The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy

by Duncan Whitehead

  “What fight?” he asked.

  The roach on the floor stopped circling and seemed once again to be staring directly at me.

  “The fight, the final conflict, the battle between the anti-Christ and yours truly. Armageddon, you know; the main event.” I was surprised I needed to remind God of this.

  “What on earth are you talking about?” said God. “What fight?”

  “The fight. In the red corner, representing the forces of darkness, Bill. In the blue, corner representing goodness and light me. The fight!” I stressed, becoming annoyed at God’s slowness to catch on. Maybe the cockroach hadn’t been such a good idea; he didn’t seem as sharp as he usually was.

  “Where on earth did you get the idea you would be physically fighting the anti-Christ?” asked God. “A fist fight? A wrestling match? Are you completely mad?” This didn’t sound good. “Do you think Lucifer and I would agree that the future of mankind and the resulting fallout to be decided by a fight? Do you think we would pin everything on something as barbaric and unseemly an event as a fight between our sons? A fight? Whatever gave you that idea?”

  I didn’t have an answer. I had presumed. I mean, what other way was there?

  “I- I- I-” I stuttered.

  “Come on, spit it out, boy,” chided God.

  “I assumed,” I said.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have,” said God.

  “So there is no fight?” I asked.

  “Of course not, you stupid man. Did you really think a fight would decide the end of the world? Don’t be ridiculous.” I felt stupid.

  “Then how will it be decided?” I asked, intrigued as to how Armageddon could be pulled off in a civilized and cordial way. And that’s when God gave me the bad news.

  CHAPTER

  25

  “SPACE INVADERS?” I SAID TO the cockroach at my feet.

  “Yes, Space Invaders, best out of three. We agreed to it years ago,” said God.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I hissed.

  “I thought I had,” said God. He hadn’t, of course. Once again, his forgetfulness had potentially devastating consequences.

  “Well, you didn’t. Space Invaders? Whatever possessed you to agree to that? You mean to tell me that Armageddon is going to be decided by two grown men playing Space Invaders? An arcade game? It’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” It was my turn to be annoyed.

  “At the time we agreed on how we do this, that video game was the in thing. It seemed the best way of keeping things civilized. We didn’t want anyone to get hurt through this. It’s a game of skill that involves the saving of a planet; it just seemed to fit. Lucifer and I thought it was an excellent way of doing things. A war would have just caused too much damage and destruction. The last thing we wanted was a big mess to clean up afterward.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. I had initially thought the idea of Bill and me wrestling for the world ridiculous, but I had come around to the idea. I had no inkling that my Father and Lucifer would have come up with an idea as crazy as this.

  “You do know he is good,” I said to God. “And that I have hardly ever played the game. Not since I was a kid, anyway.”

  “I know. I can’t help but think that somehow Lucifer planned this. I assure you, I have had everyone working on this, such as lawyers and judges. There is uproar, but we can’t prove anything. The consensus is that it is nothing more than a freakish coincidence that the son of Lucifer happens to be one of the best Space Invader players the world has ever known. It is rather unfortunate. Despite what the legal eagles say, I am convinced that somehow he must have snuck back here whilst we were out in the Universe and got this Bill chap interested in the game.” Unfortunately, I disagreed with God’s theory.

  “I think you are wrong. I read the e-mail Lucifer sent Bill. He didn’t come back when you were away; he wanted to, but he didn’t. I think we are the victims of a hideous twist of fate!” I sighed. This was a disaster.

  “Well, there is only one thing for it. You had better get practicing, and quickly.” I was going to reply, but I noticed that Sean approached. I presumed the conversation was over, in any case, as the cockroach ended its circling around my feet and headed off toward the bar.

  He didn’t get too far, as seconds later Sean crushed him underfoot.

  “Sorry about that,” said Sean, “disgusting things; we have the place treated, but one or two always seem to get in.” Sean had already returned to his spot behind the bar before I could tell him he had been three seconds away from crushing God. I looked at the crushed cockroach and thought to myself that he was not that resilient; they may be able to survive a nuclear bomb, but Sean’s size ten? Not a hope.

  I returned to our table and grabbed Maggie by the hand.

  “We have to go,” I said as I drank my beer in one swift movement.

  “Already?” said Maggie. “We’ve only just got here.” Maggie downed her drink just as quickly I did.

  “I know, but there has been a development. I’ve made a huge mistake.” Maggie collected her things, and we both made a hasty exit from Milligan’s, heading back to my apartment. Harvey gave me a knowing wink as I hurried Maggie into the elevator.

  “Yo, dog….” he began. I put my hand up, indicating that I needed him to stop speaking.

  “Not now, Harvey,” I said, “not now.” The elevator door slid shut, leaving Harvey open mouthed and at last, silenced. Once we were inside the apartment, I told Maggie what I had learned from God.

  “I’m screwed,” I said as I paced the apartment. “There is no way I am ever going to beat Bill. The guy’s a professional; he’s been World Champion. I am not sure if I was any good when I was a kid.” I took a deep breath and looked at Maggie for reassurance. She was laughing. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “This is,” she replied “the whole thing, it is totally ridiculous; I can’t believe they even contemplated it, let alone agreed to it.” She was right, but it wasn’t the only thing that was ridiculous. If I wasn’t involved, I would no doubt have found the whole thing highly amusing. Unfortunately, I was involved, and it was no joke.

  I spent the rest of the day contemplating eternity in the pit. Maggie tried to distract me from my thoughts, but the idea of constant pain coupled with Lucille Ball ensured that I wasn’t good company. Maggie suggested that maybe she needed to return to her own apartment to leave me to contemplate my next move. I managed to convince her to stay the night. I was glad I did. Maybe it was the thought that I made love for one of the last times in my life, or maybe it was because I made love to a woman whom I had fallen head-and-over-heels in love with. Whatever it was, Maggie and I made love all night. It was, I have to say, the best night of my life, and when I awoke, I felt happy and contented despite the predicament that loomed over me like a hulking dark shadow.

  It turned out Maggie needed to go to her office that morning, so after coffee and breakfast, she left me alone in the apartment. Once again, I found myself tempted to call Bill. Indeed at one stage, I lifted the receiver and dialed his number, only to slam the phone down. God had made it quite clear the consequences should my dalliance with the opposition continue. I switched on the television and found a news channel. A strike involving garbage disposal collections loomed, and New York City could soon be finding itself with heaps of uncollected refuse and garbage piling up on the streets. The potential turmoil had city officials on the back foot, and it seemed that the dissatisfied garbage collector’s demands would be met before the industrial action began. The news report informed me that the city had initially threatened to fire any strikers, but thanks to the intervention of lawyers on behalf of the garbage workers union, it seemed that firing the striking workers would have been illegal. It gave me an idea. I checked Nancy’s schedule and, once satisfied, that the coast was clear, I called Bob.

  “I have an idea,” I said after updating Bob on the previous day’s developments. “Why don’t I see a lawyer, maybe even Maggie, and go o
n strike? I think I may have a good case.” Bob didn’t reply at first as he considered my suggestion.

  “Do you think God would accept that? Do you think he would fear legal action?” I wasn’t totally sure.

  “Think of the bad publicity,” I said. “He wouldn’t want that.”

  “What are your grounds for striking, if you did strike?” asked Bob. I had considered it in great depth. There were numerous grounds I felt that justified strike action. “Insufficient training, no pay, lack of health plan, unsociable hours, hazardous working conditions; the list is endless. Any decent lawyer would rip God’s lawyers apart. My strike would be legal and therefore, as I see things, I couldn’t be condemned to the pit until my demands were met.”

  “And what exactly are your demands?” asked Bob, sounding a little dubious that my suggestion would work.

  “I need more time to prepare and to get to Bill’s standard of video game playing. I guess I need at least an extra two years and back pay, which I know I wouldn’t get, but it would mean a stalemate and years of legal wrangling. My idea is to tie this up in the courts for years until God tires of it and finds someone else.” I knew I was clutching at straws, but I knew that when all else failed, hire a lawyer.

  “I’m not convinced your plan is entirely foolproof,” said Bob. “Wouldn’t you be better of spending your time trying to learn how to play Space Invaders and at least attempting to put up a fight? I could get over there, and we could search for a machine you could practice on. Don’t you think you are antagonizing God? And anyway, didn’t he say there was no going back on any of this?” Bob had a point, but even if we did find a machine, which according to Bill’s column, were very hard to find, how could I ever get up to Bill’s standard of play? I explained this to Bob, who rather reluctantly agreed that maybe striking and hiring the services of an employment lawyer was my only option.

  Walter, who had been sitting on the sofa the whole time I had been conversing with Bob, raised his head.

  “I’ll feed you in a minute,” I said as I cupped the telephone receiver. Walter rose and stretched.

  “That really won’t be necessary,” he said. I told Bob I would call him back and hung up the phone.

  “How long have you been listening?” I asked God as Walter jumped down from the sofa and walked toward my feet.

  “Long enough,” replied God. It won’t work, your little idea. Do you know who I’ve got up there?” Walter looked up at the ceiling. “I have some of the greatest lawyers who ever lived up there, that’s who, and I assure you I would fight you vigorously in any court. A strike? Oh please.” I wasn’t sure if he was bluffing or not.

  “Well, I am sorry you feel that way, but do you want your name dragged through the courts?” I was sure he wouldn’t.

  “It is every day, my dear boy,” explained God. “Have you never taken an oath? Have you not seen Court TV?” He had a point; his name was always being dragged through the courts. “I will give you your back pay if it means so much to you,” said God indignantly. He knew that was not the reason I wanted to strike, but his implication that I was only after money was designed to provoke me into feeling guilty. It didn’t work.

  “Thanks, that’s a start,” I said not falling into his trap. “I do have other grounds for striking, though.”

  “Which are?” said God. I was getting to him. He was bluffing, I could tell.

  “Lack of training,” I answered.

  “Is that it? Is that all you’ve got?” mocked God. “It won’t hold up. The courts won’t entertain that. I have provided training, on-the-job training,” He countered. He had a point.

  “Ok then,” I said as I felt my confidence waning, “not enough vacation days.” I was clutching at straws.

  “You work from home,” said God. He was right, of course. What chance did I have negotiating with God? What lawyer would take my case? What court would listen? Despite everything, despite all the avenues that existed for the rest of the population when faced with unscrupulous employers, he was God, and there was no loophole, no basis for striking, no legal way out, and with no way of ever beating Bill at Space Invaders, I was doomed and so were the souls of millions. What I needed was a miracle. And that miracle came from a most unlikely source just in the nick of time.

  CHAPTER

  26

  I HAD TO CONCEDE THAT I had no case for legally striking. Therefore, if I did strike, then God was entitled to condemn me to the pit. I had no choice; I would have to go up against Bill at Space Invaders, and I would lose and be condemned to the pit. No matter which way I looked at it, I was headed for the pit.

  Before Walter had returned to purring and meowing, God had given me one final piece of bad news. The final conflict would be taking place earlier than I had expected. Not that it made much difference, as no matter when it was to occur, I was going to get creamed. All it meant to me was that my centuries of turmoil would begin earlier. God, despite my obvious belief that I was going to lose him the earth, appeared unconcerned. I hoped he wasn’t relying on the prophecy of the Bible, especially as we both knew Satan had no intention of complying with what it had foretold. I suspected God had other planets spread amongst the vastness of the Universe which needed his attention; maybe he thought he could start again, and maybe he secretly hoped he could abandon the earth and the headaches it gave him and simply move on. It turned out it was neither. God had faith in me; he genuinely thought I could do it. He was convinced I would prevail. He told me if David could slay Goliath, then I could beat Bill. I was his son, I came from good stock, and he believed in me. I was touched by his faith in me, but it was entirely misguided. Bill would pulverize me, and now I had the added guilt of letting down my father, who believed in me.

  And then the miracle occurred. I would not usually call an unannounced visit, especially from her, a miracle, more a hindrance, and when I first heard her banging manically at my door, my heart sank. The last thing I needed was her further ruining an already ruined day. I was tempted to hide, turn down the television, and pretend I wasn’t home, but, then again, she was my mother.

  It was quite apt, I felt, that she should arrive uninvited and unannounced, especially as I felt all my woes and problems were due in no small part to her failure to tell me the truth and full facts about my birth. It would be a final opportunity for me to thank her, for not only condemning me to the pit, but to tell her that, thanks to her years of mollycoddling whilst I was at college, and during my high school years, I should have been playing video games in bars or arcades with my peers, not studying twenty-four-seven. Maybe, just maybe I would have stood a chance in saving not only the world but myself from a fate that was actually worse than death. On top of all this, I considered mentioning the fact that for the first time in my life, I had met a woman who I could consider spending the rest of my life with, but once again, thanks to Mother’s little secret, that life was likely not to last the week. I opened the door to let the whirlwind that was my mother enter.

  “That bastard!” she screamed as she barged past me into the apartment, the door swinging on its hinges such was the speed of her entry. I had never heard Mother swear before, and I hastily reconsidered the verbal onslaught I had prepared for her. “That no-good, two-timing, backstabbing….” She seemed lost for words, which was a first for her. “Philanderer!” she finally spluttered.

  I closed my apartment door and watched as she paced around my living room. Walter, who had been snoozing quite contently, jumped from the sofa and headed for the kitchen where I caught a glimpse of him jumping on top of the refrigerator, where I presumed he felt safe. I wished I could have joined him.

  “All these years, all these years!” raged Mother. To say she was annoyed would have been an understatement. I had never seen her so mad. “And that whore! How could she, how could she? My own flesh and blood, my own damn sister!” I wasn’t sure if that was a question for me or a general question that didn’t need answering.

  “Oh shit,” I said und
er my breath. What had my father—Ely, my father—gone and done?

  “Years, apparently,” continued Mother, “years! Right under my very nose! The betrayal! The lies!” She sobbed into her handkerchief as she continued to pace the apartment. I considered comforting her, but the sobbing stopped, and the venom and anger in her voice returned. “I gave that man the best years of my life. He will pay; he isn’t going to get away with this, the, the… fornicator!” She shouted the word fornicator, and I dreaded to think what my neighbors could hear. I closed the kitchen door as not to upset poor Walter, who had scrambled to the highest vantage point, which was on the shelves above the fridge. He was perched precariously, his eyes scared, shifting from Mother to the main door. No doubt, he was considering making a bolt for it at the first opportunity. I thought if he did, I would be close behind him.

  “He was nothing, nothing without me!” Mother’s tirade continued. “I could have done so much better than him,” she said, the sobbing once again taking over from her rage. Her last sentence was, of course, untrue, but I decided not to point that out to her. In fact, I hadn’t said a word.

  “Your father is a lousy rat!” she screamed, this time directly at me. I decided to play dumb; the pit would be a piece of cake compared to the wrath of Mother if she found out I already knew about my father’s infidelities.

  “That’s a bit strong. He did create the Universe, so he can’t be that bad,” I said, implying that I thought she was talking about God.

  “Not him,” said my mother, “Ely, the bastard!” Once again she felt the need to scream the word “bastard.” “The lying weasel!” she added.

  “Dad? Why? What’s he done?” I asked, knowing full well what he had done. I hoped my act was fooling her; I attempted to sound surprised and shocked.

  “Is he ok?” I added, just for luck. Actually, I was concerned for his well-being; I dreaded to think what Mother could have done. At any time I was expecting her to produce my father’s severed penis from her handbag and place it on my coffee table. Not only would I have to reconsider the further usage of said coffee table, the sight of another man’s penis, severed or not, is not something I was looking forward to, least of all my dad’s. I shook the image from my mind.