When the Rooster Crowed He Smirked

The flat surface of the mirror held a man growing old and weeping. The mirror was cold when the man fell to his knees and touched the mirror.

‘I don’t know him,’ said the man on his knees.

‘I don’t know him,’ said the mirror.

The man shot his eye up at the mirror, horrified, holding the mirror with both hands. He was shaking his head at what he was looking. He stood up again, brushed his trousers with his hands, wiped the tears with his sleeve, but his eyes were red.  The mirror was unmoved. The man cleared his throat and looked at the mirror. He really didn’t seem to like the mirror. He had a sad look. He clucked his lips and spoke:

‘We were sitting by a fire. I didn’t know the people I was with. I couldn’t feel the heat of the fire or what the people were saying. I had no interest in them. I was there because I was waiting for him. Jesus came, pushed and shoved by soldiers. The soldiers had weapons, sharp ones and they weren’t shy to use them. I didn’t see any reason why they would have weapons. I turned away anyway because I didn’t want Jesus to see me, I don’t even know why. No, I lie, I know why: I was ashamed because I couldn’t do anything. Or so I told myself. I just wanted to survive, really. Anyway, when I turned away I found a woman staring at me. “You know him. You are one of his people.” More people stared at me now. I was like a naked object. So I said: “I don’t know him.”’

‘I don’t know him,’ said the mirror.

Some time passed with Peter knocking his forehead on the mirror, gently, as if thinking. Then he stopped and he noticed the mirror fashioned a smudge. Peter tried to wipe it with his sleeve but it was as if his thoughts had stuck onto the mirror. Then he said:

‘The second time it happened. I had moved because I knew Jesus was being moved so I was moving with him. I like to think that Jesus and I were moving together, like old times. But that would be a lie. We, all of us, were always moving after him. Not in the sense that he moved first. You know what I mean. He was the core of our lives. He had given a meaning to my life. He made me feel special. I was not just any fisherman anymore. I was Peter, I was stone. I mean, you know what I mean.’

‘I know,’ said the mirror.

‘So I stopped amongst a group of bystanders because everyone likes to watch. “Hey,” said another woman. I turned around and she said to a man next to her: “Look at him. I bet he knows him.” She gave me a strange look of complicity, as if I knew what she was talking about. She started laughing with the man, both making gestures with their hands. Gestures  I didn’t like because they were saying things I didn’t like. “I don’t know him,” I said. I was angry this time. This time it was the truth. The way the woman had said it was as if I had slept with him. I never knew him that way. I know many think of that, a group of men like us, like soldiers. But no, that way, I don’t know him.’

‘I don’t know him,’ said the mirror, expressionless.

‘I am nothing like that,’ said Peter, for precision’s sake, as if the mirror cared about precision when mirrors are all about doing the opposite of what they see or hear. This mirror was no different, but Peter would not understand and Jesus was not there to explain things he didn’t understand. There was no Jesus that would tell Peter a story and Peter would understand everything. It was up to Peter to tell stories now and he had started, with a mirror. So Peter had to continue with his story and said:

‘The last time it happened it was the same woman as the first time and it was again by a fire, a different one. This one was a big fire. I don’t know why anyone would want such a big light on such a night. This was a night everyone should be ashamed and hide. But maybe I was the only one that would soon be ashamed. So this woman said: “I am sure it’s him. It’s one of his men.” Everyone was looking at me again now. I never liked to be looked at because there has never really been any reason to look at me. I guess I need to change that. But that night was I said, I said for the third time: “I don’t know him.” I said it so loud that I regretted it: in that very moment Jesus passed and looked at me. The rooster crowed. I swear Jesus smirked. He always loved to be right. But it’s easy to be right when you know everything already. I am just a fisherman, I am not God’s son. My father was a fisherman. I don’t know anything. I don’t even know how to tell a story. I just feel I keep repeating myself.’

The mirror didn’t say anything this time. Peter felt judged by the silence. He looked at the mirror and felt guilt. He punched the mirror because this is what you do to a mirror when the mirror doesn’t say anything. He could hear the sound of his fist echoing. He hit it many times, paying attention to that beautiful sound. The mirror didn’t feel a thing. Blood covered it though now and made it confused.

Peter wept because his knuckles were bleeding.  One or two of them were probably broken. He looked up. The flat surface of the mirror held a man growing old and weeping. The mirror was cold when the man fell to his knees and touched the mirror.