Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  Jesus and consort rose at dusk, the Magdalene making her way to his mother’s bedroom to check on her and the baby, Jesus moving to the kitchen for a tasty glass of beer.

  “Good evening son,” said Joseph, stepping in from the porch.

  “Good evening father, how’s the farm doing?”

  “Very well, would you believe Brutus and crew have almost finished the harvest?”

  “Then it’s good that Callicles and his people came by early, otherwise we’d have no room for it in the granary,” Jesus observed.

  “They still have to thresh it,” said Joseph, dipping a pitcher in an amphora of beer sitting next to the kitchen table.

  “That should take about a week.”

  “Yes, just after Callicles takes off, along with you I imagine,” Joseph replied, pouring beer from the pitcher.

  “Exactly,” said Jesus, finishing his glass.

  “He’s coming by the night before he leaves.”

  “As usual, it should be fun.”

  “So, what route are you taking to Europe?” Joseph asked, taking a deep drink.

  “I figure we’ll head to Chrysopolis and fly over the Hellespont into Thrace.”

  “Oh, I forgot, that bat thing of yours,” said Joseph, stretching and letting out a yawn.

  “It comes in handy when one has to cross rivers,” Jesus replied, filling his glass.

  “I imagine so,” his father agreed, taking the pitcher and refilling his glass. Taking another sip, he remarked, “I’m glad you're here, I need to talk to you about Ruth.”

  “And?”

  “Would you believe she’s trying to seduce me?”

  “She is?”

  “Only after a fashion,” said Joseph, “She’s a silly kid, it’s probably a game to her, seeing if a foolish old man with a hard on will take the bait. Sure, she’s good-looking all right, but even if I were so inclined, I wouldn’t bother – you know what I mean.”

  “Very typical for a girl her age,” Jesus replied, “I recall when I was young a girl named Hanna stripped nude in an olive grove, trying to get me to indulge in her comely favors. I wouldn’t worry about it dad, she’s just teasing you, ignore it and she’ll stop after a time.”

  “I know that, so, what did you do regarding Hannah?” Joseph asked, not knowing the particular story, but recalling the young girl from long ago, a hazel-eyed beauty named Hanna of Nazareth.

  “Nothing, I wasn’t interested in women at the time, I was only fourteen.”

  “That’s no excuse, my brother Simon had sex when he was twelve and I knew my first woman at fifteen, she was an older broad too,” said Joseph, downing his beer.

  “You don’t say?” Jesus answered, raising an eyebrow.

  “I do say,” Joseph replied, “She wanted it, she was cute, so I gave it to her in the woods; she liked it too.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Who knows, maybe nineteen or twenty.”

  “Was she a virgin?”

  “Nope, just a slut, if you ask me that gorgeous bitch probably screwed half of Bethlehem before I got hold of her; she really liked sex as I recall.”

  “What was her name?”

  “I don’t remember, Esther, or Ester, or maybe Abigail, hell, that was forty years ago.”

  Jesus sat thunderstruck at his father’s blunt admissions of what was regarded in Judea as wanton sinfulness, not knowing what to say.

  “Got you with that one didn’t I?” asked Joseph.

  “According to Roman law you could take Ruth’s virtue with no legal reprisals, due to her being your slave,” said Jesus, plainly ignoring his father’s question, sounding like a Roman lawyer while refilling his glass.

  “What do you think I am, I’d never do such a thing, raping a woman, even if I do own her ass, it’s disgusting,” Joseph retorted, vestiges of his Hebrew morality coming to the surface, reaching for the pitcher and topping off his glass.

  “Yes father, I was only pointing out the law of the land.”

  “Law or not, any man who’d take a woman without her consent is nothing but a goddamn animal,” said Joseph, taking another long drink from his glass.

  “You know, Pontius Pilate was having sex with a pair of young slave girls on the night that I killed him,” said Jesus, downing his glass, reliving the bitter memory of the enslaved twins, keeping the fact he slaughtered them to himself.

  “So that’s why you killed him isn’t it?” asked Joseph, knowing the story and his son’s strict moral standards, even as a vampire.

  “That’s right, he pleaded with me that he tried to save me from death, but I saw him with the girls before confronting him and figured he deserved such a fate.”

  “He did, never fault yourself there.”

  “I don’t, but Mary has pointed it out, especially regarding Pilate.”

  “I wouldn’t be concerned, I think she’s simply trying to show you that you’re still human,” said Joseph, reaching for the pitcher.

  “Probably.”

  “So, when did you lose it?” asked Joseph.

  “Lose what?”

  “Your virginity for God’s sake,” said Joseph, resting his head on an arm.

  “I lost it when I was eighteen, in Rome,” Jesus replied, admitting his carnal sin.

  “See, you are human after all,” Joseph observed, smiling.

  “I never said I wasn’t.”

  “Who was she?”

  “A Gallic girl I liked, the daughter of a fabric merchant, if you really need to know the lurid details,” answered Jesus, looking to his father.

  “Oh,” said Joseph, realizing he should press no further.

  “Well, regarding Ruth, would you like me to hypnotize her so she won’t bother you, or would you rather deal with it yourself?”

  “I can handle her, I just needed your opinion,” Joseph replied, shaking his head at the suggestion.

  “Incidentally, does mother know about what you told me?”

  “No, and if I were you I wouldn’t tell her,” Joseph retorted, knowing he would never do such a thing.

  “I have no intention father, it’s just you’re so much different than I believed you were,” said Jesus, looking out a window.

  “Perhaps you were gullible in the past,” Joseph replied, holding up hands.

  “Perhaps, but not that gullible I think,” said Jesus, refilling his glass and taking another drink of beer.

  “What do you mean?” asked Joseph, rising from the table to refill the pitcher.

  “The fact that you robbed a publican who was later crucified for your thievery, and that you knew a fallen woman before marriage, along with claiming to be an atheist after all those years of practicing the Hebrew faith, theoretically makes you a hypocrite,” Jesus answered as diplomatically as possible.

  “So what, we’re all hypocrites or haven’t you noticed, after all, your woman was once a whore,” said Joseph, filling the pitcher, not caring or offended by Jesus’ blunt answer.

  “Yes she was, but is no longer, and that doesn’t mean I’m a – ”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it,” Joseph retorted, pointing a finger at Jesus. “You screwed some broad in Rome when you were in your teens, and now you slaughter people by the wagonload for the blood in their veins, deserving or not, and remember in Exodus the fifth commandment says that thou shalt not – ”

  “I get your point, you think so?” a frowning Jesus asked, holding up hands in protest to his adversarial father.

  “Yeah, and between you and me I don’t care. Further, after what you’ve been through, neither should you, so don’t worry about it,” Joseph answered, sitting down and refilling his glass.

  “I don’t really worry about it, but what do you mean?” asked Jesus, not following his father’s reason
ing.

  “What do I mean? It’s obvious that all the crap the priests said in Judea, along with what’s written down in the Torah is nothing but a crock. Hell, to me you’re proof of that,” said a bitter Joseph, taking a deep drink.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean – are you crazy?” Joseph asked, staring him in the face.

  “I’m sorry father, I don’t follow, please explain.”

  “Explain? You can’t be that stupid, verily I say unto you, tell me wise one, what kind of god would let my wife almost die while giving birth to my eighth child?”

  “Mother and Julian survived their ordeal.”

  “Only because of Electra’s skill and nothing more.”

  “True.”

  Further, what kind of vicious, monstrous god would condemn my firstborn, my own flesh and blood, to be slaughtered in agony on a cross, and then out of sheer spitefulness force him to resurrect from the grave to walk the earth as a vampire?” asked Joseph, growing angry.

  “I don’t know,” Jesus replied, filling his glass from the pitcher.

  “At least you admit that,” Joseph answered in disgust, in no mood for discussing theology.

  The Magdalene walked into the kitchen, having played with Julian while conversing with Mary in the bedroom. “Hi Joseph,” she said, sitting down at the table beside Jesus.

  “Good evening, care for beer?” asked Joseph, thankful she had intruded on a conversation that had filled him with bitterness.

  “Why not, it’s early yet,” the Magdalene replied, Joseph moving to retrieve a cup. “Your wife told me Julian said his first real word today.”

  “He did?” asked Joseph, turning from a cupboard.

  “Yes, it was ‘me’, spoken in perfect Latin.”

  “Excellent,” said Jesus as Joseph smiled.