Christopher Moore - Lamb - The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal

Joshua shook his head.

“Hey, look at this,” one of the travelers who had helped Joshua said, holding up the piece of linen Joshua had used to wipe his face. The dust and blood from Josh’s face had left a perfect likeness on the linen, even handprints where he’d gotten blood from his head wound. “Can I keep this?” the fellow said. He was speaking Latin, but with a strange accent.

“Sure,” I said. “Where are you fellahs from?”

“We’re from the Ligurian tribe, from the territories north of Rome. A city on the Po river called Turin. Have you heard of it?”

“No, I haven’t. You know, you fellahs can do what you want with that cloth, but out on my camel I’ve got some erotic drawings from the East that are going to be worth something someday. I can let you have them for a very fair price.”

The Turinians went off holding their pathetic swath of muddy cloth like it was some kind of holy relic. Ignorant bastards wouldn’t know art if you nailed them to it. I bandaged Joshua’s wounds and we checked into the inn for the night.

In the morning we decided to keep our camels and take the land route home through Damascus. As we passed out of the gates of Damascus on the final leg home, Joshua started to worry.

“I’m not ready to be the Messiah, Biff. If I’m being called home to lead our people I don’t even know where to start. I understand the things I want to teach, but I don’t have the words yet. Melchior was right about that. Before anything you have to have the word.”

“Well it’s not just going to come to you in a flash here on the Damascus road, Josh. That sort of thing doesn’t happen. You’re obviously supposed to learn what you need to know in its own time. To everything a season, yada, yada, yada…”

“My father could have made learning all this easier. He could have just told me what I was supposed to do.”

“I wonder how Maggie’s doing. You think she got fat?”

“I’m trying to talk about God here, about the Divine Spark, about bringing the kingdom to our people.”

“I know you are, so am I. Do you want to do all of that without help?”

“I guess not.”

“Well, that’s why I was thinking about Maggie. She was smarter than us before we left, she’s probably smarter than us now.”

“She was smart, wasn’t she? She wanted to be a fisherman,” said Josh, grinning. I could tell that the thought of seeing Maggie tickled him.

“You can’t tell her about all the whores, Josh.”

“I won’t.”

“Or Joy and the girls. Or the old woman with no teeth.”

“I won’t tell her about any of them, not even the yak.”

“There was nothing with the yak. The yak and I weren’t even on speaking terms.”

“You know, she probably has a dozen children by now.”

“I know.” I sighed. “They should be mine.”

“And mine.” Joshua sighed back.

I looked at him as he rode beside me in a sea of gently loping camel waves. He was staring off at the horizon, looking forlorn. “Yours and mine? You think they should be yours and mine?”

“Sure, why not. You know I love all the little—”

“You are such a doofus sometimes.”

“Do you think she’ll remember us? I mean, how we all were back then?”

I thought about it and shuddered. “I hope not.”

No sooner did we pass into Galilee than we began to hear about what John the Baptist was doing in Judea.

“Hundreds have followed him into the desert,” we heard in Gischala.

“Some say he is the Messiah,” one man told us in Baca.

“Herod is afraid of him,” said a woman in Cana.

“He’s another crazy holy man,” said a Roman soldier in Sepphoris. “The Jews breed them like rabbits. I hear he drowns anyone who doesn’t agree with him. First sensible idea I’ve heard since I was sent to this accursed territory.”

“May I have your name, soldier?” I asked.

“Caius Junius, of the Sixth Legion.”

“Thank you. We’ll keep you in mind.” To Josh I said, “Caius Junius: front of the line when we start shoving Romans out of the kingdom into the fiery abyss.”

“What did you say?” said the Roman.

“No, no, don’t thank me, you earned it. Right at the front of the line you go, Caius.”

“Biff!” Josh barked, and once he had my attention he whispered, “Try not to get us thrown into prison before we get home, please.”

I nodded and waved to the legionnaire as we rode away. “Just crazy Jew talk. Pay no attention. Whimper Fidelis,” I said.

“We have to find John after we see our families,” Joshua said.

“Do you think that he’s really claiming to be the Messiah?”

“No, but it sounds like he knows how to get the word out.”

We rode into Nazareth a half hour later.

I suppose we expected more upon our arrival. Cheering maybe, little children running at our heels begging for tales of our great adventures, tears and laughter, kisses and hugs, strong shoulders to bear the conquering heroes through the streets. What we’d forgotten was that while we were traveling, having adventures, and experiencing wonders, the people of Nazareth had been living through the same old day-to-day crap—a lot of days had passed, and a lot of crap. When we rode up to Joshua’s old house, his brother James was working outside under the awning, shaving a piece of olive wood into a strut for a camel saddle. I knew it was James the moment I saw him. He had Joshua’s narrow hooked nose and wide eyes, but his face was more weathered than Josh’s, and his body heavier with muscle. He looked ten years older than Joshua rather than the two years younger that he was.

He put down his spoke shave and stepped out in the sunlight, holding up a hand to shield his eyes.

“Joshua?”

Joshua tapped his camel on the back of his knees with the long riding crop and the beast lowered him to the ground.

“James!” Joshua climbed off the camel and went to his brother, his arms out as if to embrace him, but James stepped back.

“I’ll go tell Mother that her favorite son has returned.” James turned away and I saw the tears literally shoot out of Joshua’s eyes into the dust.

“James,” Joshua was pleading. “I didn’t know. When?”

James turned and looked his half brother in the eye. There was no pity there, no grief, just anger. “Two months ago, Joshua. Joseph died two months ago. He asked for you.”

“I didn’t know,” Joshua said, still holding his arms out for the embrace that wasn’t going to come.

“Go inside. Mother has been waiting for you. She starts every morning wondering if this is the day you’ll return. Go inside.” He turned away as Joshua went past him into the house, then James looked up at me. “The last thing he said was ‘Tell the bastard I love him.’”

“The bastard?” I said as I coaxed my camel to let me down.

“That’s what he always called Joshua. ‘I wonder how the bastard is doing. I wonder where the bastard is today?’ Always talking about the bastard. And Mother yammering on always about how Joshua did this, and Joshua did that, and what great things Joshua would do when he returned. And all the while I’m the one looking out for my brothers and sisters, taking care of them when Father got sick, taking care of my own family. Still, was there any thanks? A kind word? No, I was doing nothing more than paving Joshua’s road. You have no idea what it’s like to always be second to Joshua.”

“Really,” I said. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime,” I said. “Tell Josh if he needs me I’ll be at my father’s house. My father is still alive, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and your mother too.”

“Oh good, I didn’t want to put one of my brothers through breaking the painful news.” I turned and led my camel away.