by Jim Grimsley
PAUL. Find him. Tell him to start building a cross.
SOL HEIFFER. Yes sir.
PAUL. Then bring me a ladder. Long enough to reach the window.
(Exit SOL HEIFFER.)
PAUL. I suppose now is as good a time as any.
J. Exactly what do you have in mind?
PAUL. I think you know. You leave me no choice. Actually.
J. I see.
PAUL. This is far earlier than I had planned.
J. I’m sure.
PAUL. Really. I was telling you the truth. About the pamphlets, the long peaceful interval in prison. The tasteful crucifixion in the fall. But you’ve left me no choice.
J. I hope you understand if I don’t feel terribly forgiving.
PAUL. It was never my wish to cause you suffering. (Pause.) I know you don’t believe that. I know you think I’ve had this in mind all along. But I truly wanted something else to happen. I wanted you to teach me this time. I wanted to hear words from your lips that would change my life.
J. You don’t really have any idea what you wanted.
PAUL. Oh no. You’ve got it all wrong. I loved you. I still do. With all my heart. As sinners have loved saviors from the beginning of time.
(Enter SOL HEIFFER, with a ladder long enough to reach the window.
She sets it against the wall.
The conversation between PAUL and J. continues without pause.
The crowd noise continues at varying levels, always present.
To that sound is added the sound of hammers and nails.)
J. You want salvation.
PAUL. Yes.
(J. laughs softly.)
PAUL. It isn’t funny.
J. (still laughing). Please.
PAUL. I will not be laughed at.
J. (controlling himself). Salvation. You. Really.
PAUL. Why is that so hard to believe?
J. Because it’s you. Because you know how this game is played. But you want salvation anyway. It’s too precious.
PAUL. Stop this.
J. Which kind do you want? The mansion in heaven and all that? Streets paved with gold? Choirs of angels? A bloody sheep sitting next to the right hand of God?
PAUL (near rage). Stop making fun of me! (Pause.) What did you tell the people in the market?
J. Why would I make fun of you?
PAUL. Answer me. Now.
(Silence suddenly.
All crowd sound ceases.
Hammers and nails fall silent.)
J. I told them there is no God.
PAUL. What?
J. In the market. That’s what I told them. Coming from me, it was a surprise.
PAUL. You must be joking.
J. No.
PAUL. Why would you tell them that?
J. It’s true.
PAUL. Of course it isn’t true. There is a God and you know that better than anybody; he’s your Father.
J. My Father is dead.
PAUL. Is …
J. Dead. Didn’t I tell you?
PAUL. No. (Finding a place to sit down.) It’s a fairly significant omission.
J. It appears he may have been dead for some time and we simply haven’t noticed. To the degree that such terms as “for some time” and “dead” are helpful when one is discussing my Father. (Pause.) So I told the people in the market that there is no God. Currently. Speaking in a purely local sense.
PAUL. And so they’ve stormed the walls. And now they will destroy the church.
J. Why would they do that?
PAUL. What is a church without God?
J. (laughs, then speaks). Then I told them they could bring him back. Only they. Not you, not your friends, not me, not my disciples, not the preacher, the pope or the politician. Nobody but them. By sacrifice. By finding just the right one. Together. In unison.
PAUL (to SOL HEIFFER). Climb the ladder and see what they’re doing.
(SOL HEIFFER attempts to do so during the following exchange.
The weight of the Bible, which she is still dragging, prevents her from climbing very high.
J. continues without pause.)
J. I can tell you what they’re doing. They’re searching for something in the courtyard. Silently, because they’re all listening to each other. Breath and heart and everything. They figured out it was here pretty quick, the thing they were looking for, the thing they had to crucify. They figured there was nowhere else to put it. But here. Somewhere in your house. (Pause.) So I would like to talk to you about your salvation.
PAUL (to SOL HEIFFER). Aren’t you there yet?
SOL HEIFFER. I never climbed anything before, I’m sorry.
J. You know, you’d have an easier time if you’d unchain yourself from that big book.
SOL HEIFFER. But that’s the Holy Bible.
J. The what?
(SOL HEIFFER just looks at him.)
PAUL. It’s the Bible.
J. What’s that?
SOL HEIFFER (to PAUL). He doesn’t know what the Bible is!
PAUL (to SOL HEIFFER). Never mind. (To J.) It’s a collection of religious writings we put together a few hundred years after you died. Ascended, rather.
J. (to PAUL). Rather. (To SOL HEIFFER.) Take it off, Sol Heiffer. It’s just dead weight.
(SOL HEIFFER obeys but embraces the Bible after she has removed the chain. This should be done on the ladder.
They freeze into a tableau.
SOL HEIFFER standing on the ladder adoring the Bible should be specially illuminated with dime-store watercolor angel light.
J. addresses the audience directly, as if he has been doing so throughout.)
J. We hope that the following moment will not strike anyone as irreverent.
(Tableau breaks, light returns to its pretableau state.
SOL HEIFFER drops the Bible.
Laughs when it hits the floor.)
SOL HEIFFER. I feel so light.
(J. picks up the Bible and examines the table of contents.
PAUL is nervous as he does so.)
PAUL. I’ve explained the sort of doctrinal problems we ran into in the absence of any written teachings. I think we did a pretty good job of coping. (Nodding to the Bible.) The book came out rather nicely. We picked the very best stuff, the really inspired writing.
J. I see a number of your letters made the cut.
PAUL. Yes, I was very fortunate in the selection process.
J. No doubt.
PAUL. No one was more surprised than I. And honored of course. Deeply honored. (To SOL HEIFFER.) Now climb to the window as I have requested.
(SOL HEIFFER does so.
Light through the window changes, becomes blinding desert miracle light.
Sound cue indicates that this is another miracle.)
SOL HEIFFER. I see a bright light.
PAUL. That’s the sun you idiot.
SOL HEIFFER. I see a hot desert. There’s a whole lot of it and it looks real, like, scorching.
PAUL (patiently). I want to know what is happening in the courtyard.
SOL HEIFFER. You can’t see the courtyard from this window, you can just see the desert.
J. Do you see anything else?
SOL HEIFFER. There’s a road. And some rocks. And there’s a car parked beside the rocks. And everything’s really wavy from this shimmering stuff in the air. From the heat. And there’s sky. Blinding blue sky.
J. Is there anyone in the car?
SOL HEIFFER. I think so. I see some arms inside. Maybe. But it’s pretty far away.
J. Where does this road go? Do you know?
SOL HEIFFER (studying the road and then smiling). This is the road to Damascus. I’ve seen it before.
PAUL. You can’t see the Damascus road from that window. Come down from there. Now.
(SOL HEIFFER studies the scene through the window another moment and then descends quickly.
As soon as she is free of the ladder, PAUL ascends.
J. does not hold for any of this but s
peaks over the action.
When PAUL reaches the top of the ladder, the light through the window goes to a dark, God-in-the-thunderclouds kind of light.
The miracle sound cue is repeated.)
J. Perhaps you should let her stay there. Maybe she could give you your deposition if she watches. An eyewitness account. From years after the event, of course, but the law is a strange mistress. Perhaps she could get pictures of the miracle over the desert. Maybe even videotape. Documentation.
PAUL. I can’t see anything.
SOL HEIFFER. Sure you can, there’s all this sand.
PAUL. There’s no sand, there’s no road. There’s no courtyard. There’s nothing. Everything is dark. (To J.) Why won’t you show me anything?
(Silence.
PAUL continues to study what he sees through the window.
His focus should remain there and only occasionally on J.)
J. As I was saying. I would like to talk to you about your salvation.
PAUL (after a moment). What do you want to know?
J. I want you to tell me, what do you believe?
PAUL (looking out the window through the whole speech). That you are the Son of God. That you died and rose again. That because you did, I can. That you went to heaven to prepare a place for us. That you will return one day—and so you have—to take us home with you.
J. (still holding the Bible, now in some way emphasizing its thickness). That’s it?
PAUL. Yes.
J. That’s all this book says?
PAUL. There was some elaboration of the message.
J. (placing the book on the floor). Do you believe what you just said?
PAUL. Yes.
J. Do you believe in me?
PAUL (without conviction). Of course I do.
J. Then come and worship me.
(Silence.
PAUL’s focus shifts away from the window.)
PAUL. Excuse me?
J. If you believe in me as your salvation, come and worship me. Now.
(Silence.)
PAUL. What would you like me to do?
J. Kneel. Let your soul pour forth adoration. For me. Verbal adoration. Fervently spoken. Now.
PAUL. Are you serious?
J. More than that. I’m divine.
(After brief hesitation, PAUL descends the ladder.
At the foot of the ladder, he stops.)
PAUL. Kneel and . . .
J. Worship me.
(PAUL slowly kneels and grasps the hem of J.’s garment.
He is never resolved to the action, however.
He freezes.)
PAUL. I can’t do this.
J. It isn’t so much I’m asking. A few moments of affection. A little sacrifice on your part.
(Nevertheless PAUL slowly stands.)
PAUL. I’m terribly sorry.
J. (sighing). I’ve done all I can do.
PAUL. I’ll worship you later. After all this other business is finished.
J. Yes of course.
PAUL. Meantime we have this business at hand. The sacrifice of which you spoke.
J. Don’t you want your deposition?
PAUL (lowering his voice). You mean, you’re willing to give it?
J. Yes, of course.
PAUL (overcome). Thank you. I can’t tell you how much. How grateful. (To SOL HEIFFER.) Is my tape recorder still here?
SOL HEIFFER (finding and bringing it). Yes sir.
PAUL (to J.). My attorney wanted to be present. To ask the questions. But I suppose he isn’t presently available.
J. I would be happy to wait.
(Crowd sound returns.)
PAUL. We can’t. (Listens to the mob, which is moving restlessly outside, like a crowd at intermission.) Yes, I suppose we should get that under way too. (To SOL HEIFFER.) Go and find the captain of the guard. Tell him I will need him to escort the prisoner to the courtyard.
SOL HEIFFER. Him?
PAUL. Yes.
SOL HEIFFER. Now?
J. It’s all right, Sol Heiffer.
PAUL. We have no choice in the matter. Now, please go and do as I asked.
(Exit SOL HEIFFER.
PAUL gets the tape recorder and checks for a tape.)
PAUL. This is generous of you, given the circumstances. I might have expected worse.
J. It’s really nothing. Chalk it up to my infinite good nature.
PAUL. Oh no, it’s a greater favor than I can explain. I might have lost everything. All I’ve worked for—we’ve worked for—centuries of labor—down the tube. Zip. Because I had no pictures, no autograph, no lock of your hair. As if I could have remembered to ask for such a thing. When you had taken the trouble to appear to me miraculously in the middle of nowhere.
J. With so few witnesses.
PAUL. Exactly. Of course, I would have preferred a more public miracle, of the sort you used to do in your heyday, walking on the water and feeding the multitude, that sort of thing. But what you gave me in the desert was terrific. More than I deserved. Even now, so many years afterward, I blush to remember how innocent I was before that blinding moment. Before you shed your grace on me. Before I realized my absolute love for you and took up my world mission.
J. Actually, only one other person ever loved me so completely or absolutely.
PAUL. John, of course.
J. No. Judas. He also loved me enough to have me killed.
PAUL. I don’t think that’s fair.
(J. laughs, softly)
PAUL. No, really. I don’t appreciate the comparison.
J. (still laughing; controlling himself). All right. All right. Let’s get on with your deposition. Will you be questioning me yourself, then?
PAUL. Perhaps you could simply recount the events of the day as you remember them.
J. Day?
PAUL. When you appeared to me. In the desert.
J. From my point of view there was no day.
PAUL. I beg your pardon.
J. Or night. (Smiles.) Day has meaning for you because you are confined to it. But I am not, for the most part. So that, whenever it was I appeared to you, however long ago it was, I simply entered your local space-time and established some moments of three-dimensional duration within the ten or eleven oscillating dimensions that constitute your reality. Your universe. My Father’s little conundrum. So, you see, while from your point of view that was one event in a sequence, from my point of view it is simply one of many possible events placed within the continuum that I view as eternity. In other words, the miracle you describe undoubtedly does exist somewhere within the whole spectrum of events that are plausible and that are likely to have involved me. But it is extremely difficult, even for me, to locate specific events within the infinite range of possible occurrences. It is also rather dangerous.
PAUL. Please try. It was a Saturday night. A year or so after you died. I was restless. I had just bought a new car.
J. (sighing). Since you insist. (Pause.) You had waited till after Sabbath was over. The sun well down below the horizon. A partly cloudy night. You gassed up your Maserati and left the city by the postern gate. You traveled light. An overnight bag, a couple of paperbacks. Detective mysteries. Ninja novels. You were headed to Damascus to spend the weekend with your good friend Sarah Hofstein, an elderly librarian with interests in the arts.
(Early on in this speech, but not during the first sentence, PAUL turns on the tape recorder.)
PAUL. I had no idea your memory was so detailed.
J. The word “memory” has very little application in this case. I am fully capable of imagining the event exactly as it occurred.
(PAUL shuts off the tape recorder.)
PAUL. If I’m going to record this, you must not use words like “imagine.”
J. But it’s perfectly true.
PAUL. It’s not helpful.
J. In fact, if I’m not careful, if I make a mistake during my remembering, the past will reorder itself to conform to my memory. This preserves my infall
ibility even as entropy increases.
PAUL. I’m about to turn this on again. Now remember, I was driving to Damascus.
(The effect, beginning about midspeech, should be that PAUL cannot quite place each detail as J. describes it.
In fact, J. is lying about small details, but as he does so, the past rearranges itself to conform to his lie, and PAUL’s memory changes after a moment’s drag.)
J. Troubled by recent memory. The feeling of blood on your hands. Even though you cannot historically be connected with the murder of Stephen, still, in your heart of hearts, you knew yourself to be directly responsible. Further persecutions were planned. You could not even name my twelve disciples at the time but you had vowed to eradicate them and furthermore to stamp out every trace of this new religious sect which you feared as a possible source of tension. So your mind was filled with images of murder as you drove through the midnight countryside. Spending the night at a cheap motel a couple of hours down the road. The mattress too hard, no little soap in the little soap dish, the glass on the steel shelf already unwrapped, grimy. The impossible heat beginning at sunrise. No air conditioner known to man could even cut it. You set out at dawn for Damascus. Delirious. Having had no breakfast, except a box of frosted Pop-Tarts from a local convenience store.
PAUL. I don’t remember the part about the Pop-Tarts.
J. Grape-flavored. With white frosting. And a large black coffee with a little mouth-hole torn out of the plastic cover. Shifting the gears of the Maserati with one hand and opening Pop- Tarts with the other. The Damascus road was a breeze. You could steer with your knees. You opened all the windows, but the heat was relentless. The sun was scorching the tops of your arms and thighs.
(Crowd sound shifts from murmuring to something of a higher pitch.)
PAUL. Please. It isn’t necessary for you to remember what happened to me in such detail. Stick with what happened to you. When you appeared.
J. You weren’t alone, were you? No. You weren’t. (Pause.) Who was with you, Paul?
(Enter SOL HEIFFER.
They look at her.)
J. Did you suppose no one would ever find out?
PAUL (attempting to shut off the tape recorder but finding he cannot). Stop it. That’s enough.
J. But that’s not even the best part.
PAUL (as if seeing a picture inside his head). No one was with me. This is not how it happened.
J. One can never be certain. Do you feel your memory changing? Do you see the companion, now?
