Pinacoteca

The Martyr

He stood alone when all had left him. He stood alone among the shadowy trees with his arms held stiffly at his sides. A soft breeze gently ruffled the leaves and lovingly caressed his hair.

He stood tall and erect, his lithe body held taut with emotion that filled his heart and mind and overflowed into his soul. The lovely, stirring song of the world that had soothed him in other moments of stress he no longer could hear. The compelling beauties of nature he no longer could see; for his ears were filled with the sound of approaching doom and his eyes were filled with tears; tears that flowed down his cheeks and splashed down onto his robe; tears that cleansed the world of sin; tears that saved mankind from itself; tears of compassion, of love, of pity.

The moon came swiftly from behind stray clouds and lit his face. a face such as the world had never seen. A face filled with hope, with despair. A face of beautifully molded features, clear-cut, noble. The sweetly shaped mouth showed through his beard. The aquiline nose, the high cheekbones were marks of his race. The finely patterned eyebrows emphasized the strength wrought in his face. The profound eyes that stirred the hearts of men and delved into their souls were sad eyes, wistful eyes; eyes that never fully disclosed the mystery of love, of wisdom, of understanding that lay behind them. It was a face strangely sweet, filled with mystery and strength.

He stood now bathed in moonlight with his whole body vibrating in agony. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees and raised his arms appealingly to God, crying out in a dread voice for aid, pleading for strength; for he knew what lay before him; he had known from the beginning. Beads of perspiration, looking almost like blood, dotted his forehead and his face was distorted in anguish.

As quickly as he had succumbed to fear, he was filled again with peace. His face relaxed into serenity. His lips quietly moved in prayer. The human weakness he had felt left no mark...Tranquility filled his soul, invaded the garden. A gentle murmur began among the trees while the moon glided slowly across the heavens.

Eileen Bertrand