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<\/figure>\n\n\n\n\u201cThey\u2019ve brought you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes. They want me to paint you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy? You must be in great pain. I don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man dropped his face lower. It conveyed agony, but also traces of a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFor my legacy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour legacy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Painter was confused<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis is how I should be remembered.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBut why?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause otherwise I would be forgotten.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a moment that painter was frozen, unable to comprehend the purpose and scared of the brutality of the moment. Then one of the men took his arm and spoke, this time with a desperate plea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPlease. Quickly. The soldiers will notice. Look at him closely, then step back and do what you can.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Painter stared at the man on the cross, taking in the thinness of his body and how it had been stretched to flatten the stomach, exaggerate the ribs and draw out the muscle in the arms, with hands had curled around the nails their palms. The head had slumped but the eyes remained alert and the face seemed set on a purpose he could not understand. He felt a nudge on his arm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHurry!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He placed some powder on the slate, dipped the reed brush in water and mixed it in, then unrolled the papyrus beside it and quickly sketched the lines of the scenes. He soon had outlines the body and the cross, but paused to stare again at the man\u2019s face. He couldn\u2019t fathom what was behind the expression, but felt it was that of a man confronting something other than his death. He made one small mark, then another, and paused again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCome on!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He managed the line of the nose, one dark eyebrow, then felt a tug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s enough!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He glanced at the Disciple, then the other way to see that one of the soldiers had begun to approach. He dropped the materials into his sack and they backed away. The soldier followed a few steps, looked at them with suspicion, but then stopped. He looked back to his colleagues, then at the Preacher, and by the time he had turned again the Disciples and the Painter had moved into the crowd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Over the following days the Painter spent the daylight hours in front of a much larger sheet of papyrus, with a larger collection of powders for different colours and a choice of reed brushes. He painted the details of which he had a clear memory \u2013 the lines of the body, nails in the flesh, the dark wood of the cross \u2013 then thought about the loin cloth hanging from the Preacher\u2019s hips. It had been wrapped around, but he kept thinking there was something else to convey, and eventually painted it so the fabric been pulled apart to leave a strip of naked flesh beneath the cord. That was it, a picture of vulnerability and humiliation. Then he thought about the face, the expression that he couldn\u2019t quite read, and struggled to find an image. Over a day he managed just the line of the nose and the brow that he had from his sketch, then realising that the Disciple would soon want to claim the work he surrounded them with dark hair and beard that were longer and thicker than he remembered. Then he added shadows to convey light from the left of the scene, and buried half of the face on the darker side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He waited until the next morning, looked at his work, assured himself it was technically good but felt anxious that there was something missing in the face. He hadn\u2019t caught the detail in the expression. It caused him to worry that the men who paid him would be dissatisfied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then they came. At first their faces were full of a stony intent, but within seconds they had transformed into smiles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve done well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cExactly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Painter remembered what the Preacher had said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou think this will serve his legacy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPerfectly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One of the men removed ten gold coins from his purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve earned this well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Painter felt a surge of relief, and mild excitement that he had so much money in his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He said he would prepare the picture for them to take away. One of the Disciples asked if he could admire it a little longer, while the other went to the door and stepped outside. The Painter was anxious that as associates of the Preacher they might attract some unwelcome attention and hoped they would move on quickly. Then he was aware of another man entering the room and turned to see the Preacher. All he could do was watch as he moved slowly towards the picture, walking like a man who had been physically abused, then stared. For a while there was nothing in his expression, but then came a gentle nod and a faint smile appeared through his beard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cVery good,\u201d the Preacher said. \u201cThat will impress people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he turned to the Painter and offered his hand. The Painter took it, noticing the wound in the centre of the palm, and felt a mild squeeze. His mind tumbled into an explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou were cut down before you died,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve heard of that happening in the past.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Preacher smiled but didn\u2019t reply. One of the Disciples spoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Painter looked at the man, then the Preacher, then the other man, then back to the Preacher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou couldn\u2019t have died. You\u2019re here, alive. I just felt the warmth of your flesh on my hand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Preacher held his smile and spoke softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes, I\u2019m alive, and soon I will be gone\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Preacher stepped away towards the door, accompanied by one of the Disciples. The other remained and asked that the papyrus be prepared for taking away. The Painter rolled it up carefully, bound it in twine then placed it into a large sack. He held it at his side, looking at the Disciple and struggling to understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou say he died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd now he is alive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a moment of silence. Then the Disciple replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s his legacy. A story that will inspire people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHis legacy. That\u2019s the word he spoke to me while he was on the cross.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes, your creation will help us to strengthen his legacy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Disciple reached down and took the sack, placed it over his shoulder, then took the Painter\u2019s hand with a firm grasp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can be proud.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Painter couldn\u2019t find words, and watched as the Disciple went to the door and left. He stood in silent bemusement for a while, struggling to understand the possible implications of this legacy and his contribution. Then he went to the door and looked outside, shading his eyes against a ferocious sun then looking down the hill to a point where a road turned away from the city. He could see the Preacher, both Disciples, a handful of other men and two women gather around two donkeys. The Preacher was mounted onto one of the donkeys and they all began to walk away. It was a time of day when many people would hide from the sun and allow their bodies to rest, but the group moved steadily, as if with a strong intent, following the road to disappear around the side of the hill. He felt overwhelmed, not knowing if he had been involved in an act of deception, madness or glory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n