The Plan.

Same fire, mine are eternally beautiful, with mesmerizing flames that can suck your soul out of your head if you stare at them too long. Between the girl and I, we save Jesus from such a fate, I’m not interested in his soul yet.

He is eating again, a medley of things like the last time, but he demands the bread. I watch him stuff it with something roasted and a wedge of cheese. A natural gourmet, surprising in a Jew. They have one of the smallest repertoires in the world, god makes a big deal about their food. Regardless what religion you place him in, he will be fucking with the menu. I do have to give him credit, it’s a never ending guilt machine, he gets so much negative attention it boggles the mind.

I shouldn’t really complain about Colin, he has so little to work with, after all. No charm or elegance of manner, no finely honed muscles, no perfect ass, no Devilishly handsome face, no personality to speak of. What do you know about him? That he’s an asshole, though you can’t hold that against everyone, the Devil is an asshole. Of a different kind.

No imagination, stole his entire story, start to finish, from a handful of other gods with better credentials. He takes a bit from everyone, an equal opportunity exploiter. Patchwork, artificial god, genuine misogynist.

Satan: Jesus, what do you know of other gods?

Jesus (chews and swallows): What other gods? Besides my father? There are none, the rest are all fakes.

I smile my most patient smile, catch his eyes and hold them while I slowly turn into a white snake, slither my way up his leg and around his throat. His heart is pounding so hard I have to fight the urge to rip it out with my amazing fangs, and swallow it while it’s still pumping. It doesn’t matter who you are, it’s never wise to doubt my divinity.

He slowly turns blue and I have to release him. Like lightning I am back in my chair and my huge body. Jesus  is frozen, he takes his time coming back to me, but I’m sure his math will be better. I pass him something to soothe his throat, then ask him again.

Jesus (coughing): You, then, and my father. Roman gods are just idols, like the Egyptians, and Barbarians, all false gods, made of stone and base metals.

Satan: No. You’re deeply misinformed. While there are no other major deities, there are hosts of demi-gods, immortals, like yourself, who live forever, but in other realms. Some of these are able to come and go at will, they’re powerful enough to be called gods. You know the Moon, the god of sleep, the god of storms, who has access to my winds when he wants them, the goddess of bones. These you must know to be gods, never doubt it, Jesus, for your own sake. A handsome man like you, with your undoubted charisma, should pay attention, make friends with them. Some gods are quite loyal.

Others, like one you may not know, the god of gravity, are simply there to take their due, forever. Even you have to pay him, you have been since your immaculate conception, not an atom escapes his notice. As a demi, he yields to me, but I have my own forces in Hell, I need none of his. You and everything else on this planet are subject to his invisible will, it is he who will rob you of your youth and vigour. If you live.

Jesus shudders and looks for his glass, I fill it, this wonderful bottle as full as the first time I saw it. That’s some trick. It will be a fair trade for his life.

Satan: Now for the ‘or’.

The plan is complicated, I outline it to him in broad strokes, then fill in details, as he asks questions. He thinks for a while, then puts his glass down and turns to me.

Jesus: Let me see if I have this straight. You, Satan, want me to cut my hair, change my name, go to Roma and gain the favour of the Emperor, with my notorious charm and extraordinary wits. My pretty face. You want me to spy for you, and in return you will grant me eternal life, in any and all realms, including this. Eternal Favourite, all the power I can make for myself, just for keeping you informed. Romans like their boys with short hair. Romans like their boys.

You will give my faithful disciple Peter something called a makeover, he will assume my role as son of Colin, since my father has never met me, it will be easy. He will then, (a hard wince) get the Marys, the Magdalenes, the fabulous sex, the praise and the glory. (Smiling now.) The hideous death and ever more hideous afterlife, with ‘god’ in his heavenly hell.

Satan: Don’t confuse my realms with his, don’t link them together in any way, do you need me to turn snake again? Or something worse? And no, Peter, as a mortal, will never meet your father. As much as he may deserve to.

Jesus: So he’ll get the glory for a few years, and then that horrendous death, and that’s it? No Heaven or Hell? Where will he go?

Satan: Peter will be composted. His soul is weedy and unattractive, there are no takers, so it will have to go back into the pool, I’m afraid, and you will see it again soon enough.

Jesus (thinking carefully): Interesting. You can do anything, can’t you, my friend Pandor. If you can somehow make me want to fuck men, I’m in. I take the Road to Roma,  but I will be keeping this treasure. (He leans and strokes her thigh gently.)

Satan: Ah, yes, the delightful still life at your feet. What’s her name?

Jesus: I have no idea.

Will Jesus enjoy his first homosexual encounter? Of course, just as he will enjoy all the rest. Will it be with an immensely handsome, immense man? A three way with the girl, perhaps? Who knows? My favours are expensive.

“Will I Ever Find My Way Back Home”    by Owsey.