“You, hey, wait.”
It was the first human voice he’d heard in all the forty days and forty nights of his desert fast.
He turned and gazed back down the rock-strewn slope. Squinting into the sun he saw a figure scrambling towards him. Sweat stung his eyes, and Jesus drew the dirty sleeve of his garment across his face. He thought about his mother, who had made the robe from a single piece of soft cloth, its seams so cunningly wrought as to be almost invisible.
“Hotter than hell here.”
The voice again. The man still toiled towards him. Even at this distance there was something bizarre about his appearance. His clothes were strange, following his contours in obscene dark unflowing detail. A Roman fashion? Or something from the East? Jesus blinked, and somehow – no doubt a trick played by fatigue, hunger, the relentless sun – the figure was there before him.
And what had appeared strange at a distance, now became bizarre, and frightening. And it wasn’t just the dark suit, or even the shining black patent leather shoes, or the unnatural white of the shirt, or the shimmering iridescent blue of the tie. For the man had no eyes. Or rather, where his eyes should have been were two mirrors fastened with a metal frame to the man’s face.
And in those mirrors Jesus saw himself. Saw the bones in his face where the flesh had shrunk, saw his own eyes deep in his skull, saw the hair filthy and matted. Saw, or thought he saw, a circle of thorns around his head and lines of blood like red tears.
“For a guy with a broken sandal, that’s some pace you set there. And while we’re on the subject, why don’t you let me get that for you?”
And on the feet of Jesus there were no longer the tattered worn sandals, but a soft enclosing mesh of some unknown white material, and an undulating sole that held his foot as gently as a cloud.
Jesus closed his eyes, knowing that in his delirium the time of temptation had come. He kicked off the outlandish shoes and sent them skittering away down the slope, where they turned to stones.
“Nike no good? You want Puma? Adidas?”
Jesus ignored him. In bare feet now, he continued to walk up the mountain, relieved, almost, that it had begun.
“OK, so you got me,” said the man, his short legs scuttling to keep up with the steady tread of Jesus. “No one ever said you weren’t smart. Look, it’s too hot for all this tearing about on mountains. It ain’t like we’re a couple of kids. Let’s sit down and talk about it in a civilized way. You know I’ve got to do this, so we may as well get it over with as soon and as painlessly as possible. Just give me ten minutes to hit you with my spiel, then you can tell me to get stuffed and we can get on with the rest of our… well, with the other things we have to do. You’re a busy guy; I’m a busy guy. Busy busy busy. The stuff I’ve got on, you wouldn’t believe. War, crime, murder – one damn thing after another.”
And Jesus felt suddenly the great sadness of everything, like the weight of death on his shoulders, and he wanted more than anything to sit and rest.
“Look, here’s good,” said the man, showing with his hand a flat rock. He pulled a red spotted handkerchief from his sleeve and dusted the rock. Then he sat and patted the space beside him, and Jesus sat also.
“Heck of a view,” the man said. “You can see clear to…” He waved vaguely, and Jesus saw his nails, perfect and clean and sharp. “Well, over there.”
The sun was lower in the sky and the desert was burning red. Shadows like long knives crawled over the land.
Then Jesus noticed that the bare rock on which he had sat was now black leather. He sank deeply into the softness. He tried to struggle up, but his weariness was too great, and the delicious enveloping comfort too welcoming. He thought that no one, not even Herod in his palace or Caesar in Rome, had ever known a seat like this.
“That’s more like it,” the man said. “OK, look, like with any deal, any contract, there’s two sides to this. There’s what I have to offer, and what I want in return. I’m guessing there’s no point in me dangling all the usual stuff before you: the riches, the power, the kingdoms? But they’re on the table if you want them. I’m not saying you should take them for the kicks you’ll get, but, well, you know a guy like you with real power could do a lot of good. I mean, who would you rather have in charge of an empire, you or Caligula? Or, thinking ahead a little, my boys Genghis, Tamburlaine and Adolf? Irresponsible not to have a go, when you think about it. Like they say, all that’s necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing, and you’re just sitting there kinda doing nothing, bud. Well…?
“No, fine, didn’t think you’d bite on that one. Temporal power not your thing. I get it. Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, blah blah blah. So, maybe a bit of the other. Man, you should see the babes I could fix you up with. Built like goddesses. Hey, some of them are goddesses! And I don’t just mean the chicks around now; I’m talking about every beauty that has ever lived or will ever live.
“No? Not girls. Boys, maybe? OK, keep your hair on. Don’t get your knickers in a twist; I was just asking. Live and let live, I say. Still nyet? Well, that’s what I reckoned. But you know how it is. I had to ask. If I didn’t follow the script, there’d be hell to pay.”
Through all this Jesus had remained impassive. Resisting temptation was his job, just as the role of the Father of Lies was to tempt.
“But that’s not all I’ve got here,” the man continued. “And we’re going multimedia with this one.”
He drew a rectangle with his finger in the air, and where he drew, a dark shape appeared, like a window into emptiness.
“I want you to watch this. Because the thing is, I know you’re a good guy. Hey, one of the best. No, the best. Your heart’s in the right place. No arguments there. You want things to work out well. You want the little people to be OK. I’ve read the book. Love thy neighbour, turn the other cheek, blessed are the cheesemakers, all that stuff. Who’s gonna argue with that? If you were thinking of starting up a religion, then that’s exactly the sort of material you’d want in there. But, well, the best-laid plans of mice and men, and… No, look, let’s just watch the movie. A picture’s worth a thousand words. Let me wind this on to the right place… yeah, here we go.”
Images appeared on the floating screen. There was music. There were voices. To Jesus it was all meaningless. Except that he could make out scenes of horror. Blood. The only meaning was blood. He closed his eyes.
“Oh, crap, I should have known you’d be a bit freaked by the technology. So why don’t I just talk you through what’s happening here? You know, like the extras on a DVD, when the director gives you his commentary. Except you don’t know. Anyway, with what I’m saying, and what you can see, you’ll get it. Get it? Cool.”
Jesus opened his eyes. The sun was below the horizon and the yellows and reds of the desert were turning grey and blue. It was a beautiful time. Cooler now than the terrible heat of the day, but warmer than the wretched cold of the desert night. He had tried to light fires, but that was not his skill, and so he had shivered and moaned like a fanatic through the cold black hours.
“Right, here we go. Your people, the people you pick, good men mostly. Except Ju— Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But things start going pear-shaped pretty soon after you quit the scene. First your guys go and upset the Romans – and believe me, that’s never a good idea. Hang on, let me…”
He fished down the side of the leather sofa until he hit on the remote control, but not before he’d also found – and discarded in frustration – a number of coins, a box of matches, a hairbrush and a fluff-covered object that might once have been a gummy bear.