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

“The good news travels quickly,” said Matthew, whose fresh-faced enthusiasm was starting to irritate me a little now.

“Who killed our pigs?”

The crowd was carrying rakes and pitchforks and scythes and they didn’t look at all like they were there to receive the Gospel.

“You fuckers!”

“Kill them!”

“In the boat,” said Josh.

“O ye of little—” Matthew’s comment was cut short by Bart grabbing him by the collar and dragging him down the beach to the boat.

The brothers had already pushed off and were up to their chests in the water. They pulled themselves in and James and John helped set the oars as Peter and Andrew pulled us into the boat. We fished Bart’s disciples out of the waves by the scruffs of their necks and set sail just as the rocks began to rain down on us.

We all looked at Joshua. “What?” he said. “If they’d been Jews that pig thing would have gone over great. I’m new at gentiles.”

There was a messenger waiting for us when we reached Magdala. Philip unrolled the scroll and read. “It’s an invitation to come to dinner in Bethany during Passover week, Joshua. A ranking member of the Sanhedrin requests your presence at dinner at his home to discuss your wonderful ministry. It’s signed Jakan bar Iban ish Nazareth.”

Maggie’s husband. The creep.

I said, “Good first day, huh, Matthew?”

The angel and I watched Star Wars for the second time on television last night, and I just had to ask. “You’ve been in God’s presence, right, Raziel?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think he sounds like James Earl Jones?”

“Who’s that?”

“Darth Vader.”

Raziel listened for a moment while Darth Vader threatened someone. “Sure, a little. He doesn’t breathe that heavy though.”

“And you’ve seen God’s face.”

“Yes.”

“Is he black?”

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“He is, isn’t he? If he wasn’t you’d just say he wasn’t.”

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“He is.”

“He doesn’t wear a hat like that,” said Raziel.

“Ah-ha!”

“All I’m saying is no hat. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I knew it.”

“I don’t want to watch this anymore.” Raziel switched the channel. God (or someone who sounded like him) said, “This is CNN.”

We came up to Jerusalem, in the gate at Bethsaida called the Eye of the Needle, where you had to duck down to pass through, out the Golden Gate, through the Kidron Valley, and over the Mount of Olives into Bethany.

We had left the brothers and Matthew behind because they had jobs, and Bartholomew because he stank. His lack of cleanliness had started to draw attention lately from the local Pharisees in Capernaum and we didn’t want to push the issue since we were walking into the lair of the enemy. Philip and Nathaniel joined us on our journey, but stayed behind on the Mount of Olives at a clearing called Gethsemane, where there was a small cave and an olive press. Joshua tried to convince me to stay with them, but I insisted.

“I’ll be fine,” Joshua said. “It’s not my time. Jakan won’t try anything, it’s just dinner.”

“I’m not worried about your safety, Josh, I just want to see Maggie.” I did want to see Maggie, but I was worried about Joshua’s safety as well. Either way, I wasn’t staying behind.

Jakan met us at the gate wearing a new white tunic belted with a blue sash. He was stocky, but not as fat as I expected him to be, and almost exactly my height. His beard was black and long, but had been cut straight across about the level of his collarbone. He wore the pointed linen cap worn by many of the Pharisees, so I couldn’t tell if he’d lost any of his hair. The fringe that hung down was dark brown, as were his eyes. The most frightening and perhaps the most surprising thing about him was that there was a spark of intelligence in his eyes. That hadn’t been there when we were children. Perhaps seventeen years with Maggie had rubbed off on him.

“Come in, fellow Nazarenes. Welcome to my home. There are some friends inside who wanted to meet you.”

He led us through the door into a large great room, large enough in fact to fit any two of the houses we shared at Capernaum. The floor was paved in tile with turquoise and red mosaic spirals in the corners of the room (no pictures, of course). There was a long Roman-style table at which five other men, all dressed like Jakan, sat. (In Jewish households the tables were close to the ground and diners reclined on cushions or on the floor around them.) I didn’t see Maggie anywhere, but a serving girl brought in large pitchers of water and bowls for us to wash our hands in.

“Let this water stay water, will you, Joshua?” Jakan said, smiling. “We can’t wash in wine.”

Jakan introduced us to each of the men, adding some sort of elaborate title to each of their names that I didn’t catch, but which indicated, I’m sure, that they were all members of the Sanhedrin as well as the Council of Pharisees. Ambush. They received us curtly, then made their way to the water bowls to wash their hands before dinner, all of them watching as Joshua and I washed and offered prayer. This, after all, was part of the test.

We sat. The water pitchers and bowls were taken away by the serving girl, who then brought pitchers of wine.

“So,” said the eldest of the Pharisees, “I hear you have been casting demons out of the afflicted in Galilee.”

“Yes, we’re having a lovely Passover week,” I said. “And you?”

Joshua kicked me under the table. “Yes,” he said. “By the power of my father I have relieved the suffering of some who were plagued by demons.”

When Joshua said “my father” every one of them squirmed. I noticed movement in one of the doorways to Jakan’s back. It was Maggie, making signals and signs like a madwoman, but then Jakan spoke. Attention turned to him and Maggie ducked out of sight.

Jakan leaned forward. “Some have said that you banish these demons by the power of Beelzebub.”

“And how could I do that?” Joshua said, getting a little angry. “How could I turn Beelzebub against himself? How can I battle Satan with Satan? A house divided can’t stand.”

“Boy, I’m starving,” I said. “Bring on the eats.”

“With the spirit of God I cast out demons, that’s how you know the kingdom has come.”

They didn’t want to hear that. Hell, I didn’t want to hear that, not here. If Joshua claimed to bring the kingdom, then he was claiming to be the Messiah, which by their way of thinking could be blasphemy, a crime punishable by death. It was one thing for them to hear it secondhand, it was quite another to have Joshua say it to their faces. But he, as usual, was unafraid.

“Some say John the Baptist is the Messiah,” said Jakan.

“There’s nobody better than John,” Joshua said. “But John doesn’t baptize with the Holy Ghost. I do.”

They all looked at each other. They had no idea what he was talking about. Joshua had been preaching the Divine Spark—the Holy Ghost—for two years, but it was a new way of looking at God and the kingdom: it was a change. These legalists had worked hard to find their place of power; they weren’t interested in change.

Food was put on the table and prayers offered again, then we ate in silence for a while. Maggie was in the doorway behind Jakan again, gesturing with one hand walking over the other, mouthing words that I was supposed to understand. I had something I wanted to give her, but I had to see her in private. It was obvious that Jakan had forbidden her to enter the room.

“Your disciples do not wash their hands before they eat!” said one of the Pharisees, a fat man with a scar over his eye.