The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy (6 page)

The easy chair was comfortable, and even though there was a bed for me in the house, I decided I would sit, relax, and ponder the best way to obtain some psychiatric care for my parents. I was genuinely concerned about their mental health. Before long, I had a plan of action formatted in my mind, and I dozed off.

Luckily, my father was an early riser, and he woke me from my impromptu slumber with a cup of coffee and a smile. He told me it was seven in the morning, and he would call me a cab. Once again, I was going to sit in rush hour traffic for an hour to complete the twelve-mile journey into the city. Also, I was going to be late for work. By the time I would return back to my apartment, shower, and shave, the morning would be all but over. Great. The perfect end to the perfect evening. My parents were certifiable, and the first thing I planned to do when I got home was to call their doctor and get him over there.

Please do not think for one minute I believed any of the previous evening’s revelations, because I assure you, I did not. As far as I was concerned, my parents were totally mad, especially Mother. Now that my dad was up, I could hopefully get some sense of this whole thing and maybe between us, we could convince Mother to seek some much-needed help. I was positive Mother had put him up to the whole thing. I guessed he was going along with it and her crazy biblical illusion for the sake of a quiet life. Now was my chance to get at the truth. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

My father repeated the exact same story my mother had. He even confirmed God’s telephone call the previous day. Apparently, Mother had put God on speakerphone so Ely could listen in. He claimed he had actually said “hi” when God mentioned him, but he thought God didn’t quite catch it. Yep, my dad was adamant that I was God’s son too. I made a mental note to definitely call their doctor as soon as I got back to the city. They had obviously turned crazy, or senile, or both. I could hear that the cab dad had called waited outside, so I finished the coffee Dad had made me and prepared to depart.

“Now son, remember your mother and I did the best job we could, so don’t hold it against us if we didn’t fill you in on things until now,” said Dad as he showed me to the front door.

“Dad, do you seriously think that I believe any of this?”

My father shook his head. “I know, son, it is a lot to take in, but I assure you, it is all true.” He paused and put his hands into his dressing gown pockets. I got the feeling there was something else he wanted to tell me. I always knew when he had something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it by the way he fumbled in his pockets.

“What is it, Dad? You’re not telling me something, I can tell,” I said as I stood in the open doorway. Dad rubbed his hand on his chin and sighed. My dad was no good at keeping a secret; well, not from me anyway. I could read him like a book.

“Well, son,” he began, “promise me you won’t tell your mother this.” He looked around him as to check that Mother was not in earshot. She wasn’t. She slept and knowing her, she would sleep until the afternoon. I agreed that anything he told me would be in confidence. “Well, the thing is, this whole virgin thing never sat right with me,” he explained. “Your Mother may well be a virgin, but I promise you, son, I am not.” Once again, I felt a wave of dread loom over me. Where was this leading? “You know your aunt Marla?” whispered my father. I nodded. I guessed where this was going. I did not like it, but I sadly now knew where this led. “Well, we kind of had a thing. It’s over now, has been for a while. I didn’t think I needed to stay a virgin, but your mother was adamant that she had to. Well, you know what I am saying. We all have needs.” Dad was apparently looking for my approval or my forgiveness; I was not sure which. What I did know was that my dad was confessing to his son an affair with his wife’s sister on his doorstep at seven in the morning. All of this coming after telling me I was the son of God. I was in the
Twilight Zone.
I didn’t know what to say. It was incomprehensible that my parents would think I would go along with this whole fantasy, and now this!

“Well,” I said, “let’s hope God doesn’t find out.” I was joking, being ironic, and attempting a little humor.

“Hope he doesn’t find out?” said my dad, closing the front door and waving away the cab. The cab driver shrugged and switched on his engine. I watched as my escape from Borough Park shifted into gear. I thought about waving him back, but Dad put his arm around me as I saw my passport to sanity speed away, and he led me back into the living room. Dad faced me, and he smiled. It seemed there was more to hear, and I wouldn’t be making it home just yet. “I am not worried about God finding out anything,” said Dad. “It was all his idea!”

CHAPTER

THERE WAS MUCH FOR ME
to ponder as I sat in the back of the second cab my father had called to collect me from Borough Park and return me to the relative sanity of Manhattan. The most pressing concern I had was, of course, the state of my parents’ mental health. My second concern was my father’s recent confession. At no stage during my one hour cab ride back to Greenwich Village was I concerned that maybe, just maybe, my parents were not mad, and I was indeed the Messiah and the Son of God. Not for one fleeting moment did I consider it, nor did I dwell on it. I did not suppose on consequences, nor did I play out any scenario in my head that would entertain the possibility that what my parents had told me was true. I dismissed the notion totally from my thought processes and allowed my mind to concentrate on the best course of action to resolve the dilemmas introduced by my crazed parents.

My father had felt he needed to explain his relationship with Marla before I left Brooklyn. I, in turn, tried to explain that it wasn’t necessary for him to do so. He felt that in my new capacity as the savior of all men, that maybe I should take the time to listen to him. I tried to assure him there was no need, and as far as I was concerned, consenting adults could do what they wanted whether I was the “savior” or not. It wasn’t that I was not bothered. The situation was not great, granted, but I felt I had spent enough time with my whacko parents for one day. In the end, though, my father persuaded me to stay in Brooklyn a few hours longer and listen to his version of events regarding God, virginity, and Aunty Marla. As Mother slept, oblivious to her husband’s adulterous affair, Ely relayed his story. Once again, I shall not bore you with a word-for-word rendition of my father’s adulterous antics; I shall, in my own words, describe what he told me.

He confirmed most of what I already knew, and according to him, he was never confident when it came to the opposite sex. It was as much a surprise to him as it was to others when he began dating the attractive and nubile Irma Crystal. As time progressed, it became apparent to my dad why such a good-looking woman such as Irma was still on the marital shelf; she was, for all intents and purposes, almost impossible to live with. This did not bother Ely. He was prepared to put up her with controlling ways and intimidating character as long as he would not be alone for the rest of his life and, to put it bluntly, get laid.

Unfortunately for Ely, it didn’t work out that way. When Irma told him of her visitation from God and his informing her that she was imminently going to be carrying his child as she was now the appointed “virgin to God,” Ely initially thought it was a test, so he went along with it. He did not believe for one minute that God had chosen him and Irma to bring up God’s second child. He was convinced Irma was either playing a game or testing him to see how long she could control their sexual relationship. And why not? She controlled everything else. Ely was convinced that sooner or later she would crack, and it would only be a matter of days before he bedded his new bride. Until, that was, God came to
him
in a dream.

God confirmed every detail of Irma’s story. Ely was devastated. All his life he had been waiting for the opportunity to sow his wild and now desperate oats. God was understanding and apologized to my father for “the terrible and ghastly inconvenience.” However, there was a bright side. Irma was only required to remain a virgin until after my birth. The virgin bit only applied to the birth of God’s child. Once this child was born, Irma could do what she wanted sexually, finally lose her virginity, and consummate her marriage with her real husband. Once again, though, things did not go poor Ely’s way. It seemed my Mother enjoyed the notion of remaining a virgin. Why? Only she could answer that, but Dad felt it was just one more weapon in her armory of control. Perplexed by this situation and unable to get his wife to part with her virginity, he called on God for advice.

Unbeknownst to Mother, God, did visit my father a second time (according to him that was; remember, I am relaying what he told me; I did not believe any of this outrageous and ridiculous story.) Just before my birth and after numerous previously unanswered prayers, God once more came to my father in a dream. God explained he had no idea where Irma had gotten the idea that she needed to remain a virgin for life. God himself had told Father that it was ridiculous, and what sense did it make? Apparently, according to God, a lot of other people had got this wrong before, and he had absolutely no idea where that theory had come from. It certainly hadn’t come from him. God gave my Father a solution. God explained he understood my poor father’s unenviable position, and though God accepted no responsibility for Mother’s actions, he did feel that maybe his involvement had not helped the situation. God began dropping hints to Ely. He mentioned that Marla, who Mother had recently appointed in control of the car repair business, was not a bad-looking woman. Indeed, she was quite “hot” (God’s words apparently, not my father’s.) Throughout this alleged visitation, God continued to drop innuendos about Marla, how she was a little older than Mother and nearer to Ely’s age, how she was more fun, how if only God were fifty-five thousand years younger, you know, that sort of thing. My father, whilst not slow, hadn’t caught on to what God was implying. God, who could sense this, eventually came out and suggested my father take up with Marla on the sly. According to my dad, his exact words were, “For Heaven’s sake, don’t you get it? I am telling you Marla wants it, I guarantee it, and you have my word. I have influence. I also promise you that no one will catch you. Irma will never know unless you confess, and as I am not a great advocate of confessing, I can’t see that being a problem, as I am my own witness. I promise you undetected extramarital sex with Marla for as long as you like.”

So thanks to God’s suggestion, Father propositioned Marla, and just as God had promised, Marla was receptive to his advances. They embarked on a sexual and romantic relationship that lasted over twenty years. I could not believe he had pulled off an affair with his own wife’s sister for over twenty years, especially considering that his wife was my mother. If what my father had told me was true, and I did not doubt that the affair part was true, it was all the references to God that I did not believe, I suppose Mother had brought it on herself. She had systemically denied my father his conjugal rights, she had been the one who had introduced an attractive woman into my father’s life, and she was the one who had spent the best part of four years ruining her own son’s chances of any sex by moving out of the family home and accompanying me to college. It didn’t make it right, but father had a good case.

According to my father, the relationship with Marla was over. Not because he wanted it to be, but because she had moved to Miami and was now, in fact, married to a dentist I had never met named Joshua Zip. He went on to say he had no regrets from cheating on Mother and was very grateful to God for setting the whole thing up.

I took Dad’s confession, and I instructed him not, on any account, to tell Mother of the affair with her sister. The consequences of her finding out would not bear thinking about. I left Dad as he lit his pipe and waved me farewell from his immaculate garden. The poor man, I thought as the cab pulled away, totally and utterly mad.

As my cab crossed into Manhattan, I sighed with relief. It was good to be back in the city and back to normality. There was something, though; that puzzled me. Madness and craziness were not contagious. It could not be passed through the air. If a mad man sneezed in the grocery store, his crazy germs would not fly through the sky up and down aisles infecting his fellow shoppers. Nor would germs he had left on his shopping cart infect the next user of said shopping cart. How then could both my parents have turned completely crazy at the same time?

The cab neared my apartment complex. After much deliberation, the only logical answer to the whole crazy issue was that they must have been on drugs. That was it. My parents were high on some mind-altering, hallucinogenic drug that had poisoned their brains. I would call Doctor Hienenberger, their physician, as soon as I returned to my apartment. I had taken the precaution of calling Henry from my parents’ home to let him know I would be taking the day off. Henry had offered no resistant. He knew that if I needed a day off, it was for a good reason. I did not go into details as to why I would not be in the office that day; I told him it was Mother trouble. Henry had met my mother, and he said he understood. Harvey was on hand to greet me as I entered my building.

“Yo, bro,” he shouted. He always seemed to shout. I wasn’t sure if he knew he was shouting or not, but there was no need for him to shout, especially as he was less than two feet away from me. I often wondered if Harvey had the capability of speaking in any other volume other than shouting volume.

“Yo, bro, check out your fro, man,” he cried. I had no idea what this meant. “Your fro, man, check it out. Dude, you look like shit,” he said again, pointing to my head. I was tired, and I had important things on my mind; I was not in the mood to decipher whatever Harvey was trying to tell me. I stopped and took a look at my reflection in the mirrored walls that adorned the far side of the lobby.

Harvey was right. I looked like shit. I had slept in my clothes, I was unshaven, and my hair, which had attracted Harvey’s attention, looked as though I had just had two thousand volts shot through my body.

“What happened to you, man? I’ve never seen you like this before. What the hell happened out there?” Harvey said pointing outside the lobby door. I assumed he was pointing toward Brooklyn. It was touching that Harvey was concerned for my welfare, but it was a little over the top.

“Oh, just a rough night with my parents,” I answered shrugging to show I was not overly concerned that I looked like a tramp. I decided I would take that opportunity to ask Harvey’s opinion on a couple of things. As it was only Harvey and I in the lobby, I felt no inhibition in asking him questions that typically a resident wouldn’t ask his doorman.

“Harvey,” I began, “I have a question for you.”

“Go, bro,” said Harvey, who was still examining my disheveled appearance with a screwed up face.

“In what circumstances do you think two previously sane people could possibly turn crazy at exactly the same time?”

“It doesn’t happen, man,” confirmed Harvey.

“Ok, next question,” I said, satisfied that Harvey was on the same wavelength as me on that one.

“Do you believe in God?”

“Hell yeah,” screeched Harvey.

“Ok. If God, hypothetically, spoke to you, how do you think he would do it?” I asked the now confused doorman.

“In a dream, I guess,” was Harvey’s reply.

“Would you expect him to call you on the phone?” I was confident that another “hell no” was on its way.

“Only if he had my number,” was Harvey’s unexpected reply.

“What?” I asked. “You think God would call you up on the phone if he knew your number?”

“Hell yeah. Why not?” said Harvey, bemused.

“Never mind, forget it,” I said as I walked into the elevator. I was going to ask Harvey if he knew about mind-altering drugs that could make previously sane persons crazy, but I thought better of it. Harvey waved as the elevator door slid closed. What a morning. No doubt Harvey would have believed every word my parents had said if he were me. I shook my disheveled head. I would call Doctor Hienenberger. He would prescribe some medicine, everything would be okay, and I’d save some for Harvey. Dad’s little secret would be safe, and Mother would admit she was not “God’s Virgin.” She would also apologize for the ridiculous events of the previous evening and feel utterly remorseful at ruining my Wednesday night, and then she would return to the acid-tongued woman we all knew and feared, and we could all get back to normal. I laughed to myself. What a crazy day. But things were about to get even crazier.