and for old, paralytic women nostalgic about ballet, but
it is still time to live and tell"
(Carlos Drummond de Andrade)
The Donkey remained several days with the four. Accompanied them in the collections of fruits and roots, in the search of mouthfuls of honey and in the hunting of animals that could swell their legs for the walk. More than anything, however, he followed them in the scrutiny of species inhabiting the oasis, in the study of the pebbles that filled the cave and in the research they undertook of the sky.
Thus, in fatigues and fascinations, they spent the time of a season. One night, based on the movement of some stars, calculated that if they did not hurry to reach the cliff, which marked the border of the desert to the ocean, they would do so only in the winter, which would imply higher penalties and perhaps death. So, reluctantly, the Apes decided to brave the distance that segregated them from the coastal woods and the animal community that lived there. Devised a plan for that, as simple as annoying to play: they would walk by day and seek refuge in shelters at night.
Potsherd, however, faltered as a reed shaken by the wind. Uncertainties assailed him. Terrors populated his dreams. But he emerged from the conflict with the conviction that they should leave. Communicated this idea to his friends, who trembled at the thought that, coming from Sherd, who was the most reticent in the group, the invitation should indicate a considerable delay. And assented, anxious to redeem the lost time.
After saying farewell to the Donkey, to whom had become attached, they departed from the oasis and resumed journey. As they marched, the wind blew the music characteristic of those stops. His pitch was like the voice of a prophet, which echoes when all mouths are gagged, strength is quenched in all hearts, and surrender dictates its terms. In short, when culture itself staggers. And culture, human and simian, staggered indeed.
Thus, the melodious oracle of the wind filled the desert and turned it into a concert hall. And every ear that was not deaf heard that music. And the music became logos and dwelt in the hearts of the four.
After filling all dimensions of the space, the melody, beauty in the body of sounds, did not remain idle, but conceived and gave birth. However, like any birth, this one also started with pangs. But by a miraculous touch like that of the Donkey on its owner, the pain became effusive joy because of what happened next.
When exhaustion reached its paroxysm and the spirit vanished from each one’s body, from four nothings life was made. Suddenly, Potsherd notified to the others the presence of a rocky formation, that looked similar to the caves and dens where they had harbored during the saga. At first, thought it was a cave. But astonishment took them when got near and saw the ruins of a building.
– It’s a monastery! Ware completed.
Glass consented and immediately informed the others:
- If it is, there must be a water fountain somewhere.
And they began to look for it, with the thread of zeal that remained in their hearts. The problem was that the thread was a micron thick, and there was no visible source. Which meant they needed to dig.
Having no other remedy to employ, they began to thin and pull out the earth with stones they found. And they did not know if they dug a well or their own grave. The stones, however, were so appropriate for the work of digging that, in the space of an hour, they reached a layer of damp earth.
The view of the stratum of clay so animated them that they found the strength to dig a little more swiftly. Some more time elapsed, until they finally found water. Yes, water pure and clear! Though almost dead, they fell on their knees and drank. And the water caused them to live again.
After drinking, they lay down under the trees that insisted on growing near the source, and slept an untimely yet restorative sleep. When woke up, Glass asked if they were not in a Hindu monastery. Driven by the question, that was in everyone's heart, the group began to inspect the building. Found that it was quite small by the standards of the time when it had probably been built.
In an instant, they heard a muffled voice:
- Bones, bones!
It was the voice of Monkey Ware, screaming terrified. Everyone rushed to find out what was going on. The Monkey had crept through the slit of a wall to the interior of an underground grave, where fainted at the ghoulish sight of a number of bones on the ground. The place was not only cramped, airtight and smelly. It was also gloomy and dark, though not completely, since light invaded it through cracks like the one that had served him as an entrance.
They all helped the half-dead brother, and calmed him down in all ways they could. But especially told him that humans not infrequently offer much danger, but not their bones. Ware calmed down as he heard the last sentence. It was as if it turned on a hemisphere, a circuit or whatever else in his brain, which had been paralyzed.
Thus, Ware could inspire long gusts of the stale air of the tomb and feel a little better. With glazed eyes, Glass gazed every corner, every inch, every object inside the sarcophagus. But darkness prevented him from seeing clearly. Even so, he thought it was time for the group to examine the findings. However, when he realized, the musty smell had driven his fellows out of the tomb. And having no other alternative, he followed them.
When passing the gap through which they had come in, Glass noticed a sticky object at the distance of a few steps. In one leap, he turned and snatched it. A cloud of dust rose from the finding. Instinctively, Glass shielded his eyes. After uncovering them, he saw it was a manuscript. Shutting the nose with his hand, he examined it slowly and thought: "There may be others."
And he began to rummage the ground around the site where he had found the scroll. He did the same ahead and beyond. Spared no effort, care, tactile examinations of all kinds. But he found nothing, until suddenly stumbled on a second object laid in a corner. His heart beat hurriedly. Glass felt his new find, then lifted it one foot from his head to examine it under the clarity of the gap. But the sequence of movements was enough to lift a second cloud that filled the room.
Glass was annoyed for failing to prevent the last cloud, when he had already inhaled the first one. But covered his eyes and waited for what seemed time enough for the dust particles to drop. And slowly reopened his eyes and found he was in possession of a scroll even larger than the first one.
Feeling lively and unwavering in his resolution to research, Glass restarted the examination. But did not find any other valuable object. So, elated, he narrowed the findings in his arms, squeezed up against the sides of the crack and went out.
Seeing the Monkey dirty from head to toe, like a Wild Pig after rolling in filth, his friends laughed so much that could hardly breath. But as he dragged two large objects, they rushed to meet him, taken by interest. In the sunlight, they realized that one scroll was the Old Testament in six columns, each in a different version, and the other was a copy of Against Celsus, by Origen of Alexandria.
Glass felt that predestined moment reserved them more, much more than the discovery of mere old stuff. He exclaimed:
- The music took us on her wings, so that we could live this moment! She led us by the hand to these books...
The Monkeys had heard of the Bible. They also had some knowledge about the Hexapla, the first manuscript that had been found, and Against Celsus. But Glass had not referred to the knowledge that is like hearing a rumor that wicked winds lead to and fro. He had referred to the experience of the music he and his friends had heard. The symphony that made possible their crossing of the desert was unlike anything that Glass had ever heard about the Bible.
So he continued:
- I heard that Origen, who commanded that the first book was copied and wrote the second one, did so to prove that Jesus was the Christ. In order to verify that the different versions of the Old Testament really said it, Origen had them drafted verse by verse, in parallel columns.
Tile asked:
- But why compare them, if they were translations of a single text? Didn’t they say basically the same?
- No. The differences between the versions were considerable, which led Origen to align them and make a long detective work on the columns.
- But the differences were large enough to justify handwriting a text as long as the Old Testament? And doing so six times? And in several languages? And taking care to align the text verse by verse? Tile insisted with puzzled air.
- The versions differed greatly. As the text’s parallel columns, they sometimes met only at infinity...
These words by Monkey Glass shook his friends and even himself. Without waiting, he continued:
- Origen didn’t order so huge a work for nothing. He had a problem to solve. Someone needed to say a definite word on the greatest jewish debate of the time: if Jesus of Nazareth was the Christ. Origen commanded the Hexapla to be composed only with the the Old Testament books for no other reason.
- And the other book we found?
- The Anti-Celsus is Origen’s answer to the first libel of a philosopher against Christianity. Celsus lived in the second century, when faith in Jesus began to penetrate vigorously the privileged strata of the Roman Empire. Origen transcribed the book of Celsus word by word, in order to refute it completely. That’s why the manuscript is so heavy to drag.
Glass was still speaking when the stones that they had used to dig said:
– Until when shall Men hear the dead without hearing the wind? Until when shall they read Moses and Origen without listening to the music that the east wind blows?
The four froze when heard these words. But not as much as they had done at the time the forest stones had cried. Even Ware behaved.
- Stones, Tile said, who has communicated you this incredible gift of speaking?
- Who? Now who... Don’t you know that from stones God can raise up children to Abraham?
- How so? Ware asked in a supreme effort.
- When Men don't hear the dead, or the singing of the wind, when science becomes bragging, from stones, God raises up children to Abraham.
– So… So, you’re daughters of Abraham? Ware stammered.
- Naturally...
- And even naturally? he said increasingly amazed.
- Yes, when Men no longer hear Moses, Origen, the music of the winds and many other messengers, stones are not limited to cry. They can become children of Abraham.
- And Jesus? asked the discoverer of the tomb. Should he also be heard?
- Not just heard. He is also the subject everyone talks about. "Who is Jesus?" This is the question that all ages have asked. The manuscripts you discovered were composed to answer it. The dechristianization we see raging in the world today also echoes it. But responds it in a reverse mode.
- Study the manuscripts, eventually said the rocks.
And after this sentence, no sound came from them. In spite of how much the Apes interrogated and even poked them, the stones they had used to dig no longer uttered a word. They got into their natural state, into their deep sleep.
However, the four had understood, with unsurpassed clarity, that the investigation they had undertaken was much wider than had suspected. It was about time. And time required that the dead would retell the ancient history in a new way.
The four looked at the manuscripts laid on the ground.
