"Hold on," I shouted, flipping the shower curtain aside. My foot slipped on the tub and I bashed my leg. "Goddamn!" I looked at my knee expecting to see a large black and blue mark. Nothing, but it hurt like hell so I rubbed it with my hand. "Coming," I hollered, wrapping a white terry towel around my middle and tracking wet footprints on my glistening hardwood.
"Who is it?" I stuck my wet eye to the peephole.
"Jesus."
What? I rubbed at my eye. Jesus? The only Jesus I knew played baseball and pronounced his name 'Hay-soos.'
"Who?"
"Jesus Christ."
My eye cleared. I saw this big fat guy with hairy arms and a dirty white smock.
"Show me your face." My body started to tingle. I thought of the Holy Ghost.
He turned. He had a bushy, stringy beard.
"All right," I said, "Who are you?"
He reached into a fold of his smock and extracted a wallet. "Here's my driver's license." He pulled out a blue plastic card and held it toward the peephole.
The picture was of a younger, thinner man, but there was a resemblance.
"It's not a good picture," He said. "They never are."
"How come Jesus Christ needs a driver's license?"
"I don't. You asked for ID—I thought I'd show you something familiar."
"How about a birth certificate?"
"Clever."
He pulled out a card that looked like Amex or VISA Gold. "This one's hard to read. I'll shove it under your door."
I looked down. A corner stuck through.
"Pull from your side. It seems stuck."
I bent down. "Hey, wait a minute, if you're really Jesus Christ, why did you have to shove it under the door? Couldn't you like poof it through?"
"Poof it?"
"Like magic, you know, POOF!"
"I suppose so. I never thought of that."
The card started to glow. I jumped back. The card skittered back into the hallway. "Holy shit," I yelled.
"What happened.?"
"There's some weird shit going on."
"It's a small miracle. You sounded like you wanted to see something Copperfieldian."
I stuck my eye back to the peephole. "The trouble I'm having man is that you don't look like Jesus."
"What did you think I'd look like?"
"Well, you know, all white and stuff."
"I'm wearing a white top. Isn't that good enough?"
"I thought you'd be shiny."
"Shiny?"
"Glowy, you know—a glowy halo."
"I don't think 'glowy' is a word."
"Hey, I let Copperfieldian pass, you should let glowy pass."
"I'm heir to Him. I'm allowed to make up words. You're not."
"Well, you don't look like the pictures I've seen."
"Book or film?"
"Both. I have read the Bible you know, and I saw The Ten Commandments and some TV specials, like at Easter."
"Yes, I know."
"Do you really know everything, like do you spy on everyone, even in their bedrooms?"
"We don't think of it as spying."
"So you know about…uh…that girl last night?"
"Yes, I do, and that's why I'm here. Please open the door so we can talk."
I figured if I didn't, he'd just pop through so I opened the door. He stepped in. I smelled an odor like the camel I'd ridden once when I visited Egypt, and his white smock was even dirtier than I first noticed.
"You're staring."
"I'm having trouble getting past your appearance. I mean look at your smock. It's filthy."
"It's a robe."
"Robe, schmobe, it…isn't fresh smelling." I thought better of telling him He smelled like a camel, you know, just in case He really was the Big J.
"You know, I've traveled a great distance, and I'm sorry my appearance doesn't measure up to your standards, but right now, I need to use your bathroom, real baa-aad."
"I don't think so. Nowhere in the Bible does it say you ever used the bathroom."
"You ever see people using bathrooms in movies?"
"Lots: urinals, stinky toilets, even Nicole Kidman in Eyes Wide Shut."
"OK, bad example—we didn't have toilets back then—everyone went behind the bushes."
"Good thing they didn't pick that burning bush thing."
"That's not funny. Now show me the way before it's too late, if you get my drift."
I nodded down the hall. He took off running as fast as a fat man in sandals could run, slammed the door, and locked it. I didn't want to listen, but the door was paper thin. He peed in the middle of the bowl, noisy, just like me. After a moment, He flushed and the door immediately opened.
"You didn't wash your hands."
"I'm not an employee."
"Now who's being funny?"
I stared at his feet. "Who wears socks with sandals anymore?"
"Is that all?"
"Frankly no. You look more like Sam, my butcher."
"Because he wears socks with his sandals?"
"Because you're both fat."
"I'm not sure I like the word 'fat.'"
"Why, didn't your Father invent it?"
"Oh, He invented it all right. He invented all words—well, except the ones your President makes up. It's just that my Father didn't intend that 'fat' be used to describe people, particularly me."
Bright lightning zigzagged across the sky and hit the ground. I looked out the window in time to see my apple tree explode. A clap of thunder shook the house. I dove into the closet.
He laughed.
I stuck my head out. A baked apple smell filled the air. "Does He do that whenever anyone calls you fat?"
"No, He does that to let us know it's going to rain. Sorry about the tree—His aim isn't what it used to be."
I stepped out of the closet, went to the open window, and looked up at the darkening sky, roiling gray and purple. "This isn't going to be one of those ark things is it, cubits and all that hammering?"
"No, just a little rain to freshen the air. Take a whiff. Doesn't that smell fantastic?"
I inhaled a deep breath through my nose. "Not bad," I said. A few golf-ball sized hail stones rocketed down and left knuckle dents in the roof of my brand new car. "OK, OK, fantastic, it smells fantastic."
A rainbow arced across the sky. The dents in my car popped out.
"Jesus Christ!"
"Yes?"
"I mean, Goddamn that was great. How'd you do that?"
It got dark again.
"Oh shit, sorry. I meant to say 'goldang.' How about 'shit,' is 'shit' allowed?"
"It doesn't violate a commandment, though it should be used to describe the act, like in taking a shit, or the thing, like a piece of shit. I don't think He likes to hear it as an expression of disgust."
"How come you don't know for sure?"
"I'm sort of like an apprentice, a beginner. In fact, some think I'm not qualified to run the Division, that the only reason I'm There is because I'm the Boss's son."
He looked sad. "Say, would you like to sit?" I motioned to my new sofa.
"Nice sofa."
"I got it at IKEA for four-hundred bucks. Bloomies had one for nine-hundred, but by the time my friends spill beer all over it, who'll know?"
"Give the money you saved to a church or some worthwhile charity."
"Jesus Christ, maybe you really are Jesus Christ."
"You say my name a lot."
"I didn't mean to offend." I sank in the wicker chair that sat kitty-corner to the sofa, being extra careful not to flash my privates. I mean, can you imagine: if He saw my main motor parts, well kiss the erections goodbye. I'd have to hire Bob Dole full time.
"You didn't offend me. People who try to dictate what others believe offend me. Why is it so hard to understand that if my Father made a bunch of different trees and flowers and birds and stuff so people could pick the ones they like, that He wouldn't make a bunch of different religions?"
"Hmmm, I never thought of it that way."
He wiped his brow. "Sorry for the sermon. Do you have any filtered water?"
"Will bottled be OK? Or I could go outside and get a rock. Didn't you get water from a rock?"
"My Father did, if you can believe that?"
"Of course, I mean, it is in the Bible."
He smiled. I took him the bottle of water. He studied the label.
"They sure have a lot of strange names for water," He said, and unscrewed the top.
"You're a lefty?"
"Ambidextrous."
"Of course."
He took a sip and said, "Aaah, that's good," and then He burped.
An awkward silence hung between us.
"What's wrong?"
"I dunno, I guess I thought you'd say 'excuse me.'"
"Why should I? I don't say excuse me when I take a breath. I don't say excuse me when I blink my eye. I don't say excuse me when I scratch an itch."
"Hey, don't get me wrong. Personally, I'm with you, but do me a favor?"
"Sure, I guess I owe you one."
"When you're around my mother, please say excuse me."
"That's it?"
"Yeah, otherwise I'll never hear the end of it."
"Boy do I know that scene. You should hear what my Old Man says about some of my friends, and let me tell you, He gives a whole new meaning to 'never hearing the end of it.'"
He put the water bottle down then and leaned forward, elbow on knee, chin on hand, His eyes burned into mine.
I tensed. Maybe this was the big one: the Second Coming. Goose bumps covered my skin. All my sins, well at least the recent ones, coursed through my mind. How many were there? Not that many, unless He counted swearing and pre-marital sex. I hadn't killed anyone or committed adultery, except in the adultery department I guess He'd consider me an accessory since that fling with my neighbor's wife, which probably meant I'd also get a 'coveting' demerit even though I hadn't coveted. I mean, she came on to me big time. Sure, I was willing but I hadn't started it. More goose bumps. I shivered. I'm on my way to hell!
"I need to talk to you about Mary Magdalena Ricardi."
I shifted uneasily. "Who?"
"The young lady you were with last night."
"She told me her name was Mary Richards, like the TV show. That's how I remember."
He scowled. "Her real name is Mary Magdalena Ricardi."
"Now hold on--she told me she was twenty-two and single."
He looked about ready to start whaling on my body that was downright fragile compared to his big, fat hands.
"Hey, wait a minute, she's not…"
"Not what?"
"I mean, in the Good Book there was this woman Mary Magdalene—"
He threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh. Then He looked at me with cold, ice-blue eyes, and I was afraid…probably like the shepherds felt the night they saw the Angel of The Lord and were sore afraid, though I'd never managed to find our what sore in that context meant. I'd always assumed it meant afraid until it hurt.
"Here's the deal," He said, folding his hands together under his chin. I thought of doing the same, but it didn't look like a prayer was about to commence. "Her father doesn't want harm to come to Mary."
"You mean your Father."
"No, I mean her father."
"I'm confused."
"Maria Magdalena Ricardi is the only daughter of Big Tony Ricardi."
A chill moved into every one of my bones and every square inch of my skin. I felt like vomiting.
"You ever hear of Big Tony?"
Everyone alive and a lot of dead people knew of Big Tony, the killing machine. I felt my head nod.
Big Tony talked to me this morning. He told me anyone who makes his little girl unhappy will loose his balls. He prayed that wouldn't happen to you."
Sweat beaded on my brow. I squeezed my legs together.
"Now if you call Maria and take her out again, she will be very happy. In fact, she will be so happy she will tell Big Tony, and Big Tony will be happy, and you can stop worrying about your testicles."
"I will. I'll call her before noon, right after you leave."
"I'll know if you don't."
An hour ago I had trouble remembering her face. Now, the face of the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen floated into my mind.
"No, I will, I promise, but tell me one thing: How come you're fronting for a guy like Big Tony? He doesn't seem to be the kind of person I thought you'd be running errands for."
"Judge not, lest ye be judged."
He had an answer for everything.
"Big Tony wanted to come along, but I told him I would handle it this one time. He drained the last of the water and stood. "You know what Big Tony said?"
I shook my head.
"He said there better not be a next time."
I felt an urgent need to pee. He stuck out his hand. Bravely, I stuck out mine. His hand was big and rough and he squeezed so hard I felt bones crunch.
"Jesus Christ," I said. "That hurt."
"I know," He said, and then He was gone, not 'poof gone' but out the door gone, like a human.
I shuffled to the window and looked out at the street just as He walked out the front door of the building and started down the sidewalk. He looked up and smiled, and then stepped into the back seat of a black stretch limo with New Jersey plates that said BIG TONY. I peed on the floor.
THE END
