The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy (25 page)

“You mean the army guy?” said God.

“Navy guy,” I said.

“Good looking, looked a bit like Moses?”

“Charlton Heston,” I corrected.

“Same thing,” said God.

“Well, regardless, he beat you to the punch, popped her cherry, reaped the wild wind, went boldly where no man had gone before; get the picture? She wasn’t a virgin!” I felt I needed to be descriptive, especially as it seemed he was about to go off on one of his tangents.

“Rubbish,” said God. “That’s impossible. Your Mother was a virgin. We had it well documented. I had my best man on the job. The chances of two ‘Code Dave’s’ occurring in the same millennium is virtually impossible.”

“Not according to her,” I said, “and really, she should know.” There was silence. For at least fifteen seconds, there was complete silence as Walter stared at me. I noticed there was a glare in Walter’s eyes that perturbed me immensely. I could feel the tension in the apartment rising. I suddenly felt afraid, terrified.

“Jesus H Christ!” boomed God. I thought my eardrum would explode; it was as if a jet plane had landed next to me. It was the loudest sound I had ever heard, and I felt the walls tremble. They would have heard that shout several blocks away. I expected that Harvey was going to barge in at any moment to find out what the commotion was. God wasn’t talking to me, he was shouting at some unknown third party. “Get me Jesus Christ, and get him now!” he shouted.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked.

“What? Oh, didn’t I explain. Even though my voice is coming from Walter, I am actually still up here. It’s like talking on the phone, really. Sorry, was that loud?”

I didn’t reply to God’s question. I had a question of my own. “What’s going on?” I asked, wondering why he needed to speak to Jesus. More importantly, I had always wondered what the “H” stood for.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on, or has gone on. Your brother, that’s what has gone on. It was his job to watch that weasel, Jacob. I knew there was something about him. I knew he was sniffing around your Mother. That’s why I had Jesus on the case. This is sabotage! It is Jesus’s doing.” I didn’t see it as clearly as God did, but I was getting the overall picture.

“Oh yes, ever since we first discussed this whole second coming and returning to earth business, he wanted the job. He wanted another chance. He said he was the one with experience. I knew something was afoot.” God was talking to himself, not me. “The crafty cad has had me, pulled one over on me; I knew there was more to it, why he didn’t like you.”

And then God explained. It seemed that Jesus was dead set against me from the moment I was conceived. He felt it was
his
second coming. Ever since they had tabled the idea thirty-two years ago, Jesus had been against it. He felt it should be him returning to fight the anti-Christ and prepare the world for Armageddon. According to Jesus, it was what the people wanted, and it now seemed he had sabotaged God’s plan out of jealousy and spite. It was his responsibility to watch over Mother, to ensure she was and remained a virgin, and that another ‘Code Dave’ did not occur. It appeared that Jesus had turned a blind eye to Jacob’s advances. Call it a dereliction of duty or deliberate sabotage, one thing was certain, and there was no getting away from it: Mother and Jacob had been intimate, and it had happened on Jesus’s watch.

“So what now?” I asked, but God did not reply. Walter simply meowed.

CHAPTER

WE HAVE ALL HEARD
OF the wrath of God. Not to be confused, as Bill pointed out to me much later, with the
Wrath of Khan,
which again, according to Bill, was a damn fine Star Trek movie. The first thing I noticed, once God had vacated Walter’s body, was the sky.

It had suddenly become very dark outside, despite it being 3:30 in the afternoon. It looked like the middle of the night. Dark clouds had appeared from nowhere, totally eclipsing whatever light the sun tried to radiate. It was an unnerving sight, and I shuddered as the city fell into darkness. The wind picked up, and I could see from my window (with difficulty due to the fading light) newspapers and litter swirled by the wind that made the paper dance a macabre waltz before being catapulted by an invisible bow into the sky, where it fluttered some more.

I could just make out my fellow New Yorkers scurrying below me, looking for shelter from the wind and sheeting rain that now fell hard and heavy. I could hear the sound of car horns as confused drivers dodged pedestrians, rain, and the wind. Coupled with the poor visibility, it made driving near impossible. Sirens sounded as police and fire crews rushed to the minor fender benders that were occurring almost in unison throughout Manhattan. I found it difficult to draw myself away from the metamorphosing weather. I had never seen such sudden and abrupt changes in the climate. However, there was a metamorphosis occurring much closer that needed my immediate attention.

Walter, who I have explained, is an extremely low-maintenance pet and had never previously so much as shed a hair in the apartment, was acting most peculiar. I don’t mean that he was speaking—that I no longer considered strange—rather, he clawed at my sofa. He wasn’t just clawing at it; he was destroying it. Already he had torn the cloth completely and was busy ripping out foam from inside the sofa with his teeth. I could also hear him growling. I shooed him away from the damaged sofa, and he promptly sprayed me with urine. I tried to grab him, but he flashed his teeth and swiped at me with his claws on full show. He then jumped onto my coffee table and promptly defecated.

It was not however regular cat poo that emanated from Walter’s behind; it was the liquid version, cat diarrhea. As Walter jumped from the coffee table, a trail of shit traced his movements as diarrhea continued to pump uncontrollably from his rear. I tried to grab him and at least throw him into the bathroom where I could contain the damage, but as I chased after him, I slipped in his excrement and went skating along my carpet. As this was all going on, my telephone rang non-stop. Unable to catch Walter, who had now run into the kitchen to cause more damage, I grabbed the receiver.

“Hello,” I said, out of breath and utterly perplexed by the Walter situation. “Seth? Is that you? You sound strange.” It was Maggie.

“Yes, it’s me, just having some cat trouble. Have you seen this weather?” I asked turning my head in the direction of the window. Nothing had changed; the black clouds still loomed, the wind continued to howl, and the rain fell.

“Yes, I have seen it. The TV is saying it is happening all over the country. The meteorologists can’t explain it, freak weather all over; looks like Europe and other parts of the world are getting it too.” I had a feeling that maybe I knew what was behind it and probably also behind Walter’s sudden anti-Seth’s apartment behavior also.

“Listen,” said Maggie, “I didn’t call you about the weather.” Maggie sounded a little stressed, slightly agitated, and maybe a little panicky. “I have something to tell you.”

I turned my attention from the events outside my window to Maggie’s voice. “Yes, what is it?” I asked nervously.

“I’m pregnant,” said Maggie. Her words seem to hang in the air. It was as if time stood still. Everything seemed to occur in slow motion. I could hear a beeping noise coming from my pocket and could feel a slight vibration. It was my cell phone, and for some inexplicable reason, with Maggie on the other line apparently needing to talk and awaiting my response, I answered it. With Maggie’s words still reverberating in my head, my house phone in one handheld to my right ear, and my cell phone held in the other hand held to my left, the house covered in cat urine and excrement, Walter growling as he continued to rip up my apartment, and with the apocalyptic weather worsening, the last person I needed to speak to was Henry Peel, my boss.

“Hello,” I said.

“Seth it’s me, Henry. Sorry to call your cell, your house phone was busy.”

I remembered Maggie on the other line. “Henry, hold the line.”

“Maggie? Are you still there?” She wasn’t. She had hung up. I was sure I heard the word “jerk” just before the line went dead.

“Seth?” It was Henry on the other line. “Seth, are you there?” I was too busy worrying about Maggie and impending fatherhood that I didn’t register that I still had Henry on the other phone. I broke off from my thoughts.

“Sorry, Henry, there must be a problem with the phones,” I said as I replaced the house phone receiver.

“Probably to do with this crazy weather,” said Henry. “Anyway, I didn’t call to discuss the weather. Unfortunately, I have some rather bad news.” I steadied myself, still shocked by the news I had just received from Maggie. “The thing is, Seth, I am going to have to let you go.” Henry’s words hung in the air; at first I thought I had misheard him.

“Sorry, Henry, for a minute there I thought you said you had to let me go,” I said, with a nervous laugh.

“My hands are tied. It’s the church contract; they just called, they want you off the project and said they had confused you with someone else,” said Henry hesitantly.

“Why do you need to let me go? Just hand it over to someone else, and I’ll go back to the Hyomoko contract,” I said, confused as to why Henry needed to fire me.

“Well, I would like to, but they stated quite categorically that if you remained with the firm, they would cancel the whole contract, and before you ask, Seth, no, they did not give a reason.” What the hell was this? Why would the bishop of a church suddenly have a downer on me?

Before I had a chance to even think about arguing with Henry, the house phone rang again. Thinking it was probably Maggie calling back, I needed to end my call with Henry.

“Henry, I got to go,” and before he could speak, I hung up on my boss and my job. I grabbed the house phone again. “Maggie?” I said, nearly out of breath with the continual phone answering.

“No,” said the voice I did not recognize; “Mr. Seth Miller?” said the voice again.

“Yes, who is this?” I asked, annoyed that the caller was blocking the line and preventing Maggie from calling back.

“I’m from the IRS. The name is Mackay, David Mackay. I am an inspector, and I need to talk to you about your last tax return so I can prepare your audit,”…and that’s when I fainted.

I guess it was combination of finding out I was going to be a father, losing my job, and discovering the IRS would be auditing me all in the space of less than five minutes that did it. The fact that I had an incontinent and rabid cat in my home also didn’t help. I don’t make a habit of fainting; in fact, in the history of my life, it was a first.

I must have been out for thirty minutes. When I awoke, I laid spread-eagled where I fell, the cell phone clutched in my hand, and the house phone off the hook on the floor next to me. It was dark; the freak weather had not abated, and I could still hear Walter growling. As I gradually came to, I saw Walter had destroyed every piece of furniture I owned. Not only that, but he had also managed to pull open every CD and DVD case and scratch them beyond any kind of repair. My carpet looked like a stable floor occupied by a horse that had eaten Indian food mixed with laxatives the night before. I stood up and saw that Walter was now foaming at the mouth, and I was sure he was preparing to pounce on me, no doubt going for my neck. I saw I had messages on my machine. The red light flickered a number nine.

I pressed the button. The first message was Maggie. It was quick and to the point: “Asshole.”

I played it back before erasing it. I shook my head. The second message was from the chair of my building’s residents association, Mr. Walden, a man I had met a few times in the lobby and once at the interview before I got the apartment. The basic gist of his message was that there had recently been some complaints about the way I spoke to Harvey, the doorman. Residents had overheard our conversations and alleged that I had used a racist term whilst conversing with him. That, coupled with the foul language I used and my constant references to rap music, meant the committee felt I was in violation of the agreement I signed where I promised I was a person of good character and moral standing. They were drawing up eviction papers immediately.

The third message was from Harvey. “Yo, check out the crazy-ass weather. You can bet your honky white ass that them white folks is gonna get all jacked up. Yo, let me know if you need anything.” The fourth message was from Mother announcing she could not spend another minute with Denise Malphrass. She was getting a cab from Newark straight back to the city, and she asked if I could make sure I had a good supply of her favorite tea so she could have some in the morning.

The fifth message was from my bank. “Mr. Miller, there seems to be a problem with your account. It is considerably overdrawn. Quite possibly it is a mistake, but do you recall purchasing items, to the value of sixty thousand dollars, from a company called Anal Probes for Men, LLC? Please call Mrs. Bloomfield, your account manager. Thank you.” Message number six was from my general practitioner. I needed to call the office urgently; they had discovered some mislaid test results, and it was imperative I saw him. His message also recommended I check my life insurance policy. The seventh message was my life insurance company informing me that my coverage had expired, and before renewing, I would be required to sit a full medical examination.

Message number eight was Maggie again, reminding me what an “asshole” I was, and message number nine was from God, asking me if I liked his wrath.

“This could be just the tip of the iceberg,” his message said.

I did not like God’s wrath one bit. But I knew I deserved it. I had been flippant; I had shown him no respect; I had been messing with the superior being, the creator of the Universe, God, our Father who art in Heaven, the Lord of more than just the Rings, and I had pushed things too far. God was angry, and he was angry with me.

As I sat amongst my tattered apartment with Walter clinging to the curtains as they fell and crashed among the other debris he had created, I realized that in one fell swoop, God had the power to change everything. God had the power to change my destiny; he had the power to destroy me—he had ultimate power. I had been blasé, condescending, and I had answered him back on more than one occasion. Had I not realized who I had been dealing with? This was the being who told Noah to build an ark and then flooded the earth because he could. This was the being who sent plagues of locusts to infest the Egyptians; this was the being who created postal workers. He could be a fair and good God, but he could also be cruel and ruthless. This was payback for my attitude and maybe extra for being overly pleased that another “Code Dave” had occurred. This was his wrath.

I realized I had been an asshole, and that maybe I could have handled things differently. Maybe with the gift God had bestowed on me, I could have made a difference. Just as I realized that maybe being the Messiah was not that bad after all, and if a man could suffer and die on a cross for me, then could I not at least attempt to locate and practice a stupid computer game?

Who had I thought I was? How dare I take the Lord’s name in vain? I was repenting, and I felt ashamed. I was not fit to be called his son. I could only hope to walk in Jesus’s shoes or sandals. It was just as I realized all this and more that from behind a black cloud, the sun appeared again. As the clouds melted into the blueness behind them and the sun beamed down onto the city, once more a shaft of sunlight engulfed my apartment, and the reflection from the wet, glistening windows created a chasm of light that illuminated me. It was if the sun shone directly on me. I raised my hands and knelt in the dripping rays of the sun.

“Praise the Lord,” I cried, “praise the Lord!”

As the last cloud seemed to evaporate, cheers rang out in the streets below. Walter, who had been hanging on to a light fitting the last time I saw him, was curled in a ball, sleeping away, his diarrhea abated and his mouth foamless. My telephone rang several times in quick succession, and for some reason I knew to let my machine grab the messages.

Message one was Henry apologizing for his earlier call. He had been the unwitting victim of an office prank. The church had made no such demands, and all contracts were fine. Henry was going to get to the bottom of it and find out who had impersonated the bishop. He suspected it could have been one of the mailroom boys, and he asked if I could I forgive him.

Message two was from Mr. Walden. He had confused me with another tenant, a former postal worker, and after speaking with Harvey, who confirmed I had never once uttered such vile and disgusting filth, he had realized his mistake. According to Harvey, I was a gentleman, and if anyone knew a gentleman, it was Harvey. There would be no eviction papers, and the residents’ association would love me to be their guest of honor at their next monthly bingo evening.

Message three was my doctor’s secretary apologizing for her blunder. She had misread my records, and another patient’s test results had fallen into my file. I was fine, no need to worry. Unfortunately, another patient, a postal worker, was about to get some rather bad news. Message four was Mrs. Bloomfield from the bank. There had been a computer error entirely due to an electrical shortage brought about by the inclement and sudden rain. I was not overdrawn; in fact, my account was remarkably healthy, especially as a Mr. Alan Robes, not a withdrawal by Anal Probes, had recently made a deposit for several hundred thousand dollars. Who Alan Robes was, I did not know, but I was very grateful to God for making him up.