* * *
“My head,” came the cry as Joseph rose the following evening, holding his head in his hands.
“You really should stop drinking so much wine dear,” said Mary, handing him another glassful as a hangover panacea. She was not feeling particularly well either, for the past week or so she had been feeling slightly nauseous after waking, but it passed quickly, becoming her usual self after a short time.
“Thanks woman,” Joseph groaned, sitting on the side of the bed, ignoring her advice and quickly downing the wine. “Give me another.” She came over and refilled the glass. “Aren’t you going to have something to eat?” he asked as she sat down beside him.
“Not yet, perhaps later,” Mary replied, though feeling better, she was not quite ready to face food.
Jesus and consort had arisen from slumber at sundown. Refreshed, he pulled his treasure sack from beneath the bed, producing 930 aurei and 2,375 denarii, equivalent to the prefect’s asking price of 1,025 aurei. Placing the money in a leather satchel, he added another hundred denarii to cover any hidden costs.
A short time later, a seemingly loud knock came on his parent’s door, as Joseph winced and told his wife to let Jesus and Mary in.
“Hello father,” said Jesus, “Are you hungover again?”
“What do you think?” Joseph retorted with a weak smile.
“I suppose you’re in no condition to accompany us to prefect Gavinal’s residence,” answered Jesus, wishing that Joseph could at least witness him buying the property. A humble man, he never, even in life, was one for boasting, but did want his father to see he had finally made something of himself, at least as a vampire.
“I’m sorry son, I feel like shit, you don’t need me there do you?”
“Not really,” said Jesus, “You and mother stay here while Mary and I purchase the land. We should be back in a few hours, and we’ll probably fetch someone to eat along the way.”
“Terrific,” Joseph groaned, falling back into bed.
Jesus nodded to his mother and left for Gavinal’s, quietly closing the door behind him.
“Your father really hits the bottle hard at times doesn’t he?” asked the Magdalene.
“Yeah, so do I, what can you do,” Jesus replied, walking along in the cool evening.
“But you’re a vampire, heavy drinking doesn’t seem to bother you at all.”
“I’ve noticed that,” said Jesus, neither realizing that their tolerance of alcoholic beverages was increasing due to vampiric nature.
“Why do you bother to drink like that anyway?”
“I don’t know, enjoyment perhaps.”
“You enjoy that?”
“Of course, verily I say unto you, vampires do not live by blood alone: for only by the drinking of hot blood, followed by cool wine, along with killing, lying and robbery, do we survive,” Jesus intoned in macabre jest.
“That’s the truth.”
Arriving at the prefect’s residence, the guard let them in.
“Good evening Gavinal,” said Jesus, shaking his hand firmly. “This is my wife, Maria Hittica, a Hittite tribeswoman from Galatia.”
Mary Magdalene smiled and politely bowed her head to the prefect.
Gavinal returned the bow, coveting the beautiful Magdalene, and asked, “Did you look at the site?”
“Yes, we’ll take it,” answered Jesus.
“Excellent,” Gavinal replied, “Have a seat, the notary’s on the way, he should be here presently.” With those words, the notary arrived in the doorway.
“Greetings Marcus Pertinax,” said Gavinal, “This is Julius Chrysippus and his wife Maria, they’re buying tract twenty one next to your place.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Julius,” said Marcus, firmly shaking Jesus’ hand and taking a seat.
“Let’s get down to business,” said Gavinal, pulling a parchment document from a drawer in his desk. “The contract’s filled out, excepting for yours and the notary’s signatures, and I also took the time to draw up the title too; everything’s in order. The price is 1,025 aurei, plus a notary fee of 10 denarii.”
“Very well,” said Jesus, placing a sack of money on Gavinal’s desk, opening it and dumping a small mountain of gold and silver before them.
Gavinal and Marcus stared at the hoard of precious metal, not believing their eyes.
“When you said cash you meant it!” Gavinal exclaimed, the notary continuing to stare at the pile of glittering money. “I’d best call the guard in here with a strongbox to safeguard this money,” he added, walking to the door. Ordering his guard to fetch an iron strongbox and lock from the garrison, he returned to the desk and resumed his seat. “Signature or signet?” he asked, handing Jesus the contract and title parchments.
“I’ll use my signature,” said Jesus, taking a quill stylus from the prefect. Reading the contract, with his left Jesus dipped the stylus into an inkwell and then signed ‘B. Julius Chrysippus’ on the documents. The notary added his signatures as well, the Magdalene and Gavinal signing afterward as sworn witnesses.
“So, what’s the ‘B’ for?” asked Gavinal, very interested in the new arrival in his town, a tall man who paid cash, in gold and silver, for land. After all, B. Julius Chrysippus was a wealthy Roman citizen; sooner or later one could get his own to marry into the family, enriching one’s own by proxy.
“Bacchus, god of wine.”
“Oh yes,” said Gavinal, looking to Marcus and explaining, “His family made their fortune in Etruria as wine merchants.”
Marcus smiled and nodded.
“You’ve just bought a farm, welcome to our town Julius!” exclaimed Gavinal, rising and shaking Jesus’ hand.
“Let’s toast the sale with wine,” Marcus suggested.
“Absolutely,” said Gavinal, producing a fresh bottle of Gaul’s finest. Placing four goblets on his desk, he broke the clay seal, pierced the wax stopper and opened the bottle. “This is Gallic wine, Julius probably imported it,” he added while filling the goblets.
“No I didn’t,” Jesus lied, which was actually the truth, reading the Latin inscription on the bottle, “This wine was imported by Gaius Scipio Magnentius, a competitor of my father and I.”
“Is it good wine?” asked Gavinal, holding his goblet up to the lamplight, looking to Jesus for his opinion.
“Of course,” said Jesus, taking a deep gulp, “Scipio Magnentius and sons import only the finest Gallic wines, none ever adulterated or leaded, using only beeswax-lined amphorae.”
“Leaded wine’s much too sweet for me,” said Marcus, “Some have said it makes people crazy!”
“Hippocrates of Kos said that too,” Jesus replied, pouring another libation, “I don’t know about you folks, but I like wine to taste like wine, not like sweet lead, honey, or fruit.”
“That’s the truth,” Gavinal agreed, downing his glass, “The folks in Rome drink leaded and perfumed wine by the cask. I can’t stand the stuff, it tastes like shit!” The group broke into laughter, Gavinal quickly apologizing to Mary for his lapse in taste, embarrassed by his utterance before a Roman matron.
“What the hell, I’ve heard worse, I don’t give a damn,” said the Magdalene, Marcus choking on his wine as he heard the coarse reply, a perturbed Jesus shaking his head almost imperceptibly to her. She, a very worldly woman, smirked at her consort and fell silent.
Looking to Jesus with a raised eyebrow, Gavinal poured and drank another glass of the Scipio brand, sitting down with the notary and counting the pile of money, while Jesus and the Magdalene sat quietly, the guard standing at attention near the door.
Shortly thereafter, the honest Gavinal frowned and remarked, “Julius, there’s 1,029 aurei here, you’ve overpaid us by ninety denarii.”
“Split the extra with friend Marcus, I have plenty of money.”
Gavinal looked
to Jesus and said, “You are truly an extraordinary man, Bacchus Julius Chrysippus of Etruria.”
“Thank you kind gentlemen,” an embarrassed Jesus replied. The transaction completed, the guard placed the money in the strongbox. Jesus slipped the Roman title in his tunic, bid farewell to Gavinal and Marcus, and the couple stepped into the night, returning to the inn.
“Gavinal sure liked me didn’t he?” asked Mary, entering their room.
“Proving he has good taste in females,” said Jesus, sitting on the bed.
“Flatter me again.”
“Honestly Mary, you’re far from an unattractive woman, and I’m quite certain you realize it,” Jesus replied, relaxing on the bed.
“You think so?” asked the Magdalene, batting her eyes in an exaggerated fashion.
“You’re a coy little bitch aren’t you?” asked Jesus, hiding a smile.
Mary frowned at the insult. “Sometimes you can really piss on someone’s parade.”
“Oh well, what can you do woman?”
“Jesus!”
He smiled, rose from the bed, and said, “Let’s find supper shall we?”
“Why not,” the Magdalene answered, her ego deflated by his remarks.
Curiously, that evening, they were unable to find suitable human fare, contenting themselves with a pair of wild boars.
Returning to the inn, Mary observed, “Your mother’s right, those pigs just don’t make it.”
“Sometimes one has to make do,” said Jesus, opening the door.
Mary shook her head in disgust and fell into bed. Removing his shoes, Jesus noticed that his toes appeared inflamed, though they didn’t actually hurt, they seemed to be sensitive to pressure from his hands.
“Look at this Mary, my feet have turned red!”
“What?” asked the Magdalene, sitting up and looking to his feet.
“I’m thinking maybe the shoes are too tight, what do you think?”
“I don’t know but it sure is weird looking, do they hurt?”
“No.”
“Maybe they are too tight,” said Mary, falling back in bed while Jesus sat staring at his feet.
“But they don’t feel tight, I wonder what this is.”
“Perhaps you have a malaise,” said Mary, leaning up on an elbow, “Wash them in strong wine and vinegar; that should kill it, whores I knew even used it for a douche when they had malaise.”
“I would think malaise of the crotch is different from malaise of the feet.”
“You’re probably right about that,” the Magdalene agreed, “Maybe you should bind them in honey for a while, it’s said that works well for skin irritations.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think this is a malaise.”
“You don’t?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, don’t worry about it, we’ll figure it out later, let’s go to sleep,” a tired Mary replied, falling to her pillow. Jesus joined her, the pair settling into sleep for the day.
In the early evening Joseph came knocking, Jesus answering the door.
“Hello father, how are you feeling?” Jesus asked, letting him in.
“Fine,” said Joseph, “Unlike you, it takes me a day or so to sleep it off.”
“I used to be that way.”
“I remember, and I’ve been meaning to ask, why didn’t you use the money you gave me to purchase the land?”
“We have so much money now that it’s ridiculous. You didn’t have the full amount in cash, so I figured I’d let you keep that, and used my other funds.”
“Okay,” said Joseph, raising eyebrows, “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being rich.”
“Vampirism does have its rewards,” said Jesus.
“Obviously,” Joseph replied, looking to his son.
They left the inn, preparing to take the wagon to their property. Before leaving town, his parents stocked up on needed provisions at a store owned by a merchant named Vitellius, as Jesus had made them aware there were no standing structures on the property. Stopping at a restaurant, his mother purchased several loaves of fresh bread and a large earthenware crock of soup for their late supper.
“Would you like hardboiled eggs dear?” Mary asked, looking to offerings on a nearby counter.
“Sure, I like them,” Joseph replied. Realizing money was no object; he and Jesus returned to Vitellius’ store and purchased a wooden case of fine Gallic wine for 36 denarii. Arriving at the wagon, Joseph explained that it was for his and Jesus’ relaxation in the evening.
“I’m sure it is,” Mary answered, watching her son place the heavy box in the wagon. Each bottle in the oblong case of sixteen almost the size of a modern magnum, it was assured that relaxation would be quickly and abundantly available for father and son in the evenings ahead.
A full moon was low on the horizon, providing little illumination. As they drove the dark road, guided by the eyes of the vampiric Christ, Joseph said, “I’m damn glad we brought my tools along, I suppose I’ll have to build us a house first.”
“That’ll be no problem as we’re both carpenters,” Jesus replied, “Further, though many homes in Judea are built mostly of stone, I think a wooden structure with a stone foundation would be appropriate. Many domiciles here are crafted totally from wood, and the area where I would like to build the house is surrounded by trees.”
“Are you kidding, it’d take months to fell, split and hew that much timber,” said Joseph with concern for his wife, wondering where she would reside in the meantime.
“Not so father, I’ll help you.”
“You’ll actually work?”
“Yes, you will need assistance for such a daunting project.”
“That’ll be the day,” Joseph retorted.
“He’s done a lot for us already,” said Mary, defending her son.
“Yeah, he slaughtered our neighbors, burned our house down and then dragged our asses to a foreign country,” replied Joseph, punctuated by a cynical laugh.
“He gave us the money you have in your satchel or don’t you remember?”
“I know that woman, I’m only kidding him,” Joseph answered, Jesus turning away to hide a smile. They passed the pond Gavinal had spoke of, turned left and came to the entrance to their spread. As Jesus pulled the wagon into the dark woods surrounding the path, his father asked, “Can you even see anything?”
“Of course, so can the horses,” said Jesus, continuing on a bumpy ride toward the north end of the property. Stopping at a clearing about 300 feet from the cliffs, Jesus stepped from the wagon and remarked, “So folks, here it is, what do you think of our land?”
“A thousand acres huh?” Joseph asked, stepping from the wagon and attempting to look about in the dim light.
“Yes father,” said Jesus, freeing the horses from their harnesses.
“It’s huge, you made a good buy,” his father replied, “I suppose we’ll have to purchase oxen and plows to work it.”
“I’ll have to buy slaves for you too,” said Jesus, tying the horses to a tree on tethers to rest and graze.
“Slaves?” asked Joseph, bringing the horses’ feed bags from the rear of the wagon.
“You don’t expect to run the farm by yourself do you?” asked Jesus, grabbing a brush to comb down the horses.
“This is going to be better than I imagined,” said Joseph, folding arms across his chest.
Joseph and wife set up a temporary camp as Jesus leaned on the wagon, staring up at the night sky, lost in thought. His mother, thinking ahead, asked her undead daughter-in-law to fetch a few empty water skins from the rear of the wagon, intending to fill them later at the river.
“Sure,” replied the Magdalene, heading to the wagon and retrieving them, “Would you like me to draw water for you?”
“Certainly,
thank you Mary,” his mother answered, pleased that she was so helpful.
“Do you want to walk with me to the river Jesus?”
“Huh?” asked Jesus, looking to his consort and returning to reality.
“Would you like to accompany me to the river while I fetch water for your folks?”
“Oh, sure,” said Jesus.
They strolled to the Euphrates, returning with fresh water for his parents. Jesus lifted his money sack from the wagon and informed his parents that they were going to check out the caves, to be pressed into use as a daytime sleeping quarters and convenient loot stash.
“Sounds like a good idea,” said Joseph, making a campfire on the chilly evening. Using flint and iron to light kindling, he soon had a warm fire burning about thirty feet from the wagon, fueling the blaze with fallen branches from nearby trees. His wife prepared a meal for them while Jesus and consort walked to the cliffs and into a dark cave. The cave he had chosen was a deep, dry meandering labyrinth, perfect for sleeping and containing valuables.
Coming to a gallery, Mary observed, “I suppose we’ll have to fix this place up a bit, but otherwise it’s perfect.”
“It seems fine to me as it is, what do you mean?” asked Jesus, placing the loot in an inconspicuous crevice.
“I don’t enjoy sleeping on a stone floor, do you?”
“No I don’t, come to think of it,” said Jesus after a reflective pause, Mary staring at him with a pained look on her face. In many ways, her Jesus was quite adept, but in others, he was still a detached, absent-minded philosopher, his head in the clouds.
“Sometimes you’re just not all there are you?” Mary retorted, refusing to let him ruin her plans for house decorating.
“Why do you say that?” asked Jesus, hurt by the remark.
“Most people, even vampires, prefer to sleep in a nice soft bed and don’t have to take time to think about it.”
“Oh,” said Jesus, “I’m sorry, I was occupied thinking about other things.”
“Such as?” she asked as they started back.
“The usual stuff, you know, the world, life, existence, God, things like that.”
“My point exactly.”
Walking from the cave, Jesus saw his father had made a brightly burning campfire, he and his mother enjoying their meals.
“Heading out for someone to eat?” Joseph asked, as if such was a normal, everyday occurrence.
“Yes, but I first wanted to make sure you were comfortable and settled in,” said Jesus, concerned for their wellbeing in the unfamiliar country.
“We’re fine,” his mother replied, “It’s so beautiful here.”
“Velly, I mean very well,” said Jesus, “We’ll be back in a little while.”
With those words, Jesus transformed. The Magdalene followed, both flying off into the darkness. Joseph sat calmly, finishing his soup, his wife’s jaw dropping at the sight.
“If I were you I’d get used to it woman,” Joseph advised, looking to his transfixed wife.
“It’s so weird, they turned into bats!” she exclaimed, “I keep forgetting they’re not quite human anymore.”
“It’s weird all right, but he always was a weird one anyway.”
Alighting on the road south of town, they returned to human form. Mary asked, “Do you think it was a good idea to transform in front of your parents?”
“Why not, they know we’re vampires, what difference can it make?”
“It must have been shocking to them.”
“Maybe, but they’ve grown used to everything else, so how much of a problem can it be?”
“I suppose you’re right,” said the Magdalene, not comfortable with the idea of transforming in front of his parents, but realizing it would have happened eventually. Finding supper proved easy, yet another pair of troublemakers dispatched by Jesus and consort, their drained and looted bodies bouncing to the bottom of a ravine.
“We’d best head back to check on my folks,” said Jesus with a belch as the bodies landed in a heap. Assuming chiropteric form, they flew back to Joseph’s soon-to-be farm. Landing on the cliffs, they changed back, looking down to see the brightly burning campfire with his parents relaxing beside it. His mother was mending clothing, his father sitting across from her, drinking from a gigantic bottle of wine.
“Why’d we stop here?” asked Mary, surprised he did not want to return to his parents immediately.
“I wanted to take in the view, you can see the entire spread from here.”
“Yeah,” said Mary, looking to the river, thankful they could have a bit of time to themselves.
Jesus sat down at the edge of the cliff and leaned back resting his head on his arms, looking to the night sky. The moon had climbed higher; brightening nearby cumulus clouds, and was beginning to illuminate the area. “I wonder what those are up there,” he mused.
“What?” asked Mary, sitting down, releasing her hair from its bindings and finger combing her black locks.
“The stars,” replied Jesus, looking at the moon with surprise, noticing for the first time it was studded with mountains. Due to superior eyesight, he was not only able to see in the dark, but also had the visual acuity of an eagle.
“According to the priests and rabbis they’re lights shining through from heaven, signs set in the sky for the seasons,” said Mary, looking up.
“Bullshit, they don’t know what they’re talking about,” Jesus replied, sitting up, “Heaven my ass, whatever they are they seem to be very far away indeed, and I suspect there’s much more to them than meets the eye.”
“You’re really turned off by Hebrew religion aren’t you?”
“You can say that again,” Jesus answered, rubbing hands on his tunic as if wiping them of something dirty, “Especially the Hebrew faith, along with any other form of religion.”
“Yeah,” said Mary, not believing her ears.
“Look at the moon up there, it’s covered with mountains, like it’s another world,” said Jesus, pointing to the sky.
“I wonder if people live on it,” Mary replied, seeing the mountains as well.
“Maybe,” said Jesus, looking to the silver moon.
Both grew silent. Jesus rested his head on his arms, contemplating his undead existence, the stars, and why there seemed to be so many worthless people in the world. He thought further, and suddenly realized if there weren’t, it would be slim pickings indeed for someone like him. He chuckled at the thought.
“What are you laughing about?” Mary asked, turning on her side and resting her head on an arm.
“I was thinking if there weren’t so many criminals in this world I probably wouldn’t be able to survive.”
“I suppose you should be thankful for that, but you could drink the blood of animals if there weren’t suitable people around.”
“Probably, but like you, I prefer human blood, and don’t think existence would be quite as fun, if you follow my reasoning.”
“Of course,” said Mary, “I enjoy playing with them like a cat plays with a mouse, and like watching you use knives on them.”
“I see, do you remember the parable of the wheat and the chaff?”
“Yes, but what does that have to do with this conversation?” Mary asked, not following his constantly meandering logic.
“I’ve lately found that most people seem to be chaff.”
“I get it,” said Mary. She sighed, wishing the conversation would turn to a different topic. Realizing that such hope was futile, she laid her head on his chest, staring up at the night sky and relaxing.
“It’s funny, I never thought it would be like this woman.”
“Like what?” asked Mary, annoyed at his ambiguity when he was in a philosophical mood.
“That I’d become a vampire after all I preached to people.”
�
��So?”
“So I once thought that if one behaved correctly, and showed at least some respect for the idea of God, that God, if he actually exists, would show favor on those who did such, with a reward after death.”
“All that did was get you crucified.”
“Precisely, I must have been very naïve to have believed it was that simple.”
“Look at it this way, perhaps being a vampire is your reward.”
“I don’t think any god would give someone a reward like this,” a chuckling Jesus replied, watching a meteor cross the sky.
“But Joseph and your disciples said you once thought you were God, proving that, those in Nazareth wanted to stone you as a blasphemer,” said Mary, sitting up and getting into the spirit of the conversation.
“Yes, I must confess at times I actually thought so, but never explicitly said that. I simply said that I had some idea of what it was to be a Son of God. That is, I preached that one could gain God’s favor by first accepting him as Lord of the universe. Then, one could ask his forgiveness for any transgressions, and afterward retain his grace by treating one’s fellow man as one would wish to be treated.”
“I know all that Jesus, but people don’t seem to like treating one another well, especially those who point out they are behaving badly. From what I’ve seen they’re only out for themselves.”
“Yeah, I wish I’d known that before; my father often said the same things.”
“I did try to tell you more than once.”
“I know,” said Jesus, again looking to the stars.
“By the way, I believe your mother’s pregnant.”
“So do I,” said Jesus, looking to his consort and resting his head on an arm, “That’s strange, we seem to be able to sense hidden things mortals cannot.”
“It must have something to do with being vampires.”
“Perhaps,” Jesus replied, thinking of his mother. They transformed and flew down the cliff, assuming human form about a hundred feet from the campsite. Walking through the brush to the campfire, Jesus greeted his parents, he and the Magdalene sitting down beside them.
“That bat thing you and Mary do is pretty neat son,” said an inebriated Joseph, offering the magnum to Jesus.
“Yeah,” Jesus replied, taking the bottle and drinking deeply from it, “It saves a lot of time and effort if you need to go somewhere fast.”
A curious proto-scientist, Joseph asked, “So, what happens to your clothes when you change into bats?”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” answered Jesus, “I imagine our garments and such become part of us, after all, we were wearing them before we transformed and we’re wearing them now.”
“True,” Joseph replied.
“Who knows, I just know it works,” said Mary as Joseph looked to her.
Joseph sat quietly, ruminating on the paradox regarding mass.
“You know father, we’re going to need picks and shovels to dig the foundation trench and a well pit,” said Jesus after finishing the bottle.
“I thought about that, there’s a merchant in town who deals in hardware. I suppose I’ll head there tomorrow morning; I’m also going to need nails, pitch for the roof and other stuff.”
“Nails are expensive,” said Jesus, nails at the time hand made, one at a time, by blacksmiths.
“Who cares?” Joseph retorted, breaking into laughter, knowing he had enough money to buy twenty wagonloads of nails if he wanted them.
“You have a point there dad.”
“It’s getting a late,” his mother remarked, Joseph opening and starting on another bottle.
“Yes woman,” said Joseph, corking it, “We should turn in, I want to rise early to start on the house.”
“Where are your tools father?”
“In the wagon, why do you ask?” asked Joseph, surprised that Jesus would ask for tools – to do work.
“I want to fell trees tonight so you can split and hew them in the morning.”
“Sure,” said Joseph, getting up and walking to the wagon, “For starters we need about twenty, perhaps thirty cubits long and a cubit or so wide.”
“We’ll also need stone for the foundation, I spotted some fair-sized rocks by the river,” Jesus replied, looking to the Euphrates.
“I reckon with you working at night and me working by day, this shouldn’t take long at all.” Sliding his leather tool satchel across the floor of the wagon, Joseph dropped the heavy bag to the ground. Reaching in and producing a sharp iron axe, he handed it to Jesus.
“It may be a bit noisy, I hope you can sleep while we work,” said Jesus, taking the axe and using a thumb to test the sharpness of the edge.
“I’m glad for once to see that you’re actually working!” Joseph exclaimed, climbing into the wagon.
“Yes father,” said Jesus, wishing his father’s memories weren’t so accurate.
“So I’ll tell you what, I and your mother will just have to do our best while you bust your ass,” Joseph added, his wife joining him in the wagon.
“After we’re finished we’ll be sleeping in the cave,” said Jesus, used to his father’s insults.
“Good idea son, there isn’t much room in here anyway.”
“Would you have a few blankets, and also hand me our old clothes?” Jesus asked, thankful the conversation had taken a turn for the better.
“Sure, hold on.” Joseph fished around in the wagon with a candle, producing a pair of blankets, the Magdalene’s old clothes and Jesus’ robe and sandals. “Here you go,” he said, handing him the articles.
“Thank you my father, and good night.”
“Good night to you,” Joseph replied, closing the door.
Taking the blankets to the cave, he and his consort changed into their former attire so they wouldn’t damage their good clothes while working. Pulling off his leather shoes, Jesus stared at his even redder feet and slipped on his sandals. Wondering why his feet looked so strange, he looked to the shoes, and again at his feet. They’re not too tight and it’s not a malaise; it must have something to do with those shoes, he thought, dropping the offending shoes to the cave floor. It was in fact the shoes, but it would take time for him to figure out why, so he wore his sandals from that night forward, except when he was visiting Gavinal Septimus or Marcus Pertinax.
“We must have looked like hell parading around in these rags,” Mary observed as they walked from the cave.
“I agree, it’s strange how one’s tastes change over time,” said Jesus.
Dark Resurrection Page 27
