Jesus in Hell: Day 1, Part 6: Sheol

 

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Previous Chapter: Day 1 Part 5

The tip of the knife presses into Gestas's throat.  Your eyes meet Gestas's.  The knife trembles, and then your grasp falls a bit away.  Gestas takes the opportunity to twist his way out of your chokehold. 

"Would you relax?" he cajoles.  "I didn't frame you for murder.  Or anything like that!"

You scowl, even as your rage is beginning to subside.

"Buddy!  Buddy!" he goes on.  "You know I would never do anything to harm you.  You're my top earner!"

"Hey!" comes a voice.  "What are you two doing behind my house?" A man is leaning out the back door of the house the two of you just ran through.

"Oh, I'm very sorry, sir.  We were just leaving," oozes Gestas in the most innocent voice he can muster.  It's not all that convincing.

As the two of you walk on, Gestas throws his right arm around your shoulder.  "I will admit, though, that last job we did... there was some funny business going on, that's for sure."

As you leave the back yard, without you noticing, a little white lump, maybe a 1/4 inch wide and a 1/2 inch long, wobbles up out of the dirt and starts to roll, bonking into a fence post, regrouping, seemingly disoriented, and then rolls along, apparently following you, but at a distance of 20 or 30 feet. 

The two of you are walking among a small cluster of houses, along a main road.  There's quite a few people here, including children, who are playing with sticks and hoops.

You pull away from Gestas and start making your way down the road.  

"Hey, where are you going?" he shouts, running to catch up.  He bumps around in the crowded street.  "This place is just like home, huh?" he laughs.  "Only maybe even more crowded."  

You're walking away at a quick pace.

"Where are we headed, Dismas?"  

"Leave me alone!" you shout.  "I want to have nothing to do with you."

"Awww, don't be like that, Dismas," says Gestas.  Just then, HEE-HAW! a big smiling donkey head pops its way out of the crowd.  The donkey is loaded up with goods in bags, a loose rope tied around its neck.  It seems friendly to both you and Gestas, but it especially takes a shining to him, and immediately starts licking him.  

"Ewww!" shouts Gestas. "Get offa me!"

"Hey!" comes a voice from the crowd.  "Give me back my donkey!  Help, help!"  

"Not this again," you mutter under your breath.

The man who is accusing you runs and appeals to two strange figures: giant, human-sized flies, dressed up in the armor of Roman soldiers.  "Officer!" he pleads. "Those ruffians are trying to steal my donkey!" 

"We're not trying to steal your donkey," you retort.  "We don't want to have anything to do with your donkey.  We just want to be left alone."

The donkey suddenly runs off.

"Catch him!  Catch him!" shouts the man.

"Well, which is it?  Do you want me to leave the donkey alone, or catch him?" 

"Catch him!  Hurry!"

The flies shrug and move on with their business.

Running, you manage to catch up with the donkey - who seems to be playing with you - and walk him back to the man.  The donkey sits down.

"Bad donkey!  Bad donkey!" the man yells, wagging his finger.  "Thank you, Sir," he says to you, and then to the donkey, "Now let's go!"  The man tries to pull a donkey with the rope.  The donkey stubbornly refuses to move, sitting in its spot, amiably chewing on a grass stem, apparently oblivious to the man's exertions.  Occasionally the donkey looks around, sniffing the ground.

"Move, you worthless runt!" screams the man, in frustration.  And then, to himself, "Oh, what do I do... what do I do?!"  He's just about to kick the beast, but you interrupt.

"Hey, no need to do that," you say, sternly. 

"Easy for you to say," replies the man.  "I have to get these goods to Julius of the Javanites.  And this good-for-nothing, lazy ass won't budge!"  (You almost could swear you hear the donkey say, "Birdy!")

The man goes on: "Hmm... say, you two look like big, strong, strapping fellows.  I'll tell you what - since you have so much affection for this pathetic animal, if you carry these sacks to Julius, the donkey's all yours, fair and square."

"Sorry, not interested," you say, and move on.

"Hold on, hold on," says Gestas.  "Certainly, we would be happy to take those bags off your hands, Sir."  He slings one small bag over his own shoulder, and then puts two giant bags on your shoulders. 

"Uh, yes," says the man, starting to reconsider.  "To Julius, of the Javanites."

"Right away, Sir," says Gestas with an oily smarm.

As you walk away from the man, the rope sags from his hand and he deflates with the obvious regret of someone who's been had. 

Gestas whistles as he walks down the road.  "Let's climb over that hill and see what our haul is," he giggles.

But you just keep on walking.

"Dismas?" he asks, genuinely surprised.  "Why don't we stop?  Hey, are you really going somewhere?" 

You walk on silently in impassive stoicism.

"Where are you going?  I've never seen you walk with such purpose in your whole life!  How do you even know where you are?"

Finally, you relent.  "If you must know..." you start to say, then stop.

"Yes?  What?  You don't want to tell me?  Are you embarrassed?"

"I..." your tone turns serious, even reverential.  "I... thought I saw... Jesus.  Falling.  He landed somewhere over that way."  You point in the distance you're walking.

"Jesus?  What are you talking about?  He's still alive!"  

"No, not that Jesus.  The one I told you about.  The one... " Here, you hush to a pious whisper. "The one we were crucified with."

"You're new here, ain'tcha?"  It's the donkey again.

You're so surprised, you drop the bags.

"Nope, I can tell.  I can smell a new arrival a mile away.  NEW ARRIVALS HERE, FOLKS!"  The donkey begins to laugh, running and dancing around you.

"You... you can t- talk?" you stammer.

"Y-you c-can t-t-t-t-" replies the donkey, imitating your voice in a cartoony way.  "Well, yeah.  Of course I can talk.  The question is, Can you talk?"

You stand there in stunned silence for a long time.

Finally the donkey says, "Apparently not."

"How?" is all you can muster. 

"Um, hm.  I don't know about that stuff.  Don't care, either.  Hey do you have any carrots?  Birdy!"

Gestas pipes up.  "Aren't you supposed to stubbornly refusing to move, in the middle of the street?"

"Oh, RIGHT!" says the donkey and scampers off.  The man is still in the street, yelling and arguing with someone else now, still holding the rope, apparently unaware that there's no donkey at the end of it.  The donkey slowly, carefully slips its neck back into the rope, sitting down in exactly the same pose it was in before, and resumes chewing on grass.  The man glances down for a moment and then resumes fighting, without missing a beat. 

You're standing in front of a large, flat, black vertical stone, onto which many mysterious, indecipherable characters have been carved.  "I wonder what it says," says Gestas. 

You keep walking, across a bridge over a stream that marks the boundary of the little town.  You battle more zombies, worms and other bad guys, and eventually you get to a little area with some tall grass.  And there, in the underbrush, you see him.

Jesus.  

Stay tuned for next chapter, Day 1, Part 7

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