Saved

by JoAnn Welsh

She watches for the slightest movement, a flickering of eyelash or fall of chest, that will give him away. She doesn’t see one, but she can sense his consciousness, his desperation saturating the air around them. Like a kid playing hide-and-seek, he’s holding his breath as he wonders how long it will take before she moves on.

“I know you’re faking,” Mary says. “You might as well go ahead and get up already.”

A muffled “I don’t want to” escapes from underneath the arm draped over his face.

“Jesus Christ! Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with this shit.” No reaction.

“Jesus, knock it off.” Mary takes a step forward and shoves the arm off his face. “I’d like to know what you think you’re doing.”

“I’m tired. Go away.” Jesus turns away from her, rolling over on his side.

“Tired, right. Got it. I know you’re tired.” Mary pulls a folded piece of parchment with wine stains from her lambskin bag and shakes it at him. “Know how I know you’re tired? I got your stupid note.” She snaps open the parchment and reads, hands and voice trembling. “‘Mags, I’m tired of it all. I gotta bail. The world will be better off this way. Please forgive me. P.S. Can you take care of my goat? She eats almost anything. Thanks.’” Mary throws the parchment in his face. “Can I take care of your goat? What the hell is that?”

“Everyone’s a critic” bounces off the far wall of the cave back toward Mary.

“Couldn’t you be normal – O.D. on myrrh or take a nosedive off the Mount? Why this way?”

Jesus rolls over again, this time to face Mary, propping his head up with his arm and releasing a long, exaggerated sigh.

“I thought it was a great idea. I mean, it’s not like I’d be able to back out if I turned chicken. Think of it as a little Roman insurance.” Jesus struggles to sit up and leans back against the wall. “Of course, since I can’t do anything right, I forgot what week this is. Not that the crowd let me go anyway, thank you very much. Just proves my point.”

Mary takes a seat on the slab next to him and lays her head on his shoulder.

“Watch the side, babe.”

“Oh, sorry.” Mary straightens up. “Did you even think about anyone else? What about me, your mother? We couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch.”

Jesus lets out a snort and drops his head into his cupped hands.

“Like Ma cares. It’s bad enough to have a father who won’t acknowledge you, but who has a mother who tries to claim the kid isn’t hers?”

Mary lays her hand on Jesus’s knee and tilts her head toward his shoulder again, but jerks it back up in time. “The woman hears voices, for God’s sake. Don’t take it personally.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever. Apple doesn’t fall far, does it?”

“Well, so much for your Roman insurance.”

“No kidding,” Jesus says, rubbing his beard. “Bunch of bunglers. You want an aqueduct, they’re your man. Otherwise, you might as well do everything yourself.”

Mary pushes herself up off the slab and turns toward Jesus.

“So now what? You can’t stay in here forever.”

“Leave me alone.” Jesus settles back down in repose, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. Mary grabs his wrist and yanks him halfway off the slab.

“Owwie. All right. Geez.” Jesus gets to his feet, rubbing his wrist. “No need to get violent.”

Mary takes a deep breath, summoning patience.

“You’re little act won’t fool the rest of them any more than it fooled me. I could just let them find you, but I don’t think you should go back to that crowd. They’re not good for you.”

“Amen to that.” Jesus scratches his head and frowns at a thorn he picks out of his hair. He tosses it on the ground and starts probing the rest of his head tentatively. “So what’s the plan, Stan?”

“I’ll go distract them while you slip out. Wait for me and we’ll figure out what to do later.”

Mary heads for the opening of the cave and glances back over her shoulder at Jesus. He doesn’t notice, as he’s trying to smooth his hair back down with his fingers. He tucks it behind his ears, muttering to himself. “I must look like such a goof.”

As Mary comes out of the cave, she raises her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sudden sunlight, searching for the little group awaiting her in the distance. As she steps forward, all the heads turn towards her as if they’d been practicing the move the whole time she was in the cave.

“Bunch of sheep,” Mary says under her breath. She walks up to the congregated and puts on her game face.

“He’s not in there. They must have moved him.” The lies have always come easily. Only with Jesus has she been regularly honest. He didn’t seem to mind the truth, for some reason. Most of the people she’s known avoided it like a Roman spear. It strikes her as funny, suddenly, that she would need to be a good liar in order to stay with someone who allowed her to be true. “Maybe they lost the body. Wouldn’t put it past them, crappy bureaucracy.”

“We lost him?” Thomas runs his hand through his hair. “This is going to look really bad.”

“Looks bad enough as it is,” John points out. “The grapevine already has the story on the note. Maybe he should just stay lost. People will forget soon enough. Later on we could promote Peter – he’s a natural leader.”

Nobody notices the glance Mary shoots toward the boulders by the side of the cave. She spies a flash of pink skin disappearing behind the stones.

“You think Peter would still be interested after today?” Matthew shakes his head. “That’s not what I’d call job security. Besides, what if he turns out to be an even bigger disappointment?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“We play it to our advantage. It wasn’t a su-i-cide,” Matthew says, drawing the word out and making quote marks with his fingers. “It was a sac-ri-fice.”

Thomas lifts his eyebrows. He’s always been a little slow on the uptake. “A sacrifice?”

“A sacrifice,” Matthew repeats. “To save the rest of us. To get us all off the hook.”

“Off the hook from what?” Thomas still looks puzzled.

“From our sins, man. What else?”

“We can do that?”

“Why not?”

John rubs the side of his neck, exhausted from the long day and now having trouble following Matthew’s convoluted scheme. “But what do we do about losing the body?”

Matthew smiles and claps Matthew on the shoulder “Lost? It’s not lost. He’s been res-ur-rect-ed.”

Thomas silently mouths the word to himself, hoping to catch something in the conversation that will clue him into what it means.

“You don’t think that’ll be a bit of a hard sell?” John asks.

“Not with the right attitude.”

Mary coughs discreetly into her fist to get their attention.

“You guys do what you have to. I’m done.”

“Going back to work?”

“Fuck you, John.”

John whips out a little parchment square and starts scribbling. “That’s going in my book, you know.”

Matthew stretches out his hand and lays it on the parchment.

“Let her go. She’s bad for the image anyway.”

Mary doesn’t care what they write about her. She leaves the men and goes back behind the boulders at the side of the cave. Poised on the edge of a large rock with his arms wrapped around his shins, Jesus looks up at her approach.

“See? Nobody needs me. Nobody gets me.”

“Big deal. Most people aren’t gotten. They get over it.”

Mary maneuvers her way around the rocks to stand behind Jesus’s back. She puts her hands on his neck and starts to massage the kinks. He’s had a stressful few days – she’s never seen him so dispirited.

“But I got arrested. It’s so embarrassing. I was just kidding around.”

“I know.”

“I was sold out by one of my own buds.”

“You don’t need buds like him.”

“I don’t even know who I am. I suck as a carpenter. That stable I built for Uncle Saul totally caved in.”

“So do something else.”

“Well, I’m not a messiah. I just like to shoot the shit, talk big, you know.” Shutting his eyes, Jesus rolls his head from side to side, stretching his neck as Mary continues the backrub. “It gets so boring around here. People only ever want to talk about their flocks, or bitch about the Romans. I just thought it’d make life a little more interesting.”

“Since when are carpenter and messiah the only career choices left on the planet?”

“Tell it to Matthew.” Jesus leans forward, shrugging off Mary’s hands. “Me a savior? What a joke. When did I ever save anyone?”

“Every day since I met you, sweetie.” Mary leans over kisses the top of his head. Jesus turns around and wraps his arms around her legs, drawing her to him.

“I don’t think you’re what they had in mind, Mags.”

“Still counts.” Mary takes his chin in her hand and pulls his face up toward hers. “What do you owe them, anyway? Let’s just disappear, the two of us. No more pressure, no more expectations.”

“I’ll still be a screw-up. It was true – the world would be better off if I were dead.” Jesus buries his head once again in her knees.

“I think that’s what they have in mind, honey. So now you’re dead. Let them do their thing and we’ll do ours.”

Jesus looks up from her knees. “Can we have a goat?”

“No prob. Let’s go.”

____________________________________________________________________________________________

JoAnn Welsh, a graduate of Penn State and the University of Virginia, is a writer and linguist living in State College, PA. She is currently at work on a novel entitled Faith and a collection of short fiction.


	Saved by JoAnn Welsh She watches for the slightest movement, a flickering of eyelash or fall of chest, that will give him away. She doesn’t see one, but she can sense his consciousness, his desperation saturating the air around them. Like a kid playing hide-and-seek, he’s holding his breath as he wonders how long it will take before she moves on. “I know you’re faking,” Mary says. “You might as well go ahead and get up already.” A muffled “I don’t want to” escapes from underneath the arm draped over his face. “Jesus Christ! Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with this shit.” No reaction. “Jesus, knock it off.” Mary takes a step forward and shoves the arm off his face. “I’d like to know what you think you’re doing.” “I’m tired. Go away.” Jesus turns away from her, rolling over on his side. “Tired, right. Got it. I know you’re tired.” Mary pulls a folded piece of parchment with wine stains from her lambskin bag and shakes it at him. “Know how I know you’re tired? I got your stupid note.” She snaps open the parchment and reads, hands and voice trembling. “‘Mags, I’m tired of it all. I gotta bail. The world will be better off this way. Please forgive me. P.S. Can you take care of my goat? She eats almost anything. Thanks.’” Mary throws the parchment in his face. “Can I take care of your goat? What the hell is that?” “Everyone’s a critic” bounces off the far wall of the cave back toward Mary. “Couldn’t you be normal – O.D. on myrrh or take a nosedive off the Mount? Why this way?” Jesus rolls over again, this time to face Mary, propping his head up with his arm and releasing a long, exaggerated sigh. “I thought it was a great idea. I mean, it’s not like I’d be able to back out if I turned chicken. Think of it as a little Roman insurance.” Jesus struggles to sit up and leans back against the wall. “Of course, since I can’t do anything right, I forgot what week this is. Not that the crowd let me go anyway, thank you very much. Just proves my point.” Mary takes a seat on the slab next to him and lays her head on his shoulder. “Watch the side, babe.” “Oh, sorry.” Mary straightens up. “Did you even think about anyone else? What about me, your mother? We couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch.” Jesus lets out a snort and drops his head into his cupped hands. “Like Ma cares. It’s bad enough to have a father who won’t acknowledge you, but who has a mother who tries to claim the kid isn’t hers?” Mary lays her hand on Jesus’s knee and tilts her head toward his shoulder again, but jerks it back up in time. “The woman hears voices, for God’s sake. Don’t take it personally.” “Yeah, right. Whatever. Apple doesn’t fall far, does it?” “Well, so much for your Roman insurance.” “No kidding,” Jesus says, rubbing his beard. “Bunch of bunglers. You want an aqueduct, they’re your man. Otherwise, you might as well do everything yourself.” Mary pushes herself up off the slab and turns toward Jesus. “So now what? You can’t stay in here forever.” “Leave me alone.” Jesus settles back down in repose, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. Mary grabs his wrist and yanks him halfway off the slab. “Owwie. All right. Geez.” Jesus gets to his feet, rubbing his wrist. “No need to get violent.” Mary takes a deep breath, summoning patience. “You’re little act won’t fool the rest of them any more than it fooled me. I could just let them find you, but I don’t think you should go back to that crowd. They’re not good for you.” “Amen to that.” Jesus scratches his head and frowns at a thorn he picks out of his hair. He tosses it on the ground and starts probing the rest of his head tentatively. “So what’s the plan, Stan?” “I’ll go distract them while you slip out. Wait for me and we’ll figure out what to do later.” Mary heads for the opening of the cave and glances back over her shoulder at Jesus. He doesn’t notice, as he’s trying to smooth his hair back down with his fingers. He tucks it behind his ears, muttering to himself. “I must look like such a goof.” As Mary comes out of the cave, she raises her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sudden sunlight, searching for the little group awaiting her in the distance. As she steps forward, all the heads turn towards her as if they’d been practicing the move the whole time she was in the cave. “Bunch of sheep,” Mary says under her breath. She walks up to the congregated and puts on her game face. “He’s not in there. They must have moved him.” The lies have always come easily. Only with Jesus has she been regularly honest. He didn’t seem to mind the truth, for some reason. Most of the people she’s known avoided it like a Roman spear. It strikes her as funny, suddenly, that she would need to be a good liar in order to stay with someone who allowed her to be true. “Maybe they lost the body. Wouldn’t put it past them, crappy bureaucracy.” “We lost him?” Thomas runs his hand through his hair. “This is going to look really bad.” “Looks bad enough as it is,” John points out. “The grapevine already has the story on the note. Maybe he should just stay lost. People will forget soon enough. Later on we could promote Peter – he’s a natural leader.” Nobody notices the glance Mary shoots toward the boulders by the side of the cave. She spies a flash of pink skin disappearing behind the stones. “You think Peter would still be interested after today?” Matthew shakes his head. “That’s not what I’d call job security. Besides, what if he turns out to be an even bigger disappointment?” “You got any better ideas?” “We play it to our advantage. It wasn’t a su-i-cide,” Matthew says, drawing the word out and making quote marks with his fingers. “It was a sac-ri-fice.” Thomas lifts his eyebrows. He’s always been a little slow on the uptake. “A sacrifice?” “A sacrifice,” Matthew repeats. “To save the rest of us. To get us all off the hook.” “Off the hook from what?” Thomas still looks puzzled. “From our sins, man. What else?” “We can do that?” “Why not?” John rubs the side of his neck, exhausted from the long day and now having trouble following Matthew’s convoluted scheme. “But what do we do about losing the body?” Matthew smiles and claps Matthew on the shoulder “Lost? It’s not lost. He’s been res-ur-rect-ed.” Thomas silently mouths the word to himself, hoping to catch something in the conversation that will clue him into what it means. “You don’t think that’ll be a bit of a hard sell?” John asks. “Not with the right attitude.” Mary coughs discreetly into her fist to get their attention. “You guys do what you have to. I’m done.” “Going back to work?” “Fuck you, John.” John whips out a little parchment square and starts scribbling. “That’s going in my book, you know.” Matthew stretches out his hand and lays it on the parchment. “Let her go. She’s bad for the image anyway.” Mary doesn’t care what they write about her. She leaves the men and goes back behind the boulders at the side of the cave. Poised on the edge of a large rock with his arms wrapped around his shins, Jesus looks up at her approach. “See? Nobody needs me. Nobody gets me.” “Big deal. Most people aren’t gotten. They get over it.” Mary maneuvers her way around the rocks to stand behind Jesus’s back. She puts her hands on his neck and starts to massage the kinks. He’s had a stressful few days – she’s never seen him so dispirited. “But I got arrested. It’s so embarrassing. I was just kidding around.” “I know.” “I was sold out by one of my own buds.” “You don’t need buds like him.” “I don’t even know who I am. I suck as a carpenter. That stable I built for Uncle Saul totally caved in.” “So do something else.” “Well, I’m not a messiah. I just like to shoot the shit, talk big, you know.” Shutting his eyes, Jesus rolls his head from side to side, stretching his neck as Mary continues the backrub. “It gets so boring around here. People only ever want to talk about their flocks, or bitch about the Romans. I just thought it’d make life a little more interesting.” “Since when are carpenter and messiah the only career choices left on the planet?” “Tell it to Matthew.” Jesus leans forward, shrugging off Mary’s hands. “Me a savior? What a joke. When did I ever save anyone?” “Every day since I met you, sweetie.” Mary leans over kisses the top of his head. Jesus turns around and wraps his arms around her legs, drawing her to him. “I don’t think you’re what they had in mind, Mags.” “Still counts.” Mary takes his chin in her hand and pulls his face up toward hers. “What do you owe them, anyway? Let’s just disappear, the two of us. No more pressure, no more expectations.” “I’ll still be a screw-up. It was true – the world would be better off if I were dead.” Jesus buries his head once again in her knees. “I think that’s what they have in mind, honey. So now you’re dead. Let them do their thing and we’ll do ours.” Jesus looks up from her knees. “Can we have a goat?” “No prob. Let’s go.” ____________________________________________________________________________________________ JoAnn Welsh, a graduate of Penn State and the University of Virginia, is a writer and linguist living in State College, PA. She is currently at work on a novel entitled Faith and a collection of short fiction.