I Magi

The star-filled night blazed with lights, and slowly the old man drew his cloak tighter. He searched within himself for a motive, a reason to prolong his existence. The frozen, biting sand scratched his hands. Kneeling, he felt the darkness invading him. For years he had read, traveled, walked, sustained by a single hope. The prophecy had been food for him, his lifeblood; now that his failing sight gave him a blurred horizon, he had abandoned it, and everything was too strenuous, his breath, his thoughts. Joachim had an excellent mind; he knew the names of the constellations, the customs and traditions of each of the nomadic tribes that roamed the desert, he performed very complex calculations with apparent ease, and spoke many languages. Joachim had lived the harsh discipline of knowledge since he was very young. His earliest memory (and now that old age brought greater clarity to the past, he almost felt he could touch the images and hear the voices again) dated back to when he was three. His master taught him the rudiments of calculation with an abacus; he remembered the wide linen robe, and his sense of smell brought back the scent of spices. Yet the prophecy was older, almost as if he had been nourished by those words "...the day will come when the sky will be illuminated by a great light. There, from the east..." Only now did Joachim understand how important it had been to him. Every beat of his heart had been timed to the calm tone of those words. Calmness! This was the main characteristic of his life, the veil that covered his emotions. Silence and peace and the slow passage of time in waiting. Joachim had made long journeys on the backs of shaggy camels, he had breathed the acrid smell of animals in heat, the sweat of bodies under the sun. He had desired a woman, he remembered almost with surprise, with amber skin and long eyelashes. He had traded his science, sold his knowledge, answered questions, made diagnoses, decreed judgments. He had precisely determined where a well should be dug and how deep it would be before finding water, and so the oasis took his name. When his limbs were in their full vigor, he had wanted to run, to urge the beast beneath him, to shout, to let energy flow to the universe, but the voice had restrained him. The core of his life was harnessed in those words: "a light will come, more dazzling than the sun, from the east, it will be the sign!" Joachim had traversed the desert many times; the softness of the dunes was familiar to him, he knew the changing winds, the harshness of the silences, the men, their needs. It was at sunset on a long day's journey that he reached the caravan of Ben-El, the merchant. Ben-El the Hittite was a pleasant-looking man, strongly inclined to trade; he could assess the value of a slave or a sack of flour even before weighing it. Salt, precious fabrics, rare amulets, and medicinal herbs were his cargo. He felt a kind of respect mixed with deference for "the man who knows," but also tinged with disdain. He could not understand how it was possible to live without his ardent, immense love for money. Ben-El the merchant had chests full of gold and silver; he knew, upon waking in the morning, how much he would earn during the day, almost as if a little spirit had whispered it to him during the night. Two caravans meeting in the desert always represent an event, and a tacit pact of complicity forms among the men. At night, gathered around the fires, with the air clear and cool after the suffocating heat of the day, a metamorphosis occurs: the slave is no longer a servant and the master is no longer a lord. The protagonist is the desert, its immensity and its dome of stars, so dazzling and close, and the men, tiny, naked before the immeasurable. On such a night, Joachim saw, for the first time, the scroll of the prophecy. Ben-El had taken it from the chest, enclosed in a silver cylinder and wrapped in cloth. "Do you know how to decipher the signs of this ancient writing? My father bought this scroll many years ago and assured me it is very precious. – At this point, his voice lowered, becoming as faint as a sigh – Perhaps it indicates the location of a treasure. I can trust you, you are so 'different' - he said with a smirk - read it and show me the way, I will reward you." "A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit. The Spirit of the Lord will rest on him— the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of might, the Spirit of the knowledge and fear of the Lord— and he will delight in the fear of the Lord. He will not judge by what he sees with his eyes, or decide by what he hears with his ears; but with righteousness he will judge the needy, with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth. He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth; with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked. Righteousness will be his belt and faithfulness the sash around his waist. The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them. The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The infant will play near the cobra’s den, and the young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. In that day the Root of Jesse will stand as a banner for the peoples; the nations will rally to him, and his resting place will be glorious." Isaiah 11:1-10 It was not the words, but a mysterious force that drew Joachim's trembling hand to the scroll. With moist eyes and barely moving lips, he read the destiny of the world. For that moment he had lived, every heartbeat had prepared for that heartbeat, every breath for that breath. Ben-El the merchant listened and slowly a new desire ignited within him. "When will this be? Read, read again." So the old man spoke of the prophecy, of the light that would come and show the way to the Child. He spoke to Ben-El of the prophecy, and it was like handing him the precious gem at the center of his soul. He knew he would not see that day, but another would continue the waiting. He was dying, and in dying he begot a son. So many years had passed, and Joachim's body was dust in the sand. Who knows where his spirit lived. The merchant often thought of the "King who would be born." He had consulted diviners and wise men: the star would come from the east. With the same fervor with which he had accumulated riches, he had prayed to heaven. He returned to the oasis, beside Joachim's tomb, every year, as one goes near a fire to warm oneself. He prayed to an unknown and nameless God and found renewed vigor. Letting the sand slip through his fingers, he thought of the days gone by, useless and empty, hard as the grains. He saw the light and believed it a dream, then he knew it was true. He rediscovered his lost youth, his enthusiasm. He understood that his life had meaning and he wanted to run, as certainty exploded in his mind and heart. He set out, the chest full of gold was not the most precious thing he carried, now, finally, he knew it.