Azazeel (23 page)

On the way to their guesthouse, the conversation went in every direction. He told me of the splendour of Antioch, the many fields of learning taught in its schools, the well-stocked library of
the bishopric, the simple people who come from the nearby villages, Emperor Theodosius II, the way he hesitated in most matters, and about the bishop of Antioch and his good character. I told him
about my days in Akhmim and described to him that lively town on the banks of the Nile, its large temple which had awe-inspiring statues of pharaohs at its gate, some of them ninety feet high. I
told him about the statue of the beautiful woman which stood there and who they say was the daughter of the great pharaoh who built the temple.

‘I heard that the rest of the Alexandrian professors left the city for Akhmim and have been living there for years,’ Nestorius said.

‘Yes, father. But Akhmim also has many churches and half the inhabitants are Christian, and good people.’

‘Hypa, you’re prejudiced in favour of your fellow Egyptians.’

‘It’s possible, father, it’s possible.’

When we saw Bishop Theodore in his room he was delighted we had come. I felt that day the depth of the affection which united them and I hoped to have the same relationship with Nestorius as he
had with the bishop. I was at ease in the council room and the food at lunch was really good, with dishes unknown in and around Jerusalem. The bishop tried to please me by identifying the various
dishes for me, praising some of them as easy to digest. Galen’s book was still in my hand and I thanked him for it and for the invitation to lunch in this holy gathering of priests. He smiled
and said, ‘I’ll send you some more good books after I get back and I’ll ask the diocesan scribes to copy for you the works of Hippocrates and other famous physicians.’

‘That would be a great honour, your Grace.’

‘It would be useful for you, and for the people, God willing,’ he said. ‘People need medicine and the profession has declined recently. Let’s hope that through you the
Lord will preserve this useful art.’

Nestorius intervened politely in the conversation and told the bishop that I wrote poetry. The bishop turned to him and told him that his old friend Bishop John Chrysostom used to write poetry
early in his life. ‘Did I not tell you, dear Nestorius, that they are similar?’ he said. Then the bishop started recalling to the gathering many stories about John Chrysostom. He
relished telling old stories, as though he were reviving something in the core of his being from the distant past.

Our gathering included an elderly monk who did not speak a word and two priests. As soon as Bishop Theodore had finished telling his stories, one of the priests jumped in with a question:
‘How could Alexandria dare to condemn John Chrysostom when he was a saint?’ The sudden question dispelled the mood of goodwill which had prevailed in the session. Nestorius looked in
disapproval at the priest who asked the question, embarrassing him, and we all took refuge in silence.

Bishop Theodore frowned and spoke irritably. ‘There are many foolish things in Alexandria. The current and former bishops committed acts of violence, and I do not like to speak about them
or their deeds, which were as remote as possible from the teachings of Christ and the Apostles and most similar to acts committed by those with earthly ambitions. May the Lord encompass all with
his mercy, and pardon everyone.’

I expected that Bishop Theodore’s remarks would signal the end of the meeting, but all of a sudden the taciturn monk, from whom I had not heard a word since I first saw him, started
talking in Greek with an eastern accent. Resting his shoulder on his stick, he spoke intensely,: ‘God forgive the Alexandrians what they have done, what they are doing now and what they will
do tomorrow. The church of Alexandria will not desist until it collapses and Christianity collapses with it.’

Everyone fell silent and no one looked at anyone else. I glanced around at them all, amazed at the effect of the strange monk’s words and how they fell silent after he spoke. He definitely
had some status among them, or he would not have spoken so forcefully or disconcerted everyone in this way, although his appearance did not suggest he was at all important. I realized at that
moment that in this world the Lord has men who have profound knowledge of the secrets of love, men whose worth is known only to the elect. This monk, it seemed to me, was one of those with a deep
knowledge of love. He was very much like St Chariton, whom I saw in the cave near the Dead Sea. Both of them were elderly, with oriental beards and gaunt frames. Both of them trembled when they
spoke, and people trembled when they heard them speak. Was this mysterious monk a brother to St Chariton, or were they perhaps the same person, appearing in different places in different guises, so
that these saints could be a sign to people, bearing witness to the Lord’s miracles on earth? That is what ran through my mind at the time, along with strange spiritual ideas which I no
longer experience in the same way as I did in that faraway time.

Suddenly Nestorius the priest stood up, brushing down his gown with both hands as though he were brushing off the silence which had reigned at the meeting. He told Bishop Theodore that we would
leave him to rest, that he was taking his leave to go with me to my room to discuss certain matters, and that he would be back shortly after sunset. That was the end of the meeting at which I saw
Bishop Theodore for the last time.

On our way to my room I could not resist asking Nestorius about the taciturn monk who shouted out and whose words had brought an end to the meeting. He told me he was one of the best-known
ascetics in the oldest monastery in the land of Cappadocia, which provided Christianity with the three most famous fathers of the Church, known as the Cappadocian Fathers. This taciturn monk, he
added, was known for his life of abstinence and asceticism and people told stories of his marvels and miracles, which he insisted on denying. He said the monk was known for staying silent for long
periods and rarely speaking, and churchmen greatly revered him. Bishop Theodore considered him one of his spiritual mentors, because at more than eighty years of age he was many years older than
the bishop.

‘He looks like Chariton the monk,’ I said.

‘How would you know, Hypa? Have you seen St Chariton?’

‘Yes, father, I visited him in his cave some years ago.’

Nestorius wanted to know more about my meeting with Chariton the monk, and I wanted to know more about what the taciturn Cappadocian monk had said, so that day we had much to talk about. We sat
together for many hours, our conversation interrupted only by the arrival of a poor man seeking medicine for a severe pain he had in his intestines after eating some rotten food. The only treatment
for the man was the general-purpose theriac known as methroditos and I had some of it in my room. I gave it to him and declined any fee with my constant phrase: ‘If you want, you can put
something in the gift box in the church.’ The man went off, and I went back to my conversation with Nestorius, who was pleased to see me treat the sick for charity. ‘All that is stored
up for you with the Lord, blessed Hypa,’ he said.

‘Father,’ I said. ‘I learnt medicine without paying, so how could I charge anything now? As our Saviour Jesus told the disciples, “Freely you have received, freely
give.”’

We went back to our agreeable conversation and I told Nestorius the rest of the story of my wanderings, what I witnessed around the Dead Sea, and how I met Chariton the monk after sleeping in
front of his cave three days running, waiting for him to come out and reluctant to walk in on him and disturb his retreat. Every week a group of visitors would come to Chariton’s cell and
leave a basket outside, filled with pieces of bread, chunks of dry cheese and a jar of water which would not last an ordinary human more than two days. But he made do with all that till the end of
the week. It was the villagers who showed me the cave, and advised me not to go in unless he called me. After two nights of vigil at the mouth of the cave I began to doubt that he was inside it. It
occurred to me that maybe he had died years ago and no one had noticed, and the food they left him was taken by wild dogs. But when I fell asleep one day around noon I saw Chariton telling me in a
dream that the time had not yet come, and that he would ask for me when the time came. After the third night, my bag had run out of food and I had nothing left but books, scrolls and inks. I was
completely resigned as I awaited the signal, not impatient for it and never thinking of leaving the entrance to the cave. That day at noon I heard him calling in a deep and echoing voice from far
down inside his retreat. ‘If there’s anyone out there, come in,’ he said.

When I went in, his appearance appalled me. Little was visible but his eyes shining with sainthood, in a face surrounded by tangled hair, above an emaciated body covered in faded black rags. The
cave was in the form of a cellar, with many cracks in the walls. The floor was cold and damp, and when I entered it was a relief from the blasts of hot air that had scorched me throughout the three
days I had spent alone under the sun, which shines fiercely in these arid regions. I went gently into his retreat, which was full of light and solemnity. He spoke first. ‘What do you want
from me?’

‘Father, I’ve been alone at your door for days, waiting to see you and receive your blessings, and ask you about things.’

‘What makes you think I have the answer?’

‘That’s what I imagine and hope, father, because my questions torment me.’

‘Sit down.’

I sat in front of him politely and talked to him of the doubts which beset me and had led me to investigate the origins of Christianity. I told him of my journey to the Dead Sea caves in the
hope of finding answers from the Essenes, and how I found no life in their caves, for all mention of them had ceased, as though they were a fleeting memory. I spoke at length of my horror at the
rivers of violence which had swept the land of God and my alarm at the terrible killing which was happening in the name of Christ. I told him candidly of my need for certainty and how I lacked
it.

Chariton the monk did not speak until I finished. Then his emaciated body shook and the bones of his chest and shoulders protruded as he spoke to me, saying, ‘Certainty comes only through
quelling doubts, and doubts are quelled only by putting your trust in the Lord, and that comes about only by recognizing the miracles of His creation, and acknowledging that His miracles come only
by affirming the incarnation of God and His manifestation in Christ.’ Then he advised me to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and he emphasized that I should not enter the city immediately but
should tour the surrounding area and visit the spots where the feet of Jesus the Messiah had trodden, then I should approach little by little the centre, which is the place of His resurrection, and
I should not go there until I had received a signal from Jesus the Messiah.

‘And from there you came here, Hypa?’ Nestorius asked.

‘Yes, father, from there.’

Nestorius leant back against the wall and stretched his legs along the bed. He paused for a moment of deep thought and his face showed signs that he had drifted off into a world of meditation.
After a while he shut his eyes a little. Then he looked at me and said something which I memorized and recorded in my papers that evening. ‘Chariton is a holy man without a doubt,’ he
said, ‘but his way is different from our way in Antioch. He abandons the world in order to find rest, he probes deep into his own soul in order to save it, and he renounces things only to
have them pursue him. But our way, Hypa, is different: we believe with our hearts and affirm the miracles of God, then we harness our reason to help mankind go forward to where God wishes. We
believe that miracles are only miracles when they happen rarely. Otherwise, if they happen too often, they no longer count as miracles. The Lord took bodily form once in Jesus Christ to show the
path for mankind ever after, and so we do not need to relive the miracle itself but rather to live by the path he showed us, or else the miracle would lose its meaning. Chariton the monk gave your
heart relief by clearing your mind of whatever was troubling you. He hoped to dispel the worries of the mind and make the heart illuminate the path to discernment. Because the heart, Hypa, has the
light of faith but not the ability to investigate, understand or resolve contradictions.’

Nestorius pointed to the window of my room, towards the dome of the church of St Helena. ‘Look with your heart at the magnificence of this church and your heart will be full of
faith,’ he said. ‘Then think about the fact that the saint who built it, Helena, the mother of Emperor Constantine, began life as a barmaid in the brothels of Edessa. How can we
understand that transformation in the life of the emperor and his mother, other than by analogy with the miracle of Jesus Christ? And miracles, Hypa, rarely happen. We believe they rarely happen,
and then we put reason and analogy to work on the phenomena, until we understand them and resolve their contradictions. That is the case with other things too: we believe, then we use our intellect
and our faith is affirmed. This is our way.’

‘Some contradictions will remain that the intellect cannot resolve,’ I said.

‘Maybe your intellect, but after you someone will come who can do it,’ said Nestorius.

‘Or the contradictions will collapse spontaneously and will be forgotten, and people will not bother with them.’

‘True, Hypa, there are many examples of that.’

I felt that the time was right to ask him about the outburst by the Cappadocian monk, whose words had silenced everyone, but I was a little hesitant for fear of annoying him. It seems that with
his sharp insight he noticed my hesitation. He looked at me with a smiling eye and a cheerful face and, as he poured himself a cup from the pot of warm mint, he asked me what I was hiding and why I
was hesitant. ‘You can read my mind and heart, father,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you frankly that I was most interested in what the Cappadocian monk said. He made me think about
the contradictions between Christianity based on sacrifice and love, and those acts committed in Christ’s name in Alexandria.’