The night was hot and humid and loud. Right after the concert we all moved to the Four Seasons on Park Lane where most of the people who had taken part in Rock for Reason were staying. We were partying all night, but it was difficult to get a hold of Julian, and I soon lost track of him. Everyone wanted a piece of him that night. People wanted to shake his hand, pat him on the back, have their picture taken with him or just talk with him, congratulate him on his successful resurrection and ask him questions, questions, and more questions. I was worried that it would all become too much for him, because I knew that despite his reaffirmed status as global superstar, his love of the limelight and his passion for talking to people were still very new things for him. Somewhere deep down inside Julian’s old self was alive and well, and that old self loved loneliness. On a normal day, Julian could be lonely anywhere he wanted. On a crowded bus, at the school cafeteria during lunch break, or at a sold out Premiere League game. All he needed then was a good book to read, and interesting thought to ponder, or just a piece of paper and a pen, and the world around him could have gone up in flames.
But this was not a normal day. Just a few hours earlier, three billion people had seen Julian’s face and listened to his voice. Now everyone knew him, everyone recognized him, and everyone would continue recognizing him for the rest of his life. Julian had become so manifest in the consciousness of the world that whenever I asked around for him that night, everyone swore that they had seen him ‘just now’ and ‘right over there’. But wherever I went, Julian had already gone. It occurred to me that he had probably withdrawn himself to some obscure place where no one would bother him and where he could sit back and relax and quietly, silently contemplate his finished work like the Lord on the seventh day; where he could begin to deal with his post-natal depression and those inevitable, nagging questions. Have I done everything right? Have I done anything right? Will anyone understand what I have intended to do, or will they all just see what I have done?
I finally found Julian on the rooftop terrace of the hotel, all by himself, standing close to the ledge and looking majestically across the sleeping city as if he owned the bloody place.
“Don’t jump,” I said jokingly as I approached him.
Without turning around he replied, “It’s funny you should say that. I’ve just been thinking about how a day like this could ever be topped. ‘Julian Monk Rises From the Dead, Then Jumps off a Roof.’ That would be quite a headline, wouldn’t it?”
“I think tomorrow’s headlines will be dramatic enough. No need to do anything more.”
“I suppose.”
We both took in the view of the sleeping city in silence for a while, and then I said, “I’m sorry.”
Julian looked at me. “Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry I let you down. Back on that plane on our way to New York. I never should have let you do this all by yourself. It was the craziest time of our lives, and I turned my back on you for the pettiest of reasons. You were right, Jules. I was jealous. I hated having to share you with the rest of the world. I still don’t quite like it, to be honest.”
“Yeah, well, who could blame you? I wouldn’t want to share myself with anyone either.”
“And you’re always so modest, too.”
We both laughed.
“Seriously, though,” Julian said. “You were jealous all right, but you had every reason to be. I have been neglecting you, all of you. You know how it works, new Christmas presents always outshine even your most favourite toys, but it’s usually only temporary. Did you really think I’d effectively swap my friends, the only friends I’ve ever had, for a life in the limelight? Come on, you ought to know me better than that.”
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.
“And stop saying that already. We both did what we had to do. Stop beating yourself up over it.”
“Only if I can beat you up instead.”
“You can try.” He looked at me belligerently, although knowing that with his scrawny body he didn’t stand a chance against me.
We laughed again as the eastern horizon slowly began turning a lighter shade of midnight blue.
“So what’s next?” I asked. “I mean, the media will be all over you in the next couple of days and weeks, won’t they? They will all want to talk to you, they’ll all want you to tell them your story over and over again, and they’ll have a million questions. You ready for that?”
Much to my surprise, Julian shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I’m not. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’ve discussed it with Mum and Peter as well. I think I’ve said enough for now. It’s time to give everyone a chance to catch up and try to make sense of it all; everyone, including me, that is. Which is why,” he looked at his watch, “fifteen hours from now I’ll be on a Thorex jet with Mum and Peter on our way to Santa Domenica, Peter’s private island in the Caribbean, where we’ll spend the next three weeks in the sun and cut off from the rest of the world.”
“Wow,” I said. “You’re deliberately taking a step back out of the limelight. Didn’t see that one coming.”
Julian shrugged. “It seems like the right thing to do at the right time. No one can run on full throttle all the time. I need to recharge my batteries and get my feet back down on the ground.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You still seem pretty down-to-earth to me.”
“Yeah, but you know I’m good at pretending. If people continuously treat you like the messiah, you start believing it yourself sooner or later. A lot of people really thought they saw the Second Coming today. That’s pretty scary, if you think about it, because those people also tend to think it’s a sign that the end is nigh and that I will bring on the apocalypse. But I’m still contemplating that one.”
He winked.
“So are you coming back to school after the summer?”
“I really don’t know,” Julian said. “I really want to finish school, and I want to go to uni as well. But I’ll probably not be very popular with the other students if I have camera teams following me around everywhere I go, which is what will inevitably happen. And to be honest, I’ve never really needed school to teach me things I needed to know. Peter says that even without a degree I could make a more than decent living with speaking engagements for years to come, and I have to admit it’s very tempting. That was a nice speech I gave today, if I do say so myself, but once the world is through its hangover from that, there will still be so much work to do, so many people to be educated. I don’t know. I’ll have to think it all through.”
“I see,” I said.
After a few minutes of silence, Julian suddenly turned to me and asked, “You wanna come?”
I frowned. “Come? Where?”
“Santa Domenica. Three weeks in the sun on a remote island, away from everything. Just you and me. Well, and Mum and Peter, obviously, but I don’t think they’ll get out of their bedroom much anyway.”
“Now there’s an image I can never unsee. Those two really hit it off together, huh? So how do you get along with your new stepdad?”
Julian shrugged. “He’s good for Mum. Kind. Gentle. Trust me, you won’t recognize him when you see him around Mum. He makes her smile. I hadn’t seen her smile a genuine smile in years until she met Peter. Now she’s smiling all day every day as if she was on drugs or something. But that’s good. It’s great. She’s happy. I can’t give Peter enough credit for that. Plus, he’s eating out of the palm of my hand, because I’m bringing home the bacon.”
I laughed. “Right.”
“You haven’t answered my question, though.”
“Hm?”
“About Santa Domenica. You want to come on vacation with us? It’ll be like back then when you and your dad would take me along, only the other way around. Unless you don’t want to be around two lovebirds and a Jesus freak for three weeks, and …”
“Oh shut up already! I’m coming. I’m coming, all right?”
“All right, then,” Julian sai
d and smiled. It wasn’t one of those subtle, mysterious smiles he was now famous for. It was bright, open, and genuine; a smile that didn’t conceal anything but told me everything I needed to know.
We looked out towards the horizon again. Cold blue gave way to bright, warm orange as the sun was about to rise.
“I’ve never actually seen a sunrise before,” he said. “Have you?”
I shook my head. “I’ve pulled quite a few all-nighters in my time but I’ve never … no, I’ve never seen a sunrise.”
“Let’s stay and watch it then, shall we?”
A few minutes later, as the sun finally broke through the horizon and poured liquid glitter over London’s skyline, Julian put his hand on my shoulder and said, “A new dawn; a new day.”
“Who knows,” I replied. “Maybe even a new world.”
The Epilogue According to Tummy
Three weeks after Rock for Reason, the bloody most brilliant concert we have ever played, Momoko was due in court, charged with abuse of a position of trust to engage in sexual activity with a child.
Mr Saunders did a brilliant job at defending her. The first piece of evidence he introduced was a video clip from the concert. It showed me just after we’d finished our gig, walking up to Momoko in the middle of the stage, holding a microphone in one hand and a ring in the other. I got down on one knee and asked her, “Momoko Suzuki, will you marry me?” Momoko burst into tears, sank down on her knees and sobbed, “Yes” into the microphone, much to the delight of the quarter of a million people who were watching us and cheering us on.
The second video clip Mr Saunders introduced was a BBC News report of our wedding at Barnet Register Office two weeks later, one week before the trial. Then Mr Saunders called me to the witness box which—I was being told—was a bit of a gamble, because in sex abuse cases the defence usually tried to avoid having the victim go through the traumatic experience of having to relive their abuse in the witness box. But there was nothing usual about this case anyway, what with a wife accused of sexually abusing her beloved husband and everything, so Mr Saunders was satisfied that my testimony would play in our favour.
However, the bloody jury didn’t think so. They thought that with me being an impressionable, hormone-driven 17-year-old musician and Momoko being a famous TV personality, she had been in a position of trust, and she had betrayed that trust by not pushing me away when I came on to her. Momoko was found guilty as charged. The jury’s decision was not unanimous.
The judge was bloody brilliant, though. He frowned at the jury when they announced the verdict, and when he was about to pass Momoko’s sentence, he said to her, “Mrs Suzuki-Lewis, I understand you’re pregnant and that Mr Lewis is the father of the child.”
“Yes.”
“When is your baby due?”
“I am four month pregnant,” Momoko said. “Baby come in five month.”
The judge turned to me. “Mr Lewis, when will you turn 18?”
“On October 2nd, sir.”
“Right. Well,” the judge said. “While I will not deny that in my opinion this trial has been a disgraceful waste of the court’s time and of taxpayer money, in passing this sentence I am bound by the jury’s verdict as well as the law as it stands. It is a legal principle that the punishment has to be appropriate of the culpability of the perpetrator and the severity of the crime. I also have to consider whether or not it is in the public interest to separate a pregnant wife from her loving husband and father of her child to be, or whether it is indeed reasonable to have her give birth to her child while in prison. Taking into account all these aspects, Mrs Suzuki-Lewis, I hereby sentence you to a prison term of six weeks.”
“NO!” I shouted and jumped up from my seat.
“Mr Lewis, sit down and shut up. Counsel, will you please explain to Mr Lewis what that sentence means.”
“Yes, your honour.”
Mr Saunders explained to me that a six week prison sentence meant that Momoko could be released on grounds of good behaviour after only three weeks and then spend the rest of the time on probation. Good behaviour basically meant that she would have to refrain from sexually abusing any of her fellow prison inmates. I still thought three weeks in prison was too harsh a sentence for a victimless crime, but we decided not to appeal. Momoko served three weeks and was released two days before me 18th birthday.
After the summer, Ginger and Michael went back to school. They finished their A-levels, and are now eagerly looking forward to their first semester at uni.
Pope Pius XIII resigned. He is currently sitting in a jail cell in Rome, awaiting his trial for bribery and embezzlement. Four weeks after his resignation, the College of Cardinals elected a new Pope, John Paul III. Me mum went to Rome to see his inauguration. Neither me dad nor Chloe and I went with her.
Julian didn’t go back to school. He decided it would be a waste of time. He took the obscene amounts of money he had earned during our brief career as rock stars and started the Julian Monk Foundation for Common Sense. Continually travelling up and down the country, Julian keeps himself busy giving lectures at schools and universities. There is still great demand for him as a public speaker. The other day he’s received an invitation from the College of Islamic and Arabic Studies in Dubai to speak about the role of Jesus Christ in Islam. He’s still contemplating whether or not he should go.
As for meself, I didn’t go back to school either. After only six weeks of maternity leave, Momoko went straight back to her old job, and her daily TV show is more popular than ever. I’m a stay-at-home dad now, taking care of our new little home in East Finchley and of the baby.
Kento Michael Julian Suzuki-Lewis is now ten months old and already has a very refined vocabulary of three words: mama, dada, and uh-uh. We obviously couldn’t name him after Chloe or Ginger, so we made the two girls joint godmothers instead. Momoko is getting along great with me sister and—curiously—with me dad as well. Once a month we visit me parents for Sunday lunch. While me mum is still having a difficult time warming up to Momoko, she has very much taken to the baby. It’s quite an endearing sight to see her with Kento on her lap, showering him with grandmotherly love and genuine affection, the kind of affection she never seemed to have for her own children.
Mum was of course furious when we decided not to have Kento baptized, but we stood our ground on this one. Our reasoning behind this decision was that if anything should ever happen to the child, we wouldn’t want him to spend eternity in heaven all by himself. We’d rather have him close to us, down below in hell.
So do I still believe in heaven and in hell?
To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.
But I’m not taking any chances.
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About the Author
Marcus Herzig was born in 1970 and studied Law, English, Educational Science, and Physics, albeit none of them with any tenacity or ambition. After dropping out of university he worked for bank, a utility company, and for Big Oil. He prefers sunsets over sunrises, white wine over red, beer over white wine, and pizza over pasta. Marcus is in a happy long-term relationship, so please stop sending him nude photos of yourself.
Follow the author on Twitter @Marcus_Herzig
Marcus Herzig also writes science fiction under the name Kieran Marcus.
The Eschaton Tales: Vol.1
The Eschaton Tales: Vol.2
The Eschaton Tales: Vol.3 (2015)
Table of Contents
The Gospel According to Ginger – 1
The Gospel According to Tummy – 1
The Gospel According to Michae
l – 1
The Gospel According to Ginger – 2
The Gospel According to Tummy – 2
The Gospel According to Michael – 2
The Gospel According to Tummy – 3
The First Revelation of Edward Pickle
The Gospel According to Michael – 3
The Gospel According to Ginger – 3
The Gospel According to Michael – 4
The Gospel According to Tummy – 4
The Gospel According to Michael – 5
The Gospel According to Tummy – 5
The Gospel According to Ginger – 4
The Gospel According to Tummy – 6
The Gospel According to Ginger – 5
The Gospel According to Michael – 6
The Gospel According to Tummy – 7
The Gospel According to Ginger – 6
The Gospel According to Michael – 7
The Gospel According to Ginger – 7
The Gospel According to Tummy – 8
The Gospel According to Michael – 8
The Gospel According to Ginger – 8
The Gospel According to Tummy – 9
The Gospel According to Ginger – 9
The Gospel According to Tummy – 10
The Gospel According to Michael – 9
The Gospel According to Tummy – 11
The Second Revelation of Edward Pickle
The Gospel According to Michael – 10
The Gospel According to Tummy – 12
The Gospel According to Michael – 11
The Gospel According to Tummy – 13
The Gospel According to Ginger – 10
The Gospel According to Michael – 12
The Gospel According to Tummy – 14
The Gospel According to Michael – 13
The Gospel According to Ginger – 11
The Gospel According to Tummy – 15
The Gospel According to Michael – 14
The Gospel According to Ginger – 12
The Gospel According to Michael – 15
Idolism Page 32
