Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  An hour passed, the couple heading into an even seedier section of town, pimps and whores lining the streets, hawking their unseemly wares, drunks lying unconscious in doorways and gutters. Jesus looked aghast at the appalling spectacles passing him, Mary remarking, “Don’t be too shocked, this is the real world Jesus old friend, get used to it and move on.”

  “This is unbelievable.”

  “Believe it, then ignore it.”

  Walking past a gambling hall, a pair of undesirables standing in the doorway studied the couple and began to follow them, not realizing their clumsy moves had been noticed.

  “We’ve picked up trouble,” said Mary as they headed down a side street.

  “Just what I was looking for,” Jesus replied, deliberately turning into a dark alley with her. “Head for the end of the alley, I’ll stay here,” he ordered, sinking into the shadows next to a wall. “When they enter, let them walk past me but don’t let them pass you.”

  “Got it,” said Mary, heading to the end of the alley.

  The hoodlums rounded the corner and entered the alley. Seeing no one and looking about, one asked the other in Syrian accented Latin, “Where the hell’d they go?”

  “Probably ran to the other end,” his partner answered as they broke into a run, “We’ll get them, this is too easy.”

  “Not easy enough,” announced the Magdalene, moving from the shadows, standing in their path.

  Stopping, they pulled daggers, moving toward the apparently helpless woman.

  “Don’t you people ever use clubs or swords?” asked Mary, hands on hips.

  “What?”

  “I mean, can’t you be a little more inventive, you always seem to use daggers here and it’s getting a bit old,” she teased with a smile.

  Confused for a moment, then ignoring her statement, one asked, “Where’s the other one?”

  “Right here friend,” Jesus answered from behind, smiling and baring fangs while Mary did the same.

  “They’re vampires!” cried one, terrified, dropping his dagger and in panic attempting to run past Mary. Grabbing him by his hair, she threw him hard against a wall. He fell unconscious to the pavement, suffering from a badly fractured skull. Walking to the dying form, she lifted him with one arm, sunk fangs in his neck and drained him on the spot.

  “So, what do you plan to do?” asked Jesus of the bandit’s partner, leaning against the wall and smiling at his victim. The hoodlum stood terrified, dagger falling to the ground, an unmistakable noise coming from his posterior as Jesus walked up and grabbed him by his soiled tunic. Frowning at the noxious odor, he remarked, “This one just shit himself, can you believe it?”

  “Doesn’t surprise me a bit,” said Mary, rising from her victim, “I don’t think they expected this, do you?”

  “No,” Jesus replied, raising the struggling man in the air with one arm, sinking fangs in the neck and dispatching him. Dropping the corpse, he added, “I suppose we’ll never run out of idiots like these.”

  “The world seems to be full of them.”

  Laden with two cadavers, the sated duo looked for a lavatorium, skirting lit torches along the main thoroughfare. Finding none in the area, a bathhouse was pressed into service; a small lavatorium was in the rear. Jesus checked the bodies for loot, and flushed the remains into the sewers of Antioch.

  “At least these ones had money,” said Mary as they left the bathhouse.

  “Only a few denarii, hardly worth the trouble.”

  “They had plenty of blood in them didn’t they?”

  “True,” said Jesus, chuckling at the remark.

  Making their way to their room at about four, they entered the pitch-black lair.

  Sitting down in a chair, Mary observed, “You really loosened up tonight didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way you knifed the first guy was neat, and you didn’t even try to entrance the other two, you had fun with them instead.”

  “So?”

  “It struck me as unusual, since most times you freeze them to their spots and suck their blood like a two-legged tick.”

  “You liked that?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “You can’t be that thick,” answered Mary, “I simply mean you made taking them enjoyable for a change and not so damn ritualistic.”

  “Oh yes, I see what you mean,” said Jesus, nodding and reflecting on the evening’s events.

  “Would you like to try out the razor?” Mary asked, changing the subject.

  “Sure, do you know how to use one?”

  Mary looked to him and frowned. “What the hell do you think?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jesus, recalling their past conversation, reaching in his robe and handing her the razor.

  “Goddamnit,” Mary spat, “I usually use olive oil for a shave but we don’t have any.”

  “There’s some sort of oil in the lamps, can we use that?” asked Jesus, pointing to one.

  “Sure, that’s a good idea, I never would have thought of that. Let me strop the razor and you get the oil,” said Mary, tying one end of the strop to a bedpost, holding the other end in her left hand, quickly stropping the razor with her right.

  Jesus walked to one of several unlit oil lamps hanging on the walls, removed one and brought it to her.

  “I’ve never had a shave,” said Jesus, handing her the lamp, “I’ve worn a beard since I was fourteen; what do we do with the oil?”

  “Really?” asked Mary, returning the lamp, “Take oil from the lamp and rub it into your beard, making certain it reaches your skin.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it, it lubricates the skin so the razor won’t cut you,” she answered, inspecting the freshly stropped blade, annoyed at his ignorance.

  Moments later, his beard was drenched in oil, much to the Magdalene’s chagrin. Frowning and ignoring the oil soaked beard, she asked, “What do you want, clean shave, goatee, moustache?”

  “Clean shave,” said Jesus, turning up his chin for the blade.

  “You’ll look like a Roman when I’m done.”

  “Good, I’m tired of looking like a Hebrew.”

  “Okay,” said Mary, giving Jesus his first shave. In minutes, he was shorn of his remaining beard, cheeks and chin smooth as any baby’s bottom. “You look great!” she exclaimed, the vampiric Christ rubbing his bare chin.

  “It feels strange.”

  “That’s because you don’t have any hair on your face,” said Mary, reaching for her mirror. Jesus looked at the reflection of his clean-shaven countenance, giving a smile of approval to his consort. “We’ll have to get you a toga now – you’d really look good in one.”

  “Only Roman citizens can wear togas,” said Jesus, informing her of one aspect of Roman law.

  “Who cares, Roman laws, indeed, any laws, don’t apply to vampires! Besides, I don’t think you’ll be walking around the forum in broad daylight anytime soon wearing a Patrician toga.”

  “Masquerading as a Roman citizen is also a capital offense,” Jesus added, “Augustus Caesar had the Senate ratify that law over twenty years ago.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re already dead, so what can they do?”

  “Well, they – ”

  “Well what, I don’t think the Praetorian Guard prowls about Asia with oak stakes at three in the morning, searching for vampires who wear togas,” Mary retorted, ‘Asia’ the term used by Romans for the Middle East.

  “Yes, that’s quite true,” said Jesus with an ironic smile.

  Talking for the remainder of the night about his plans for the following evening, he also resolved to replace much of his current garb as soon as possible, in exchange for fine Roman tunics and an accessorizing toga. As the sun r
ose sleepiness set in, the couple retiring for their daytime slumber. Joseph came knocking at dusk, holding his shielded candle, Jesus answering the door.

  “You’re changing rapidly,” Joseph observed, beholding his clean-shaven son.

  “We’re going to find a toga for him next, I think he’ll look good in one,” said the Magdalene.

  “Probably, considering he looks like any other Roman fellow now.”

  Jesus took the candle, lighting a lamp, and asked, “I see you’re feeling better, are you and mother ready to leave?”

  “As ready as we’ll ever be,” Joseph answered, “You know son, maybe your girl can give your mother and I a makeover too, she did a fine job with you.”

  “I’d love to,” said the Magdalene, “If you like we can do it at the next stop.”

  “That’ll be fine,” replied Joseph, walking to the door, “I’ll collect your mother, we’ll be back in a minute.”

  “There’s no need for that father, we’ll follow you to your room. After all, one of us has to carry your belongings,” said Jesus, lifting his heavy sack from beneath the bed.

  “Oh yes,” Joseph replied, still amazed at the incredible strength of vampires.

  They headed to his parent’s room, Mary retrieving his carpentry tools and satchel of treasure, Joseph and wife following after he locked the door. Arriving at the office, Jesus handed the clerk the keys and checked out, walking across the street to the stable. Pulling out in the wagon, he drove to his waiting parents, loaded their belongings and climbed behind the reins, Mary at his side. His parents sitting in the rear, they headed to the city gates and resumed the trip north.

  As they were leaving the locale of the inn, the stable manager walked to the office and exclaimed, “That gentleman tipped me five denarii!”

  “He gave me five too,” said the innkeeper, “I’ll tell you something else, the older folks with them seemed okay, but there was something strange about that guy and his girl, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I thought so too,” the stable manager replied, looking to the coins in his hand as the wagon disappeared in the distance.