Same Story (part 23)

Dear diary,

So the Lizard People of Lot, who inhabit the Cities of the Plain, achieve an Everlasting Peace with the Herdswomen of Abram.

But it comes to pass that, back in Egypt, the Apostle Paul begins to devise his next literary work. As mentioned, his gospel’s theology, which demands that God become man and then do himself in, has been thwarted by the sinlessness of humankind (expiry is impossible without an initial transgression) — for this reason, Paul is eager to propagandize those who have not been born: his aim now becomes to lure these impending souls to believe that sin and its necessary punishment are indeed still possible, and may yet someday become reality. Therewith, he hopes to beguile his converts to ACT (not as in “playact in Paul’s theatrical production” but rather “stumble upon some fault that ends up triggering the birth of death”), so as to solve this dilemma. Thus Paul drafts a dramatic presentation depicting the Passion of his new-improved Christ: it features the standard trial, much suffering, and of course a fleshly demise. Never mind that his audience cannot be expected to grasp the central concept of his myth, since human mortality is absent from this perfect world — for Paul will simply approximate the marvel of kenosis-borne fatality onstage, by way of special effects such as smog machines, strobe lighting, and an excessive use of gongs.

In sum, after developing the plot, and crafting it into a pageant, Paul then takes it upon himself to direct a performance of what he calls his “Passion Play” for the unborn souls in his congregation.

But he immediately hits a snag, which brings production to a standstill. The problem is that the script calls for a talking snake as one of its characters. And although this is a minor part, in the sense that the role has relatively few lines of dialogue, it’s indispensable to the melodrama’s point.

So what happens is this. Remember how I was telling you, a little while ago, a whole bunch of interesting details about the cities of the plain, also known as Lot’s Reptile Paradise? Recall this passage right here:

Those people were led by a man named Mr. Snake, who bore a striking resemblance to the land’s founder, and who only appeared in one rare talking oil-portrait. The fact of the picture’s verbal proficiency was significant; as no other citizen could speak a language of any kind, other than hissing. Whereas this portrait spoke with eloquence and charm.

Now Paul gets wind of this Snake Man’s talking portrait; and, being in need of an experienced orator for his show, he decides to acquire it. He takes a trip to Sodom, passing thru Gomorrah on the way. He nabs goods and victuals as he goes, until his pockets are bulging. Soon he reaches the innermost chamber of the City Hall of the Lizard Folk:

Paul stands before the portrait of Mr. Snake. He stares long & long, feigning admiration, like a connoisseur. All the while, the talking portrait keeps voicing jocose observations about the appearance and demeanor of this new viewer; and it quizzes Paul in lighthearted fashion about his opinions and history. The Apostle, visibly flustered but trying to hide his vexation, answers noncommittally and as little as possible.

Eventually the guards who have been standing at either side of the picture leave their posts and break for luncheon. Finding the coast clear, Paul swiftly and stealthily grabs the piece by its frame, lifts the portrait off the wall, drapes it in sackcloth, and makes a beeline for the exit. With its voice now slightly muffled under this covering, all thru the getaway, the artwork continues jovially probing Paul and telling amusing anecdotes.

So Paul of Tarsus takes the talking-serpent portrait from Sodom, along with other valuables, and then hastens back to Egypt.

Now when the guards of the palace return from their lunch break, they note that the portrait of Mr. Snake is not where it should be. “Has it developed the power of ambulation as well?” wonders one guard in his heart; but, since his mouth cannot speak words, he only hisses to his partner, and flicks his tongue. His partner then hisses and flicks his tongue and nods. So apparently they agree to visit the Meridian Bar, to alert Mr. Lot about this miraculous development.

In the establishment on the border of Mamre, the guards catch sight of Lot & Adam near the back of the dining room, at a table with Abram & Sarah, enjoying another double-date.

Abram looks up from his sirloin steak and notices the reptilians approaching with their tongues all aflicker.

“Eshcol, Aner, welcome! Good to see you,” hollers Abram (he’s had a bit to drink). “Now, slow down; don’t gesture and hiss both at the same time: I can’t make out very clearly what you’re communicating, if you keep pantomiming over & atop one another like this. Alright, proceed now, one at a time, in an orderly fashion: What were you trying to tell us? You go first, Aner. Now, what’s that you say? You say that the portrait of Mr. Snake is no longer on the wall in the Imperial Fortress of Lizard-land? Lot, did you know about this? Oh, never mind: he & his girlfriend Adam are french-kissing at present — I don’t want to interrupt them. We’re on a double-date, you see. Alright, Eshcol, do you have anything to add? Ah, I understand: So you presume that the portrait has developed the ability to creep about now, like a serpent with legs, and is thus most likely climbing the stairway to heaven, by way of the Dark Tower in the land of Ur. Well I can assure you, dear Eshcol, that there is zero chance of that; for nobody needs to physically scamper up the tower: the thing is equipped with a gas-powered escalator. I should know: I used to live there, right in the heart of Ur, back when it was just called Shinar (the ur-Ur, as it were; ha-ha! I hadn’t thought of that till now). But what’s this bonus opinion that you’re now offering as an alternative to Eschol’s interpretation, my dear boy Aner? You say that there’s a chance that, instead of the portrait liberating itself, by sheer force of will, from its customary spot on the palace’s display wall, there’s a chance that some jealous adversary might have STOLEN it? But why would any reptilian want to do that? Don’t all the citizens of your Lizard Paradise keep a portrait of Mr. Snake hanging in their own homes, to remind them how subtle and wise their land’s Boss looks? Oh, that’s right; I forgot: there’s only one single portrait alive. Hey, that would qualify as an ‘endangered species’, would it not? Alright, but I admit: this is serious. Has the picture really gone missing? It has? And you’re absolutely certain? Well, OK, then I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Lot & I will gather some teams of Serpentine Warriors from his vast military, and I’ll match his troopers with farmhands from my own country’s herdwomen. And, just in case there’s any funny business going on, we’ll scour the nearby uninhabited wildernesses and boneyards of ancient Egypt. We’ll stop at NOTHING until we rescue that talking portrait of Mr. Snake!”

Thus Abram managed to round up a total of 318 herdwomen from his own country. (Lot was still occupied in his tender embrace with Adam during the key moments when this mission was going down; so Abram didn’t want to bother him — he just waived off the idea of using an equal amount of citizens from either side to supply the Task Force for “Mission: Portrait Rescue”: instead, Abram donated the entire number of troops from his own country’s populace alone — that’s how loyal and honest of a business partner he was.) And these 318 herdwomen who were selected to serve on the Portrait Rescue Task Force were actually senior officials who had been born in Abram’s own mansion; so he knew that he could trust them. And he trained them and armed them with the most sophisticated weapons known to exist.

Now, when the time comes to execute the mission, Abram appoints his travelmate Sarah to serve as the Top Commander of the Portrait Rescue Task Force. And she accepts the job with dignity. She grabs the walkie talkie that Abram is proffering, clutches it tightly in her hand, holds down the bright orange button labeled “SPEAK”, and declares authoritatively:

“Herdwomen of the Task Force of Abram, this is your commander Sarah speaking. Do you read me?”

Then she presses the bright red button labeled “LISTEN”; and, after a moment, the speaker crackles with the voice of 318 herdwomen answering as one:

“We read you loud and clear, Mademoiselle.”

Sarah kisses her fingers—mwah!—then lifts them aloft: “Very good,” she sighs. “Now, I’m told we’ve got a portrait to steal back. So here’s what I wanna do. There’s no way we’re gonna be able to sneak into Egypt unnoticed if we all charge forth at the same time, in one big band containing hundreds of highly trained mercenaries. So I say that we sever our company into two distinct subgroups. Perform this division however you like — I suggest that friends and playmates stick together and remain in the same squad; that way the mission will be a lot more fun, since you’ll already feel a natural attraction to your teammates; your bond will be stronger — just make sure that we end up with two equal forces of 159 herdwomen apiece. Alright, now, once we’ve split, I want one party to infiltrate the Egyptian mausoleum by the footpath from Hobah; and the other party shall gatecrash the same structure from the opposite direction, by way of the walkway from Damascus. And keep your floodlights at the ready — I refer now to our hands-free floodlights that attach directly to our paps via stick-on pasties — this way, in case we run into any potential apostles, we can flash them: the intensity of our beams will make them presume they’re having an epiphany.”

So the Rescue Force led by Sarah successfully sneaks into Paul the Adversary’s house of worship on opening night of his Passion Play. And they secure the talking portrait and bring it back safely.