LAULTIMACÉNA

LAULTIMACÉNA

I remember hardly at all. I remember, of course, the Bread and Wine, the Transubstantiation: He made sure we remembered that. But of the meal itself, oddly enough, I can remember almost nothing. There was fish, most probably, meat, no doubt. But these I do not recall. After the meal, though, in the garden, just before we slept, one thing sticks in my mind which no one else saw fit to record: The cheese and bread He asked us to share with Him, before the long ordeal, an offer I quite harshly declined, having, as I then thought, other more important things to hand. John, of course, joined Him; could refuse Our Lord nothing. As did the others. I alone stood aloof, thinking food no fit subject for a time like this, with great events imminent. I can still recall His look, His acceptance of my refusal, knowing now my pettiness and spite part of His preparation, making smooth a path for the greater betrayal to come.