DARK RESURRECTION, CHAPTER THREE: THE EXODUS
Chapter Three: The Exodus
The trip to the
Anatolian border took nearly three months, the group stopping at roadside
markets in Lebanon and Syria to replenish his parent’s food supplies. When in
town they stopped at local inns to bathe and refresh themselves. Informed of
this fact early in the trip by his father, Jesus and his consort found that
even vampires, regardless of fastidiousness in the taking of victims, were in
need of a bath occasionally.
During that
time, the couple learned more about their undead natures, finding they could
fast for a night or two when their form of food was not readily available, or
could even substitute blood from lower forms of life if necessary. Both found
such animal fare unappetizing, but it did fill the certain void they felt when
pangs of hunger came calling. In these lean times along the desolate Roman
highway, they had no other choice available. In their wake, they had left
several auroch, ox, boar, and deer carcasses littering the road, drained of
blood, bloating and rotting in the sun during the day.
The New Year
arrived, 34 of the Common Era coming uneventfully for the travelers while
passing through southwestern Syria. A few weeks later they arrived at a large
city named Antioch during the evening. The capitol of the eastern part of the
Roman Empire, like Rome, Antioch was a city that never slept, inns, taverns,
and brothels open all night long. A modern city by the standards of the day,
Antioch was a beautiful place, with gleaming marble buildings, ornate
fountains, a central forum or marketplace, and was surrounded by thick groves
of cypress trees.
“So this is the
big city,” Joseph observed, watching shivering patrons standing in line outside
a brothel on the cool night, “If you ask me they can keep it.”
“I agree with
you,” said Jesus, “I usually prefer the country and small towns too.”
“Hunting will be
much better here,” a famished Magdalene spoke up.
“We won’t be
here long woman, but I suppose it would be a good idea to take a breather at an
inn and get a bite to eat.”
Joseph smiled,
amused at the euphemisms his son used to describe cold-blooded murder.
Stopping at an
inn, Jesus walked to the office and rented two spacious rooms for the group. “I
want the rooms for two days, leaving on the evening after tomorrow.”
“Certainly,” the
innkeeper replied, “Breakfast is at seven, dinner at six, you buy lunch
elsewhere.”
“I find my own
food,” said Jesus with a slight smile, “But my parents will be happy to know
hot meals are available.”
“Suit yourself,”
said the innkeeper as Jesus handed him money. He pointed to their
transportation and added, “You’ll have to stable your horses and wagon across
the street.”
“No problem,
incidentally sir, can they give the horses a comb and feed?”
“Sure, it’s five
sestertii per horse.”
“Thank you,”
said Jesus, returning to the wagon. “I’ve rented rooms, numbers sixteen and
seventeen,” he announced to the weary group. Handing his consort the keys, he
climbed in the seat and added, “Mary, please take mother and father to their
room; I’ll unload the wagon.”
“I’ll carry
Joseph’s satchel and tools,” the Magdalene replied, lifting them from the rear
with ease and closing the door, Joseph watching in amazement.
“By all means,
thanks,” said Jesus, taking the reins and driving the wagon to the stable.
“Ten sestertii to park for a day, take the
rig to stall six,” the stable manager barked as Jesus entered.
“I’m staying for
two; I want the horses fed and groomed too.”
“That’ll cost
you twenty-five.”
Jesus pulled
coins from a leather pouch tied at his waist, handing him twenty-five
orichalcum sestertii coins, obverses bearing the likeness of Tiberius, reverses
bearing fasces and the abbreviation ‘SC’. Nodding to the manager, he moved the
carriage to a stall marked with the Roman numerals VI. Stepping down, he called
a stable hand.
“Unhitch these
beasts, comb and feed them,” Jesus ordered a muscular, bronzed Syrian slave.
“Yes sir,”
answered the slave, tending the tired horses.
“These are fine
animals sir, swift Arabian geldings,” the slave observed, inspecting the
horses.
“Yes,” said
Jesus, opening a wagon door, “We’ve owned them for the past few months, a
trader in northern Judea sold them to me.” Ignoring the sack of worthless
clothes, he lifted out his bag of treasure, now weighing 220 pounds, while the
slave watered and began to comb down the horses. Walking across the street,
Jesus entered a dark alleyway. A lone figure approached, directly in his path.
“What’s in the
bag man?” asked the figure, clearly a common criminal.
“None of your
goddamned business,” Jesus spat, the man blocking his path.
“Wrong answer,”
the man retorted, pulling a dagger.
“Don’t play with
me asshole,” said Jesus in his vampire voice.
“Give me the
bag.”
Narrowing his
eyes in contempt, Jesus waited for him to make his move. It didn’t take long,
the man lunging at him with the dagger seconds later. Dropping the bag, the
vampiric Christ grabbed his assailant’s arm with his left and held it, breaking
his neck with his right. The robber went limp, his dagger falling to the
ground. Heaving the fresh corpse over a shoulder, he lifted the bag with his
free arm. Kicking the dagger to the gutter, he headed to his room, depositing
the bag and body beneath the bed. He entered the adjacent room where his parents
and consort were relaxing and announced, “Please come to our room Mary, I have
a present for you.”
“Oh goody,” said
the Magdalene, “I’ve always liked presents.”
Jesus turned to
his parents. “Please be certain to lock the door father; this is not the best
of neighborhoods.”
Joseph nodded,
barring the door as they left. Returning to their pitch-black room, Jesus
opened the door and entered.
“Where’s my
present?” asked Mary.
“Under the bed.”
Looking beneath
the bed, she pulled the cadaver out by a limp, pale arm and exclaimed, “My
supper, why thank you Jesus!” Noticing the lack of bite marks on the neck, she
asked, “Didn’t you have some?”
“No, please
remember dear Mary, vampires do not live by blood alone. Besides, you were
right, there are plenty of meals available here.”
“Who was he?”
“A robber who
wanted my bag, so I broke his neck. Enjoy your supper, I’m heading out to find
another,” said Jesus, leaving and closing the door behind him.
Strolling down
the alley, he passed by the inn’s registration office and headed to the main
street. Seeing a drunken whore weaving down the sidewalk with one of her
patrons, Jesus recalled his ill-fated ministry and silently observed, This
world is indeed a terrible place – my simplistic view of this forsaken mess was
really skewed. Dismissing the bitter thought, he continued past,
heading for the heart of the city.
His hunt did not
take long, for within minutes yet another thief appeared from a side street,
brandishing a dagger. Walking up, he growled in Aramaic, “Give me your money or
I’ll kill you!”
“I seriously
doubt that, and I don’t have any money with me friend,” said Jesus in his
native tongue.
“I don’t have
friends!” retorted the thief.
“Your statement
strikes me as obvious.”
“What?”
“Never mind,
forget that I said it,” Jesus answered, annoyed at the thief’s stupidity.
“Give me your
jewels,” the thief ordered, waving his dagger.
“I don’t have
any of those on me either.”
“What are you, a
bum?”
“No,” Jesus replied,
thoroughly bored with the situation.
“What are you
then?”
“A vampire,
looking for someone exactly like you,” said Jesus, freezing his assailant where
he stood. Saying nothing further, he plunged fangs in the throat, draining his
life from him. Remembering that he should clean up leftover messes to avoid
problems, Jesus retrieved the dagger, placing it in his cloak. Lifting the body
from the street, he heaved it over a shoulder, looking about for a place to
dump it. He spied a public lavatorium, made his way over, and entered. Making
certain it was deserted, he checked the corpse for valuables. Tearing off the
victim’s tunic pockets in search of the smallest coin, Jesus found nothing.
Annoyed by the lack of a payoff, he hurled the body down a latrine shaft, where
it landed in the sewer with a loud splash.
“I wonder if
he’ll clog the sewer, not that I care,” said a chuckling Jesus, smiling as he
left.
Returning to
their room, Mary was on the bed relaxing, the emptied corpse on its side at her
feet. “They go stale fast, not that it was bad or anything,” she observed,
Jesus sitting down on the bed with her.
“Yeah, what can
you do,” Jesus replied, “Guess what, I’ve found a really good place to dump
bodies.”
“Where?”
“Public
lavatoriums, I dropped mine down the shaft of a latrine, the sewer will carry
them away.”
“Just like shit,
what a great idea! I’ve always said you were a genius, would you like to get
rid of this one?”
“Why not, want
to come along?”
“Sure,” said the
Magdalene, “I love the night.”
They headed to
another lavatorium, the second cadaver over Jesus’ shoulder. He propped the
corpse up on a commode seat, intent on checking the body for money. A disgusted
Mary interjected, “I checked him, he didn’t have as much as a shekel.”
“Figures,” said
Jesus, stopping his search, “The other robber had nothing either, the thieves
in this city must be poor, stupid or perhaps both.”
“This one
certainly was,” she agreed, as Jesus dumped the body headfirst into the
latrine.
“Lavatoriums
will come in handy in the future,” said Jesus, “It’s too bad they’re not around
everywhere.”
“That’s the
truth,” Mary replied, looking into the latrine and watching the floating corpse
disappear headfirst into the sewer pipe.
Heading to their
room, Jesus related the events he observed while hunting for his nourishment.
Unlike his new self and atavistically like his old, he was bitterly complaining
of the decadence of Antioch, whores and robbers plying the streets like so many
flies, concluding that the thief he had killed had mistook him for a bum.
“So what, the
entire world’s decadent and there’s nothing we can do about it, so why let it
bother you?”
“It doesn’t
really anymore,” Jesus answered, not being completely truthful, “I was just
making conversation.”
“But you are
bothered that a common thief mistook you for a beggar,” Mary countered, with
keen insight into his personality.
“Perhaps.”
“You know, if
you cut your hair and trim that long beard, maybe people wouldn’t think you
were an indigent,” she suggested as diplomatically as possible.
“You think so?”
“When in Rome,
one does as Romans do.”
“We’re not in
Rome woman.”
“We may as well
be,” said Mary, “Antioch’s the capital of this part of the empire and most men
here don’t look as unkempt. If you paid some attention to your appearance you
might blend in a bit.”
“Really?” asked
Jesus, thinking he hadn’t gone to that much trouble while traveling when
younger, not recalling the sheltering care his hosts had lavished on him. As a
philosopher of some fame, it hadn’t mattered as to his appearance; most
figuring he was simply eccentric.
“We can give it
a try if you like, I have a brush and shears.”
“Why not,” said
Jesus as they entered their room.
Over the next
hour, Mary gave Jesus a makeover, cutting off his long hair and trimming his
beard, changing his appearance so dramatically that it was hard to for his
consort to recognize him.
Observing his
reflection in her polished bronze mirror, Jesus declared that he indeed looked
better, venturing that it might be appropriate if he were clean-shaven like the
Romans were.
“I’m afraid I
don’t have a razor or even a strop for one; we could probably pick one up from
a barbershop,” said Mary.
“I definitely
want to,” agreed a smiling Jesus, looking in the mirror like a budding
narcissist, “Thank you very much, you’ve made me look a lot better.”
The Magdalene
smiled back. “At the brothel the pimps and whores always let me cut their hair,
some said I should have opened a salon,” she not revealing she had been saving
money to do so before meeting him in Magdala, as a whore can last only so long.
“You’d have made
a lot of money,” Jesus replied.
At the tender
age of 24, Mary Magdalene had saved nearly 100 denarii from her honest work of
cutting hair for the local pimps and whores, and was on the verge of opening a
salon until Jesus Christ came along. After meeting him, she had used the money
to buy fish and bread for a multitude attending the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus
having thanked her for helping him perform the miracle.
“We’d best cover
the window,” said Jesus, glancing to an open window near the ceiling, noticing
the sky starting to lighten. Walking to the opening, he added, “It’s facing
east, all we’d need is to be fried by the sun while we sleep.”
“Close the
shutters, I closed them for your folks in their room to deter bandits.”
“Good idea,”
Jesus replied, closing and locking the shutters.
Tired, they
moved to their bed for a good day’s sleep.
* * *
The following
evening, it was Joseph who was knocking on Jesus’ door, as the couple had
overslept, thoroughly enjoying their comfortable quarters. Waking about an hour
after dark to the noise, a groggy Jesus rose, rubbing his eyes and making his
way to the door in the darkness. Unbarring and opening the door, his father,
holding a shielded candle, was taken back for a moment.
“I’m sorry sir,
I have the wrong room; I was looking for my son.”
“It is I
father,” Jesus announced with a yawn.
“What happened,
you almost look like a Roman!”
“Please come in
and I’ll tell you,” said Jesus, again yawning.
“Would you light
a lamp please, I can’t see that well in the dark.”
Taking his
father’s candle, he lit an oil lamp as the Magdalene was rising from slumber.
“Good evening Joseph,” she said with a tired smile, sitting up as he entered
the room and closed the door.
Joseph nodded to
her, again asking, “So son, what happened to your hair?”
“Mary gave me a
haircut and trimmed my beard, what do you think?”
“It’s about
time,” said Joseph, “You looked strange with all that hair flying about, it’s
no damn wonder you had so much trouble in Jerusalem. If you remember I tried to
tell you that you know.”
“Yes father.”
“A robber mistook
him for a beggar last night,” said Mary.
“That doesn’t
surprise me, he certainly looked like one,” Joseph retorted, looking to Jesus
and asking, “I imagine you made him pay for that?”
“Well, he was
trying to rob me.”
“I don’t blame
you, in fact, you’re probably saving a lot of other decent folk from being
robbed or even killed by feeding on such people.”
“I hadn’t looked
at it that way,” said Jesus, raising an eyebrow.
“See, it all
depends on your point of view,” Joseph replied, “From what I’ve seen, the pair
of you are simply disposing of people who aren’t any good anyway, so as far as
I’m concerned, keep up the good work.”
“Thanks dad,”
said Jesus, shocked by his father’s pronouncements.
“Yeah, as to the
reason I came by, your mother and I just had dinner and were wondering if you’d
like to join us for wine and perhaps a game of latrunculi, that is after you
have had your uh, meals,” Joseph offered, inviting the pair to join them.
“You have the
board?” asked Jesus, a skilled player of the game.
“Of course, it’s
almost a hundred years old, it belonged to my grandfather and I still have all
the ivory pieces too.”
“I’d like that
very much; what do you think Mary?”
“Why not, there
isn’t much to do here anyway, except feed on criminals.”
“We should be by
in about an hour dad.”
“We’ll be
expecting you,” said Joseph, returning to his room.
“Dad’s really
warming up to us being vampires,” Jesus observed with a smile.
“I like your
folks, and your father’s a wise man,” said Mary, moving from the bed.
“That’s true,
but in the past I never realized how wise.”
“You were too
busy telling others how to live, so how could you notice? Not that what you
said was bad or anything, but you never had time for anyone else’s opinions.”
“I don’t think
my suggestions were that far off, if people followed them the world would be a
much better place to live.”
“I won’t fault
you there, you did have some damn good ideas,” said Mary, brushing her hair,
“But you forgot most people are egotists who couldn’t care less about their own
families, let alone their fellow man.”
“I wouldn’t have
agreed in the past, but I think that’s the truth now. I was wasting my time
preaching to them, and many folks didn’t like what I had to say anyway.”
“People
everywhere, especially the rich and powerful, never like hearing the truth
about themselves, and you constantly pointed out, rather bluntly I might add,
that they were hypocrites. As a consequence, they hated you, and finally killed
you for that.”
“Yes,” said
Jesus, “I recall you arguing with me heatedly, stating I was wasting my time
and just pissing them off. I didn’t agree with you then, but I now believe you
were right.”
“Don’t worry
dear Jesus, we’re all wrong sometimes,” a smiling Mary replied, taking his hand
as they left their room.
They stepped
into the night in search of prey. It didn’t take long, for as usual the garbage
of humanity appeared, bent on robbery or rape, and were quickly disposed of by
undead custodians Jesus and Mary. Shortly thereafter, two corpses coursed their
way through the dank sewers of Antioch, and the couple made their way through
the cool night to his parent’s room.
“Come in,” said
Joseph, answering the door. They entered, and he added casually, “You both look
well – who did you kill off tonight?”
“A pair of
robbers,” Jesus answered, looking to his mother.
“You look very
nice with your new haircut Jesus, and hello Mary,” said his mother.
Surprisingly, she didn’t appear shocked or even faint from hearing his candid
admissions of murder. At a loss for words, Jesus looked to his father.
“I explained it
all to her today,” said Joseph.
“What exactly
did you explain?”
“I said you make
a point to take only those who cross you, and that I think it’s very
commendable.”
“I do most
times, but I must tell you mother, Mary isn’t as selective as I when it comes
to that. Fortunately, as her master, I – ”
“Jesus!” the
Magdalene exclaimed, embarrassed at the revelation.
“So what, shit
happens,” said Joseph, his wife looking to the floor and shrugging. “Have a
seat son, I’ve set up the board, would you both like wine?”
“Please,” Jesus
replied, and took a seat.
Filling glasses,
Joseph handed his guests strong Syrian wine, guaranteed to make even the most
seasoned drinker happy in a short time.
After several
intense games of latrunculi, Joseph gave up. He threw up his hands and
exclaimed, “That’s the fourth time you’ve trapped my eagle. I can never beat
you at this damned game!”
“I’m sorry
father, I used to play a lot with my friend John, he was an expert and the only
disciple who could beat me.”
“I have a few
tricks left, but I have to head to the lavatorium first,” a drunken Joseph
replied.
“They don’t have
slop jars in the rooms; I need to go too,” Jesus observed, he also inebriated.
“You still do
that?” asked Joseph, raising eyebrows in surprise as they headed out.
“Of course, but
only liquids, I haven’t done the other since before I died.”
“Incredible, but
I suppose all that blood and wine have to go somewhere,” Joseph replied,
walking into the dimly lamp lit lavatorium.
“Guess what
father, we’re using a lavatorium down the street to dump bodies,” said Jesus
while answering nature’s call.
“You are?”
Joseph asked, not caring in the least as to where the leftover corpses went for
disposal, as long as they were not found.
“Yes, the sewers
carry them away, preventing any possibility of discovery.”
“Like so many
turds.”
“Mary said the
same thing.”
“You know son,
it’s strange to think I may be pissing on someone’s head as he floats by.”
Jesus burst into
laughter, falling to the floor in drunken pleasure.
Joseph,
laughing, walked over and asked, “Can I help you up?”
“Thanks dad,”
said a still laughing Jesus, taking his father’s arm and rising unsteadily to
his feet. The drunken pair made their way back to the room, weaving as they
went.
They played
latrunculi and drank wine until the wee hours of the morning, with Joseph
winning two games between trips to the lavatorium, the drunken Christ starting
to make colossal mistakes in strategy. Mary and his mother quietly conversed,
discussing housekeeping and fashions of clothing, at times gently complaining
about their men as well. As the sky lightened, Joseph retired to bed with his
wife, Mary helping Jesus to their room, where he collapsed unconscious, face
down, on the bed. She joined him after barring the door, settling into sleep
next to her snoring partner, having enjoyed the delightful evening.
* * *
“My aching
head!” moaned Joseph as he woke at dusk, still drunk, afflicted with a severe,
pounding hangover.
“Are you all
right Joseph?” asked Mary, knowing the answer.
“No, Syrians
brew a mean wine,” Joseph answered in throbbing pain.
His wife had risen earlier, cleaning up from
the night’s revelry. Joseph sat up in the bed, holding his head in his hands.
“Give me some
wine will you?” he asked with a cough, making his head pound even more.
“Yes dear, this
should help,” said Mary, handing him a filled glass while he sat on the edge of
the bed.
A seemingly loud
knock came on the door, Joseph calling in agony, “Who is it?”
“Jesus.”
“Open the door
Mary.”
She opened the
door and the couple entered, Jesus carrying his sack of loot over a shoulder.
“It’s almost
check out time dad, are you ready to go?” asked Jesus while his mother closed
the door.
“Oh God,” Joseph
groaned, “What’s the hurry, we don’t really have anyplace to go do we?”
“Are you sick?”
the Magdalene asked, looking in his direction.
“I have a hell
of a hangover,” Joseph moaned, finishing his wine. He looked to his placid
vampiric son, focused and asked, “Aren’t you hungover too?”
“I’ve never felt
better in my uh, life,” said Jesus, “That’s strange, in the past when I got
drunk I always felt terrible the morning after.”
“Must have
something to do with being a vampire,” Joseph replied, falling to the mattress
with another groan.
“Probably,” said
the Magdalene, looking to Jesus.
“I could fix it
for you father, by bringing you to our realm.”
“No, I’ll
manage, but thank you anyway. I wouldn’t make a very good vampire, life’s bad
enough without that.”
Jesus looked to
his father impassively.
“I don’t think
your father and I should travel tonight,” said his mother, frowning at her
husband.
“You’re right
mother, I’ll rent the rooms for another night and we’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Thanks son,”
Joseph moaned from his bed as they left.
They returned to
their room, Jesus sliding his treasure-laden sack under the bed.
Reaching for a
tan robe to wear over his tunic, Jesus advised, “It’s cool tonight woman. I
think we should start wearing cloaks and the like when we’re about.”
“But I don’t
feel cold at all,” said Mary, surprised that she had not noticed the change in
weather.
“Neither am I,
but it will look strange if we walk around without warm garments in wintertime,
this way we’ll fit in better.”
“You learn
fast,” said a smiling Mary.
Putting on the
robe, Jesus replied, “I’m heading to the office to pay the rent. I’ll be back
shortly, then we’ll go out for dinner.”
“Don’t be long,”
said Mary as he passed through the threshold.
Jesus walked to
the manager’s office, renting the rooms for another night. Crossing the street,
he handed 13 sestertii to the stable manager, telling him to keep the change.
During the exchanges, both men complimented his new hairstyle, the stable
manager suggesting that he shave his beard to complete the transformation.
Jesus acknowledged the suggestions politely and made his way to his room,
troubled about his parents, especially his father.
“That’s the
second time I offered to make dad a vampire and he’s turned me down on both
occasions,” said Jesus, sitting down in a chair.
“Maybe he
doesn’t want to be one,” the Magdalene replied, “I imagine some folks aren’t
cut out for this kind of life, you know, killing people most every night, and
sucking their blood and all.”
“That’s probably
true, but he’s an older man, which means he will pass soon.”
“You love your
parents don’t you?”
“Of course I
do,” said Jesus, looking to the floor.
“Well, you’ll
simply have to accept the fact that they’ll be gone one day, as will all who we
have known. Both of my parents are dead and I miss them, but they’re gone
forever, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“But I can do
something about it,” said Jesus, looking to her.
“You haven’t
changed one bit; you still think you have all the answers, and believe only
your way is best.”
“I do?”
“Yes, it bothers
you a great deal that your parents are content being mortal, and don’t seem to
mind the fact that they will die.”
Jesus sat a
moment, contemplating. “But I could save them from that.”
“You see? You
haven’t changed at all, and remember you once thought you could save
everybody.”
“No I – ”
The Magdalene
pointed at him in emphasis. “That’s bullshit, you still don’t realize some
folks don’t want, or even need to be saved.”
“They don’t?”
“Not at all,
your parents are content with what they are, and they’re happy, so let it go.”
“But – ”
“No buts, one
day you’ll realize that you can’t save the world, especially when it doesn’t
even want to be saved,” she added, reflecting on the bitter truth of her
statement.
Jesus sat silently,
knowing in his heart that regarding such matters, as usual, Mary Magdalene was
correct. Later, they headed into the dark night, dressed appropriately for the
season, on the hunt for their version of the evening meal. Strolling along,
they observed that Antioch was truly a decadent town, walking past packed
brothels, accosted with offers by depraved members of both sexes. Ignoring the
solicitations, they continued to the heart of the city, knowing they would soon
run across suitable victims.
“Antioch’s worse
than Sodom or Gomorrah ever was,” Jesus observed, making their way past a
barbershop.
“Who cares,
let’s buy you a razor,” said Mary, turning and heading for the establishment
with Jesus following. They entered near closing time. The Roman owner was
cleaning his instruments in a basin, and the Magdalene asked in fluent Latin,
“Excuse me sir, do you have razors available for purchase?”
“Certainly,” the
barber answered, drying his hands, “Two denarii for a bronze razor, three for a
steel one; do you need a strop for it?”
“Yes,” answered
Jesus.
“Ten sestertii
for the strop, so what’ll it be sir?”
“Buy a steel
one,” the Magdalene advised, “You don’t need to sharpen them as often.”
“The lady’s
right sir,” said the barber, reaching for a gleaming steel example of a folding
straight razor, “I exclusively use and recommend steel razors for my customers,
made by Egyptian blacksmiths.”
“Yes, this is
satisfactory,” Jesus replied, inspecting the razor, “We’ll take the strop too.”
“Three denarii,
twenty sestertii,” the barber declared, wrapping the razor and strop in a
cloth.
“Here’s five
denarii, would you have a pouch for it?” asked Jesus, handing him money.
“Sure, but it’s
only 5 sestertii,” the barber answered, looking at the coins in his palm.
“Keep the change
for your trouble,” said Jesus as the barber handed him a leather pouch.
“Thank you sir,”
the barber replied, Jesus placing his purchase in a robe pocket, and starting
with the Magdalene toward the door.
“Your quite welcome,”
said Jesus. Heading into the street, he looked to Mary. “I never knew you could
speak Latin that well!”
“I couldn’t
speak Latin at all till you made me a vampire and I listened to you speaking
it,” Mary replied with an impish smile.
“Incredible,”
said Jesus, “I imagine there’s more to being vampires than we first realized,”
neither knowing that an inherent predilection to learn languages or skills fast
was part of a vampire’s camouflage, an ability akin to a chameleon fitting into
its surroundings.
“You can say
that again, and I like it too,” Mary answered, taking Jesus’ hand in hers. They
resumed their hunt for dinner, heading into downtown Antioch, and for the
moment, seeing no one suitable, according to Jesus’ strict specifications. “Where
the hell are they?” she asked a few hours later, looking about, beginning to
feel hunger pangs.
“It’s early
yet,” said Jesus near midnight, continuing their stroll around town.
“Where’s a
criminal when you need him?”
Pausing to
relax, they sat down on a stone bench, taking in the sights of the big city
from a deserted central park. While Jesus sat in placid contemplation of life,
the world, God and his vampiric existence, his reverie was broken by a poorly
aimed dagger, the blade coming to an abrupt stop in a tree only inches from his
head.
“There he is,”
said Mary, seeing the assailant from body heat while he hid in the shadows.
Jesus,
undisturbed by the attack, reached in his robe with his left, pulling a dagger
taken from another thief. “Watch this woman,” he said with a sinister grin,
throwing the sharp dagger underhanded from a sitting position. The speeding
blade caught the man in his chest with an audible ‘thunk’, cleaving his heart
in two. Clutching his upper torso, he staggered backwards and collapsed dead on
the sidewalk.
“Good throw!”
Mary exclaimed as they strolled to their quarry. Looking to the body, she
asked, “Where’d you learn to throw a dagger like that?”
“Verily I say,
the Son of Man can be a dangerous person when crossed,” Jesus intoned in his
Draculaesque monotone.
“I know, but
that doesn’t answer my question.”
“When I was a
child, I didn’t have many friends outside of my family and spent a lot of time
alone. So, among other things, I learned to throw knives as a pastime. Ask my
father, he’s the one who taught me how to use knives and swords,” Jesus replied
in his disguised voice, now usually coming to him naturally.
“I didn’t know
that,” said Mary, staring at the corpse, dagger stuck in the chest, “I thought
you were only a simple preacher in those days.”
“There are a lot
of things you didn’t know about me then,” Jesus replied, recalling his
childhood loneliness as only an adult could: for had he only felt complete when
his brothers and sisters were around? When their family started to break up
shortly after his return to Nazareth, with his sister’s marriages and his
brothers starting their own families and businesses in Capernaum, the
introspective Jesus had started to feel left out.
“Like what?”
“Like when I
left India when I was 28, by that time I was an expert swordsman, thanks to the
teachings of their warriors, the Kushan priests stating that I was an
incarnation of the god Shiva.”
“Who’s that?”
asked Mary, interested in the Hindu religion.
“Shiva the
destroyer, sort of like the Hebrew lesser god Satan, that deity considered an
aspect of their supreme god, a being called Vishnu.”
“Weren’t too far
off were they?” the Magdalene observed, Jesus shrugging at her reply.
Reaching down,
he pulled the dagger from the man’s chest. Hot blood poured from the gaping
wound, and he wiped the blade on the rags he was wearing. Noting this, Jesus
said, “You’d best get to your supper before it runs out on the ground.”
“Wouldn’t it
have been easier to kill him in the usual way?” asked Mary, sinking fangs in
the neck.
“He seemed to
like knives so much, I figured I’d give the bastard one,” said Jesus, tucking
the dagger in his robe while Mary drained the corpse.
Her meal
finished, they dragged the body to an alley and checked it for valuables.
Finding nothing, which was usual for the criminals of Antioch, Jesus grabbed
the corpse by the hair and dumped it in a lavatorium, where it floated away in
the current with other refuse.
“Come to think
of it, I wonder if he was a robber,” said Mary as they left, “By the way he
behaved he could have been a simple killer, or a rapist.”
“Who cares,”
Jesus replied, heading to the stone bench and pulling the man’s dagger from the
tree. “All I know is that he tossed a knife at me and I killed him for his
efforts. Holding the blade, he asked, “Are you in need of a dagger woman, I
already have one.”
“Why not,” said
the Magdalene, taking the blade and placing it in a nook in her cloak. “What do
you want to do now?” she asked, taking his hand, resuming their stroll.
“Find another I
suppose, I’m getting a bit hungry myself.”
* * *
An hour passed,
the couple heading into an even seedier section of town, pimps and whores
lining the streets, hawking their unseemly wares, drunks lying unconscious in
doorways and gutters. Jesus looked aghast at the appalling spectacles passing
him, Mary remarking, “Don’t be too shocked, this is the real world Jesus old
friend, get used to it and move on.”
“This is
unbelievable.”
“Believe it,
then ignore it.”
Walking past a
gambling hall, a pair of undesirables standing in the doorway studied the
couple and began to follow them, not realizing their clumsy moves had been
noticed.
“We’ve picked up
trouble,” said Mary as they headed down a side street.
“Just what I was
looking for,” Jesus replied, deliberately turning into a dark alley with her.
“Head for the end of the alley, I’ll stay here,” he ordered, sinking into the
shadows next to a wall. “When they enter, let them walk past me but don’t let
them pass you.”
“Got it,” said
Mary, heading to the end of the alley.
The hoodlums
rounded the corner and entered the alley. Seeing no one and looking about, one
asked the other in Syrian accented Latin, “Where the hell’d they go?”
“Probably ran to
the other end,” his partner answered as they broke into a run, “We’ll get them,
this is too easy.”
“Not easy
enough,” announced the Magdalene, moving from the shadows, standing in their
path.
Stopping, they
pulled daggers, moving toward the apparently helpless woman.
“Don’t you
people ever use clubs or swords?” asked Mary, hands on hips.
“What?”
“I mean, can’t
you be a little more inventive, you always seem to use daggers here and it’s
getting a bit old,” she teased with a smile.
Confused for a
moment, then ignoring her statement, one asked, “Where’s the other one?”
“Right here
friend,” Jesus answered from behind, smiling and baring fangs while Mary did
the same.
“They’re
vampires!” cried one, terrified, dropping his dagger and in panic attempting to
run past Mary. Grabbing him by his hair, she threw him hard against a wall. He
fell unconscious to the pavement, suffering from a badly fractured skull.
Walking to the dying form, she lifted him with one arm, sunk fangs in his neck
and drained him on the spot.
“So, what do you
plan to do?” asked Jesus of the bandit’s partner, leaning against the wall and
smiling at his victim. The hoodlum stood terrified, dagger falling to the
ground, an unmistakable noise coming from his posterior as Jesus walked up and
grabbed him by his soiled tunic. Frowning at the noxious odor, he remarked,
“This one just shit himself, can you believe it?”
“Doesn’t
surprise me a bit,” said Mary, rising from her victim, “I don’t think they
expected this, do you?”
“No,” Jesus
replied, raising the struggling man in the air with one arm, sinking fangs in
the neck and dispatching him. Dropping the corpse, he added, “I suppose we’ll
never run out of idiots like these.”
“The world seems
to be full of them.”
Laden with two
cadavers, the sated duo looked for a lavatorium, skirting lit torches along the
main thoroughfare. Finding none in the area, a bathhouse was pressed into
service; a small lavatorium was in the rear. Jesus checked the bodies for loot,
and flushed the remains into the sewers of Antioch.
“At least these
ones had money,” said Mary as they left the bathhouse.
“Only a few
denarii, hardly worth the trouble.”
“They had plenty
of blood in them didn’t they?”
“True,” said
Jesus, chuckling at the remark.
Making their way
to their room at about four, they entered the pitch-black lair.
Sitting down in
a chair, Mary observed, “You really loosened up tonight didn’t you?”
“What do you
mean?”
“The way you
knifed the first guy was neat, and you didn’t even try to entrance the other
two, you had fun with them instead.”
“So?”
“It struck me as
unusual, since most times you freeze them to their spots and suck their blood
like a two-legged tick.”
“You liked that?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask why?”
“You can’t be
that thick,” answered Mary, “I simply mean you made taking them enjoyable for a
change and not so damn ritualistic.”
“Oh yes, I see
what you mean,” said Jesus, nodding and reflecting on the evening’s events.
“Would you like
to try out the razor?” Mary asked, changing the subject.
“Sure, do you
know how to use one?”
Mary looked to
him and frowned. “What the hell do you think?”
“I’m sorry,”
said Jesus, recalling their past conversation, reaching in his robe and handing
her the razor.
“Goddamnit,”
Mary spat, “I usually use olive oil for a shave but we don’t have any.”
“There’s some
sort of oil in the lamps, can we use that?” asked Jesus, pointing to one.
“Sure, that’s a
good idea, I never would have thought of that. Let me strop the razor and you
get the oil,” said Mary, tying one end of the strop to a bedpost, holding the
other end in her left hand, quickly stropping the razor with her right.
Jesus walked to
one of several unlit oil lamps hanging on the walls, removed one and brought it
to her.
“I’ve never had
a shave,” said Jesus, handing her the lamp, “I’ve worn a beard since I was
fourteen; what do we do with the oil?”
“Really?” asked
Mary, returning the lamp, “Take oil from the lamp and rub it into your beard,
making certain it reaches your skin.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, it
lubricates the skin so the razor won’t cut you,” she answered, inspecting the
freshly stropped blade, annoyed at his ignorance.
Moments later,
his beard was drenched in oil, much to the Magdalene’s chagrin. Frowning and
ignoring the oil soaked beard, she asked, “What do you want, clean shave,
goatee, moustache?”
“Clean shave,”
said Jesus, turning up his chin for the blade.
“You’ll look
like a Roman when I’m done.”
“Good, I’m tired
of looking like a Hebrew.”
“Okay,” said
Mary, giving Jesus his first shave. In minutes, he was shorn of his remaining
beard, cheeks and chin smooth as any baby’s bottom. “You look great!” she
exclaimed, the vampiric Christ rubbing his bare chin.
“It feels
strange.”
“That’s because
you don’t have any hair on your face,” said Mary, reaching for her mirror.
Jesus looked at the reflection of his clean-shaven countenance, giving a smile
of approval to his consort. “We’ll have to get you a toga now – you’d really
look good in one.”
“Only Roman
citizens can wear togas,” said Jesus, informing her of one aspect of Roman law.
“Who cares,
Roman laws, indeed, any laws, don’t apply to vampires! Besides, I don’t think
you’ll be walking around the forum in broad daylight anytime soon wearing a
Patrician toga.”
“Masquerading as
a Roman citizen is also a capital offense,” Jesus added, “Augustus Caesar had
the Senate ratify that law over twenty years ago.”
“In case you
haven’t noticed, we’re already dead, so what can they do?”
“Well, they – ”
“Well what, I
don’t think the Praetorian Guard prowls about Asia with oak stakes at three in
the morning, searching for vampires who wear togas,” Mary retorted, ‘Asia’ the
term used by Romans for the Middle East.
“Yes, that’s
quite true,” said Jesus with an ironic smile.
Talking for the
remainder of the night about his plans for the following evening, he also
resolved to replace much of his current garb as soon as possible, in exchange
for fine Roman tunics and an accessorizing toga. As the sun rose sleepiness set
in, the couple retiring for their daytime slumber. Joseph came knocking at
dusk, holding his shielded candle, Jesus answering the door.
“You’re changing
rapidly,” Joseph observed, beholding his clean-shaven son.
“We’re going to
find a toga for him next, I think he’ll look good in one,” said the Magdalene.
“Probably,
considering he looks like any other Roman fellow now.”
Jesus took the
candle, lighting a lamp, and asked, “I see you’re feeling better, are you and
mother ready to leave?”
“As ready as
we’ll ever be,” Joseph answered, “You know son, maybe your girl can give your
mother and I a makeover too, she did a fine job with you.”
“I’d love to,”
said the Magdalene, “If you like we can do it at the next stop.”
“That’ll be
fine,” replied Joseph, walking to the door, “I’ll collect your mother, we’ll be
back in a minute.”
“There’s no need
for that father, we’ll follow you to your room. After all, one of us has to
carry your belongings,” said Jesus, lifting his heavy sack from beneath the
bed.
“Oh yes,” Joseph
replied, still amazed at the incredible strength of vampires.
They headed to
his parent’s room, Mary retrieving his carpentry tools and satchel of treasure,
Joseph and wife following after he locked the door. Arriving at the office,
Jesus handed the clerk the keys and checked out, walking across the street to
the stable. Pulling out in the wagon, he drove to his waiting parents, loaded
their belongings and climbed behind the reins, Mary at his side. His parents
sitting in the rear, they headed to the city gates and resumed the trip north.
As they were
leaving the locale of the inn, the stable manager walked to the office and exclaimed,
“That gentleman tipped me five denarii!”
“He gave me five
too,” said the innkeeper, “I’ll tell you something else, the older folks with
them seemed okay, but there was something strange about that guy and his girl,
and I can’t put my finger on it.”
“I thought so
too,” the stable manager replied, looking to the coins in his hand as the wagon
disappeared in the distance.
* * *
“Centurion
Decius Publius is at the top of the duty roster,” Maxentius Jovanius remarked
to the new procurator of Judea, Titus Marcellus, as they stood in the summer
palace in coastal Caesarea with the aide Antonias, the new procurator
preferring this residence only.
“Call him here,
Thucydides of Delos has connections with Tiberius,” said Marcellus, “If we
don’t at least send soldiers to track this Jesus character, the Emperor will
have my ass!”
“Do you believe
Jesus of Nazareth is a vampire?” Maxentius asked, Antonias occupied reading an
official document concerning yet another Judean messiah named Lucius the Christ.
“Hell no, there
are no vampires, besides, he’s been dead nearly a year,” said Marcellus, “But
Dr. Thucydides thinks he is and sent a letter to Rome.”
“So?”
“So Tiberius
sent a letter from Capri, informing me that Thucydides is a good friend of his,
and a learned genius, and that we are charged with tracking a vampire named
Jesus of Nazareth.”
“Are you
kidding?”
“If I were do
you think I’d tell you this horseshit?”
“No, and would
you believe that a few idiots from Jerusalem are wandering about, saying Jesus
rose from the dead as the Son of God?” asked Maxentius.
“Who are they?”
“Some of his
disciples, I think they call themselves Christians.”
“Are they
claiming he’s a vampire?” asked Marcellus.
“Not at all.”
“I wonder if this
Lucius Christ fellow is one of those,” Antonias spoke up.
“Who in hell is
Lucius Christ?” asked the procurator.
“Another one of
their messiahs, like Jesus Christ of Nazareth was, according to this,” said
Antonias, handing his new boss the document.
“By the gods, it
figures, why the hell did Tiberius send me here?” Marcellus groaned, rubbing
his forehead as he stared at the report.
“Pilate said the
same thing to Antonias,” Maxentius replied, jerking a thumb at his fellow
bureaucrat as the aide nodded in agreement.
“Did he, well,
please see to it that the centurion is called,” said Marcellus, quickly reading
the document.
“I’ll tend to it
immediately,” answered Maxentius, giving him a Roman salute.
A little over
two days later, centurion T. Decius Publius and his eight men, traveling from
Jerusalem, appeared before procurator Marcellus, informed that he was in charge
of a contubernia ordered by Tiberius to track Jesus, the vampire.
“Are you serious
sir?” Decius asked, feigning an incredulous look, knowing that Jesus Christ,
the Son of Man, a former Levite rabbi, was in fact a bloodsucking vampire, but
also a friend of his, sworn on his personal honor.
“Yes I am
centurion, Tiberius ordered it.”
“I’m the one who
crucified him, he’s dead as a coffin nail.”
“You did?”
“Yes sir, he
died on the cross last spring.”
“That doesn’t
mean he didn’t rise as a vampire,” Dr. Thucydides declared, walking into the
atrium.
“Do I have to
deal with this clown again?” asked Decius.
“I don’t believe
him either, but Tiberius ordered it and we must follow the emperor’s
directives,” Marcellus answered, looking to Decius with a sympathetic gaze.
“He’s a madman,”
said Decius, looking to Thucydides.
“Be that as it
may centurion, you are charged with tracking Jesus the vampire,” Marcellus
replied, almost laughing as he uttered the order.
“Yes sir,” said
Decius with a sinking feeling, giving the procurator a salute, their orders to
march to the practically empty town of Nazareth.
Several weeks
passed, Jesus and company pressing on into Anatolia, passing through small
towns, his parents dining at taverns, he and the Magdalene dining out, so to
speak, on worthless members of society that they came across.
“Where exactly
are we heading son?” Joseph asked on a cool evening from the rear of the wagon,
a full moon rising overhead.
“Northeast,”
Jesus said over his shoulder.
“I know that,”
Joseph retorted, “But where?”
“The valleys of
eastern Anatolia, in the region of upper Cappadocia near the Euphrates River.
The area is remote, wooded, and the land is good for farming.”
“You’re
forgetting one thing son. I’m a carpenter, not a dirt farmer.”
“So what, we’ll
buy slaves too, you can use them to tend the farm.”
“I suppose that’ll
work,” said Joseph, falling silent, wondering where Jesus would find slaves for
him, and what else his son had in mind for he and his wife.
They drove on to
a desolate section of highway, not far from the town of Mansahir.
Mary Magdalene,
like the hunter she had become, spotted a pair of warm figures in the distance,
not waiting to ambush, they were lying still at the side of the deserted road.
“I wonder if
they’re sleeping,” she asked as they drew closer.
“I think not,”
said Jesus, pulling the wagon up to where they lay.
Stepping from
the wagon, he walked to the pair, both alive but battered and bruised by a
group of thieves, having been left for dead. “My name is Euripides, a trader
from Macedonia, help us please,” one called in Greek, holding out an arm in a
gesture of pleading.
“Do you speak
Latin or Aramaic, I’m not familiar with Greek,” Jesus answered in Latin, half
understanding the man’s sentence.
“Yes,” said
Euripides, telling Jesus in passable Latin of his woes.
“Don’t worry
friend, we’re here to help,” Jesus replied, giving him a pat on the shoulder.
“You’re Roman
aren’t you?” asked Euripides, trying to focus on Jesus.
“No, I’m a
Samaritan named James, what happened to you?”
“Highwaymen
robbed us and took off with our horses.”
Joseph and Mary
walked up, along with a hungry Magdalene, fangs baring in her mouth.
“What did they
look like?” Jesus asked the bruised and bloodied man.
“There were
four, I don’t remember exactly what they looked like, but one had an eye
missing and wore a patch,” Euripides answered, trying to recall their faces.
Jesus raised his
eyebrows, making a mental note of the statement.
“He sure looks
like hell,” said Joseph, looking at Euripides’ battered face, “I imagine
robbers beat the shit out of them, right?”
“Yes,” Jesus
replied, “Let’s move them to the wagon, we’ll take them to Mansahir for medical
attention.”
“My lord,” said
Jesus’ mother, not at all used to such occurrences.
“Why are you
bothering with them?” the Magdalene asked, annoyed at having to take in the
men.
“It’s the right
thing to do,” said Jesus, moved by his innate sense of justice.
“Oh well, no
dinner tonight,” Mary retorted while Jesus helped Euripides to his feet.
“It’s early yet,
perhaps we’ll find the folks who did this on the way to town,” said Jesus,
“Please help the other man to the wagon Mary.”
“If you say so,”
the Magdalene replied, walking to the other man, concluding that Jesus would
never change his ways, even as a vampire.
Helping them
into the wagon, his mother tended their wounds as best she could while her son
took the reins, moving the horses at a gallop toward Mansahir, his consort and
Joseph at his side. Entering the town, they pulled up to the first inn they
found. Jesus headed to the office, asking the innkeeper if he had rooms to
rent, and if a physician was available to tend to the injured men.
“We have rooms,
but there’s no doctor available. My sister’s a midwife, will that help?”
“It’ll have to,”
said Jesus, paying him for three rooms, asking if stabling was available for
the horses and wagon.
“No,” the man
answered, “Park the rig in front of your room, that will suffice, there’s hay
next to the water trough. I’ll get my sister, she’ll meet you at the rooms.”
“Thank you sir,”
Jesus replied as the man left the counter and headed to the back. “We have
lodging for the night,” he announced, leaving the office, walking to the wagon
and climbing aboard. Pulling in front of the rooms, he stepped down and tied
the horses to a hitching post. The Magdalene walked to the rear of the wagon,
opened the door and helped Euripides out, along with his partner and Jesus’
mother. Both men had recovered somewhat and were on their feet, but were in
need of food and medical attention. Showing them to a warm room, Mary headed to
her room as Jesus was placing his loot beneath the bed for safekeeping.
“This is
ridiculous,” said Mary, “Why the hell did you bother with a pair of silly
Romans when we have to find supper!”
“They’re Greeks
woman; I think they deserved our help since it happened to them through no
fault of their own.”
“Whatever, I
said you’d never change, you’re still going out of your way to help stupid
mortal people.”
“Please
understand, it was the right thing to do, and remember I helped you out of a
jam once in your hometown.”
“That’s true,”
said Mary, “I guess there’s nothing wrong with having compassion once in a
while, just don’t do it too often will you?”
“I don’t intend
to, after they and my folks are settled in, we’re going out to find their
attackers, then you’ll see how heartless I can be,” Jesus answered with a
sinister smile.
Mary smiled
back, leaving to tend to his parents, carrying their belongings to their room.
The innkeeper’s
sister arrived while Jesus was walking the horses to cool them after the hard
run. He pointed to the door of the injured men. She entered, cleaned them up
and brought them much needed food.
“James the
Samaritan is a kind man,” said Euripides to the midwife, named Sarai, as she
wrapped a bandage around his head.
“That’s rare
these days,” Sarai grumbled, “He’s either a saint or a damned fool.”
“Why do you say
that?” asked Euripides, surprised at her surly attitude.
“You’re new to
this forsaken place aren’t you?” retorted Sarai as she patched them up,
“There’s so many thieves and pirates in this area that it’s ridiculous. The
army won’t do anything about it, and that guy blunders into town thinking he
can make a difference?”
“He saved us,”
said Euripides, defending his benefactor.
“You’re one of
the few. It’s practically anarchy in this section of the province, if it wasn’t
for the whores in this town giving free pieces of ass to the soldiers to keep
them here, we’d all be dead!”
“Really?” mumbled
Thales, partner of Euripides, sitting up and looking to Sarai.
“You’re damn
lucky to be alive,” she said, moving to Thales. She checked his jaw and
remarked, “Not broken, only dislocated, lie down on your back and stay still. I
warn you, this is going to hurt.” Placing her right palm next to the hinge of
his jaw, she moved her hand below it toward his neck, moving her left arm back
and striking her fist sharply against her right hand. Hearing a pop as the
jawbone snapped in position, Thales moaned in agony, his hands clutching the
bedposts. Producing a bottle of strong Anatolian grog laced with opium, she
handed it to him and said, “Drink a few slugs of this, it will ease your pain.”
“Thank you,” a
grateful Thales mumbled, taking a long pull from the bottle.
“Your jaw will
feel better in a few weeks, watch it for a while when it comes to eating.
Nothing hard, no chewing, only soup and such,” the midwife advised, Thales
sinking into his bed. Gathering up her bandages and herbs, along with a few healing
talismans, Sarai left and closed the door, not uttering another word. Euripides
looked to his battered partner from his bed, yawned, and both settled into
much-needed sleep.
* * *
Joseph came to
Jesus’ door and knocked, Mary letting him in as she was brushing her hair.
“That was a good thing you did son, your mother and I are proud of you,” he
said, sitting down in a chair.
“Thanks dad,”
Jesus replied, “Mary jumped on me about it though.”
“I didn’t mean
anything, it’s just with all the trouble you’ve had in the past, by helping
people and all, I figured I’d look out for you.”
“She has a
point,” Joseph agreed, “Mary’s a smart girl, it would do you well to consider
what she has to say on occasion.”
“Yes father,”
said Jesus, feeling they were ganging up on him.
“Nevertheless,”
Joseph continued, “I think you did the right thing tonight regarding those poor
Roman fellows.”
“They’re Greeks
father.”
“Greeks, Romans,
what the hell’s the difference?” Joseph retorted, turning to the Magdalene, “Do
you think you could come over and do our hair while we’re here?”
“Sure, but we
have to find dinner first, will you be up later?”
“Probably, knock
on our door when you get back,” said Joseph, rising from his seat and leaving.
Mary watched as
Joseph closed the door. Turning to Jesus and folding arms across her ample
chest, she remarked, “So, what do you want to do, I’m famished.”
“I figured we’d
fly from town and find the ones who robbed the Greeks.”
“Good idea, they
can’t have gone far.”
“Exactly.”
Assuming
chiropteric form, they flew from an open window and headed south, looking for
warm bodies from the air. A short time later they spied their quarry encamped
several miles from the road, a campfire burning brightly next to their tent.
Alighting and transforming a few hundred feet from the camp, Mary asked, “How
will we know these are the robbers and not nomads camped out in the
wilderness?”
“What do you
care?” Jesus asked, trying to understand her seeming change of heart.
“I don’t, you’re the one who cares about
things like that.”
“Yes I do,”
Jesus answered, “Euripides said one will be missing an eye.”
“Good for him,”
said Mary while they headed toward the camp.
A pair of
Arabian stallions stood tied up to a twisted olive tree, with four men sitting
around a campfire, getting drunk. One was wearing an eye patch, clearly proving
they were the vicious assailants of Euripides and his business partner.
“Okay, what do
we do?” Mary whispered while they hid in the chaparral.
“I haven’t
decided, but these are definitely the ones who robbed the Greeks. What do you
think woman, you always seem to have a better handle on this sort of thing.”
“A diversion
will work,” said the Magdalene, watching their victims.
“Really?” asked
Jesus, interested in her predatory tactics.
“Yes, and have
your dagger ready if you want to have fun with them,” she answered, brushing
hair from her face.
“Okay, it’s your
move woman.”
Planning
further, she added, “Could you hit one of them in the head with the dagger,
instead of the chest?”
“Easily,” said a
confident Jesus, “You want to save the blood don’t you?”
“Why not,” she
replied, “Watch this, my love.” Throwing pebbles toward the men and shaking a
bush, she caught the attention of the inebriated road pirates. Growling
something in native Anatolian, one rose and walked toward the disturbance,
carrying a short sword. As he passed the Magdalene, she broke his neck by
snapping it with one hand, draining him on the spot and dropping the corpse to
the ground with an audible thud. Hearing the noise, the others rose and headed
to their fallen comrade as Mary called, “Now Jesus!”
Pulling a
dagger, Jesus aimed the weapon at the temple of the one-eyed man. Throwing it
overhand for maximum power, the speeding blade found its mark, piercing his
temple. The dagger entered his skull, the man’s remaining eye crazily looking
to the sky for a moment, as if asking God for a reason for his scrambled brain.
It continued up to the hilt, and the man died on the spot, his body hitting the
ground like a stone, dagger through the head. His comrades turning to view his
demise, Jesus and Mary moved into the open, cornering their remaining victims
next to the tent, baring fangs.
“Vampires!” came
the cry, Jesus declaring, “Next time fools, beware of Greeks who have friends.”
“What?” asked
one, understanding the Latin vernacular.
“The men you
robbed this evening, they were friends of mine.”
“Only brief
acquaintances really,” said Mary, running her tongue over her fangs.
Grabbing the
men, they sunk fangs in their necks, sucking their blood until they died.
“That was fun
wasn’t it?” Mary asked as Jesus walked to the one-eyed man’s body, knelt down
and sucked it dry.
Glancing at the
corpses, Jesus belched and answered, “I get it now. It’s more fun to deal with
them directly, rather than by using entrancement.”
“I’ll tell you
another thing, you’re damned good with that dagger, you nailed him in the
temple, that’s incredible!”
“I can hit
anything within fifty cubits,” said Jesus, pulling the dagger from the man’s
head and rising to his feet. No blood was evident on the blade, so Jesus
slipped it in his robe.
“Is that so?”
“I’m good with a
sword too. I told you before my father taught me the fundamentals as a child,
but I really learned to fight with blades in my twenties when traveling through
India.”
“Yes, I remember
you telling that to Simon Peter in Galilee.”
“Ah Peter, I
called him my rock, now he’s as dead as a stone,” said Jesus, waxing
philosophical.
“Are you going
to rob them?” asked Mary, looking to the bodies.
“Need you ask?”
Jesus replied while checking the one-eyed man’s corpse for loot. “It’s as if
this man were made of silver,” he added in surprise, finding a hoard of denarii
on the body.
“He’s wearing a
nice toga too.”
“That he is,”
said Jesus, looking at the fancy clothing, “He was a Roman citizen, look at the
signet ring on his finger and the leather shoes on his feet. Let’s take his
clothes too; I could use a new pair of duds.” He robbed the other bodies,
gathering a pile of metallic loot that he placed in two leather sacks, one
bursting with silver; the other filled with gold and jewelry. While Jesus
rooted through their tent, Mary stripped the one-eyed cadaver, saving the
Egyptian cotton tunic, fine leather shoes, and wool plebian toga for her
consort.
“He sure had a
small pecker,” Mary observed, looking to the naked body after her consort had
returned from the tent.
“Don’t be so
coarse woman, it’s unbecoming of you,” said Jesus, “That’s a man’s province.”
“You’re trying
to say men are pigs and women aren’t?”
“Not quite, but
close.”
“That’s not true
at all, you’ll find women are much worse in that area than men are even capable
of,” Mary retorted, a hint of anger in her voice.
“What do you
mean?”
“Women are more
carnal than men can ever be, or haven’t you noticed?”
“Really?” Jesus
asked, looking to her.
“Remember, I was
a whore in Magdala and Jerusalem and I liked it a lot, because it felt good to
use men, especially when most of those flaccid bastards couldn’t satisfy me
even if they’d screwed me for years. Hell, in the past I’d bed just about
anything for money to feed myself, tell me dear Jesus, would you?” she asked,
dropping the stolen clothing and putting hands on hips.
“Well, I don’t
think I could do – ”
“That’s my
point, men are pigs on the surface, where it looks good, women are pigs in
their souls. Do you remember Adam’s wife Eve, in Genesis?”
“I understand,”
said Jesus, holding up hands in surrender.
“Good, that
means you’re one of the few men who can actually admit that!”
“Are you
serious?” asked Jesus, looking his angered consort in the eyes.
“What do you
think? Actually, it’s a damn good thing women are that way; otherwise, the race
would die out in one generation. Tell me, can you imagine anyone in their right
mind who actually wants to pass something the size of a melon in agony?”
“You mean
bearing a child,” said Jesus, understanding her vivid allegory.
“Of course -
women, out of unremitting carnal desire, take the risk of dying during
childbirth, along with being tied to the demands of a child afterward.”
“So what, that’s
the truth of our existence, if you’re looking to blame anyone for the role of
your sex, blame God, if such a being even exists.”
“Even then no
one appreciates us or what we do in caring for babes and children, men
demeaning us or holding us in contempt for simply being women!”
“Whatever,” said
Jesus, lifting leather sacks over his shoulder, “Why are you giving me such
hostility Mary, do you really think men don’t appreciate women?"
“Yes I do, look
how your father treats your mother – would you want to be treated that way?”
“He doesn’t mean
it, he’s a bitter old man.”
“You always
said to treat others as you would have them treat you, did you mean it for men
only?”
“Of course not,”
said Jesus, disgusted by the remark.
“Your disciples
certainly seemed to think so, look how they used to order the women who
followed you!”
“I wasn’t there
all the time, what the hell could I do?” an angered Jesus asked, the couple
having an argument in the middle of a desert, surrounded by cooling bodies.
“They thought of
us as camp followers, and didn’t even have the common decency to pay us for
waiting on them hand and foot. We may as well have been their slaves for all
they thought of us!” Mary exclaimed, ignoring her consort’s question, hands
still on her hips.
“Stop,” Jesus
ordered, holding up a hand. “I understand, and it was not I who did that,
especially to you, nor to any other woman I encountered!”
Mary grew
silent, obeying him, while Jesus knelt down and retrieved the stolen clothing.
“Are we going to
steal back their horses?” she asked.
“Why not,” said
Jesus, “These dead men have no use for them, besides, we have at least sixty
pounds of loot, and we can’t carry that kind of weight around easily as bats,
can we?”
“No,” Mary
replied, walking to the pair of Arabians, loosening their tethers from the
olive tree.
Jesus placed his
sacks of booty over one horse’s back, Mary asking, “What do you want to do with
the bodies?”
“Leave them for
the jackals. They’re in the middle of nowhere; by the time someone finds them,
if they ever do, they’ll be bleached skeletons, and no one around here cares
anyway.”
They mounted the
steeds, leaving the area with the campfire still burning brightly, galloping
back to Mansahir. Tying up the horses in front of Euripides’ room, they walked
to his parent’s room carrying their loot, and knocked.
Jesus’ mother
answered the door. “Please come in, we’ve been expecting you.”
“Hello son,”
said Joseph, “Did you kill off the bastards who beat the Greeks?”
“Yes, we also
robbed them and stole back their horses.”
“Good,” Joseph
replied, “After all this time justice is being done!”
“I hadn’t looked
at it that way,” said Jesus, dropping the sacks of loot to next to a table,
still ruminating on what the Magdalene had said earlier.
“Your father’s right,”
his mother declared with an uncharacteristic harshness, “It’s about time
somebody killed off rotten sonofabitches who do such things!”
“You explained
it to her well didn’t you father?” asked Jesus, never having heard his mother
speak that way.
“Yeah, she isn’t half as stupid as I once
thought,” Joseph replied, forgetting himself for a moment and quickly adding,
“I’m sorry wife, I didn’t mean that.”
Mary looked to
her husband and sighed. Turning from him, she asked the Magdalene, “So, Joseph told
me you’re a beautician of sorts.”
“I guess,” said
the Magdalene, “I used to cut hair for the pimps and whores of the brothels I
worked at.”
“Is that so?”
Mary asked.
“Can you make me
look like Jesus does?” asked Joseph, attempting to change the subject.
His wife looked
to him impassively as the Magdalene answered, “Certainly, let’s get started
immediately.”
Jesus and his
mother watched while Mary cut Joseph’s hair short, making him look much younger
than his fifty plus years, and trimmed off his long but neat beard in
preparation for the razor.
“I’ve never had
a shave,” said a nervous Joseph, beholding the gleaming steel blade in the
Magdalene’s hand.
“Don’t worry
father, it’s easy,” Jesus replied, trying to soothe his father’s justified
fear.
“Easy for you
maybe, you’re a vampire,” Joseph retorted, “What if she cuts my throat with
that thing?”
“I won’t cut
you, I have very steady hands,” said Mary, holding them out so he could see she
did not tremble. Turning to Jesus, she asked, “Would you get oil from a lamp
please?”
“What’s that
for?” asked Joseph, for a moment imagining his beard being burned off by
flaming oil.
“It lubricates
the skin so the razor won’t nick you,” said Jesus, removing a lamp from the
wall and blowing it out, handing it to his consort.
“I see; if you
nick me you won’t go crazy over the blood will you?”
“Of course not,”
Mary answered, rubbing warm oil into his beard, “We’ve already eaten anyway.”
“You did at
that,” said Joseph.
“Besides, even
if I did lose control, good Jesus would protect you,” she teased with an impish
grin, Jesus smiling at the remark.
“Okay,” said
Joseph, turning up his chin, “Let her rip, or better yet, give me a close
shave.”
Within minutes,
he was shorn of his remaining beard without the tiniest cut. Mary presented her
mirror, Joseph marveling at the reflected image of his hairless face.
“It feels so
weird,” said Joseph, rubbing his smooth chin.
“He said the
same thing,” Mary replied, looking to her consort, “You’re looking a little
haggard yourself Jesus, you could use a shave too.”
“Really?” asked
Jesus, rubbing stubble on his face.
“It’s been weeks
since your last shave, you don’t want to go around looking like a bum do you?”
“No, go ahead
and shave me.” Sitting on a stool, he drenched his short beard in oil.
“You use too
entirely too much oil, next time let me do it will you?” said Mary, wiping the
excess from his face. She shaved him, trimmed his mother’s hair, and even took
time to give her, Joseph and Jesus a quick manicure.
“We look so
nice,” said his mother, admiring her nails as she stood near a wall lamp.
Looking to her clean-shaven husband, she asked, “Do you think we could get some
henna, I’d like to try on designs I used to see on the Bedouin and Samaritan
women.”
“Sure, I don’t
care,” Joseph replied.
“I must admit I
found it attractive,” said Mary, “Like carrying around a beautiful piece of
embroidery on your body. I never understood why the priests said we weren’t
allowed to wear such things, it seems so - ”
“Maybe because
the priests were a bunch of sanctimonious assholes who liked to control
people,” Joseph retorted, looking to his wife with a frown, not wanting to
continue the conversation.
Sensing her
husband’s ire and turning from him, she looked to the Magdalene and said, “We
thank you very much Mary, you’re very talented when it comes to cosmetology.”
“I’m pretty good
when it comes to clothing styles too,” the Magdalene volunteered, producing the
sack containing the looted clothes, “Look at this fine toga, we stripped it
from one of the robbers we killed tonight.”
“My God!” his
mother exclaimed, almost fainting while looking at the bloodstained upper area
of the toga.
“Don’t worry,
the blood will wash out easily with cold water,” said Mary.
“I suppose,”
said his breathless mother, leaning heavily on a chair.
Jesus sat
oblivious while Joseph stared at the ceiling, smiling in amusement.
* * *
Euripides came
knocking on Joseph’s door a few hours after sunup. He opened the door,
half-asleep, beholding the black-eyed and bandaged man. Knowing that most
Greeks didn’t speak Aramaic or Hebrew, and familiar with the Roman tongue from
his days in Judea, while rubbing his eyes he asked gruffly in passable Latin,
“What do you want?”
“Nothing sir,”
Euripides answered in Greek, for a moment not recognizing the clean-shaven
Joseph.
“What the hell
did you just say man, I don’t speak Greek!” Joseph exclaimed.
“I’m sorry,”
Euripides apologized in Latin, “Nothing sir, I was trying to speak with James,
but when I knocked on the door I got no answer.”
“Oh yes, my son
James, he and his girl keep odd hours.”
“They’re
sleeping?”
“Yes,” said
Joseph, “So were we.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No problem, I’m
hungry anyway; have you had breakfast?” Joseph asked, realizing he had to cover
for Jesus.
“No sir, and
just where are we, I was out of it last night.”
“Mansahir, about
five miles north of where you were robbed.”
His wife woke,
startled, and asked, “What is it Joseph?”
“It’s the trader
Euripides,” Joseph answered in Aramaic, “He was looking for our son.”
“Oh,” said Mary,
sitting up in bed, “Did you tell him he’s asleep and hates being disturbed at
this time?”
“I told him,”
Joseph replied, “I’m heading out for grub, I’ll be back in a little while
woman.” Closing the door, he looked to Euripides and said, “I’m buying, let’s
find breakfast shall we?”
Pointing to the
animals tethered in front of his room, Euripides replied, “Would you believe it,
our horses returned during the night.”
“Yes uh, we
happened upon them, riderless on the road into town, so we tied them to our
wagon figuring they were yours,” Joseph lied, making up the story as he went
along.
“That’s strange,
I seem to remember the bandits riding off with them,” said a confused
Euripides, trying to piece the events together.
“Maybe you just
thought they did,” Joseph answered, “You were rather delirious when we found
you.”
“Perhaps,” said
Euripides, not buying the reply, but knowing he shouldn’t be so stupid as to
look a gift horse in the mouth.
“So, how’s your
partner?” Joseph asked while they headed to a tavern.
“Thales is
feeling a bit better. I told him I’d try to bring food for him.”
“You definitely
will now, since I’m buying the grub.” Entering the tavern, Joseph ordered
several carryout breakfasts along with a small crock of soup for trader Thales.
Producing currency from a tunic pocket, he paid for the food in common
orichalcum sestertii and they headed back to the inn.
“When will James
be awake?” Euripides asked, wanting to thank the other members of the rescue
party in person.
“He and his girl
don’t often rise till early evening,” replied Joseph, as if it was as natural
as the sun rising in the east, “Don’t ask me why, it’s a habit they picked up
some time ago.”
“I suppose some
folks don’t like the day,” Euripides observed.
“That’s the
goddamn truth,” said a chucking Joseph.
Coming to the
door of his room, Euripides opened it and sat their food on a table just
inside. Joseph turned to his room and said, “Come back after dusk if you like,
I’m sure James will be up by then.” Entering, Joseph closed the door as his
wife was leaving bed.
“What did you
tell him about Jesus?” asked Mary.
“That he was a
late sleeper,” Joseph replied, smiling at the simple lie, “He seemed to buy
that, and I also took the time to pick up breakfast for you,” handing his wife
a warm lump of oil soaked, brown papyrus.
“Thank you,”
said Mary, unwrapping the food, aromatic brown meat and assorted vegetables
spilling onto the table. “My God Joseph, this is pork!” she exclaimed, drawing
back from the well-done swine flesh, “I can’t eat this – the Torah says it’s
unclean!”
“Who cares,
those stupid scrolls don’t mean anything. If you remember Mary, our son now
drinks blood every night! The Torah says a lot of senseless stuff and it’s all
bullshit,” Joseph spat, taking a big bite of pork tenderloin, marinated in
wine, seasoned with onions, carrots, and garlic. He swallowed a mouthful,
chasing the delicious morsels with a gulp of strong wine. “Besides, we’re not
in Judea anymore, so forget about that crap from there.”
“We were taught
by the rabbis from the Torah, they said pork will defile us.”
“That’s
ridiculous, we’re all defiled as it is,” Joseph retorted, preparing to take
another bite, “Who were those pious fools anyway, trying to tell us what to
think! After what I’ve seen in the last few months, the Hebrew faith is a
fraud, just like everything else that has to do with religion, and the Torah’s
nothing but scrolls of lies penned by deluded idiots.”
“But Joseph, I –
”
“Just eat the
food woman, it won’t kill you and it tastes really good,” Joseph said with a
cynical smile, enjoying the rich flavor of the forbidden food.
She looked to
her husband and then at the food on the table. Joseph was right; it indeed
smelled good, so she took a small bite of the unclean meat.
“See, you
haven’t died, have you?” Joseph asked, popping a roasted carrot in his mouth,
drenched in pork broth.
“No, and it
doesn’t taste bad either,” she answered with pleasant surprise.
“Exactly, when
in Rome, do as Romans do.”
“If you say so,”
Mary replied, first picking at, and then quickly finishing her delicious
breakfast.
* * *
They spent the
rest of the day sitting mostly idle in their room, talking of the events of the
past few months. Mary mended garments while they conversed, Joseph pointing out
that flexibility seemed the best approach for them to take, as many things in
their lives had changed. When dusk approached, Joseph and wife headed to Jesus’
room before Euripides did, to inform him of the lies he had told the trader on
their way to breakfast. Jesus answered the door, letting them in while his
consort lit a lamp. His father sat down in a chair next to a table and related
the current situation, his wife taking a seat on the bed.
“Thanks dad,”
said Jesus, taking a seat at the table, “Verily I say, it is good that you lied
to him, and I think it would be best to leave tonight to avoid any embarrassing
questions.”
“I agree,”
Joseph replied, “That’s all we’d need, for all the rest of the world knows,
we've died or disappeared, and we don’t need to screw that up do we?”
Trader Euripides
knocked on the door, accompanied by partner Thales.
“Come in,” Jesus
called.
The door opened,
and Euripides said in passable Latin, “Good evening, James the Samaritan, you
look well, this is my partner, Thales of Lydia.”
Jesus nodded and
answered, “You’re looking much better gentlemen, I’m glad to see you’re
recovering from your injuries.”
“We wish to
thank you again for what you did for us, how can we repay you?” Thales asked in
an uncomfortable but intelligible mumble.
“Maybe by
leaving us alone?” the Magdalene snickered.
“Mary, watch
your mouth!” Jesus exclaimed, glaring at her.
“That’s what I
think, James old boy,” Mary retorted, studying her nails.
Jesus turned to
the traders and said, “There’s no need of payment my friends, simply remember
when you see another in trouble, do your very best to help them if you can. In
other words, from now on, you should always do unto others as you would have
them do unto you.”
“You are a very
kind and wise man,” Euripides replied, truly surprised at the generosity of the
man he knew as James. Indeed, in this era, not many, if any at all, would have
stopped to render assistance to a stranger, as it was usually considered best
to care only for one’s own.
“Thank you,”
said Jesus, “Alas, I and my family must be moving on tonight; is there anything
else you fellows need before we leave?”
“Honestly,
you’ve done enough for us already, but the robbers took our money and we have
no funds available,” a mumbling Thales answered.
“Hand me my
silver satchel woman,” said Jesus, Joseph raising eyebrows.
The Magdalene
handed him the heavy bag of denarii stolen from the robbers, Jesus asking, “How
much do you fellows need?”
“We cannot take
charity sir,” said Euripides.
“It’s not
charity to help those truly in need, it is a duty, and I have more money
available than I know what to do with. You will need funds to continue in your
journey, would a thousand denarii help?”
“A thousand?”
Euripides asked, jaw dropping and voice trailing off.
“How about two
thousand?” Jesus asked, not realizing he was preparing to give them what they
considered a fortune.
“A thousand is
more than enough,” a breathless Euripides answered, “Fifty, or even twenty,
would suffice.”
“Consider this
your lucky day,” Jesus declared, emptying the bag and dumping a pile of silver
coins on a table, “Go ahead and take a couple thousand for your trouble.”
He pushed two
thousand odd coins across the table while Euripides stared at him in awe.
“Are you sure?”
mumbled Thales.
“I insist,”
Jesus answered, folding hands, “You’ll need money to recuperate from your
injuries and to continue operating your trading business.”
“Really, James
has more money than even God does,” said Joseph.
“Take the money
and go,” the Magdalene implored, resting her chin on an arm.
Euripides
quickly gathered the silver into a fold in his tunic and prepared to leave,
while Jesus rose and asked, “I forgot to ask friends, what exactly are you
traders of?”
“Opium,” said
Euripides.
“Oh yes, opium,
I tried that in India,” Jesus replied, fondly recalling the experience.
“We thank you
James the Samaritan,” Thales mumbled with a bow, the pair heading for the door.
“You’re quite
welcome,” said Jesus in the way of a goodbye, closing the door.
As he turned
from the door, Mary asked, “Why did you give them all that money?”
“I figured it
would buy them off. At the rate we’re amassing loot, we’ll soon have enough
money to buy Rome, so what does it matter?” said Jesus, leaning against the
jamb.
“I really like
your style son,” said Joseph.
* * *
Euripides and
partner made their way to their room, Thales observing that Jesus, the man they
knew as ‘James the Samaritan’, was one of the most remarkable individuals he
had ever met. In later years, the pair of Greek opium traders, thanks to Jesus’
sound investment, would become incredibly wealthy men, moving to opulent villas
outside Rome, and crown their success by marrying beautiful Roman women who
bore them many children.
One of the
traders, Thales of Lydia, would become an acquaintance of an impostor disciple
blundering about Rome in Claudius’ time, during the mid-forties of the Common
Era, a lying charlatan calling himself Peter. This man, like many others who
claimed to have known Jesus Christ, was a liar, as Jesus had murdered his
disciple Simon Peter shortly after his triumphant vampiric resurrection. Thales
would relate to this man the incredible story of being saved from certain death
by a compassionate individual named James, who had came upon him and his
partner Euripides, just outside the small town of Mansahir in Anatolian
Cappadocia many years before. Indeed, this story would survive in an abridged
form across the centuries to be retold in Christian churches as the wonderful
tale of ‘The Good Samaritan’, said to have been a parable told by none other
than Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, in the New Testament.
An hour later,
the group bid their farewells and pulled out of Mansahir, heading northeast
toward a town called Heraclea, leaving traders Euripides and Thales behind.
Another bright moon was rising, as Jesus, at the reins, the Magdalene at his
side, proceeded at a leisurely pace on the desolate road. Joseph and Mary were
sitting in the back with the sliding door open, conversing with them. The
horses slowed as the elevation was increasing, passing steep foothills on the
well-engineered Roman highway, low shrubs and brush giving way to dense
woodlands. All were talking of the events of the past few days, of Euripides
and his friend Thales, of the bitter, sarcastic midwife who had tended their
wounds, and of Mary having to eat pork that Joseph had brought her for
breakfast.
“There’s nothing
wrong with eating swine as a mortal if the meat is cooked well mother,” said
Jesus, recalling the delicious flavor of pork. In his past travels he had met,
eaten fine meals and conversed with many people who had either been fine cooks
of porcine flesh, or even healers from religious groups who used swine meat in
sacrificial rituals.
“It really is?”
his mother asked, still unsure.
“Of course,
it’s good for us too. A little over a month ago Mary and I sucked the blood of
wild boars for nourishment.”
“You did?” she
asked, slowly growing used to her son’s vampiric ways.
“Blood is blood
mother, even from a pig, father’s right regarding these things. The Torah is
nothing but worthless scrolls of lies, along with all that other crap the
rabbis told you when you were a kid. Verily I say mother, never believe
anything unless you can prove it to yourself first. Otherwise, dismiss it as a
lie, told either by a simpleton or a charlatan who truly knows better.”
“Really?” his
mother asked, frowning at the coarse remarks, surprised that her formerly
devout son was now so coldly cynical about religion.
“Take my word for it mom, practically
everyone is out for themselves, and always have some kind of angle. Remember, I
found out the hard way, via the cross,” Jesus answered, the Magdalene nodding
in agreement.
His mother grew
silent, reflecting on the terrible thought of her firstborn son’s crucifixion.