The mayor and the ambassador had arrived as we had proceeded along the pier, and we could hear the llama-loving demonstrators’ whistles and boos.
“Once they get on board, you should start walking toward them,” said Bob. “I have worked it out. The cameras will still be rolling, and the crowd and the press will all be focused on the boat and the water. They will see you appear from the distance, and hey presto, the Messiah is with us. I can see the headlines now.” I was not entirely convinced that Bob’s plan would work, but I did not have a better one. I looked at Maggie and she nodded, confirming she saw no problem with Bob’s idea.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”
I crept down the pier ladder pensively and onto the water. Yes, onto it, not into it. I felt as light as a feather; it was a strange sensation. I thought at any time I would sink like a stone, but I didn’t. I closed my eyes and then opened them to look down at my feet. I was definitely stood on top of the water. I clung to the pier ladder.
“Let go,” encouraged Maggie. I didn’t want to, though; I knew the railing was not preventing me from sinking. It was a psychological thing. I wasn’t ready to let go.
“Yes, let go,” shouted Bob. I couldn’t, despite the fact I was not sinking; I froze with fear and trepidation.
“I can’t,” I hissed back. Maggie leaned over and grabbed the hand that clutched the ladder rail. She pried my fingers open and loosened my grip. “Don’t do that!” I shouted, afraid I was going to plummet into the murky water.
“Oh, be quiet,” ordered Maggie as she twisted the final finger that clung to the rail.
“Hey!” I cried, “That hurt.” I looked at my hand and checked that my finger wasn’t broken. It wasn’t. Then I realized I was no longer holding the ladder rail. I stood, unsupported, atop the water. I hadn’t sunk. I couldn’t believe it.
“Try walking,” shouted Bob. I looked up and saw Maggie and Bob both peering down.
“Okay,” I said, and I took a small step forward, then another, and another. I was walking. I was walking on water, and it was easy! I was concentrating hard initially, but after six or seven steps, the nerves disappeared, and my confidence grew. Maggie and Bob whooped and cheered me.
“Go on,” shouted Bob, “they have arrived.” He motioned toward the adjacent pier. I looked toward pier sixty, which was about five hundred feet away, and the mayor’s yacht; I could see that all eyes faced the water. I headed toward the crowd.
No one seemed to notice me at first as I walked the first two hundred feet. As I approached closer, I could see hands pointing, and heads turning from the yacht toward me. I could hear people gasping, and I could see the flash of camera lights. There was a commotion at pier sixty. The crowds were trying to surge forward for a better view of the approaching Messiah. The people aboard the yacht were all staring too. I wondered what the mayor thought of this. There was no doubting it; it was a miracle; I was walking on the water, heading directly toward the yacht and cordoned of crowd of pro-llama demonstrators. I couldn’t make out her face, but I could see Nancy’s bulky frame, and her head was turned, facing me, as her outstretched hands blocked the crowd from rushing the pier. Ha! What a surprise for her this would be! Just as I thought I had cracked it, just as I thought that being the Messiah might not be as bad as I had thought, just as I mentally prepared myself for what lay ahead, just when I thought being the Son of God could actually be fun…disaster struck.
“Stop! I repeat, stop! Do not approach any further!” I looked around to see where the voice projected by the megaphone was coming from and to whom it was directed at. “I repeat, stop. This is an order.” It was the coast guard; they were in a little rubber speedboat, and they were headed my way. I hadn’t seen them earlier, and they had appeared out of nowhere. I could see a gun trained on me. Obviously, I did what anyone else would do. I turned back in the direction I had come and ran. Luckily, I had about three hundred feet on the coast guard patrol, and running on water was like running on land. I ran as fast as I could back toward pier fifty-eight and my disciples.
At first, Bob and Maggie looked confused as to why I was running so quickly to where they stood, but then they also spotted the rubber boat and the weapon trained on me. Maggie and Bob both urged me to run faster. The coastguard was gaining, but I had the edge on them. There was no way they would reach me before I got to safety, but that didn’t stop them from chasing or shooting. Luckily, or miraculously, their bullets fell short, and I reached the pier steps well ahead of them. Bob and Maggie gave me a hand up the ladder.
“Let’s get the heck out of here, now!” I yelled as my feet touched solid ground. Bob and Maggie didn’t argue, and we bolted along the pier. Just as we hit the sidewalk, a taxi appeared. We hailed it and sped off just as the coastguard vessel reached the end of our pier. I looked behind me out of the cab window and could see the police hadn’t seen our escape, and they were too busy escorting the mayor and ambassador to safety. We all slid down in the cab as a cavalcade of police cars sped past on its way to the pier. All three of us looked at each other. We instructed our driver to take us to Milligan’s where we needed to regroup and discuss the events that had just transpired. We were all in shock, not least of all me.
Luckily, our cab driver seemed totally unfazed by all the commotion at the pier and the speeding police cars headed in the direction we had just come from. In fact, he never said a word the whole journey. I thought his silence odd and his sudden arrival on the scene extremely convenient. It seemed God was watching over us, maybe.
Milligan’s was quiet. It was a Saturday morning, and only the hardened drinkers ventured there before noon. We found a booth, which ensured us the privacy we needed. I looked around the bar and saw only one other customer. A blind man with his guide dog sat at the furthest table from us. I felt safe that no one would recognize us. Sean took our orders and called me John, which suited me fine; Sean’s bad memory meant he couldn’t place us should the need arise. None of us spoke until Sean returned with our drinks: three straight up double scotches.
“Okay, then,” Bob was the first to speak. “Out of ten, how do you think that went?” The question was directed at both Maggie and I. I shook my head.
“How did it go?” I asked. “Bob, I was just shot at!” I couldn’t believe Bob was even contemplating it had gone remotely well. “It was a disaster! The whole thing. Did you not see what happened? I thought I was going to die.” I was shaking, and I took a swig of scotch to calm my nerves.
“I thought it was a success,” said Maggie. I nearly choked as the whiskey hit my throat.
“You are joking,” I spluttered. “How on earth can you construe what just happened as a success?” I remembered now why I had thought her crazy in the first place; maybe she was.
“I agree with Maggie,” said Bob. “We have to put that down as successful.” Maggie nodded as Bob continued to speak. “First of all, you walked on water. I saw it; Maggie saw it, and so did everyone else, including the cameras. Secondly, there is no doubt we will have publicity; not only was there a TV crew on the pier, but I am also sure I heard a helicopter overhead. They will have gotten shots also.” I wasn’t sure what type of shots Bob was referring to; gunshots or filmed shots.
“So, what, the cops spoilt the party?” said Maggie. “The thing is, people will see that on TV and make up their own minds.” Bob and Maggie seemed to be in total agreement, despite my animated objections, that the miracle had been a success. Granted, it had caused more of a stir than the fish sandwich fiasco, but really? Were they serious? The coast guard shot at me, for Dad’s sake! I was too nervous to argue, and maybe they were right. Maybe this would create the attention we needed, but the circumstances were not ideal.
I took the opportunity to explain to Bob Maggie’s presence. Bob seemed quite pleased to have Maggie on board, and though I hadn’t told him we had slept together, I knew he was dying to ask me if we had. Luckily, Maggie never left the table, so he couldn’t ask, but I knew he wo
uld want to as soon as he got the opportunity.
I took a deep breath and sat back in my chair. I was happy it was over. If indeed it had been a success, then I wondered what our next move should be. Once the TV stations broadcasted the images across the world, people would see that a miracle had occurred and that the only other known “walker on water” was Jesus himself. Therefore, we all presumed the multitude would rightly assume that only a Messiah could walk on water and would demand I reveal myself, thus beginning the process of saving the world.
Milligan’s did an excellent breakfast: Irish sausage, bacon, eggs— the works. Feeling a little better, I ordered us all breakfast, and we reverted to coffee now that our nerves, well predominantly mine, had settled. We discussed what we should do next, and the unified answer was to wait for the press and people to demand I reveal myself.
“Hey,” exclaimed Maggie as she shoveled a fork full of Irish sausage into her mouth, “we should really check the TV news to see what they are saying.” She was right. If we had made any impact, then we would be on the news. I had no doubts there would be some mention of the morning’s events. It wasn’t every day that the coastguard in New York City fired shots, even if they were just warning shots, Bob proposed whilst chewing on a piece of toast. Nor was it every day that the mayor and a visiting ambassador were driven away from a scheduled event at high speed under police escort. I, however, did not share my companion’s enthusiasm in seeing what the media was saying about the morning’s events.
I asked Sean if he would switch on the TV perched above the bar, which he did before returning to his newspaper. It seemed we were the only ones interested in watching television in the bar, as Sean was engrossed in the sports pages, and I doubted the blind drinker and his dog would be viewing.
Sean handed me the remote control so I could select channels. I found our local news channel. The picture was a little grainy, and you could not make out my face, which was a relief. However, it was definitely me unless someone else had been walking on water at the same location and at the same time. The helicopter Bob had heard must have indeed been a news crew, as there were shots from above, which clearly showed me walking on the water. Bob and Maggie sat with smug smiles on their faces. They were right. It seemed the cameras had caught the miracle, and my walk across the water had indeed been filmed. The footage shifted to a view of me walking toward pier sixty and the mayor’s yacht. Again, you could not make out my features in the footage, which was another relief, and I relaxed. It was impossible to identify the mystery man walking atop the Hudson River. The images repeated over and over again, obviously in some sort of loop. Maggie shrieked with delight, and Bob shook my hand. We had done it. We had shown the world that the Messiah was amongst them.
“Not too loud, guys,” I said. “Let’s try not to attract too much attention. I think we should keep as low a profile as possible until we work out our next move.” I looked around the empty bar as if to reiterate the need for a little decorum, but neither Sean nor the blind man and his dog paid us any attention.
“This is fantastic,” said Bob. “We pulled it off.” He took a drink from his coffee cup.
“Oh shit,” said Maggie.
“What next do you think? Call a press conference, contact a publicist?” I said to Bob. Maggie stood up and walked toward the bar, leaving Bob and I in the booth.
“Oh shit,” said Maggie again as she walked toward the television set above the bar.
“It was a brilliant plan if I do say so myself,” boasted Bob. “Hey Maggie, get me another scotch; get us all a scotch—it’s time to celebrate!”
I turned to watch her as she walked toward the bar. “Yeah, Maggie, get some champagne or something,” I added.
“Shit, shit, shit,” said Maggie. This time Bob and I heard her.
“What is it?” I asked
“That,” said Maggie, pointing at the TV screen. Bob and I followed her finger toward the screen. The images on the news hadn’t altered, and the loop still played, the overhead shot followed by the shot from the shore, and then back to the overhead shot and so on. What was different, though, was the ticker of text that accompanied the pictures.
“We need to turn the sound up. We need to turn the sound up!” I said pleadingly, searching for the remote control. It was Maggie who grabbed the television remote from the bar where I had left it. Sean glanced up, as we had all risen, but when he saw we didn’t require refills, he returned to his newspaper, which he was thoroughly engrossed in. The reporter’s voice that accompanied the ticker and the looped pictures sounded serious and earnest. He described the images and the events that occurred that morning for the benefit of the channel’s viewers.
“….here we are again, with pictures from earlier today of the attempted attack on the Mayor of New York and the Peruvian Ambassador by what is believed to be a lone terrorist, who authorities now believe is a member of The LFG, an acronym for the Llama Freedom Group, who is attempting to stop the exportation of Peruvian llama meat. Unconfirmed reports are now suggesting that the terrorist was trying to approach the vessel in a possible attempt to sink the Mayor’s yacht.” The accompanying ticker tape was also as dramatic: COASTGUARD THWART ATTEMPT TO SINK NY MAYOR GIULIANI’S YACHT. ONE TERRORIST SOUGHT. The Reporter continued his commentary.
“As you can see from these exclusive pictures, the terrorist appears to have approached the vessel with the intention of detonating explosives that were apparently strapped to his body.”
We all stood open-mouthed at the scene on the television screen. What explosives? Where were they getting this from? It was unbelievable. Surely they realized they had made a huge mistake? There was no mention of the fact I was actually walking on water; it was as if that was irrelevant. Could they not see? Were they idiots? I looked harder at the images. Though it was not easy to make out, it seemed obvious to me that I walked on water. Surely they could see it. Did they think I was atop of some sort of motorized surfboard? Straight out of a James Bond movie? The reporter continued his dramatic description of the morning’s events.
“It would seem the terrorist used a motorized surfboard to approach the yacht, like something from a James Bond movie. Though you can’t actually see it in these images, eyewitness claim that he was definitely on top of the water. It is being suggested, by unconfirmed sources, that the LFG had acquired several surfboards and had been experimenting in motorizing them for an attack such as this.”
Who were these sources? This was crazy! The media was making this up!
“I don’t believe it,” said Bob as he cupped his head in his hands.
“How could this be?” said Maggie in disbelief as the pictures continued to loop on the screen at which we stared. “Explosives? Terrorists? Motorized surfboards? Are they crazy?” Maggie exclaimed as she too cupped her head in her hands. I watched the screen for several minutes more while there was silence amongst us. None of us felt like speaking. Maggie and Bob continued to sit with their heads in their hands the whole time as I stared transfixed at the screen, not believing what I saw or heard.
“It’s just a minor setback.” The voice was unmistakable. All three of us jolted from our personal thoughts and turned collectively to the voice we all recognized. Bern was a Labrador. A seeing-eye dog for the blind, more specifically for the blind man who sat at the table farthest from us, who it seemed hadn’t noticed that his guide dog was not at his side as he continued to sit engrossed in his Braille book. It was also apparent that Sean hadn’t seen Bern make his way to our table, let alone notice that the dog was speaking, as his head was still down, reading his newspaper.
“It really is a minor setback, team,” said God. “It’s not a big deal. Tomorrow’s always another day, and I am sure we will think of something else.” Bern sat staring up at us, his tail wagging.
“You call that a minor setback?” I asked. For me, the novelty of God talking through animals had worn off. I was used to conversing with them now. Bob, however, had yet to witness th
is phenomenon, and for a minute, I thought he was going to faint. He sat opened mouthed, staring at Bern. “I’m probably on the FBI Most Wanted list,” I said, pointing at the TV screen. Bern didn’t turn to look but merely continued to wag his tail.
“Oh, poppycock. Don’t be so over-dramatic. They have no idea who you are. Anyway, I’ll make sure this is all cleared up quickly. I do have some influence,” said God, “and you can’t even see your face. Anyway, I will pull a few strings, and tomorrow this will be yesterday’s news. Don’t worry about it.”
It wasn’t entirely clear to me if God had cracked a joke about yesterday’s news or if he had said it without realizing. If it was a joke, I hadn’t found it funny.
“Don’t worry about it?” I asked. “Don’t worry? They shot at me. They think I am a terrorist. I am no closer to convincing the world I am the Messiah than I was yesterday. This whole thing is a failure after failure and one disaster after another. Surely there is a better way; to be honest, this is playing havoc with my nervous system.” That was no exaggeration. I was trembling, and I had lost at least three pounds in weight in the three days since I had discovered I was the Messiah. The final straw for me would be if my hair started falling out; there was no way I was prepared to lose my hair, not for the savior of mankind, not for anyone.
Bern sat on his hind legs and then stood up to scratch his ear with his back left leg. It looked like an uncomfortable maneuver, and I was surprised he kept his balance. Maggie and Bob remained silent. Bob had closed his mouth; I assumed he realized I was talking to God.
“Do you two feel that way also?” God asked. Maggie and Bob didn’t reply. Maggie shrugged, indicating she didn’t see a problem with moving forward, and Bob gulped loudly before he spoke.
“No. I’m with you, God. I think it was unfortunate, but I believe that we are improving with each miracle.” What a pair of cowards. I couldn’t believe they were not admitting the whole thing was going down the pan.
The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy Page 15
