Crucifixion

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And He, bearing his cross, went out to a place called the Place of a Skull, which is called in Hebrew, Golgotha. Where they crucified Him and two others with Him, one on either side and Jesus in the centre. Now Pilate wrote a sign and put it on the cross. And the writing said:

"JESUS OF NAZARETH, THE KING OF JEWS".

John 19:17-19

Ivan had just turned off the faucet and reached out for the paper towel dispenser, when all of a sudden his mouth was gagged with a dusty rug, his body torn off the floor by two strangers, who then quickly manhandled him out of the comfort station and into a Toyota minibus, where another man, with a fast, sure movement of his hand, sent Ivan instantly into a deep chloroformed sleep.

On coming back to his senses, Ivan found himself lying on the floor of the vehicle, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his head aching terribly. All his three captors were in the minibus - the driver and the two husky guys seated on both his sides. He did not know who these men were, neither did he know where he was being driven to and why the hell he had been captured. But he knew for sure that he had missed his Kiev - St Petersburg flight and that his wife, who was supposed to meet him at the airport, would be very alarmed to discover he wasn't aboard the plane.

He managed to take a glimpse at the watch on the wrist of one of his captors. It was about four hours since he had stepped over the threshold of that damned bathroom. Perhaps if he hadn't done that, he would have been flying safely home now. "Shit," he whispered and closed his eyes.

Soon he felt with all his body that the vehicle had turned off the highway to go on along a dirt road and after twenty minutes of bouncing over pits and bumps, the minibus stopped and the driver shut down the engine.

"Here we are. Wake up," one of the guys shook Ivan by the shoulder, "Come on, buddy, get up and out."

Ivan had no choice but to obey and leave the minibus. A heady fresh air, saturated with the bracing smell of spraying water, burst through his nostrils and into his chest, replacing the stale gas his lungs were full of after his journey on the floor of the car. He looked around to find himself standing on a dirt track bordered with a wood on one side and a river on the other. The sparkling, frothing waters of the river with a buzzing hubbub pushed their way through the rapids of smooth, grey boulders that stretched across the frisking stream up to the opposite bank, fringed with the wall of a forest.

"Don't be scared, you're safe here. Let's go to the house," the driver, now out of the car, interrupted his observation of the landscape and made him notice a small mud-walled hut standing at the edge of the wood. Half a dozen goats peacefully strolled around the house, exploring the ground that had not yet forgotten the numbing coldness of winter and which April had not yet dyed verdant. A flock of noisy geese enjoyed the first hot sunbeams, paddling in a dirty pool that had obviously been a snowdrift only a couple of days ago.

Ivan, accompanied by his captors, walked over to the hut, then all the four entered the low door, passed through the small antechamber and got into a faintly lit room, where at the long table there sat five casually dressed men. On seeing Ivan, the tallest and most handsome of them arose and with a benevolent smile headed towards the captive.

"Glad to see you, Ivan. Oh, brethren, haven't you yet released his hands from the bonds? Please do it immediately and let our guest join us at the table." There was no trace of aggressiveness in his soft, suave voice.

"I have an apology to make for the way you've been brought here," continued the man as he enclosed Ivan's hands, now freed from the rope, in his big, warm palms. "But there was no other way to convey you here. You may check your pockets; we didn't touch your wallet, but had to confiscate your cell phone just for your own security."

"Where am I?" asked Ivan.

The man relinquished his hold on Ivan's hands and took a step back.

"In Ukraine, of course. We're in the woods of Vinnitsa region. The river you've seen is the Southern Bug, or the Hypanis as Herodotus named it in his Histories. The land of the extinct Scythians, the very outskirts of the former Roman Empire, the Empire within the boundaries of which our Lord has sacrificed himself. Well, Ivan, pray take any seat you like."

Ivan cast a glance at the table set with jugs of wine and crusty loaves of brown bread.

"Thanks, but first of all I'd like to know who you are and to what I owe my being here. How dare you hold me in this ramshackle hut now, when my plane's landing in Saint Petersburg? What the hell does all this mean?"

"My dear friend, I do understand your resentment," replied the tall man "and, of course, you're absolutely right, we must introduce ourselves to you. Let me do it first - my name's Pontius Pilate."

"What?" Ivan made a sarcastic grimace. "Pontius Pilate?"

"Aye, and the people you see at the table are Peter the apostle, then Andrew, John, James. The men that came with you are Phillip, Mathew and Thomas. The rest of the apostles are going to be present here tonight."

"Are you a sort of sect?" asked Ivan.

Pontius Pilate filled a tumbler with wine, downed it in a gulp and then replied:

"It's not the best term for our fraternity, but you may call us so, if you like."

"It's pretty amusing, but I'd like to inform you that I've nothing to do with any sect of any religion whatever." Ivan drew a chair off the table, sat down on it, crossed his legs and gave everyone at the table an estimating look.

"So, you're the apostles," he said, his voice heavy with irony. "Nice to meet you, saint martyrs. But I see there's one grand person missing. Where is your Good Shepherd?"

"You mean Jesus Christ?" Pilate asked as he put the empty glass on the table.

"Yeah, the King of the Hebrews. You see I had a chance to read some of the Gospels."

"There's no better thing in the world than reading Holy Writ," Pilate broke a piece of bread off a loaf and sent it into his mouth. Having chewed and swallowed it, he went on with his speech: "We've been missing Our Savior for so long time, but now at last He's with us."

"Could you be so kind as to introduce me to Him?" asked Ivan, still smiling maliciously. "'Cause I've never had a chance to have the Savior Himself standing by my side."

"And you'll never have a chance to see Him beside you," responded Pilate, "because our Jesus Christ is now sitting before me in a vulgar posture and speaking to me and all the saint apostles present in a tone that doesn't befit His divine dignity."

"What?!" Ivan exclaimed as he nearly tumbled down off his chair. "You mean me? Are you nuts? I'm Christ? Who would believe this? How utterly absurd!"

"You'd better try some of our wine to calm yourself down and relax," Andrew the apostle joined in the conversation.

"Yes, Andrew's right - it's no good refusing our frugal dinner." Pilate helped himself to some more bread. "Now, my dear friend, try and attend to my words. For a long time we've been looking for you all around the world, and now, after all those years of strenuous searching, we've got you here, and we at last can help you fulfill your sacred mission."

"What the hell mission?"

Pilate straightened up and sternly looked at Ivan.

"To save mankind through martyrdom and death."

"Whose death?" asked Ivan.

"Yours, of course," replied Pilate.

"But I'm not going to die," declared Ivan.

"Maybe you are not, but it's me who's named Pontius Pilate, and it's my destiny to have you crucified."

"Nonsense," Ivan shook his head in confusion, "you must be kidding."

"It's no nonsense," replied Pilate, "but an inevitable thing."

"Then you're nothing but a mob of maniacs." Ivan got up and spoke in a tremulous voice: "Who gave you the right to capture an innocent man in broad daylight, carry him hundreds of kilometers away and then talk this bloody rubbish about saving the world through the death of this absolutely innocent person. You'd better look at yourselves, saint apostles, at your faces of thorough boozers."

"You're getting abusive, Ivan," Pilate sounded irritated, the sweetness of his voice gone.

"Abusive? You ought to be not only abused, but accused of an attempt to murder a man in a sadistic way."

"Do stop blaspheming for Heaven's sake!" yelled Peter the apostle and hurled an empty glass at Ivan.

Ivan dodged and then made a sudden dash toward the door, but Pilate was quick and strong enough to grasp the runaway by the collar of his jacket and flung him down on to the floor.

"I tell you once again," Pilate roared over the prostrate figure, "I'm Pontius Pilate and you're Jesus Christ. Your sacred destiny is to be crucified by me in order to save all the people of the world and deliver them from their sufferings for good. And should you not agree, I'm not going to be very kind to you at all."

"Yes, dear Ivan, Pontius speaks the truth," said Phillip the apostle. "He's a nice fellow, but it's his grievous fate to kill you. "

Ivan slowly got up to his feet, shook the dust off his clothes and reoccupied his seat.

"Well, Ivan, please don't try to drive me crazy anymore," Pilate again sounded amiable. "I understand very well that this kind of situation is somewhat odd to you, but there's no need to be afraid of anything while you're among us. It's not going to be as awful as you might first have imagined. Everything will be done according to the letter of the Scripture. Today's Thursday. Tomorrow's going to be Good Friday. In the morning we'll take you to the hill that we call Golgotha. It's not far from here. There we'll nail you up to a wooden cross and then, when you're dead, we'll put your body in a tomb at the foot of Golgotha. After that, on Sunday, when everybody celebrates Easter, you willsuccessfully resurrect and it shall be the beginning of a new era, the era that shall put an end to Man's previous sinful way of life. You see there's nothing so fearful about the whole thing at all."

"Okay," Ivan sighed deeply, "let me pretend I believe in all those weird fantasies of yours. But there's still one question - why me? Why of all the people on Earth have you chosen me to be your Christ and not anybody else? I've never met anyone of you before, I know nothing about you and I presume you hardly know anything about me."

"Your presumption is wrong, Ivan," declared Pilate. "We know all about you. And the first point in the list of the reasons for our choice is your age. Thirty-three - the age of Christ."

"Oh, I'm not the only one at that - millions of men are thirty-three."

"But you're the most sinless of them all."

"Me?" Ivan gave Pilate a look of distrust.

"Yes, you've been leading such a way of life that you happened to make the least number of infringements on the Ten Commandments of all the men of your age, in the whole world."

"Incredible! I wasn't aware of that until now. In that case I should be in Paradise, not here, in this godforsaken shack."

"No doubt you will be there, but your way to Paradise lies through the act of self-sacrificing."

"Well," Ivan gave Pilate an inquiring look, "do you mind proving my stainless purity of mind and body?'

"First, you haven't murdered anyone," replied Pilate.

"Most people have never committed that kind of felony."

"You've never stolen a thing."

"I'm not the only person who has been properly brought up by his parents."

"You've never borne false witness against your neighbor."

"I've just never been called to witness in the court. If I had, nobody knows what I'd have said."

"But fact is fact, and what's more you've never coveted your neighbor's property.

"Stop, stop, stop, please. Maybe the statement about the property is correct, but I remember now - I stole once."

"What did you steal?" enquired Pilate, astounded.

"When I was eight I swiped a handful of candies in the supermarket."

"Ivan, don't be so droll. It was just a child's prank, not a crime. And one more important point - you've never committed adultery."

Ivan gave out a heavy sigh.

"I would have been unfaithful to my wife millions of times. I wanted to do it, but it's my sexual cowardice and diffidence that prevented me from doing so. You see I'm not a sinless person at all." Ivan's voice grew more and more tremulous. "There's no room for sin in my life only because of the dull way of life I'm leading, the way that's never given me a chance to enjoy life through numerous sorts of sin, like most people of the world do. You must realize I'm just a poor kind of creature, a nonentity, a cipher, a loser, not a Messiah at all. A mere sales rep can't be Jesus Christ."

Pilate stepped closer to Ivan.

"Don't get so agitated, my dear friend. Now we can only see your being rather self-critical. It's not a bad quality at all, I must say. Undoubtedly you've committed some minor sins, but they can't be compared to those a common man commits during his life. That's what makes you so unique. You're the one, Ivan, the only one." Pilate splashed some wine into the chalice that stood in the centre of the table and brought the vessel up to Ivan's lips. "Have a drink, Ivan! Have a blissful drink from the Holy Grail!"

"Hope it isn't poisoned?" asked Ivan.

Pilate grinned.

"The one doomed to be crucified can't be poisoned."

Ivan took the chalice up to his lips and with a few greedy gulps emptied it .

"Well done, Ivan! Take some more! Help yourself to the bread!" the apostles shouted, animated and boisterous.

"Thanks," Ivan took a breath and put the vessel down on the table. "Okay, let's suppose you've convinced me that I'm perfectly suited for the role of Jesus. But the thing you'll never be able to persuade me of, is that I can resurrect in two days after the crucifixion."

"Nobody's going to persuade you of anything," retorted Pilate, "Don't you believe me yet?"

"Or don't you trust Holy Writ?" echoed Peter.

"Well, Ivan, look here," Pilate came up to the corner, took a well-thumbed bible from the small shelf hanging under an icon, leafed through the book for a while and then started reciting: "For He will be delivered to the Gentiles and will be mocked and insulted and spit upon. They will scourge and kill Him. And the third day He will rise again." Pilate stopped reading and looked at Ivan. "Don't you believe these words?"

Ivan shook his head.

"You can't make me believe that my death is able to change anyone's life for the better. To say nothing of the whole mankind."

"Well, Jesus Christ, as well as you, Ivan, doubted the necessity of His execution. Listen, please," Pilate turned over a few pages and quoted another piece of the writing:

"He went a little farther, and fell on the ground, and prayed that if it be possible, the hour would pass from Him. And He said, 'Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Take this cup away from Me; nevertheless, not what I will, but what You will.'"

"That's the limit!" Ivan cried out. "You may talk as much as you like of this religious fantasy of yours, but I don't have the least wish to save mankind in the way you've been suggesting to me."

"Why?" Pilate put the book aside and looked straight into Ivan's eyes. "Now when mankind's been wallowing in dirty sins, endless wars, violence, terrorism and daily increasing crime. Now, when the world is overfilled with anger, hatred and spite, when millions are suffering from hunger, incurable diseases and every possible sort of natural calamity, at this very moment you're the only remedy for all the people who long to get rid of all these evil things that has been incessantly flooding our planet. Two thousand years ago God gave His Son not to let anyone perish, and now He's just waiting for people to give one of their sons in return. Only after the hero's sacrificed the Lord can grant everybody everlasting life. I wonder why Man is always so willing to accept someone's gift, even if it costs the donor a great deal, and why a human being is so reluctant to return someone's generosity."

Pilate got closer to Ivan and gave him a furious glare.

"For thousands of years so many heroes have been trying to fight and defeat evil, but all in vain. Why? Because they failed to know one important thing. They used to think that by destroying their enemies they were doing good for mankind, but in fact all they achieved was getting themselves as bloody sinful as their own foes in that cruel fight. There's no need to destroy anyone to defeat evil. To achieve that aim Man must kill only Himself without intending to take anyone else's life. Christ killed no one save Himself. That's the secret the heroes failed to know! You see, Ivan, it's all so simple!"

Ivan jumped up to his feet.

"That's enough! I can't bear any more of your demagogy and hypocrisy! Don't you understand that after my death people won't stop sinning? People will always be killing, deceiving, stealing, bribing, watching porn, taking drugs, whatever. Nothing will change, all will remain the same!"

"Shut up!" roared Pilate. "I say no more discussion! For so long we've been striving to find the right man to fulfill our sacred purpose and now nothing can stop us! Nothing! I don't care whether you like it or not, but I will crucify you to put an end to all sufferings and hardship of mankind. I will do what I must do. I won't fail in carrying it out. Don't you doubt me!"

Pontius Pilate drank some wine right from a jug to soothe his temper and then tapped Ivan on the shoulder:

"Cheer up, brother! Now I want you to visit Golgotha and see the spot where the sacred act of crucifixion will take place. No doubt the excursion is going to be of great interest to you."

"Brethren," Pilate addressed the apostles, "please secure his hands with a rope again. He tried to escape once and we must prevent his future attempts."

In twenty minutes Ivan was strolling through the woods, escorted and guided along a wide path by Pilate and the seven apostles. The company had walked about a mile, when the track led them to the open, sunlit space of a meadow, bordered with the sparkling ribbon of the river on one side, and the high sheer wall of a granite outcrop on the other.

"Here we are," Pilate stretched out his hand to point at the cliff. "Welcome to Holy Mount Golgotha."

"Let's show him the tomb first," proposed Peter.

"Sure. Come on Ivan," Pilate led the group over to the foot of the cliff, where a narrow opening in the stone wall could be seen.

"This cave is going to be your tomb for the two days following the crucifixion," pronounced Pilate as the men halted before the crack in the granite monolith. "I guess, Ivan, you wouldn't mind seeing the inside. Friends, light the lamp please."

After a steady flame blazed up inside the kerosene lantern that James had been carrying, Pilate shoved Ivan through the opening into the dank darkness, where he was met by the anxious flapping of bat wings over his head. In a few seconds the darkness was dispelled by the light of James' lamp. The rest of the apostles and Pilate joined them, pushing themselves one by one through the narrow cave mouth.

It was a high-walled grotto three meters wide and five in length, its walls covered with obscene graffiti. A few empty food cans and beer bottles were scattered round a heap of ashes, the trace of a recent campfire.

"Not too wet and pretty comfy," declared Pilate, "I mean for a dead body."

"We've got to clear this mess out before we put the body here," said Andrew.

"We'll do it tomorrow," said Pilate and turned to Ivan. "Well, my dear friend, how do you find this last abode of your flesh? Yeah, it's a bit gloomy, but never mind. Now we'd better move and see the cross on the top of the mount. I say, everybody, let's get outside."

After they scrambled out of the grotto, the apostles conducted Ivan round the corner of the cliff, where the vertical granite wall turned into a less steep, grass-covered slope.

"Now we have to climb the hill," announced Pontius Pilate. "You know, Ivan, according to Saint John, Christ was carrying His cross up to the top of Golgotha, but this slope being very steep, we've decided to make your task easier. We've already erected the cross. And we also decided to skip the scourging. No torture will be applied to you except the act of crucifixion. So, let's get to the top and have a look at the cross!"

"I've got my hands tied," protested Ivan, "it's gonna be difficult..."

"Don't worry," Pilate jeered and nudged Ivan, "we won't let you roll down head over heels."

Pushed from behind, Ivan worked his way upwards. Panting and sweating, with frequent respites to catch his breath, he gradually, step by step, climbed the hill. When at last on the flat top, Ivan saw a huge wooden cross erected in the center of the spot. On a large chest beside the cross there sat a man. On seeing the company, he got to his feet and hurried towards them.

"Ivan, let me introduce our brother, Judas the Betrayer," said Pilate, when the man halted before the nine exhausted climbers. "For his sin of betrayal he's been ordered to keep watch over the cross day and night until the very moment of your crucifixion so that no one can do any harm to this sacred construction."

Peter drew a jackknife out of his pocket: "Pontius, I think we can release the guy's hands. He's been a real brick climbing up here."

"Sure. Just let him shake hands with Judas," Pilate winked at Ivan.

"I never shake hands with betrayers," Ivan said peevishly as he rubbed his reddened wrists, just released from the bonds.

"Me neither," Pilate patted Judas' cheek, "but Christ teaches us to forgive. Well, it's your right to dislike such a filthy creature as Judas."

"We'd better let Ivan have a good look around," proposed Phillip.

"Certainly! Come on, Ivan!" Pilate grasped Ivan's hand and dragged him up to the cross.

"Behold, Ivan, how marvelously it's made, how well it's polished. We've even varnished it all over so as not to let the tiniest splinter hurt your flesh. And now I'll show you the things you'll be fastened with."

Pilate flung the chest lid open and extracted a handful of long, thick steel nails.

"Aren't they nice? No rusty speck on them. Anyway, tomorrow we shall boil them thoroughly to prevent you from catching any infection. And look here, Ivan, inside the chest. Here's the very sledge-hammer that the nails will be rammed in with."

Feeling like vomiting, Ivan darted up to the brink of the cliff and bent over it. With heaving, unrestrained movements of his stomach, he threw out its contents down the precipice. When his abdomen had nothing to disgorge any more, he straightened himself up and spat, trying to get rid of the unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth.

Before his eyes there lay a spectacular landscape of spring countryside. The dark tract of dense forest extended far away, melting into a vaguely visible strip of brown field marked with a tiny cluster of white houses near the horizon. From below could be heard the softly muttering river, which regained its placid temper after passing the rapids. Frisky swallows showed off their flying skills, performing aerial stunts over the turbid river waters. Bonfire smoke curled upwards above a bright orange tent pitched by some tourists on the opposite bank.

Ivan felt a gentle touch on his back. He turned around to see Pontius Pilate.

"Beautiful scenery, isn't it? I hope you'll enjoy it tomorrow when nailed to the cross," Pilate smiled slyly, baring the two rows of even, white teeth.

The nightmare was going on in the evening. Lying on a heap of straw, bound hand and foot, Ivan could hear the loud sounds of merry carousing that reached his ear through the mud wall. The Last Supper, or a mere party of drunk revelry, as Ivan had called it (which had caused his confinement in the dark shed), was in full swing. Two hours ago, after the arrival of Bartholomew, Simon, James the son of Alphaeus and Judas the son of James, the number of the apostles had become eleven (the twelfth one, Judas Iscariot, was at his post on Golgotha). The core of their lively discussion was the details of the trial that should take place the following morning with the object of condemning Ivan Petrov to death through crucifixion.

"Those drunkards will sure kill me, if I don't do something about it," Ivan pronounced aloud, his head half-buried in the prickly straw. His eyes, accustomed to the dark by that time, were searching through the messy interior of the shed. And soon he could make out a thing that might be of real help to him. The dim contours betrayed a scythe resting on two pegs on the opposite wall, right beneath the ceiling, its handle parallel to the ground.

Ivan managed to get to his feet and then hopped over to the wall. He seized the blunt edge of the blade with his teeth and pulled it aside. In a moment they both, Ivan and the tool, thumped onto the ground. A few quick movements along the sharp blade and the ropes on his hands were cut. The next job, releasing the feet, was even easier.

Ivan threw himself onto the door to find it locked. A few chops with an axe found somewhere in the dark crashed it open. But there came into view another obstacle on his way out - an enormous dog's head attentively watching him out of the kennel.

"Take it easy, doggy, just easy. I won't do anything bad to you," Ivan whispered as he sneaked along the shed wall away from the canine guard. "Hush, hush, you're a good guy, you serve your masters well. Let them not worry but enjoy the party. I'll just leave this place and that's it."

But the dog, not heeding Ivan's persuasions, gave out the loudest bark possible and shot out of its kennel to send the runaway up in the air and over the fence that separated the backyard from the woods. After a minute of running through the dark forest, Ivan hit the narrow strip of a mud track and halted.

Two luminous dots, rattling and skipping, were slowly nearing him from the distance.

"Stop, stop!" Shouting and waving his hands, Ivan ran towards the vehicle, which very soon turned out to be a tractor dragging a manure-loaded trailer.

The tractor stopped and out of the cab there came the driver's head. "What's up, buddy?"

Ivan darted over to the vehicle across a mud pool, then tugged at the passenger's door to open it wide. "I need to see the police immediately! Please drive me to the nearest police station!"

"Okay, I guess there's a cop on duty not far from here," the driver responded unhurriedly.

Ivan leapt into the cab, occupied the tip-up seat and slammed the door shut.

"Is there only one cop near here?" Ivan asked nervously.

"It's the countryside, ain't a big city. No need to have hordes of cops," calmly replied the driver. "Our folks are quiet people. The worst crime they ever commit is a drunken brawl at the bar."

"No good wasting time, let's go to that cop," Ivan said in a commanding tone.

"Look, what's actually going on?" asked the driver after the tractor started off. "And by the way, my name's Pavlo."

"I'm Ivan. The things that happened to me are of a private character, but, believe me, I'm in real danger and I do need help from the authorities."

"Alright, I see you ain't disposed to chat. I just thought it ain't a bad thing to know who you're helping."

"Could we move a little faster? I just hate this dung stink," Ivan wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"No way. If we try to, we may never reach the place. As my son says, machines don't live as long as this metal mare."

"Then why don't you get a new one?"

"Everything costs money in this world, but you can't buy love. I'm fond of this tractor, of every nut and bolt. I fell in love with my future wife when I was giving her a ride in this iron lady. And I loved my wife even more when I was taking her in this cab to the maternity house to let her have a baby, our first son. This tractor, it's my whole life, not a mere piece of old metal."

In twenty minutes the tractor entered a big village, passed about a score of houses and then stopped at a two-storied building with a lighted window next to the front door.

"Here we are," said Pavlo. "This is our police station and post office in one. And remember, there's nothing more important in the world than love. You oughta love life, love every human being, love every creature alive and never dislike any smell they produce. The only smell you should hate is the stench of a rotting corpse, 'cause this smell means the end, the end of everything. Dung stink means life. Good luck, Ivan."

"Faugh.., the fellow obviously had a good drink tonight," Ivan pronounced aloud after he got off the tractor.

The dung-loaded vehicle proceeded on its way, rumbling away along the dark village street. Ivan walked up to the entrance and pushed the doorbell. Soon the door was opened by a corpulent man in a police uniform.

"Sergeant Boiko," he introduced himself, "what can I do for you?"

"I need your help."

"Please come in and tell me everything."

Ivan stepped over the threshold and closed the door.

"My name's Ivan Petrov."

"Well, Ivan, we'd better move into the office."

The cop pushed the door signed "OFFICER ON DUTY» and they entered the room.

"Take a seat, please," the sergeant pointed at one of the three stools standing along the wooden table, which together with a rickety closet and a low desk set with piles of papers, two telephones and a hissing electric kettle made up the scanty interior of the "office".

"Thanks," replied Ivan, "but I don't think it's the proper time for us to be sitting here."

"Maybe some tea?" asked Sergeant Boiko as he unplugged the kettle. "It's a good cup of hot tea that usually helps me to while away the tedious nights when I'm on duty."

"This night is not tedious at all and what's more we've no time for a tea party 'cause I'm in big trouble, indeed."

"Can you be precise?" the cops lowered his massive bottom onto a stool. "Just tell me straight what happened?"

"I'm a sales representative from St Petersburg. I was in Kiev for a couple of days on business and yesterday was going to take a flight back home but instead was captured by a group of thugs and brought over here to a nearby wood."

"Do you know those guys, I mean, have you met them before?"

"No. They called themselves apostles and their leader called himself as Pontius Pilate."

"Pontius Pilate? Who's that?"

"The actual person with such a name lived two thousand years ago and was the man who crucified Jesus Christ. They told they designated me as their Christ and the reason for their kidnapping me was their intention to crucify me. To be correct - simply murder me by crucifying."

"Murder you? What for?" The cop asked, pouring tea into his cup.

"They said I'd resurrect in two days like Jesus and as a result of that everybody would be given everlasting life and no man would suffer any longer."

"Hmm..., apostles, Jesus Christ and that guy, what did you call him? Pompilus? All that sounds weird. And you, I suppose, refused their offer?"

"Certainly I did and was lucky enough to run away from the shed I was kept in, while they were indulging themselves in booze inside the house."

"It's a pity," the sergeant sighed and took a sip from his cup.

"What do you mean by 'it's a pity'?" Ivan asked, surprised.

"Just imagine how grand it'd be, if somebody gave me everlasting life and delivered me from all the problems of my life."

"Even if there's an innocent person to be killed?"

"Why not," the sergeant smiled widely, "if he resurrects after all?"

Ivan cast an indignant look at the cop. "If so, why don't you sacrifice yourself for the sake of universal happiness?"

"Okay, let's get down to earth. I'm not that good at religious topics, whatever. So, what kind of help do you want from me?"

"I want you to arrest those psychos immediately," Ivan said in an imperative tone, "just on the grounds of their being a threat not only to me but the whole society."

"Well, how many guys were there?" inquired the Sergeant.

"Twelve apostles and Pilate."

"Thirteen altogether. Are they armed?"

"I saw no weapon around the house but a few knives."

"So, it's two against thirteen; the odds are somewhat unequal."

"Can't you radio for some backup?"

"First I must go over to the spot and size up the situation myself. Only then I'll be able to decide what's to be done next. Do you remember the way?"

"Roughly, but I guess I'll be able to find it. Do you have any transport?"

"Transport? I've got the best means of transport! Let's go."

They left the building, Boiko locked the entrance door and headed for the garage that stood next to the police station. Soon the night air reverberated with an engine roar and a throbbing motorbike with a sidecar, mounted by the cop, rolled up to Ivan.

"Jump in here," the sergeant motioned him to the sidecar. While Ivan was settling himself in his seat and fitting his helmet, Boiko shut the doors of the garage and remounted the saddle.

"Show me the way!" the cop exclaimed and the bike started off down the village street, spearing the midnight dark with its headlight beam.

After forty minutes of driving along dirt roads through fields and woods, Sergeant Boiko stopped his bike at the same spot where Ivan had gotten off the "Toyota» minibus some twelve hours ago. The engine switched off, the sergeant dismounted.

"So it's here?" the cop asked, pointing to the hut, vaguely seen in the darkness.

"Yes. They must be inside," Ivan replied. "The window is lit. I think they don't know yet that I've run away."

"Let's steal closer and try watching them," said the cop and slowly headed for the hut, Ivan following him. They were halfway to the apostles' residence, when the portable radio, hanging on the cop's belt, emitted a series of harsh sounds.

"Roger, Boiko, roger, damn you! Sergeant Boiko, where the hell are you?" the radio blared. "D'you read me? Captain Povalchuk's speaking."

"Captain, I read you," Boiko replied to the radio.

"Great, Sergeant. Now listen to me carefully. A convict escaped from jail two hours ago. The criminal has stolen a car and is now driving in the direction of Vinnitsa. He's armed and very dangerous. We figure he may try bypassing through the woods of your sector. I order you to go to the turn off the highway at the Black Rock and take up a position in ambush there. Then report and wait for further commands, but be ready to act on your own."

"Yes, sir. I'm straightaway off to the highway, over," Boiko switched off the radio and turned over to Ivan. "Sorry but you heard it, there are more important things to be dealt with. Can't take you along with me 'cause it might be dangerous."

"I see," Ivan said.

"But before going I'd like to give you a piece of advice. If those people really want to kill you, just keep away from them. That's it. Goodbye for now, maybe see you some time later."

Within two minutes the sound of the cop's bike died away somewhere in the depth of the night woods.

"Shit," hissed Ivan, helpless and distressed, still standing on the very spot where Sergeant Boiko had left him. Then there came a loud squeak of the door to give his body a quiver. He turned around and saw a figure on the porch. In the blink of an eye Ivan was sprinting at top speed towards the only thing he could make out before him - the moonlit strip of the seething river.

Gripped by horror, he did not at once realize that the steady ground under his feet had changed into the slippery granite of the rapids. He jumped from one rock to another until the distance to the next boulder was too long even for his doubled by fear strength. The ice-cold, swift current caught his floundering, snorting body and carried it away from the loud cries of the apostles that resounded in the night air.

The plane gradually gathered speed and took off. Ivan rested his head on the back of his seat and closed his eyes. The nightmare, the craziest day in his life, had been left behind now. He had managed to get out of the river. Wet and chilly, he strode through the woods to come upon a small railway station. There he caught the first train to get back to Kiev. Then phoned his wife, set her at ease and promised to explain everything on arrival. And finally he was flying home. Apart from his talk with Sergeant Boiko, he had not reported anything to the police yet. Perhaps he would do it later, in St Petersburg. Perhaps. Some time later, not now. No more thinking of that insane Pontius Pilate, whatever his real name was, and those psycho-apostles. All was to be done later. Now his only wish was to go to sleep as soon as possible...

A light touch on his shoulder sent him awake. He opened his eyes to see a smiling stewardess.

"Excuse me, sir, are you Mr. Petrov?"

"Yes, I am."

"Here's a note for you," she handed him a piece of paper folded in four and disappeared.

He unfolded the note and started reading.

"Dear Ivan,

I told you once there's nothing in the world that can ever prevent me from fulfilling my great purpose, my holy destiny, but you showed no respect to my words. To make it worse you tried to evade your destiny. You made an attempt to get the police involved in the matter. You asked them to help. But the fact is that you are not the one who needs any kind of help, but we all need yours. Do you know what happened to Sergeant Boiko? He was shot down by a fugitive outlaw. He was trying to protect the society from that villain but luck wasn't on his side. He used to be a good policeman who never failed to discharge his duty and he perished like a hero. He was always ready to help people when they were in trouble and he sincerely wanted to help you when you came to him. Now a wife has lost her loving husband and three kids will never see their caring father again. Who can help them now? No one but you! Only you can change this world for the better.

There's another act of violence that is about to occur very soon. There are terrorists on board. In half an hour they will try to seize the craft. There will be hostages, some of them are meant to be killed. They are all innocent people and their fate is entirely in your hands. They need you! It's your sacred destiny to put a stop to human insanity - the insanity that Earth can no longer bear.

I and three apostles - Andrew, Peter and James - are sitting four rows behind you. We've got a collapsible cross with us. I'm glad to inform you of our decision to crucify you on board the aircraft. Just think of that! To sacrifice yourself high in the heavens!

We'd like everything to be done of your own will and thus we permit you to have a few minutes for thinking over our final proposition. In case you don't show us your consent to cooperate, we'll be obliged to use brute force.

Ivan, don't be selfish - just have the courage to think of Mankind's fate.

Faithfully yours,

Pontius Pilate.

P.S. There's nowhere to run this time."

Ivan folded up the letter, put it in the inside pocket of his jacket and furtively turned round. Pilate saluted him with an arch grin upon his face. Ivan quickly averted his eye to feel his heart beat faster. He dropped his head and looked at his hands.

"I guess it hurts a lot to be pierced with nails," he said aloud.

"Excuse me, what did you say?" asked his neighbor, a girl of about twenty-five.

"I'm just thinking," replied Ivan, not looking at the girl.

"What of?"

"About life, death, love and so on." Ivan turned his head to face the girl. "And you, by the way, do you love?"

"Yes," the girl smiled in a fascinating way, "I've got a husband and a daughter. She's only ten months old. I love them both."

"Yeah, I see; but my point is that everyone must love himself first and foremost and not let anybody infringe on his own right to live."

"Perhaps you're right," replied the girl and returned to her "Cosmopolitan".

Ivan took a good look at his neighbor. She was beautiful. A brunette with blue eyes. He had always been dreaming of an azure-eyed brunette, in those Freudian dreams of his. He remembered his wife, her ebony eyes and dyed colorless hair. What else in the world could be more vulgar and awful than that combination? Why the hell had he gotten married to that clumsy, incessantly cackling hen?

The girl's dress was short and tight enough to show off all the attractiveness of her figure. Even now, at the moment of imminent peril, Ivan could not help getting turned on by the dazzling femininity the girl was radiating. His enchanted gaze slowly shifted from the fragrant, wavy tresses flowing over her shoulders, slid down along her neat neck, lingered on the two seductive knolls hidden beneath her dress, then proceeded downward passing her slim waist. He examined the delicate elegance of her fingers, languidly turning over the pages of the magazine, and finally rested his eye on her legs, whose alluring view, disappearing beneath her dress, thrilled him utterly.

"Excuse me," his contemplation of the girl's charm was interrupted by her sweet voice, "may I pass?"

She stood up, left the row and walked down the aisle.

It was the moment he knew what to do. He knew the way out. There was no time to lose. He got up, took off his jacket, threw it down onto his seat and followed the girl along the aisle. She was about to shut the door behind her, when he burst into the narrow space of the restroom.

"What's up?" the girl screamed, scared at his behavior.

"Nothing," he whispered, locking the door.

All that followed was a matter of a few seconds. A strong, strangling grip on the girl's throat allowed Ivan to tear off her clothes with his other hand. The dress slipped down and landed at her feet. Her panties went the same way, descending her slender legs. His own pants were hurriedly pulled down.

She tried to escape. A hard blow on her face made blood gush out of her nose. The next moment he thrust in. Convulsively moving his hips, he moaned in mad passion.

The blessed eruption was not long in coming. Heaving a sigh of contentment, he let her go. Naked and sobbing, the girl sat down on the toilet, burying her bleeding nose and swollen with tears face in her trembling hands.

Ivan pulled his pants on, tucked in his bloodstained shirt and leaned against the door.

"Oh, God," he groaned, "You know I didn't mean it.., but now I can't help them, no way."

"Sorry," he touched the girl by her shoulder, then opened the door, left the restroom and slowly staggered toward his seat...

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