This Story is Probably Going to Piss Off Christians

So if you're Christian and easily piss-offable, don't read it. And if you do, then please don't burn me!

Choices

So this is how I met the Wandering Jew. I was in the bar on the corner of Reed Street, sitting in a corner away from the noise of the tv on the wall, with my feet on the low table. I was hoping the barman wouldn't notice and nursing a big china mug of Irish Coffee, also. (On the one hand, coffee has a sobering effect. On the other, it was my fourth. I leave it to you to believe the tale or not.)

And this guy sits down, he's hairy, but he's bald on top, too. He pulls out a cigar like a turd, lights it, and says: "I didn't curse my Saviour. That's a damn' lie. I loved that guy. He was so human - he had flaws, but the sweetest, kindest, best man I ever saw. You know that saying: 'A true friend knows the worst thing about you, and likes you anyway'? That was him. With the whole effing human race. Wow. And the whole divinity thing, that too I guess. He was wonderful. Not like the rest of his disciples. Matthew - he kept giving his money away and acting all smug about it. And Peter. That toffee-nosed, hypocritical, 'Oh you're a sinner and I'm holy but I forgive you 'cause I'm just better than you..." oh don't get me started...

At that point, I gotta make a trip to the little gentleman's room. Four cups of Irish Coffee, remember? (And I was hoping if I ignored him, he'd go away. What can I say, I'm not a nice person. You know that. So help me, I dunno why you still talk to me.) I get back and he's still there, in his stained coat, and baldness, and bushy beard with the turd cigar poking out between his lips. He's still talking.

"...in the garden. I didn't want to do it - I loved that guy. But he'd braced me beforehand, and explained how very important it all was. He had to die, in that particular way, and it would carry off all the sins of the world and we'd be back in a state of divine grace or something. He didn't want to die but he knew he had to. It was important.

"So I pulled myself together, in the garden of Gethsemane, with the night-flowers blooming and the smell of rain in the air. The soldiers were waiting in the darkness, but the torches lit the faces of my friend and his followers well enough. I looked up in his eyes - dark brown they were but they looked black, and kind, and so sorry that he was making me do this. I looked up, and murmured 'Forgive me.'

"And there was Peter. Toffee-nosed obnoxious Peter. Peter whom I hated. I heard a sound of thunder, and I betrayed someone with a kiss, and then the rains fell.

"He tried to get them to switch, after, but Peter was all sanctimonious and 'Oh, I'm the one you want.' There was such a clamour... The only one who could change the Romans' mind was me and they wouldn't believe I'd made a mistake that simple, would they? That's what I told myself. So I bundled my friend off and we did the best we could with what we had left.

"I mean, the crucifixion. That was pretty damn impressive, yeah?

"But we weren't Saved. He just lived on after that - the sweetest guy you ever met. Died at 65 with a bundle of grand-kids. Half of 'em died in a plague that year... One of his descendants'll do the job, maybe.

"And I lived on, and on. I have to tell the story to a man before I die, so he won't do what I did. If the chance comes round, see." That hairy, bald bastard grins horribly, then, and kisses me on the cheek. His breath stinks, like vomit. "Good luck," he says, and stumps out of the bar.

I had to tell you, friend. I can tell you anything.

But I am afflicted with a sudden terror.

fini