Look, I said. This place is lived in since yesterday. Theres litter neither of us tossed when Roy and I worked here together. I opened the miniature-fridge door. Candy bars. Who else would put chocolate in a fridge?
You! Crumley snorted.
I had to laugh. I shut the fridge door.
Yeah, hell, me. But he said hed hide out. Maybe, just maybe he did. Well?
Okay. Crumley stepped to the screen door. What do I look for?
A big gangling six-foot-three whooping crane with long arms and long skinny fingers and a big hawk nose, getting bald early, and ties that dont go with his shirts and shirts that dont go with his pants and I stopped.
Sorry I asked. Crumley handed me a handkerchief. Blow.
A minute later, I headed out of upper Illinois country away from my grandparents house.
On the way, I passed Stage 13. It was triple-locked and sealed. Standing there, I imagined what it must have been like for Roy, going in to find some maniac had destroyed his reasons for living.
Roy, I thought, come back, build more beautiful Beasts, live forever. Just then, a phalanx of Roman troops ran by, double-time, counting cadence, laughing. They flowed swiftly, a bright river of gold-and-crimson-plumed helmets. Caesars guard never looked better, moved faster. As they ran, my eye caught the last guardsman in flight. His great long legs jerked. His elbows flapped. And what looked to be a hawks beak plowed the wind. I gave a muted cry.
The troops rushed around a corner. I ran to the intersection.
Roy?! I thought.
But I could not yell and let people know an idiot hid and ran amongst them.
Damn fool, I said weakly. Dumb, I muttered, going in the commissary door.
Stupid, I said to Fritz, who sat drinking six cups of coffee at the table where he held his conferences.
Enough flattery! he cried. Sit! Our first problem is Judas Iscariot is being cut out of our film!
Judas!? Has he been fired?
Last I heard he was down in La Jolla soused and hang-gliding.
Ohmigod.
And then I really exploded. Great earthquakes of hilarity burst from my lungs.
I saw Judas hang-glide the salt winds, Roy in the Roman phalanx running, myself drenched by rain as the body fell from the wall, and again Judas, high above La Jolla, drunk on wind, flying.
My barking laugh alarmed Fritz. Thinking me choked on my own bewildered upchuck, he pounded my back.
Whats wrong?
Nothing, I gasped. Everything! The last of my cries faded.
Christ himself had arrived, his robes rustling.
Oh, Herod Antipas, he said to Fritz, you summoned me to trial?
The actor, as tall as an El Greco painting, and as haunted by sulfurous lightning and storm clouds, which shifted in his pale flesh, slowly sank into a chair, without looking to see if it was there. His sitting was an act of faith. When his invisible body touched, he smiled with pride at the accuracy of his aim.
A waitress instantly placed before him a small plate of salmon with no sauce and a tumbler of red wine.
J. C., eyes closed, chewed one bite of fish.
Old director, new writer, he said at last. You have called me to confer on the Bible? Ask. I know it all.
Thank God, someone does, said Fritz. Most of our film was shot overseas by a hyperflatulent director who couldnt get it up with an erector set. Maggie Botwins in Projection Room 4. Be there in one hour, he signaled me with his monocle, to see the whole shipwreck. Christ walked on water, but how about deep shit? J. C., pour sweet oil in this boys unholy ear. He
touched my shoulder. And you, child, solve the problem of the missing Judas, write an ending for the film that will stop the mobs from rioting to get their money back.
A door slammed.
And I was alone, scrutinized by J.C.s blue-skies-over-Jerusalem stare. Calmly he chewed his fish.
I can see, he said, youre wondering why Im here. I am the Christian. Me? Im an old shoe. Comfortable with Moses, Mahomet, and the Prophets. I dont think about it, I am it.
Have you always been Christ then?
J. C. saw I was sincere and chewed some more. Am I Christ? Well, its like putting on a comfortable robe for life, never having to dress up, always at ease. When I look down at my stigmata, I think yes. When I dont shave mornings, my beard is an affirmation. I cant imagine any other life. Oh, years ago, of course, I was curious. He chewed another bite. Tried everything. Went to the Reverend Violet Greener on Crenshaw Boulevard. The Agabeg Temple?
I been there!
Great showmen, eh? Seances, tambourines. Never took. Been to Norvell. He still around?
Sure! With his big blinky cow eyes and his pretty boyfriends begging cash in tambourines?
You sound like met Astrology? Numerology? Holy Rollers? Thats fun. Been to Holy Rollers, also.
Like their mud wrestling, talking in tongues?
Yeah! But how about the Negro Baptist Church, Central Avenue? Hall Johnson choir jumps and sings Sundays. Earthquakes!
Hell, boy, you dog my stepsl How come you been all those places?
Wanted answers!
You read the Talmud? Koran? They came too late in my life.
Let me tell you what really came late I snorted. The Book of Mormon!? Holy mackerel, right!
I was in a Mormon little-theatre group when I was twenty. The Angel Moroni put me to sleep!
J. C. roared and slapped his stigmata.
Boring! How about Aimee Semple McPherson!?
High school friends dared me to run up on stage to be saved. I ran and knelt. She slapped her hand on my head. Lord, save the sinner, she cried. Glory, Hallelujah! I staggered down and fell into my friends arms!
Hell, said J. C. Aimee saved me twice! Then they buried her. Summer of 44? In that big bronze coffin? Took sixteen horses and a bulldozer to lug it up that graveyard hill. Boy, Aimee grew fake wings, natural-like. I still visit her temple for old nostalgias sake. God, I miss her. She touched me like Jesus, in Pentecostal trimmings. What a lark!
And now here you are, I said, full-time Christ at Maximus. Since the golden days with Arbuthnot.
Arbuthnot? J. C.s face darkened with memory. He shoved back his plate. Come now. Test me. Ask! Old Testament. New.
The book of Ruth.
He recited two minutes of Ruth. Ecclesiastes?
Ill do the whole thing! And he did. John?
Great stuff! The Last Supper after the Last Supper!
What? I said, incredulous.
Forgetful Christian! The Last Supper was not the Last Supper. It was the Penultimate Supper! Days after the Crucifixion and entombment, Simon called Peter, on the Sea of Tiberias with the other disciples, experienced the miracle of the fishes. On shore, they witnessed a pale illumination. Approaching, they saw a man standing by a spread of burning charcoals and fish. They spoke to the man and knew it was Christ, who gestured and said, Take of these fish and feed thy brethren. Take of my message and move through the cities of the world and preach therein forgiveness of sin.
Ill be damned, I whispered.
Delightful, yes? said J. C. The Penultimate Supper first, the da Vinci supper, and then the Final Final Last Last Supper of fish baked on the charcoal bed on the sands near the Sea of Tiberias after which Christ departed to stay on forever in their blood, hearts, minds, and souls. Finis.
J. C. bowed his head, then added: Go rewrite the books, but especially John! Not mine to give, only yours to take! Out, before I rescind my blessing!
Have you blessed me?
All the while we talked, son. All the while. Go.
I stuck my head in Projection Room 4 and said, Wheres Judas?
Thats the password! cried Fritz Wong. Here are three martinis! Drink! I hate martinis. And anyway, first, I got to get this out of my system.
Miss Botwin, I said.
Maggie, she said, quietly amused, her camera in her lap.
Ive heard about you for years, admired you a lifetime. I just have to say Im glad for this chance to work
Yes, yes, she said, kindly. But youre wrong. Im no genius. Im what do you call those things skate across ponds looking for insects?
Water striders?
Water striders! Youd think the damn bugs would sink, but they move on a thin film on top of the water. Surface tension. They distribute their weight, stretch out their arms and legs so they never break the film. Well, if that isnt me, what is?
I just distribute my weight, stretch out all fours, so I dont break the film I skate on. I havent sunk from sight yet. But Im not the best and its no miracle, just plain dumb early-on luck. Now thanks for the compliment, young man, put your chin back up, and do as Fritz commands. The martinis. Youll soon see, Ive worked no wonders on what comes next. She turned her slender profile to call quietly toward the projection room. Jimmy? Now.
The lights dimmed, the screen hummed, the curtains parted.
The rough cut flashed on the screen, with a partially finished musical score by Miklos Rozsa. That I liked.
As the film advanced, I snuck glances at Fritz and Maggie. They looked as if they were bucking on a wild horse. I did the same, pushed back in my seat by a tidal wave of images.
My hand stole one of the martinis. Thatsa boy, whispered Fritz.
When the film finished, we sat silently as the lights came up. How come, I said at last, you shot so much of the new footage at twilight or night?
I cant stand reality. Fritzs monocle blinked as he glared at the blank screen. Half this films schedule now is sunset. Then, the days spine is cracked. At sundown,
