I forgot myself. I was nothing and no one except part of it.
I moved outside, through the ranks of the dancers, past the busy and beautifully laden tables, and I looked - as I always do, as I've always done - for the lamps of Heaven on high.
It seemed to me then that the lamps of Heaven were even here the deep and private treasure of every single soul.
Could I not die now? Could I not dissolve this skin and rise as I'd so often thought of it, weightless and brimming, into the company of the stars?
Oh, if only I could indeed stop time, stop it here, stop it forever with this great banquet, and let all the world come here to this, now, streaming, out of Time and beyond Time, and into this - to join with the dancing, to feast at these abundant tables, to laugh and sing and cry amid these smoking lamps and twinkling candles. If only I could rescue all these, in the midst of this lovely and embracing music, rescue all these - from the blooming youth to the ancient with their patience and their sweetness, and their flush of unexpected and ravishing hope? If only I could hold them in one great embrace?
But it was not to be. Time beat on as the heels of the hands beat the membrane of the timbrels, as the feet stamped the marble, or the soft yielding grass.
Time beat on, and in time, as I'd told the Tempter, yes, as he'd tempted me to stop Time forever - in time, there were things yet unborn. It struck a deep dark shiver in me, a great cold. But it was only the shiver and fear known to any man born.
I did not come to stop it, I did not come to leave it at such a moment of mysterious joy. I came to live it, to surrender to it, to endure it, to discover in it what it was I must do, and whatever it was, well, it had only begun.
I looked around me at the many moist and ruddy faces. I saw Young John and Matthew, and Peter and Andrew, and Nathanael - all of them dancing. I saw Hananel weeping as he clasped his grandson, Reuben, who offered the cup to him to drink, and Jason embracing both of them, Jason so happy, so proud.
My eyes drifted over the whole assembly. Unnoticed I walked through room after room. I walked under the tents. I walked through the courtyard with its huge standing candles, and its high anchored torches. I peered over my shoulder at the soundless masses of gathered women beyond the veils.
I let my mind go before me. It went where the man could not go.
Avigail, veil lifted now that she lay among the children of the bridal chamber only, with Silent Hannah seated on the couch at her feet. Avigail, her eyes closed, as she slept.
I saw in my mind's eye just as clearly and simultaneously that instant in the courtyard at home when Reuben had said to her, "My beloved, you were set apart for me from the beginning of the world."
My heart filled with pain; it was washed in pain.
Farewell, my blessed darling.
I let the grief come. I let it run through my veins. It was not grief for her, but for the absence of her forever, the absence of that intimacy, the absence of that one beating heart that could have been so very close. I let myself know it in the absence, and then I kissed her with all my heart on her tender forehead in the image I held of her, and I let this go. Leave me, I said to this. I can't take you where I am going. I always knew that I couldn't do it. And I let you go now, yes again and for always - I let go of the wanting, I let go of the losing, but not the knowing . . . no, I will never let the knowing of it go.
An hour before dawn Reuben was led to the bridal chamber.
The women had already taken Avigail to the bridal bed. It had been strewn with flowers. Veils of gold surrounded the bed.
Jason embraced Reuben with one last hearty clap of his hands on his shoulders.
And as the door closed behind Reuben, the music found a new delirium, and men danced ever more quickly and with greater spirit, even the old men rising, and some who could barely do it without the hands of sons and grandsons; and it seemed the whole house was once again filled with the earliest and loudest cries of joy.
People were still streaming in from the countryside. They gave away their rustic amazement with wide wondering eyes.
Tables had been set out on the grass for the poor of the villages, and platters of hot bread and bowls of meat pottage were being put out for them. Beggars had been brought in - some of the very lame, who generally gathered at the outside gates of such a banquet hoping for the scraps.
Beyond the veils the long chain of dancing women swayed to the left, step after step after step, then stopped, whirled, and rocked on their feet. Chains of male dancers passed me winding in and out of the arched doorways, round about the central table, behind the proud grandfather who leaned now on Jason's arm. Nathanael sat beside Hananel, and Hananel for all the wine he'd drunk was hammering Nathanael with questions while Jason smiled and dreamed as if it did not matter at all.
Here and there, men glanced at me, especially some of the newcomers, and I heard their confidential questions. Is he the one?
All night I'd been hearing this, if I wanted to hear it. All night I'd caught the turning heads, the quick furtive stares.
Suddenly I sensed that something was wrong.
It was like hearing the first rumble of a storm when no one else hears it. It was that moment when one is tempted to reach out and say, "Be quiet. Let me listen."
But I didn't have to say those words.
I saw now at the far end of the dining room the servants in frantic argument with one another. Two more of the household servants joined with the others. More frantic whispers.
Hananel heard it. He gestured for one of them to come, and whisper the cause of this in his ear.
Shocked, he turned, and struggled to climb to his feet, dismissing Jason who tried halfheartedly and drowsily to assist him. The old man went to the servants. One of them disappeared into the room of the women, and came back again.
Now other servants were gathering. Yes, something was very wrong.
From out of the curtained privacy of the women's banquet room, my mother appeared. She moved along the margins of the room, unnoticed, her eyes lowered, ignoring the drunken men as they danced and laughed in their habitual fashion. She was heading towards Cleopas, her brother, who sat at the large table opposite Hananel's couch. Hananel himself was still in heated argument with his servants, and his pale withered face was turning red.
My mother touched her brother's shoulder. He rose at once. I saw them searching for me.
I stood in the courtyard in the very center of the house. I stood against the candles as I had for a long time.
My mother came to me, and put her hand on my arm. I saw panic in her eyes. She glanced at all the company round, the hundreds gathered under the roof and outdoors in the tents, at those who nudged each other and laughed and talked at the tables quite oblivious to the distant knot of servants, or the expression on my mother's face.