by Gore Vidal
"
None of us was sure, but the man looked like Oral, and the hill was now getting pretty crowded with kibitzers.
Chet wasn't disturbed. "Now I know that I made absolutely the right decision to prerecord Live from Gol£fotha. We can edit them all out, ifxhcy show up, and I'm not at all sure that holograms are able to show up on the kind of film we're using."
Marvin Wasserstein came up the hill. "Speak of the devil," Cutler Two muttered.
"Howdy," said Marvin, genially. "How do you like my local duds.^" He indicated his tunic and sandals.
"Very convincing," said Mr. Yamamoto to Marvin, who was most impressed.
"I got to tell you, sir, loyal as I am to GE," said Marvin, "I've always admired your crackerjack operation at Gulf + Eastern. Japanese know-how combined with American know-nothing is the quintessence of consumerism."
"Very kind of you, Mr. Wasserstein, I'm sure. I've followed your career, too, at GE. Maybe one day we'll do business," he said, inscrutably Oriental to his manicured fingertips.
"Oh, God!" Cuder Two groaned. "It's me. Like die proverbial bad penny."
Cuder One greeted us curdy. Then he turned to Marvin and said, "I want to talk to you."
Chet then escorted me up the hill to where the camera crew was now ready to start filming. The day was hot and sticky. The rain hadn't helped. Humidity was high.
The soundman attached a microphone to my toga and took a level, as I counted to ten. "You sound just like Tom Brokaw," said the director.
"I know," I said. "But then everyone does."
Chet went over to get Mary Magdalene, a lady somewhat past her first youth but flashily handsome. Mary Baker Eddy was now bending the ear of Marvin's mother, who was looking suicidal fi-om boredom.
Marvin and Cuder One were stationed behind a row of bushes, out of camera range. The thrill-seekers were getting restive, still seeking their thrills. I did a short intro, to camera, very much to the point, telling the viewer where we were and what he would soon be seeing. I thanked both the Roman administration and the Temple staff for their kind cooperation. I also did a short commercial for the company that had provided the user-fiiendly nails for the crucifixion. Then I said, "And now for a station break. Don't go away."
"It's like you've been doing this all your life!" said the director with awe.
"Well, I am a bishop," I said modesdy.
Just back of the two crosses, Cuder Two and Mr. Yamamoto were contending with a group of Japanese kibitzers in old-fashioned Japanese costumes, which are certainly pretty but somewhat out of place in first-century Palestine. But, of course, there are many, many good Christians in Japan if the Sunday Hour of Power and Prayer is to be believed. One of the Japanese was an astonishingly beautifiil woman in a golden kimono. Plainly, a film star. She had a camera, as film stars always do, so that they can photograph the people who photograph them.
The tall man was indeed Oral Roberts, eager to be interviewed, I could see, but Chet took him to one side to explain that only locals could be interviewed, a network policy that could not be Med for anyone, not even for Shirley
222 Gore Vidal
MacLaine or Warren, who never did show up, as it turned out.
During the break just before my first interview with Mary Magdalene, as I was being made up. Centurion Moronius arrived on the scene with four powerful-looking soldiers. He saluted me smardy. "His Excellency, the governor, has asked me to ask you to identify for us—^the real Jesus."
I motioned for the makeup man to desist. Then I made the greatest decision of my career since circumcision. "I shall take you to him."
I led Moronius and his men to the bushes where Jesus and Cuder One were hiding.
"Traitor!" shouted Cutler One, while Marvin tried to make a break for it. But he was quickly seized by the soldiers.
"Who are you.>" asked Moronius.
"I am who I am," said Marvin, transforming himself into the messiah before our eyes.
I bowed low and kissed the hem of his tunic. "He is Christ," I said.
"NO! He is the King of the Jews," shouted Cuder One.
"You have said it," said Jesus, aware now that his fate was his fate and the excursion into the future in order to erase Paul's work and bring on a nuclear Judgment Day was simply not in the cards. He had lost. We had won. Christianity was saved, as well as the residents of 2001 a.d.
224 Gore Vidal
mine. By the way, Chet was right: The holograms did not show up on screen. In any case, the program was beautifully edited and the editor, Simon Hope-Schwartz, won a well-deserved Emmy for his work.
Then a long shot of the three crosses, with that of Jesus in the middle. My voice is heard over: "Our Lord is dead."
A close shot of Jesus's face looking very dead indeed. Then there is a blaze of light all around the cross. A gasp from the crowd. A loud "My God" from me.
Hovering above the cross is a resplendent sun—a special effect worked out by Cutler Two under the supervision of Mr. Yamamoto, and secredy assembled the day before at Golgotha.
The camera pans up from the cross to the sun, at whose blazing center is seated the goddess Amaterasu—the Sun Goddess from whom descend Japan's holy emperors.
To the consternation of the crowd at Golgotha, the Goddess opens her arms wide and embraces the cross. The light is now so brilliant that no one can see Jesus's body being transferred from the cross to the sun, which then slowly rises to reveal an empty cross.
A voice-over, not mine, needless to say: "Thus, as foreseen, and foretold by John the Baptist, Jesus returns to his ancestress, the Goddess of the Sun, the ultimate divinity, Amaterasu. Banzai!"
I must say the special effects were beyond anything I have ever seen, and when I asked Cuder Two who thought them up, he was coy at first and said it really was the Sun Goddess, but when I told him to cut the crap he confessed that the Japanese Hollywood flagship, MCA Universal, had been subcontracted by Gulf + Eastern to create the special effects, using many of the same people who have made Steven Spielberg a byword for magic and box office. The last frame
showed the new logo for Christianity: the cross within the circle of the sun.
I switched off the set. "No can do," I said.
Cutler Two hissed sadly. "Such a littie thing—to say he was the son of the Goddess and not of God, a slight matter of gender, really, and highly correct in today's worid of feminism triumphant."
But I was intransigent, and so we parted for the last time. The Sony remains in my office but the battery has now gone dead and my link with the future is broken. No longer will Chet visit me on the train from Westport.
Dutifully, I shall now place this manuscript in the mop room, where I have already hidden the Gospel According to Saint Mark, which, if discovered, will de-Nipponize Jesus. With Marvin Wasserstein out of the picture, there is no longer a Hacker. We shall win, Saint and I, in the end.
Atalanta and I have finally booked reservations on a cruise ship to Alexandria next week. Tonight we shall attend the theater.
THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MARK
The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
As it is written in Isa ah the prophet, "Be old I send my mess nger
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THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO TIMOTHY
The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the son of the goddess Amaterasu.
I am Timothy, son of Eunice the Jewess and George the Greek. I was bom in Lystra, in Asia Minor, a province of the empire of Japan.
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