by Gore Vidal
We were seated on a platform that had been built against the outer wall of the courtyard, which was also the parade ground of the Roman garrison. Many army officers were on hand to watch the show.
As I had suspected, Selma Suydam was nowhere near Pontius Pilate. She is a compulsive name-dropper, and I doubt very much if she knows Shirley MacLaine other than to say hello at a fund-raiser on Los Angeles's fabled west side.
Selma was present, however, at the foot of the platform in what I believe are called the bleachers. She kept twisting around to get a glimpse of Pontius Pilate, ears flapping for a bit of gossip. Meteorologically, she had been correct; some rain did fall but by the time the awnings were up the rain had stopped. During this time, I set about my sacred mission.
Pilate had turned back to me during the rain, and I praised him extravagantiy for his administration of so difficult a province. Pilate sighed. "I just hope they appreciate what I've had to put up with here. ..."
"They do. They do. Recendy, I was on Capri, where I attended the emperor and I heard him say to Sejanus that you were the right man for the right job."
"May Jupiter be praised!" Pilate was an unnatural blond whose striking appearance all in all was not too unlike David Bowie's, his impersonator in a recent film in which we were all unusually portrayed. This film, curiously enough, seems to
have been deeply influenced by die Hacker. In a vision, Jesus—not Judas—leaves die cross and goes off and gets married, and then decides to return to the cross for no urgent reason. I must say that Marvin's erasures and alterations have already totally confused our once beaudful and simple faith. More than ever, I am determined to set things right.
"I had wanted Bithynia, of course." Pilate rhapsodized about that province, and Selma must have overheard him, for he said pretty much what she had said he said, but he certainly did not come on to her.
When Pilate paused, I said, correcdy, "I understand you're executing the so-called King of the Jews today."
"He's not so-called. He really is the king, according not only to the genealogists but to Debrett's as well. But we don't want another puppet king, not after Herod. Also, Jewish kings spend money like water, and they lack economic know-how. So whenever one comes along we just tack him up on a cross, with a warning that the next pretender will get the same treatment."
Pilate looked sad. "But it doesn't seem to discourage them. At least once a month there's a messiah. This one was very popular, by the way. After he took over the Temple, he lowered the prime rate. My economists all had heart attacks." Pilate chuckled. "I'm a closet easy-money man and so I was sympathetic, personally. But orders are orders and the Rome Central Bank said nail him, which we've done."
Pilate frowned. "You know when I asked him the usual questions—age, weight, education, if any, marital status, profession—he said that he was notxhc King of the Jews but that the real king of the Jews was elsewhere, with God, you know, the usual rant."
"I'm afraid. Your Excellency, he was right. He isn't the
king. Jesus is."
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"But, surely, he is Jesus."
"No, Your Excellency, he is Judas, a disciple. He was arrested by mistake and the real Jesus escaped."
"How extraordinary!" Pilate turned to an aide. "Get me Centurion Moronius."
Pilate turned back to me. "Well, I don't suppose it makes much difference which one we crucify. I mean we're just making a statement, after all, and the local population is bound to get the message."
I made my boldest move. "I come from Sejanus, the prime minister. He believes, for better or worse, that Jesus has the men and the organization to overthrow our Roman rule."
"Who's been reporting this to Rome.>" Pilate looked very tough indeed.
"He did not condescend to tell me."
"Someone is going outside channels. I don't like this." Centurion Moronius was a handsome young officer from Greece. He saluted smardy.
Pilate said, "You arrested Jesus, didn't you.>"
"Yes, Your Excellency. In the Gethsemane Botanical Gardens. He tried to trick us but we outsmarted him. He came to me and said for a small reward he'd be happy to finger Jesus. So we said fine, and then he led us to the garden—it must've been around midnight, not much of a moon—and he pointed to this man lying on the ground and he said, 'There he is.' Well, the man jumped up and hailed our guide as the real Jesus, who is King of the Jews and so on and so forth, and he told us we should bow down to him, which we certainly didn't, as we were too busy arresting Jesus, who must weigh maybe four hundred pounds, which makes him differendy advantaged and, I should think, a nightmare to crucify this afternoon."
Pilate frowned. "What happened to the man who said that the fat man was Jesus?"
"He ran into the woods, and we lost him. He just vanished. Then we handed Jesus over to the Temple crowd and they found him guilty of eating shellfish or something and . . ."
"Then they bound him over to me for execution, as a revolutionary." Pilate was glum.
"Excellency"—delicately I intervened—"it was Jesus who escaped. The fat man is called Judas. You are about to crucify the wrong man."
Moronius looked ill. Pilate simply groaned and said, "Well, these little mistakes will happen from time to time. I'm sorry this one had to happen on my watch, but there we are. Grin and bear it. And better luck next time."
"The next time may be the end of the world as we know it," I began, but Cutler Two gave me a sharp nudge in the side. Too much information of the wrong kind could undo our mission.
"At this moment the real Jesus is in Jerusalem." I segued easily into the sort of thing that Pilate could understand. "He is assembling an army even larger than the one he occupied the Temple with. There are also numerous ghosts assembling even now at Golgotha, strange presences from the underworld. ..."
"I like to think that I am as superstitious as the next Roman governor but I have never been afraid of ghosts. On the other hand, if there is an army of guerrillas out there, we may be in for an intifada, and that's always a black mark on the old service record. This is annoying." He turned to Moronius and ordered him to ring Golgotha with troops. The centurion saluted and left.
"Why, I wonder," said Pilate, readdressing himself to
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the horse show, "didn't the people who know the real Jesus tell us that we were condemning an impostor?"
"That was—^that is—^their plot. They want you to think he's dead when he's really very much alive, and raising an army against Rome."
"You know," said Pontius Pilate sadly, "there are days when it's simply not worth getting out of bed."
Cutler Two then transferred the two of us to the house of James, kid-brother-of-Our-Lord. We stood outside the very same house that I was to visit twenty years later with Saint. The house is in a side street near the Temple and it was pretty run-down at that time. When Saint and I visited Jerusalem, a wing had been added as well as a new roof, thanks to the money Saint had collected from the goyim.
Cutler Two and I stood in the open doorway. The front yard was full of chickens running about, and not a bejeweled yenta in sight. This was plain lower-middle-class housing and yet the inhabitants claimed direct descent from King David. But then the pretentiousness of Jesus's family was legendary, while James was known to be easily the most ruthless social climber in Jerusalem. Hence, the bejeweled yentas later on.
Cuder Two and I entered the house. At one end of the main room the twelve disciples, less Judas, were gathered. It was strange to see old Rock and James as young men. The others I knew only by reputation.
Jesus was now addressing the disciples, an incredibly historic scene made even more authentic because Marvin Wasserstein had exchanged his fashionable Ralph Lauren tweeds for local dress. He looked pretty much the way you might think he'd look.
Cutler Two and I stood behind a wooden post at the opposite end of the room, in the shadows and out of sight. "I have called upon God to send us angels, and he
has sent
US hundreds. You will see them at Golgotha, with strange weapons of glass and metal marked with die most secret name of the God of Abraham, NBC."
The disciples gasped widi awe. Then Rock said, "What will these angels do.>"
"They will record die crucifixion of Judas the fink. But ftiture generations will think that it was me. . . ."
"I doubt that." One knew immediately that the speaker was Thomas. "I mean you are the messiah, our messiah, the messenger fi-om God to the Jews. Well, since you are who you are, the Day of Judgment is at hand. Shall I quote the relevant text fi-om Isaiah?"
"No, we all know how he predicted me, the voice crying in the wilderness, and the rest. Well, I came right on schedule in order to create the Messianic Kingdom of Greater Israel, to be followed, three and a half years later, by the Kingdom of God and the great cleansing fire. I am now ready for the fire and the Day of Judgment. But that will take place in another time when this earth will be subsumed and God will accept into his universal and cosmic bosom the irradiated molecules of those whom I shall bring to judgment through fires of a magnitude unknown to you in this world that I have already left once and now will leave again when the traitor, in my name, gives up the ghost on the cross."
James looked, understandably, puzzled. "But what about our guerrilla army.^ What about your master plan to drive the Romans out and restore Israel.^"
"That cannot happen this time but it has already happened next time where I am, as well as, temporarily, here with you. And you, who have had faith in me, will be Heaven's elite at earth's end."
It was Rock who asked, "Are you coming back to us or not?"
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"I have come back. I am here now. The angels and spirits now abroad at Golgotha are the first signs of my kingdom, which is no longer of this world. For two thousand years I was reinterpreted by the Prince of this World, one Saul of Tarsus, a self-hating Jew, and the Son of Morning."
I could not believe my ears. Jesus was denouncing Saint Paul as the Devil! But then what was becoming clearer by the moment that day in Jerusalem was the true identity of the original Jesus—he was indeed Lucifer incarnate, who had been transformed by Saint's faith and genius at marketing into a three-part god, highly suitable for everyone on earth to worship. No wonder it was necessary for Jesus, as Marvin Wasserstein, to become the Hacker in order to destroy Saint's great invention: Christ crucified.
Evil now blazes all round us. These are last times! The contest is at hand. God or the Devil. Saint or the original Jesus. I shuddered.
Cuder Two whispered, "Now we know the worst."
But Jesus was not yet done. "You will pretend that it was I on the cross. Say that I came to life on the third day. Say that I will return before many of you have died, in the natural course. Make everyone believe in the imminence of my return. Keep them on their toes. But do not convert the goyim. Rock. Let them bum in the rings of fire that I shall set off. Afi:er Damascus, Baghdad, and Cairo are ablaze, I shall take out Berlin, Warsaw, Moscow, and Pasadena. ..."
"Pasadena!" Cutier Two swayed with emotion.
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time frame. He was delighted, of course. He also turned out to be a computer genius, a natural. Of course, there's always been a lot of attitude with him even as Marvin but then, I suppose, if you're the messiah, all that goes with the territory. Naturally, he was horrified by Christianity and so he set out, systematically, to erase the primary tapes. With my help, I fear."
"You say you had a change of heart. Why.> What?^^
We were now outside the gate, the Mount of Olives close by. Farmers were coming in from the countryside to sell their produce. Good Friday was market day, just before the Jevsdsh Sabbath. I should note that the Crucifixion took place in midsummer.
"I saw the light. That's all." Cuder Two was not exactly forthcoming.
"Which Ught.>"
"That of. . . reason, I hope. I don't regret my career as a twentieth-century Zionist terrorist but I have decided that Jesus—or Marvin, as I usually think of him—^must not be allowed to blow up the planet in the year 2001."
I was suddenly, inexplicably, torn by this. In one sense, I was delighted that Jesus was really the messiah and that he would establish the Kingdom of God and the terminal fire in the year 2001 a.d., long after my death next year. On the other hand, if Jesus was not a Christian, as Saint Paul had taught, but just another run-of-the-mill Zionist terrorist, then I was all for doing him in right now.
Cutler Two was aware of my conflict. He gave me a swift, sidelong glance as we approached Golgotha. "Cat got your tongue?" he asked, suavely.
I told him of my conflict.
"I understand, of course. I, too, was torn. But remember this: If the real Jesus is crucified today, I will not be able to save him as my earlier self did last week—^in local time, of
course—and so there will be no Marvin Wasserstein, no Hacker, no erased tapes, only Christianity as it has always been—sublime."
We both ducked behind a tree in order to avoid Sehna Suydam whose hologram had landed halfway up the hill next to a halvah vendor's stall. People are always hungry when they see someone executed.
"Why didn't you stop your younger, misguided self from saving Jesus.^"
"How could l> I— he —did it before my change of heart "
"But you, v^th your changed heart, were able to film for Gulf + Eastern the escape from Gethsemane. Why didn't you stop your younger self the same way that you stopped him from trying to peddle that false gospel to me.>"
Cuder Two gave me a strange little bow, and hissed, "You must grasp the nature of time and space. Within a period of six months in our era, I had pretty much perfected the Cutler Effect, though I never told GE everything about it because I wanted to hold certain patents in my own name, which I now do, thanks to the enlightened management at Gulf -f Eastern. That, you might say, was the beginning of my change of heart."
Selma was trying to pick up a Roman soldier who could not believe her knockers. There was far less of a crowd than one would have thought. I could see none of the James set. I suppose they were lying low.
The crowd was, perhaps, a hundred, mosdy thrill-seeking women, outnumbered by Roman soldiers. Mary Baker Eddy was making a speech to a group of women, one of whom proved to be Marvin's—^that is Jesus's—mother.
"So all this happened in six months during which time Saint got through to me. . . ."
Cuder Two gave me three litde bows, and smiled.
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"But you were able to come back in the flesh, and rescue Jesus in that . . . that ..."
"De-moiecularizer. A cumbersome machine. But there was no time to show him how to operate the one we're using. All right." He sat on a rock. "I'll tell you why I had to take Jesus out of his time frame. It's no secret that GE's fed up with NBC's lackluster performance. Ratings are in the cellar, and Marvin Davis is threatening a takeover, so even though I've moved over to another company, I am ahically bound to help NBC prerecord Live from Gol^fotha, an idea which I sold Chet on, with you as anchor."
I was not entirely buying this. "You could still have let NBC show Judas being crucified. ..."
"Unacceptable casting and you know it. We need the show to reestablish Christianity more strongly than ever now. I gave Marvin a free hand to hack away because, at the end, he will be on that cross, and the world will see the real thing."
"But he's changed all the tapes. ..."
"They will change back if he dies today, because then there will never have been a Marvin Wasserstein—and so, no Hacker."
Chet and five NBC crewmen and cameras and sound equipment appeared. "Hi," said Chet, pausing at our rock while the crew went on ahead to set up opposite the two crosses to which would soon be added a third.
"You look great," said Chet, adjusting my toga. "I like the layered look."
"We have a problem," I said. I explained to Chet the absolute necessity of getting Marvin on the cross like the
Good Book says. As a devout Mormon, Chet agreed, but he could think of no way to make the switch.
Shirley MacLaine materialized. "Is Warren here yet.>" she asked.
Cutler Two said that, so far, her brother had not yet channeled in.
"Since he's become a father, he's always late for these things," she said, but not at all in a judgmental way. "If you see him, tell him I'm with the Josephs of Arimathea. Everyone knows their cave."
"How did your concert go in London.>" asked Chet, always on the job for NBC.
"It was wonderful. I love English audiences. . . ."
"I hope you'll let NBC have a crack at it, as a special."
Shirley smiled her radiant smile. "Talk to Mike Ovitz," she said softly, and then she hurried up Golgotha to catch the big show.
"When will you want me to start anchoring.^" I asked Chet.
"Well, you could probably start as soon as they've set up. Mary and Mary Magdalene are already here, I'm told. Though I can't think why, as they know it's Judas and not Jesus. They probably just like a good show. Anyway, you could interview them. Human-interest stuff. What does it feel like to be the mother of the messiah.^ Will you write a book.> That kind of thing. But keep it short. Then ask Mary Magdalene whether she thinks prostitution should be decriminalized. You know, Phil Donahue stuff. That's a ratings grabber."
A Japanese gendeman appeared. "Mr. Yamamoto." Cuder Two was delighted. He introduced us to what proved to be one of the vice presidents of Gulf + Eastern. "The one," said Cuder Two, "to whom I report."
"Lovely day," said Mr. Yamamoto, the essence of Oriental mystery. "Any excuse to get out of the office," he added cryptically. He looked about him. "I expected a better crowd."
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Chet said, "We can shoot it so it looks like thousands."
"Better be careful not to include the kibitzers in any of the shots," I said.
"Kibitzers.^" Chet looked puzzled.
"People who are well known, from the fixture. Like Shirley and . . . Isn't that Oral Roberts and his family.>
