Revelations (11 page)

Tonight’s show was different, but I don’t know why. It sounded different. It felt different. The others say it’s because of Judas, he’s upset everything; he’s the one that’s hurting the Master. If this is true, and if I find out this is true, I will have to hurt Judas, because I can’t let that happen, I can’t let him hurt Jesus. I don’t understand why he would want to, though. Doesn’t he love him, just like we do?

There was this song that Jesus sang, it was very pretty, but it was also sad, too.

I had my hands full keeping an eye on the people as it was, what with the Master jumping down from the stage and walking around and all. Especially Lucifer, that troublemaker, with his fancy clothes and his evil ways. And then I almost thought I’d have to break up a fight between Judas and Mary—why does he have to fight with her like that? I don’t understand. She’s nice, for a girl. But he ran off before I had to get between them, and he didn’t come back. I almost wish he never would, but I know better.

After the show was over we cleaned up, as usual, the only difference was Judas wasn’t around. The others laughed about it, said how lazy he was. Not like they missed him or anything. They don’t like him very much, I know. Neither do I. But they didn’t say anything about him when Jesus was around. Jesus seemed so sad.

Mary tried to cheer him up, but even she couldn’t get a smile out of him. We asked him to come with us, told him we were going to go out drinking, but he said no, he wanted to wait for Judas to return, so we went on. And had a great time. Matthew and Philip talked Mary into going with us. She offered to stay behind, with Jesus, but he told her to go have fun. So she did. We weren’t worried about him, his mother stayed behind too; we knew she’d take care of him.

I know it’s almost over, which makes me sad. Sometimes our time with him seems too short. And our work doesn’t end when his life does. I will go into the church—I always do. I’m afraid that I’ll have to work very hard this time to see that the rules I set up a long time ago aren’t set aside, that the Bible is not forgotten.

I waken in the darkness of the silent night to find his arm thrown protectively over me. I know he only wants to keep me safe from harm, his face burrowed against my shoulder, our bodies warm together. I was so tired last night, so very tired. Once I had drawn Judas away from Lucifer and his people, seeing no point in fighting with them—to what purpose, as it is ordained—we returned to the tent, the others already asleep, scattered upon the floor in their bedrolls, my mother of course in her own partitioned area, apart from ours, for the sake of her privacy. He insisted on fussing over me until at last I consented to sleep, refusing to leave my side, although we didn’t get a chance to speak. It was too late for words—late as in the lateness of the hour, I mean. And I’m not sure what I would have said, how to explain myself to him.

How warm he feels, how very comfortable. The moonlight that filters through the windows of the tent allows me a glimpse of his handsome face, thankfully in repose, his normally furrowed brow at peace. He worries too much for his own good, Judas does, worries about me. I really wish he wouldn’t. Yet how much I do love him for it. And I would not disturb him for the world, if I did not have to. But someone is waiting for me, and I must go. And where I’m going, I’d prefer he not follow, not right now. I must handle this myself. So it is written.

Gently, carefully, I remove that strong arm, wishing I did not have to do so, wishing I could simply lie where I am, and pretend the rest of the world does not exist. That it’s simply he and I, living our lives…together…

Such a futile thought that is. I push it resolutely away—at least for now—and rise to do what I must do, without so much as a backward glance. For if I turned and saw him there, I might not have the strength to go.

The rising breeze chills me, as I pad softly across the grass, my bare feet absorbing the moisture of the dew. I shiver, pull my robes more tightly about me, but I cannot say it’s strictly from the cold as much as it is for the loss of warmth, which is not the same thing. His warmth, of course. My Judas…my…

I’m pulled abruptly from my thoughts as the chill verdure beneath my toes is exchanged for grains of heated sand, the moon’s soft glow for a blazing desert sun, shining mercilessly over the bare landscape about me, even as I think to myself what an incredible exhibitionist he is and always has been. I shade my eyes against the sudden brilliance, searching for that which I know I will find, desirous of getting this over with, to return to my…sleep. And that’s all I’m willing to admit to, even to myself. At least at this very moment.

“You came.” A simple statement, not a question, as he appears beside me, making his typical grand entrance, elegant wings outspread so widely that for a moment his form obliterates that of the sun. He lands gracefully upon the burning desert sand and furls his feathers once more. The Lightbringer. The Morningstar.

Lucifer. A rose by any other name. “And alone…I am most flattered…”

“Don’t be,” I rejoin, “This is my battle and mine alone, I’ll bring no one else into it.”

He gives me a most enigmatic look even as with one wave of his arm he manifests an oasis about us, a palm tree-shaded haven amid the illusory desert heat, in the midst of which a crystal clear pond gurgles beckoningly. I ignore it, divining his intention, and determined to have none of it. Do your best…or your worst…I have not nor shall I ever give in to you, no matter what you say, or how hard you try. I have the courage of my convictions, and my belief in my Father to sustain me, and there is nothing you can do to persuade me to join in your rebellion against him, thou fallen angel.

“You don’t have to go through this, you know.”

I try not to betray any sort of surprise, for the devil has many tactics, many tricks at his command, and he does not hesitate to use any of them. I won’t allow him to get to me, of that I’m determined. And I shall protect all that is mine, as well. I make no response.

“I can give you what you want,” he continues. I notice he has exchanged his suit for something a bit more casual—a black mesh shirt, open to his waist, exposing skin the color of fresh butter, tighter than tight designer jeans, and supple black boots that cling to his calves as if they were melted into place. If he has done this to impress me, he is wasting his time. Not like he hasn’t tried such things before, he has—many times, many places, many ways. And I always have and always shall continue to reject what he offers. “You know that I can, son of God, you know I can change the ending to this eternal tragedy. You and he don’t have to die, you can be together. Forever.”

My swift intake of breath betrays me, for of all the scenarios I’ve ever envisioned, all of the offers he has made, this was never part of anything he has ever suggested before, and for just a moment I’m thrown for a loop, before I quickly steel myself to his words, pull myself together. He doesn’t know me, as much as he’d like to think he does, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing his arrow has found a target.

“You’re wasting your breath, Lucifer,” I reply calmly. At least I believe I am calm. I hope I come across that way. “There is nothing you can say, nothing you can offer that will bring me to your side, or bring me to betray my father.”

“Gay marriage,” he continues. As if he hasn’t heard me, he winds himself around me in a serpentine fashion. His hand caresses my chest, one long limb looping about mine, holding me effectively in place. “It will happen. It is ordained, as you must realize. Why not take advantage of it? Why not do that which you so ardently desire? Do you not deserve your own happiness, son of God? Why must it be all self-sacrifice and selflessness, eh? Don’t you ever get tired of playing the martyr?”

I pull myself from his grasp, my hand upraised, holding him at arm’s length when he would bring me closer to him. “Stay, foul serpent,” I warn him. “My happiness is none of your concern. Of course it will happen, it’s meant to be. The time is closer than ever before.”

“And yet so many offer objections in the name of your father,” he purrs complacently, although I refuse to be ruffled at his words.

“They’re wrong, and always have been. I have faith that ultimately they will make the right decision.”

“But will you?”

I refuse to rise to his bait, refuse to give in to his machinations, or to let my thoughts lead me down that unnavigable avenue, placing a mental roadblock on that particular road. Not that it helps, of course. The damage has been done. “I’ll never choose any path which leads to you,” I reply honestly, “and away from my Father…”

“Even if it leads toward Judas?”

I keep my voice even, showing extraordinary control, I feel, considering the nature of our discussion, as I reply, “I will not listen to you, Satan. Your temptations are as nothing to me. You cannot win me. Give up the fight, once and for all.” There, that should suffice for now. I have not weakened. And I shall not.

But apparently he’s not done with me yet. The scenario changes once again, and now we both lie upon a rather large round bed with flaming red blankets and matching satin sheets. I find them rather lurid and vulgar, myself. “Aren’t you tired of this game yet?” I shake my head, disgusted with his mind bent. “I will not lie with you, no matter how you wish it. Seek your pleasure elsewhere, foul demon…” I find myself suddenly wrapped in his arms, his lips caressing my ear. I’m impervious to his wiles, of course; he affects me not with his blandishments, although his breath is warm and far too close for my taste. And rather vile, although there are some, I’m sure, that might actually consider him attractive. I am not one of those.

“What if I told you I wish to fuck him myself, what would you say to that?” The question takes me by surprise. He has never asked me directly, although I know he has propositioned Jude countless times over the years. To no avail.

“Why would I say anything? Ask him. Or is it that you already know what he’ll say?”

“And it means nothing to you?” His voice probes into my psyche and his hands are rubbing my chest, as I pull away from him.

“I don’t wish you to harm any of them, is that so surprising?” He only chuckles, in that horribly nasty way he has, rolling over and trapping me beneath him, lying heavily atop me.

“So if I tell you I long to fuck him so hard it’ll push all thoughts of you from his head, then that’s fine with you, as long as it’s consensual, yes?” Damn him, damn him, damn him. I struggle against him, but the devil is very strong.

“Release me,” I demand, “our conversation is done. I have no more to say to you. Do what you will.” As long as it doesn’t include touching Jude.

He continues to writhe against me, and I can feel how very hard he is, and he disgusts me very greatly. Not because he is a man, but because of who he is. I push against him, determined not to give in. After a few moments, he relents and releases me, and immediately I roll away from him to the edge of the bed, gathering my thoughts and my breath. And then the illusion he has created about us dissolves and we are where we began.

“I must go now, sweet Jesus,” he says with a smile that on someone else might have been considered charming. “But never fear, I shall return. Tell Judas to expect me.” And before I can respond, he disappears into the night once more.

I should return to my sleep now, rest my body as well as my mind, but I find that is not quite as easy as it sounds. Thoughts are churning, hopes making themselves manifest within me that I know I must push aside as selfish. My desires don’t enter into this; there is a greater good to be considered, a bigger battle to be fought. Too many are counting upon me, how can I let them down?

My energy spent, for the moment, for his conversations tend to be rather draining, I fall upon the chill grass, hugging my legs, rocking slightly, as if seeking comfort in the motion, unwilling to rise yet. I cannot still my inner voice, which speculates on how it would be if I were anyone else, would I be free to seek…to win…to hold…his love? And do I deserve it?

I squeeze my eyes shut against the night, and become lost in dreams of what might have been.

I dream of water.

Sometimes it’s a trickling stream, other times it takes the form of a raging river. Sometimes it’s a glacial sea populated by translucent ice floes with rainbows trapped within their cold depths. Other times it takes the shape of a swampy bayou, where trailing verdure hangs veiled over the murky depths, and a somnolent stillness pervades the air.

Water is the constant in each scenario. There is always water in some way, shape, or form.

And there is Jesus. He and I are always together, always talking, always happy.

Sometimes we kiss, but not always. It doesn’t matter. We lie in one another’s arms, and I’m flooded with the most marvelous sense of fulfillment, of completion. Of inner peace. He always has that effect upon me. Always.

I use that word a lot, don’t I? Always. Like a verbal mantle that will cover us and protect us, bind us to one another, forever and ever. Amen.

“Come into the water, Jude,” he entices me. Today—or should I say tonight, as I’m dreaming, therefore it must be night or does it matter anyway—we’re standing at the end of a large Hollywood-style swimming pool, one of those expensive in-ground things—not the kind shaped like a kidney bean, but one that could host an Olympic event. There is only the two of us though, that’s how it is in my dreams.

Just he and I.

We are both naked, and my eyes soak in his beautiful body hungrily, even as he beckons me to follow him. He glides his way to the diving board, climbs up the ladder. Is it my imagination or does he shimmy just a bit, for my benefit? Of course I’m right behind him, watching his every move. Spotting him, just in case he should fall.