[The bedroom of a Roman-style mansion. Pilate and his wife are asleep in their bed.]

Pontius Pilate: Aaaaah!

Procla (his wife): Husband, what is wrong? Wake up!

Pilate: Oh, I am sorry. It was a nightmare. I was having a nightmare.

Procla: My poor darling. Can I serve you wine? It will help you to sleep.

Pilate: No. No, I am okay now.

Procla: Perhaps you should talk about it. Tell me, what was your dream? Perhaps it is an omen, a warning.

Pilate: I do not think I can remember it now, but it was about that prisoner I am allowing them to crucify.

Procla: Who?

Pilate: That Jesus fellow. The one some are calling the King of the Hebrews.

Procla: Oh, him. I wish you could put him out of your mind.

Pilate: So do I.

Procla: Do you feel guilty? You should not. You had nothing to do with it. You gave the natives the privilege of choosing and they did.

Pilate: Yes, but why did they select Barabbas?

Procla: What difference does it make?

Pilate: That man, Barabbas, is a beast, a murderer and thief. The other fellow committed no crime, at least not in Roman law.

Procla: Did you expect the Hebrews to be just? What does it matter?

Pilate: You did not see this man, Jesus. His manner was so kind. He was the gentlest man I have ever known. It would have never been possible for this fellow to do another man injury.

Procla: I remember hearing of this King of the Hebrews. What was his crime? Revolt?

Pilate: Oh, some nonsense that insulted the delicate customs of the Pharisees.

Procla: They are fanatics, you know that.

Pilate: The very reason I suggested that Jesus should be spared.

Procla: Why did you not allow them both to be spared?

Pilate: The tradition calls for one. I had hoped to limit it to one and did not expect that that one would be Barabbas. He is such an evil man. I should not have left the choice to these people. It was not in my imagination that they could have chosen Barabbas over that poor carpenter.

Procla: Well, it is done now, and it is not your fault. You have cleansed your hands of this affair. I do not understand why you let it bother you. He is not even a Roman.

Pilate: There is something about this man. Something special.

Procla: Special? Did he not smell just as bad as the others?

Pilate: That is not the point.

Procla: They smell; they all smell. I am certain the carpenter smelled, too. And you, dear husband, have tried to civilize them. You have built for them an aqueduct and brought baths into their miserable lives and they rioted.

Pilate: They were angry because I used the funds of their Temple.

Procla: Oh, in the name of the Gods, it was for their own good. The ungrateful goats. You have built them roads and have kept the Roman Peace. These wretched primitives, they do not appreciate what you have done for them.

Pilate: Now darling - -

Procla: No, it is offensive to your rank and dignity. They are just a small collection of dirty people with no regard for the world, as if they alone are the only people, are the chosen of the Gods. Isn't that what they say about themselves? They parade the streets with such arrogance and conceit, you would not think they were the conquered. They sneer at our soldiers. They regard me and my servants as if we are the ones who do not wash or change our clothes. The audacity. And this, a nothing little backward place, while you, Pontius, Equestrian rank, are Roman Procurator of Judea. Centuries from now, who will remember these little people and their strange ways? But you, husband, you and what you have accomplished here will be permanently recorded at Rome and remembered by the World.

Pilate: Yes, dear, perhaps.

Procla: Did you inform Rome of this impostor who claims to be a God and leads a revolt against the Roman Peace?

Pilate: No, I did not. He was of no significance. At least of no great significance to anyone but his few followers; and, it would seem, me; but, perhaps only for tonight.

Procla: But the revolt and his claims - -

Pilate: He was not leading any revolt. His followers were hardly a handful, and from my information, he instructed them to be submissive. There is no revolt in that. And as for being a God, he never claimed it, nor King of the Hebrews for that matter, although others called him these things. It is as you say, my dear, he is a minor occurrence that will not bear mentioning to Rome. Oh, he will be included upon the rolls of those executed for crimes, but the name Jesus will soon be forgotten. And yet ....

Procla: And yet?

Pilate: And yet it is a shame.

Procla: Why? Why is it a shame.

Pilate: He was not like other men. Especially not like other Hebrews. Unlike them, he was not self-affected, self-righteous, nor sanctimonious. I have spoken to him. He listens when you speak. Mind you, I cannot know how accurate was my translator, but watching this man's eyes, he seemed to be hearing me express things beyond what words provide. I think he was truly interested in what I had to say, and concerned for what I felt; but, of course, I could not put aside the tone of my authority, which is my duty to uphold. Still, had I met this man in other circumstances, at the baths, or over cups of wine, I would have liked talking to him.

Procla: About what? What could the two of you possibly have in common?

Pilate: About what - - I am not sure. Not only that, but the translator would always have to be present. I would not like that, It wasn't like that in the dream.

Procla: Ah, the dream.

Pilate: Yes. Procla, I remember it now. At least some of it. We were talking. Just that. And we did not need an interpreter - - you are falling asleep. I am boring you.

Procla: No, no my dear. I am interested. Please go on. But I am very tired and you must understand and forgive me if I should happen to fall asleep while you are talking. Still, I think it will be good for you just to talk. You need to get this dream, this man, out of your thoughts.

Pilate: Well, if you do not mind - -

Procla: I care only for your well-being.

Pilate: I want to tell you, while you are awake enough to listen; now, while the dream is fresh again in my mind.

Procla: Then do. I will try and listen for as long as I can.

Pilate: Well, there we sat, in a room somewhere. I suppose it could have been anywhere. We were drinking wine. It was like I said before, he was listening as if nothing else could possibly matter to him, except me. As he listened, he smiled, as if nothing I could say would offend him or anger him. That is it; I was telling him about every stupid mistake I have ever made, and of every regret. Indeed, I was even telling him how much I regretted sentencing him to death on the cross. He did not flinch. No shadow crossed his lineaments suggesting that for even the briefest of moments he was distracted by concern for himself. At the same time, as he reached over to hold my hands, he closed his eyes so as to protect me from embarrassment, because I felt ashamed that he should die in this terrible manner. How could he be like that? I had sent him to a most gruesome death and he acted as if he did not want me to suffer for my decision. Then he spoke. It was the same voice as from when he spoke in the courtyard, quiet, yet each word clearly enunciated and gently sent forth, only this time in Latin. That smooth, low voice is so inappropriate to his slender frame. It is a beautiful voice, much like the deep purring of a contented lion. In his company I felt as secure as a cub at the lioness' teat. He said, "you need only to do good, to be tolerant, and to cast an appreciative eye on what has been given to you." Then he opened his eyes. He gazed at me as though I was his dearest friend. In that moment - - how can I explain this? Before me I perceived a man just like myself. That is, he felt everything I felt, and I the same for him. At his sentencing I had a taste of this implicit camaraderie. I could envision it was me being judged by the people and dragged away to be nailed to a cross. That despite my desire to do good, the people would hate me and curse me. In the dream ours was the most intense friendship. Through our clasping hands and in his dark brown eyes I realized what he already knew, that I would share his fate, that being mortal I must also come to a death of some kind, but really little different; it is always death. And I, a man who blundered, who took the advise of those fool Pharisees, thinking I could ingratiate myself with the natives, stared into a soul that reflected my own. He did not judge me. And I did not intervene for the sake of good. I let him suffer at the hands of my soldiers. He had nothing but the desire to do good for the people of this city, yet most of them jeered him as he dragged his cross through the street.

Procla: [mumbles]

Pilate: What is that, my dear?

Procla: I said it is a pity if he was innocent of any crime. At least he was of no consequence.

Pilate: Why should innocent people suffer?

Procla: Dear, I am not saying they should, but when have the Gods ever taken pity and spared the innocent? In fairness and mercy, you are better than the Gods; in judgment certainly no worse.

Pilate: You must not compare me to the Gods. You will bring on their wrath.

Procla: Well, I mean, you tried to save this Jesus because he was a good man, but the Gods have confounded you. It was his fate. Perhaps the Gods treat him as he deserves. He is a Hebrew. These people belittle our Gods, deny them. They are not even mannered enough to pretend to tolerate our Gods and our rites and rituals. Is it any wonder that the Gods have led us to this land to conquer and humiliate these people?

Pilate: Perhaps.

Procla: And then there is this meek, kindly man with a booming voice, and you say he was exceptional among his race, better than the rest of them. Well, they have rejected him. He is less important to his people than the rebel leaders who make cowardly attacks on our citizens. Crucifying Jesus might be a sad mistake, but again I say he is not important. The terrifying rebel leaders who outrage society with their clandestine attacks, they are admired by the Hebrews and they are important. To the Hebrews they are heroes. For you to catch them and execute them increases your honor. Forget Jesus and think about the rebels.

Pilate: The rebels are no more than gnats when compared to Rome's greatness, merely annoying.

Procla: And this Jesus, less than that.

Pilate: Perhaps.

Procla: Are you not tired, yet, my husband?

Pilate: No. I didn't finish telling the dream.

Procla: Then you should.

Pilate: There isn't much more to tell. I do not remember much, except we talked, drank wine together and laughed heartily. Then - - and then he suddenly sat up, rigid, his eyes wide like a frightened lamb about to be slaughtered. He said, his voice choking, "good-bye my friend, try to be a friend in turn." Then he screamed. He was in horrible agony. He fell forward, across the table, in a faint, or maybe he was dead. Dead too soon. We had not finished talking. I wanted to talk more. And then the blood. Pools of blood widening over the table. Our hands and forearms were lying in his blood. It was running out from the palms of his hands where they held mine. I - - I - - I ....

Procla: Husband, relax. It was only a dream.

Pilate: I could not help him. I could not stop the bleeding. I did not know how it happened, how was I to prevent it? Yes - - oh yes, I felt it had somehow been my fault.

Procla: Husband, nothing is your fault. The Gods have assigned you your birthright. Rome has assigned you Judea. The laws dictate your decisions. Within these limitations you have tried to do the most good.

Pilate: I have. I have, have I not?

Procla: Yes, yes.

Pilate: Yes.

Procla: Try to sleep now, my dear.

Pilate: What if he really is a God?

Procla: Husband! You are being absurd. This is not like you.

Pilate: I know. It is foolish, but I cannot help myself.

Procla: He is not a God. Gods are not frail like men. This Jesus cannot even rescue himself from a torturous end. What God would submit to such agony? Why should a God tolerate such indignities from us mere mortals? What kind of God would he be if he is powerless?

Pilate: Yes, powerless. Still, he had uncommon courage. How can he be willing to endure such pain?

Procla: Yet another reason he cannot be a God. If he were in human disguise, the disguise would have been lifted the moment they applied the first nail through his body.

Pilate: You are right. My men report that he suffered terribly when nailed into place - -

Procla: Do not describe it, dear. It is too unpleasant to hear.

Pilate: - - he decried bitterly to the God of the Hebrews as to his pain and why should he suffer.

Procla: That is not God. That is just a man. If he were a God, there would have been a sign.

Pilate: Then maybe there are no Gods, for I have never seen a sign.

Procla: Maybe. I do not see that it matters. What does matter is that there is a Rome.

Pilate: It does matter if Jesus is a God! If Jesus is a God, I wish he would provide me with a sign, because I want to believe. I very much want to believe.

Procla: Why? Why believe in a God who has no power to help you?

Pilate: All the Gods we grew up with, they are no better than we are. They fight among themselves. They cheat on their spouses. They play games with us mortals. They demand tribute in return for favors or protection. Are we doomed to be the playthings of jealous, greedy, selfish beings who would manipulate us for no better reason then that they are bored?

Procla: I do not know, dear. I guess they are not much better than we are. The world is their Coliseum in which we are their pets and gladiators. If such be the nature of things, I do not suppose you nor I can escape it.

Pilate: Is that not a miserable consideration?

Procla: Well, I do not see that we have a choice, so I do not know why you let it bother you.

Pilate: Ah, but if Jesus - - well, if not a God, then at least a sign from a God - - how different he is from the Gods of Rome. Can you imagine a loving God, forgiving and concerned?

Procla: But with no power.

Pilate: But making no cruel demands. A God who would not have us conquer and kill to glorify his name. A patient God who would have us only be good.

Procla: It is absurd. Will this God protect you? Can you do good while being attacked?

Pilate: He did.

Procla: He is dying on the cross, if he is not dead already, what more good can he do?

Pilate: Eventually we will all have a turn at dying regardless of which God we follow. I wonder if Jesus is not wiser than the rest of us. He never seemed to be discontented with his situation, neither morose nor disappointed.

Procla: In your dream.

Pilate: Yes, in my dream. Maybe he sent me the dream.

Procla: Husband, this is nonsense.

Pilate: Wife, you are pragmatic, but pragmatism is not enough. Having met Jesus, in life and in dream, he has left my soul hungry.

Procla: Hungry for what?

Pilate: Hungry for - - peace - - peace with harmony - - and companionship.

Procla: Husband, will you not sleep? This has all become too foolish.

Pilate: What, is it foolish to wish for peace, harmony, and companionship?

Procla: No, they are fine wishes. You have me for companionship, do you not?

Pilate: Yes, of course.

Procla: Rome has given peace to the small warring tribes of Judea.

Pilate: Yes.

Procla: Harmony? How can you have harmony living among these primitives? Be grateful you were born a Roman citizen, and one of high stature, and not one of these filthy and stubborn Hebrews. Someday we will return to the richness and entertainments of Rome. Among our friends we will know harmony.

Pilate: It is not the same. It is not what I mean.

Procla: Go to sleep, husband.

Pilate: If he is a God, why will he not give me a sign I can recognize?

Procla: Therefore, he is not a God. Go to sleep.

Pilate: Guard!

Procla: What are you doing?

[Guard enters]

Guard: Yes, Procurator?

Pilate: I am sending you, this instant, to Calvary.

Guard: Yes, sir.

Pilate: There you will find the Hebrew Jesus nailed to a cross. Do you know him?

Guard: Yes, sir. I know him who you mean.

Pilate: Lance him.

Guard: Sir?

Procla: What?

Pilate: Kill him, and be sure he is dead. He may be dead already, but I do not want him to suffer any further if he is not dead. You must see to it that he is not suffering. Do you understand?

Guard: Yes, sir.

Pilate: Well then, be off with you. Hurry. Don't waste a moment.

Guard: Yes, sir. Hail Caesar!

[Guard exists]

Procla: Dear husband, you hope to spare him any further suffering?

Pilate: It is the most I can do for him.

Procla: You are a good man.

Pilate: I want to be.

Procla: Perhaps, if he is a God, he will reward you.

Pilate: That would be vulgar. I do it because I can feel what he feels. What was his reward for all the good he has done? I do this for him and for no more reason than that. I want to do this for him.

Procla: My husband, I think you are a better man than Jesus, and you will be able to do more good than Jesus because you lead more men.

Pilate: Thank you, darling, for your kind words, but it is not true. I do not have that man's courage.

Procla: Come my darling husband. Come to sleep. Let me embrace you. I want to hold you. I do this for you and I do this for me. There, close your eyes. We will sleep now.

Pilate: Sleep? How incongruous.

Procla: It is the Gods' best gift to us mortals.

Pilate: Right now I am feeling as if that is true. Still, the best gift the Gods have given me is you, my darling.

Procla: Sleep.
© Bruce Bentzman