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Judas Breaks His Silence |
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by Sean Carman
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5:34 |
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For me it was never about the money. Thirty pieces of silver? Please. I made that in a week. It was about something larger. We wanted to change history. J said, "Without you, I'll just go down as a magician and a thief." And you know, I still think he was right about that.
But you have to go back to the time and place. We were doing the festival circuit and it just wasn't happening. We'd show up, cure a leper, turn a little water into wine, and get a few thank you's and a free dinner. That was it.
Sometimes a crowd would hang around after the show. People wanting autographs, eager to tell their stories. The occasional wingnut who said he was there when Moses parted the Red Sea. But the minute we'd say we didn't have dinner plans, they'd all go quiet and look down at their shoes.
Even if we got dinner it was no guarantee we'd have a bed for the night. God it was difficult. Those long moments of silence when the plates were being cleared. Us waiting for them to invite us to stay, them waiting for us to say good night. Didn't matter if their table wine was the vintage we made for them that afternoon, or if the bread they served was from a loaf we brought down from heaven.
You go out on the road, you learn something about human nature.
Don't get me wrong, people were impressed. Power of God. When you see it, you don't mistake it for anything else. They fell to their knees, swore off false idols, the whole bit. But we had what you might call a "word of mouth" problem. We'd absolutely kill one night, but the next day, in the village down the road, people would be like, "Jesus who?"
And yeah, we had the disciples, but they were just an entourage. We wanted a movement. What we had was twelve guys in robes taking notes.
Who, by the way, never did anything but lecture the audience after the show. Which never went over. When you've just watched a mystical stranger transform an olive branch into a poisonous cobra, the last thing you want is some guy in a beard tell you what it means.
So we decided to try our luck in Jerusalem, but there it was only more of the same. Our first night we made 50 pieces of gold fall from the sky and gave a deaf mute the wonder of hearing and speech. And still we had to beg a family near the square for dinner. And sure enough, after the meal and some polite conversation, we get the door.
And with the sound of that slamming door ringing down the street Jesus says to me, "Judas, you ever get the feeling the world will forget us five minutes after we're gone?" And what could I say? We're in the holy city, night's falling and we haven't got a friend, and that afternoon we made gold fall from the sky.
It was J's idea, the betrayal. As soon as he explained it I knew we had a winner. People forget, but with Jesus it wasn't just the righteous homilies and the supernatural powers. The man was a political genius.
So J explains that I'll give him up to the Romans, who will make a big show out of everything -- the way they always did -- and the disciples will spread the gospel after he's gone.
Brilliant, right?
Naturally, I was the guy. I'd been there since the beginning, I wanted it just as much. He was the one going up on the cross. All I had to do was take a few coins and let myself get arrested.
The other disciples? Give me a break. Those guys couldn't keep a simple story straight. We always knew we were going to get twelve different versions of everything in the end. But J said, "Let them mix up the gospels. The one thing we cannot screw up is the betrayal. Without that we're nothing." So it had to be me.
And that's it, really. I added the kiss, the Romans swallowed it whole, and I just slipped into the background and watched it take off. And man, it's gotten bigger than either of us imagined. I mean, we had dreams, but nothing like this.
Of course I had to lay low for a time. You can't betray the son of God and then go around giving magazine interviews for two centuries. So I drifted, took the odd job. Man, I've done everything. I could tell you stories. Eventually I settled in New York, and then when real estate got crazy I moved out to the Island. More peaceful out here. I've got a nice view of the Sound.
Oh yeah, they offered me something, for all those sheets of papyrus. You know they did. Invited me up to the 50th floor, big round conference table, glass walls with a view of the city, like I'm in heaven itself.
But that's never been my style. "Believe me," I told them, "I could have cashed in on this ride long ago, if that's what I wanted." You should have seen the looks on their faces. Like the thought had never occurred to them. Such little lambs.
"Old Judas will be fine," I said when I shook their hands. "Just fine."
But I'll tell you what I can't wait to see. When I cross that chasm and see J again, in those ragged robes and that halo of his. Looking like he does in those paintings you see at flea markets, and in shop windows in the dying part of town. An old friend on the other side of that bridge, spreading his arms and looking so benevolent.
Let me tell you, the day can't some soon enough.
Sean Carman has written for McSweeney's and the Comedy Central television network, and he helps produce the website for the literary journal Hobart. This spring he will be blogging for the soon-to-be-launched comedy news site 23/6, www.236.com
Sean Carman Sean Carman has written for McSweeney's and the Comedy Central television network, and he helps produce the website for the literary journal Hobart. He will be one of the group bloggers for the soon-to-be-launched comedy news site 23/6, www.236.com
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