Kristian S. Cordero
Herodès
Hindi niya kinasanayan ang tumingala. Mistulang parating babagsak ang buong karimlan sa tuwing titingin siya sa kalawakan. May malas na hatid pa man din ang mga tala.
Nitong nakaraang mga araw ng taglamig ginagambala siya ng kanyang mga pantas tungkol sa pagdating ng Mesiyas.
Hindi kaya gusto lamang nilang nakawin ang kaharian? Marami na silang ipinapatay na propeta. Nagkalaman ang kanyang pagdududa sa mga katiwala.
Mula sa balkonahe ng kanyang palasyo, sinubukan niya minsan na tingnan ang mga bituin—para itong salamin ng mga ilawan sa lupa. Naduwal siya na parang nagluluwal ng galit at ganid. Labis na nakakalula ang taas.
Nang makarating sa kanya ang balita na sa matandang bayan ng Bethlehem isinilang ang bagong hari, sinugo niya ang kanyang mga kawal at ipinag-utos ang pagpatay sa mga sanggol na hindi tataas sa gulang na dalawa.
Habang humahagulhol ang isang bayan, maaga siyang naidlip upang hintayin ang kanyang panaginip. Sa loob-loob niya: Labis na ikakalugod ng Diyos ang aking utos. Hindi ginto, mira o insenso kundi dugo ng sarili niyang anak ang nais niyang alay. Hindi ba’t ito ang nakatadhana?
Herod
He had never been used to looking up. The night sky seemed always to threaten falling down on him whenever he stared at the empty space. And the stars always brought misfortune.
These past days of winter his consultant sages had been bothering him about this Messiah. Weren’t they just plotting against him, stealing the kingdom under his nose? How many prophets had they advised him to have silenced? Done away with? He regarded his advisers with the growing seed of mistrust.
From his balcony he tried once to look at the stars—they looked like mirror images of the lights below. His stomach turned and bile rose up his throat. He reeled with vertigo.
When the news reached him that the new king had been born in the old town of Bethlehem, he sent out his troops and had them kill every infant under two years of age.
As the land wept he turned in early to wait for his dreams. God should be glad, he thought, about what he had ordered done. Not gold, myrrh, or frankincense did he want offered in sacrifice but the blood of his son. Was this not foretold?
ILLUSTRATION: Detail from Tintoretto's Slaughter of the Innocents
