Wherever he walked, a cloud of sand rose. His steps, each step toward the dimly blurred vision, stumbled like a man about to die. The entire street taunted and mocked him. He stumbled under the weight of the heavy tree, his body stained with blood and covered in bruises of blue and red. Every time he stopped, people spat, threw stones, pointed at him, or kicked him. If not, they simply wept. Yet, there was little sympathy for him on the path of treason. As he stumbled, his foot stumbled against a rock. He fell with a loud crash, along with the tree he was carrying. Annoyed by the delay, soldiers tightened their whips and savagely struck his skinny back. He tried to stand again and again, but the whip tore through his skin, sending him crashing back down to the pavement. Grains of sand and small stones lodged between his torn, bleeding skin. The crowd and the soldiers shouted for him to leave the street. Get up! Pull him! Don't stop! Move quickly! His body on the ground wouldn't obey. Pain pierced deep into his bones, causing his thin frame to flutter like a sick bird. He felt kicks crushing his body here and there. Blood flowed from his crusted lips. A violent hand grabbed him and lifted him up, forcing him to once again bear a cross larger than his own body. His destination: Golgotha Hill. Golgotha meant skull. Blood trickled from his head, draped in a tangled crown of thorns, and he raised his head, gazing at the distant hill. A gaunt man, hanged from a withered tree, swayed feebly. Tears inevitably flowed from his bloodshot eyes. He lowered his head. "Ah, it would have been better for him not to have been born."
Judas remembered the warm hand he had extended to the merchant. From that affectionate hand, his connection with his teacher began. And now,Judas folded his arms in disapproval and looked at his rabbi, surrounded by a crowd. Dressed in pure white, he was strikingly beautiful, regardless of gender, and words of wisdom flowed from his lips, so the rabbi was always crowded around him. All of Judas's disciples and colleagues were with the rabbi, but Judas alone stood outside the crowd, watching because he had been reprimanded by his rabbi a few days earlier. But Judas didn't think he had done anything wrong. He didn't think he deserved the reprimand. It was all because a woman named Mary had poured such expensive perfume on the rabbi's body. He didn't know how such strength had come from such a frail body, but his rabbi looked at Judas, his anger rising, and spoke coldly, calmly, and firmly.
"How can you do that? Is your teaching about helping the poor also a lie? Do you know how many lives the perfume poured on your body can save on the streets?"
“……Judas, do you believe that you can relieve their suffering with that kind of money?”
"Are you changing the subject again? How can you be so selfish? Are you going to talk about heaven again? Are you going to talk about your Father in Heaven?"
"That woman held my funeral," the rabbi said. Judah, overcome with anger, let his raised arms drop, wondering what kind of lunatic was this.
Judas was a young merchant. The rabbi and he were not much older than each other. When Judas and the rabbi met, the rabbi was already quite famous. Judas observed his group as a merchant would. Some were fishermen, some were tax collectors, some were Zealots who hated Rome. None of them were disciples who suited such a brilliant young rabbi. Nevertheless, the blue eyes that looked lovingly at the disciples only had a complicated gaze when they rested on Judas. Judas did not like that. The teacher was gentle but cold, affectionate but firm. It seemed that there was no place for Judas to penetrate him.The young master was called a prophet like Elijah, a Moses incarnate, a great teacher. Judas agreed with all of this. But that was about it. Therefore, the words of Peter, a mere fisherman, were utterly absurd.
“You are the Son of God, the Messiah we have long awaited.”
Judas almost jumped to his feet. Knowing the fierce gaze of the Roman Empire, which was watching Judea, how dare he utter such a preposterous remark? Their rabbi was from Nazareth and the son of a carpenter. It was fortunate that no one in the room hated him; otherwise, he would have been dragged off to the high priest's house immediately. Judas hoped the rabbi would rebuke Peter. Such a rash action would endanger not only himself but others as well. But the rabbi said:
“You are absolutely right.”
Certainly, the rabbi was losing the intelligence he'd possessed over the past few years. His judgment was failing. No, perhaps he was going mad. It was fine until he preached to help the poor. It wasn't so bad until he preached to love your neighbor as yourself and to love the Lord in heaven. Peace seemed to blossom wherever the rabbi stepped. But to suddenly call for heaven was the work of a madman. Judas didn't believe in heaven. He didn't believe in resurrection, or anything else. This life was what mattered to him. Therefore, he must have unconsciously considered abandoning the rabbi. But Judas couldn't do that. The rabbi might have been foolish. Or perhaps possessed by the devil. If so, there was no hope. Judas's teacher was an ordinary person. Just a human being, someone who could die at any moment without regret. The teacher acted as if he would be killed someday. As his thoughts lingered on that, Judas scoffed. If that was the case, why would he have so many followers? As his thoughts lingered, Judas's heart ached. Then why had he given Judas such affection for him? Judas ground his teeth. He couldn't let this foolish, unknowing young master—if a carpenter's son could be called a master—be killed. No, it was clear that Judas would be the first to draw his sword against him, rather than witness someone else's murder. He couldn't dare let someone else take him. His rabbi was too beautiful, too pure, for that to happen.
For days, the rabbi had been planning to go to Jerusalem. His companions cheered, singing that he would now liberate all Judea from Roman oppression and tyranny. Judas folded his arms and looked at them with pity. Even a cursory glance revealed that his teacher's purpose was not to lead armies as a king. But if there was one thing that bothered Judas, it was the question of why he was leading crowds and attracting Roman attention. Judas rose from the rock where he had been sitting and approached the rabbi, who was kneeling alone in the shade of an olive tree. The rabbi's eyes were closed. His long eyelashes shaded his face. He was sweating. At first glance, the rabbi's face looked normal, but the quivering lips and furrowed eyebrows betrayed the depth of his distress. Judas ignored his teacher's warning not to disturb him when he was alone and touched his forehead. The rabbi opened his eyes with a start.
"…Judah?"
His gentle voice lacked strength. Judas pulled the Master close to him, allowing him to lean on him. He then called out to his companions, who were absentmindedly singing. Apparently, the Master had developed a fever, perhaps from being out in the hot Israeli midday sun for too long. Fortunately, he had no fever. If it were simply fatigue, that would be fortunate… John brought a wet towel. Judas accepted it and examined the Master's pale face, intending to wipe it. Just as the cool towel was about to touch his face, the rabbi staggered to his feet and left the shadows, leaving Judas behind. John looked between Judas and the Master's backs with a puzzled expression. Judas let out a laugh. He felt like throwing the towel on the dirt and stepping on it. Judas also stepped out of the shadows with a hardened face. The Master was subtly rejecting him. It was self-evident. The feeling of being rejected by such a pure person for no reason was, to put it bluntly, a dirty feeling. Judas spat. Normally, he would have shuddered in disgust at the thought of such behavior in front of a rabbi.
Judas woke at dawn, a merchant's habit ingrained in him. Hearing the wind rustling the leaves, he suddenly sat up. His master seemed to have been up for a long time. Judas chuckled. "How useless and diligent." He decided to walk a little. He saw his master kneeling in prayer far away. The dim dawn light made the white cloth covering his head appear bluish. He seemed to have noticed Judas at almost the same moment. The rabbi finished his prayer and stood up, then extended his arms to Judas.
“Judas, you’re awake. Why don’t you come here?”
“…Don’t treat me like a child for no reason. You left me so cruelly yesterday, and now you think I’ll be satisfied with this?”
The rabbi bowed his head slightly. Then he approached Judah. His action was so sudden that Judah had no time to hesitate or back away. Approaching, he gazed straight into Judah's brown eyes, his voice more affectionate than anyone else's, and his gaze warmer than anyone else's.
"Judas. I owe you so much. How could I not know your loneliness? But you shouldn't always wear an angry expression. Only hypocrites show their loneliness when they're feeling lonely. They only expect others to notice their misfortune, and their complexion becomes even darker. If you truly believe in the Father, even when you're lonely, you should anoint your head with oil and smile. Even if others don't recognize you, if the Father, who lives in the unseen, recognizes you, isn't that enough? Loneliness is something everyone experiences."
Judas suddenly suppressed the urge to cry like a child. So, his master knew him too. The love shattered by the carpenter's loving hands. Judas straightened his trembling jaw and opened his mouth. His voice came out strangely, perhaps due to the overwhelming emotion.
“No, even if the Father in heaven doesn’t recognize me, it’s enough for me if you alone recognize me. I love you. No matter how deeply the other disciples love you, I love you more than anyone else. Peter and James just follow you around, hoping for some good things, and that’s all they think about. But I know that following you around is pointless. And yet, I can’t leave you. What’s going on? If you disappear from this world, I’ll die too. I can’t live. Why do you treat me like your other disciples? Who says that to you?
There's something I always think about. It's that you, Mary, and I, should leave all your foolish disciples behind, teaching them nothing like the words of our Father in heaven, and live out our lives quietly as simple people, just the three of us. I still have the house my Father left me. By now, the fig trees there are probably in full bloom. Don't you like figs? If that were the case, you could enjoy their fruit to your heart's content, without worrying about money, as you do now."
His rabbi gazed at Judah for a moment. His beautiful blue eyes held a mysterious sadness that pierced his heart. The rabbi approached Judah. His pure white presence was overwhelming to Judah. He took a few steps back. But then a thought struck him: had he ever had such a profound conversation alone with his rabbi? He didn't want to miss this opportunity. His heart pounded. He took a step forward, and the rabbi smiled gently. He kissed Judah's forehead tenderly. The moment his lips, filled with beautiful words, touched his forehead for a moment and then left, Judah felt as if his endless thirst had been quenched. He smiled. His teacher would never have done this. Judah opened his closed eyes and looked at the rabbi. Suddenly, sadness appeared on his face.
“Rabbi, why do you look like that?”
“…It’s nothing. It’s just that the fact that I won’t be able to be with you soon is what bothers me.”
"What on earth is stopping you? No one will be able to take you away from me."
The rabbi simply smiled faintly. His beardless, clean-cut, womanly face was filled with an inexplicable emotion.
“I wish that were possible…….”
"Do you even know what you said? You know. You know I can't leave you. You know how much I love you, and that if you were gone, I too would die. You know I want to worship you completely as my Lord. You know I would rather destroy you than have you taken from my life. You are everything to me. You... you... to me..."
Finally, after rambling on, he closed his mouth. The Master looked down at Judas in silence, kissed his forehead as a sign of blessing, and then whispered in a tender voice, a voice so poignant it could bring tears to anyone's eyes.
“Judas, you will have to leave me. You will have to abandon me. That is the Father’s will, and it is my will.”
Judas's blood ran cold. Yes, you've always been like this to me. I should have known that all my actions ultimately meant nothing to you. Do you still want to distance yourself from me? You so readily reveal your sorrow to foolish Peter and John, but showing me your feelings feels like a great defeat? Do you so loathe my presence? Then why, why on earth did you extend such a warm hand to a merchant left alone? Judas clenched his fist. The Master, as if he had never whispered before, looked into the distance at the sky and said,
"They are fishermen. They don't have beautiful fig fields. There is no land anywhere where they can live comfortably all their lives."
That was the last time Judah and the rabbi spoke alone.
When they arrived in Jerusalem, the rabbi summoned some of his disciples and told them to procure a colt, saying he would ride it through the gates of Jerusalem. Judah was completely disheartened. All the way to Jerusalem, he had been caught off guard by the rabbi's every move. Yet, the rabbi seemed to take him lightly. He even acted as if he didn't exist. So, to Judah, everything seemed distorted. Still, it was the same. He, the "miracle man," the "great prophet," the "king of Judah," the "son of God," not only didn't ride in a dazzling chariot or palanquin, but he was riding through the gates not on a stately horse, but on a colt, the kind ridden by poor merchants. Everyone except Judah was more excited about entering Jerusalem than about this situation, and they pretended everything else didn't matter. The rabbi must be mad. Judah reinforced his sad theory. Soon, a tiny colt appeared. The rabbi climbed onto it, fondly caressing the little creature as he made his way toward the city gate. People wielding palm branches shouted from all sides.
“Hosanna to the King who saves us!”
Judas, feeling ashamed, wanted to dig a cave. The triumphal procession of the "King of the Jews" took place on a sandy ground, surrounded by warriors, trumpeters, and even the poor, who had not even the slightest gold, waving palm branches and laying out their clothes for the king's procession. The crowd grew even more excited, shouting "Hosanna."
“You will save us, right?”
“You will heal us, right?”
“You will save us, right?”
“You will sacrifice for us, right?”
“Will you die for us?”
Judas looked up at the rabbi, a chill running through his veins. He smiled gently at the crowd, as if he hadn't heard those terrifying words, and moved forward. But Judas could see his blue pupils flickering through his gentle smile. He had finally heard their cries. Their voices thirsted for blood. The crowd was thirsting for blood. Their faces were radiant as they led the lamb to the slaughterhouse. Judas knew: he had to stop this man. He had to stop him before he was slaughtered on this cursed path, at their hands.
Passover was approaching, and everyone was busy. The Master, Judas, and the rest of the companions decided to celebrate the occasion by having dinner in the attic of a mansion. The companions, who had never had a proper place to eat or rest, were overjoyed at the sight of this cozy space. Judas snorted. After all, it was a meal they had managed to squeeze out of their meager budget. No, that wasn't the exact reason. The rabbi was nowhere to be seen. "I can't see the Master. What should I do?" Amidst the murmuring of his companions, Judas plopped down in his seat. The others followed suit, hesitantly. Then, their rabbi appeared. Dressed in his usual white robes, he had a white towel tied around his waist. In his hand, he held a basin of clean water. Amidst the puzzled disciples, he knelt before the one seated nearby, gently lifted his feet, caked with dirt and grime, and began to rinse them with water. Everyone jumped to their feet in shock. Judas was no exception. Washing feet was the most abject task, reserved for the most wretched of slaves. How could their master be doing this, and how could they dare to be touched by him? But the rabbi quietly washed their feet and dried them with the towel tied to his waist. Most of the disciples, who had been dumbfounded, were the ones whose feet were being washed. Finally, when he knelt before Judas, Judas suddenly felt all his previous grievances and terrible thoughts vanish, and only love for his master welled up. He wanted to say, "Don't worry. Even if five hundred officers or a thousand troops come, they won't be able to lay a finger on you. You know, they're after you. It's dangerous. Oh, yes. We'd better get out of here right now. Peter, come, James, come, John, everyone, let's protect our good Lord and live long lives." That day, he was struck by a kind of sublime inspiration he had never felt before. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, but no one except Judas and the Master noticed. Soon, Judas's feet were also quietly and meticulously washed by the Master, gently wiping them with the towel wrapped around his waist. When the towel touched his toes, oh, what a sensation that moment felt. For the first time, Judas thought he might be able to believe in heaven. The Master stood and washed the feet of the next disciple, and then the disciple after that. Finally, it was Peter's turn. However, Peter, being such a straightforward man, seemed unable to conceal his suspicions. He pursed his lips in a slightly dissatisfied manner and asked,
“Lord, why do you want to wash my feet?”
Then a faint smile appeared on the teacher's face.
“You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will know.”
After speaking so metaphorically, he sat down at Peter's feet. Still, Peter readily refused, saying things like, "No, you can't. You will never wash my feet. I'm so ashamed." Judas felt like punching him. He would gladly give up his life if he could feel those gentle, caring hands one more time. As the argument continued, the rabbi spoke a little louder.
“If I don’t wash you, you have nothing to do with me.”
“Oh, I was wrong. Then please wash not only my feet, but also my hands and head.”
As Peter bowed deeply in his request, Judas burst out laughing, and the other disciples also smiled secretly. The room seemed to brighten somehow. The teacher, too, smiled quietly.
“Peter, if you have washed only your feet, your whole body will be made clean. And not only you, but also James and John will be made spotless and clean.”
A clean body. Judas knew the profound meaning of those words. Still filled with love, he gazed at the rabbi with raptured eyes. But the rabbi didn't continue. Suddenly, he arched his back, his eyes becoming deeply sad, as if he were enduring a moment of pain. He then closed them tightly and spoke through his closed eyes.
“……I wish everyone was clean.”
Only then did Judas snap out of his reverie. The thought, "I've been fooled!" flashed through his mind. His teacher was still pushing him away. He had seen through the darkness of his mind just minutes before. But not then. He was pure, just as his teacher had said. Even his mind had changed. Judas barely managed to suppress the urge to tear his hair out and scream, "Ah, that person doesn't know that, doesn't know that! No! No!" His weak, cowardly heart swallowed the scream that threatened to escape his throat like spit. He couldn't say anything. Hearing such words from his teacher, a feeble affirmation that perhaps he hadn't become pure arose, and gradually that cowardly reflection swelled like an ugly darkness. Contrary to what his teacher had wanted, the flames of anger began to burn.
This won't do. I can't do this. I'm completely despised by that person. Let's kill him. And I'll die with him.
The resolve he'd long ago conceived resurfaced, and a feeling of complete vengeance enveloped him, like a demon of vengeance. However, the person who had inspired such feelings soon straightened his clothes, sat down comfortably, and opened his mouth with a truly pale face.
“Do you know what I have done for you? You call me ‘Lord’ and ‘Teacher,’ and you are right. I, your Lord and Teacher, have already washed your feet. You also ought to wash one another’s feet, as I have done for you. I cannot be with you forever, so I have taken this opportunity to set you an example. So that you also may do to me what I have done for you. A teacher is always greater than a student, so listen carefully to what I say and do not forget it.”
Afterwards, the rabbi began his meal in silence, his tone sounding deeply melancholic, yet he continued to trample on Judah's heart. Suddenly, he raised his head. His sorrowful blue eyes shone faintly with tears.
“One of you will betray me.”
He bowed his head and spoke in a pained voice, as if groaning or sobbing, so that all the disciples were so startled that they jumped up from their seats. Judas sat indifferently amidst the commotion. Still, the foolish disciples gathered around him and began to murmur, each asking, "Lord, is it I?" or "Lord, are you talking about me?" The teacher was not caught up in the commotion. That was the kind of person he was. However, he shook his head slowly, as if dying, and broke the bread.
“I will give him a piece of bread now. What a miserable man that is! It would have been better for him if he had not been born.”
He reached out with a piece of bread, then, without hesitation, proudly placed it on Judas' lips. Judas's expression remained unchanged. He had already made up his mind. He hated him rather than felt ashamed. He didn't believe in the heaven his teacher preached. He didn't believe in God. He didn't believe in the resurrection the rabbi always emphasized. Naturally, he didn't believe in the prophecies. Why was he the king of Israel? The foolish disciples believed this common rabbi, another common rabbi, to be the Son of God, and they were ecstatic to hear the gospel of the kingdom of God. They would soon be disappointed. Because the rabbi was a liar. Everything he said was nonsense, the words of a lunatic. Judas didn't believe a single word he said. But, painfully, he firmly believed in the beauty of this person. He knew that no one in the world was as beautiful as he was. Judas loved this person purely and without any expectation of recompense. Walking with him, Judas felt that heaven was near, and he had no such shallow desires to become a great right or left minister. No, at least he felt that way. He simply didn't want to leave that person's side. Just being by that person's side, hearing his voice, seeing his appearance, would have satisfied Judas. He believed only in the joys of this life. He didn't fear the judgment of the next world in the slightest. Ironically, it was for this very reason that Judas knocked on the high priest's door, raised his arms, and cried out:
"Ah, please kill him, my lord. I know where he is. I will show you."
Darkness had descended on the Garden of Gethsemane. Led by torches, the priests' soldiers, servants, and Judas walked. Soon, a soft voice came from behind. Judas flinched, glancing at the people beside him. No one seemed to hear. Yet, he knew. His teacher was suffering. He was in deep pain, just like that day under the palm tree. When he realized he wanted to rush to him at any moment, Judas realized. He loved him. The straw game he had offered for the first and last time. If his teacher died, Judas would die too. Yes, he belonged to no one but Judas. Who had supported him so devotedly, who had followed him so closely? He had abandoned his father, his mother, and the land of his birth, and he had followed his teacher to this day. So, if not Judas, who could dare betray him? Judas stepped on a blade of grass. The rustling sound brought his teacher's head up. Judas was puzzled by his own actions. Why had he stepped on the grass as if to be heard, rather than quietly approaching and attacking him? The moment his eyes met his teacher's, the reason came to him. He simply wanted him to look at him. He wanted his teacher to look at him. And so, he had no regrets about his impulsive action. His eyes shone in the blue moonlight. He could tell that he was shedding tears. Seeing those eyes, Judas's resolve was confirmed. He walked confidently and whispered in his teacher's ear.
“My Rabbi.”
And as usual, she kissed him. The moment her lips touched his skin, the rabbi's eyes closed, and the moment they parted, they opened. He looked up at Judah, eyes still brimming with tears. He whispered.
"…Judah."
“……”
“Do you really have to betray me like that?”
Kissing me? The Master's face, as he asked, was filled with an emotion I couldn't even begin to describe. He looked afraid. He looked sad. Above all...
“…Why do you make such an expression for someone like me?”
Judas growled softly, so that the others standing over there wouldn't hear. The Master smiled sadly, then touched Judas' shoulder. Then he spoke softly.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, Judas.”
Judas handed his master over to them, practically tossing him aside like a carcass. Soon, the place was a scene of chaos. His fellows fled, and a mob of futile resistance surrounded the rabbi, claiming to protect him. After a long struggle, the ear of one of the priest's servants was finally torn off. The servant clutched at the spot where his ear would have been and screamed in agony. But no one showed him any pity. He looked up at his master, as if resenting him. His master didn't respond. Only a beautiful young man in white quietly walked out of the crowd of disciples surrounding him. He casually picked up the bloody ear and reattached it to its original position. The servant's ear was intact, as if it had never been cut off. The rabbi said:
"Peter."
“……”
“Put down your sword. Those who live by the sword will perish by the sword.”
Judas's mind went blank. When he regained consciousness, the priests' soldiers had already seized his teacher's arms. They tied his hands with ropes they had brought, then taunted him noisily, cursing and spitting at him as if he were leading a dog. Perhaps Judas intuitively realized that his heart ached as if he had been insulted. Every time his teacher staggered and collapsed from the merciless blows, his own legs gave out. But Judas clenched his fists. His teacher was mad. This was the only way to prevent that madness from consuming him. Upon reaching the Sanhedrin hall, another assault was launched against their "captive." The rabbi, who had remained indifferent to all the insults and pain, finally reached his limit, his knees buckling and he sank to the ground. Unable to bear the sight of his trembling body, Judas turned away. "It was all for you. Believe me. No, you won't believe me."
The sound of whips rang out in the square. Judas wondered what sinner had committed today, for which he was being treated so cruelly. He walked across the dusty streets and entered the Roman forum. The blood of the criminal soaked through the marble floor, reaching Judas's feet as he stood at the edge. The criminal should have screamed in a heartbreaking, almost inaudible scream, but his tightly shut lips remained silent, blood dripping down them. Instead, the loudest voices were those condemning the bound criminal. He had broken the law, and therefore deserved to die. A mass of flesh, either human or freshly slaughtered, was tied to the rack, trembling in agony. His back bore the marks of the whip, enough to make his eyes close tightly. With each lash, his body, determined to endure, crumbled. Judas pushed his way through the crowd. Oh, my God, please, I hope he's not who I think he is. But he soon stumbled backward. All he felt was a daze. The moment the final, thirty-ninth lash wrapped around and released the withered body, the dawn-blue eyes that had shone so brightly and beautifully in Judah's memory lost their luster and drooped. Judah opened his mouth. Something should have come out of it. But what? How could Judah dare sympathize with him? The words he couldn't utter simply flowed out as tears. Judah croaked and fell to the floor, mute. "Oh, Rabbi. Did you expect this?" As the prisoner fainted, both the soldier swinging the whip and the soldier counting the wounds fell silent. They wouldn't want to touch the horribly bleeding body. They exchanged glances, glancing sideways at the prisoner, who was breathing erratically. At that moment, a large stone flew from the crowd and struck the hanging prisoner squarely in the head. The prisoner groaned in pain and opened his eyes. Red blood flowed down the prisoner's head, soaking his still beautiful face. Just as the soldiers were trying to find the person who threw the stone, a voice from the crowd shouted.
“If you are truly the Son of God, why don’t you get up right now? Break the mold!”
“The Son of God is being whipped. This is so embarrassing.”
No. Don't say that. Judas wanted to shout. He couldn't understand why all these people were directing all their anger at a weak, frail individual. His rabbi was chained by his wrists to a Roman scourgery, beaten by Roman soldiers with Roman whips. It was Rome that tore his tender flesh to shreds, and he was also Jewish. Yet, the crowd was not enraged by Rome, which was tearing apart their own people, but by a beautiful young man who had been beaten so hard his skin rattled. They hurled stones and hurled obscenities that even brushed their ears. Oh, this couldn't be happening. Judas retched and struggled to get out of the crowd. The only trace left of the criminal, dragged along the sandy, dusty ground, was red blood. People surrounded him, punching and kicking him. Some struck him in the face and back with branches that had fallen on the ground. The soldiers struggled to separate the criminal from the enraged crowd. If a traitor to Rome were to die without even paying for his crimes, it would be a truly precarious situation. Judas struggled through the crowd to reach his teacher. The crowd, growing increasingly violent, tossed the teacher's thin body around. At that moment, the teacher's blue eyes met Judas's. His parched lips smiled. One of the Roman soldiers slammed his whip hard against the ground. Only then did the crowd begin to gradually retreat. Judas simply sat there.
“Hey! What are you doing? Get out of here!”
The soldier shouted. Only then did Judas stagger to his feet.
“What is your name?”
“Oh, are you talking about me?”
Judas chuckled, his expression exaggerated, as if he were there to revel in the misery of sinners, as everyone else did. The Roman soldier frowned at him, who looked like a half-penny man.
"okay."
“My name is Judas Iscariot, hehe. I’m just a lowly merchant.”
And Judas immediately left that place.
“Didn’t you say you were only going to stop him? Was that whipping just now for nothing?!”
Judas, fearlessly, cried out before the priests. How could they have condemned him to such torment? He cried, "You rotten, rotten brood of vipers! You all!" Judas gasped, catching his breath. The curses he had yet to unleash were gnawing at his chest. But the priests all looked at him as if he were insane.
“…Hey, young man.”
Annas, the high priest's father-in-law, slowly opened his mouth.
“You sold him.”
“…What did you say?”
“They sold him. For thirty silver pieces at that.”
“……”
"Don't you understand? You sold the life of that slave for compensation for the injury he sustained from being struck by a bull. That lunatic! Didn't you come and say it all? Didn't you yourself ask him to stop? Isn't this punishment appropriate for someone who insulted God and dared to call himself the Messiah? This is what you wanted."
Annas opened his mouth to say something more, but Judas, screaming like a madman, stormed off. I didn't have the courage to listen any longer. The words he had uttered almost choked me.
The Messiah, who would redeem Judea by forgiving the sins of all living beings under heaven. The Lamb's life was bartered for a mere thirty pieces of silver, a mere handful of cloth. That century-old betrayal was so easily accomplished, as if ignoring the surging guilt, that Judas, neither the heavy price in his hands nor the rattling sound of guilt within, was aware of what he had done. Seeing his master whipped in the middle of the square, pointed at by the crowd, tied up like an animal and dragged like a dog, for a moment, he was filled with nothing but a dazed, floating sensation, as if in a terrible nightmare. That was until the Almighty Son of God, finding Judas's gaze hidden in the crowd, smiled briefly, and said, "It's okay. It's not your fault, Judas." The moment he saw that tender comfort, Judas clutched the wall and retched, the reality belatedly flooding his heart. Yes, this wasn't some comfortable delusion, or a dream. This, this was reality. Betraying his beloved teacher with a kiss, his teacher's blood spilling on the ground, and ultimately being sentenced to crucifixion—every single detail was a cruel reality. Judas, alone with this obvious truth, couldn't bear it any longer and ran wildly like a madman, muttering incessantly. "I don't know. I didn't know. I didn't expect to be beaten so severely." He simply hoped he'd be proven wrong. But he knew. He knew all too well how cruelly those caught in the eagle's claws suffered and died. It was all a deception. As a skilled merchant, predicting the outcome was relatively easy for him. His mutterings were all lies. They only served to prove his cowardice. He feared the heavens that had witnessed his sins, and loathed the earth that swallowed his teacher's blood. He felt that if the air, with every breath, became like a thousand needles, he might be able to forget the pain a little, but the One in Heaven wasn't so merciful. Suddenly, he felt a hand caressing his shoulder, as if in Gethsemane. Judas screamed and shook his shoulder violently, as if in a convulsion. He screamed toward the place where his Master had been tortured.
"Put your hands away. Don't you understand? I sold you for thirty pieces of silver. You're selling your life for less than a lowly slave!"
How far had he run? Judah, struggling to breathe, suddenly noticed a massive, ancient tree standing before him. Unknown to him, the tree had been there for so long, its imposing form. Each branch boasted a vitality that could easily support a grown man. Judah gazed at the withered tree, as if it were a tree from the Garden of Eden, a bright smile on his lips, but tears streamed ceaselessly from his eyes. Even in his life of wandering in the wilderness, finding a rope was no easy task, and before he knew it, he was standing beneath the tree, clutching a red rope. Not even a single crow, the one that would later retrieve his body, would come near this area. What a fitting end for such a despicable traitor.
“You, you’re killing me.”
Yes, you're killing me. Busily moving hands expertly weaved a noose with rope, as if they were a familiar task. Judas paused from his ceaseless muttering and briefly gazed at the world beyond the noose, suspended on the tree branch.
“You were right. It wasn’t my fault. Wasn’t this all your wish? Didn’t you ask me to do it? I… I didn’t want to do this! What would thirty pieces of silver be worth to a merchant like me? It’s all your fault! Not even the price of a kiss! It was all your will! You wanted to die! Oh, yes, that’s right! That’s right! You wanted to die. The power you were given was too much for you, and you just wanted to run away! Using me as a shield. Isn’t that a truly astonishing idea? You will be cursed for centuries as a holy prophet, and I as a filthy traitor! How can you feel at ease when you put all this on me and take the cross? Doesn’t your body, torn by the damned Roman whip, your head pierced by thorns, and your places where you were constantly beaten, hurt?! And now you want to kill me too! Did you need a sinner to look down on you from the heaven you cried out for and pity? You didn’t need me, a sinner to look down on you from the heaven you cried out for? "You're killing me! You're killing me with that brilliant play you've created! You're killing me..."
No one could hear him crying out like that, but Judas cursed and spat out the lump that had been building up from the tips of his toes.
No, no. Even if I did, the ending wouldn't change. Suddenly, a body, bruised red and blue at every joint, flashed before his eyes. Judah's pupils dilated. Ah, no. No. I, I...
“……I’m going to kill you.”
At the end of his sobbing words, he felt his tears, unable to bear their weight, fall to the red earth. Now, the Son of God he loved so dearly would be defiled by men, tormented, torn to pieces, and killed. A sacrifice for a new future, a new covenant. There was no place for Judas in that future. Yet, he had no regrets. If only he could share even a little of his suffering. He would give anything for it. But Judas was a wise man. All that suffering belonged to his Master. It was his cross to bear. All Judas was permitted was to roll on the floor as a betrayer—nothing more, no less. Judas slowly plunged his head into the noose. And without a moment's hesitation, the ground beneath his feet gave way. His body spasmed only briefly.