Jesus On Mars

by Philip José Farmer

  A moment later, he murmured, 'Oh, Lord, help me get rid of my doubts. Make me believe the truth.'

  Ah, so there it was! But was that just the child in him speaking, the child who had believed everything his father and mother had told him? The child that never dies?

  He became aware that while he'd been lost in his thought the rabbi was leading the crowd in another chant, this one in Krsh. That he could understand, or much of it anyway, and he joined in. But the third chant was in Hebrew, and he kept silent, aware of Hfathon's stern gaze.

  The rabbi lifted his staff; the million voices, except for the infants', fell away like a dying surf. Slowly, the glowing pulsating lights died out to be replaced by the solid blue. But, immediately, the sun began to get dark, and at this a long drawn-out cry of awe arose. Swiftly, the blue sky became dull, then black. The sphere glowed redly, then became invisible as night filled the cavern. Orme could not even see Hfathon or Danton next to him. There was only a total darkness around him and inside him, and the only sound was the singing in his ears, the blood moving through its channels. Even the babies were quiet now, though he would have expected them and the younger children to cry out.

  How long did this last? He couldn't say. It seemed like many minutes. Suddenly, there was a thump, and he jumped. It was the butt of the rabbi's staff striking the stone, and then his voice lifted up, and the crowd chanted again.

  He had not ceased to look up, so he saw the first blackish-red glow of the sun returning to life. Gradually, it became brighter, and then its glow stayed at a level which enabled him to see the others near him and the inner circle of the crowd. But it was a ghostly light, and the people looked like phantoms.

  Again, the people sang, and at the end of it the sun became somewhat brighter. Once more, there was an exclamation of awe from the people. Now he could see a black dot against the orange globe. It moved down towards him, becoming larger.

  The sun brightened some more, though not so much that he could not look into it for a second or two at intervals. The object descending was now near enough to be seen as a tiny man.

  He moaned, and he gripped Danton's hand. It was cold and wet.

  Behind him, someone farted loudly.

  Orme giggled; he couldn't help it. He expected the culprit to be reprimanded, but the others on the platform broke into a loud laugh. He looked around and saw Ya'aqob grinning but red with shame. The rabbi, who did not find this amusing, though he must have known that the laughter was release from tension, thumped his staff on the stone and shouted for silence.

  Orme looked upwards again.

  Danton said, 'Your teeth are chattering, Richard.'

  He ground his teeth together, became aware that he was shaking as if he had a fever, and he said, 'You don't look so great yourself, Madeleine.'

  Neither did Shirazi seem well composed. His skin was pale, and he was biting his lip. Bronski's lips were open, his teeth clamped together, his hands raised half-clenched to the level of his chest.

  A man clad in a sky-blue robe floated downward. His feet were bare. His long hair trailed behind him, hair that seemed to be dark-red. His arms hung down at his sides, and his head was thrown back.

  The rabbi cried, 'Ya Yeshua' ha-Meshiakh!' and the mob roared out the same greeting.

  'Oh, Jesus the Messiah!'

  The man who alighted on the platform amidst the screams and yells and sobbing of a million people was about five feet eleven inches tall. His hair was Titian and so was his beard. The face was that of a handsome Levantine. It did not, however have the features impressed upon the famous shroud of Turin. His arms were muscular but not massive. His hands were large, but the long fingers made them seem less broad.

  The eyes were black, liquid, and luminous. The lips were, Orme thought, a little too thick for a Caucasian's, but then who was he to criticise? The cheekbones were high; the cheeks, somewhat sunken; the nose, long and slightly aquiline; the chin, strong and well-rounded and deeply clefted. His skin was a beautiful golden-brown.

  He stood there for a moment, looking at the people upon the platform. Then he turned and raised his right hand and spoke in a rich baritone, a voice with great authority.

  'May The Spirit of Holiness continue to smile upon you, my children. He has been well-pleased with you, and the Day of the Return is near.'

  The crowd cheered for many minutes. Finally, he raised his hand for silence, and he got it at once, except for the babies, who were crying again.

  'The Return is close, but there is much work to be done before then. Tomorrow, your leaders will tell you what the details are; you know the outline of the plan. Thus, I will not, as I have in the past, spend this day with you.'

  The crowd groaned.

  He smiled, and said, 'But I will not be going back to my home as soon as I have been accustomed to. This time I will be with you for two weeks.'

  A million cheered.

  Hfathon bellowed in Orme's ears. 'You four are especially honoured! He must be staying because of you!'

  Orme scarcely heard him. He was getting numb, though not so much that he was not aware of his trembling. He felt an intense painful urge to urinate. The figure of Jesus was wavering as if he were seeing it through heat waves.

  Jesus lifted his hand. Again, as if a switch had been pulled, the noise of the mob was turned off.

  'Go now, my children, to the synagogue and worship your Father and afterwards enjoy yourself with feasting and laughter and love and all the good things that your Father has blessed you with. Shalom.'

  Jesus turned then and walked towards the four. Orme sank to his knees and kissed the hand held out to him.

  'Forgive me, Lord,' he said. 'I doubted; I've done bad things. I...'

  Everything whirled. The next he was aware, he was on his back looking up at the bearded face.

  'What happened?'

  'You fainted,' Hfathon said. 'So did Madeleine.'

  14

  The four Terrestrials were in the front room of the Shirazis' house.

  'It was all emotional,' Orme said. 'A matter of conditioned reflexes; my childhood beliefs took over. I'm okay now. Cool, real cool. I can look at him objectively.'

  He added, grinning faintly, 'As long as he isn't around.'

  Madeleine had said very little since she had left the platform and, supported by Nadir, had walked home. Orme supposed that she was ashamed and humiliated. No wonder. She'd been a staunch atheist since she was eighteen. She openly scorned those who believed that God could exist and she laughed at those who claimed that Jesus was His Son. It was true that the Martians had made no claim about virgin birth. In fact, they denied it.

  Nevertheless, the sight of a man floating down from the sun, a man whom the Martians not only believed had lived over two thousand years but who could prove it, and this man's close resemblance to the portraits hanging in her parents' home and to those in churches and art galleries, all this had stormed through her. And the long-buried but never-dead beliefs had taken over.

  Or was it that she had suddenly doubted that she had been right? And her self-image as a scientifically minded sceptic, a thoroughly rational person, had been destroyed? One of the worst things that could happen to a human being was to have the self-image brutally crumbled and swept away in a very short time. There were no defences against that except insanity or suicide - unless the ravaged person was very strong.

  She was strong, or at least he had always thought so until now. At this moment she looked as if she were partially recovered from a long illness.

  Avram Bronski broke the long silence that had followed Orme's words.

  'I was almost overcome, too,' he said. 'So don't you feel so bad about it, Richard. It was a tremendous experience. However, as you say, we have to remain cool. After all, there are explanations for his being able to float through the air without any visible means of support. Visible is the key word. Who knows what device he had under his robe? That aircraft that took us to the platform didn't have any visible
means of propulsion either. So why couldn't he?'

  This was reasonable. Yet no one really thought this was the right explanation. The man called Jesus radiated a power that made it very difficult not to believe that he was what the Martians claimed he was. It wasn't his words, since these were not extraordinary. Nor was it his features or bearing, which, though handsome and strong and imposing, were equalled or exceeded by many men they'd known. It was a force, a charisma (a word which meant little now because it had been used too much and too inappropriately), an invisible lightning leaping from him. The Krsh and the humans here strongly desired to see him, touch him, be with him, so they could receive this flow of power. But the four Marsnauts were afraid of him and dreaded seeing him again. At the same time, they were attracted by the human magnetic field he radiated. But they had to be with him in the near future. There was no easy way of avoiding it.

  Perhaps it was not that they feared him: they feared themselves.

  His force was not restricted to contact with the flesh. Later that morning when they turned on the TV, they saw him coming out of the main government building, and the effect of the holograph image was almost as great as that on the platform. Danton got up in the middle of the programme and turned it off. No one objected.

  'I don't know,' Madeleine said, shaking her head.

  'Don't know what?' Nadir said.

  'I just don't know.' Without excusing herself she went into the bedroom. The Iranian started to get up to go after her but changed his mind. Sitting back down, he said, 'I'm worried about her. I can't get her to talk about what's troubling her.'

  'You know what it is,' Orme said. Shirazi didn't reply. What was the use?

  At that moment the TV came alive, and Hfathon's two-foot high image was standing before them.

  'Shalom,' he said. 'I'm inviting you to come at once to the university so you can start work on the next transmission to Earth. After that is sent, you'll be allowed to talk with your people from time to time.'

  If he'd expected joy at this news, he was disappointed. The three looked gloomy and for a moment didn't speak.

  Then Orme said, 'We'll be right over, Hfathon. Three of us will be, anyway. I don't know about Madeleine.'

  The Krsh's feathery eyebrows rose. 'She doesn't have to if she doesn't want to. But you'll have to explain to your colleagues on Earth why she's absent. Otherwise, they might have some sinister interpretations.'

  Orme knocked on the bedroom door, since Shirazi showed no signs of going after her. Surprisingly, she said she'd be out in a minute. Orme returned grinning to the front room.

  'Maybe we're overly concerned about her. She sounds okay to me. After all, she's about as psychologically stable as a person can get. If she wasn't, she wouldn't be here.'

  Bronski smiled lopsidedly. 'Everybody has a breaking point, and the breaking can be caused by things that don't show up on a psych profile.'

  'That's right,' Orme said. 'Be a pessimist.'

  Madeleine was not actually vivacious, but she did talk when spoken to. But when they entered Hfathon's office, she gasped, and she looked as if she would like to run away. Orme didn't blame her; he was startled, too. Sitting at the Krsh's desk was the Messiah.

  He rose and said pleasantly. 'Shalom, my friends. I'm here to help you prepare your programme. I can expedite matters considerably.'

  Orme reached down inside himself and dragged up his courage. Why should he feel like a naughty child who'd been caught doing something very bad by a stern powerful elder? He was a man and a damn good one, and it was ridiculous to let this man buffalo him. Jesus hadn't threatened him. He seemed very friendly, quite ready to treat others as almost-equals. So why shouldn't he relax?

  That was easier thought than done. Nevertheless, he advanced to Jesus, his hand out, and he managed a weak smile.

  'Shalom, Rabbi.'

  Jesus looked down at the hand and then inquiringly at Hfathon.

  The Krsh said, 'Rabbi, on Earth it's the custom to shake hands when greeting.' He spoke to Orme. 'But here you kiss the Messiah's hand.'

  Orme felt a little better. The Messiah was not all-knowing.

  Jesus said, 'They are our guests. There is no harm in honouring a harmless custom.'

  Jesus extended his hand. The Marsnaut took it and felt a powerful grip and a slight tingle. He had the impression that this man could have pulped his hand if he wished to. But perhaps he was letting his imagination stampede.

  Jesus then shook hands with the others. Madeleine must have summoned up her nerve; she gave him a quick strong shake and looked directly into the large, dark, deerlike eyes.

  'Good woman!' Orme thought. 'She's as tough as any of us.'

  Nevertheless, she looked a little pale and so did Shirazi and Bronski.

  'With your permission,' Jesus said in a tone that showed he expected unreserved consent, 'I am going to do something that I seldom do. The people like it when I do these things even though I've told them that they're too much like cheap pseudomagical tricks. And I've told them that they should be able to duplicate them and could if they had enough belief in their own powers. From what Hfathon and his colleagues tell me of this book you call the New Testament, I was reported to have performed these so-called miracles while I was on Earth. I didn't, but I could have, though I didn't know it then.

  'Even the Son of Man is not perfect, as I once said in Palestine. Only The Divine Presence is perfect, only He is good. But I am His adopted son, and therefore I can do some things which other mortals won't do. At least, not at this time.'

  He went to a table and poured out wine into five glasses.

  'First, we'll have a drink. Come join me, my friends.'

  Orme took the glass from him. He thought of his parents, who steadfastly refused to drink any alcoholic beverage whatsoever, even though they believed that Jesus had turned the water into wine at the marriage in Cana. If they could see Jesus now, they'd have a psychic haemorrhage.

  They drank the wine and then followed the Messiah through many rooms and into an enormous auditorium. Waiting for them were TV crews, many of the university staff, and a large number of government officials. There were also a few of the more favoured students and, no doubt, some relatives of the higher- ups in the administration. Here, as on Earth, nepotism wasn't unknown. It was just more restrained.

  Jesus went ahead to talk to the TV directors and producers, each of whom had to kiss his hand first. Orme enjoyed that. They were so respectful and humble. His experiences with TV executives on Earth had soured him, they were so authoritative. Especially the civil-service TV officials. Not that they wouldn't in turn, kiss the asses of the high-echelon executives and the politicians.

  He wandered around for a few minutes. The cameras were intriguing, cigarette-package-sized machines that the camera-people held one hand while looking through a telescope adjustable lens attached to the top of the camera. Some wore headbands to which were fixed cameras fitting over one eye. They looked through a hole in the camera and could zoom in or away by regulating a small wheel on the side of the camera. There were no attached wires or cables.

  At one end of the room were crews which monitored the transmissions from the cameras, edited them, mixed shots, and did other strange things that so mystified the layman.

  Near these was a rostrum on which a band sat. Orme, looking them over, was startled to see Gulthilo. She was practising bars on her flute.

  He went up to her at once.

  'Gulthilo!'

  She stopped playing and smiled down at him.

  'Richard Orme! How is your health?'

  The Martians still said this after two thousand years, though scarcely anyone got sick.

  'I'm fine, though a little bit shaken. He-' he gestured at the Messiah - 'isn't easy to get used to.' Gulthilo looked adoringly at Jesus.

  'You will never get used to him.'

  Then she looked at him and smiled. He felt as if he were melting. She was so beautiful.

  'Have you been thinkin
g about the other night?'

  'It's never been out of my mind, day or night.'

  That was a lie, but he had thought much about her.

  'And the result?'

  'A lot of erections,' he said, wondering if the moral code of these people permitted such frank talk.

  She lost her smile, but it quickly returned.

  'Is that all?'

  'No, not at all. Look, Gulthilo. I think I'm in love with you. But do I really know you? Do you really know me? We come from such different cultures. Could we get along without friction? I mean, there's always a certain amount of that between two married people even when they're from the same culture. There's the basic friction that results from individual differences and that from the difference between sexes. But in this situation... it's not just that you're Jewish. You're a Martian Jew, and what a world of difference that means! If it weren't for that... well...'

  'But,' she said, 'you'd become Jewish. We couldn't marry if you didn't, and I wouldn't marry you if you didn't.'

  There was a silence between them, though elsewhere it was certainly noisy. The musicians were blowing, scraping, tootling, tinkling, beating. Further away there were shouts from the TV crews, and laughter at something, perhaps what Jesus had said, since it came from a crowd around him.

  'I'm not going to argue or plead with you,' she said. 'But I don't see how you could hesitate. I mean, converting. You're an intelligent man. If you weren't, I wouldn't even consider becoming your wife, no matter how physically attractive you are. But I know that we could be a very loving couple, for sixty or seventy years anyway, maybe more. I sent in our physicochemicopsychic recordings to the centre, and it reported that we are a well-matched couple. And your genes are quite acceptable, though there's a hereditary tendency to diabetes, and liver cancer would have started at about the age of fifty-five. But that's been rectified. We would have beautiful intelligent children, and we'd be quite happy. Not that there wouldn't be periods of conflict and unhappiness. These are not unconquerable, however.'