Lamb

by Christopher Moore

  Joshua bent down and examined the girl. “Go out of here,” he said to the old man. “Out of the house.” When the mayor was gone Joshua looked at me. “She’s not dead.”

  “What?”

  “This girl is sleeping. Maybe they’ve given her some strong wine, or some sleeping powder, but she is not dead.”

  “So this is a trap?”

  “I didn’t see this one coming either,” Joshua said. “They expect me to claim that I raised her from the dead, healed her, when she’s only sleeping. Blasphemy and healing on the Sabbath.”

  “Let me raise her from the dead, then. I mean, I can do this one if she’s only sleeping.”

  “They’ll blame me for whatever you do as well. You may be their target too. The local Pharisees didn’t devise this themselves.”

  “Jakan?”

  Josh nodded. “Go get the old man, and gather as many witnesses as you can, Pharisees as well. Make a ruckus.”

  When I had about fifty people gathered in and around the house, Joshua announced, “This girl isn’t dead, she’s sleeping, you foolish old man.” Joshua shook the girl and she sat up rubbing her eyes. “Keep watch on your strong wine, old man. Rejoice that you have not lost your daughter, but grieve that you have broken the Sabbath for your ignorance.”

  Then Joshua stormed out and I followed him. When we were a ways down the street he said, “Do you think they bought it?”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Me either,” Joshua said.

  In the morning a Roman soldier came to Peter’s house with messages. I was still sleeping when I heard the shouting. “I can only speak to Joshua of Nazareth,” someone said in Latin.

  “You’ll speak to me or you’ll never speak again,” I heard someone else say. (Obviously someone who had no desire to live a long life.) I was up and running in an instant, my tunic waving unbelted behind me. I rounded the corner at Peter’s house to see Judas facing down a legionnaire. The soldier had partially drawn his short sword.

  “Judas!” I barked. “Back down.”

  I put myself between them. I knew I could disarm the soldier easily, but not the legion that would follow him if I did. “Who sends you, soldier?”

  “I have a message from Gaius Justus Gallicus, commander of the Sixth Legion, for Joshua bar Joseph of Nazareth.” He glared at Judas over my shoulder. “But there is nothing in my orders to keep me from killing this dog while delivering it.”

  I turned to face Judas, whose face was on fire with anger. I knew he carried a dagger in his sash, although I hadn’t told Joshua about it. “Justus is a friend, Judas.”

  “No Roman is the friend of a Jew,” said Judas, making no effort whatever to whisper.

  And at that point, realizing that Joshua hadn’t reached our new Zealot recruit with the message of forgiveness for all men, and that he was going to get himself killed, I quickly reached up under Judas’ tunic, clamped onto his scrotum, squeezed once, rapidly and extremely hard, and after he blasted a mouthful of slobber on my chest, his eyes rolled in his head and he slumped to his knees, unconscious. I caught him and lowered him to the ground so he didn’t hit his head. Then I turned to the Roman.

  “Fainting spells,” I said. “Let’s go find Joshua.”

  Justus had sent us three messages from Jerusalem: Jakan had indeed divorced Maggie; the Pharisees’ full council had met and they were plotting to kill Joshua; and Herod Antipas had heard of Joshua’s miracles and was afraid that he might be the reincarnation of John the Baptist. Justus’ only personal note was one word: Careful.

  “Joshua, you need to hide,” said Maggie. “Leave Herod’s territory until things settle down. Go to Decapolis, preach to the gentiles. Herod Philip has no love for his brother, his soldiers won’t bother you.” Maggie had become a fiercely dedicated preacher herself. It was as if she had channeled her personal passion for Joshua into a passion for the Word.

  “Not yet,” said Joshua. “Not until Philip and Thaddeus return with John’s followers. I will not leave them lost. I need a sermon, one that can serve as if it was my last, one that will sustain the lost while I’m gone. Once I deliver it to Galilee, I’ll go to Philip’s territory.”

  I looked at Maggie and she nodded, as if to say, Do what you have to, but protect him.

  “Let’s write it then,” I said.

  Like any great speech, the Sermon on the Mount sounds as if it just happened spontaneously, but actually Joshua and I worked on it for over a week—Joshua dictating and me taking notes on parchment. (I had invented a way of sandwiching a thin piece of charcoal between two pieces of olive wood so that I could write without carrying a quill and inkwell.) We worked in front of Peter’s house, out in the boat, even on the mountainside where he would deliver the sermon. Joshua wanted to devote a long section of the sermon to adultery, largely, I realize now, motivated by my relationship with Maggie. Even though Maggie had resolved to stay celibate and preach the Word, I think Joshua wanted to drive the point home.

  Joshua said, “Put in ‘If a man even looks at a woman with lust in his heart, he has committed adultery.’”

  “Really, you want to go with that? And this ‘If a divorced woman remarries she commits adultery’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seems a little harsh. A little Pharisee-ish.”

  “I had some people in mind. What do you have?”

  “‘Verily I say unto you’—I know you like to say ‘verily’ when you’re talking about adultery—anyway, ‘Verily I say unto you, that should a man put oil upon a woman’s naked body, and make her go upon all fours and bark like a dog, while knowing her, if you know what I mean, then he has committed adultery, and surely if a woman do the same thing right back, well she has jumped on the adultery donkey cart herownself. And if a woman should pretend to be a powerful queen, and a man a lowly slave boy, and if she should call him humiliating names and make him lick upon her body, then surely they have sinned like big dogs—and woe unto the man if he pretends to be a powerful queen, and—’”

  “That’s enough, Biff.”

  “But you want to be specific, don’t you. You don’t want people to walk around wondering, ‘Hey, is this adultery, or what? Maybe you should roll over.’”

  “I’m not sure that being that specific is a good idea.”

  “Okay, how ’bout this: ‘Should a man or a woman have any goings-on with their mutual naughty bits, then it is more than likely they are committing adultery, or at least they should consider it.’”

  “Well, maybe more specific than that.”

  “Come on, Josh, this isn’t an easy one like ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ Basically, there you got a corpse, you got a sin, right?”

  “Yes, adultery can be sticky.”

  “Well, yes…Look, a seagull!”

  “Biff, I appreciate that you feel obliged to be an advocate for your favorite sins, but that’s not what I need here. What I need is help writing this sermon. How we doing on the Beatitudes?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “The blesseds.”

  “We’ve got: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness; blessed are the poor in spirit, the pure in heart, the whiners, the meek, the—”

  “Wait, what are we giving the meek?”

  “Let’s see, uh, here: Blessed are the meek, for to them we shall say, ‘attaboy.’”

  “A little weak.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s let the meek inherit the earth.”

  “Can’t you give the earth to the whiners?”

  “Well then, cut the whiners and give the earth to the meek.”

  “Okay. Earth to the meek. Here we go. Blessed are the peacemakers, the mourners, and that’s it.”

  “How many is that?”

  “Seven.”

  “Not enough. We need one more. How about the dumbfucks?”

  “No, Josh, not the dumbfucks. You’ve done enough for the dumbfucks. Nathaniel, Thomas—”

  “Blessed are the dumbf
ucks for they, uh—I don’t know—they shall never be disappointed.”

  “No, I’m drawing the line at dumbfucks. Come on, Josh, why can’t we have any powerful guys on our team? Why do we have to have the meek, and the poor, the oppressed, and the pissed on? Why can’t we, for once, have blessed are the big powerful rich guys with swords?”

  “Because they don’t need us.”

  “Okay, but no ‘Blessed are the dumbfucks.’”

  “Who then?”

  “Sluts?”

  “No.”

  “How about the wankers? I can think of five or six disciples that would be really blessed.”

  “No wankers. I’ve got it: Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.”

  “Okay, better. What are you going to give them?”

  “A fruit basket.”

  “You can’t give the meek the whole earth and these guys a fruit basket.”

  “Give them the kingdom of heaven.”

  “The poor in spirit got that.”

  “Everybody gets some.”

  “Okay then, ‘share the Kingdom of Heaven.’” I wrote it down.

  “We could give the fruit basket to the dumbfucks.”

  “NO DUMBFUCKS!”

  “Sorry, I just feel for them.”

  “You feel for everyone, Josh. It’s your job.”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot.”

  We finished writing the sermon only a few hours before Philip and Thaddeus returned from Judea leading three thousand of John’s followers. Joshua had them gather on a hillside above Capernaum, then sent the disciples into the crowd to find the sick and bring them to him. He performed miracles of healing all morning, then coming into the afternoon he gathered us together at the spring below the mountain.

  Peter said, “There’s at least another thousand people from Galilee on the hill, Joshua, and they are hungry.”

  “How much food do we have?” Joshua asked.

  Judas came forward with a basket. “Five loaves and two fish.”

  “That will do, but you’ll need more baskets. And about a hundred volunteers to help distribute the food. Nathaniel, you, Bartholomew, and Thomas go into the crowd and find me fifty to a hundred people who have their own baskets. Bring them here. By the time you get back we’ll have the food for them.”

  Judas threw down his basket. “We have five loaves, how do you think—”

  Joshua held up his hand for silence and the Zealot clammed up. “Judas, today you’ve seen the lame walk, the blind see, and the deaf hear.”

  “Not to mention the blind hear and the deaf see,” I added.

  Joshua scowled at me. “It will take little more to feed a few of the faithful.”

  “There are but five loaves!” shouted Judas.

  “Judas, once there was a rich man, who built great barns and granaries so he could save all of the fruits of his wealth long into his old age. But on the very day his barns were finished, the Lord said, “Hey, we need you up here.” And the rich man did say, “Oh shit, I’m dead.” So what good did his stuff do him?”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t worry about what you’re going to eat.”

  Nathaniel, Bart, and Thomas started off to their assigned duty, but Maggie grabbed Nathaniel and held him fast. “No,” she said. “No one does anything until you promise us that you’ll go into hiding after this sermon.”

  Joshua smiled. “How can I hide, Maggie? Who will spread the Word? Who will heal the sick?”

  “We will,” Maggie continued. “Now promise. Go into the land of the gentiles, out of Herod’s reach, just until things calm down. Promise or we don’t move.” Peter and Andrew stepped up behind Maggie to show their support. John and James were nodding as she spoke.

  “So be it,” said Joshua. “But now we have hungry people to feed.”

  And we fed them. The loaves and the fish were multiplied, jars were brought in from the surrounding villages and filled with water, which was carried to the mountainside, and all the while the local Pharisees watched and growled and spied, but they hadn’t missed the healings, and they didn’t miss the Sermon on the Mount, and word of it went back to Jerusalem with their poison reports.

  Afterward, at the spring by the shore, I gathered up the last of the pieces of bread to take home with us. Joshua came down the shore with a basket over his head, then pulled it off when he got to me.

  “When we said we wanted you to hide we meant something a little less obvious, Joshua. Great sermon, by the way.”

  Joshua started helping me gather up the bread that was strewn around on the ground. “I wanted to talk to you and I couldn’t get away from the crowd without hiding under the basket. I’m having a little trouble preaching humility.”

  “You’re so good at that one. People line up to hear the humility sermon.”

  “How can I preach that the humble will be exalted and the exalted will be humbled at the same time I’m being exalted by four thousand people?”

  “Bodhisattva, Josh. Remember what Gaspar taught you about being a bodhisattva. You don’t have to be humble, because you are denying your own ascension by bringing the good news to other people. You’re out of the humility flow, so to speak.”

  “Oh yeah.” He smiled.

  “But now that you mention it,” I said, “it does seem a little hypocritical.”

  “I’m not proud of that.”

  “Then you’re okay.”

  That evening, when we had all gathered again in Capernaum, Joshua called us to the fire ring in front of Peter’s house and we watched the last gold of the sunlight reflecting on the lake as Joshua led us in a prayer of thanks.

  Then he made the call: “Okay, who wants to be an apostle?”

  “I do, I do,” said Nathaniel. “What’s an apostle?”

  “That’s a guy who makes drugs,” I said.

  “Me, me,” said Nathaniel. “I want to make drugs.”

  “I’ll try that,” said John.

  “That’s an apothecary,” said Matthew. “An apothecary mixes powders and makes drugs. Apostle means ‘to send off.’”

  “Is this kid a whiz, or what,” I said, pointing a thumb at Matthew.

  “That’s right,” said Joshua, “messengers. You’ll be sent off to spread the message that the kingdom has come.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” asked Peter.

  “No, now you’re disciples, but I want to appoint apostles who will take the Word into the land. There will be twelve, for the twelve tribes of Israel. I’ll give you power to heal, and power over devils. You’ll be like me, only in a different outfit. You’ll take nothing with you except your clothes. You’ll live only off the charity of those you preach to. You’ll be on your own, like sheep among wolves. People will persecute you and spit on you, and maybe beat you, and if that happens, well, it happens. Shake off the dust and move on. Now, who’s with me?”

  And there was a roaring silence among the disciples.

  “How about you, Maggie?”

  “I’m not much of a traveler, Josh. Makes me nauseous. Disciple’s fine with me.”

  “How ’bout you, Biff?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  Joshua stood up and just counted them off. “Nathaniel, Peter, Andrew, Philip, James, John, Thaddeus, Judas, Matthew, Thomas, Bartholomew, and Simon. You’re the apostles. Now get out there and apostilize.”

  And they all looked at each other.

  “Spread the good news, the son of man is here! The kingdom is coming. Go! Go! Go!”

  They got up and sort of milled around.

  “Can we take our wives?” asked James.

  “Yes.”

  “Or one of the women disciples?” asked Matthew.

  “Yes.”

  “Can Thomas Two go too?”

  “Yes, Thomas Two can go.”

  Their questions answered, they milled around some more.

  “Biff,” Joshua said. “Will you assign territories for everybody and sen
d them out?”

  “Okey-dokey,” I said. “Who wants Samaria? No one? Good. Peter, it’s yours. Give ’em hell. Caesarea? Come on, you weenies, step up…”

  Thus were the twelve appointed to their sacred mission.

  The next morning seventy of the people who we’d recruited to help feed the multitude came to Joshua when they heard about the appointing of the apostles.

  “Why only twelve?” one man asked.

  “You all want to cast off what you own, leave your families, and risk persecution and death to spread the good news?” Joshua asked.

  “Yes,” they all shouted.

  Joshua looked at me as if he himself couldn’t believe it.

  “It was a really good sermon,” I said.

  “So be it,” said Joshua. “Biff, you and Matthew assign territories. Send no one to his hometown. That doesn’t seem to work very well.”

  And so the twelve and the seventy were sent out, and Joshua, Maggie, and I went into Decapolis, which was the territory of Herod’s brother, Philip, and camped and fished and basically hid out. Joshua preached a little, but only to small groups, and although he did heal the sick, he asked them not to tell anyone about the miracles.

  After three months hiding in Philip’s territory, word came by boat from across the lake that someone had intervened on Joshua’s behalf with the Pharisees and that the death warrant, which had never really been formal, had been lifted. We went home to Capernaum and waited for the apostles to return. Their enthusiasm had waned some after months in the field.

  “It sucks.”

  “People are mean.”

  “Lepers are creepy.”

  Matthew came out of Judea with more news of Joshua’s mysterious benefactor from Jerusalem. “His name is Joseph of Arimathea,” said Matthew. “He’s a wealthy merchant, and he owns ships and vineyards and olive presses. He seems to have the ear of the Pharisees, but he is not one of them. His wealth has given him some influence with the Romans as well. They are considering making him a citizen, I hear.”

  “What makes him want to help us?” I asked.

  “I talked to him for a long time about the kingdom, and about the Holy Ghost and the rest of Joshua’s message. He believes.” Matthew smiled broadly, obviously proud of his powerful convert. “He wants you to come to his house for dinner, Joshua. In Jerusalem.”