Jerome Bixby's The Man from Earth (8 page)

JOHN.
Yes.

LINDA.
Moses.

JOHN.
Moses was modeled on Mises, from Assyrian myth. There are earlier versions. All found floating on water, a staff that turned into a snake, the parting of waters to lead followers to freedom. Even received laws on stone or wooden tablets.

LINDA.
One of the Apostles.

JOHN.
They weren’t Apostles. I mean, they didn’t do any teaching, that I know of. They were students. Paul the Fisherman learned some new things about fishing.

ART.
How would you know that?

(Silence.)

JOHN.
The mystical overlay is enormous, and not a good thing. The truth of it’s so simple. So simple. The new New Testament in a hundred words or less. Are you ready for it?

(
EDITH
stands up.)

EDITH.
I don’t think I want to hear this. Harry, will you take me home?

HARRY.
No. I mean, not right now. I want to hear this.

ART.
Sit down, Edith, you’re acting as if you believed him.

EDITH.
It’s sacrilege.

HARRY.
How can it be sacrilege when he hasn’t said anything yet?

EDITH.
The “new” New Testament is sacrilege.

(
JOHN
gets up and moves across the room, as if to get away from the conflict.)

DAN.
There have been a
dozen
new New Testaments, from Hebrew to Greek to Latin to Tyndale, all the way to King James. All revisionist and all called “revealed truth.”

EDITH.
I mean a new New Testament in a hundred words.

HARRY.
How about the Ten Commandments in ten words? “Don’t, don’t, don’t… ”

DAN.
The Commandments are just updates of more ancient laws…Hammurabi’s Code –

HARRY.
And they weren’t even the first. I was raised on the Torah, my wife on the Koran. My oldest son is an atheist, my youngest’s a Scientologist, and my daughter is studying Hinduism. I suppose there’s room for a holy war in my living room, but we live and let live.

(to
EDITH
:)

What’s your preferred version of the bible?

EDITH.
The King James, of course. It’s the most modern, the work of great scholars.

DAN.
Modern is good?

(As
EDITH
glares:)

HARRY.
Okay, John, get on with the short form.

JOHN.
A guy met the Buddha, and liked what he heard. He thought about it for a while, say, five-hundred years, while he returned to the Mediterranean, became an Etruscan, and then seeped into the Roman Empire. He didn’t like what they became. A giant killing machine. He went to the Near East, thinking “Why not pass the Buddha’s teachings along in modern form?” So he tried. One dissident against Rome, Rome won. The rest is history, sort of. A lot of fairy tales mixed in.

(Silence. Staring faces. Finally:)

EDITH.
I knew it. He’s saying he was Christ.

JOHN.
Oh, no. That’s the medal they pinned on Jesus, to fulfill prophecy.

DAN.
The crucifixion?

JOHN.
He blocked the pain. He’d learned to do that in India and Tibet. To slow body processes to the point where they weren’t detectable. After a while he did that, so they thought he was dead. His followers put him in a cave. His body normalized, as he’d told it to. He tried to get away undetected, but some devotees were standing watch. He tried to explain what had happened, but they were in ecstasy.

(beat)

So I was resurrected. I ascended to central Europe, to get as far away as I could.

EDITH.
You don’t mean a word of this, John! My God, why are you doing this?

ART.
Let me see your wrists.

JOHN.
I don’t scar. Besides, they tied me. But nails and blood make better religious art.

HARRY.
All the speculations about Jesus. He was black, he was Asian, he was a blue-eyed Aryan with gold beard and hair just out of Vidal Sassoon’s, he was a benevolent alien, he never existed at all. Now he’s a caveman.

DAN.
The Christ figure goes back to Krishna. And Hercules, of course.

HARRY.
Hercules?

JOHN.
Born of a virgin, Alcmene. A god for a father, Zeus. The only begotten, called Savior, the Greek Soter – the Good Shepherd, Nuelos Emelos – the Prince of Peace, bringing divine wisdom and gentle persuasion. He died and joined his father on Olympus. A thousand years before Gethsemane.

EDITH.
How can you compare pagan mythology to the true Word!

HARRY.
Pretty closely, I’d say.

DAN.
The early Christian priests threw away Hebrew manuscripts, and borrowed from pagan sources all over the place.

EDITH.
Do you realize how – inconsiderately – you’re treating my feelings?

DAN.
About as inconsiderately as we’ve treated John’s?

EDITH.
He doesn’t believe what he’s saying!

SANDY.
Do you believe, literally, every word in the bible?

EDITH.
Yes. Before you say it. I know it’s undergone a lot of changes, but God has spoken through Man to make his word clearer.

HARRY.
He couldn’t get it right the first time?

EDITH.
We’re imperfect! He had to work to make us understand.

HARRY.
He couldn’t get us right the first time?

DAN.
(to
EDITH
, at first:)
Taken alone, the philosophical teachings attributed to Jesus are Buddhism with a Hebrew accent. Kindness, tolerance, brotherhood, love, and a ruthless realism acknowledging that life is as it is. Here and now. The Kingdom of God, meaning goodness, is on Earth. Or should be. That’s where the Buddha brought it.

JOHN.
And that’s what I taught, but a snake made a lady eat an apple, so we’re screwed. Heaven and Hell were peddled so priests could rule through seduction and terror, so they could save our souls that we never lost in the first place. Hope is a bargain at any price. I threw a clean pass, and they ran it out of the ballpark.

EDITH.
This is blasphemy! It’s horrible! Who else were you? Solomon? Elvis? Jack the Ripper?

DAN.
It’s been said that Jesus and the Buddha would laugh or cry if they knew what’s been done in their names.

HARRY.
If there is a Creator, maybe he feels the same way.

JOHN.
I see rituals. Candles, processions, genuflecting, moaning, intoning, sprinkling water, venerating cookies and wine, and I think, “This isn’t what I had in mind”

EDITH.
That’s Vatican flapdoodle! It doesn’t have a thing to do with God!

DAN.
As you said, John, everywhere religions. From exalting life to purging joy as a sin. Rome does it as grand opera. But the same old pessimism – the path of simple goodness needs a supernatural roadmap.

HARRY.
Supernatural!

ART.
Stupid word. Anything that happens, happens within Nature. Whether we understand it or not.

JOHN.
Like a fourteen-thousand-year old caveman?

(We hear the sound of a car pulling up outside.
JOHN
goes to the door. Opens it before
GRUBER
can ring.)

(Outside, evening has arrived, with the pastel lavender and gold of the desert sunset. The breeze has become steady.)

GRUBER.
I drove for a while, and then sat for a while. I – am ashamed. And I’m freezing.

(
JOHN
steps back.
GRUBER
enters.)

GRUBER
(cont’d)
I still don’t believe you, of course. You need help.

JOHN.
Everybody needs help.

(
JOHN
briefly embraces
GRUBER
’s shoulders, as
GRUBER
nods to the group and moves to hug the fire.)

ART.
Now he’s Jesus.

HARRY.
As in, you know, Mr. Jesus H. Christ. Himself.

(
GRUBER
is thinking over what he’s been told.)

GRUBER.
From the Buddha to the cross. I have always regarded both as entirely mythic. I would like to hear more. May I lie a moment on the couch? I am not as young as I used to be.

(Some eyes go to
EDITH
. She is silent.
LINDA
and
SANDY
get up, to curl on the floor.
EDITH
moves over to give
GRUBER
room. He sits down, swings to lie down. Pulls up a blanket.)

GRUBER
(cont’d)
So. You were Jesus. Well, perhaps somebody had to be, for better or worse. The jury is still out. And when did you begin to believe you were Jesus?

JOHN.
When did you begin to believe you were a psychiatrist ?

GRUBER.
Since I graduated Harvard Medical School and finished my residency, I have had that feeling. I sometimes dream about it.

JOHN.
Have you acted upon this belief?

GRUBER.
I had a private practice for a while. Then I taught. Nothing unusual, until one day I met a caveman who thought he was Jesus.

JOHN.
Do you find that unusual?

GRUBER.
Very. I would stake my reputation that he is as sane as I am. Why does he persist in such a story?

JOHN.
There must be a reason for that, no?

GRUBER.
Unless I have imagined it all. Is that possible?

JOHN.
I think you’re as sane as he is.

GRUBER.
Oh, God, no!

(They both chuckle.)

Did you ever find it prudent to worship yourself, rather than be thought a heretic? That would be something.

ART.
Hilarious.

JOHN.
Other times Christianity was heresy. I had to pretend other faiths.

GRUBER.
And what does Jesus have to say to those present, who find it difficult to believe in him?

JOHN.
Believe in what he tried to teach. Without rigmarole. Piety is not what the lessons bring to people, it’s a mistake they bring to the lessons.

(
JOHN
glances out the window.)

Getting to be night. Stuff to carry. I’ve got a long drive.

SANDY.
I’ll help.

DAN.
You have a destination, John? Never mind, I won’t ask.

(
JOHN
and
SANDY
bring out the last two boxes of books. They carry them out the front door towards the truck.)

(The room is in half-darkness. Some have put on jackets again.)

GRUBER.
Anyone, mentally ill, can imagine a fantastic background, an entire life, and sincerely believe it. The man who thinks he is Napoleon does believe it. His true identity has taken a back seat to his delusion, and the need for it. If that is the case with John, there is a grave disorder.

ART.
Organized brilliantly. He’s got an answer for everything.

GRUBER.
It might involve a rejection of his father, of his entire early past, replaced by this fantasy.

HARRY.
He says he can’t remember his father.

GRUBER.
Precisely. Why?

LINDA.
You said you thought he was sane.

GRUBER.
Did I?

DAN.
Could our caveman have a monkey on his back?