The voices in her head were muttering among themselves, she ignored them. A black cat on the front doorstep looked at her. Maggie reached out to stroke it.
'No.' one of her voices screeched.
Silence.
She withdrew her hand away from the cat, it stood, stretched, gave her a knowing look, stalked off, tail in the air.
The voices started babbling again.
'Shut up.' Maggie ordered. 'All of you just shut the fuck up.'
She composed herself, rang the doorbell. The door opened. Jesus stood there smiling, waiting for her to speak. Time slowed, Maggie wanted to turn and run. To run forever and never stop, but didn't. Levi would be so pissed off if she messed this up. Although the voices were quiet, she could sense their restlessness.
Maggie smiled her brightest smile, forced her mouth to work. 'Hello,' she said, 'I'm Maggie.'
'What can I do for you Maggie?' Jesus asked.
Now she was here, Maggie was unsure, her confidence drained away. In theory it was easy, she undressed, lay down, Jesus did what men do. But then, in that scenario, both parties knew what was expected of them. This was different. Jesus didn't know she was a whore and he wasn’t looking at her in a lustful way. His eyes hadn't once left her face, he wasn't uncomfortable, but seemed to be totally in control. She couldn't do this, so did the one thing she could do. She burst into tears.
Maggie expected the door to be slammed in her face but instead Jesus stood to one side. 'Why don't you come in, have a drink?' His voice calm, soothing. 'We can talk about what's upsetting you.'
She followed him into the living room, stood close, wrapped her arms round his body, and snuggled in close. The voices murmured in agitation. Jesus held her close for a few seconds then eased her away.
'What's wrong, Jesus,' she pouted, ready for more tears, 'don't you like me?'
'What do you want from me, Maggie?' Jesus asked.
This was hopeless, she couldn't seduce him and he didn't seem to know what he should do. This is my final option, she thought, releasing the straps on her dress. She let it fall to the floor and stood naked before him. 'I want you to love me.'
'Oh, my child, this is not the way.'
Maggie smiled through her tears. 'Don't you find me attractive?'
'Maggie, you're a beautiful woman.' Jesus replied.
'So, what's the problem?'
Jesus maintained eye contact but didn't speak. The voices went into overdrive.
You stupid girl.
He doesn't fancy you.
Fancy getting your kit off so quick.
You've put him off.
Perhaps he's gay.
You should have taken your time to seduce him.
Bull at a gate.
What's Levi going to say now?
No more Morph.
Maggie felt wretched, even her naked body wasn't good enough for the Messiah, it seemed. 'Shut up, all of you shut up.' Her eyes welled with tears again as she picked up her dress, tried to cover herself.
'How many?' Jesus asked.
'Seven.' Maggie told him. 'They drive me crazy. All the time, jabbering away. I have no peace.'
'You want rid of them?'
'Yeah, course.'
Jesus closed his eyes, was silent for a moment. He seemed to be praying, Maggie thought. He opened his eyes and said, 'Do you know who I am?'
'Yeah.' Maggie replied between the snivels, 'You're Jesus.'
Jesus put his finger against his lips, raised his eyebrows, said again. 'Do you know who I am?'
Silence, then,
'Of course.'
'Jesus.'
'Son of the living God.'
'The Messiah.'
'The Word.'
The voices answered at once, tumbling over themselves, eager to be heard.
'This woman is holy, not to be defiled. I command you to come out of her. Leave now and go back to whom you belong. Do not return.' Jesus spoke in a low steady voice. Maggie almost laughed. That will never work, she thought. They need something a bit stronger than being told to go. She'd told them to go dozens of times. They just laughed at her. They'd laugh at Jesus too.
Time past, seconds, hours, she didn't know, then almost imperceptibly, her body started shaking. She pressed her feet firmly on the floor, tensed her muscles, tried to stand still but it was impossible. Maggie looked at Jesus. His face was in sharp focus one second, and then blurred the next. She tried to speak, couldn't. The voices in her head were shouting, screaming. She had the sense they were running about in a panic, bumping into each other, falling over. Her abdomen tensed, she was conscious of something rising from the pit of her stomach, up through her throat, into her mouth. She turned her head just in time as her lips were forced apart by the pressure. She watched in horror as a stream of vomit shot across the living room, splatting against the wall.
Puzzled, terrified, she looked at Jesus. He smiled in reassurance. She tried to speak but more vomit spewed out accompanied by a fearful shriek. She looked around in alarm as the sound of an express train thundering down the track filled the room. It brought a smell of ozone and wisps of black smoke hung around at ceiling height before slipping out through the open window.
Silence.
Maggie stopped shaking. Her knees buckled, she fell against Jesus who held her steady, wrapping his arms around her. She felt safe, could have stayed there for the rest of her life. After a while Jesus asked, 'How do you feel?'
'Strange.' Maggie told him. 'Like I'm not me anymore. I feel like a new person.' She looked at Jesus and smiled. 'I feel free, released, and peaceful.'
'That's good.' Jesus said. 'You are free.'
She frowned at a sudden thought. 'What if they come back?'
'They won't.' Jesus replied. 'They've gone for good. Along with all your addictions and sin. Now, go upstairs, run a bath, get clean, while I arrange somewhere safe for you to stay.'
✝
'I won't be a minute.' Jesus said, and slipped away into the crowd.
'Jesus.' Peter objected. 'We'll be late.' He watched in frustration as Jesus skipped across the road, dodging traffic, oblivious to the blaring horns, shouted insults, and hand gestures.
Where was he going?
'Jesus.' Peter shouted. A few heads turned. Peter ignored them, ran after Jesus, caught up with him by the side of a high spec black Range Rover, tinted windows.
A pimp's car, Peter reckoned, had his prejudices confirmed when he saw the driver. It was the guy who'd sold him the girl in the red dress. The window down, Levi, armful of gold jewellery, fat Rolex, his elbow jutting out, was looking at Jesus with a puzzled expression. Peter, late to the conversation, heard him say, 'Follow you? Just like that?'
'Yeah,' Jesus replied. 'Why not?'
Whoa.
Not this bloke.
Please Jesus not this one.
'Okay,' Levi agreed. The window slid up, the engine stopped. Levi got out, grinned. 'Why not, let's do it.'
He can't mean it, Peter thought, he's taking the piss. Why would he give up everything to follow Jesus?
'Where we going?' Levi asked. He was flexing on the balls of his feet and Peter wondered if he was high.
Jesus pointed to the MUFWOC. 'There.'
Levi grinned again. 'Should be interesting. I haven't been to a service since I was a kid.’
Peter couldn't hold back any longer. 'Jesus?'
'I know Peter, we should go. We don't want to be late.' He turned to go. Peter tugged his sleeve. 'Do you know who this man is?'
Levi watched the exchange with a slight smile.
'Yes, of course.' Jesus replied. 'It's...,' he broke off, thought, 'Matthew. Levi is now Matthew.' He looked at Levi.
Levi shrugged. 'Fine with me.'
Peter,' Jesus said, 'this is Matthew, do you two know each other?'
'Boss, you do know what he does?'
'I know what he used to do, Peter. Now he's like you, he follows me.'
Silence.
'Right, let
's not keep the people waiting any longer.' Jesus turned, walked away.
Matthew locked the car, made to follow, was brought up short by a tug on his arm. He turned, looked at Peter, grinned. ‘Yeah?’
‘We give up our worldly possessions to follow Jesus.’ Peter said, looking at the Range Rover.
Matthew smiled, unlocked the car and tossed the keys on the seat. ‘First one to find it then.’ He looked at Peter. ‘Happy?’
‘What about the watch?’
Mathew stared at Peter for a long moment before sliding the bejewelled Rolex off his wrist. He laid it alongside the keys, then followed Jesus across the road, leaving Peter to trail along in his wake.
✝
The MUFWOC was packed to the rafters. Brian couldn't remember the last time so many of his flock had turned out on the Sabbath. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Ask Jesus to come along, speak to the faithful. Jesus had agreed, would love to come and preach in his hometown. Problem was, no Jesus. He checked the time, knew he should stand, try to explain that Jesus had been delayed, but would be here soon.
Brian looked down at the disciples who were out in force. These were the people who'd given up their jobs and businesses to follow Jesus. All good men, but not steadfast adherents of the faith. Brian would have liked to be called as a disciple, couldn't understand why he hadn't and told himself it was because he was needed here. He sighed. It was time. He couldn't put if off any longer. He stood, waited for the low buzz of conversation to fade.
'Friends, welcome. It is good to see all of you here today. I didn't realise my preaching was held in such esteem.'
Laughter.
Brian milked it for a few seconds, endured some good-natured heckling, then continued, 'Ahh, if only that were so.' He paused, wondering how to break the news, when the outer door opened. Jesus and two companions entered and made their way to the front.
'Seriously, friends,' Brian continued, 'we are indeed honoured to have one of our own speak to us today. This man has been proclaimed by Baptiste as the promised Messiah. Perhaps our guest will be able to tell us more about that. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Jesus.'
Brian was relieved when thunderous applause, whistles, greeted Jesus. A solemn air had descended at the mention of Baptiste, whose recent arrest had stirred the community. Brian didn't want it to overshadow the visit of Jesus.
Jesus stood at the lectern and waited. From his position on the front row, Peter watched with interest.
When it was quiet, Jesus took the offered scroll, unfurled it, and said, 'A reading from the prophet Isaiah.' He waited a second. '"The spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour.”'
Jesus stopped, rolled up the scroll, handed it to the attendant, paused, and looked at the congregation. All eyes were fixed on him, a few folk toward the back were muttering.
After what seemed an eternity, Jesus said, 'Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.'
Silence.
Not a good silence, though, Peter thought. Not going to ease into it then? This could get awkward. He glanced at the others. They looked at him, shrugged. Jesus must know what he’s doing.
At the front, to one side of Jesus, Brian looked agitated. Peter knew full well the problem lay in Jesus declaring that the prophecy from Isaiah had been fulfilled. Trouble was he’d missed the final line, "And a day of vengeance for our God."
As far as the Jews were concerned, the prophecy couldn't be fulfilled without God having his vengeance on the enemies of his people.
Behind the disciples, the muttering grew louder. It rippled through the crowd, from the back to front, then back again. A Mexican wave of dissent. A few of the comments came to Peter. Funny sort o' Messiah. What about God's vengeance. Thought he'd be getting shut o' Saxons.
Jesus waited until the dissent had all but died away. 'I expect there are some among you who will quote this proverb to me, "Physician, heal yourself!" And you will tell me, do here in Whitby what you've been doing in the northern region.'
He paused for a second. 'I tell you the truth,' he continued, 'no prophet is accepted in his hometown. I assure you there were many widows in Eliyahu's time, when the sky was closed for more than three years and there was a severe famine throughout the land. Yet Eliyahu was not sent to any of them, but to a widow in Coventry in the kingdom of Mercia.'
Jesus paused while the tumult in the crowd grew loud again. An old man behind Peter muttered to his companion, 'What's he say? What does he mean? Has he come to kick holy shit out o' Saxons?'
Peter wondered the same as he listened to the reply. 'Nay dad, he's a difficult bugger to understand, but it sounds to me as though he's telling us to expect the unexpected.'
'Isn't he Joseph's lad. Joseph the builder what fell off that roof?'
'That's right dad.'
'You can't expect a builder's lad to be a Messiah.' The old man stated. 'It's not right.'
A few people called for quiet. A voice shouted. 'Give the lad a chance.'
'And,' Jesus continued, 'there were lots in the kingdom with leprosy in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed, just a man from Wessex.'
'What ya saying Jesus?' A voice called out. 'Are you here to help your own people or not?'
'He's bloody not, is he?' Somebody else shouted. 'He's here to help everybody else.'
'Bugger that, the Messiah should be helping the Jews.'
Peter looked round at the hostile crowd. These were people he knew, people who'd bought his fish, people he'd drunk with, and, he realised ruefully, some women whom he'd slept with. A few met his gaze, looked away, embarrassed. A slow hand clapping started, followed by a hissing sound, men and women alike showing their disapproval.
Peter turned at someone tugging his sleeve. It was Brian, looking worried. 'Perhaps now would be a good time to leave?' He suggested.
Peter nodded, blew air through his teeth. 'Aye, happen you're right.'
Jesus was still speaking, 'You want miracles? You've come here today expecting to see miracles. I'll give you miracles, not in here, though,' Jesus shook his head sorrowfully, pointed to the door, 'out there, that's where the miracles happen. Out there.'
The tumult increased. Jesus stepped away from the lectern, strode to the exit. The jostling crowd parted, let him through. Peter and the others scurried to keep up.
Outside, Matthew asked of nobody in particular, 'Is it always like this?'
Jesus and the disciples made it to the minibus unscathed. People scattered as Jude drove straight at them. The crowd, emboldened, enraged, began throwing half bricks, stones, anything they could lay hands on.
They left town with a hostile crowd chanting, out, out, out, and bricks bouncing off the side of the vehicle.
Jesus, lying back in a corner seat, seemed unperturbed at the fuss.
Back inside the MUFWOC, Brian gazed in awe at the floor, and wondered how on earth a man wearing shoes could leave a trail of sandy footprints.
SEVEN
TWO YEARS AGO.
THE TEMPLE, YORK, NORTHUMBRIA.
'When was this?' Caiaphas asked in a soft tone.
The man, a well-known local beggar, looked at him for a long moment, considered the question, wondering for a moment if there was anything in it for him. He saw the stony look on the high priest's face, decided not.
Caiaphas waited.
Shrug. 'A few days ago.'
'On the Sabbath?'
'Maybe.' The man twitched his shoulders again, grimaced.
'Tell me again what happened.'
The man sighed. 'I was lying by the pool at Sheep Gate. You know where...'
'Yes, yes.' Caiaphas interrupted. 'I know what happens there.' Everybody knew it was where the lame, the not so lame, the dossers, the dregs, laid around all day begging. 'Just tell me what the ma
n said.'
'This man was walking past with his friends. Just an ordinary man he was, nothing special about him. He noticed me, stopped walking, and asked if I wanted to get well.' The beggar paused.
'And?' Caiaphas prompted.
'I said yes, of course I did. So the man said, "Get up. Pick up your mat and walk." It was amazing. Thirty-eight years I've been crippled. It was like a surge of electricity coursing through my body. And warm, I’ve never felt heat like it.'
'And then?' Caiaphas urged.
The beggar smiled. 'I got up and walked.'
'Just like that?' Caiaphas snapped his fingers.
The man agreed. It was that quick.
'And the mat. You picked up your mat?'
'Of course.'
'On the Sabbath?' Caiaphas queried. 'You know it's forbidden to do any work on the Sabbath.'
The beggar frowned. 'It's what he told me to do. The man. I thought if I didn't follow his exact instructions it might not work.'
'Do you have a name for this man?'
Hesitation. 'I don't want to get him into trouble.'
'It's not a question of blame,' Caiaphas assured the beggar. 'It's more re-education.'
'Well...'
'His name.' Caiaphas insisted. 'Then I would be prepared to forget your transgression.'
'Jesus.'
'On the Sabbath.' Caiaphas raged a short while later. 'At Passover. It's an outrage. He flits in and out of York, the Temple, as though he owns the place. He comes, he teaches, he heals, he goes. Him, his band of followers, they don’t dress like Jews, they’re all clean-shaven, scruffs the lot of them. He's making a mockery of us all.' He paused for a second to catch his breath.
O'Deamus nodded, could understand his anger. Passover, when Jews celebrated their liberation from slavery in Egypt, was one of the most important festivals of the year. He wondered if he should speak, didn't get the chance.
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