Saviour

by Christopher Gallagher

  'I'll have some o' that.' Sophia said. 'Fancy, never getting thirsty again.'

  'Go.' Jesus told her, 'bring back your husband.'

  'I'm not married.' Sophia replied and wondered where this was going.

  'No, you're not, are you.' Jesus said, in a kind but firm voice. 'The truth is you've been married to five men before and the man with whom you now live is married to somebody else.'

  Sophia lowered her eyes, couldn't meet the man's eye. She listened in silence as he spoke, and wondered why she thought it would be any different two kilometres from the village.

  'Falling in love is easy,' Jesus said, 'men and women do it every day, they get together, marry with the best of intentions to spend the rest of their lives together, but, after a while the early excitement fades away, leading to a richer, deeper contentment.'

  Does it? Sophia wondered. It never had for her.

  'But,' Jesus continued, 'that requires an act of will on both your parts. It's impossible to continue with those same feelings of intoxication throughout your days. And when you have given everything in love and the relationship starts to fade, as it will, you feel restless, cheated, deprived. So, it's out with the old, in with the new.'

  Jesus paused, waited.

  Sophia looked up, searched for the condemnation in the man's eyes, saw pure honest love. 'What are you? Who are you? Some kind of prophet? You've nailed it.' The tears pricked her eyes. 'That's me. You've just described me. The way I am, who I am.’

  Jesus continued to look at her.

  'Where do I go, what do I have to do to get this kind of life you're talking about? You Jews say it's the Temple in York, my people say it can be found in the Highlands, what do you say?'

  Jesus smiled, took her hand. 'Believe me, very soon it won't matter where you worship the Father, whether in the Temple, or in the mountains. God is spirit, and those who worship him must do so in spirit and truth. He has provided all you need in the form of your body, your spirit. That is all you need to worship from the heart. Let your spirit join with His spirit, then you will have your answer.'

  Jesus released her hand, stepped back, watched as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  'I have heard that a Messiah is coming.' Sophia said after a few moments.

  'That's right.' Jesus replied. ‘I am he.’

  ✝

  Askham Bryan, Near York, Northumbria.

  'The itinerant preacher Baptiste, known for immersing people in the sea on the east coast, and his dire warnings of a coming Messiah, has been arrested.'

  Not before bleedin' time. Swanger watched the TV pictures as armed riot Polizei cordoned off a section of beach, and led away a vociferous arm waving Baptiste, watched by a silent, bewildered crowd, held back by officers.

  'As yet there is no word from the authorities on any charges that may be brought against Baptiste.'

  Being a gobby pillock 'ud be a good start.

  'Meanwhile, Jesus, the man who many believe to be the promised Messiah, has been travelling around the northern part of the kingdom. This report, which contains flash photography, is brought to us by our Carlisle correspondent.'

  The screen changed to show a silent Jesus addressing an open-air meeting. A voice-over provided the commentary, 'Jesus from Whitby has been meeting and greeting people all over the north during the last few weeks. According to eyewitness reports, Jesus has been healing the sick and giving sight to the blind. In his public speaking, Jesus proclaimed the love of God for all people.'

  The TV showed a montage of pictures, Jesus kissing babies, Jesus laying hands on the sick, a blind man throwing away his dark glasses and stick, running down the road, tears streaming down his face. A man with a severe limp, one leg shorter than the other was talking about his cure as the camera showed in close-up his leg growing by 5 centimetres.

  Despite her healthy scepticism, Swanger was impressed by some healings, but reminded herself that anything could be faked.

  The report ended. Michelle, the studio anchor came back on the screen, 'Jesus hasn’t been met with total acceptance. Some of his more controversial activities have been received with anger from some quarters, as in the case that he claims to cure mental illness by the unusual method of casting out demons. I asked a leading psychiatrist if he favoured this method.'

  The picture changed to a screen, a man in a white coat, thick glasses, mad look about him, the caption read, Dr Carter, Consultant Psychiatrist. 'No, Michelle, this approach is very dangerous. It has never been established that demons even exist, and,' he shrugged, gave a little laugh, 'even if they do, there's no saying that they mean harm to anybody.'

  Michelle in the studio, 'In what way might Jesus' approach be considered dangerous?'

  Dr Carter, 'It must be understood that the mentally ill are quite vulnerable. All this talk of demon possession might be giving them false hope.'

  Michelle in the studio, 'But if it works?'

  Dr Carter, Shaking his head. 'It doesn't work, and even if it did, it wouldn't work for everybody.'

  Michelle in the studio, 'Much like psychiatry?'

  Dr Carter, 'A one size approach fits all doesn't work very well with mental illness. For some it's medication, others shock treatment, for others again, it could be counselling.'

  Michelle in the studio, 'But not casting out demons?'

  Dr Carter, 'No.'

  Michelle in the studio, 'Would you say that Jesus was acting irresponsibly?'

  Dr Carter, 'Without a doubt. We've seen these people come and go before, a quick blaze of glory, spectacular signs and wonders, then, it all fizzles out, leaving people quite bereft.'

  Michelle in the studio, 'what do you mean when you say, "these types of people"?’

  Dr Carter, 'Well, they're all charlatans.'

  After more verbal sparring Michelle wrapped up the interview and addressed the camera, 'Jesus is now back in his home town for a short stay before he heads out on another tour. We asked him for his reaction to Dr Carter's claim that he was a charlatan, but he was unavailable for comment.’

  'In other news a kingdom wide search for the terrorists behind a recent bombing campaign has been stepped up...'

  Yes, love, I know. Swanger muted the sound, thought over the previous few days. Baptiste's arrest had been a political decision. There hadn't been any real evidence against him. He hadn't been proclaiming against the state, just pointing the way towards the one who would. But, from what Swanger had seen of Jesus, he didn’t seem the type to spark a revolution. Too much joy and peace. Lots of talk, too little action, and now he was being discredited on live TV by a psychiatrist. Still, not Swanger's problem, though, to be on the safe side, she was keeping in loose contact with Nathan, who had now attached himself to Jesus, become one of his followers, one of the inner circle no less. Swanger turned the TV off, shooed Max her tabby out for his nocturnal activities and went to bed.

  SIX

  THE TEMPLE, YORK, NORTHUMBRIA.

  Yada, yada, yada.

  O'Deamus yawned, stubbed out his cigarette, drained his coffee, and took a quick glance at his watch. Please, not much longer. The meeting, a Sanhedrin subcommittee, chaired by Caiaphas the high priest, was dragging. He ticked off the last but one agenda item as a conclusion was reached that the item be discussed at the next meeting. The chair asked if there was any other business. O'Deamus shook his head, mentally switched off, was on the golf course practising his swing, when he heard Simon, one of Caiaphas' advisors say, 'Jesus.'

  The elephant in the room.

  'Now,' Simon continued, looking at the others, 'I'm sure you'll all agree that Jesus is a personable young man with some interesting ideas.’

  An influential Scribe, David, snorted in derision. 'He's a hothead. Look at that business in the Temple Courts, turning the tables over, releasing the animals. That’s no way to behave.'

  Nods of affirmation, muttering.

  'Is he Messiah?' Somebody asked.

  'No.' David responded. 'Definitely not.'
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  'Sent by God, then?' Another asked.

  'He heals the sick on the Sabbath,' David said, 'nobody that God sent would do that.'

  Head shaking, tutting, all round the table.

  'He has performed some powerful signs, though.'

  'But on the holy day.'

  'He doesn't follow the recognised way of doing things.'

  'He mixes with the lowest members of society.'

  'Is he a recognised teacher of the law?'

  'He ignores the law.'

  'He's getting too much coverage on TV, the internet, the papers.'

  O'Deamus listened as the debate raged, noticed that everybody apart from himself and Caiaphas took part. After the arguments were beginning to be repeated, Caiaphas held up his hands. 'I consider this Jesus to be a dangerous maverick who is advocating that the people should be able to access God without the guidance of those in a position to know better. However, he has gained a certain popularity and we can't be seen to be going against him.'

  David raised his hand. Caiaphas nodded in his direction.

  'Perhaps we should set up a small group to monitor his activities.' David suggested.

  'I'm sure the Polizei are doing just that.' O'Deamus responded.

  'I'm sure they are,' David agreed, 'but it won't harm if we set up our own group.'

  'An interesting suggestion,' Caiaphas said, nodding. 'And of course, we're getting regular reports back from our people on the ground. But,' he paused, made sure he had their full attention, 'what we need to do is puncture his balloon, show the people he's just like other men, that there's nothing special about him.’

  One of the Scribes, a well-spoken cultured man, said. 'I think I know just the thing.'

  ✝

  The car came to a halt. What now, Maggie wondered. The passenger door opened, she turned at the noise, couldn't see a thing, knew better than try to lift the blindfold. 'Get out then.' The voice, Levi, her pimp.

  Maggie stumbled out of the car. Levi took her arm. They walked a short distance, and then stopped. A door opened, they entered and turned left into a room. Levi, hands on her shoulders 'Sit down.'

  She'd assumed this a routine assignment. It happened sometimes. A rich client who didn't want to visit NorPro, arranged for a girl to be brought to him. Levi would wait outside in the car, then, business concluded, would drive her home.

  As pimps went Levi wasn't too bad, liked to sample the goods on occasion, but then, didn't they all. At least she got paid on time, and he always had a regular supply of Morph.

  She sat, listening as Levi left the room and let her senses work. Somewhere in the depths of the house a piano could be heard. Maggie, no way of knowing if it was a recording or someone playing. It sounded familiar. Classical music from an advert? There was a smell of furniture polish. She had the impression this was a big house. A mansion, many rooms. A movement in the air, then another smell came to her, soft, subtle. Aftershave, expensive. A man had entered the room.

  The voices sparked into life.

  This is the big one.

  Don't mess it up.

  Do as you're told.

  Morph, ask for Morph.

  Maggie shook her head, frustrated, wished they'd be quiet. She was trying to concentrate.

  She had a feeling she was seated opposite someone who was studying her. A watcher, a game player. Maggie crossed her legs, was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. She was wearing the flame red dress that had aroused Peter the fisherman so much.

  'You have a lovely body.' The voice was soft, cultured, no hint of an accent.

  'Thank you.'

  'Do you like what you do, enjoy it, perhaps?'

  Maggie had never known a working girl enjoy the life. She shrugged. 'It pays the bills.'

  'Could you seduce any man, do you think?'

  An odd question. Maggie, in her line of work, didn't need to seduce men. They wanted her, that was a given. 'If he wasn't gay.' Maggie smiled, although she'd managed that once.

  'Have you heard of the prophet, Jesus?'

  Who hadn't? 'Yes. Is he the one?'

  'Could you work your charms on him?'

  'Of course.' It would be a pleasure. Jesus was a good-looking man.

  'Excellent.' She heard the man stand. 'I'll be in touch.'

  'This is a paid job?’ Maggie asked.

  'Of course.' The man chuckled. 'It's a job for a whore, and you're a whore.’

  ✝

  Whitby, Northumbria.

  A beautiful day, early afternoon, sun high, salt tang in the air, the sea calm. A racket of noise flooded from the arcades, and everywhere Andrew looked, there were people. The beach and seafront heaving with tourists from all parts of the Union attracted by the possibility of seeing Jesus. The beach covered with towels. Saxon towels for the most part, Andrew thought wryly as he mooched through the crowd, happy again, now that he was back home with his family. He didn't know how long before they'd be off again, so, was making the most of it.

  Andrew weaved his way through the entertainers drawn by the crowds. The magicians with their sleight of hand tricks, the jugglers, the fire-eaters, the statues that came to life scaring the unwary. And amidst everything, children dashing about, laughing and shrieking.

  The hubbub of noise threatened to intrude on his thoughts, but he didn't mind. He was content. He thought back to that morning when Jesus had visited Peter's mother-in-law, Judith, who'd been stricken with a sudden fever. Andrew had gone along with his anxious brother. They'd watched as Jesus laid hands on the woman's brow, both expectant that the fever would vanish. It had, and Judith, raised from her sick bed, restored to health, had insisted on making tea, provided cakes. She'd pronounced Jesus the Messiah and was now a follower. The disciples had been told they could do as Jesus did, including healing the sick, but Andrew didn't think any of their small group had tried it.

  Then later, back at the sea front, after Jesus had finished preaching, a man in obvious pain had approached. He was stooped over, with a pitiful appearance, his body thin and obviously wasting. People nudged, pointed, and moved away from him. He was about to be turned away by Peter, when Jesus noticed, beckoned him closer, and listened with compassion as the man explained how, as the result of an unwise sexual liaison, he'd become infected with HIV AIDS. The illness was at an advanced stage and the medical professionals had warned that even a minor cold could cause his death. He finished his account by asking if Jesus was willing to relieve his suffering.

  Jesus had raised his hand towards the man, a slight gesture. 'It is done.' He told him.

  Andrew had watched in amazement as the years rolled back and he became fit and healthy. The man had suddenly straightened and his complexion cleared. His skin glowed with health and vitality. He thanked Jesus profusely, hugged him, and then, still dazed by his encounter, had sat in the warm sun telling everybody within earshot of the miracle, even though Jesus had asked him to remain silent.

  With the afternoon session beginning soon, Andrew noticed the Pharisees had taken up their customary position at the front, ready for any opportunity to challenge Jesus. Later, after a reading from scriptures, a man called out, 'Jesus, I will follow you wherever you go.'

  'Foxes have dens and birds have nests,' Jesus replied, 'but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.'

  Another man called. 'Lord, I will follow you, but first I have to arrange my father's funeral.'

  'Follow me now, and let the dead in spirit bury their own dead.' Jesus told him.

  There was a sudden commotion at the edge of the crowd. Andrew saw a group of four young men each holding the corner of a stretcher. On it lay another young man. 'Make way,' they called out, 'let us through, this is urgent.'

  The crowd parted, the stretcher party moved through, lowered the stretcher in front of Jesus. 'Are you Jesus?' One of them asked.

  ‘I am he.' Jesus said.

  The man gestured to the man on the stretcher. 'This is our friend, paralysed for five years. We believe you can
heal him. Will you?'

  Jesus addressed the man. 'Son, your sins are forgiven.'

  The Pharisees looked at each other, began muttering in low voices.

  'This can't be right.'

  'He's blaspheming.'

  'Only God can forgive sins.'

  'Why are you saying these things?' Jesus challenged them. 'Which is easier to say to this paralysed man, "Your sins are forgiven," or to say, "Get up, and walk”? But I want you to know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins.'

  He turned to the paralysed man and said. 'I tell you, get up, and walk.'

  A gasp came from the crowd, as the man drew his knees up, rolled onto his side and levered himself to his feet, where he stood unsteadily for a moment. Cheering and whistling followed, as the man and his friends grabbed each other and whirling round, set off dancing down the street, calling out their thanks as they went. The stretcher was left behind, forgotten and redundant.

  ✝

  The black Range Rover, tinted windows, over-sized alloys, stopped at the kerb. Levi left the engine running, looked at Maggie, and grinned. 'You know what to do?'

  'Yeah.' Maggie answered. 'Been doing it long enough.'

  'It's not enough for you to screw the guy, they need the evidence. Make sure the camera is pointing the right way. Yeah?'

  'Yeah, course.' Her bag had been adapted to accommodate a small spy camera. Not that difficult to point it in the right direction.

  'Don't mess up.' Levi cautioned.

  'No.' Maggie answered listlessly. How could she mess up?

  'You need to liven up girl.' Levi said, squeezing her thigh. 'Give him a reason to want to screw you.'

  'Give me some Morph, and then I'll liven up.'

  'Later. Give us a bell when you're done, yeah?'

  'Yes.' Maggie sighed, watched as Levi drove away.

  She walked around the corner, stood outside the ordinary three bed semi-detached house in the ordinary street. Maggie wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. A mansion, a palace? She walked up the path, adjusted her dress to reveal more cleavage. Even feeling out of sorts as she was, Maggie was confident in her ability to seduce this man, Jesus. Okay, he was a powerful man of God. The promised Messiah, some said, but she'd screwed plenty of Pharisees, Scribes, Rabbis, and Priests. All men of God. Jesus was just another. One glance at her boobs, her legs, she'd guarantee he'd be all over her in minutes.