The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy (24 page)

“Oh dear,” she said, “oh dear.” Once again, she was repeating herself. She looked at me, and then shifted her gaze to the floor, tilting her head to one side. “Oh dear,” she said again.

CHAPTER

“I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD
go this far,” said Mother rather meekly. She was no longer ranting or shouting; in fact, she was rather subdued. She raised her handkerchief to her mouth as if she were worried. I had never seen my mother act this way. Something was definitely wrong.

She beckoned me to join her on the sofa by patting the seat next to her. I was inclined to bolt; the last thing I wanted to do was get close to Mother. She was liable to turn back into the raging monster she had been not five minutes ago.

“I think I will stand thanks,” I said, still shifting the odd glance toward Mother’s suitcase that remained by the door.

“I think you may want to sit,” said Mother gently. I compromised and took the easy chair that faced her. “I think there might have been a little mix-up,” said Mother once I was seated. I stared at my Mother, urging her to elaborate.

“To be honest, I am very, very surprised God let this go this far.” She blew her nose on her handkerchief. I found it odd that with all her sobbing, none of Mother’s makeup had run; in fact, on closer inspection, I noticed her mascara was fully intact. As I had suspected, her sobs had been crocodile tears though I did not doubt the authenticity of her rage. I had a feeling that she was not heartbroken by Ely’s confession of adultery. I pulled myself from inspecting Mother’s makeup and returned to the conversation.

“Let what go too far?” I said, referring to her previous comment.

“The Messiah thing. I would have thought he would have realized by now,” said Mother.

“Who would have realized what?” I asked.

“God realized about you,” she answered.

“Realized what?” I was becoming annoyed. Why this woman could never get straight to the point, I did not know.

“Realized you weren’t his son,” said Mother as she returned her handkerchief to her purse from where it had originated. I had no idea what she was talking about. We had been through all this before. Maybe she was confusing things.

“We are talking about God, not Ely,” I said “I do know that Ely is not my Father. I know my Father is God,” I said, hoping that she realized what she was saying.

“But that’s just it, dear; neither of them is your father.” It took a couple of seconds for this announcement to sink in. “That’s what I meant by your father—Ely, your dad—being foolish, believing everything I told him. You see, I didn’t want him to find out.” I noticed now that her mascara was running. It was a hideous sight, watching my Mother’s makeup dissolve before my eyes; it was like having a deranged clown with a half-melted face sitting opposite me.

I shuddered as she delved back into her handbag and reproduced her handkerchief. Those were genuine tears, I knew; there was no way she would have let me see her looking like a member of the rock group Kiss if her tears hadn’t been real. I was still confused but gave her a moment to compose herself. I was conscious that her dripping makeup might stain my sofa and my carpet, and I did consider collecting some old sheets to cover my furniture.

“You didn’t want Ely to find out what?” I asked my Mother once her tears had stopped.

“About the truth,” she answered; she looked up at me, her face caked in dripping makeup which now gave her the appearance of a melted waxwork. I had to do something to help her, so I left my seat and collected a towel for her, which she used to wipe her face. Once I returned to my seat, I spoke.

“What is the truth, then? If neither God nor Ely is my father, then who is?” I asked. My Mother smiled to herself as if reminiscing about another time and place. I should have known what she was going to say. I really should have guessed.

“Jacob, your Uncle Jacob.”

CHAPTER

IT SEEMED THAT WHILE MY
father was fooling around with my mother’s sister, Aunt Marla, my mom was fooling around with my dad’s brother, Uncle Jacob, and neither one had any idea that the other was cheating. It seemed that Uncle Jacob had always had a soft spot for my mother, and their affair started before Ely and Irma even married. In fact, it turned out that Jacob had been the first to spot my mom, but his naval duties had meant he was unable to start a romance. When he returned home on leave one summer, he discovered that his younger brother had snagged the woman he secretly yearned for. He confessed his love for my mother two nights before her marriage. Overcome with lust and guided by a far more sexually experienced man than Ely, Irma succumbed to his advances. Of the two brothers, Jacob was considered by far the most handsome. He looked like a movie star, and many likened him to a young Charlton Heston. It was really no surprise that a young and naïve woman, despite her self-assurance and hard-nosed exterior, would fall for his charm, especially if he was wearing his naval uniform.

Unable to break his younger brother’s heart, Jacob urged Irma not to cancel her wedding to Ely despite his own desires for her. So, after one night of passion, they put their relationship on hold. God came to Mother on her wedding night, and, unable to deny that she was a virgin, especially as Ely would discover she had been unfaithful, she became the willing carrier of God’s child. But there was one problem, one secret that only she knew: she wasn’t a virgin, and, according to her, she was already pregnant before God’s seed entered her womb.

All along, it would seem Irma had never been convinced that she was ever carrying the son of God inside her, and she managed to avoid any sexual encounter with Ely by maintaining the virgin ploy. He never knew his wife had had sex with another man. When God didn’t claim me after my birth, my Mother presumed that he had discovered her dalliance with Jacob, and, knowing the child was not his, God had simply moved on.

When God called her a few weeks ago with the news that he was back on the scene and that it was time I found out who my real my father was, it was too late to tell the truth. For one thing, Ely would have discovered the affair between his wife and his late brother, and Irma was sure that God would be none too pleased either, so she had said nothing and hoped God would realize that I was not his son by my total inability to perform any of the tasks that were likely to be set for me.

It explained why when I was a child Uncle Jacob had such a great affinity for me. The affair between Jacob and Mother continued until his death and was in full swing whilst Ely and Marla enjoyed their illicit affair. One thing confused me after Mother finished explaining the complexities of her adulterous life. How did God not know? How could God not realize that the son he thought his own, me, was, in fact, the bastard son of a naval commander?

Once Mother had completed relaying her sorry tale of infidelity, lies, and betrayal, we both took a deep breath. This changed everything. Despite my mother’s readiness to accept that I was Jacob’s son, I was still not convinced. There was no guarantee that she had conceived from her pre-marriage romp with her future husband’s brother. What was beyond doubt and beyond any refuting was the fact she was not a virgin. When God claimed to have inserted his seed into her through Immaculate Conception, a method, I hasten to add that I was still none the wiser as to its workings or mechanics, she had already lost her virginity.

No matter what, the news was good; no, scratch that, the news was fantastic. It surely meant that the whole thing was null and void. There was no way I could represent God in the final conflict, and with no opponent where did Lucifer and God go from here? For one of the few times in my life, I felt like hugging and kissing my mother. However, I refrained from doing so, not entirely undue to the fact she looked like a dripping multi-colored candle.

“What must you think of me?” said Mother as she rose from the sofa and moved toward the window. It didn’t matter what I thought of her. I was elated, and I was more concerned as to her future sleeping arrangements as once again I glanced at her suitcase sitting ominously at the door.

“I think you need to be alone,” I said, not thinking that at all, “or at least with a friend, someone out of the family. Denise, for instance.” Mother agreed, and I called her a cab to take her to Newark. I needed time to think, and I needed to consult my disciples. The news I had received was monumental. There was just one thing: how was I going to tell God?

CHAPTER

AS SOON AS MOTHER LEFT
, I called both Bob and Maggie and told them to meet me at my place immediately. I did not elaborate but told them it was a matter of the utmost urgency. I released Walter from the kitchen, but before he ventured outside, he peered precariously around, checking that Mother had left. I looked at where she had set her suitcase to confirm that it had indeed departed with her. Despite her revelation, I was more concerned that she had even suggested she stay with me. I needed to brief Harvey on the need to alert me quicker should an event like an unannounced Mother visit occur again.

I toyed with the idea of calling Ely to let him know where to find Mother and to ensure that he kept the fact that I knew about him and Marla quiet, but considering I now knew about Mother and Jacob, I supposed it was all irrelevant. I decided the one thing I would do was visit Jacob’s grave at the cemetery in Brooklyn where he was interned. I would buy him some flowers and place them on his tombstone. If he was my father, I owed him that much, but it didn’t change anything. No matter who my father was, Ely would always be Dad.

Bob arrived first, and I told him everything. Just as I was finishing the sordid tale, Maggie arrived, so I repeated it all over again for her benefit.

“So are you or are you not the Son of God?” asked Bob once he had heard the story twice.

“Good question,” I replied, “but I do not know the answer.”

Bob puffed out his cheeks and blew out a breath. “But the possibility still exists that you are the Messiah?” he said again. I got the feeling that Bob was disappointed.

“The possibility still exists,” I said hoping to lift his disappointment.

“Well, at least that’s something,” Bob said, smiling. Unfortunately, I was going to deflate him again.

“But the fact that my Mother was not a virgin, from the way I see things, makes me a false prophet,” I said. Bob’s shoulders slumped dejectedly.

It was Maggie who spoke next.

“So this whole thing has been a complete waste of time?” Her words hurt me slightly. I wouldn’t have described our relationship as a waste of time.

“Not entirely,” I said, hoping she would realize I was hinting at our blossoming relationship.

“Please explain, because as far as I can see, it has been,” said Maggie, a little too abruptly for my liking. I pointed at myself then back to her quickly, indicating that “we” were not a waste of time.

“Oh yes, of course.” Maggie flashed me a smile, and I felt a wave of relief engulf me.

Bob was still pouting. “But there is no guarantee that you are a false prophet?” asked Bob. Maggie and I looked to where he sat. “What I mean is, you are assuming God will say that; you don’t know, not for sure, anyway.” Bob was correct because I hadn’t yet spoken to God since Mother’s announcement, I had no idea where I stood. I was indeed presuming.

“This may be a minor technicality, and therefore you could still be the Messiah,” said Bob triumphantly.

“Bob” I began, “I don’t think you get it. I do not want to be the Messiah. Don’t you see? Haven’t you been following the plot? I am going to be condemned to the pit. I have no chance of winning the final conflict. Lucifer is going to take over the earth.” I took a breath, “So, please, tell me if you can, why you would be so disappointed if it turns out I am not the Messiah?”

“Well, I kind of like being a disciple,” he said, “and the miracles could come in handy, especially during baseball season.” As it was already baseball season, I felt his excuse was lame. I hoped Bob wasn’t going to be my Judas.

“Oh, ok,” he said eventually, “I see what you are saying. I don’t want you in the pit. Who would I go drinking with?” Bob smiled, and I felt relieved that he wasn’t my Judas. He was selfish and self-centered, but so was I, or I used to be, but he was no Judas. It was Oscar Wilde who said a true friend stabs you in the front and not the back. I knew that if Bob was going to stab me, he would do it smiling and in the missionary position. Maggie interjected with an extremely valid point.

“But how about the miracles?” she said. “How do you explain being able to perform miracles if you are not the Son of God?” Indicating to Bob, she continued, “We both saw you walk on water, and what about the scouts?” It was a good point, but I reminded her that I was only the vessel. If God was channeling his power through me, then it was actually God performing the miracles, not me.

“But didn’t God say he could only channel his power through his Son?” added Bob. Maggie nodded, confirming that she was under the same impression.

“I really don’t know,” I said. “I won’t know until I speak to him.” I looked at Walter, hoping he was going to speak and save me the effort of repeating Mother’s story a third time, but he continued to snooze on Maggie’s lap as she stroked the top of his head.

“I have a question,” said Maggie. “Did Uncle Jacob have any kids other than you if indeed you are his?” I shook my head. To the best of my knowledge, he did not, but of course, he was a sailor.

“You know what we need?” she asked. Bob and I looked at her blankly. “DNA testing.”

“DNA testing?” repeated Bob, questioningly. “You know, you might have something there.”

“DNA testing?” I said, joining in the debate.

“Yes,” said Maggie, “a DNA test to validate your mother’s claim so we can be sure before you tell God.”

“Great idea,” agreed Bob, his enthusiasm lifting. I gave him a stare, and he added, “Only if it proves you are not God’s Son.”

“It’s a stupid idea,” I said as I looked at both my disciples with pure disbelief. “I can’t believe that you are even considering for one minute that it will work.” Bob and Maggie looked at each other and shrugged, indicating that they did not agree with my previous statement. I felt I needed to clarify my last words.

“For a start, Uncle Jacob is dead, has been for nearly fifteen years. Somehow I do not think we are going to get any DNA from him, especially as he was cremated. Secondly, I think it highly unlikely that God is going to readily hand over a swab of his DNA, if he even has any, and I am not even sure he even exists in bodily form.”

My two disciples slumped into their seats. Their dejection and disappointed was a total contrast to my feelings of elation and relief. I was happy to accept the fact I was not God’s son. Their attempts to somehow prove it beyond a doubt didn’t wash with me. For a start, there was the possibility that a DNA test would confirm I was God’s son. That would mean God could disregard the virgin issue as a technicality, and the pit would therefore still be looming, with Lucy and Desi waiting for me to join them in eternity.

“Hey, guys, I’m as disappointed as you,” I lied, trying to unify us. “One minute I am the Son of God, the next, I am the bastard child of a horny sailor.” This didn’t fool either of them. They knew that deep down I was elated that there was a possibility I would not be facing Bill in the Space Invader arena of doom. I made coffee and left Walter on Maggie’s lap. Bob flicked through the copy of
Bytes,
which I now had delivered each week.

I returned with coffee, and we all sat in silence, alone with our thoughts. The only sound was Walter purring as Maggie stroked his head and under his chin. We had exhausted every possible scenario, and all we could do was to wait for God to call and for me to tell him the truth. We didn’t have to wait long. I noticed the buzzing of Walter’s purring had ceased. I looked up to check if he was still in the room. He still sat on Maggie’s lap, and I knew that God had arrived.

“Well, this is nice and cozy,” said God. Startled by Walter’s abrupt speech, Maggie jumped up, sending Walter flying in the air.

“Sorry,” she said as Walter twisted in the air but landed on all fours. Walter jumped onto the coffee table so he was in the center of the room. He licked himself before God spoke.

“That’s fine, dear,” he said to Maggie, “no harm done.” Maggie smiled at Walter; I shook my head.

“Would it not have been easier to call?” I asked, a little surprised by God’s dramatic entrance.

“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” said God sarcastically.

“Sorry, hi, how are you?” I said, feeling a little guilty for not welcoming God as I would any other guest. However, other guests did usually knock, and they did not use my cat as a voice box. Bob stood up straight as if he were a school kid, and the principal had just walked in the room.

“Relax, Bob,” said God. Bob didn’t. He remained bolt upright. “I am glad you are all here,” said God, ignoring the fact that Bob stood as rigid as a board. “I thought it was about time we all got together for a little chat, maybe throw some ideas around. A little informal tabletop discussion, maybe even a brainstorming session. We have them all the time up here. Maybe we should start with you, Maggie. Any thoughts?” While I appreciated that God was trying to help, it didn’t seem right that we all knew something he didn’t. It also didn’t seem right that what I was about to tell him should be told to him in public. We needed privacy.

“Maggie and Bob were just leaving,” I said as I urged them to stand.

“Were they?” said God disappointedly.

“Were we?” said Maggie, looking at Bob.

“Yes, you were,” I said behind clenched teeth, ushering Maggie and Bob to the door.

“Oh yes, of course, we were,” laughed Maggie, “silly me.”

“Goodbye, your Lordship, sir,” gushed Bob, his words directed at Walter, who remained perched on the coffee table. I pushed Maggie and Bob out of the door and turned to face Walter.

“Lovely touch,” said God.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked as I collected the empty coffee cups discarded by my friends.

“She has a lovely touch, Maggie. While she was stroking me, it felt very relaxing. I must do that more often,” said God as Walter rose, stretched, and returned to his sitting position.

“How long were you there?” I asked, unsure if God already knew what I was about to tell him.

“Oh, only a few minutes,” he replied. God, it would seem, had only been in the room as we sat saying nothing. No doubt Maggie’s gentle touch had delayed his arrival announcement. I wasn’t sure if I should have been jealous that my woman was stroking God, not Walter, and I was a little perturbed that he had let her carry on without informing her it was the Creator’s chin she was rubbing and not Walter’s.

On a scale from one to ten, one being mild, and ten being severe, I would say I had a temper rated at a number two. I hardly ever lost it, and when I did, I would remain calm, coherent, and rational. It seems I did not inherit that from God, for he was a ten, maybe even a ten plus. We all know somebody with a fiery bad temper who loses it completely; they shout, they shake, they curse, they sometimes go purple. We have all seen people flip their lids and blow a fuse. Some people fly off the handle and become violent, scream, shout, and throw things. I have seen it many times with friends of mine and of course, on Jerry Springer. Imagine then, if you will, the worst temper tantrum you have ever witnessed, and multiply it by a thousand. No, multiply it by ten thousand and then some, because that’s how bad God reacted when I told him about Jacob and Mother.

“Hey,” I said as I returned to the living room. Walter still sat on the coffee table. “Hey,” said God cheerfully, “how are you? Getting ready for the big showdown?” He seemed extremely relaxed considering the closeness of Armageddon. I decided the best course of action would be to come out and say it, not to dillydally, and get it over and done with. I hoped he hadn’t been selling tickets for the big showdown, because if he had, he had better get some refunds ready.

“Well, there has been a development,” I said nervously.

“What sort of development?” asked God.

“A development that kind of makes me think you ought to consider finding somebody else,” I said. God sighed.

“Not this again,” he said, “we have been over this a thousand times. There is no one else; you are doing it.”

“That’s not what I mean. I would love to do it.” That was a lie.

“That’s good,” said God cheerfully.

“But I don’t think I can,” I said pensively, once again God sighed.

“Of course you can do it,” he said encouragingly, “I have total faith in you; you know faith goes a long way.”

“It isn’t that I can’t do it, what I mean is I can’t do it. I am not qualified; you see, my mother visited today.”

“How is she?” said God. “Charming woman,” he added.

“Not so good, actually,” I said. “It turns out Ely told her about Marla.”

“He didn’t tell her I said it was ok, did he?” said God, who, it seemed, was just afraid of Mother as the rest of us.

“No, he didn’t,” God gave a sigh of relief. “What a fool,” he said, referring to Ely. “He should have kept that quiet.” I agreed, but this wasn’t the forum for that discussion.

“Anyway, she came here and had her own little confession to make,” I continued. “It seems that Jesus didn’t do such a good job watching over her as you had thought. I think you call it a ‘Code Dave.’”

“A ‘Code Dave’? You mean a virgin snatch?” God sounded panicked.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. It seems that Mother and my uncle Jacob had sexual relations prior to your, erm, well, visitation.” To be honest, I didn’t know what to call my conception; I felt visitation was a good enough description.