The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy

by Duncan Whitehead

  “Hello,” I said, out of breath and utterly perplexed by the Walter situation. “Seth? Is that you? You sound strange.” It was Maggie.

  “Yes, it’s me, just having some cat trouble. Have you seen this weather?” I asked turning my head in the direction of the window. Nothing had changed; the black clouds still loomed, the wind continued to howl, and the rain fell.

  “Yes, I have seen it. The TV is saying it is happening all over the country. The meteorologists can’t explain it, freak weather all over; looks like Europe and other parts of the world are getting it too.” I had a feeling that maybe I knew what was behind it and probably also behind Walter’s sudden anti-Seth’s apartment behavior also.

  “Listen,” said Maggie, “I didn’t call you about the weather.” Maggie sounded a little stressed, slightly agitated, and maybe a little panicky. “I have something to tell you.”

  I turned my attention from the events outside my window to Maggie’s voice. “Yes, what is it?” I asked nervously.

  “I’m pregnant,” said Maggie. Her words seem to hang in the air. It was as if time stood still. Everything seemed to occur in slow motion. I could hear a beeping noise coming from my pocket and could feel a slight vibration. It was my cell phone, and for some inexplicable reason, with Maggie on the other line apparently needing to talk and awaiting my response, I answered it. With Maggie’s words still reverberating in my head, my house phone in one handheld to my right ear, and my cell phone held in the other hand held to my left, the house covered in cat urine and excrement, Walter growling as he continued to rip up my apartment, and with the apocalyptic weather worsening, the last person I needed to speak to was Henry Peel, my boss.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Seth it’s me, Henry. Sorry to call your cell, your house phone was busy.”

  I remembered Maggie on the other line. “Henry, hold the line.”

  “Maggie? Are you still there?” She wasn’t. She had hung up. I was sure I heard the word “jerk” just before the line went dead.

  “Seth?” It was Henry on the other line. “Seth, are you there?” I was too busy worrying about Maggie and impending fatherhood that I didn’t register that I still had Henry on the other phone. I broke off from my thoughts.

  “Sorry, Henry, there must be a problem with the phones,” I said as I replaced the house phone receiver.

  “Probably to do with this crazy weather,” said Henry. “Anyway, I didn’t call to discuss the weather. Unfortunately, I have some rather bad news.” I steadied myself, still shocked by the news I had just received from Maggie. “The thing is, Seth, I am going to have to let you go.” Henry’s words hung in the air; at first I thought I had misheard him.

  “Sorry, Henry, for a minute there I thought you said you had to let me go,” I said, with a nervous laugh.

  “My hands are tied. It’s the church contract; they just called, they want you off the project and said they had confused you with someone else,” said Henry hesitantly.

  “Why do you need to let me go? Just hand it over to someone else, and I’ll go back to the Hyomoko contract,” I said, confused as to why Henry needed to fire me.

  “Well, I would like to, but they stated quite categorically that if you remained with the firm, they would cancel the whole contract, and before you ask, Seth, no, they did not give a reason.” What the hell was this? Why would the bishop of a church suddenly have a downer on me?

  Before I had a chance to even think about arguing with Henry, the house phone rang again. Thinking it was probably Maggie calling back, I needed to end my call with Henry.

  “Henry, I got to go,” and before he could speak, I hung up on my boss and my job. I grabbed the house phone again. “Maggie?” I said, nearly out of breath with the continual phone answering.

  “No,” said the voice I did not recognize; “Mr. Seth Miller?” said the voice again.

  “Yes, who is this?” I asked, annoyed that the caller was blocking the line and preventing Maggie from calling back.

  “I’m from the IRS. The name is Mackay, David Mackay. I am an inspector, and I need to talk to you about your last tax return so I can prepare your audit,”…and that’s when I fainted.

  I guess it was combination of finding out I was going to be a father, losing my job, and discovering the IRS would be auditing me all in the space of less than five minutes that did it. The fact that I had an incontinent and rabid cat in my home also didn’t help. I don’t make a habit of fainting; in fact, in the history of my life, it was a first.

  I must have been out for thirty minutes. When I awoke, I laid spread-eagled where I fell, the cell phone clutched in my hand, and the house phone off the hook on the floor next to me. It was dark; the freak weather had not abated, and I could still hear Walter growling. As I gradually came to, I saw Walter had destroyed every piece of furniture I owned. Not only that, but he had also managed to pull open every CD and DVD case and scratch them beyond any kind of repair. My carpet looked like a stable floor occupied by a horse that had eaten Indian food mixed with laxatives the night before. I stood up and saw that Walter was now foaming at the mouth, and I was sure he was preparing to pounce on me, no doubt going for my neck. I saw I had messages on my machine. The red light flickered a number nine.

  I pressed the button. The first message was Maggie. It was quick and to the point: “Asshole.”

  I played it back before erasing it. I shook my head. The second message was from the chair of my building’s residents association, Mr. Walden, a man I had met a few times in the lobby and once at the interview before I got the apartment. The basic gist of his message was that there had recently been some complaints about the way I spoke to Harvey, the doorman. Residents had overheard our conversations and alleged that I had used a racist term whilst conversing with him. That, coupled with the foul language I used and my constant references to rap music, meant the committee felt I was in violation of the agreement I signed where I promised I was a person of good character and moral standing. They were drawing up eviction papers immediately.

  The third message was from Harvey. “Yo, check out the crazy-ass weather. You can bet your honky white ass that them white folks is gonna get all jacked up. Yo, let me know if you need anything.” The fourth message was from Mother announcing she could not spend another minute with Denise Malphrass. She was getting a cab from Newark straight back to the city, and she asked if I could make sure I had a good supply of her favorite tea so she could have some in the morning.

  The fifth message was from my bank. “Mr. Miller, there seems to be a problem with your account. It is considerably overdrawn. Quite possibly it is a mistake, but do you recall purchasing items, to the value of sixty thousand dollars, from a company called Anal Probes for Men, LLC? Please call Mrs. Bloomfield, your account manager. Thank you.” Message number six was from my general practitioner. I needed to call the office urgently; they had discovered some mislaid test results, and it was imperative I saw him. His message also recommended I check my life insurance policy. The seventh message was my life insurance company informing me that my coverage had expired, and before renewing, I would be required to sit a full medical examination.

  Message number eight was Maggie again, reminding me what an “asshole” I was, and message number nine was from God, asking me if I liked his wrath.

  “This could be just the tip of the iceberg,” his message said.

  I did not like God’s wrath one bit. But I knew I deserved it. I had been flippant; I had shown him no respect; I had been messing with the superior being, the creator of the Universe, God, our Father who art in Heaven, the Lord of more than just the Rings, and I had pushed things too far. God was angry, and he was angry with me.

  As I sat amongst my tattered apartment with Walter clinging to the curtains as they fell and crashed among the other debris he had created, I realized that in one fell swoop, God had the power to change everything. God had the power to change my destiny; he had the power to destroy me—he had
ultimate power. I had been blasé, condescending, and I had answered him back on more than one occasion. Had I not realized who I had been dealing with? This was the being who told Noah to build an ark and then flooded the earth because he could. This was the being who sent plagues of locusts to infest the Egyptians; this was the being who created postal workers. He could be a fair and good God, but he could also be cruel and ruthless. This was payback for my attitude and maybe extra for being overly pleased that another “Code Dave” had occurred. This was his wrath.

  I realized I had been an asshole, and that maybe I could have handled things differently. Maybe with the gift God had bestowed on me, I could have made a difference. Just as I realized that maybe being the Messiah was not that bad after all, and if a man could suffer and die on a cross for me, then could I not at least attempt to locate and practice a stupid computer game?

  Who had I thought I was? How dare I take the Lord’s name in vain? I was repenting, and I felt ashamed. I was not fit to be called his son. I could only hope to walk in Jesus’s shoes or sandals. It was just as I realized all this and more that from behind a black cloud, the sun appeared again. As the clouds melted into the blueness behind them and the sun beamed down onto the city, once more a shaft of sunlight engulfed my apartment, and the reflection from the wet, glistening windows created a chasm of light that illuminated me. It was if the sun shone directly on me. I raised my hands and knelt in the dripping rays of the sun.

  “Praise the Lord,” I cried, “praise the Lord!”

  As the last cloud seemed to evaporate, cheers rang out in the streets below. Walter, who had been hanging on to a light fitting the last time I saw him, was curled in a ball, sleeping away, his diarrhea abated and his mouth foamless. My telephone rang several times in quick succession, and for some reason I knew to let my machine grab the messages.

  Message one was Henry apologizing for his earlier call. He had been the unwitting victim of an office prank. The church had made no such demands, and all contracts were fine. Henry was going to get to the bottom of it and find out who had impersonated the bishop. He suspected it could have been one of the mailroom boys, and he asked if I could I forgive him.

  Message two was from Mr. Walden. He had confused me with another tenant, a former postal worker, and after speaking with Harvey, who confirmed I had never once uttered such vile and disgusting filth, he had realized his mistake. According to Harvey, I was a gentleman, and if anyone knew a gentleman, it was Harvey. There would be no eviction papers, and the residents’ association would love me to be their guest of honor at their next monthly bingo evening.

  Message three was my doctor’s secretary apologizing for her blunder. She had misread my records, and another patient’s test results had fallen into my file. I was fine, no need to worry. Unfortunately, another patient, a postal worker, was about to get some rather bad news. Message four was Mrs. Bloomfield from the bank. There had been a computer error entirely due to an electrical shortage brought about by the inclement and sudden rain. I was not overdrawn; in fact, my account was remarkably healthy, especially as a Mr. Alan Robes, not a withdrawal by Anal Probes, had recently made a deposit for several hundred thousand dollars. Who Alan Robes was, I did not know, but I was very grateful to God for making him up.

  Message five was the IRS. There were two Seth Millers, and the Seth Miller, who lived in California would be audited. Mr. Mackay apologized for his error and was happy to report that my taxes were fine; I could actually expect a rebate. Message six was Mother. Unable to find a cab in the torrential rain, she had been forced to return to Denise Malphrass’s door for shelter. Denise Malphrass then apologized for also sleeping with Jacob several years ago, and now it appeared the two old ladies were laughing, joking, and comparing notes about Jacob’s lovemaking style, which Mother assured me, were many and varied.

  I thought the final message would obviously be Maggie. Before pressing play, I guessed what she would say. She would say the pregnancy testing kit was a dud, that it had been a mistake, that I wasn’t an asshole and ask whether she could come over and have a lot of sex with me immediately. Unfortunately, the final message was from Harvey, informing me that a team of industrial cleaners had arrived laden with high-velocity vacuum cleaners and other hi-tech equipment, and they were on their way up. They would deliver my new furniture at the same time.

  I wondered where Maggie’s message was. A bit odd, I thought. Just when I thought that maybe God had forgotten to rectify that little problem, the phone rang again and this time, rather than let the machine answer it, I answered it myself.

  “Maggie?” I said, and once again, I was to be disappointed.

  “I am afraid not,” said God.

  “Sorry, I was expecting someone else,” I said.

  “Pretty impressive, eh?” said God, “The weather, I mean. Haven’t done that in years.”

  “Look, I owe you an apology,” I began, but God cut me short.

  “I know. I know what you are thinking. I know what you are feeling. That’s why I stopped it. Well, the weather I had to stop; I couldn’t destroy the world. It was the same size flood that I did for Noah’s generation. Another forty days and nights and you could forget the World Series,” said God.

  “Well, at least now you see it,” he continued. “The cat was Gandhi’s idea, by the way.” I nodded as if I expected Gandhi to be involved in something like that, though I had no idea why.

  “I mean it,” I said, “I want to be your son, not because of all this, but because I feel I should do it. I realize you put a lot of effort into creating the Universe, and I realize all the good you have done; you created life, gave us all a shot at things.” I was genuine. I was ready and willing to fight Lucifer and Bill, albeit at Space Invaders. I would practice, and somehow I would overcome the four-time world champion.

  “Listen,” said God, “don’t worry about it. To be honest, all hell has broken out in Heaven, so I can’t stay long. Anyway, the cleaners and your furniture will be there soon, so I will make this as brief as possible.” God paused for a second before speaking again, “Everything has gone wrong. Jesus admitted that he let Jacob sleep with your mother on his watch, and he deliberately did not attempt to stop him, nor did he inform me. Therefore, many have raised questions as to your parentage. The legitimacy of your birth has been brought into question. A lot of traditionalists are claiming that if your Mother was not a virgin, regardless of whether I am your Father or not, then you can’t fight the anti-Christ.”

  “I can’t believe Jesus let that happen! How could he have let another ‘Code Dave’ occur? What was he thinking?” I asked, disappointed, after all, that I might not be the legitimate Son of God.

  “Don’t blame Jesus, blame me. I should have listened to him from the beginning. He was right; the people were expecting him again, not a new version. I thought I was doing him a favor by not sending him back. He went through a lot the first time. I didn’t realize it meant so much to him. I thought by having another son it would relieve some of the pressure. I should have listened. It wasn’t personal; he didn’t do any of this to hurt you. It was me he was trying to hurt, and I guess I deserved it.” I understood what God was saying, but I felt he was too hard on himself.

  “Can he play Space Invaders though?” I asked. This had the desired effect, and God laughed.

  “No. He can’t. He wouldn’t know a joystick from a gear stick.” We both laughed at God’s joke.

  I felt terrible for God. He sounded dejected, and maybe if I had just got on with things, none of this would have happened. The guy was an icon, and I had the privilege of conversing with him on a daily basis. I had a hotline to the most revered figure in the history of mankind. I thought about the churches, the mosques, and synagogues devoted to him. I considered the billions worldwide who relied on his mere presence to get them through the day. I wondered at all he had created, including anchovies and cockroaches, and the responsibilities it all entailed. He may have been an absent father to
me, and maybe even at times an absent father to the world that he had created, but he was back and was trying his best to put things right.

  “That sure was some show you put on,” I said, trying to raise God’s humor.

  “I didn’t think you would faint; that was a surprise,” said God. I could hear a chuckle in his voice, which pleased me. I looked at my watch; I had been talking to God for at least five minutes, and Maggie still hadn’t called. I guessed she would have at least tried my cell phone.

  “That’s odd,” I said. “Maggie hasn’t called to tell me about her false alarm.”

  “Maggie?” said God.

  “Yes, I was expecting her to call and tell me not to worry,” I said.

  “Worry about what?” said God, seemingly confused as to what I was talking about.

  “About not being pregnant,” I confirmed.

  “I didn’t know she was,” said God.

  “She isn’t now, not since you reversed everything,” I said, encouraging God to follow my drift.

  “What?” said God, sounding even more confused. “I didn’t involve Maggie in any of this. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “You mean you didn’t make Maggie believe she was pregnant?” I asked; the reality slowly dawning on me.

  “Not at all,” replied God.

  “Then she is actually pregnant,” I said. I needed to call her and tell her everything was fine. I needed to call her and tell her I loved her, and that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I needed to tell her I was the happiest man alive.

  “You need to call her,” said God, “but in a minute; first I need to tell you what the plan is. We planned Armageddon for next week. I was going to tell you officially, but I didn’t want to worry you. But to be honest, there is chaos both up here and down there.” I imagined God pointing up and down where ever he spoke from. “Lucifer is still furious with his son for his attempted coercion, and I understand the anti-Christ has turned into quite the party animal. Lucifer is having trouble keeping an eye on him. Apparently he is out all night, sleeping all day, and has different women for different days. He has done no training, not so much as pressed a fire button or twiddled a joystick in days. I suspect right now he’s in as much trouble as you just were.” I shuddered to think what Satan would be doing to ruin poor Bill’s day.