"Tell Mother I'll Be There"
For me--I know that and I do not ask
Your blessing. No. I want no trouble, though
You'd well say trouble's all I've ever been
To you, at least. Aye, and to myself.
Eh? Yes, I blame you not for being shocked
To hear me talk like this at last. The man
Who bragged of nothing but his courage now
Owns fear when there is nothing left to fear;
Today I learned of shame for the first time
When hundreds shouted out my name. Today
I've been set free and never felt a chain
So heavy or so fast. Acquitted, yet
Burdened by guilt deserved. And on this day,
When 'gainst all odds my life was given me,
I wish that I were dead.
I am not mad,
Nor drunk, nor sane, nor sober--just undead
A living man who, by all rights, should not
Still be alive. And burdened by a fate
I should have shared and yet did not.
He's dead.
I see you heard. I'd be a poor one to bring
The first news of that to you. For what it's worth,
I'm sorry. Sorry for you and for myself.
I know--I know--I have no right to speak--
It's all my fault. I took your precious son--
A thief who stole his life and innocence,
A murderer who pushed him into death's path,
And a coward, spared the felon's fate deserved.
I do not ask you to excuse my life--I never tried.
Rome has given me her pardon--I do not ask for yours
Any more than my own.
No, there's no escaping it.
I remember all those days, just two wild lads,
Me and Dismas on the hills of Galilee. Good times?
The thought of them leaves a bitter taste.
He worshipped me like a hero--older, stronger
And more experienced in the world (not as much
As I let on to him)--and I enjoyed it.
Were we ever truly friends? What is a friend?
All I know is that I slowly changed him,
Turned your blameless son into a scoundrel--
Just like me.
What a mockery that sounds now.
A good boy and bad one became doubly bad;
And two bad boys turned into two bad men.
I made myself into something foul and vile
And turned him into a copy of myself.
Do you think I'm proud of that? Not now.
What might he have done with his life? If only
He had never crossed my path? If only I
Had let him walk a straight and blameless path?
What might he have done? What could he
Have become?
God knows. Something more
Than a vagabond, a thief, a would-be rebel
Without a cause, fighting for an empty dream,
Dying naked on a Roman cross. A broken life,
Empty of all that life that should mean.
And yet--
Ma'am, there is a reason why I've come today.
There is one last fragment of this story, and I swore
That I would bear it home since I have been set free.
Yes, I was pardoned, strange as that may seem.
(It cannot seem more strange to you than to me:
“Set Barabbas free!” they cried. Madder things
Have happened in Jerusalem of late. It gives one pause.)
Yes, I lived. Lived to watch Dismas and Gestas die,
Companions in my life, fellows in my crimes,
And yet condemned when I was set free.
Instead,
They killed that Nazarene. The Rabbi. No doubt
You have heard men speak of him. A man
Who did works no other man could do;
Who taught the poor and healed the sick--
And they killed him in place of me. They took
A healer for a murderer; a Rabbi for a rebel,
A teacher for a fool; a saint for scum for me.
I'd laugh if I still had laughter in my soul. (This day
Has taken more from me than you can know.)
Yes, the three of them--a prophet and two profiteers
Strung up upon old Skullbone Hill. And me
Alive and free to watch them die.
The crowd seethed
With so much sudden scorn for the Rabbi that
They hardly seemed to note the others there;
You'd think he was the worst of all the lot
To hear them talk. I've known rage and hatred
For all my life. But today--it was something else.
I think the Devil was in us all. Even Dismas and Gestas,
Wrung as they were in the last agonies of life,
Found strength to fling a taunt or two, gasping
For one last breath to form a scornful word.
And yet he never returned a word.
“As a sheep
Before her shearers...” Well, you know the Scriptures
Better than me. But his silence--I never heard
Anything quite that loud. I think that's the thing
That finally caught Dismas' ears. Under that load
His taunts grew faint and finally died. And then
Between his tortured gasps he spoke: “It's mad.
We deserved our fate; in life, we lived for death;
We stole to give us strength to steal the more;
Killed only for the chance to kill again; rebelled
To gain the right to break the law. But He
Has done no wrong; His life was life
And He gave life to those in need. Only One could live
Like that.”
Gestas sneered still, but Dismas cried:
“Remember me, Messiah, when your great kingdom comes.”
And the Rabbi, his face almost white with pain, rose up
And said: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Well, God is God and men are men, and I
Know little enough of either one. Some say
The Rabbi was a deceiver, some say Christ;
Some say a madman; some say a devil's tool.
And I am not the one to choose the right.
But I only know this--and this is why
I came to tell this gruesome tale to you.
(I know it must bring you pain, but hear me out):
I have seen men die more times than I can count--
Far too many at my own hand. I've seen
The last frightened terrors of the eyes;
The final tears of hopeless grief. But
There amidst the darkness and the storm
Of this infernal day, there on the hill
Of pain and of disgrace, 'midst scorn and hate
The Rabbi died with a shout, like a triumphant king:
And Dismas died with a smile.
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