soulful agonies. The mountaintop is the place of ghosts and devils. He lives out among the goats and the bee swarms. His breath is coated in the sound of thunder.

A mean thing, a wild eye, a fire! I see the blazing green, I see the sharp yellows and reds—what can this be?—O these are the fruits of the crazy wilderness!

And there were thorns in there, there were devils in the dainties and meats, there was powdered glass in the milk.

And now this has all run through, he has been torn from his very flesh, he stands up in the skies atop the mountains overlooking towns and villages—and his eyes are dry, he cannot weep, he has lost his heart with his flesh, he has lost his gentle wife.

Now you’ve stolen my last sustenance, you’ve taken from me my very soul, you’ve repented of good works and exchanged them for a frothy mouth—disease!—anguish!—terror!—a bundle of sticks for a heart!

You’re too weary now to spread like fire. You’re a broken man, you’ve taken on the mightiest stronghold on the earth with no weapon, no army, no ally—foolish man that you are. The very walls of your veins are about to burst for your frailty. Now this is how your war ends: in the grave you shall travel where you have always traveled—in the grave you shall wander like a ghost, and you shall be hungry and thirsty, and you shall haunt new victims and rave new ravings forever. The fire in your heart has died out.

And a gripping hand, gripping the arm—an army of hands, binding you, binding you!—you cannot resist!—your face is cold like snow, and diseased!—your soul is a dry well!—your name no longer attaches to your body!

How can you ever get a rosy bloom in your face again? How can you ever jump or sing or dance? How can you spring like a lion? The one who prevails can be supple as water—but you are dry like brittle bone. The eyes of the wise are moist and shinning—yours are dull black stones, and you stare like the blind. A fog has settled itself about your head. The jaws are wide; the sands are heavy; all the meats and wines and musicians and dancing girls cannot make your chest hot—you are hard. Chop! Your eyes open wide! Now your tongue is black, now your teeth are brown, now your beard is matted—you have lost your battles, you have been overrun with ghosts and looking things, creeping things, flying things, slithering things. You are infected: this is your icy home, my heart.

And this is your closing mouth, this is your stilled tongue, this is your placid water; and your mind has frozen in dark winter, your joints are stiff with age and harshness, you lie still like the dead, your hands no longer have strength and wideness. Nonetheless, you lie down with the goats and the hogs, your bed is comforting if hard, your sleep is deep and you don’t dream dreams. This is your reprieve, for you have wrestled with devils and they have worn your body thin—now you rest, sweet man.