(He comes striding out of the darkness, visibly angry, trying to control it.)
I can’t. I can’t.
All right, have it your way. I won’t.
If it makes you think less of me – fine. Think what you will. You’re just like the rest of them … blinded by a few well-chosen gestures and some carefully-worded platitudes. Drunk on the wonder of it all. You believe, like I believed. You’ll always believe. You want to believe.
It doesn’t matter what he says anymore. It doesn’t matter if he lives or dies. You’ve made up your mind. Even if he dies, you’ll convince yourself that somehow, he was the Savior … oh, I know, I know – “He’ll come again.”
(A beat. Then, with swelling anger …)
I … gave … him … EVERYTHING! I gave it all! Been with him from the beginning. I ate and I slept and I walked those dingy roads with his fish-reeking Galileans – I’d have done anything for him.
Do you – do you understand what he could have been? The authority … the sheer power of his will. The drive, the energy … the … the … all right, the compassion, if you want. That didn’t hurt.
(A beat)
They loved him. I don’t know how many times he had them – thousands of them – eating out of the palm of his hand. (Half-amused) Yeah, literally. They wanted him, begged him, to be king – more times than I can count. And they meant it. They’d have followed him … just like I did.
But … no. Not him. (Shaking his head) “My kingdom is not of this world,” he says. A man who can walk on water, for crying out loud, and all he wants to talk about is going the second mile.
A man with ideas! A man who can hold people spellbound with his voice – and not just the rabble, either. Pharisees, wealthy men, powerful men – centurions, for God’s sake! – and he’s in there WASHING FEET!
(A beat. He runs his hand over his face … bitter, tired … a little amused)
Washing feet. And telling us we ought to wash each other’s.
(A beat)
Well, not this son of Abraham. I didn’t buy in to spend the best years of my life washing dirty toes and … and fishing for men … and carrying a cross.
(A beat)
That’s always been his weakness, you know. Death. No, no, he’s not afraid of it. I’ve never seen a man more fearless. Not just brave – fear-less. But, it’s like he’s … I don’t know, preoccupied with it. Always talking about how a man has to give up his life to find it … has to die to live … sacrifice, surrender, self-denial … (Sighs) I’m tired of it.
There’s irony for you. Finally, a man who can raise the dead – and all he wants to do is die.
Well, I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to indulge my passions. I want to fight for my rights. I want to know the feel of power – I want men to step aside when I walk into a room.
I don’t want to spend my whole life figuring out how to help poor lost souls who won’t, or can’t, help themselves. I don’t want to be ashamed of my money or my ambitions or my thoughts.
(A beat)
And I’m not going to wash anybody’s feet.
(Shakes his head)
He needed someone like me. I could have helped him. I could have made him somebody. Maybe a king. Maybe even a messiah.
But he wants to be … a servant.
(A beat)
I serve myself. I like the hours, and I like the pay.
And I don’t do feet.
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