RESURRECTION MEN
Jon Eckblad
Eleven dirty men sit around like unemployed pot smokers and plot the theft
of the body
the room reeks of fish scales and dried piss
the candles
struggle in the greasy air just to stay lit
a mangy cat plays with a dead
rat in the corner and Peter looks like hell
he hasn’t slept a wink since
that godawful, endless night in the garden
in the distance, a cock crows
he shudders and his mouth chases his mind like a drunken leper does a coin
rolling down a hill
“Let me put it this way,” he says to the others, “if
we don’t do this we’ll look like the biggest asses in Palestine”
the
dozing Philip farts, wakes himself up, and with a startled, cautious look
around, pipes in, “Yes, I agree!”
and so do the rest as they chime in with
weary mumbles of assent
Peter raises his cup cheerily and says, “It’s
agreed, then. Let us drink to the deed!”
everyone lifts their cups of
cheap wine and James Number One spills some on James Number Two
it gets
all over his brand-new robe
“This is going to leave a permanent stain, you
clumsy oaf!” shrieks James Number Two
“Oh my, wouldn’t that be just
dreadful!” James Number One mockingly lisps, putting on an effeminate air
unamused, James Number Two turns beat red and slaps Number One on the cheek
James Number One glares defiantly and slowly turns his head, exposing the
other one and Number Two slaps that one too
“Looks like you’re fresh out
of cheeks, honey!” Number Two exclaims as Number One tackles him with a roar
and the two wrestle on the floor
“Children, children, children!” Peter
yells, tossing a bucket of water over them
the two soaked Jameses
disentangle and sit back in their spots, exchanging murderous looks
“Now
Andrew,” Peter says, “tell them about the plan”
“It’s relatively
s-s-s-suh-suh-simple,” Andrew stutters, his nervous tic raging
he unrolls
a scroll and there’s a diagram of a tomb drawn on it
“There are two
s-suh-suh-soldiers at the entrance,” he explains, pointing to two stick
figures with triangles atop their heads indicating helmets
“Muh-Matthew,
you will distract one of them buh-by pretending to be a ruh-rabbi having a
seizure on the ruh-ruh-ruh-road nearby. John, you will distract the
uh-uh-other one by disguising yourself as an Egyptian pros-pros-prostitute
and s-s-suh-suh-suh-suhÉ”
“Yes, we know what you mean!” John interrupts,
“but don’t you think James Number Two would be better suited for this sort
of thing?”
“Yes! Let me do it!” interjects James Number Two with an eager
as a beaver look on his face
“No,” Peter cuts in, “we’ve discussed this
already. John has an angular, more feminine face and looks better in drag.
Besides, he’s the better kisser”
“Simon and Buh-Buh-Buh-Bar-th-thÉ” Andrew
stammers
“Yes, we know who you mean!” snaps Bartholomew, who can’t stand
to hear his name butchered
Andrew bows meekly and continues, “The two of
you, duh-dressed as guh-gar-gardeners, will then sneak into the
tuh-tuh-tuh-tomb and tuh-tuh-tuh-take the buh-buh-buh-body.
Suh-suh-suh-simple as thuh-that”
everyone seems satisfied by the logic of
the plan and someone suggests that’s it’s time to chow down
the bread is
passed around and the wine’s refilled
“In remembrance of him,” they mumble
in a scattered, half-hearted way
and then they rip into the bread with
their yellow, crooked teeth and chew it just like cows do cud
they take
big, convulsive swallows and then wash it down with gulps of wine
they sit
there in complete silence except for a deafening chorus of slurps, snorts,
and gasps
“Wait a sec, dudes,” says Jude, “what about the stone?”
Peter
wipes the wine from his beard with the back of his brawny, burly arm and
irritably responds, “What stone?”
“Dude, the one that’s blocking the door
to the tomb-duh,” replies Jude
“Oh,” Peter says, eyes going empty, “I
forgot about that”
a cock crows again and Peter’s facial muscles twitch as
one possessed
he feels his authority shrinking
“Just like after a swim
in the cold Galilean Sea in winter,” his wandering mind thinks, “shrinking
just like my littleÉ”
“Peter! Hey Peter! I’ve got this cousin who’s a
gladiator,” says Thomas out of nowhere, “His name’s Lupius. I once saw him
push over an elephant. He could prob’ly push that stone away with no
problem”
“Excellent,” utters Peter, snapping out of it, “Is he available
today?”
“Yeah, prob’ly. The season hasn’t started in Rome yet so he’s
prob’ly just chillin’ at home,” Thomas answers
“Excellent, excellent. It
looks like all the pieces have fallen into place,” pronounces Peter,
self-confidence fully restored, “NowÉ gentlemenÉ do we all know our parts?”
somewhere far away a record is laid on a turntable and played
stirring,
martial music quietly begins
with every passing second it gets a little
louder
Peter’s haggard face has undergone a change
no longer strung-out
looking, but noble
a crock crows once again but he doesn’t even notice
he speaks, and his voice takes on a husky, MacArthur-esque quality
“Brothers,” he begins, as the music grows louder, “let us show the world
that our faith knows no bounds. Let us sanctify the name of our dead master
by this act, so that his words and deeds will be remembered always. Through
this act he shall gain immortality and defeat all his enemies, and rule over
them and judge them for eternity. Brothers, let us do this thing! Let us do
this thing now!”
the music swells to a crescendo as the men prepare
John
straps on his glittering bra and fake boobies
Matthew puts on his yarmulke
Simon and Bartholomew smear soil on themselves and grab hoes and rakes
Peter opens the door, saying, “We’ll pick up the gladiator on the way”
and
just as everyone is about to file out
a figure enters and everybody’s jaw
drops
the needle flies off the record with a jarring scratch and the music
stops and somebody, most likely Andrew, whispers, “Holy shuh-shit!”
the
figure, all aglow, walks forward into clearer view
and says, with a
slightly annoyed air, “If I had really needed your help, I would have asked
for it.”
