A Graveyard for Lunatics

?You sound like me?t Astrology? Numerology? Holy Rollers? That?s fun.?

?Been to Holy Rollers, also.?

?Like their mud wrestling, talking in tongues??

?Yeah! But how about the Negro Baptist Church, Central Avenue? Hall Johnson choir jumps and sings Sundays. Earthquakes!?

?Hell, boy, you dog my stepsl How come you been all those places??

?Wanted answers!?

?You read the Talmud? Koran??

?They came too late in my life.?

?Let me tell you what really came late??

I snorted. ?The Book of Mormon!??

?Holy mackerel, right!?

?I was in a Mormon little-theatre group when I was twenty. The Angel Moroni put me to sleep!?

J. C. roared and slapped his stigmata.

?Boring! How about Aimee Semple McPherson!??

?High school friends dared me to run up on stage to be ?saved.? I ran and knelt. She slapped her hand on my head. Lord, save the sinner, she cried. Glory, Hallelujah! I staggered down and fell into my friends? arms!?

?Hell,? said J. C. ?Aimee saved me twice! Then they buried her. Summer of ?44? In that big bronze coffin? Took sixteen horses and a bulldozer to lug it up that graveyard hill. Boy, Aimee grew fake wings, natural-like. I still visit her temple for old nostalgia?s sake. God, I miss her. She touched me like Jesus, in Pentecostal trimmings. What a lark!?

?And now here you are,? I said, ?full-time Christ at Maximus. Since the golden days with Arbuthnot.?

?Arbuthnot?? J. C.?s face darkened with memory. He shoved back his plate. ?Come now. Test me. Ask! Old Testament. New.?

?The book of Ruth.?

He recited two minutes of Ruth.

?Ecclesiastes??

?I?ll do the whole thing!? And he did.

?John??

?Great stuff! The Last Supper after the Last Supper!?

?What?? I said, incredulous.

?Forgetful Christian! The Last Supper was not the Last Supper. It was the Penultimate Supper! Days after the Crucifixion and entombment, Simon called Peter, on the Sea of Tiberias with the other disciples, experienced the miracle of the fishes. On shore, they witnessed a pale illumination. Approaching, they saw a man standing by a spread of burning charcoals and fish. They spoke to the man and knew it was Christ, who gestured and said, ?Take of these fish and feed thy brethren. Take of my message and move through the cities of the world and preach therein forgiveness of sin.?

?I?ll be damned,? I whispered.

?Delightful, yes?? said J. C. ?The Penultimate Supper first, the da Vinci supper, and then the Final Final Last Last Supper of fish baked on the charcoal bed on the sands near the Sea of Tiberias after which Christ departed to stay on forever in their blood, hearts, minds, and souls. Finis.?

J. C. bowed his head, then added: ?Go rewrite the books, but especially John! Not mine to give, only yours to take! Out, before I rescind my blessing!?

?Have you blessed me??

?All the while we talked, son. All the while. Go.?

31

I stuck my head in Projection Room 4 and said, ?Where?s Judas??

?That?s the password!? cried Fritz Wong. ?Here are three martinis! Drink!?

?I hate martinis. And anyway, first, I got to get this out of my system. Miss Botwin,? I said.

?Maggie,? she said, quietly amused, her camera in her lap.

?I?ve heard about you for years, admired you a lifetime. I just have to say I?m glad for this chance to work??

?Yes, yes,? she said, kindly. ?But you?re wrong. I?m no genius. I?m? what do you call those things skate across ponds looking for insects??

?Water striders??

?Water striders! You?d think the damn bugs would sink, but they move on a thin film on top of the water. Surface tension. They distribute their weight, stretch out their arms and legs so they never break the film. Well, if that isn?t me, what is? I just distribute my weight, stretch out all fours, so I don?t break the film I skate on. I haven?t sunk from sight yet. But I?m not the best and it?s no miracle, just plain dumb early-on luck. Now thanks for the