Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  They awoke early the following evening, so Mary could purchase gifts for their female slaves. As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, they headed for downtown Mansahir, a block containing shops, salons, and a pair of brothels. Walking into a tailor’s shop, she inquired if he had silk cloth.

  “Certainly,” the tailor answered, “Imported from Cathay by way of India, but it is not inexpensive, ten denarii buys only a square cubit.”

  “Measure off thirty square cubits,” said Jesus, fumbling in a tunic pocket for money.

  “Yes sir,” the tailor replied, reaching for a bolt of silk and his shears. “That will be 300 denarii,” he added after carefully measuring off the cloth, “I’m sorry sir, I must be paid before I cut it.”

  “Will twelve aurei cover it?” asked Jesus, holding out coins in his left.

  “Of course,” said the tailor, staring at the gold.

  Sitting coins on the counter, Jesus retorted, “There’s your money. Cut it, we don’t have all night.” The tailor quickly cut the cloth, wrapped it in a piece of cheap burlap and handed it to Jesus.

  “I thank you sir,” said the tailor as they left.

  “Yeah,” Jesus replied, passing through the doorway.

  “You were a bit rude to him weren’t you?” asked Mary while they headed to a jewelry store.

  “He was a jerk, demanding money before he cut the cloth.”

  “You always have to pay for expensive cloth before it’s cut,” said Mary, having dealt with tailors many times.

  “You do?”

  “Everywhere,” Mary answered, a taciturn Jesus ruminating on the statement and finally agreeing with her. Walking into a jewelry shop, she picked out several necklaces made of electrum, otherwise known as amber, and three made of pearls. Spending 11 aurei at the jewelers, they headed to a salon where she picked up henna, kohl and other cosmetics, along with three polished silver mirrors, hairbrushes and three pairs of shears.

  “Mother said she was interested in henna too, perhaps we should buy some for her,” Jesus suggested, placing their selections on the counter.

  “I can even show her how to use it properly,” said Mary, returning to a shelf containing jars of the cosmetic.

  “You’ve used henna?”

  “Of course, I used to be a whore you know,” the Magdalene answered quietly, heading to the counter.

  “Oh yes,” said Jesus, recalling her colorful past.

  “That’ll be a hundred denarii,” the clerk declared, figuring the total using an abacus.

  “Here you go,” Jesus replied, dropping four aurei at this establishment. “You have very good taste when it comes to clothing and accessories Mary, where did you learn such things?” he asked, the couple heading to the hotel.

  “Thank you, remember, I was a whore once and know how to make a woman look her best.”

  “I’ll say,” said Jesus, looking to his smartly dressed, beautiful consort, attired in a tight fitting light blue stola and delicate leather shoes. Returning to the hotel, he remarked as he closed the door to their room, “I imagine we should check out and fly home woman.”

  “We’ll have to find someone to eat first,” Mary observed, tucking some purchases into a small leather bag, others into nooks in her stola.

  “That should prove easy around here,” said Jesus, checking the room for mislaid belongings, both walking out and heading for the office. Handing the clerk the key, they bid farewell and left town. Heading north, they came across and dispatched another pair of society’s dregs, looting the bodies and heaving the remains over a hillside, adding another fifty denarii to their kitty. Alone, they assumed chiropteric form and began the long flight home.

  Near ten, they flew over Callicles’ wagons, stopped in Heraclea, Jesus observing Callicles far below, showing another customer his many wares, nephew at his side. Five hours later they arrived at the farm, transforming on the porch. Taking seats in the dimly lit kitchen, they conversed until dawn, heading to their room and settling in for the day.

  “If it isn’t the return of my prodigal son and his pretty wife,” said a smiling Joseph while they walked into the kitchen the following evening.

  “Hello my father,” Jesus replied.

  “How was your trip?” asked Joseph, embracing his son.

  “It went well, thank you,” answered Jesus, returning the embrace.

  “You were only gone a little over three weeks but we all missed you,” said Joseph, looking to him.

  “You did?”

  “It certainly wasn’t the same here without you. You’ve made quite an impression on the slaves, especially Cyril. He’s been asking when you would return.”

  “Really?” Jesus asked, surprised but pleased that the old slave would be so intent on associating with him.

  “You underestimate yourself son, even as a vampire people love or hate you, there are no in betweens, just like when you were alive.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Who knows. But here we love you, and are all joyous at your return, just like your mother and I were when you returned to Nazareth the first time.”

  “What about the second time?”

  “That time you almost gave me a heart attack, considering you were a dead man, but your mother and I got past that pretty quick.”

  “I’m still a dead man father, Mary and I are vampires, and vampires are not truly alive, nor really dead for that matter, we are undead.”

  “I know, remember I’ve read Herodotus, according to him you and your lady are in an ageless stasis, for lack of better words.”

  “Stasis?” Jesus asked, pleased that his father was becoming familiar with Greek, as he had become, conversing with Cyril in that tongue for the past few months.

  “What I mean is you may be dead in a fashion but you're far from a corpse, after all, you’re not rotting away,” Joseph observed, arms in the air.

  “Yes, that’s quite true,” said Jesus, Mary looking to him.

  “Further, you and your girl may be undead, vampires, going around killing folks and sucking their blood and all, but you’re still good company.”

  “I am?” asked a confused Jesus.

  “Of course,” said Joseph, pouring a goblet of wine, “Even when you were alive, I and your mother always enjoyed the conversations we had with you in the courtyard, sitting with a finger in the air, saying, Verily I say unto you – and so forth.”

  “But you thought I was lazy too,” Jesus replied, thinking of his days in Nazareth, the Magdalene standing quietly in the background.

  “That didn’t mean you were stupid,” said Joseph, waxing philosophical.

  “What did it accomplish, all it did was get me killed.”

  “I told you that would happen.”

  “I remember.”

  “I’m going to look in on your mother,” said Mary, wanting to leave, heading to their bedroom.

  “Want wine?” asked Joseph, holding the bottle while Jesus sat down.

  “That would be nice,” said Jesus, his father taking a seat.

  Joseph poured him a libation, Jesus asking, “How’s the farm doing?”

  “Very well, the wheat and barley are almost ready for harvest, Icarus is running the forge with work sent from the centurion, and your mother’s sickness has finally stopped.”

  “The baby will come soon.”

  “In another four months or so. She only has trouble in the beginning, the child should be here by early December.”

  “It’s a boy you know.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother,” said Joseph. Sitting quietly for a moment, he smiled with satisfaction and said, “A boy, I’m going to have another son.”