V - Jesus 2034 (Prologue)

Jesus 2034

Prologue

It was busy in the waiting room outside God's office. The secretary,
whose face powder gave her an almost polished look, sat examining her
nails. A group of middle-aged men, dressed in identical white suits,
were huddled around a small table in the corner of the room.

"I've got it this time," said one.

"You've got to watch it closely. There is a system if you watch it
closely enough," said another.

A face looked up at them. Framed beneath a Miami Dolphins baseball cap,
the young man sat behind the table seemed to be about thirty two or so,
although it was difficult to say with any accuracy.

"Gentlemen," the voice was pleasant and calm, "if you're so sure of my
system, ante-up and let's begin." There was a murmur as silver discs
were placed on the table. "Now then, you know the rules. Just follow
the Queen and if you find the lady - you keep the loot."

The young man's hands blurred with the speed at which he moved the
three cards around the tabletop. "Your guesses please."

"Middle." It was a definite, assured statement.

"You sure?" Said the young man. "You can change your mind."

"Definitely middle."

The young man flipped over the middle card. It was the ace of
spades.

"Bugger!" Said the middle-aged man in the nice white suit. This set the
others smaning.

A light went on over the door into the main office. The secretary put
down her magazine and called, "Son of God, Your Father will see You
now."

The young man looked across. "Tell Him I'll be there in two ticks, I'm
on a roll."

A voice boomed from a thousand hidden speakers and several of the
middle-aged men froze completely. "Junior, stop fleecing those stupid
Angels and get Your lazy, worthless, good-for-nothing backside in this
office now!"
The Son of God fished up his cards and his silver discs and looked at
the angels. "His Father's voice, eh? I'll see you later guys." As He
walked to the office door He flashed a charming smile at the secretary.
She did not appear impressed.

"Hi Pops, how's it going?" The Son of God flopped into the chair before
the great table.

"Don't call Me that. I hate it, it shows no respect."

"Sorry 'Father'", there was no mistaking the sarcasm in the voice.
"Look at this," He said, throwing the silver onto the table, "Judas
didn't do this well, and it only took Me ten minutes."

God stood up. No-one could deny that He was an imposing figure. Tall,
powerful, lovely thick white beard...

"Junior, how old are You?" Asked God.

"I'm eternal Father, You know that." The Son of God looked puzzled.
God, however, merely looked annoyed.

"It was a rhetorical question." God raised Himself to His full height
and His beard seemed to shine more brightly. "Son, You disappoint Me
greatly. I had high hopes for You." God moved over to the window. It
was His favourite time of the day. All the late, great jazz men
gathered to drink coffee and jam together in the coffee shop next to
God's offices at 11am every day. God was a big fan of jazz.

"Look Dad, We've had this conversation a million times and it's always
the same. You say I'm letting down the Family, I say that I'm not cut
out for your line of work, We argue, I leave home and spend a week at
Uncle Peter's, and Mum gives You shit for a month."

God turned to face His Son. "Don't bring Your Mother into this. It
would do You good to remember who wears the robe in this Family. Your
Mother thinks that She has final say on everything only because I allow
Her to - I am all-good, that is My job!" God, without realising it, had
crushed a wooden paperweight into the shape of an elephant while He was
speaking.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever You say." The Son of God lowered His voice, "but
for an omnipotent Supreme Being... You sure do take a lot of
shit."

God banged His fist down on the table. The jazz men next door stopped
playing and looked skywards for the lightning to follow the
thunder.

"Look at You, You're a mess." God stopped. He had noticed the bright
blue sparks coming from his beard. "I don't believe it," He said,
removing the beard, "that's the third bloody beard You've made Me
overload this month."

"You should go without it for a while. You look like Clint Eastwood
when You're clean-shaven."

God stared at His hands. "As I was saying. You're a mess. What is it
with those clothes? Robes not 'cool' enough for You?"

"Frankly Father, no they are not." The Son of God looked at His
clothes: trainers (expensive ones), jeans and a denim shirt; not
forgetting the baseball cap, of course. Not too bad. He shrugged. "I
look okay."

"No You don't," said God, "You look like one of those dead rock stars
You waste Your days with."

The Son of God began to get a little nervous. God continued.

"Bearing in mind Your Complete lack of usefulness to Me in Heaven, I
have a little job for You." He paused for dramatic effect. "You're
going back to Earth!"

"No fucking way!" It was not as witty or clever as He would have liked,
but it was all the Son of God could think of. "I don't know if You've
forgotten what they did to Me last time, but I haven't. Those nails
really hurt man."

The Son of God snapped his fingers. At once his appearance had changed.
The denim had been replaced with the most wonderful glowing, white
robe. "If it's about My clothes... no problemo. If it's about Me not
doing My fair share... I'll tidy My room, whatever. But there is no, I
repeat, absolutely no way that I'm going back to Earth." He snapped His
fingers again and the denims returned. He sat, erect in the chair with
His arms folded. "No way!"

*****

By 11.30 p.m., the Son of God and Jim Morrison were well into their
third bottle of Jack Daniel's.

"So then I said No Way!" The Son of God was slurring His words. Luckily
for the conversation, Morrison was as drunk as his friend.

"Oh my," said Morrison, "I'm as drunk as the Lord."

"Real funny Morrison. It's like I never heard that one before. Just
remember that you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the good word I put
in for you."

"Yeah," said Morrison, "but did You have to tell Your old man that I
was a jazz musician? Isn't it a sin or something when you lie to
God?"

"No, that's only for the peasants. I'm allowed."

Morrison shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Okay dude, tell
me what happened next."

"Well," said the Son of God, "He says - 'Don't worry Junior, it's a
simple job. Humans are bad, You've got to go there and make them good.
Should only take you about thirty years.' So I says," He leaned in
towards Morrison, "last time I was there they crucified Me. - Pour Me
another one please. Thanks. -'Free will' He says. I said 'free will' is
fine, but it's not much good when you're trying to shake two dice in a
casino."

Morrison laughed and fell off his stool.

"It's not funny Jim, those holes took ages to heal."

Morrison picked himself up and sat back down, trying desperately hard
to keep a straight face.

"So I said, 'look Dad, I'll go - but only if You let Me do things My
way.' He asked Me what I meant and I tried to explain how Stallone gets
the job done..."

"Stallone?" Interrupted Morrison.

"You know, Demolition Man. It was on the Movie Channel last week.

The Son of God staggered to his feet. "I go down to Earth, Boom," He
fired an imaginary gun into the air, "I heal a couple of cancer
patients. Boom, Boom" He fired more imaginary shots, "I waste some
sinners. Boom, Boom, Boom - before you know it, people repent, I'm a
hero and the churches are full every Sunday."

Morrison nodded sagely. "Cool plan dude. And You'd be back for the
Lennon gig on Monday."

"But oh no, that's not good enough for My Father. It has to be done as
it is in Heaven. His will comes before good sense and efficiency." The
Son of God had stopped listening to Morrison. "So that's it. No choice
in the matter. I leave tomorrow at dawn. I just hope My mortal parents
are rich. I hate all that struggling stuff. I want My MTV."

"Major bummer man." Morrison fell off the stool again but the Son of
God didn't seem to notice.

He stared into His whiskey glass. "And if I get lumbered with a stupid
name like Jesus again, I will be major pissed off!"

The Son of God sat back down heavily and said, more to Himself than
anyone around, "I'll go see Gabriel, he can tell Me what I'm supposed
to be called."

Leaving the bar, the fresh air hit the Son of God like a lump hammer,
and He fell head first into the road.

*****

Gabriel was sat in his usual seat in the Great Park. He was waiting for
the Salvation Army band to begin their lunchtime concert. He was a big
fan of the Salvation Army, particularly the women: he loved women in
uniform.

"Hi Gabe," said Jesus in a nonchalent kind of way.

"Forget it. I'm sworn to secrecy," replied Gabriel.

"Oh come on. Just a little info. That's all I'm asking."

"Okay, I've met Your new mum. She's very sweet." Gabriel adjusted his
sun visor.

"Are We rich?" Asked Jesus.

"Money is the root of all evil... rich men and camels and all that..."
Gabriel shifted in his deckchair.

"I'm poor. I fucking knew it. What's My name?"

Gabriel pretended not to hear this last question.

"Come on, give it up."

"Just remember, I don't pick the name, Your Father does that."

"Well...?"

"Ian."

"Ian?"

"Ian. Ian Christie."

"Oh that is SO funny. I sound like a sprinter. I hate My life." Jesus
got up and started to walk away.

As He was leaving, Gabriel shouted after Him. "Don't forget Your packed
lunch, it's a long journey. Oh, and Ian... see you in about twelve
years."

Jesus smiled sarcastically at Gabriel. Then He turned to the stage
where the band was gathering and with a nod of His head, He un-tuned
all their instruments. "Enjoy the concert Gabe," He muttered under His
breath.

Chapter One - Ian at 12