The Jesus Twin

by Wright Forbucks

brother," Mom said.

  "Special thing? Did Mary really say 'special thing'?"

  "Not exactly. Language was crude back then, Matthew."

  "How crude?"

  "Do you really want to know? You see that symbol?"

  "The one that looks like a 'V'?" Matthew asked.

  "Yes, V as in vagina."

  "Oh my God, what's that?" Matthew said, as he looked closer.

  "Special thing," Margaret said.

  "Got it, Professor," a blushing Matthew said. "You may continue."

  "Thank you."

  I thought the plan was brilliant, but insane. Mom provided me with excellent directions, so I had little problem finding my brother's tomb. Since I was operating under the cover of darkness, with only a small torch, I could not get the best view of my dead brother. But after I unwrapped his burial linens, there was little doubt I had found Jesus Christ. He looked just like me, but it was obvious he had been issued a terrible beating. It was a scene I prefer not to discuss.

  Per Mom's instructions, after I buried Jesus in a nearby potter's graveyard, I went back to the hotel where my mother dressed me in a stunning white robe. She then coated my hair and face with a combination of olive oil and fish guts. She called it celestial afterbirth and told me it would lend credence to my story. I then moseyed back to Jesus' ex-tomb and sat on a big rock, waiting for Mary Magdalene to arrive. I did not have to wait long. Shortly after sun-up, Mary Magdalene showed. She had flowers in her hands, and based on her reaction, there was little doubt I had the right girl.

  Upon seeing me, Mary Magdalene went crazy. She mostly ran in circles and screamed. Occasionally, she stopped to stare at me, so she could regain her strength and scream again. When she finally calmed down enough to talk, Mary Magdalene said, "Teacher, you did it! Just like you said, you have risen from the dead. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! My Lord has risen! Praise be to God!"

  After a good ten minutes of praising God, Mary Magdalene advanced toward me with the intention of either giving me a hug, a French kiss, or perhaps both. It was then I hit her with my mom's words, although I knew not what they meant. "Mary Magdalene, advance no further, for I have yet to rise into heaven. I am in a transitory state."

  Mary immediately understood my gibberish and said, "Of course, my Lord, of course. Pardon me, my Lord. Praise be to God! My Lord, the chosen one, has risen. Praise be to God! Praise be to God!"

  In parting, things got even weirder as Mary M. ramped up her celebration, speaking as if she was demonstrating her joy to a group of virtual spectators. Not knowing how to respond, I did my best to appear majestic while Mary went on and on. At one point in her celebration, Mary Magdalene took a closer look at me and suddenly went silent. I think she was looking at the scar on my face. If so, nary ten seconds passed before she re-convinced herself that I was Jesus and began celebrating again by saying, "Praise be to my Lord! God has risen! Praise be to my God! The Lord has risen." During her entire glee-fest, Mary Magdalene constantly interchanged "God" and "Lord" like they were the same person. I was totally confused.

  As instructed by Mom, I remained cool while Mary Magdalene celebrated. Mom had told me "Mary M" was an excitable woman that was subject to intense emotional behavior. She also speculated that Mary did favors for my brother by saying, "Mary Magdalene looked like a woman who knew how to comfort a man." I have to admit comfort did cross my mind as I watched Mary Magdalene dance about. She was one good-looking woman. She had a fine mane, her skin had no lesions, and she had a full set of teeth.

  Matthew laughed. "Sounds like he's describing a horse."

  "What can I tell you," Margaret replied. "Jessup lived in the dark period before mankind recognized the superiority of woman. "

  "Oh." Matthew said, "the dark era, huh?"

  "Pre 1993, shall I continue," Margaret asked.

  "That would be nice," Matthew said.

  Finally, after Mary Magdalene exhausted herself, in a reasonable tone, she asked me, "Lord, should I tell the others?"

  "Certainly, my child," I said. Then I really laid it on her by saying, "Go forth and tell my apostles that their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, has risen." I then agreed to meet Mary Magdalene and my brother's apostles for dinner in a fortnight at her place.

  After Mary ran off, I scrubbed the fish guts from my face and reported back to my mother, who was delighted by my deception. I was not happy.

  "Mom, I don't like imitating my brother. This is wrong," I said.

  "Jessup, when your brother was dying, people spit on him and hit him with rocks," Mom said. "The Romans even put a sign on his cross that said, 'Here dies the King of the Jews.' Your brother told his followers he would rise from the dead, and you'll damn well make them believe he did. I want your brother to be remembered as a great man, not some stupid guy that ran his mouth and got himself crucified."

  "What did I tell you, Margy? Jesus was a guy that ran his mouth!"

  "Oh my," Margaret said. "This gospel going to cause quite a stir. It's insane."

  "Insane," Matthew said. "It's not insane. It's great. I love it."

  "Great?" Margaret said. "I don't know. Let's withhold judgment until I'm done translating."

  "Sounds like a plan." Matthew replied. "You go girl!"

  I assured Mom I understood her wishes and vowed to do my best to convince my brother's followers that I was Jesus.

  In preparation for the dinner at Mary Magdalene's "house," Mom told me additional facts about Jesus' life as the Messiah. It was quite a story. She told me Jesus once turned water into wine and fed a gathering of one hundred with a single loaf of bread and couple fishes. She then fed me the names and descriptions of each of my brother's twelve apostles. She also told me I was going to have problems convincing a couple of guys that I was Jesus, especially the one they called Thomas. Mom then went on to describe my brother's death scene in great detail, including the crown of thorns and the lancing of his side. I did not understand where Mom was going with the conversation until she pulled out a knife.

  "Jessup, I need to stab you in your side and scratch up your forehead."

  I never swore at Mom, so I said, "Say what?"

  "Jessup, Jesus' followers will not believe you are him unless they see blood. Blood makes everything real. This is something we have to do. I promise I will never ask you to do me another favor after this."

  "Mom, I'm okay with some forehead cuts, but you're not sticking that knife in my side," I said.

  "Jessup," Mom said. "It'll just be a flesh wound. You'll recover."

  I fought with Mom for ten minutes about the stab. Finally, I gave in after she somehow convinced me that piercing the minimal flab on my side would not hurt "at all."

  She was wrong.

  Matthew snickered.

  "Enough!" Margaret said. "I'm trying to concentrate. This is upsetting."

  "Sorry, Professor," Matthew replied.

  Margaret continued.

  I arrived at my "welcome back" dinner wearing my white "ascension" robe along with a pair of new sandals Mom had purchased for the occasion. Eleven apostles were present. I later learned that Judas could not make it because he'd hung himself on an olive tree earlier in the day, stupid shit. My initial encounter with Jesus' disciples was very subdued. They didn't go wild like Mary Magdalene, far from it. Peter was the first to approach me. He said, "Lord, it is great to see you."

  "Peter," I responded, in a somewhat deadpan tone. "It is good to see you, too. I have risen. Your sins have been forgiven."

  "Thank you, my Lord," he responded.

  I could tell he was not convinced.

  For the next fifteen minutes, each apostle stopped by to check me out. After each meeting, several apostles would huddle, occasionally turning their heads in unison to look at me. The last guy to inspect me was Thomas.

  "You are not Jesus," Thomas said. "You are an inch taller, and you don't sound like Jesus."

  "Thomas," I smiled, "a resurrected body is not a duplicate of its prior self. I h
ave been to heaven. You are seeing me in my new glorified state."

  Thomas paused and rubbed his chin. I could tell he was on the fence, so as instructed by Mom, I let him have it.

  "Thomas! Oh ye of little faith," I screamed. "How dare thee doubt the Lord thy God! You will burn in hell. You little puke!"

  I then grabbed Thomas's hand, ripped open my robe, and shoved two of his fingers into my wound.

  Thomas was stunned. It took him thirty seconds to recover before wailing, "Lord, forgive me! Praise be to God! My Lord the Messiah Jesus Christ has risen!"

  After that, the room was mine.

  Perhaps divinely inspired, following the Thomas conversion, I hit my brother's homeys with all sorts of weird minutiae about my resurrected body that I made up on the spot. At one point, even though I was starving, I told Peter I could no longer eat because I was living in a perfect state and, thus, had no way to defecate.

  I doubt my entire appearance lasted over thirty minutes. Ultimately, when I announced I must leave to join my Father in heaven. There was not a dry eye in the house. I'd never seen such emotion from grown men. I must admit, it was a little bit embarrassing.

  The next day I told Mom what had happened, and she was delighted. She then asked me to shave my head and stay away from Jerusalem for a year to complete our ruse. Mom told me she anticipated quite a reaction to my brother's resurrection, so it was important for me to go far away. My guess was she feared I would be mistaken for my brother and consequently tortured by the Romans until I disclosed the truth. I no longer cared about anything, so I did not