DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER SIX: THE CHRYSIPPUS FARM
Chapter Six: The Chrysippus Farm
Joseph awoke
early, intent on heading to Callicles’ caravansary for woven sacks of lime
whitewash, and the exotic creation imported from northern Europe, soap.
Hitching the horses, he was greeted by Brutus, who asked him where he was
going.
“I’m heading to
Callicles’ market to pick up more items before he leaves.”
“Would you like
me to come along to assist you?”
“Sure, I could
use the help and the company.”
Brutus climbing
aboard, Joseph drove to the caravansary. Callicles’ slaves were taking down
tents and awnings, and packing unsold merchandise in preparation for leaving
town. The trader was standing by his personal wagon with his nephew, going over
inventory lists, as Joseph and Brutus stepped from the wagon and walked up.
“Good morning
Julius,” Callicles said with a weak smile, having another hangover.
“Greetings
Callicles, did you enjoy yourself last night?” asked Joseph.
“Definitely, but
I always end up paying for it in the mornings. You’re here for the
merchandise?”
“Yes.”
“I had my slaves
pull it from the wagons, ten soap bricks and 15 sacks of lime whitewash. It’s
sitting next to this wagon on a cart.”
“The price is?”
Callicles smiled
and answered, “For you Julius, 40 denarii will do, just so my slaves won’t have
to load it back in the wagons.”
“That’s a deal,”
said Joseph, handing him coins from a leather pouch.
“Thanks,”
Callicles replied, again looking to his inventory list, “Do you need a slave to
haul it?”
“I have Brutus.”
“Good, I’m
rather busy, so forgive me if I seem preoccupied, we have to pull out at
three.”
“Where are you
heading?”
“South, stopping
at Daphinos for a few days, then onto Heraclea and Mansahir, then to Antioch,
Damascus, and Jerusalem, then to the port of Caesarea for resupply. That’s our
last stop, we start back on Mare Internum coast road for Nicomedia and
Chrysopolis from there.”
“When will you
be returning?”
“Five or six
months, depending on sales and availability of stock,” Callicles answered,
looking Joseph in the eyes, “You’ll have more meat for me when I get back here,
right?”
“Yes indeed.”
“Well, I thank
you again, for the fine meats, and for your fine hospitality,” said Callicles,
shaking his hand. As Joseph walked off with Brutus hauling the cart of goods,
the trader called, “We’ll see you in late summer or early fall Julius!”
Joseph turned
and waved, Brutus opening the door of the wagon.
* * *
Summer 34 CE
arrived a few weeks later. The slaves had planted three fields of grain, with
Joseph, rising at dawn, assisting every day, as every able hand was needed.
Planting another field with vegetables, herbs and opium poppies, the sap of the
latter used at the time for pain relief, they accomplished the task, working
from dawn to dusk. While the men did the heavy work, Electra and Penelope cared
for animals, wove cloth, mended clothes, tanned leather and tended other
chores. Brutus, acting as overseer, reported to Joseph that although the
planting was somewhat late in the season, a relatively bountiful harvest should
arrive by late September or early October.
Jesus, true to
his word, assisted Icarus and Ganymede with building the forge hearth,
completing it over several evenings, the slaves watching him set the stone
masonry. Mary continued in her pregnancy, tended to by Ruth and the Magdalene,
along with Electra and Penelope, she treated almost as a queen by her slaves.
Joseph delivered
the smoked meat to Gavinal, earning 60 denarii, and finished installing the
windows. Brutus and Cyril, once the planting was completed, whitewashed the
house, the latrine, the slave quarters, the smokehouse buildings, and Icarus’
forge, over several days. Cyril received his literature gifts, grateful for the
works of poetry and philosophy. During early evenings, Jesus visited him,
discussing the sciences and arts, the two becoming fast friends.
As summer wore
on, life on the farm settled into mundane routine. The slaves continued working
at tasks assigned to them, with Jesus’ pregnant mother usually sick in the
mornings, though as time progressed the severity was lessening. Joseph and
Jesus got drunk occasionally, sometimes in the kitchen playing latrunculi on
the weekdays, sometimes with Gavinal on the weekends, or at other times at the
forge talking and drinking with three of their male slaves.
In late July,
Joseph provided funds and gave Icarus, Ganymede and Brutus permission to head
to Antigone’s brothel, where they enjoyed themselves for several hours on a hot
afternoon, finishing their lascivious revelry relaxing in the town bathhouse.
Cyril flatly
stated that he wanted nothing to do with prostitutes, Joseph raising eyebrows,
surprised at the reply from the stoic slave. Nor did the teacher ever drink
wine, as he was a cerebral man, shunning many pleasures of the flesh. Proving
he was still human, he and Electra had been close for many years, and when the
need for physical contact arose, she had always been there for him.
Jesus and Mary
continued in their predatory ways, killing people and animals by sucking their
blood, filling the ravines or the smokehouse, depending on the victim, with the
by-products of their depredations. They also continued to fill their pockets
with loot taken from human victims. Having amassed another hundred aurei, in
mid August they decided to take a vacation. Informing his parents that they
were leaving for a few weeks, they flew south.
After several
hours flight, they appeared in the vicinity of the decadent, blighted town of
Mansahir, where Jesus had helped traders Euripides and Thales. They had
considered Antioch before the trip as there were always plenty of victims, but
the criminals there never seemed to have money, while those in Mansahir were
almost always loaded.
In an unusual
turn of events, the vampiric Christ was openly confrontational with his
victims, he and Mary walking into taverns and gambling halls in the middle of
the night, looking for criminals to feed on. More often than not, he found
them, and after some fun, they gave them the fate they deserved. Cunning, Jesus
rented a room in a different hotel, making certain they weren’t recognized,
each evening heading out, looking for trouble along the dark and lonely roads.
Easily finding suitable victims, by the tenth night they had slaughtered over
twenty people and fattened their pockets with several hundred denarii.
Walking from
their room shortly after sundown on a cool evening, Mary asked, “So, who’s on
the menu for tonight?”
“Who knows,
maybe thieves, rapists, or even simple troublemakers. We seem to have run out
of highwaymen for the time being, and from what you’ve said they’re all the
same to you anyway.”
“I was just
wondering,” said Mary as they strolled into a tavern.
“What’ll you
have citizen?” asked the Roman bartender, Jesus stepping up to the bar.
“Gallic wine,
undiluted please.”
“Sorry, all we
have is Egyptian beer or Anatolian grog.”
“Make it grog,”
said Jesus, settling for the inferior drink.
“Anything for
the lady?”
“I’ll take a
beer,” Mary replied, having no taste for grog, looking about and sizing up
other customers, noting two men, one very muscular, sitting in a corner at the
far end of the tavern.
“Coming up,”
answered the bartender, quickly returning with the drinks. “That’ll be four
dupondii.”
“Have a
denarius,” said Jesus, tossing a coin to the bar top, one of the men watching
intently from the corner.
“I’ll have to
make change.”
“Keep it and
bring a couple more drinks when we need them.”
“Thank you sir!”
the bartender exclaimed, leaving to tend to another patron.
“Look at that
rich Roman and the good looking bitch he has with him,” a burly Anatolian thief
named Darius growled, looking in the direction of Jesus.
“She’s wearing a
stola, that woman is his wife,” a much smaller man named Paris observed.
“So what,
they’re both as good as dead,” said Darius, not realizing how accurate his statement
was.
“He’ll be easy
pickings,” Paris agreed, ogling the Magdalene, more interested in her than any
money they might have. With those words the thieves made their fateful decision
– that before the night was out they would rob and murder the placid man
sitting on the barstool, afterward raping his woman to death, waiting to strike
after they left the tavern.
“It’s the clowns
in the corner isn’t it?” Mary whispered, finishing her second beer, Jesus
nursing a fourth cup of grog.
“Exactly. Tell
you what, we’ll let them follow us out of town.”
“When?”
“May I finish my
drink woman?” asked Jesus, annoyed at her impetuousness.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry
about it,” Jesus replied, downing the grog. Leaving another denarius as a tip,
they left the tavern, pretending not to notice that the Anatolian trash had
left their table and were shadowing them.
“What do we do
now?” Mary asked for the benefit of their pursuers.
“I imagine we
should rent a room since I have all this money with me.”
“You’re laying
it on too thick,” said Mary, concerned he might spook their prey.
“I am?”
“Let them come
to us, they will.”
“I thought you
were hungry.”
“I am, but even
stupid thieves can see a trap like that.”
Walking further,
just outside town they observed the thieves skirt past, running through low
brush, seeing them by body heat.
“They’re going
to try something soon,” said Jesus.
“No shit,”
replied the Magdalene.
Appearing in
front of them, the thieves blocked their path. “What are you doing out here?”
asked Darius, ogling the Magdalene.
“Enjoying the
night,” Jesus answered, eyeing the pair for weapons.
“You shouldn’t
be walking around here with folks like us around,” said a smiling Paris.
“Yes I should,
I’m a Roman citizen and can walk anywhere I want.”
“You’re also
stupid if think you can do something like that,” said Darius, chuckling.
“Where are your
daggers boys?” asked Mary.
“I don’t need
weapons, I use my bare hands,” the muscular Darius growled, clenching his
fists, “I’ll break your man in two and tear you a new asshole Roman bitch!”
“I’m not Roman,
I’m Hebrew, half Benjaminite and half Jew.”
“Pussy’s pussy,”
said Paris, confused by Mary’s Roman appearance and unconcerned demeanor.
In disgust,
Jesus pushed her aside and threw off his toga, looking down at Darius,
remarking, “I’m sorry Mary, I’m tired of this. Come on thief, try me.”
“Are you
kidding?” asked Darius, looking up to a man striking him as a taller and
thinner than usual Roman, easy pickings for a man like himself. At 5’11” and
190 pounds, he was considered a tall and muscular man in those days.
“Go ahead, you
and your friend, I’ll take you fair and square, no tricks,” Jesus declared,
clad in a tunic, holding up his fists.
Darius, never
intimidated by anyone, saw his words as a bluff challenge. He laughed heartily
and replied, “Prepare to die!” He threw a fist at Jesus with all his might,
punching him hard in the face, the vampiric Christ’s face flying to the right
from the blow. Following through with a hard left, he struck him again, and
then hit him with a hard right uppercut, an unfazed Jesus smiling at him
afterward.
“That’s your
best?” Jesus asked.
Darius stood
dumbfounded, not understanding how his mighty hammer blows that had killed
others hadn’t bothered this tall Roman at all.
“You fight like
a woman does,” said Jesus.
“Kiss my ass!”
Darius yelled, lunging for him, Jesus sidestepping the foolish thief. Falling
to the ground, Darius rose, brushing dust from his clothes and glaring at him.
His partner Paris, smelling defeat, turned and attempted to flee.
“Not so fast,”
said the Magdalene, grabbing the small man by his tunic.
“Let me go,”
pleaded Paris, looking her in the eyes.
“No, I want you
to watch my husband flatten your friend,” Mary retorted, shaking her head.
“Hit me again,
see if you can hurt me,” said Jesus, holding out his chin for another punch.
“I’ll kill you!”
Darius screamed, hitting Jesus in the face with all his strength, breaking
several bones in his hand as he connected, the Christ not moving this time, his
face like a slab of granite.
“Not likely,”
said Jesus, looking to his crippled assailant.
“What the hell
are you?” asked a confused and frightened Darius, clutching his broken hand.
“I’m a vampire.”
Darius,
terrified, continued to stare at him, his shattered hand starting to throb.
Using his left, Jesus struck back, punching him so hard that his fist went
through the man’s head as if it were butter, sending flesh, bone and brains
flying everywhere. “Take that you son of a bitch!” he exclaimed, the nearly
headless body hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Shaking gore from his hand,
he spat in disgust, “This is ridiculous, I have to remember that I’m stronger
than these idiots.”
“You took his
head off!” Mary exclaimed.
“Yes, and I see
you’ve learned to entrance them quickly.”
“It just took
time to learn how to do it, that’s all.”
“I understand,”
Jesus replied, looking to the statuesque Paris. “So, what should we do with
him?”
“The other one’s
blood is running all over the ground,” said Mary, looking to the headless body,
the blood sinking into the sand.
“Feed on him.”
Mary flew to the
remains of Darius, gulping blood from the jugular as it was pumped from the
torn arteries by the dying heart. Sated, she sat heavily on the ground, laying
her head on the chest of the body.
“Mary,” called
Jesus, no response forthcoming.
“Mary!”
“Yes?” asked the
Magdalene, turning her face to him.
“It can’t be
that good, I should know!”
“It is,” she
answered, feeling dizzy.
“Never mind
that,” said Jesus, “I think we should torture this little bastard like we did
with Judas.”
“Forget that,
kill him and get it over with.”
“He seems
deserving of it, they wanted to rape you.”
“Who cares,”
said Mary, relaxing and snuggling up to the cooling corpse.
“Goddamnit snap
out of it woman!”
“What?” Mary
asked, shook from her rapture.
“What do you
want to do with this asshole?” Jesus asked, the terrified Paris standing
helpless, unable to move.
“Kill him,” said
Mary, remembering the last blissful moments, “Don’t waste time torturing him,
it’ll give you a bad attitude like it did in Jerusalem.”
“But – ”
“No buts, finish
him off,” said a sighing Mary, clumsily rising to her feet.
Knowing she was
right, Jesus lifted the little man with one arm. “How do you like this you
little bastard?” he asked, the entranced man unable to utter a word. Jesus
plunged fangs into the neck, sucking the blood until Paris died, the lifeless
body collapsing in a heap. Looking at his left hand, he wiped the remainder of
Darius’ gore on the tunic of the little thief. He looted both, not finding
much, but enough that it was worthwhile. Mary following him, he dumped the
bodies a few hundred yards from the roadside. Pausing, he asked her, “What was
the matter with you back there, you acted as if you were enthralled or
something.”
“Sometimes
taking them does that to me,” she answered, not realizing Darius had been high
on hashish that he had eaten, his blood intoxicating.
“It’s never been
that way for me.”
“Perhaps each of
us react differently,” said Mary, looking to the bodies.
“Maybe.”
“You can be
really violent can't you?” she asked, observing the mutilated corpse.
“That muscle
bound bastard pissed me off, thinking he was so much,” said Jesus, folding arms
across his chest.
“I’ll say,” Mary
replied as they headed to the road to pick up his toga.
Having
difficulty arranging it, Jesus asked, “Will you please help me with this
thing?”
“You should use
a pin or clasp to hold it on instead of these folds,” she answered while
assisting him, still high on Darius’ blood.
“No Roman uses
pins to hold on a toga,” said Jesus, getting the cumbersome garb in proper
arrangement.
“I use pins on
my stolas.”
“That’s because
it’s customary for a woman to do so,” said Jesus, the couple starting back to
town.
“If you ask me,
togas are a pain in the ass. Why do you bother to wear one?”
“I don’t most times,
you’re the one who suggested that I start wearing them,” Jesus replied as they
headed through the gates of Mansahir.
“You could pin
it from the inside, that way no one could see.”
“Good idea,”
said Jesus, looking to her with approval. Returning to their room, he remarked,
“We’ve been gone a good while, we should return to the farm to check on mother
and dad.”
“Yes love, but
before we take off I’d like to pick up a few things for the slave women first
thing tomorrow evening, if you wouldn’t mind me doing so.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,
perhaps some things you’ve said have rubbed off on me.”
“Really?”
“You’re still a
good teacher, many things you say do make sense, especially after one thinks
about it a while,” Mary answered, the hashish-laden hemoglobin clouding her
thoughts.
“Meaning?”
“Do unto others
as you would have them do unto you.”
“Oh yes, it’s
much more pleasant when you treat people well, if they deserve it, instead of
treating them like shit under your feet.”
“Well put, so I
figure what you did for the male slaves, I would do for the women.”
“I understand,”
said Jesus, surprised at her sudden altruism toward mortals, particularly lowly
slaves. “It’s really because you don’t approve of slavery isn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” a
yawning Mary replied, moving to the bed, “I’d just like to pick up some items
for Ruth, Penelope and Electra.”
“Such as?”
“Maybe fancy
cloth like silk, and perhaps jewelry and cosmetics for them to use in their
leisure time,” said Mary, her eyelids heavy.
“Sure,” replied
Jesus, “I have no problem with that.”
A snore was the
reply, he joining her in the bed.
* * *
They awoke early
the following evening, so Mary could purchase gifts for their female slaves. As
soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, they headed for downtown Mansahir, a
block containing shops, salons, and a pair of brothels. Walking into a tailor’s
shop, she inquired if he had silk cloth.
“Certainly,” the
tailor answered, “Imported from Cathay by way of India, but it is not
inexpensive, ten denarii buys only a square cubit.”
“Measure off
thirty square cubits,” said Jesus, fumbling in a tunic pocket for money.
“Yes sir,” the
tailor replied, reaching for a bolt of silk and his shears. “That will be 300
denarii,” he added after carefully measuring off the cloth, “I’m sorry sir, I
must be paid before I cut it.”
“Will twelve
aurei cover it?” asked Jesus, holding out coins in his left.
“Of course,”
said the tailor, staring at the gold.
Sitting coins on
the counter, Jesus retorted, “There’s your money. Cut it, we don’t have all
night.” The tailor quickly cut the cloth, wrapped it in a piece of cheap burlap
and handed it to Jesus.
“I thank you
sir,” said the tailor as they left.
“Yeah,” Jesus
replied, passing through the doorway.
“You were a bit
rude to him weren’t you?” asked Mary while they headed to a jewelry store.
“He was a jerk,
demanding money before he cut the cloth.”
“You always have
to pay for expensive cloth before it’s cut,” said Mary, having dealt with
tailors many times.
“You do?”
“Everywhere,”
Mary answered, a taciturn Jesus ruminating on the statement and finally
agreeing with her. Walking into a jewelry shop, she picked out several
necklaces made of electrum, otherwise known as amber, and three made of pearls.
Spending 11 aurei at the jewelers, they headed to a salon where she picked up
henna, kohl and other cosmetics, along with three polished silver mirrors,
hairbrushes and three pairs of shears.
“Mother said she
was interested in henna too, perhaps we should buy some for her,” Jesus
suggested, placing their selections on the counter.
“I can even show
her how to use it properly,” said Mary, returning to a shelf containing jars of
the cosmetic.
“You’ve used
henna?”
“Of course, I
used to be a whore you know,” the Magdalene answered quietly, heading to the
counter.
“Oh yes,” said
Jesus, recalling her colorful past.
“That’ll be a
hundred denarii,” the clerk declared, figuring the total using an abacus.
“Here you go,”
Jesus replied, dropping four aurei at this establishment. “You have very good
taste when it comes to clothing and accessories Mary, where did you learn such
things?” he asked, the couple heading to the hotel.
“Thank you,
remember, I was a whore once and know how to make a woman look her best.”
“I’ll say,” said
Jesus, looking to his smartly dressed, beautiful consort, attired in a tight
fitting light blue stola and delicate leather shoes. Returning to the hotel, he
remarked as he closed the door to their room, “I imagine we should check out
and fly home woman.”
“We’ll have to
find someone to eat first,” Mary observed, tucking some purchases into a small
leather bag, others into nooks in her stola.
“That should
prove easy around here,” said Jesus, checking the room for mislaid belongings,
both walking out and heading for the office. Handing the clerk the key, they
bid farewell and left town. Heading north, they came across and dispatched
another pair of society’s dregs, looting the bodies and heaving the remains
over a hillside, adding another fifty denarii to their kitty. Alone, they
assumed chiropteric form and began the long flight home.
Near ten, they
flew over Callicles’ wagons, stopped in Heraclea, Jesus observing Callicles far
below, showing another customer his many wares, nephew at his side. Five hours
later they arrived at the farm, transforming on the porch. Taking seats in the
dimly lit kitchen, they conversed until dawn, heading to their room and
settling in for the day.
“If it isn’t the
return of my prodigal son and his pretty wife,” said a smiling Joseph while
they walked into the kitchen the following evening.
“Hello my
father,” Jesus replied.
“How was your
trip?” asked Joseph, embracing his son.
“It went well,
thank you,” answered Jesus, returning the embrace.
“You were only
gone a little over three weeks but we all missed you,” said Joseph, looking to
him.
“You did?”
“It certainly
wasn’t the same here without you. You’ve made quite an impression on the
slaves, especially Cyril. He’s been asking when you would return.”
“Really?” Jesus
asked, surprised but pleased that the old slave would be so intent on
associating with him.
“You
underestimate yourself son, even as a vampire people love or hate you, there
are no in betweens, just like when you were alive.”
“Is that good or
bad?”
“Who knows. But
here we love you, and are all joyous at your return, just like your mother and
I were when you returned to Nazareth the first time.”
“What about the
second time?”
“That time you
almost gave me a heart attack, considering you were a dead man, but your mother
and I got past that pretty quick.”
“I’m still a
dead man father, Mary and I are vampires, and vampires are not truly alive, nor
really dead for that matter, we are undead.”
“I know,
remember I’ve read Herodotus, according to him you and your lady are in an
ageless stasis, for lack of better words.”
“Stasis?” Jesus
asked, pleased that his father was becoming familiar with Greek, as he had
become, conversing with Cyril in that tongue for the past few months.
“What I mean is
you may be dead in a fashion but you're far from a corpse, after all, you’re
not rotting away,” Joseph observed, arms in the air.
“Yes, that’s
quite true,” said Jesus, Mary looking to him.
“Further, you
and your girl may be undead, vampires, going around killing folks and sucking
their blood and all, but you’re still good company.”
“I am?” asked a
confused Jesus.
“Of course,”
said Joseph, pouring a goblet of wine, “Even when you were alive, I and your
mother always enjoyed the conversations we had with you in the courtyard,
sitting with a finger in the air, saying, Verily I say unto you – and so
forth.”
“But you thought
I was lazy too,” Jesus replied, thinking of his days in Nazareth, the Magdalene
standing quietly in the background.
“That didn’t
mean you were stupid,” said Joseph, waxing philosophical.
“What did it
accomplish, all it did was get me killed.”
“I told you that
would happen.”
“I remember.”
“I’m going to
look in on your mother,” said Mary, wanting to leave, heading to their bedroom.
“Want wine?”
asked Joseph, holding the bottle while Jesus sat down.
“That would be
nice,” said Jesus, his father taking a seat.
Joseph poured
him a libation, Jesus asking, “How’s the farm doing?”
“Very well, the
wheat and barley are almost ready for harvest, Icarus is running the forge with
work sent from the centurion, and your mother’s sickness has finally stopped.”
“The baby will
come soon.”
“In another four
months or so. She only has trouble in the beginning, the child should be here
by early December.”
“It’s a boy you
know.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry, I
won’t tell your mother,” said Joseph. Sitting quietly for a moment, he smiled
with satisfaction and said, “A boy, I’m going to have another son.”
* * *
Later, the
Magdalene presented her gifts to the slave women, starting with Ruth, the girl
dutifully tending to Jesus’ pregnant mother. “I thank you Mistress Maria
Hittica,” she said, looking at her reflection in a silver mirror.
“Please Ruth,
call me Maria will you?”
“Yes Maria.”
“Now then Ruth,
please follow me to the slave quarters, I have gifts I wish to present to the
three of you.”
“You do?”
“You will be
pleased, I promise,” answered a smiling Mary, heading for the door.
Ruth nodded,
following the Magdalene to the slave quarters. Knocking and entering with Ruth,
Mary greeted the slaves, Cyril looking up from a scroll he was reading.
“Good evening
Maria the younger,” said Cyril.
“Greetings
Cyril,” Mary replied, “Are Electra and Penelope here?”
“They are in
their quarters, I shall fetch them for you,” Cyril answered, rising from his
seat and walking to their rooms. A few moments later the slave women appeared,
Cyril returning to a seat and resuming reading, a scroll penned by Herodotus.
“Good evening,
I’ve brought gifts we purchased during our trip south, jewelry, cosmetics, and
fine silk,” said Mary, producing the items from a sack.
“Silk fabric?”
asked Penelope, “Why?”
“Why not?” the
Magdalene replied, “In your leisure you can make fine dresses with it, and
using the jewelry and cosmetics, can make yourselves the best looking slaves in
Tibernum.”
“I knew it,
master Julius is going to open a private brothel, using us for the whores,”
said Electra.
“No,” a
surprised Magdalene protested, shaking her head, “That’s not my intention,
you’ve helped us, so I’m rewarding you for your efforts.”
“Why?” asked
Electra as Cyril looked up from his scroll, “No one gives anyone gifts without
a price, what do you want from us in return?”
Mary fell silent
for a moment, gazing at the slave women with a compassionate look. “You must
realize by now that we are not your typical slave owners, we look at you as
members of our extended family, good people helping us tend our farm. The least
we can do is to make you feel more at home with us,” she replied, hurt by
Electra’s candid remarks.
“They are truly
different, especially Julius the younger,” said Cyril, looking to Electra.
“But – ”
“No buts my dear
woman, they are very different,” said Cyril.
Electra looked
to the floor and replied, “I’m sorry mistress Maria, life has not been kind to
me. When I was younger I was sold into slavery as a prostitute by my uncle,
having been raped for several years by my father.”
Mary pursed her
lips in reflection and answered, “I understand.”
“You do?” asked
Electra, staring at who she saw as a pampered, wealthy Roman woman, thinking of
terrible nights when she had been violated by up to fifteen men at a time, many
of them Roman soldiers.
“Not
personally, but a long time ago a close friend of mine had a similar experience
in Rome,” she lied, thinking of her past employment in the trade of
prostitution, until Jesus of Nazareth happened upon her in Magdala, just as the
townspeople were about to stone her.
Saving her from
certain death, the Christ had walked up with disciples John, Judas, Peter and
Thomas; livid at the scene he was seeing. “May he who is without sin cast the
first stone!” Jesus exclaimed, grabbing an arm of a zealous Benjaminite,
pulling a rock from his hand and throwing it to the ground. “Verily I say,
stone me first you hypocrites, if you have the guts!” he shouted, moving
between Mary and the hypocritical people of Magdala.
“But you
haven’t…”
“Really?” asked
Electra, breaking Mary from her reverie.
“Her parents
died when she was young and her aunt threw her out in the street when she was a
teenager. She had to sell her body to live, life was cruel to her too.”
“Where is she
now?” asked Electra, looking for an end to the story.
“She is dead,”
Mary replied. Cyril looked to her, raising an eyebrow at the statement.
“Oh,” said
Electra, having nothing further to say.
The Magdalene
talked with the slave women for several hours, gaining their confidence,
leaving near midnight while an exhausted Cyril snored in a chair. His scroll of
Herodotus had dropped to the floor – the treatise on legends. They returned to
the house, Ruth heading for the bedroom to tend to Jesus’ mother.
She met Jesus in
the kitchen. He remarked, finishing a goblet of wine, “This is a change woman,
I was heading out for supper without you.”
“I have before,
I was talking to Electra and Penelope.”
“And?”
“Electra thought
we were going to make them into whores when I showed her the cosmetics and
jewelry.”
“What about the
silk?”
“That only added
to it, Electra was a whore in the past, forced into doing so as a slave.”
“Unfortunate,
verily I say, if there is a God somewhere he must not care at all about man,
with pain, death and misfortune all around us.”
“Jesus Christ,
your words sound like the utterances of an atheist!”
“I’m damn close
to atheism now,” said Jesus, rising from his chair. They walked into the dark
night, transforming in the shadows, finding and killing a trio of highwaymen
fifteen miles west of Tibernum, enriching themselves physically and materially.
A heavy bag of gold and silver, amounting to nearly 300 aurei, was in the haul,
the vampiric Christ having to walk back due to the weight.
“Why don’t you
throw some of the gold away?” Mary asked after walking several miles.
“Because it’s
gold. At this rate, given a few years, we could buy Tibernum.”
“Why?”
“What else have
we to do?”
“We don’t really
need an entire town do we?”
“No, it was just
a thought,” said Jesus.
* * *
The harvest came
a few weeks later, all the slaves working the fields, tending to the bountiful
crops of wheat and barley. The herbs and other vegetables were coming in too,
assuring the Chrysippus larder would be well stocked for the winter. Jesus and
the Magdalene did their part, killing and draining deer, boars and aurochs of
their blood, stocking the nearly overflowing smokehouse with another fifty
sides of meat and providing skins for the slave women to make into leather.
Ganymede built a granary shed, assisted by Joseph and son, erecting and
completing the structure in less than four days. Jesus, now a skilled mason,
had built the foundation the first evening, assisted by his consort, and during
the following three days, Joseph and the slaves completed the wooden floor,
walls and roof.
While crickets,
the charges of Artemis, saluted summer’s end, the slaves finished cutting
grain, the men separating wheat from chaff, the women plucking barleycorns from
stems. Joseph smiled with satisfaction, watching his slaves tending their
chores; his newly built granary shed later filled nearly to the brim with wheat
and barley. In the span of a little over eight months, Jesus and father had
created an efficient, productive farm, tended by seven slaves, with ‘Julius the
Elder’ as he was known, considered a pillar of the community. Nodding to
various townsfolk, he stopped by Gavinal’s office one fall afternoon and paid
his property taxes of seven aurei, rounded by Jesus from a little over six and
a half.
“The taxes are
only six and a half aurei for this year Julius, you’ve given me seven, let me
make change,” said Gavinal, staring at coins in his hand.
“Forget it,”
Joseph replied while the prefect handed him a receipt, “We have plenty of
money, keep the extra if you like or apply it to next year’s bill.”
“I shall apply
it to next year’s bill.”
“Right,” said Joseph,
walking from the office.
Callicles’
caravans came to town from the south a little over a week later, with the
red-faced trader hawking his merchandise for only a week as he had to return to
the Hellespont for resupply by November, and then to a one-month vacation at
his palatial villa in eastern Thrace. That is, he was selling his wares in
Tibernum between getting drunk with other local lushes, good people like
Gavinal Septimus, Jesus, Joseph and the town notary, Marcus Pertinax. The
evening before he left, Callicles made his way to Joseph’s farm, naturally
while inebriated, and purchased eighty sides of smoked meat for 650 denarii.
“Thank you
friends,” said Callicles, standing on the porch while his slaves loaded a wagon
with meat, shaking Jesus’ and Joseph’s hands.
“You’re quite
welcome,” answered Jesus, “Care for a drink?”
“Need you ask?”
Callicles replied, walking into the kitchen.
Sitting at the
table drinking Gallic wine, Callicles remarked, “Do you know about the new road
west of here, it leads straight to Chrysopolis, saving my caravan 200 miles in
travel!”
“Yes, Procurator
Vitellius Caius Africanus opened it about month ago,” said Jesus, familiar with
the western Roman highway ‘Via Tiberius Romanus’ and its ruthless hordes of
highwaymen and cutthroats lurking in the shadows.
“We’ll use that
road from now on, it’ll cut a week from our schedule,” Callicles replied,
slurring his Latin.
“Be careful
friend,” said Jesus, knowing the caravan was well protected, “Once you’re fifteen
or twenty miles west of here many thieves lurk by the roadsides.”
“That’s why I
employ mercenaries like my buddies Kago and Aeschesles,” Callicles answered,
narrowing eyes in contempt of thieves while downing another gulp of wine. “Get
this,” he added, holding out his goblet for a refill, “Anyone crossing our path
with intent to rob gets nothing but death for their efforts. My men are heavily
armed and have no qualms about killing thieves.”
“Really?” asked
Joseph, unaware that Callicles was not only a shrewd businessman, but had been
using his men for years to slaughter thieves prowling the highways. For this
service, he received a bounty from the procurator for heads of criminals killed
during their travels.
“Some of my men
fought as professional gladiators in Rome and Capua. I let them loot thieves
who attempt to rob us, naturally after they’ve killed and beheaded them of
course, it makes them a lot of money,” said Callicles, Jesus refilling his
goblet.
“Is that so?”
asked Joseph, smiling and looking to Jesus.
“Yeah, I get 250
denarii in bounty for each one killed, I had fourteen pickled heads in a barrel
I dropped off in Antioch two months ago.”
“A proper method
for handling thieves,” said Jesus, thinking it was exactly the same method he
used to deal with such people.
“Indeed, but my
men usually spend all they make from robbers on wine and whores, I guess that’s
why they tag along and keep working for me,” replied a chuckling Callicles,
rising unsteadily from the table.
“Leaving so
soon?” asked Joseph.
“No, I have to
take a piss.”
“So do I,” said
Jesus, the group heading out to answer nature’s call.
“You and your
folks are good people Julius,” said Callicles, relieving himself by the
chimney. “Tibernum colony is my favorite of stops, a pleasant place, with you
and your father, friend Gavinal, Drusus the Illyrian, Caius Felix and that
silly Marcus.”
“He does tell
good jokes,” Jesus replied, adjusting his tunic.
“I don’t know
where he gets them,” said Callicles, heading to the porch. He tripped up the
steps and landed on the porch with a heavy thud.
“Are you all
right uncle?” Demosthenes asked.
“Yeah, I just
drink too much,” he replied, rising unsteadily. Enjoying the warm night,
Callicles stood on the porch getting drunk, later falling to the floor
unconscious, his goblet shattering beside him.
“I’m very sorry,
we will replace it from our stock at once,” said Demosthenes, the fine crystal
goblet having been expensive, imported from Rome.
“Forget it,”
Jesus replied as his father rose from his chair, “We’ll buy more from you next
time, no point worrying about broken glass.”
“But it was a
crystal goblet.”
“Who cares,”
said a drunken Joseph, skirting the shards and weaving through the door.
“If you say so,”
the incredulous lad replied while looking to the doorway, knowing the goblet
had cost at least five denarii.
“I do indeed say
so,” Joseph called from the kitchen.
“Are you sure?”
Demosthenes asked, looking to Jesus.
“It’s nothing,”
Jesus replied.
“My uncle drinks
too much,” said Demosthenes, looking to his unconscious form.
“Yeah, what can
you do?” replied Jesus, rising from his seat and walking to the snoring trader,
rolling him on his back.
“I’ll help you
carry him to the wagon,” said Demosthenes.
“That’s the
idea,” Jesus answered, the pair moving Callicles from the floor, an arm over
the lad’s shoulder, another over Jesus’ shoulder. Demosthenes took the reins
after Jesus lifted the unconscious trader into the wagon.
Bidding farewell,
the lad said they would return in late March or early April, depending on
availability of stock.
“Take it easy
kid,” Jesus replied as Demosthenes took a deep gulp of wine, following in his
uncle’s footsteps.
“I always do,
and guess what – I got laid for the first time two weeks ago by a slut in
Daphinos!”
“Good for you,”
said Jesus, the boy cracking a whip over the horse’s heads, galloping away over
the bumpy road leading from the farm. “We’ll have to get the road fixed before
somebody gets killed,” he added, watching the wagon heave to one side on two
wheels.
Heading out with
the Magdalene while his father snored in a kitchen chair, the couple flew to
the west road, finding and killing a pair of thieves seventeen miles west of
Tibernum. After a few lean months, they had found a windfall, flying off for a
few days to prey about Mansahir, or to stroll the newly opened highway from the
west. This much-needed road ultimately connected to a distant city named
Nicomedia, many hundreds of miles away on the Sea of Marmara.
Staying far
enough from Gavinal and his centurion’s grasp, thieves had taken up residence
by the roadsides, providing Jesus and Mary with plenty of blood and cold cash.
From the increased amount of money they were acquiring in Mansahir and the
heavily traveled west road, Jesus took time to visit his cave every few weeks
or so, instead of once every other month as he had since moving in with his
parents. Each time they entered the dark labyrinth, he added more booty to his
treasure trove, a princely sum amounting to nearly 4,500 aurei in coinage, not
counting priceless jewels and jewelry, their value perhaps three times that.
Thanks to their newfound preying ground on the west road, they were growing
richer with each passing night.
* * *
One evening in
early November, Jesus brought another sack of denarii to the cave, weighing
nearly fifty pounds. “We’re loaded now aren’t we woman?” he asked, dropping the
sack, “My dad always thought I’d be poor, and now I have enough money to buy a
thousand slaves.”
“I’ll say, and
then some,” Mary replied, looking to the glittering pile of treasure.
Staring at
silver menorahs stolen from the rabbi of Nazareth, sitting next to a pile of
aurei, Jesus frowned, reminded of the Hebrew faith he had turned his back on
immediately following his death and triumphant vampiric resurrection.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Jesus
answered, not wanting to bother her with his contemptuous opinions regarding
religion, “It’s just we’ve been concentrating on acquiring money and jewelry,
those menorahs and goblets are out of place.”
“We haven’t been
robbing anyone’s homes lately, maybe we’ll get more later,” said Mary, not
understanding why he was so annoyed at a pair of menorahs and two goblets.
“That’s not what I mean, we have no use for
them. I suppose I’ll have Icarus melt that crap down,” Jesus replied, pointing
to the menorahs and goblets. Since they were not money or jewelry, he
considered them useless gold and silver scrap, better suited existing as ingots
of precious metal.
“That can wait,
we have a ton of money, besides, you could give those goblets to your parents
as a congratulatory present for the baby.”
“Good idea,”
said Jesus, lifted from his dark mood and breaking into a smile, brushing aside
the offending menorahs and lifting the goblets from the pile. Presents in hand,
they headed for the house, walking into the kitchen as Ruth was clearing the
table. “Where’s my father?” he asked.
“In their
bedroom talking with your mother,” she replied.
“Thank you.”
Knocking on the
door, Joseph let them in, walking to a chair and sitting down next to his wife,
lying in bed. His mother was very pregnant, having less than two months to go
before her new baby, a healthy Hebrew boy, would come into the world.
“Good evening
father, how are you my mother?” asked Jesus, he and Mary entering.
“I’m fine,” his
mother answered, Jesus taking a seat beside Joseph.
“She waddles
like a duck and looks like she’s about to burst,” his father observed, smiling
and laying a hand on his wife’s arm.
“Carry this much
weight in front of you and see how you walk,” Mary retorted.
“I don’t mean
anything by that woman,” Joseph replied.
“I’ve brought a
gift, in honor of the baby,” said Jesus, producing the pair of goblets from
behind his back and sitting them on a nightstand.
“They’re
beautiful,” replied his mother.
“Expensive too,
worth a small fortune I’d say,” said Joseph, lifting one of the heavy goblets,
“Where’d you get them?”
“We took them from a rabbi we killed in
Nazareth, we robbed his house,” an unthinking Magdalene volunteered, Jesus
looking to her darkly.
“Oh well, I
suppose he didn’t have any further use for them,” said Joseph, placing the
goblet on the table.
“Samuel Bar
Saklas, the rabbi who wanted to have you stoned for blasphemy,” said his
mother.
“Exactly,” Jesus
replied, still frowning.
“Please don’t
feel bad, he got what he was asking for. They’re very nice goblets too, thank
you very much,” she added, accepting the stolen gifts.
“You’re welcome
mother,” said Jesus as Ruth entered the room.
“The kitchen’s
cleaned up already?” asked Joseph, looking to lift Jesus from his darkened
mood.
“Yes Julius the
elder,” Ruth answered.
“Let’s have wine
son,” said Joseph, rising from his seat.
“Are you coming
my woman?” asked Jesus.
“I want to talk
with your mom for a while if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself,”
said Jesus, following his father to the kitchen.
Entering the
kitchen, his father reached for a bottle of wine and two crystal goblets.
“Sometimes Mary
says things she shouldn’t,” Jesus observed, sitting down, Joseph opening the
bottle and pouring libations.
“She is a little
blunt, but don’t worry, your mother doesn't care about that anymore.”
“Be that as it
may, it’s disrespectful, she isn’t used to hearing such things.”
“That’s not
exactly true. Your mother’s seen a lot more than you may think, especially
before you were born.”
“What do you
mean?”
“Killing’s one
thing she may not be comfortable with yet, but regarding thievery, when your
mother was pregnant with you there was a census taken in Judea by Caesar
Augustus. Back taxes were being collected in Bethlehem where your mother and I
were born.”
“I know, that’s
where I was born too, in a stable near an inn.”
“Right, but what
you don’t know is that I robbed a publican’s house to pay off my back taxes,
otherwise they would have sold your mother and I into slavery.”
“I always
thought you were a successful carpenter.”
“Successful
because I stole enough money from the publican to move to Nazareth and buy
tools and a house.”
“What happened
to the publican?”
“Him? I heard
they crucified him for absconding with state funds,” Joseph answered, a guilty
look crossing his face.
“Oh,” said
Jesus, thinking if his father hadn’t stolen the money, the tax collector
probably wouldn’t have been crucified, but also realizing if his father hadn’t
stolen the money, he and his parents would be lowly slaves, a paradox Jesus
figured had turned out for the better.
“So, what do you
think of that revelation?” asked Joseph, finishing his goblet.
“I suppose you
did what you had to do, and I’ve never cared for publicans, excepting for my
friend Matthew.”
“He was one of
your disciples wasn’t he?” asked Joseph, pouring another and refilling Jesus’
goblet.
“Yeah, I wonder
what he’s doing now,” Jesus mused, his mind drifting to his ministry in
Galilee.
“Didn't you kill
him?” Joseph asked, goblet of wine in hand.
“No, I only
killed Peter and Judas, I haven’t the foggiest notion of what happened to
Matthew.”
“I guess that
means there are ten of your people blundering about Judea, telling folks you’re
God.”
“I suppose,
along with my brother James; I’m sorry father, I truly thought I was God once.”
“Don’t let it
bother you, everyone has the right to be crazy sometimes, people have believed
stranger things,” said Joseph, an elbow on the table, resting his chin in a
palm.
“They have?”
“Of course,
don’t think you have the sole claim to looniness, many others in this weird
world make you look like a piker.”
“Are you
serious?”
“Come on, you’re
a hell of a lot smarter than me; you know what I’m talking about. You’ve been
over half the world in your quest for the truth, whatever that is. Like for
example, people down south who think burning babies to death in furnaces will
make the rain come and the crops grow.”
“They do that in
Syria,” said Jesus, taking a deep drink of wine.
“Yeah they do,
and other crazy folks worship carved blocks of stone or the chirping birds, or
toothy crocodiles from Egypt. Some people even pray to stupid dogs and cats,
for what reason, who knows.”
“I get what you
mean, in Kush and India they worship odd looking cows that have humps on their
backs, and some people in Rome say the emperor is a god.”
“I’ve heard that
too,” said a sighing Joseph.
“People are
strange aren’t they?” Jesus asked after a few moments of silence, pouring
another goblet, forgetting he was once in that category.
“You don’t need
me to answer that, after all, they killed you because you told them the truth
about themselves.”
“Mary has said
the same thing.”
“She’s a smart
woman.”
“Yes she is, but
lately I’ve been changing my mind on religion. I told her a few months back I
was drifting toward atheism, she didn’t seem to care for those remarks.”
“She’ll get over
it. Just remember, even as a vampire she’s still a woman, and women seem to
need a reason to explain existence, so they turn to a god who controls all
things.”
“That’s the
truth, in some ways I feel blind faith is a woman’s province, men question
everything too much.”
“I’ve thought
that too.”
Jesus nodded.
“I’ve been wondering since we talked in Nazareth last year, what do you think
of religious philosophies, do you think they bring man closer to God, if there
is one?”
“I’ve no idea,
my answer to that would only be an opinion.”
“I know, but
what do you think?”
“Honestly, I
doubt it. I’m not a believer anyway and I’ve felt that way since long before
you were born.”
“Really?” Jesus
asked, refilling their goblets, father and son growing drunk on Gallic wine.
“Yes, I haven’t
believed in any religion since I was a teenager,” said Joseph, looking him in
the eyes.
“Why?”
“I loved my
father Jacob very much, and if you recall me telling you as a child, your
grandmother died giving birth to me, after she died he was all I had.”
“I know,” said
Jesus, putting his hand on his father’s in an attempt to comfort him.
“And when I found him dead in his bed when I
was thirteen, God went out the window,” a frowning Joseph spat, pulling his
hand away, recalling finding his father’s body on a fall morning in Bethlehem,
finally letting Jesus see more of his true self.
“But you
scrupulously followed the admonitions written in the Torah, even having me
circumcised, and you went to Temple every Saturday when I was a child,” said
Jesus, looking at the table where his father’s hand had been.
“That doesn’t
mean anything, it’s tradition, rote bullshit one does to fit in with the herd.
When you’re part of a culture, willing or not, you have to abide by its rules
to avoid problems with the simpletons who really believe it,” retorted Joseph,
shaking his head at his son’s naïveté.
“That makes
sense, you don’t believe there’s a God either?” asked Jesus, thunderstruck at
his father’s words.
“Not really; I
simply realized a long time ago none of us know the answer to the mystery of
life and death and what may lie beyond this, if anything. Life’s much too short
to determine such incredible things.”
“Indeed.”
“We’re nothing
but foolish mortals, with the obvious exceptions of you, your woman and perhaps
others like you.”
“Yes,” Jesus
replied.
“Further, if
there is a God, he, she or it will do as it pleases with us, and there’s
nothing we can do about it,” declared Joseph, arms in the air.
“I agree,
Protagoras said that too.”
“Who was he?”
asked Joseph, downing a gulp of wine.
“A Greek atheist
from the past.”
“Really? I think
he was right; well, I wish you’d listened to me earlier, it certainly would
have saved you a lot of problems,” said Joseph, rising from the table.
“I’ll say,”
Jesus replied, thinking of his crucifixion.
“Why do you let
such shit bother you?” asked Joseph, walking to a cabinet, grabbing and opening
another bottle of wine.
“I don’t know,”
said an exasperated Jesus, thoughts of God crossing his mind.
Pouring another
libation, Joseph replied, “Simply remember this, none of us really know
anything. Accept that and get on with your uh, life.”
“You’re probably
right father, but I’ve always wondered – ”
Appearing in the
doorway, the Magdalene remarked, “Let’s find someone to eat.”
“Yes, go out and
kill someone evil, it is your very nature to do so, and to deny your nature
would be foolish,” said Joseph, pointing a finger at Jesus.
“You’re a wise
man,” Jesus replied, emptying his glass of wine.
“Yeah right,”
answered his father, draining his goblet while Jesus and consort walked from
the house.
“What were you
and Joseph talking about?” asked Mary, walking along the road leading from the
farm.
“Various
things,” said Jesus, troubled by his father’s admissions, particularly
regarding his atheism.
“You don’t feel
like talking about it?”
“Perhaps after
we have someone to eat,” Jesus replied, his slight inebriation quickly wearing
off.
“Okay.”
“Let’s fly to
the west,” said Jesus, the couple transforming, flying to the highway leading
to Nicomedia. Alighting at their usual spot fifteen miles west of town, they
assumed human form. Raising an eyebrow, the vampiric Christ noted that the
garbage of humanity had selected the same spot another pair of thieves had,
until they came along one dark evening. Having encountered highwaymen at this
very place just over a month earlier, they had relieved them of their lives and
twelve aurei. The latest pair had moved into a clever trap that Jesus had set,
he having moved several fallen trees next to an overhanging sandstone promontory,
creating a convenient place for thieves to hide.
“Hold it there,”
one growled in Anatolian, coming from the brush, gleaming gladius in his right
hand.
“What do you
want with us at this time of night?” asked Jesus in kind, familiar with the
language of the thieves of Turkey.
“We want
tribute,” the thief answered, his partner appearing at his side.
“I’m Roman and
pay tribute to no one.”
“In other words,
go screw yourself,” said Mary, she having also picked up the tongue of the
indigent population.
“You will pay us
to pass.”
“This isn’t a
toll road, make us pay you,” Jesus replied, folding arms across his chest.
The thief raised
his sword, Mary moving like lightning toward his partner, ripping his throat
with her fangs and gulping blood as he died in her arms.
“Top that,” said
Jesus, the thief dropping his sword and turning to run. “Not so fast,” he
added, grabbing the robber by his tunic and pushing him to the ground.
“Evil vampire,
by the holy god Baal I banish you and your murderous Lilith to Gehenna!”
shrieked the thief.
“Baal, the
brother of El, or Elohim, Yahweh of the Hebrews,” said Jesus, looking to his
victim.
“Baal is the one
true God, I banish you and the Lilith in his holy name!”
“Holy my ass,
Baal’s bullshit like his brother Elohim; crap dreamed up by idiots.”
“He is?”
“Why don’t you
see for yourself you stupid bastard,” said Jesus, lifting him, plunging fangs
in his throat, sucking his blood until he died and throwing the corpse to the
pavement.
“He pissed you
off didn’t he?” asked Mary, dropping her victim beside his lifeless partner.
“He was a damn
fool,” Jesus spat, staring at the corpse.
“That’s
obvious,” said the Magdalene, looking to the body.
“Tell me
something I don’t know.”
“You feel like a
fool too, because you once bought into that stuff.”
“Yeah,” said
Jesus, “Let’s loot these bastards, it’s too bad we can't sell their heads to
Callicles.”
“I don’t think
he’d buy them would he?”
“Sure he would,
if we could sell them to him for 50 denarii or so, he gets 250 each for the
heads of thieves from the procurator in Antioch.”
“It’s not worth
it, too many questions would follow, we should just loot and dump them.”
“Of course, get
serious woman, it’d be hard to explain to that drunk how we took them wouldn’t
it?”
“I’m sorry,”
said Mary, understanding his macabre jest.
Finding only a
few denarii on the pirates, Jesus hurled them by their legs from the road, the
bodies landing in crumpled heaps in a dense thicket. Not uttering a word, he
started back to town.
“You’re not
yourself tonight are you?” asked the Magdalene, putting a hand on his arm.
“I’m all right,”
said Jesus, pulling his arm from her.
“It’s what your
father said at the house isn’t it?”
“Why do you say
that?”
“I’ve known you
a long time, I can tell.”
“You're right,”
Jesus replied, annoyed that she could so easily read his emotions.
“So?”
“My father told
me he’s an atheist.”
“Big deal, so
are you.”
“Not quite, but
close,” said Jesus, “It just bothers me that my father never told me he was an
atheist. If he had, perhaps I wouldn’t have begun my ministry, and would’ve
saved myself a crucifixion in the process.”
“You wouldn’t
have listened to him, you thought you were God.”
“Yeah,” a
wistful Jesus answered.
“And you
wouldn’t be a vampire today.”
“That is true.”
“I like being a
vampire, we’ll live forever,” said Mary, smiling at the thought.
“I don’t mind,
but we can never have children.”
“That’s the way
it goes, maybe you’ll bring others to our realm like you did at the graveyard
with me – they can be your children,” said Mary, having gotten past her regrets
of not having offspring.
“It’s not the
same thing,” Jesus replied, thinking of his brother in his mother’s womb.
“Perhaps not,
but if we’re careful, we can bring others to our realm, if the situation
warrants it. Further, we can know the world of the future, existing on this
earth hundreds, if not thousands of years from now! I think that’s exciting,
who knows what lies in the far off future!”
“Man will be the
same through all times in history,” Jesus declared, “A miserable creature whose
foremost predilection is blatant hypocrisy of the first order, most of them,
male or female, nothing but cunning, deceitful, disgusting liars and rogues.”
“We’d have
nothing to eat if they weren’t.”
“You're right,”
said Jesus, “My woman, what would I do without you?”
“If you kept
this attitude up you’d probably kill yourself, if you could.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely,” the Magdalene answered,
changing the subject, “You know, that clown back there thought I was the
Lilith.”
“I heard that
too, who knows, maybe you are,” said Jesus, pausing and sitting on a boulder
near the roadside, looking to the night sky.
“The Lilith?”
“Well, maybe not
the Lilith, but I’ll tell you one thing, we sure scared the piss out of him
didn’t we?” asked Jesus with a slight smile.
“Yeah,” said
Mary, recalling the robber’s terrified face, Jesus towering over him.
Talking for a
few hours sitting by the roadside, the Magdalene finally lifting his
crestfallen spirits, they transformed and returned to the house, Jesus dumping
the paltry amount of silver he took from the thieves on his nightstand before
going to sleep at sunrise.