Call Me Joe

by Martin Van Es

  The printing presses in London were ready and waiting for the story and the newspapers were hitting the streets within a few hours. Minutes after the first editions were being read, Clive’s story was out there, hurtling through cyberspace, shooting out tentacles in every direction, and his phone began to buzz with rival media wanting him to give them a quote. His name was appearing everywhere as the man who had scored the greatest scoop in history. For the moment at least, he had ownership of the hottest news story of the day and it felt good. As he read the first editions he celebrated with a cigarette, which he cadged off a passing fifteen-year-old, telling himself that he had earned it and promising himself that it would definitely be his last.

  The entire scientific community, the vast majority of whom were lifelong atheists or agnostics, stopped whatever they were thinking about the moment they heard the news. They looked up from their screens and microscopes and opened their minds to the shocking possibility that there might be elements of truth to be found in the holy scriptures of the various religions which they had been dismissing as fairy tales for so long.

  Within a few hours, senior figures within the pharmaceutical industry were also instigating conversations on the subject of divinity and considering the marketing ramifications of what they were hearing.

  “If this guy actually is divine,” one chief executive was saying to a trusted colleague, “then we could learn a great deal from studying him.”

  “You mean we might be able to work out exactly how immortality works? Develop a pill, maybe – Viagra for the soul? That would certainly be a product that would fly off the shelves.”

  “You joke, but there must be some explanation behind these findings. Imagine if we could work out the formula for divinity and bottle it.”

  “We can’t be the only ones thinking this. There must be conversations like this happening inside the offices of every one of our competitors.”

  “So we need to make sure we stay ahead of the pack.”

  “I don’t think it would be good to use hunting analogies outside this room.”

  “Hey, we’re just shooting the breeze here. But supposing we could get this Joe guy to co-operate with us. Supposing he let us do some tests, let us have samples of body fluids and tissues; suppose he let the researchers spend some time with him on an exclusive basis… that could put us years ahead of the competition. Imagine what we could do if we had a sample of his semen. Imagine the market value of something like that. If people could breed from divine DNA the entire human race could eventually be up-graded.”

  “Does he seem like the kind of guy who would be willing to spend time being poked and prodded by a bunch of people in white coats?”

  “Everyone has their price.”

  “I don’t think money is of any interest to him. He’s the Son of God for God’s sake.”

  “So then we would need to find another way to persuade him.”

  “What do you mean, torture him?”

  “We’re just shooting the breeze here.”

  “Yeah, you said.”

  “When I was a kid I used to catch butterflies. I had this net and I would chase them around the fields and collect as many different species as possible. It was fun.”

  “Not so many butterflies around these days,” his colleague reminded him. “They got pretty much wiped out.”

  “Yeah, but there have been other compensatory factors like better pesticides, better crop yields…”

  “So are you suggesting we net this Joe guy and pin him to a specimen board?”

  “I’m just…”

  “…shooting the breeze. Right. But we could put out some feelers, yeah?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Now that the revelation about Joe’s DNA was out there, there were only two ways for the rest of the media to handle the story. They could either go all out for celebrating the fact that the Son of God had returned to Earth and might be able to save mankind, and then rely on the fact that millions if not billions of people would be hungry to read more about him and what he was going to do for the world, or they had to take the opposite tack and look for ways to “expose” what some believed must be an elaborate con trick or practical joke. Either this was the greatest story ever, or it was the greatest fake ever – which came to almost the same thing.

  They divided pretty much in half when it came to making that decision, with some of the more ruthless ones following both lines simultaneously. The result was a complete eclipse of all other news for several days. What was the point of journalists writing about anything else when there was only one thing that everyone wanted to read about and talk about? The story consequently attained something that media people had been dreaming about ever since the invention of the printing press: one hundred per cent media saturation.

  Joe and Sophie stayed in the hotel suite, most of the time camped out on the giant bed, watching the story unfold online and fielding any phone calls and visitors who managed to make it past the growing army of security guards and public relations handlers that was building up around them, regardless of Joe’s protestations that he did not need guarding from his own flock.

  “It seems the medical establishment wants to study you in more depth,” Sophie said as she flicked through the messages on her phone while snuggled into a pile of pillows beside Joe. “And they seem to think that I might be a way of getting to you.”

  “Studied how? Like a laboratory rat?” Joe laughed at the idea.

  “I think that would be their ideal scenario, yes,” she replied with a straight face. “Don’t underestimate how ruthless these people are, Joe. I have been involved in a few protests against big pharma over the years, fighting against vivisection and for animal rights and stuff, and I know how powerful they are and how low they are willing to stoop in order to get what they want. I’ve heard stories from activists in some parts of the world about kidnappings and even executions.”

  “The pharmaceutical industry?” Joe was obviously shocked. “Really? I thought they were the good guys. I thought medicines were supposed to help people.”

  “Well, you’d think, yeah. But it’s the same in any industry where there are billions of dollars to be made. Greed always wins the day because greedy people are willing to use force. It’s bound to be that way if you think about it.”

  “I had not realised quite how bad things had become.”

  “I know,” she said, curling up close to him, “that’s why you need me to look after you.”

  “Indeed I do,” he said, making her spirits soar. But then he laughed good-naturedly, as if he was only joking, which made her feel more disappointed than she would ever have imagined possible. She had never before fully appreciated what people meant when they talked about being on an “emotional rollercoaster”.

  Twenty-Four

  “The President wants to talk to you direct,” the official said.

  “Which president?” the Russian President asked innocently.

  “The President of America, sir.”

  “Oh. What does he want?”

  “He is concerned that there is a groundswell of support for this Son of God impostor and that it could lead to a great deal of political unrest.”

  “Unrest here, in Russia?” The President chuckled at the suggestion.

  “I think he believes it will spread everywhere. He would like to present a unified front to the people of the world, West and East. The representatives of the ‘status quo’ against the ‘chaos’ of upheaval; the reassuring, known and trusted elements versus the unknown and feared ones.”

  “Do the Americans know we already have someone placed inside the movement?”

  “We do not think so, sir. They seem to know very little.”

  The President let out another chuckle, which sounded like something between a laugh and a cough. �
��Perhaps so, but never underestimate their ability for treachery and deceit. We have been caught out by them before.”

  “I understand, sir. We will continue to monitor the situation. Can we arrange a time for you to speak directly to him?”

  “Let him wait a few hours. Tell them that I am taking a walk in the woods to clear my thoughts.”

  The message was relayed to the office of the President of America.

  “No need to share that last detail with the President,” an advisor said. “The Russians are just trying to annoy him. They are playing mind games. Let’s try to keep him calm until after the call.”

  A few hours later, the Americans were informed that the President of Russia had returned safely from his walk in the woods. He felt suitably refreshed and would be happy to receive the call.

  “This guy is beginning to give me the creeps,” the American President said as an opening gambit once the line was established.

  “Which man is it we are discussing?” the Russian President asked.

  “This guy that everyone says is Jesus come back to sort everything out. I mean, come on. Can you believe the nerve of the guy?”

  “I’m told that he already has many followers.”

  “Sure he does, because he’s selling something that everyone wants to buy – and he photographs better than you and me…”

  The Russian let out another throaty chuckle which suggested that he didn’t entirely agree with the last statement but that he was willing to accept it contained some humour.

  “Maybe the media will expose him as a fraud and it will all be over in a few days or a few weeks,” the Russian President suggested.

  “But what if it’s not? He could become a catalyst for every dissident in the world. Not everyone thinks we are doing such a great job of running things, you know. If this guy suggests that there might be a different way of doing things… Well, you know.”

  “He has no power base,” the Russian President replied, already tired of the conversation. “He is not a threat. You can stop worrying. Just be patient and everything will work out.”

  “I think we need to work together on this, though.”

  “Sure.”

  “While you’re on the line,” the American continued as if he had only just thought of something else he wanted to talk about, “I’ve heard rumours that some of my generals are talking to some of your generals. Do you know anything about that?”

  The line clicked dead.

  “Did he just hang up on me?” the American President asked all those who were listening in to the call.

  “No, Mr President, I’m sure not. The line must have been cut off.”

  “What is this, the nineteen fifties? The ‘line was cut off’? Give me a break. The son of a bitch hung up on me. What does he know? Does he know what the military are plotting?”

  A few hours later the Director of National Security was summoned to the Oval Office. The President had decided to make it look like he had instructed his generals to reach out to their former enemies, so that all the governments could demonstrate a united front.

  “We need to work more closely with the Russians and the Chinese and the rest of them on this,” he informed the Director. “Whether they want to or not. If we don’t stick together this guy could be sitting in any one of our offices by the end of the year and we could all be left holding our dicks, and looking for new jobs.”

  “It might be a mistake to trust the Russians too much, Mr President,” the Director warned.

  “We can trust them,” the President blustered. “It’s as much in their interests to get rid of this guy as it is in ours. I mean they do not have a great record when it comes to being nice to church-going folk. Am I right? And the Chinese – do the Chinese even have a religion? I don’t think they do. I think they put people in prison for that sort of thing. Come to think of it, maybe they know a thing or two that we could learn from.”

  “International theology really isn’t my subject, Mr President.” The Director seemed to be backing away across the carpet. “But if you would like me to find some experts on the subject…”

  “Damn right we should bring some experts in on this thing. Fight fire with fire, that’s what we need to do.”

  *****

  The Chinese President was informed that there was a growing international movement asking for Liang Zhang and other political prisoners to be released.

  “What do we know from inside the house of his wife?” he asked the messengers.

  “It seems that everyone in that group is now tightly linked to the man who is dominating the news and the internet. They are turning him into the figurehead for their movement.”

  “This healer man with no past?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “He cannot be allowed to dominate the media that are seen by our people. We are able to stop that, yes?”

  “We can stop that, sir,” they told him, even though every one of them knew that it was too late because virtually every citizen in China had already heard or read the story. Everyone in the room knew that there was absolutely no point in burning books after virtually the whole population had already read them. “But it might be more important for us to show a united front with the Americans and Russians. Their military leaders have reached out to ours…”

  “Have they indeed?” the President seemed lost in thought. “Do they believe they need our help?”

  “I think they are hoping to show international solidarity. If all our armies are working together against a common enemy then they will be more effective.”

  “Do you think the Russians or the Americans are clever enough to work that out?” The President sounded doubtful.

  Twenty-Five

  “It’s like a perfect storm,” the media guru was explaining to the host on a late-night chat show. “People all over the world are aware that all the political systems are broken. For years there has been this great hunger for transparency but whenever it actually happens people are inevitably disappointed by what they see, because they had imagined that the things that were hidden from them were much better and cleverer than any of the things they already knew.”

  “Like when Toto pulls back the curtain and exposes the Wizard of Oz,” the interviewer suggested, “revealing just a small, insignificant man working all the levers?”

  “Quite.”

  “Are you saying that knowing a lot about the people who govern us is a bad thing?”

  “I am saying that people want to have something to believe in, something that they believe is better and stronger than they are. They want to believe that there is someone out there looking after them. In previous centuries that role was taken by the religions with their stories of God, and in many parts of the world it still is, but in increasingly large areas since the Enlightenment, increasingly secular societies have removed the hope that there is a god looking after our interests and replaced that with a succession of human heroes like politicians, revolutionaries and ‘stars’ of all sorts, all of whom have been shown to have feet of clay when the spotlight was trained on them too intensely. They were expected to step into the shoes of the gods that came before and there was never any chance of them being able to do that. So people are disillusioned. People have always needed ecstasy. They might find it in religion, sports, drugs, music or spirituality, but it is basically the same thing.

  “The idea that the Son of God has come back and will take over the reins of power is very attractive to everyone, apart from the people who currently hold those reins, of course. It is tapping in to the religious and spiritual ecstasy that we all crave, whether we choose to admit it or not. So it is not surprising that so many people are heading to New Zealand in the hope of being part of something this big.”

  Sophie and Joe were lying on the bed, half-watching the tele
vision as they prepared to drift into sleep.

  “Tell me about your mother and father; Mary and Joseph, I mean,” Sophie said. “What were they like?”

  “They were good people,” Joe replied after a few moments’ reflection. “My mother, Maria, cut hair for other women and she used to let me sweep up the customers’ hair from the street. She used to cut all our hair in the family.”

  “How many of you were there?”

  “I was the eldest of seven. I had four brothers and two sisters.”

  “And you were all born in Bethlehem?”

  “No,” he laughed, “none of us was born in Bethlehem. We were all born in Nazareth. Joseph happened to be in Bethlehem the night I was born because of the census that was underway. My mother could not go with him because it was 130 kilometres and much too arduous a journey for a woman who was about to give birth. People invented the whole ‘stable in Bethlehem’ story later.”

  “Wow! All those school nativity plays I sat through. Who’d have thought?”

  “Well, it is a good story.”

  “Did you get on with Joseph?”

  “Oh yes. He was a great man. He was a carpenter and metal worker and I helped him as I grew older, but I was never as good as him. I had other interests. I also used to spend a lot of time with my mother’s parents, Anna and Joachim. My grandmother used to make the most amazing fruit tarts, I remember, and Joachim taught me to read and write. He used to tell me stories about Abraham, Moses, David and Elijah, too. I loved listening to him. It’s how I first learned about the power of storytelling.”