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Sometimes, when Judas could see Jesus’ face illuminated under torches, he didn’t know what to say. In those moments, he couldn’t plead with him, or yell at him, or criticize. There were a lot of things he couldn’t say, at the best of times, but when he was looking right at him like this Judas always found himself dumbstruck.
He’d have explained it to Mary, if he could, but he was moving farther away from her as each day drug on and on, a candle burning to the wick with nothing left but memories. Judas was sure that they were all being snuffed out.
It’s like all of the words have been snatched from his mind, but not from his heart. His heart is always so heavy, too heavy.
He tried to warn him, but it seemed like Jesus was always turning his back just as he came up with his argument – that they needed to avoid Rome, that they needed to avoid the Sanhedrin, like they needed to avoid the crowds which could turn in a minute if they heard something more interesting.
Maybe he didn’t want to be warned. If the rumors were true, maybe he knew this was the way it was always going to go.
Sometimes he felt so young, when he looked around at the rest of the twelve, when he talked to Mary about what to do.
They took two different tacks – Judas wanted to protect the man, Mary wanted to comfort him.
“There’s nothing we can do to change whatever is going to happen,” Mary said. “There’s nothing we can do to stop it… It’s beyond us now.”
Judas stared at her.
“You can’t just sit down and hope for the best. We need to save him. We need to get him to listen.”
“He’s not going to listen if he doesn’t want to, Judas.” She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. He wanted to scream. He couldn’t lean into comfort, now; he couldn’t let himself be led astray by the promise of connection, of friendship.
That was what he had always wanted, but it had never clicked. He’d always felt apart from everyone else, like he stuck out like a sore thumb. Like he’d been chosen for some reason that he would never really be able to know.
“And you’re just going to let him,” Judas snarled, jerking his body away from her.
She laughed.
“Do you think he needs permission from anyone to do anything, Judas? He’s just as stubborn as you are! Sometimes, I think that’s the reason you’re so drawn together.”
Judas’ face must have drained of its color; he was sure that he felt it, like he was falling into the ground.
“What? Do you think no one else realizes the way that you look at him? And the way he cares for you? Judas, I’m sure if there was something he could do to put your mind at ease, he would. But I don’t think that’s an option.”
“Not everything,” Judas whispered. “He wouldn’t do everything.”
Mary sighed. And then she just reached out and hugged him. Maybe there was nothing more that she could do.
***
Caiaphas had always seemed like a harried sort of man, the kind of guy who stayed up late worrying about what might happen. His hair was likely to turn white, if it hadn’t already – sometimes Judas couldn’t really tell. Maybe he was seeing his own stress in others. It was too dark out to know for sure, anyway.
He wanted to reach out and touch somebody, needed to, but he didn’t think Caiaphas was about all of that; he was a stony kind of man.
He wondered if he came to Jesus now, still, if the man would finally listen to him. If he told him what he had been willing to do, that he would sell him out to save him – better see him humiliated and arrested, but alive. (If he could trust Caiaphas, that was – could he trust him?)
But the priests had their eyes on him, now, as if they understood. As they’d been staying up late, thinking about this, too. Like they had the same circles under their eyes.
And so he told them. His eyes closed, slowly, and he tried to picture a different choice. A different place.
Somewhere where Jesus would listen to him, hold him, tell him that whatever he had chosen, that it was right. That he’d forgive him.
That he would live.
But when he opened his eyes, everything was dark as night.