That night destroyed me. When we were together I had really believed I would be brave, courageous, faithful to the end. My heart rose, imagining death for him, who I loved so. I had seen it as a kind of sudden noble rush to a clean end. I knew I was the realist, the protector, the bravest of them all. It was me who organised, helped, gave voice to triumphs, and truths and to set backs. The right hand man, the invaluable one, always to be depended on. It was all about what I could do. I had been cocky. I had been a little farmyard cock, who struts, and crows defiance, not knowing the strength of eagle and wolf.
I had not imagined the long wait. The dark, the tiredness – I had not imagined the half overheard snatches of conversation about what they’d like to do to all Galileans, or their delight in coarse jokes about tortures. I had not thought of toes going numb, and the constant endless desire to pee.
And now I heard him, that little cock, crowing in the dawn of a day more terrible than I could imagine, and completing the prophecy made by the loving friend who actually knew what I was.
That night destroyed me. That night was the death of so much. Without that, I could not have been remade as I have been. I could not even have learned how to use my weakness to give strength to others.