Frigyes Karinthy : Barabbas
A short story
By Frigyes Karinthy
The Hungarian - edited - version of the story was extracted from the 'Hungarian Graded Reader', compiled by Ilona Mihalyfy and Eva Eszenyi, under the direction of Augustus A. Koski, published by the Foreign Service Institute, Dept. of State, with support of the Office of Education, DHEW. 1968. After Frigyes Karinthy
Translated by Laszlo G. Fulop
reviewed by Jane C. Simon and Marta Nemesi
On the third day, sunset nearing, he stepped out of the vault and quietly began to walk down the road. Along the road smoke was rising from smolddering ruins. At the bottom of a parched ditch he found the first of those, who, in front of the house of Pilate, had shouted Barabbas’ name.
He stopped in front of the man and quietly said: “Here I am.”
The man looked up and began crying.
“Rabbi, Rabbi!” he cried.
The Master gently continued:
“Don’t cry. Stand up and come with me. For I am going back to Jerusalem, to the house of Pilate and request a new ruling for me and for those of you, who chose to save Barabbas, and to whom Barabbas did all this.”
“Oh, I was an idiot” cried the man in misery, pounding his head with his fists, “what an idiot I was when I shouted: ‘Barabbas!’ and look what he did to me.”
“It’ll be all right now” said the Master gently “but do come with me to Pilate’s house and pay no attention to anything, or anyone, only to me. When I motion, this time you shout from the bottom of your heart: ‘the Nazarene!’ as if you cried for your life.”
The man followed him.
And on the way they found another wretched man whose house, wife and children Barabbas had taken and whose eyes Barabbas had put out.
And he gently touched the man’s forehead and said:
“I am the one. Come with me to Jerusalem and when I touch you with my hand, shout: ‘the Nazarene!’, as if you were calling out for your house, for your children, for your eyesight.”
The man sobbed and followed him.
And they found yet another one, with his hands and feet bound, whom Barabbas had pushed face down into the mud full of worms and critters. And he bent down, and untied his bonds and said:
“I know you. You were a poet, who declaimed the soaring of the soul. Come with me and when I make the motion shout: ‘the Nazarene!’ as if you cried: “Freedom! Freedom of the soul! Freedom of thought!”
The man kissed his sandal, begging forgiveness with his eyes, for his mouth was still full of mud.
As they went on, more and more lame, crippled, miserable people joined them, people who had been wrecked and ruined by Barabbas. And one by one, sobbing, they begged him just to give the sign when the time comes to shout: “the Nazarene!” And they would shout as if they cried: “Peace! Peace! Peace on Earth!”
As dusk was approaching they arrived to the house of Pilate.
Pilate was sitting on his terrace dining with Barabbas, the murderer. There they sat with gluttonous, flushed faces, drinking heavy wines and eating rare foods served on golden dishes.
The Nazarene, in front of the multitude that followed him, went up to the terrace, raised his pierced hands and gently spoke:
“Pilate, the holy days of Passover are still with us. The law and custom are that you let one of the convicted ones go, the one the people desire. The people chose Barabbas, so I was crucified. But I had to return from the dead, because I could see that the people did not know what they were doing. Those behind me have gotten to know Barabbas and now want a new ruling to be given. Ask them again, as it is written in our books.”
Pilate reflected for a while, shrugged, then went to the edge of the terrace, and staring incredulously at the crowd, he called out:
“Well, whom should I let go now, Barabbas, or the Nazarene?
And then the Master motioned.
And then the murmur of the multitude grew to a thunder. And the multitude thundered: “Barabbas!”
And frightened they looked at each other, because individually they all had shouted: ”the Nazarene!”
The Master turned pale, as he gazed over the crowd. He recognized each face, every single one. Then the multitude of faces seemed to coalesce into one face in front of the approaching dusk, an enormous head with bloodshot eyes, grinning stupidly and fiendishly back into his face as it roared: “Barabbas!” as if it was screaming: “death! death! death!”
Pilate, somewhat perplexed, lowered his eyelids and said to him: “Thou seest ...”
He nodded, quietly walked up the steps and stretched out his hands toward the executioner, to be tied up again.
(translated 1994/LGF)