The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy (8 page)

“IT’S NOT ONLY THE RED
tape; it’s the restrictions on ‘Acts of God’ that gets me. I wouldn’t mind, but this is all my own doing. Thank heavens, no pun intended, that today the ‘committee on the second coming’ gave me veto power and carte blanche authority to do what I needed to get through to you.”

Walter was speaking. Walter—my cat, my lethargic, maintenance-free, obsessively self-cleaning, dried food and tuna eating cat—was speaking. Walter, the same cat who I had inherited five years before, the exact same cat who slept all day and all night, the same cat who had never before uttered a solitary word, sat facing me on his haunches, talking to me in an English accent about red tape, acts of God, and committees.

I stared opened mouthed at my previously mute feline companion. Was I hallucinating? Was the voice coming from Walter? It was impossible. How could this be? I challenge any man, woman, or child if faced with the same scenario, to act any more logically than I did. The damn cat was talking, for Pete’s sake! Walter was speaking, even though I knew that cats did not possess voice boxes. I knew that never before in the history of cats has one ever talked, and I knew if Walter was able to speak, it would certainly not be with an English accent. He was from Greenwich Village. As far as I was aware, he had never left New York. I knew it sounded preposterous. I knew if someone asked me to believe that a cat spoke to them, I would call them crazy too. I knew it sounded ridiculous, but with God as my witness, which ironically, he was, Walter was talking.

“Ah, I see I’ve finally gotten your attention at last. That one always works. Don’t be alarmed for poor Walter here, he hasn’t a clue what’s going on. I’m just speaking through him. I’ve done it a few times in the past, but never with a cat. Sometimes it works, other times, well, I’m afraid sometimes people completely freak out. Never mind those times, that’s all in the past now. Anyway, Walter will be okay. He has no idea what’s going on. He can’t hear me, despite me using him as a vessel. It’s quite safe. Now, Seth, listen. I suppose you’re wondering what in God’s name is happening here, and quite rightly so. I totally understand your aggression and your earlier attitude, but it’s not often I get told to ‘shut up.’”

I remained stood and opened mouthed, staring at my cat. Walter proceeded to jump down from the sofa and walk toward me. Initially, I wasn’t sure whether or not to run. He rubbed against my legs, weaving in between them as he did when he wanted food.

“Are you hungry?” I asked Walter. “You need feeding?”

“I beg your pardon?” replied Walter. “Oh, heck no. No, I am so sorry. This isn’t me; it’s an involuntary reaction. I can only control his voice, not his actions. I do apologize; I hope I’m not getting hair on your rather soft trousers. Just ignore it if you can. But I have to say, it does feel good. Maybe you should sit down, Seth.” I did as Walter suggested. I sat down.

By then, of course, I realized it was not Walter speaking. Whilst the words were definitely coming out of his mouth, it was the same voice that had spoken to me on the phone. Please believe me when I tell you I had no choice. I had no choice but to accept that it was indeed God speaking to me. I am sorry if you may feel that I accepted it too readily and far too quickly. I assure you, I am a practical man who explores every logical explanation when dealing with problems or occurrences. But I plead with you to understand, the voice came from Walter! He sounded convincing and coupled with the events of the previous evening, I had no doubt I was conversing with God! Believe me, please, when I say I was still searching for a logical explanation. I waited for any evidence that would disprove that I was talking to God. I looked for wires, hidden microphones, and cameras. Please do not think I did not try my best to find some sort of more earthly and logical explanation.

“Now, let me explain, Seth,” began God, still talking through Walter. “All this is my fault. I should have been in touch a lot sooner. A lot, lot sooner, like, maybe twenty-nine years ago. Unfortunately, I had another project on the go, a big one, actually, which I can explain later if you require, and I haven’t been around that much lately, as you could probably tell by the state of things down here. To be honest, in ‘God’ years, as we call them up there, thirty-two years isn’t that long at all in the grand scheme of things. I know that’s a lame excuse, but it’s the only one I have. I sincerely hope you realize that none of this is your mother’s fault; well, not all of it, at least. I let things slide, and to be brutally frank, I forgot about you.”

I sat, now with my mouth now closed. While I listened to what God said, I was not exactly taking it all in. It was only later, when I went through the day’s events in my head, that I dissected and analyzed the conversation, which up until that point had been virtually one-sided.

“You forgot? You forgot what?” I asked. Forgot about me, did he say? Why would he even care about me? What was special about me? Unless what my parents had told me was true. While I gradually accepted that I was conversing with God, I had not accepted that I was his son. Surely he wasn’t saying the same thing. Confirming Mother’s claim of her virgin birth? Surely he was here to explain that there had been a mistake, an error by one of his underlings.
Oh please, tell me this is not what he is saying.

“What are you telling me?” I asked, looking Walter directly in the eyes. Walter’s eyes squinted. I have heard that is a sign of affection, but I am no cat expert.

“I am telling you I am sorry for abandoning you as a child, for being an absent father, for not being there to guide you and help you develop. I should have organized a training package, but I didn’t,” said God.

“Are you,” I began, “trying to tell me that what my mother said is true? That I am your son? That my father is not my real dad? That I am Jesus?”

“No,” said God. “You are not Jesus.” That was a relief. Though I was still tense, I felt a little better. I wasn’t Jesus; phew, that was something.

“What I mean by that,” said God, “is that technically you are not Jesus.” Oh no. The tension was back. My relief was short lived. “Jesus is his own man. In fact, he is up in Heaven; he is a member of the committee. No, you are not Jesus. However, you are Christ. You are my son, as he is, but you are Seth, not Jesus. Jesus was my vessel, who did an excellent job; I hasten to add, but he you are not. You are the Messiah, though, if that helps.” Helps? Oh yeah, that helped.

“So you forgot about your son?” I asked, sounding incredulous.

“I know, I know, I know. It looks awful, I agree, but it was so quick. The whole thing was rushed. I was in a hurry, and like I say, my so-called
staff
is not the best, I assure you. I am not passing blame or shifting responsibility, but I rely on these people, you know? Anyway, the long and short of it is that the Universe is a big place. This planet is not my only venture. There is a lot of undeveloped real estate out there, and it takes time and planning to build a civilization. There are certain conditions that have to be met, and honestly; I can’t trust anyone up there to help me with that. That is my responsibility. I do not delegate creation. Anyway, this place I was ‘prospecting,’ in your terms, is five hundred million light years away, which even for me is a hike, so you can imagine I was not readily available to come back at a moment’s notice. I had it all planned, booked, and organized. I really couldn’t cancel. Anyway, I had people watching you. I asked Saint Peter to watch over you, and apparently he didn’t get my memo, and blah, blah, blah, you get the picture; a total mess. A cock-up from start to finish.”

“Anyway,” God continued. “No real harm done. Well, nothing we can’t sort out between us. All you need to do now is to listen and learn. You’re a bright man; I am sure you will pick it up as we go. I am sorry for my tardiness, but I am here now, and I have never been one to dwell in the past or to pass blame, so I am happy to proceed and move forward. Even I can’t change the past. I have been a bad father, and I can understand any resentment, but you need to get over that. You have done well without me; I read your file, and though you’re obviously not there yet—far from it— we have something to play with. Something to mold. My boy, I’ll make a Messiah out of you yet! Never fear! Now, there were a few things I needed to mention straight away, and I am sorry to do this, but please believe me when I tell you time is at the premium. Hold on, let me think; that’s right, you’re masturbating a little too much I’m afraid. You’ll have to watch that. It’s a bit more than the committee would like. It’s draining your energy apparently, and there is no need for the excessive amount of time you waste. Just an observation, but the committee felt it important that we get that one nailed down immediately.”

First of all, I feel I need to point out that I do not consider myself an excessive masturbator. Whilst I am unaware of any guidance notes or recommended daily dosages, I am pretty confident that my personal habits are not outside the norm. Where God was getting his information from, I did not know, but I would have liked to have taken a peek at my file. I was naturally horrified to learn that “the committee” felt it necessary to make this their first priority in their dealings with me. Furthermore, it was inconceivable to me that my natural father, who had been had been away for thirty-two years and had practically abandoned me, critiqued me almost immediately! He had a file on me! A file! I felt the need to vent some of my views on this whole subject.

“Hold on a minute. Walter, Dad, God, or whatever I am meant to call you.”

“‘God’ is fine; ‘Dad’ is okay too, though I prefer ‘Dad’ or ‘Father,’ even.”

“Ok,
‘Dad,’
I have a question.” I wasn’t sure if he caught the sarcasm.

“Shoot,” said God.

“Did you really tell my father to sleep with Marla?” It was playing on my mind. I felt he needed to answer that one. I realized I had the opportunity to ask God any question I liked, but the masturbating thing had gotten my hackles up. I felt I needed to make a point that he also had some traits that were, should I say, a little questionable.

“I’m your Father,” said God. He was stalling; he knew what I meant.

“Ely,” I said.

“Ah, well, that, erm, well, I may have implied it was probably an option. Look, I felt sorry for the man. You know how your mother is once she gets an idea in her head. Listen, I did him a favor. I can’t believe you’ve even brought that up. Why have you? Has he said something?” God sounded annoyed.

“He has mentioned it,” I replied.

“Well, he was a willing participant; you can’t put it all on me. Ely is his own man. I hope he wasn’t complaining. I am sure he wasn’t complaining at the time. He didn’t need to tell you. I told him he was safe.” God was becoming defensive. “I am a bit disappointed Ely said that.” Not wishing to incur God’s wrath onto Ely, I dropped it. What was done was done; however it gave me an inclination into what I could be dealing with. I felt I had had made my point. The man had abandoned not only his son, me but by his own admission, he had abandoned the rest of mankind for the last thirty years as well. On top of it all, he had at best aided and abetted my father in an affair, or at worst, organized and orchestrated the whole thing! I pondered for a few seconds.

“Ok, I’m letting that one go. I am not happy about it, but I am letting it go. I won’t mention it again.” However, I did have another question that ate at me. “Why us? Why me? Why Ely and Irma? I really don’t get it. Why a Jewish couple? Why not Christians? Surely Christians would have been better.”

“Good questions,” said God. Hopefully, I would get a good answer.

“And?” I prompted God for a reply.

“You have to remember, things up here were not as organized as I would have liked them to have been. We have a large turnover of administrative and support staff, and sometimes things get left to the last minute. I assure you that things have improved lately. I am sure I mentioned new innovations, and it is definitely not as bad as it was. But back then? Wow, those were chaotic times! It was a bit rushed; sometimes you mean to do something but keep putting it off and putting it off until the next thing you know, a deadline is looming. To be honest, we all got our years mixed up. I thought we had another year to plan this, but it was Saint Eligius who pointed it out; ironic, really as he is the patron saint of clock makers. Anyway, it was Eligius who made us aware we were out a year. So, as you can see, we were rather rushed to get you consummated.” I didn’t see. But I didn’t interrupt.

“Eventually, we found ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” continued God.

“A pickle?” I asked.

“A jam,” said God.

“A jam?” I asked. Why God felt the need to refer to food stuff I was not sure. I knew what he meant, I was merely trying to point out that “jam” and “pickle” were not really the terms I would have used when describing the most significant event of the last two thousand years. I wasn’t sure if he got it.

“You know what I mean; we ran out of time: double-booked, diaries crossed, missed communication, mistaken timings. The truth is I had this great couple from Wisconsin lined up. Great couple, absolutely fantastic couple, they were ideal, would have been wonderful. Christians, one hundred percent devout, total believers, honest, hard workers, full of faith. They were perfect, absolutely perfect.” God sounded teary-eyed as he reminisced about the couple from Wisconsin. I took a good look at Walter, who remained sitting on his haunches. I checked, but I could see no tears coming from Walters oval-shaped peepers.

“What happened to them?” I asked, somewhat intrigued as to why such perfect candidates didn’t get the job and why my parents appeared to be the on-field substitutes.