they're stored,
So excuse us if we're all a little drunk out of our gourd.
We saints go marching on.
Glory, Glory, we're the fossils
Of all the Nazarene apostles.
If it weren't for Christ we'd be
Just fishermen from Galilee,
So listen to our tale.
Now, Jesus was your average ancient Middle Eastern male.
He went to public school, but had a special holy grail:
He'd rather burn in hell than go to Harvard or to Yale,
So the choice was pretty clear.
Glory, Glory, God convinced Him,
Jesus Christ, He went to Princeton.
He made the right decision
When he majored in Religion
And the rest is history.
So Christ arrived on campus in the fall of year 18,
The Biggest Man on Campus that the world had ever seen.
It made the other eating clubs turn jealous Ivy green
When Jesus chose T.I.
Now two apostles from the first row stand and step forward. The first unravels a scroll that reads Ivy and the second unravels one that reads Cottage. After thrusting their noses in the air at one another and prancing self- importantly around Jesus, the song continues.
Chorus: Glory, Glory, Jesus bickered,
All the snooty heathens snickered.
Ivy: We couldn’t h take a Jew;
Cottage: A carpenter won't do;
Chorus: So the Lord, He joined T.I.
Kelly clenches her fists so tightly she almost draws blood.
Now the twelve apostles emerge from the choral formation into a kick line and, with Jesus at the center, lock arms, pump their legs deftly into the air, and conclude:
Jesus, Jesus, He's a fun guy.
Thanks to Him we're all alumni.
There's nothing so divine
As turning water into wine,
His truth is marching on.
With that, all thirteen men turn around and, with choreographed precision, raise the backs of their togas to reveal a message written across their buttocks, one letter per cheek:
HAPPY EASTER FROM THE TIGER INN
A rowdy combination of wild clapping, boisterous cheering, and stray boos ensues. Then, just as the thirteen men are preparing to leave, a loud cracking sound comes from across the courtyard, followed by the crash of glass breaking.
Heads turn in the direction of the noise. On the top story of Dickinson, the history department building, a light flickers on, then off. One of the windowpanes has been shattered. In the darkness, I can see movement.
A T.I. apostle begins to cheer loudly.
What's going on? I ask. Squinting, I can make out a person near the broken glass.
This isn't funny, Kelly growls at Judas, who has drifted within earshot.
He snubs his nose.
What's he doing? she demands, pointing at the window.
Judas thinks for a second.
He's going to piss. He laughs tipsily, then repeats, He's going to piss out the window.
Kelly storms after the Jesus figure.
What the hell's going on, Derek? she says.
The figure in the office appears, then vanishes. From his jerkiness I sense he's drunk. At one moment he seems to be pawing the broken glass, then he disappears.
I think there's someone else up there, Charlie says.
Suddenly the entire body of the man comes into view. He's backed against the lead panes of the window.
He's gonna piss, Judas repeats.
From the remaining apostles there arises a sloppy cry of Jump! Jump!
Kelly wheels on them. Shut up, goddamn it! Go get him down!
Again the man disappears from sight.
I don't think he's from T.I., Charlie says with concern. I think that's some drunk guy from the Nude Olympics.
But the man was wearing clothes. I look into the darkness, trying to make out the shapes. This time, the man doesn't return.
Beside me, the stewed apostles boo.
Jump! one of them cries again, but Derek pushes him back and tells him to stay quiet.
Get the hell out of here, Kelly orders.
Easy, girl, Derek says, and begins rounding up the stray disciples.
Gil watches all of this with the same inscrutable look of amusement he was wearing when the men first arrived. Glancing at his watch, he says, Well, looks like we've sucked all the fun out of thi-
His voice nearly drowns out the echo of the second cracking sound. This time I hear the report clearly. It's a gunshot.
Gil and I turn just in time to see it. The man explodes backward through the glass, and for a matter of seconds he stays frozen in free fall. With a muted thud, his body hits the snow, and the impact sucks all the noise and commotion from the courtyard.
Then there is nothing.
The first thing I remember is the sound of Charlie's feet as he dashes toward the body in the snow. Then a large crowd follows, converging around the scene, blocking my view.
Oh, Jesus, Gil whispers.
Voices in the huddle shout, Is he okay? But there's no sign of movement.
Finally I hear Charlie's voice. I need someone to call an ambulance! Tell them we've got an unconscious man in the courtyard by the chapel!
Gil pulls his phone from his pocket, but before he can dial, two campus policemen arrive on the scene. One of them presses through the crowd. The other begins directing the spectators back. For a moment I see Charlie crouched over the man, delivering chest compressions-perfect motions, like pistons stroking. How strange it is, suddenly, to see the trade tie plies by night.
We've got an ambulance on the way!
Faintly, in the distance, I can hear sirens.
My legs begin to shake. I feel the crawling sensation that something dark is passing overhead.
The ambulance arrives. Its rear doors extend open, and two EMTs descend to strap the man into braces and a stretcher. Motion stutters, spectators flickering in and out of view. When the doors swung shut, I can make out the impression where the body landed. The patch of flagstone has an unseemly quality, like a scrape on the flesh of a storybook princess. What I took for mud in the spatter of impact, I begin to see more clearly. Blacks are reds; the dirt is blood. In the office above, there is only darkness.
