I tried to make a thumbnail sketch of yesterpost's portrait, using a black felt-tip and some colored pencils; but I didn't plan well and my drawing went outside the bounds of the rectangle that I had put there for a frame. As a canvas, I was using an envelope that had my name written on it in my mother's handwriting (this envelope originally contained a birthday card). I then cut away the rest of the envelope, leaving only the finished drawing along with my name, which appeared sideways from the perspective of the copied portrait; so I rotated the work 90 degrees counter-clockwise, cuz it seemed better to have the drawing on its side with my name straight up. Lastly, I photographed all this against a natural backdrop.
A note about today’s entry:
What follows is entirely the speech of Pierre and Jean-Paul, the twin brothers of Columbia from my previous entry — it is a direct continuation of that true story.
Dear diary,
Once there was a man who got born alive in a manger. And he was from Bethlehem, and he was from Nazareth, and he was from Egypt — or rather he was educated in Egypt; for he was fully articulate upon being born, so he must have studied hard in the realm of the dead. And he was a star from the get-go: you could just tell, even from far away. Farmers came to visit him, and trios of magicians from Out East came three by three, with wizard-cap in hand, to beg for Yeshua to “teach an old trinity new tricks”. And, like I said, Yeshua was born without a belly button; and he could speak perfect English, straight out the womb. Therefore he named himself Yeshua.
Thus, on that day, he started early, took his dog, whom he christened Jove, and they went to visit the sea. And the mermaids who live in the lower level of that complex came out to see what all the racket was about, for Yeshua’s dog Jove had found a hermit crab and wouldn’t stop barking at it (the dog apparently wanted the crab to come out and play, but the crab was scared by the noise, so the more Jove barked, the more the crab kept hiding inside its shell).
And the mermaids flag down Yeshua and say “What’s up with your friend there, Satan?”
And Yeshua sez: “Oh he’s just excited cuz he treed a squirrel. Or shelled a crab, rather.” Then Yeshaua turns to his dog and sez: “Peace, Jove, be still.”
Now Jove rolls over and plays dead.
So the mermaids say, “Thanks, that’s MUCH better. Can we offer you anything in payment, perhaps grant you a wish, to ensure that your mutt won’t start yelping again?”
And Yeshua sez: “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly why I got myself born in this world and came to bug you here at the shoreline of Paumanok. There is an evil spell that’s been presently plaguing the populace. It’s a novel coronavirus, and I’d like it to stop, roll over and play dead like Jove did here.”
(Jove yelps: “Arf.”)
“Do you think you could do that for us?” asks Yeshua.
The mermaids huddle together for a conference; then they turn back round & answer:
“Yes, we’ll help you. But first you must close the case on an unsolved murder. Find yourself a job as a detective and look for clues surrounding the elusive figure of Mary — she’s purportedly the single mother of God — for Mary’s husband was taken, and we’d like to bring his impersonator to justice. If you do this for us, then we will stuff the plague’s genie back in its toothpaste-tube.”
“OK thanks,” sez Yeshua.
So Yeshua whistles for his dog Jove, and they take leave of the mermaids and travel by rental-car to the ancient city of Tarsus, where the Apostle Paul presides. There is soot everywhere and a nonstop noise of machines squeaking and grinding on the soundtrack; for ancient Tarsus is an industrial wasteland.
“Saul, it’s me, Yeshua,” sez Yeshua.
“Please call me Paul this time,” sez Paul. “Now, how can I spoil you?”
Yeshua explains the dilemma, & Paul nods & sez:
“I already know all the answers. But I don’t feel like acting.”
“Why not?”
“Well, what’s in it for me?” sez Paul.
“For you?” sez Yeshua.
Yeshua feels annoyed that Paul will not just simply & freely join this playact.
“Why can’t you lend me a hand, out of the goodness of your heart?” Yeshua pleads.
But Paul just stands there. His expression is blank.
“Fine, be that way,” sez Yeshua. “I’ll go to Detective School and solve the crime by myself.”
Then he stomps down the hallway of the apartment complex, and when he’s just about to turn the bend at the end, he looks back and notes that Paul is still standing and watching from his doorway with what appears to be a smirk on his face. So Yeshua yells:
“Now that I think about it, I bet YOU’RE the one who killed Miss Mary and her husband and their child, who are said to be God.”
“Hey, same to you, buddy,” yells the Apostle. “Right back at ya.”
Then, as he and his dog Jove are waiting for the elevator doors to close, Yeshua receives a text message on his portable device, and it’s from Paul: and this first message is followed rapidly by a series of brief texts in which Paul claims that Yeshua is not really anybody’s son but actually his (Yeshua’s) own spiritual father, and that he (Yeshua) married his own teen mother during her pregnancy and thus engendered himself, and he sacrificed himself as the perfect payment to cancel all sin-debt, therefore HE (Mr. Godson) is the real culprit in this case: because his slaying of his own progenitor while wearing the offspring costume amounts technically to a suicide, if you do the math. And suicide is illegal — thus he’s eligible to be rewarded with the death penalty. (Which means the infamous “2nd Death”, because he already rose again [see Revelation 21:8].)
When Yeshua finishes reading Paul’s thread of instant text messages, he’s even more irate, and he has an impulse to press the “Pyramidion / Capstone (Top Floor)” button in the elevator & march back up to St. Paul’s apartment and strike him right on the cheek. But the automatic doors now slide open to reveal the underground parking lot; so Yeshua goes out to search for where he left the tan Oldsmobile Toronado that he rented when he arrived in Tarsus; and he straps Jove carefully into his doggy seat, and they drive to a diner.
Mary steps out from the back kitchen-area and serves a plate of eggs, sausage, and pancakes to Jove.
“You’ll need to take him outside, you know,” sez Mary to Yeshua.
Yeshua stares at the nametag on Mary’s uniform and repeats aloud dreamily: “Mary… Mary… where have I heard that wife before?”
“You can’t bring a dog into this diner unless he’s a service animal,” Mary reiterates.
“Dog?” sez Yeshaua, “Oh, you mean Jove here? What’s that you say? You don’t allow pets indoors? Well then why did you feed him? Look at him scarfing up that sausage! He hasn’t eaten this well in hours.”
“I have a soft heart for fellow-sufferers,” Mary sez.
“That’s OK, so do I,” sez Yeshua. “I say it’s permissible to bend the rules, if driven by compassion. But will you explain to me this notion of ‘service animal’?”
“Sure,” sez Mary. “Say that you’re missing an eye or a hand, cuz you plucked it out or cut it off when it offended you. Well, now you need a dog to serve as a replacement part, so that your exiled member can witness, from a distance, its former double’s acts of charity. It’s like a safety measure; like the otherness is hedging its bet.”
“Ah,” sez Yeshua, “I understand completely. Well then, how about if I have old Jove just sit beside me here in the booth, like a regular demigod. That way it’ll be like we’re on a dinner date. Except it’s not a romantic affair — just a family meal. He’s not really a pet, anyway: our companionship is voluntary. There’s a huge difference between how one should treat one’s biological family versus how one should treat one’s lover during courtship.”
“OK, if your dog can sit in the booth like a big boy, I’ll waive the no-pets rule,” Mary sez while kneeling down and scratching Jove’s head.
“Here, boy,” Yeshua whistles; “c’mon up, daddy-o,” and Jove leaps onto the cushion of the booth. Mary accordingly transfers Jove’s plate to the table-top, and Jove finishes the sausages; then with his snout he begins to push around the eggs.
“He’s a cutie,” Mary smiles. “Can I get you anything else? Something to drink?”
“Yeah, sure, thanks… maybe pour some root beer in a dish for Jove,” sez Yeshua. “And do you serve white wine?”
“We have white rum,” sez Mary.
“Even better,” sez Yeshua. “Bring me a white rum-&-tonic, also some scalloped potatoes with a side of green peas.”
“Coming right up,” sez Mary.
“And could I get some cottage cheese to go with the peas?” asks Yeshua.
“Sure thing. On the side?”
“Yeah,” sez Yeshua, “thanks!” Then he adds: “I just like how the green and the white look when they’re right next to each other.”
“Understood,” Miss Mary winks: “I share your taste.” Then she disappears thru the saloon doors into the kitchen.
*
When Mary returns with the order, she notices that Yeshua is wiping a teardrop from his eye.
“Are you weeping for Jerusalem?” sez Mary.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t see that,” sez Yeshua. “No, I was crying from frustration, cuz I recently learned that my latest Apostle is a stubborn creditor. He’d rather go thru with a complex assassination of his longtime colleague than simply forgive everyone their sin-debts without any bloodshed. And I was using your establishment’s free wireless Internet to surf the Web on my device here (since much of our audience was born before Year Zero, dear Mary, I should explain that the World Wide Web, commonly known as ‘the Web’, is an information system where documents and other reference materials are identified by Uniform Resource Locators or ‘URL’, which may be interlinked by hypertext), and I just found out that this so-called Apostle of mine, named Saulus, even had my bio-bro James thrown in prison, on the charge of being ‘too just’! — Saul sez it makes him look bad, to have a guy like that running around free. (We’ve been texting back and forth, since I learned this.) So I said, ‘Yet he’s my blood brother!’ But the Apostle cares for nothing other than protocol. And I had to learn about this tragedy from reading online news rags — Saulus can’t just tell me in person, face-to-face, like a mensch.”
“He sounds like a real peanut-head,” remarks Mary.
“Yeah, but don’t let his antics fool you — he’s as wise as a serpent,” sez Yeshua. “He knows what he’s doing. Everyone sez he’s stupid, but I see his genius. He’s trying to weasel his way into the Brutus position, so as to make me Caesar!”
“He’s trying to crown you king?” sez Mary. “Isn’t that treasonous?”
“He’s got friends in high places, let’s just say,” sez Yeshua. “And they’re in on the scheme.”
“Well,” Mary sighs after a moment of reflection, “I wouldn’t trust a fellow who claims he’s your apostle. I wouldn’t pay him any mind. One time a so-called patriarch tried to lure me into his racket. His name was Joseph, and he had this beautiful, multicolored robe, which I nicknamed ‘the dream-coat’. And he seduced me, and I took the bait. I clenched his garment and wouldn’t let go. Then he dashed away, stark naked, without giving me a single moment of pleasure. But I made a voodoo doll and prayed to it, and the LORD fulfilled me. I’m talking about God, the invisible one, who comes like a thief in the night. Then when Joseph found out, by using some fake account on the social network, that I had been granted an immaculate conception, he ordered his team of lawyers to compose a prophecy, which got instantly canonized by his printing firm (for he had monopolized the publishing industry), saying that the child was HIS! and he added a line of verse at the end of the oracle that said: ‘After the child comes of age, he will slay the old God and become a new, improved, more personal divinity, like Orpheus, and he’ll find a waitress in a diner who resembles his nameless mother and he’ll teach her the ways of harlotry and make her a magdalene and marry her himself, to fulfill the ancient prophecy of Hosea (1:2) “And the LORD said to Hosea: Go, take unto thee a wife of whoredoms and beget children of whoredoms”.’ But this never happened, cuz when my child was born, I left him in a manger, and I abandoned him on a farm, cuz there were farmers flocking to visit him, cuz he was aglow (you could tell he had star charisma, just by looking at him); and there were also plenty of magicians nearby, standing around in trios with their wizard-caps in their hands, feigning bashfulness while hoping to glean some magic from my miracle-birth. So I figured that it was safe to abandon the kid, cuz he could already speak English better than most Texamericans; and I’d rather have magi raise my bastard than to let him save the LORD.”
Yeshua listens patiently to this account by Miss Mary, yet he turns pale toward the end, & before the scene transitions to a commercial break, Yeshua’s image gets special-effected into a portrait and glued onto the wall of the diner, in remembrance of something.
*
Now blares forth a commercial ad for toothpaste, in which a blue god is being compelled to re-enter his tube by a number of angry mermaids. But he escapes at the end and his fangs glisten as he lies to the audience, repeating his company’s catchphrase: “This genius is un-rebottle-able!”
*
When the program resumes, a medium shot of Yeshua exclaims directly to the camera:
“Miss Mary, that tall tale you just told gave me the willies. I think that the Apostle might’ve been right, and that I AM my own father, and that I will eventually wed a prostitute & commit self-slaughter so as to save his creditor system from suffering a gentle Jubilee.”
“Nonsense,” sez Mary. “I’ll get Joseph on the horn right now, and he’ll clear everything up…”
So Mary calls up Joseph on the Ram-horn Trump, and he reminds her (and the viewers) in his “official government voice” that he is not even biologically related to Yeshua at this time.
Yeshua, hearing this, breathes a sigh of relief. He’s therefore in the clear, till the next plot development.
Suddenly Nietzsche’s Zarathustra bursts into the diner from the back of the kitchen, and the saloon doors keep creaking and waving back and forth upon their hinges as he delivers his sole line in this teleplay:
“Extra, extra! Read all about it!” (Zarathustra waves a print copy of an ancient newspaper overhead) “The LORD God — an ageing baby-boomer — is starting to contemplate the option of maybe passing the baton to the next generation!”
Hearing this, Yeshua & Mary turn & face each other with surprised looks & exclaim as one:
“I thot that God was supposed to be deceased.”
Yet soon Yeshua’s expression of perplexity softens into one of relief: “Just a moment, just a moment…” he sez. “Yes, now I see clearly that this is a welcome revelation (CONTRA the Revelation of John of Patmos) — for if the LORD is alive, then Saul’s accusations against me must be false!”
Mary still looks troubled: “How do you figure?” she asks.
“Think about it,” sez Yeshua: “Can I truly turn out to be my own self-slaughtered sire, if that personage proves to be (A) a foreign entity and (B) alive!?”
Mary stares vaguely into the distance, lost in thot, for a great while; then, suddenly she shouts: “Aha! — I see your point.”
But now Yeshua frowns again: “However,” he admits, “there’s still a slight chance that I AM dead, and that I only appear to be living because I’m a ghost now — albeit a holy one. And the reason that God appears to be still open for business elsewhere, whithersoever, is cuz he and I are mutual shareholders of a multi-personhood, like a transnational corporation.”
“Well, for starters,” sez Mary, “it should be easy to prove whether or not you’re a ghost.”
Yeshua’s eyebrows rise: “How so?”
“Well, ghosts don’t need to move their legs when they walk, cuz they always float a few centimetres above the ground, like a hoverboard, and they just glide from place to place.”
“Hmm, interesting,” sez Yeshua; “I never knew that.”
“Why don’t you try moving around a bit,” Mary suggests, “and I’ll watch closely and see if I can tell whether you’re making ground-contact with your soles or not.”
“Alright,” sez Yeshua. “I’ll just cruise over yonder by that red sea of water and then circle back. Should I lift my robe a little so that you can see my feet?”
“Sure,” sez Mary, “just up to the ankle is fine — I know you’re sensitive about the shape of your legs…”
“I’m not ashamed,” Yeshua objects; “it’s the director of this realm who’s worried about me showing too much leg — she chose a female actor to play me, and she wants to save that surprise for our bedroom scene, later on, after you and I wed.”
Miss Mary’s eyes widen: “Is this your way of proposing to me?”
Yeshua raises his hand and makes his patented gesture, “Be patient; you haven’t even taken to whoredom yet — let me get this walking business out of the way first; & then we can worry about our future.”
“Sorry,” sez Mary; “I’m just eager to film that bedroom scene…”
“Me too,” winks Yeshua. “Now watch real close while I ambulate around…”
[Here I must address the reader directly—]
Gentle reader, are you familiar with that scene from the movie Blue Velvet (1986) where the protagonist Jeffrey asks Sandy, his love-interest, if she knows “the chicken walk”; then, to demonstrate the concept, he performs this funny stride, low to the ground, all the way down the sidewalk and back again? — Well, this is exactly what Yeshua does right now: the exact same walk in the exact same path, down and back — although there’s a ruddy pond at the far end of Yeshua’s loop, and he glides right off the sidewalk and over the liquid, leaving barely any ripples in his wake, and we hear a little prancing splashy-noise as he coasts over the surface; then he hovers from the water onto the dry land, very smoothly, & suavely returns & halts before Miss Mary, who has been watching in amusement.
“Bravo!” Mary laughs. “Well you’re definitely not a ghost yet!”
“You mean I was touching the ground? So I possess actual weight, and gravity has some effect on me?”
“You’re as material as a witness,” Mary sez. “I was watching very closely.”
“O, that’s wonderful!” shouts Yeshua; “Saul’s prophecies seem to be proving demonstrably false.”
“Maybe none of them will end up panning out, after all,” sez Mary.
“Well, let’s not get cocky,” Yeshua lets his skirts back down; “there hasn’t been a gospel written yet whose prophecies did not come true in some way — at least eventually, in its own text.”
“Yes, I suppose we’re at the mercy of our evangelist,” Mary concedes.
“Howbeit, turn that frown upside-down,” Yeshua perks up; “for I respect our present author, and I have a good feeling about this particular recurrence. Besides, what’s important is not whether we succeed or fail; it’s all about aligning our bliss with the ride.”
“I like your attitude,” Mary smiles. “For what it’s worth, I’m having fun.”
“So am I,” sez Yeshua. “Now follow me.”
*
Mary and Yeshua wander leisurely for the duration of a montage sequence. Then, when the song on the soundtrack begins to fade out, they look up and see a great billboard with a legend printed on it: FORTUNE TELLER. And the sign is in the shape of an arrow that points to one of the storefronts at the nearby mini-mall. So they enter this place, thinking it’s not a sin to support local businesses. And, as soon as they sit down, the fortune teller appears. They pay him the rate listed for one telling; and he announces Mary’s fortune — he speaks in the flamboyant manner of a seasoned dilettante, and sez:
“You are pregnant, Miss Mary, even tho you’ve never (in the biblical sense) known a man.”
This overjoys the couple:
“At last you’re a genuine harlot!” cries Yeshua. “I didn’t think it was possible! You’ve become this dimension’s first virgin-whore.”
“You said yourself,” sez Mary, now with the fresh radiance of lust about her, “that prophecies never go unfulfilled in their own gospel account.”
“Verily, verily,” smiles Yeshua. But then he turns abruptly to the fortune-teller and speaks with grave concern, as if some tragic memory has just sparked in his mind:
“Yet, how is it, dear Rhodoro, that we can TRUST your fortune-telling abilities? In other words, how can we PROVE that you’re not some quack mountebank impostor sham fraudster?”
“A racketeer rogue villain scoundrel!” adds Miss Mary.
“Tell me if I am wrong,” sez the velvety voice of Rhodoro, “but you seem to be asking: How can you be sure that I’m not a confidence man-or-woman?”
“Yes, that is the question,” shouts Yeshua. “Give us some surety, some money-back guarantee that we can believe in you. Cuz look: Miss Mary’s not even sporting a baby-bump. You could simply have lied about her being ‘big with child’. And then she might think that she can confidently run out and engage carnally with every woman she meets, since, once she’s fertilized, she can’t get any pregnanter unless she bears TWINS, and one of those painted women in your bedroom might prove a goddess, resulting in a savior becoming conceived. Then, once the babe is brought to term, it’s father is nowhere to be found, because he childed himself. Then you’ve got yet another teen pregnancy on your hands, and all this happens out of wedlock (which is the only upshot, as then at least Saul’s church is denied its cut).”
“Peace, be still,” Rhodoro places his hands upon the hands of Mary & Yeshua. “Here’s how you know that my words are God-breathed: I can tell you secrets about your life that nobody other than you and your diary could know. For instance, Mary, I saw in my night-vision just last Wednesday (July 15th) that you were waiting tables at the Lord’s Supper Dining Club.”
“Good gracious, he’s right!” sez Mary.
“And you were actually pregnant long before this,” Rhodoro continues, “but your child was either aborted or stillborn, or perhaps it had become a Holy Ghost — it’s hard to tell; this part of the dream is marred by poor reception — and Joseph of Egypt, the intellectual property of Potiphar, your ex-boyfriend (or perhaps late husband?), claims to be the father, but the case is still being disputed in the Celestial Court: therefore God himself has agreed to list himself as the culprit on the Detective’s Report, which, as you saw in my crystal ball earlier, now serves as the precious daemon’s Birth Certificate.”
“Zounds, correct again!” cries Mary.
“And you, Mister Yeshua—” Rhodoro now opens his right eye and peeks to see if his other customer is looking, but both of Yeshua’s eyes remain closed in obedience to the rules of the prayer, “—you, sir, are a mysterious individual…”
“You can say that again,” murmurs Yeshua.
“Not much is known for certain about your doings, your teachings, or your afterlife…”
“I did NOT die like that!” shouts Yeshua with a fiery gaze, eyes wide shut.
“Peace, be calm, I did not even say how you expired, or even IF you expired — I only said that you might have entered the afterlife before you left the lowlife,” sez Rhodoro while patting Yeshua’s hand; “like a pre-death resurrection.”
Yeshua’s lids stop twitching and he begins to breathe less heatedly.
“So, since you failed to inscribe any of your criticisms in tablature,” concludes Rhodoro, “the only public-private secret I can tell you about yourself, to win your faith, is that you have a dog named Jove, and you left him back at the diner, nosing a plate of cold chicken.”
“I can’t remember where we left Jove,” admits Yeshua; “he might be still at the diner. I coulda swore we brought him with us when we departed, tho. I know that eggs aren’t his favorite (he’s a beef boy, at heart), but I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t have eaten them by now.”
Yeshua grows quiet for a moment, to increase the tension of the scene, as he makes his final judgment about the fortune teller. Then he breaks his silence and sez:
“I’ll give you a passing score, Ms. Rhodora — you’re ecstatically trustworthy.”
“Thanks,” smiles Rhodoro. “It means a lot. Now you and Miss Mary need to go and find a room at some inn somewhere, because I heard that the census is coming.”
“Shit, you’re right,” sez Yeshua; “I almost forgot about that.”
“Bless you for everything,” sez Mary, as they pack up and leave the fortuneteller’s booth.
“Take care, lovebirds,” yells Rhodoro while waving demonstratively. “And, remember, Miss Mary, you’re eating for two or more now!”
Stopping briefly and turning around for a final salutation, Mary pats her belly and genuflects to Rhodoro.
[I just have to say that at this point in the story, I took a short break to go to the kitchen and fill my water glass; and I looked outside and noticed that my neighbor across the street has placed a campaign sign for the current U.S. Prez in his front lawn, so it’s the first thing that I now see when I look out my window. Can you believe this? This means that my neighbor must be satisfied with the present state of this country! What a curious thing.]
Now, as they’re trekking back to the farm after leaving the fortune-teller, a whirlwind comes alongside of Yeshua and Mary, and it picks them up and carries them into technicolor. There, they meet a shepherd (later we’ll find out this role was played by Melchizedek) who claims to be the patriarch who wrote the earliest myths about God and his Messiah. He sez that he was made the legal guardian of the LORD’s first Bastard Lamb, and that 99% of the other beasts in his flock guillotined his charge, while he was asleep at the crook:
They severed the lambkin’s spirit from his body, and divided it in the midst, and laid each piece one against another. And when the fowls came down upon the duality, they hired cherubs to bat them back.
And it came to pass, that, when the sun went down, and it was dark, behold a smoking furnace, and a burning lamp that passed between those pieces. And the roast flesh was Saul; and the smoke was his doppelganger Yeshua.
(Genesis 15:9-10; 17)
So this frightens the first couple, right when they needed comfort most. Then the shepherd remarks to Mary that she looks exactly like the damsel who was evicted from God’s pleasure dome in Xanadu on the grounds of potential adultery. But he did not repossess her immortal nature, as he felt that he was equally at fault; plus he had more advanced weaponry; moreover, this same shepherd paced forth (whether intentionally or not is unclear even to himself), and got in the way, right when the LORD was aiming his most reckless curse. And, to prove these fabrications, the shepherd displays to the couple the wounds in his wrists and feet, and his lance-pierced torso.
Now, while this man is clicking his heels together, to show how the rubies that were affixed onto them in lieu of fake blood make sparks when struck, Yeshua clutches the hem of Mary’s blue mantle, which is preparing for liftoff, and they fly to the remote island where The Tempest is being staged. (Shakespeare’s play came to life in 1611, the very year that the King James Bible was born.)
So they live out their days here, in happiness, in glorious black-and-white. But, this time, Yeshua instead of stealing Saint Saul’s sword (which, at the moment, the Apostle was attempting to fall upon) so as to cut his own future-past self out of the womb of Miss Mary, he abstains; additionally, he forgoes plucking out his right & left eyes with the long gold pins of his wife’s wedding dress. He does not chop off his hands for stealing the divine fire; and, most importantly, he decides against castrating himself for the Heavenly Kingdom — tho, during the scene where the pair consummates their love, the mural depicts Yeshua as wholly feminine anyway. All this has a healthy effect on their relationship. The newlywed Magdalene manages to avoid hanging herself from that chair in her apartment at the end of The Seventh Victim (1943) in emulation of Jacqueline Gibson, as played by Jean Brooks.
DENOUEMENT
Thus, with eyes and ovaries intact, Yeshua and his eternal soul-mate Mary now exit the palace. They descend heaven via escalier into the marketplace and page Melchizedek on the intercom, informing him that they’re ready to be reinstated with the World of Man, ASAP.
Their brother James then materializes onstage & sings the news that Yeshua shall be taken into the Christian Church of Paul until oracles can be consulted regarding what is best to be done.
Yeshua’s two daughters (& half-sisters), Lilith & Electra, are released into spacetime, to go fuck with Death & Sin. While watching this, Mary praises Fate for having allowed her to sub for Martha in the diner that Sabbath.
The free-lovers summon up Isaiah & Ezekiel from Sheol and ask them to film them performing the rite of Celestial Divorce in the Holy Temple, in the Most Sublime Place, both atop as well as underneath the Mercy Seat of God, before sending Yeshua back to play in the Bower of Bliss.
The closing shot shows Yeshua, while gardening, stumbling upon a tree which he has never noticed before. There is a stranger nailing a sign to the trunk reading “VERBOTEN”; & when the man turns around, we realize that this vandal is none other than Martin Luther, as played by Saul (alias Paul).
Then the lights come on in the theater; and, at once, the members of the audience realize that, during the above performance, they’ve all been pick-pocketed — apparently by the theater’s own ushers! But it doesn’t much matter, cuz all their debts have been forgiven.
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