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The cross, the nails driven through His wrists, not His hands, Hisbody twisting and turning as if in the last moments, He would escape,and His head bashed down on the crossbar, so that the thorns wentinto His scalp, and then the nails through His feet, and His eyesrolling, the pound and the pound of the hammer, and then the Light, theimmense Light rising as it had risen over the balustrade of Heaven,and filling the world, and obliterating even this warm, solid, lusciousglut of blood that sank into me. The Light, the light itself and thebeing within it, In His Image! The light receded, swift, soundless, andleaving behind a long tunnel or path, and I knew the path was straightfrom Earth to the Light.
Pain! The Light was disappearing. The separation was unspeakable!
A swift blow struck my entire body with full force.
I was flung back into the crowd. Sand stung my eyes. The screamsrose all around me. The blood was on my tongue. It flowed from mylips. Time pressed in with suffocating heat. And He was before us,staring at us, and tears spilled down out of His eyes, through theblood that already covered Him.
"My God, my God, my God!" I cried, swallowing the last of theblood; I sobbed.
The woman across the way blazed into visibility. Suddenly hervoice rose above the babble and the cursing, the horrid cacophony ofcoarse and feelingless humans everywhere struggling to witness.
"My God!" she screamed, and her voice was like a trumpet. Shestepped into his path.
She stood before Him and drew the fine white veil from her hair,and put it up with both hands before His face.
"Lord, God, this is Veronica," she cried. "Remember Veronica.
Twelve years I suffered a flow of blood, and when I touched the hemof your garment, I was healed.""Unclean, filth!" came the cries.
"Lawbreaker, blasphemer!""Son of God, you dare!""Unclean, unclean, unclean!"The cries grew frantic. People reached out for her, yet seemedloath to touch her. Pebbles and stones rained in the air towards her.
The soldiers were undecided, baffled, and belligerent.
But God Incarnate, shoulders bent under the beam, only lookedat her, and then He said, "Yes, Veronica, gently, your veil, mybeloved, your veil."The white cloth, virgin and fine, she spread over His face, to blotthe blood, the sweat, to soothe, to comfort, His profile clear beneathits whiteness for an instant, and then, as she meant to wipe gently, thesoldiers drew her back and she stood, holding up the veil for all to seein both hands.
His Face was on it!
"Memnoch, look!" I cried. "Look at the veil of Veronica!"The face had been transferred, flawlessly and perfectly, sealedinto the cloth as no painter could have rendered it, as if the veil hadtaken the perfect print of Christ's countenance like a modern camera,only even more vivid, as if a thin layer of flesh had made the flesh inthe picture, and blood had made the blood, and the eyes had blazedinto the cloth their duplicates, and the lips had left their incarnateimprint as well.
Everyone nearest it saw the likeness. People shoved and pushedagainst us to see it. Screams rose.
The hand of Christ slipped loose from the rope that bound it tothe crossbar, and reached out and took the veil from her, and she fellon her knees crying, her hands to her face. The soldiers werestupefied, confused, shoving at the crowd with their elbows, snarling atthose who pressed in.
Christ turned and handed the veil to me.
"Take it, keep it! Hide it, take it with you!" He whispered.
I grasped the cloth, terrified that I might damage or smear theimage. Hands reached for it. I closed it tight against my chest.
"He's got the veil," someone shouted. I was shoved backwards.
"Get the veil!" An arm struggled to snatch it from me.
Those who lunged towards us were blocked suddenly by thosewho came from behind to see the spectacle and shoved usthoughtlessly out of their path. We were pushed backwards by the sheerswell, tumbling through the filthy ragged bodies, through the dinand the shouts and the curses.
All sight of the procession was gone; the cries of "the veil" werehopelessly distant.
I folded it, tight, and turned and ran.
I didn't know where Memnoch was; I didn't know where I wasgoing. I ran down the narrow street and through another andanother and another, people streaming by me, indifferent to me, onthe way to the crucifixion, or simply trudging their accustomedpath.
My chest burnt from my running, my feet were bruised and torn, Itasted His blood again and saw the Light in a blinding flash. Unableto see, I clutched the cloth. I lifted it and shoved it inside my robe andclutched it tight there. No one would get it. No one.
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