Bob puffed out his cheeks and blew out a breath. “But the possibility still exists that you are the Messiah?” he said again. I got the feeling that Bob was disappointed.
“The possibility still exists,” I said hoping to lift his disappointment.
“Well, at least that’s something,” Bob said, smiling. Unfortunately, I was going to deflate him again.
“But the fact that my Mother was not a virgin, from the way I see things, makes me a false prophet,” I said. Bob’s shoulders slumped dejectedly.
It was Maggie who spoke next.
“So this whole thing has been a complete waste of time?” Her words hurt me slightly. I wouldn’t have described our relationship as a waste of time.
“Not entirely,” I said, hoping she would realize I was hinting at our blossoming relationship.
“Please explain, because as far as I can see, it has been,” said Maggie, a little too abruptly for my liking. I pointed at myself then back to her quickly, indicating that “we” were not a waste of time.
“Oh yes, of course.” Maggie flashed me a smile, and I felt a wave of relief engulf me.
Bob was still pouting. “But there is no guarantee that you are a false prophet?” asked Bob. Maggie and I looked to where he sat. “What I mean is, you are assuming God will say that; you don’t know, not for sure, anyway.” Bob was correct because I hadn’t yet spoken to God since Mother’s announcement, I had no idea where I stood. I was indeed presuming.
“This may be a minor technicality, and therefore you could still be the Messiah,” said Bob triumphantly.
“Bob” I began, “I don’t think you get it. I do not want to be the Messiah. Don’t you see? Haven’t you been following the plot? I am going to be condemned to the pit. I have no chance of winning the final conflict. Lucifer is going to take over the earth.” I took a breath, “So, please, tell me if you can, why you would be so disappointed if it turns out I am not the Messiah?”
“Well, I kind of like being a disciple,” he said, “and the miracles could come in handy, especially during baseball season.” As it was already baseball season, I felt his excuse was lame. I hoped Bob wasn’t going to be my Judas.
“Oh, ok,” he said eventually, “I see what you are saying. I don’t want you in the pit. Who would I go drinking with?” Bob smiled, and I felt relieved that he wasn’t my Judas. He was selfish and self-centered, but so was I, or I used to be, but he was no Judas. It was Oscar Wilde who said a true friend stabs you in the front and not the back. I knew that if Bob was going to stab me, he would do it smiling and in the missionary position. Maggie interjected with an extremely valid point.
“But how about the miracles?” she said. “How do you explain being able to perform miracles if you are not the Son of God?” Indicating to Bob, she continued, “We both saw you walk on water, and what about the scouts?” It was a good point, but I reminded her that I was only the vessel. If God was channeling his power through me, then it was actually God performing the miracles, not me.
“But didn’t God say he could only channel his power through his Son?” added Bob. Maggie nodded, confirming that she was under the same impression.
“I really don’t know,” I said. “I won’t know until I speak to him.” I looked at Walter, hoping he was going to speak and save me the effort of repeating Mother’s story a third time, but he continued to snooze on Maggie’s lap as she stroked the top of his head.
“I have a question,” said Maggie. “Did Uncle Jacob have any kids other than you if indeed you are his?” I shook my head. To the best of my knowledge, he did not, but of course, he was a sailor.
“You know what we need?” she asked. Bob and I looked at her blankly. “DNA testing.”
“DNA testing?” repeated Bob, questioningly. “You know, you might have something there.”
“DNA testing?” I said, joining in the debate.
“Yes,” said Maggie, “a DNA test to validate your mother’s claim so we can be sure before you tell God.”
“Great idea,” agreed Bob, his enthusiasm lifting. I gave him a stare, and he added, “Only if it proves you are not God’s Son.”
“It’s a stupid idea,” I said as I looked at both my disciples with pure disbelief. “I can’t believe that you are even considering for one minute that it will work.” Bob and Maggie looked at each other and shrugged, indicating that they did not agree with my previous statement. I felt I needed to clarify my last words.
“For a start, Uncle Jacob is dead, has been for nearly fifteen years. Somehow I do not think we are going to get any DNA from him, especially as he was cremated. Secondly, I think it highly unlikely that God is going to readily hand over a swab of his DNA, if he even has any, and I am not even sure he even exists in bodily form.”
My two disciples slumped into their seats. Their dejection and disappointed was a total contrast to my feelings of elation and relief. I was happy to accept the fact I was not God’s son. Their attempts to somehow prove it beyond a doubt didn’t wash with me. For a start, there was the possibility that a DNA test would confirm I was God’s son. That would mean God could disregard the virgin issue as a technicality, and the pit would therefore still be looming, with Lucy and Desi waiting for me to join them in eternity.
“Hey, guys, I’m as disappointed as you,” I lied, trying to unify us. “One minute I am the Son of God, the next, I am the bastard child of a horny sailor.” This didn’t fool either of them. They knew that deep down I was elated that there was a possibility I would not be facing Bill in the Space Invader arena of doom. I made coffee and left Walter on Maggie’s lap. Bob flicked through the copy of Bytes, which I now had delivered each week.
I returned with coffee, and we all sat in silence, alone with our thoughts. The only sound was Walter purring as Maggie stroked his head and under his chin. We had exhausted every possible scenario, and all we could do was to wait for God to call and for me to tell him the truth. We didn’t have to wait long. I noticed the buzzing of Walter’s purring had ceased. I looked up to check if he was still in the room. He still sat on Maggie’s lap, and I knew that God had arrived.
“Well, this is nice and cozy,” said God. Startled by Walter’s abrupt speech, Maggie jumped up, sending Walter flying in the air.
“Sorry,” she said as Walter twisted in the air but landed on all fours. Walter jumped onto the coffee table so he was in the center of the room. He licked himself before God spoke.
“That’s fine, dear,” he said to Maggie, “no harm done.” Maggie smiled at Walter; I shook my head.
“Would it not have been easier to call?” I asked, a little surprised by God’s dramatic entrance.
“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” said God sarcastically.
“Sorry, hi, how are you?” I said, feeling a little guilty for not welcoming God as I would any other guest. However, other guests did usually knock, and they did not use my cat as a voice box. Bob stood up straight as if he were a school kid, and the principal had just walked in the room.
“Relax, Bob,” said God. Bob didn’t. He remained bolt upright. “I am glad you are all here,” said God, ignoring the fact that Bob stood as rigid as a board. “I thought it was about time we all got together for a little chat, maybe throw some ideas around. A little informal tabletop discussion, maybe even a brainstorming session. We have them all the time up here. Maybe we should start with you, Maggie. Any thoughts?” While I appreciated that God was trying to help, it didn’t seem right that we all knew something he didn’t. It also didn’t seem right that what I was about to tell him should be told to him in public. We needed privacy.
“Maggie and Bob were just leaving,” I said as I urged them to stand.
“Were they?” said God disappointedly.
“Were we?” said Maggie, looking at Bob.
“Yes, you were,” I said behind clenched teeth, ushering Maggie and Bob to the door.
“Oh yes, of course, we were,” laughed Maggie, “silly me.”
“Goodbye, your Lordship, sir,” gushed Bob, his words directed at Walter, who remained perched on the coffee table. I pushed Maggie and Bob out of the door and turned to face Walter.
“Lovely touch,” said God.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked as I collected the empty coffee cups discarded by my friends.
“She has a lovely touch, Maggie. While she was stroking me, it felt very relaxing. I must do that more often,” said God as Walter rose, stretched, and returned to his sitting position.
“How long were you there?” I asked, unsure if God already knew what I was about to tell him.
“Oh, only a few minutes,” he replied. God, it would seem, had only been in the room as we sat saying nothing. No doubt Maggie’s gentle touch had delayed his arrival announcement. I wasn’t sure if I should have been jealous that my woman was stroking God, not Walter, and I was a little perturbed that he had let her carry on without informing her it was the Creator’s chin she was rubbing and not Walter’s.
On a scale from one to ten, one being mild, and ten being severe, I would say I had a temper rated at a number two. I hardly ever lost it, and when I did, I would remain calm, coherent, and rational. It seems I did not inherit that from God, for he was a ten, maybe even a ten plus. We all know somebody with a fiery bad temper who loses it completely; they shout, they shake, they curse, they sometimes go purple. We have all seen people flip their lids and blow a fuse. Some people fly off the handle and become violent, scream, shout, and throw things. I have seen it many times with friends of mine and of course, on Jerry Springer. Imagine then, if you will, the worst temper tantrum you have ever witnessed, and multiply it by a thousand. No, multiply it by ten thousand and then some, because that’s how bad God reacted when I told him about Jacob and Mother.
“Hey,” I said as I returned to the living room. Walter still sat on the coffee table. “Hey,” said God cheerfully, “how are you? Getting ready for the big showdown?” He seemed extremely relaxed considering the closeness of Armageddon. I decided the best course of action would be to come out and say it, not to dillydally, and get it over and done with. I hoped he hadn’t been selling tickets for the big showdown, because if he had, he had better get some refunds ready.
“Well, there has been a development,” I said nervously.
“What sort of development?” asked God.
“A development that kind of makes me think you ought to consider finding somebody else,” I said. God sighed.
“Not this again,” he said, “we have been over this a thousand times. There is no one else; you are doing it.”
“That’s not what I mean. I would love to do it.” That was a lie.
“That’s good,” said God cheerfully.
“But I don’t think I can,” I said pensively, once again God sighed.
“Of course you can do it,” he said encouragingly, “I have total faith in you; you know faith goes a long way.”
“It isn’t that I can’t do it, what I mean is I can’t do it. I am not qualified; you see, my mother visited today.”
“How is she?” said God. “Charming woman,” he added.
“Not so good, actually,” I said. “It turns out Ely told her about Marla.”
“He didn’t tell her I said it was ok, did he?” said God, who, it seemed, was just afraid of Mother as the rest of us.
“No, he didn’t,” God gave a sigh of relief. “What a fool,” he said, referring to Ely. “He should have kept that quiet.” I agreed, but this wasn’t the forum for that discussion.
“Anyway, she came here and had her own little confession to make,” I continued. “It seems that Jesus didn’t do such a good job watching over her as you had thought. I think you call it a ‘Code Dave.’”
“A ‘Code Dave’? You mean a virgin snatch?” God sounded panicked.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. It seems that Mother and my uncle Jacob had sexual relations prior to your, erm, well, visitation.” To be honest, I didn’t know what to call my conception; I felt visitation was a good enough description.
“You mean the army guy?” said God.
“Navy guy,” I said.
“Good looking, looked a bit like Moses?”
“Charlton Heston,” I corrected.
“Same thing,” said God.
“Well, regardless, he beat you to the punch, popped her cherry, reaped the wild wind, went boldly where no man had gone before; get the picture? She wasn’t a virgin!” I felt I needed to be descriptive, especially as it seemed he was about to go off on one of his tangents.
“Rubbish,” said God. “That’s impossible. Your Mother was a virgin. We had it well documented. I had my best man on the job. The chances of two ‘Code Dave’s’ occurring in the same millennium is virtually impossible.”
“Not according to her,” I said, “and really, she should know.” There was silence. For at least fifteen seconds, there was complete silence as Walter stared at me. I noticed there was a glare in Walter’s eyes that perturbed me immensely. I could feel the tension in the apartment rising. I suddenly felt afraid, terrified.
“Jesus H Christ!” boomed God. I thought my eardrum would explode; it was as if a jet plane had landed next to me. It was the loudest sound I had ever heard, and I felt the walls tremble. They would have heard that shout several blocks away. I expected that Harvey was going to barge in at any moment to find out what the commotion was. God wasn’t talking to me, he was shouting at some unknown third party. “Get me Jesus Christ, and get him now!” he shouted.
“Who are you talking to?” I asked.
“What? Oh, didn’t I explain. Even though my voice is coming from Walter, I am actually still up here. It’s like talking on the phone, really. Sorry, was that loud?”
I didn’t reply to God’s question. I had a question of my own. “What’s going on?” I asked, wondering why he needed to speak to Jesus. More importantly, I had always wondered what the “H” stood for.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on, or has gone on. Your brother, that’s what has gone on. It was his job to watch that weasel, Jacob. I knew there was something about him. I knew he was sniffing around your Mother. That’s why I had Jesus on the case. This is sabotage! It is Jesus’s doing.” I didn’t see it as clearly as God did, but I was getting the overall picture.
“Oh yes, ever since we first discussed this whole second coming and returning to earth business, he wanted the job. He wanted another chance. He said he was the one with experience. I knew something was afoot.” God was talking to himself, not me. “The crafty cad has had me, pulled one over on me; I knew there was more to it, why he didn’t like you.”
And then God explained. It seemed that Jesus was dead set against me from the moment I was conceived. He felt it was his second coming. Ever since they had tabled the idea thirty-two years ago, Jesus had been against it. He felt it should be him returning to fight the anti-Christ and prepare the world for Armageddon. According to Jesus, it was what the people wanted, and it now seemed he had sabotaged God’s plan out of jealousy and spite. It was his responsibility to watch over Mother, to ensure she was and remained a virgin, and that another ‘Code Dave’ did not occur. It appeared that Jesus had turned a blind eye to Jacob’s advances. Call it a dereliction of duty or deliberate sabotage, one thing was certain, and there was no getting away from it: Mother and Jacob had been intimate, and it had happened on Jesus’s watch.
“So what now?” I asked, but God did not reply. Walter simply meowed.
CHAPTER
30
WE HAVE ALL HEARD OF the wrath of God. Not to be confused, as Bill pointed out to me much later, with the Wrath of Khan, which again, according to Bill, was a damn fine Star Trek movie. The first thing I noticed, once God had vacated Walter’s body, was the sky.
It had suddenly become very dark outside, despite it being 3:30 in the afternoon. It looked like the middle of the night. Dark clouds had appeared from nowhere, totally eclipsing whatever light the sun tri
ed to radiate. It was an unnerving sight, and I shuddered as the city fell into darkness. The wind picked up, and I could see from my window (with difficulty due to the fading light) newspapers and litter swirled by the wind that made the paper dance a macabre waltz before being catapulted by an invisible bow into the sky, where it fluttered some more.
I could just make out my fellow New Yorkers scurrying below me, looking for shelter from the wind and sheeting rain that now fell hard and heavy. I could hear the sound of car horns as confused drivers dodged pedestrians, rain, and the wind. Coupled with the poor visibility, it made driving near impossible. Sirens sounded as police and fire crews rushed to the minor fender benders that were occurring almost in unison throughout Manhattan. I found it difficult to draw myself away from the metamorphosing weather. I had never seen such sudden and abrupt changes in the climate. However, there was a metamorphosis occurring much closer that needed my immediate attention.
Walter, who I have explained, is an extremely low-maintenance pet and had never previously so much as shed a hair in the apartment, was acting most peculiar. I don’t mean that he was speaking—that I no longer considered strange—rather, he clawed at my sofa. He wasn’t just clawing at it; he was destroying it. Already he had torn the cloth completely and was busy ripping out foam from inside the sofa with his teeth. I could also hear him growling. I shooed him away from the damaged sofa, and he promptly sprayed me with urine. I tried to grab him, but he flashed his teeth and swiped at me with his claws on full show. He then jumped onto my coffee table and promptly defecated.
It was not however regular cat poo that emanated from Walter’s behind; it was the liquid version, cat diarrhea. As Walter jumped from the coffee table, a trail of shit traced his movements as diarrhea continued to pump uncontrollably from his rear. I tried to grab him and at least throw him into the bathroom where I could contain the damage, but as I chased after him, I slipped in his excrement and went skating along my carpet. As this was all going on, my telephone rang non-stop. Unable to catch Walter, who had now run into the kitchen to cause more damage, I grabbed the receiver.
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