Revelations(48)

Not like I wholly trust him. The next question is, will he stop and think about what he’s doing, or just rush in and do something completely stupid and foolish?

Who am I kidding? It’s Judas we’re talkin’ about. Stupid and foolish it is.

I’m going to go to talk to Mary. Maybe she’ll have some answers. Should’ve thought of her sooner. Shows how rattled I am.





Chapter Twenty-Seven: Jesus


It was hard to do, but I’ve sent Judas away for a while. I know he would’ve been more than happy to stay here with me, and I would’ve been more than happy to have him here. I can’t allow that, for his own good. I want more time with him, yes, I do. Time I can’t possibly have. What a very painful thought that is.

I must stop thinking along these lines, and concentrate. Focus, Jesus, focus.

I asked him to please check on my mother, and on Mary. While that wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the complete truth either. It’s too hard for me to think when he is right there, to think clearly I mean. There’s so much to do and so little time. He said he’d make sure when the judge comes in two days he’ll be ready to post my bail, and I didn’t disillusion him. I let him think it might actually happen. Was that so very horrible of me? No, I haven’t changed my mind, but I don’t want to take away his hope. Perhaps that is wrong of me, to offer hope where none exists. But I want to alleviate his future pain as much as possible, while I can. I don’t know—I just don’t know. This…this…has got to be…the hardest thing I’ve ever done before.

I’m so confused. Why the changes? Why weren’t we told? Why has my father said nothing to me? What is it he wishes me to learn? What is there to learn? Why does man never learn? Have we simply been wasting our time, all these years?

I know, I know, have faith. I do have faith, I do. I really do.

Judas promised to return as soon as possible when he left. That thought alone sustains me. That and the memory of our time together, the way he kissed me before he walked out the door. I had to push him away. I didn’t want to, but it was for his own good, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone. It’s what’s best for him. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

They’re picketing outside now. Lucifer’s group, that is. I catch a glimpse of them, whenever anyone happens to come into the jailhouse. I can hear bursts of whatever songs they’re singing. I don’t blame them. They are but the pawns of Lucifer. If they only knew, how horrified do you think they’d be at the part they’re playing in my demise? Pretty horrified, I should imagine. But I won’t burden them with that knowledge. What purpose would it serve? None whatsoever.

I pace back and forth in my cell, restlessly, driven by this need for perpetual motion. No matter how I try, I cannot focus my thoughts. All I can think of is him.

I know I’m about to lose him, and the knowledge hurts so very much. Does love always have to be this way? Or is it just for us? A noise at the door catches my attention. I wonder if it could be…but no, it isn’t Judas.

It’s a young blonde girl, maybe five or six years old. She races familiarly through the room as if she’s been running here every day of her life. And perhaps she has. Just behind her a woman appears in the doorway. She exchanges a few words with those outside before politely closing the door. In her hand is a good-sized wooden basket, covered with a red checkered cloth. And if my nose isn’t mistaken, it contains some sort of food.

Kaplan has been sitting at his desk for a while now, occasionally answering the telephone, doing miscellaneous paperwork, I imagine. He tries to engage me in conversation now and again, but his words fall on deaf ears for the most part. I’m not ignoring him; I’m simply tuning him out, as Matthew would say. When these two enter, he pauses in his work, pushing back his chair, as the girl speeds around the desk and leaps into his outstretched arms. “Daddy!” she cries. She throws her arms about his neck and hugs him tightly. Kaplan laughs, hugging her in return as the woman—undoubtedly Mrs. Kaplan and the mother of this lovely child—comes around the desk as well, laying her load down as she fondly regards the tableau before her.

I find myself drawn to this familial scene, nearing the bars to gain a closer look. What a loving family. It does my heart good, and at the same time causes it to ache, if that makes any sense. I remember how it was when I was younger, when we were once a happy family such as they—Mother, Joseph, and myself. So many years ago. So many lives ago.

“Daddy, Daddy, we brought lunch,” the child says, pointing proudly to the basket on his desk.