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What woke him fully was the Temple police, led toward them by Judas. Judas at least kissed Jesus with the standard student's greeting, "Rabbi!" John and the other pupils ran like shot dogs.
THE RESURRECTION
Judas lasted on, entirely alone, through the Sabbath night and day after Jesus' death. He'd stood on the ground not 10 yards from the cross and heard his teacher's astounding final words--"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" And he'd stayed for Jesus' final hoarse shout a moment later. Then Judas had found his way to the house of another old pupil, one whom Jesus had been forced to send home when he caught him tampering with children for the second time--Hamer from Bethlehem.
Hamer had taken up his old life as a plasterer, and he lived with his toothless mother and a wife who loathed Judas the moment she knew he came from the old days--Hamer's wild days with Jesus, not so long ago, maybe 16 months. Hamer shut her up fast, and she cooked them a decent meal. Afterward Hamer took Judas out to the edge of the village, a plateau aimed at the distant Dead Sea. He said to Judas, "You know Jesus told me, early on, that he was born here--it's David's town, remember? Said he was born in one of the caves right down here below us."
Judas said, "He told people lots of things, Hamer."
Hamer stood in silence for so long Judas was aching with the bitterness of what he'd accomplished. Then Hamer stepped back a long four strides and stared at Judas the best he could in the slim starshine. Finally he said, "I know he told me you'd be the death of him."
Judas said, "Me? You're lying to me." He'd already established that Hamer knew nothing of Jesus' arrest and speedy death, and Judas hadn't told him.
Hamer said, "When he told me I'd have to leave, I fell down and begged him for a scrap of forgiveness, and he said, 'Oh, son, I forgive you surely--I've forgiven Judas this far in advance. But you can't work with me after today; the millstone of what you've done is around your neck, and the two of us are helpless to move it.'"
Judas said, "I don't know what you're talking about. He had no reason to forgive me, ever."
Hamer said, "That may be; I'm just telling you my memory." With that he turned back slowly home.
Judas followed him, for lack of anywhere else to go. He lay down just inside Hamer's door with the chill spring air all down his legs, but he slept no more than a few brief spasms of sweet shallow dreaming and a few high yips at the ends of nightmares.
The yips would wake Hamer, and he'd say, "You're safe. Now go on and sleep."
But at the excruciating instant of dawn, when he heard Hamer's wife say "No" but yield all the same to Hamer's body and start breathing fast, Judas rose in deep silence, tied on his sandals and left for good. He knew his destination.
Where Hamer had told him Jesus was born, there'd been a dead tree--a bare black snag above the cave. Judas had gripped it, even then, and chinned himself once; it was still firmly anchored. So just as the sun broke free of the hills and swept the fringes of Bethlehem, Judas Iscariot reached the tree again.