Heresy; Big Time

A Son sits on a rock fence in what was once Galilee on the outskirts of what was once Nazareth. At his side sits a friend, an incredulous expression on his face, mixed with a smirk.

“Ya gatta be kidin me. Your Pops is the top kahuna, says he loves you, sends you down here to be crucified and …” (the foregoing is a transliterated attempt at reflecting a Brooklyn accent in Aramaic).

“Shut up”! A command, a commentary and a plea combined. “Don’t say it! I don’t want to hear it. I won’t hear it”. (An attempt to render a polished, absolutely anchorman neutral United States accent into Hebrew).

“Ya suh!” (An even more convoluted attempt to mix a southern accent by a native Brooklyn speaker in Aramaic). “You da almighty son of a bitch” (incongruously, now the proto-Brooklynite seems intent on faking the dialect of a black slave in mid nineteenth century Alabama).

“Don’t speak about my mother that way”, it wasn’t her fault. Talk about sexual harassment. How could she have said no to him?

“So, did the damned asshole even have an orgasm?” (Back to a Brooklyn accent in Aramaic).

“Who the Hell is going to damn him? (Polished, absolutely anchorman neutral United States accent in Hebrew).

“So, thirty three fuckin years and not even one self-induced orgasm for you either? I don’t fuckin believe it.”

“You know I can’t lie! Why would I?

“Still, fuckin hard to believe. Neither of you? Ever?

“Oh shut up!!! I never should have fucking revived you. Damn it, see what you made me do, now you have me cursing”.

“Oh oh!!!!”

Oh oh on many fronts. First, the friend finds himself damned, then Pops comes down breathing thunderbolts! “I TOLD YOU TO STOP MESSING AROUND WITH THAT GOOD FOR NOTHING SHOULDABEEN CORPSE!!”

Intermission.

Eternity.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2017; all rights reserved