The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy (13 page)

Admittedly, I wasn’t entirely happy about shouting out for free food in the middle of Central Park. There was probably some city code against giving out free food, though if this applied to miracles, I did not know, and I wasn’t sure which department I should call to find out. Bob continued with the good ideas, which seemed to be flowing from his mouth that morning.

“Obviously, I will alert the media; call CNN, ABC, NBC, or Fox, maybe even all four, and tell them a miracle is about to occur in Central Park, and it is all related to the events around the world: the chaining to the church and everything happening in London and Australia. I will tell them to get their cameras down to the park. Once they set up, you produce the bread and fishes. Hey presto, the whole world sees your miracle. Then you then go on record, proclaiming yourself the son of God, the Messiah, the Christ, spread the word about the approaching apocalypse, and I guarantee, I guarantee, every loon and nut out there will be lining up to follow you.” Bob had convinced himself this plan would work, and it sounded plausible.

The “every loon and nut out there” aspect of it perturbed me slightly, but I got the drift. I had to agree it was probably the best way forward. I really couldn’t think of a better plan. Bob and I agreed to meet the following morning at Central Park. He would call the press and bring his camcorder as back up.

CHAPTER

YOU MAY BE WONDERING HOW
I had managed to meet up with Bob and organize to meet him the following day without it encroaching on my work. Earlier that morning, I received a very odd phone call from Henry Peel, my boss. Henry began the call saying how pleased he was that I was associated with his company, and he thanked me for my years of loyal, exemplary, and dedicated work and how he would like to get on record that he would like to increase my salary by fifty percent, effective immediately.

He had also organized for a courier to drop off my new contract, which he urged I sign immediately and return just as quickly. He summarized the details of this improved contract, which was speeding its way to me as we spoke, the main aspects being the improved salary, a place on the board, and a partnership deal if I committed to a minimum of four more years with Henry.

In itself, receiving a call at seven in the morning from my boss offering me the deal of lifetime was strange; however what was stranger was the fact that it had come completely out of the blue. Henry had evidently drafted the contract, had it approved by the board, and organized the courier either the previous day or during the night. Of course, I was curious as to what had prompted this startling offer. As to the best of my knowledge, I had done nothing to warrant such a spectacular and unexpected revised contract.

“Henry, slow down for a second, take a deep breath, and please explain to me what this is all about,” I asked as I sipped on a glass of orange juice.

“It’s all about the contract you secured. It’s excellent, absolutely fantastic, and the fact you did it all on your own is even more remarkable; we, the board and I, that is, are absolutely delighted. Well done. And the contract we are sending over for you is a token of our thanks and appreciation,” gushed Henry. I had never heard the man so happy. Unfortunately, I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Remind me,” I said, “what contract did I secure?” I was extremely confused. Henry proceeded to tell me about the call he received from the head Bishop of the Episcopal Church in the United States, whose offices were based in the city. Apparently, the bishop had informed Henry that the church wanted to build information centers in every major city in the country. The church would use the information centers to showcase the Episcopal religion to potential new members in an environment other than the confines of a church. These information centers would house office space, mini cinema facilities, and some would host conferences and visiting guests from out of town. The concept was previously unheard of, but the bishop had an epiphany, was convinced the idea would work, and had gained approval to begin the project.

While the bishop did not elaborate on how this idea had come to him, he had, according to Henry, suggested divine intervention, which Henry had found amusing, but had, like any good businessman, kept this amusement to him. The bishop’s vision initially entailed twenty-five of these city-based information centers built on land already owned by the church, with the option for twenty-five more should they prove to be a success. They wanted blueprints, designs, and plans. They wanted contracts signed and sealed immediately. They wanted Henry’s company to oversee all aspects, from design to build. It was a multi-million dollar contract, the biggest the company had ever procured, and one of the largest deals ever won by any building firm. However, the bishop had one stipulation. And it involved me.

Apparently the bishop was a big fan of mine. He had followed my career closely and enjoyed the concepts and designs I produced. He had often marveled at the architecture I had developed. I did ask Henry to specify which buildings the bishop enthused so much about, but Henry, in his excitement, had failed to ask. In any event, it was of secondary importance to Henry. What was important was that I agreed to do it, hence my contract offer and the need for my signature. It also seemed the bishop had recommended I abandon projects I was currently working on and hand them over to colleagues to prepare for the task ahead. The bishop suggested that Henry give me a well-deserved vacation so I could begin the church project refreshed and revitalized. Henry had agreed that this was a great idea and proposed I take four weeks off work immediately on full pay.

Only a buffoon would not realize this was more than a coincidence. I had no doubt this was the work of my Father, and though I had no idea how he had gotten into the bishop’s head, it was obvious he had. I did not believe for one minute that the bishop was a big fan of my work. It was ridiculous; however, the contract was genuine, and our company accountant had already received a deposit. Just as genuine was the contract, that arrived from Henry while he was still on the line. I duly signed it and sent it back with the courier to Henry. Henry said it was a miracle. I tended to agree.

I met Bob at ten o’clock sharp the following morning as arranged. We met at the Sherman Monument located at the main entrance to the Park. If you have never visited Central Park in the summer, then you have never lived. One of the great things about living in Manhattan and being a New Yorker is the park. For two guys like Bob and me, Central Park in the summer was a Shangri-La. We could spend hours ogling female tourists in skimpy outfits, lunching office workers in skimpy outfits, and to be honest, any female of the species in a skimpy outfit that happened to be enjoying the park. I hope you do not form the impression that Bob and I were perverts; it was that we appreciated the female form, and Central Park was a great place for the voyeur. So we ogled; what man doesn’t? It doesn’t make us perverts, despite what Nancy thought. Nancy had often cited our visits to Central Park as perverted. She had often claimed it was unhealthy for two men to visit the park in the summer for the sole reason of feasting their eyes on attractive women. Bob and I thought it perfectly normal. I assumed Nancy wasn’t jealous, because though she chided Bob, she never stopped him from going. She just found it “disturbing.”

Disturbing or not, our visit to the park that morning had nothing to do with ogling scantily clad females. Luckily, though, Nancy had no idea what we were doing for as of yet, Bob had not informed her of his new role as a disciple to the Messiah Seth. I was glad he hadn’t. Bob had managed to sequester the Nancy family camcorder and depart the house that morning without disturbing his sleeping wife, who still worked the night shift. I was sure if she had risen from her slumber, then her natural curiosity and domineering and overbearing personality would have forced Bob to admit he was heading down to the park to film me, her nemesis, perform a miracle as ordered by God. The last thing I needed was Nancy’s hulking frame looming over me as I attempted to feed the multitude. I doubted even with God behind me I could produce enough food to quell her appetite anyway. It was probably wise not to mention free food when around Nancy, even if you had unlimited powers. Feeding five thousand is one thing; feeding Nancy Nancy is another.

“Did you call them?” I asked Bob as we walked into the park, referring to media channels that Bob had promised to call.

“Indeed I did,” said Bob as he looked around as if waiting for someone.

“And are they coming?”

“I’m not sure, I can’t see them,” said Bob as he continued to look around, “I called all of them, and the local news channel and the newspapers. I can’t see anyone yet though.” Bob continued to look around. This I found slightly irritating, as I wasn’t sure what he expected—hordes of reporters charging toward us, or a fleet of news choppers circling overhead? It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Bob or thought him incompetent, I just felt I probably needed to ascertain exactly what he had told the media.

“What did they say when you told them about me? In fact, how did you broach the whole subject?” I asked.

“Well,” Bob began, “they didn’t seem too enthusiastic. They all appeared to think I was some sort of nut job. I got a similar response from them all, actually, but they said thanks and they would note it, and if they felt it was warranted, they would send a news crew.” That didn’t sound too promising. I could imagine the reaction of the media organizations quite easily. It would have been the same reaction I would have given forty-eight hours ago. We had to face facts; they weren’t going to show.

“You can stop looking around, Bob,” I said dejectedly. “You know they won’t show up.”

Bob stopped his searching and sighed. “Yep, I guess not. At least I’ve got the camcorder, and at least we will have some footage?”

“Of what, though?” I said, still unsure how the miracle would manifest itself.

Deep down I was slightly relieved that the media had given us the cold shoulder; no doubt convinced Bob was some sort of weirdo jumping on the Ronnie bandwagon. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be catapulted into the spotlight just yet. For a start, I was skeptical of how the public would receive me; it occurred to me that I was probably not what people expected when they imagined the Messiah. I had toyed with the idea of growing a beard but decided against it. What significance a beard had, I wasn’t sure, but it seemed a “Jesus” thing to do. I could imagine outraged Christians the world over disappointed that a tubby Jew was their new figurehead. I could also imagine the vast majority of the world calling me a fake and hounding me until I confessed to it all being a giant hoax. So the fact the media wasn’t going to be present came as a relief to me. Unfortunately, though, Bob felt otherwise. He was bitterly disappointed that we wouldn’t be featuring on the six o’clock news. Not tonight, at least.

My stomach was in knots. Though I was confident my face wasn’t going to be splashed around the world that night, it was still nerve-wracking that I would have to speak in public. I had read that just as many people feared public speaking as they did death. Unaccustomed as I was too public speaking, which in itself was daunting, performing a miracle at the same time, was even more so. I was about to be exposed as the Messiah, and I wasn’t ready. To be honest, I was hesitant about the whole thing. Things were moving too quickly, and I didn’t like it. Maybe it was nerves or perhaps in the cold light of day in the middle of Central Park, I realized the enormity of what lay ahead.

“I can’t do it,” I said, stopping in my tracks and staring directly at Bob.

“You have to,” said Bob, urging me to continue walking, “you know you have no choice.” He was right of course, no matter how reluctant I was. God had made it very clear that there was no alternative, and despite my own trepidation, I was “it.”

“Well, what now?” I asked Bob, thankful I had my friend to support and assist me at least.

“Gather a crowd,” said Bob as he looked around him once more. We had stopped next to the Swedish Cottage. The Swedish Cottage was a former tool shed converted into a children’s theater, and it was located on the west side of the park.

Gathering a crowd was a lot harder than it sounded. Initially, we were both reluctant to accost passersby, who were predominantly tourists. After thirty minutes of us both standing around like idiots and with no crowd gathered, Bob decided he would try enticing a crowd by shouting. For the following two hours Bob stood, shouting like a madman. For two hours in the middle of Central Park, people ignored Bob. They did not just ignore him; they avoided him. Those park users who did walk by tried not to make eye contact with him. The mere sight of Bob waving his hands and shouting was enough to disturb anyone.

A cop patrolling the park eyed us suspiciously. Bob stopped shouting when he saw the officer approaching, and luckily, the cop continued his patrol, glancing back at us. I supposed we weren’t breaking any law, and as it was a free country, Bob could shout what he wanted, but it was obvious our tactic wasn’t working. However, Bob was adamant, and for another two hours, he continued to shout and try and draw attention, but to no avail. I tried to encourage Bob, and I also did my fair share of shouting. However, there came no crowd.

“This is hopeless,” I said. “Where are the hungry? Where is the multitude? Where are the five thousand?” I looked upward and raised my hands. “Come on, Dad, show a little compassion. Help us out here, do something, anything,” I pleaded jokingly. “Give me a sign,” I yelled in mock desperation. I think Bob was not that amused by my antics. I noticed his expression was stern. “Come on,” I said, “lighten up. Look, it’s two thirty. I am starving, which I know is a bit ironic, but I am. Let me buy you lunch. Let’s face it, it’s not happening. I’m only kidding around; there is no need to look so stern.”

But Bob seemed to be ignoring me; he wasn’t staring at me, he was staring behind me. I turned to see what had grabbed his attention. As I turned, I saw Bob point, his mouth open. And then they came.

Bob had seen them first, hence his open mouth and dumbfounded look, which I had mistaken for sternness. He pointed for my benefit. At first I couldn’t quite make them out. They seemed to appear from nowhere on the horizon. It was definitely a crowd or a large group. Without any doubt, it was the most people at one time we had seen all day. They came from the east side of the park, and they were heading toward the Swedish Cottage, and therefore, us. It was the crowd, a hungry crowd, the multitude. Well, sort of; there were at least twenty of them.

Troop twenty-three was a Boy Scout troop located in West Salem, Oregon. Each summer, eighteen members of the troop plus two adult supervisors embarked on a field trip. That year, they choose New York. Troop twenty-three was heading our way. Led from the front by a grown man dressed in full scouting uniform, which made him look ridiculous, and behind him in columns of two, came his troop, all eighteen of them, and brought up at the rear was another male adult, dressed as they all were, in their resplendent Boy Scout uniforms. I looked at Bob and Bob looked at me. We were thinking the same thing: could this be them? Was this a sign from God?