Chapter 3
Big Deal

On Via Ludovisi in Rome, in the executive suite of the Hotel Eden, Jacob was mulling. He enjoyed a good mull. He sat on his balcony drinking scotch and thinking, or rather trying no to, which was easy. Jacob had spent many hours of his life not thinking, he was sure everybody did it. Obviously there were thoughts being thought, but they were inconsequential and able to think about themselves, leaving the brain free to shut down and blow dust over the memories of old friends and their absent futures.
Currently thoughts of whiskey were happening in Jacob’s mind, completely free of his control and as dull as a Shepherd’s social skills. He was thinking about Scotch and why he was drinking it.
Why indeed? It wasn’t nice to drink, it didn’t smell nice, so why? In movies and books, in bar and parties all over the world people were doing it. Again why?
Coolness, the thoughts decided amongst themselves. That was it. Scotch had a Steve McQueen-ness about it. Adults drank it and children wanted to. When you were younger, the thoughts told Jacob, you used to think that scotch would taste like chocolate. I did, Jacob answered, taking up his own cognitive duties once more.
He’d gotten it wrong of course, about the whiskey. When he’d tasted it for the first time in a friend’s house in the middle of the night, the stuff had made him wretch. It was so bitter and galling. Again and again he tried to drink it, steeling his gullet in front of friends and smiling wryly as it went down his throat, pretending that it didn’t burn him, showing everyone how cool he was. Oh Yeah.
How many other people had done the same, and not just with whiskey, with everything. Who didn’t spend their childhoods aspiring to be something that wasn’t real, copying something enough times only to find that the skills they prized so highly, the nonchalance, the indifference, were alienating them from each other.
Until you find yourself alone, your best friend having just died, drinking a drink that you never enjoyed.

Jacob shook his head. That’s what he got for taking part in your his thoughts. He stood up and stretched, the thoughts of impending depression were depressing him. He needed a change of scene, to get out of Rome. This was Daniel’s home, not his. It was a pity that such a beautiful place could conjure up such negativity, but there you go, Jacob was all about the negativity lately. At the end of his stretch he bellowed out the yawn that belonged to it. It was so loud it made him laugh and stagger a little. He was drunk, good. Jacob reached for his glass of single malted imitation but found that he’d misjudged the distance from hand to eye and simply turned it over on the tabletop. The liquid splashed out of the glass and the table was such that the whiskey formed into drops upon its surface and didn’t soak in.
For more than a few moments Jacob watched the droplets move in the breeze like little translucent brown beetles. One of them was much bigger than the rest and whenever smaller ones blew near, they seemed to get sucked in. It was as if the Whiskey had its own liquid gravity and the other parts of its alcoholic self would return to the mother load. Homeopaths believe in the memory of water, although it seems unlikely. But if it does, then Whiskey would too, wouldn’t it? Isn’t everything in the universe either moving away from or heading back towards its origin. That would mean that everything had a sort of universal memory. Didn’t it? Maybe the Pope knew. Or perhaps the Pope was too new to know yet. Jacob decided to ask him anyway.
Getting back to the spilled Whiskey, Jacob felt that, unlike the alcoholic lives of human, the liquid seemed it would never fall apart. How could it? Jacob’s aimless drunken thoughts had taken over again.
‘That’s better,’ said the thoughts as he reached for the bottle, ‘Let us take care of everything.’

***

The New Pope indeed. All Jacob could think of when he thought of his Papalness was the Emperor from Star Wars. That often happened to him and, he expected, to a lot of other people. Whenever he heard the word “famous”, Jacob pictured a red carpet and cameras flashing. When he saw a limo with a sunroof he thought of the movie “Big”. At some point his mind had linked words and phrases to certain images in his memory, and now, whether by ingrained logic or, and he suspected this of his own, the mind was too damn lazy to update the images. Maybe the mind was like Microsoft, you just take it the way you get it, after all, what choice did you have?
‘Mr Terry?’ said the priest with the white goatee. ‘Are you listening?’
‘Absolutely,’ Jacob lied, but the man, whose name Jacob had immediately forgotten, was not convinced, so Jacob tried to convince him. ‘You were saying that Rome was much more than the spiritual and cultural capital of Italy. It is the capital of the Catholic world. Of, em, Christendom, and so on. That if everything that has happened in this city were written in one book, it would take a century to write…’ Jacob trailed off.
‘What?’ said the priest with the white goatee, ‘I said nothing like that.’
‘Oh.’ Said Jacob, he could have sworn the man had said something about that sort of thing. ‘Bad guess?’ he tried, but it didn’t help. The man facing him in the back of the Limo with the “Big” sunroof, was now annoyed and not showing any signs of impending good humour.

The car had arrived to collect him first thing that morning while Jacob was loosing an argument with the bastard behind his eyes. The Bastard, his headache, was being far too stubborn. Even now in the back of the Vatican courtesy car after being spoiled with several painkillers, the Bastard kept piping up. What about me? It said, don’t you forget about me!
The bedside phone had woken the two of them, the Bastard and he, with the shrillest of rings. Greeeeeeeeeaaannnn, Greeeeeeeeeaaannnn! it harassed, until they’d had to get up. It was probably for the best though. Jacob had been in need of some air, and something -aside from alcohol- to keep his mind off the real reason why he was in Rome.
Hoping that he was right Jacob had taken the lift down to the lobby and noticed as soon as he emerged there that the Earth’s orbit had decayed drastically during the night. The sun was now virtually on top of him and it burned the eyes right out of his sockets, figuratively speaking.
Christ! Jacob had thought, but there wasn’t much he could have done then. He was up and out, and not the type to go backwards. This only left him, unfortunately, with forwards.
Resigned to his faith Jacob had paused momentarily at the front desk to leave a message for Maria, before walking out onto the street into the blinding light. Out there in the glare, stood a white stretch Limo, the door was open and a collared man with a white goatee was beckoning to him.
Stretch Limo. Did people still say that? They were all stretch, weren’t they? It was then that Jacob had realised it was going to be one of those mornings where he wouldn’t be able to control his own thoughts. And, although he was used to his spells of confused madness, the only way he could ever control them was by sitting down and getting some writing done. Well, that wasn’t going to happen today, he was just going to have to make the best of the situation.
So Jacob had decided to take his confusion and his Bastard and get into the waiting car, out of the blazing sun. He could recover when he got back at lunchtime, if he hadn’t been pan-fried in the sun first.

So there he was in the Limo, pretending to pay attention, Jacob, his Bastard and an increasingly tetchy clergyman.
‘Mr Terry?’ Said the priest with the grey goatee… Claudio was it? ‘Are you listening?’ Jacob resolved to keep focused from now on.
‘Please,’ he said, ‘don’t mind me, I am listening.’ Claudio or whatever his name was looked at Jacob with great doubt before continuing. As he did so an expression of resignation replaced the peevish pinched look that had been on the priest’s previous face. It was as if he was thinking, ‘who cares if he listens or not, the quicker I get rid of this fool, the longer I’ll have this Limo to myself. And then I can put my head out the sunroof and….’
‘So,’ Claudio began, interrupting Jacob again, ‘there is a reason you were invited to come and see the Pope today.’ Jacob tried to nod, but the Bastard told him that nodding was not so good.
‘Apart from actually seeing the New Pope, you mean?’ Jacob said. Claudio laughed to himself.
‘Yes, apart from that. You see,’ and now he leaned forward taking Jacob’s hand and stroking it as though he were a sick child, ‘the Church needs you Jacob Terry. She needs something from you. Something only you can give’ Claudio leaned back and Jacob rescued his hand.
‘You?’ Jacob asked, ‘aren’t “the Church”, are you? If you know what I mean?’ alluding to the other’s hand stroking. ‘Because, if you are, I’m not really into, you know, that. You know what I’m saying?’
‘Very funny.’ said Claudio, giving Jacob a no-nonsense look.
‘Sorry.’ said Jacob. Claudio reached inside his shirt and brought out a bejewelled crucifix the size of a CD that hung about his neck.
‘Do you know what this is?’
‘Yes,’ said Jacob, wanting to say, “oohh fancy” but sensing that something bigger than his petty jesting was about to occur.
‘This,’ said Claudio, grasping Christ by the feet and shaking him in Jacob’s face, ‘is the reason for all of this. The Lord is the reason for everything.’ Jacob nodded again, but this time the Bastard didn’t respond, things were getting interesting.
‘What about God?’ Jacob asked, aware that he was expected to do so, but curious all the same.
‘God?’ Claudio smiled, ‘God was here already. Long before the Catholics and the Islamic, the Jews and the Hindus, God was around in one way or the other. But he was only an idea then. A hope. A prayer. When the Lord came down from heaven he changed the shape of our faith.’ Again Claudio shook the Crucifix. ‘To this shape, his shape, the shape of man himself. Then they all started to have messiahs. The Lama, Mohammad, it became fashionable to have a manifestation of God, on which belief could be focused. Like the Egyptians and the Aztecs they saw that the power of their religions grew exponentially when a being of flesh was made the incarnate of God himself.’
Claudio’s voice strained with emotion. Here was a quiver in his voice when he tried to continue, but the words escaped him. Once, twice, he attempted to resume before he found them again.
‘I have always been certain that all of these other messiahs were nothing more than the clever marketing that they seemed to be. Because I knew the Lord and I have dedicated my life to understanding his words and the words spoken about him.’ Claudio stopped then. The priest looked tired to Jacob who watched him as he slumped into his seat. Was it an act? Jacob thought not.
‘And now?’ Jacob asked. The priest with the white goatee looked up at him.
‘Now, the story is incomplete. I studied for years the books of the Bible only to find that it was incomplete. Oh, I knew that it had been edited, reworded to suit people to whom it was being taught. But I did not know that there were pieces missing. Important pieces.’
‘Pieces missing?’ Jacob asked, ‘There are pieces missing from the Bible? Like what?’ He wanted to know.
‘During Jesus life, the Romans ruled Judea yes?’
‘Yeah.’ If the life of Brian was anything to go by, Jacob knew this to be true, ‘And?’
‘Many of the young Hebrews were forced into service.’
‘So…?’
‘So, I have read accounts in the last two years that speak of a young Judean soldier in the Roman army. How he became a leader, that he was cunning, ruthless, a killer. The accounts speak of him murdering and raping along with his Roman counterparts...’
‘No way, you’re bullshitting me,’ said Jacob, ‘there’s no way, no way.’ Claudio smirked.
‘In the beginning I thought, so what! Some man following Jesus’ description, it means nothing.’
‘So, come on, is it nothing?’ Jacob really wanted to know now.
‘That’s where you come in.’ said Claudio.
‘I don’t follow you.’ said Jacob.
‘It must be true because they want your help to write them in.’
‘Them what?’
‘The missing pieces! They, the holy Church want you to help them write the missing parts back into the Bible. It will be an astounding work. You have been chosen to explain the why of it. Why Jesus did the things he did. Why the knowledge was kept away from God’s people for so long.’
‘And?’ asked Jacob, ‘why was it? Or, more importantly, why bother to tell them about it now? Surely it’s too late?’
‘Well it’s very complicated,’ Claudio began, ‘you see, freedom of information and growing interest in…’
‘Oh fuck off!’ Jacob told him, ‘freedom of information, yeah right. Why, really? If all of this is true, then tell me why it has to be done?’ Claudio thought for a moment before answering, it was obvious that he had reached the end of the information that he was supposed to impart, but he did answer.
‘There is a man.’ Claudio said. ‘A man who knows…’
‘But!’
‘Shh… Not only does this man know, but also he has proof. If the Church don’t try and beat him to it, he will tell the world, unless we give in to his demands.’
‘Demands? What does he want, money? Come on, surely the Church has enough money to buy off a million guys who know?’
‘Oh yes Mr Terry, ‘
‘Jacob.’
‘Jacob, you will soon see, if you take this job, how much money the Church has. But this man, does not want money.’
‘What does he want?’ asked Jacob. What could be more important than the mountains of money the Catholic Church could surely provide?’
‘He wants to live forever.’ said Claudio. Jacob was more than a little disappointed with the answer.
‘What? He wants to go to heaven, is that fucken it? Can’t he just go to fucking confession or something?’ Claudio shook his head.
‘Can you believe that I asked the same question when I heard what he wanted. Exactly the same question?’
‘Word for word?’ Jacob asked.
‘Especially some words!’ Claudio said as his voice crackling with a regretful and bitter humour. ‘But then they told me what he really wants.’ Claudio took Jacob’s hand again and leaned forward. This time the sentiment was not out of place. Now that Jacob knew what the man must have been thinking when he had first begun to speak, it seemed apt and conspiratorial.
‘Jacob,’ said Claudio, ‘Yes he wants to live forever, but not in heaven. He wants to do it here. To rise from the dead like Jesus and be immortal.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes here.’
‘And he thinks that the church can give him that?’
‘He is not… a good man.’ said Claudio leaving out some words and releasing Jacob’s hand once more. ‘He believes that the church has lied about the details of the Lord’s resurrection and he wants us to share it with him. Of course, the church knows nothing of this, so you see why we have to continue along a different course.’
‘Yes.’ said Jacob. ‘I see.’ But he wasn’t sure if he did. It was then that Jacob noticed the car hadn’t moved for some time. ‘Where are we?’ he asked.
‘Outside your hotel.’ said Claudio.
‘So we’re not going to…?’
‘No,’ Said Claudio. Jacob nodded to himself. ‘No Pope today,’ he said to himself.
It was a lot to take in. The whole story was huge and completely ridiculous. One thing was certain. This week was definitely one for the scrap heap.
‘The accounts are kept separate from each other, you will get some of them here, but the rest you will have to collect yourself. It is no longer important to keep them apart. Now that this man has gotten proof of their existence.’ Jacob was shocked, he had somehow glossed over what his role was to be in this farce.
‘Hey wait there,’ he said, ‘I never agreed to anything!’
‘Of course, of course,’ Claudio placated him, ‘we will contact you tomorrow morning before you leave. I am sure you will have your answer then.’ The priest ushered Jacob to the door that had been opened from the outside, allowing the nearing fireball of the sun to assail Jacob’s waning state once more.
‘Ok,’ said Jacob, knowing that his answer would be a firm, no. He stood out of the car and the priest closed the door behind him. Jacob was turning to leave when he heard the window opening. Claudio stuck his hand out and Jacob shook it.
‘Thank you Jacob, for listening at least.’ Said the priest as the engine roared. The driver, who must have opened the door, was back in his seat and the engine was gunning hard.
‘Thank you, Claudio,’ Jacob called as the Limo moved off and was swallowed by the hungry Roman traffic.
‘Claudio?’ mouthed the priest as window was wound up.
‘Damn it!’ said Jacob at the roadside, ‘I could have sworn it was Claudio.’

It hardly mattered now anyway. He would meet Maria for lunch later, go out for a cure tonight, and tomorrow he would be gone, back home to Ireland. Or maybe somewhere further? Whatever he did, it wasn’t going to involve him writing some PR booklet for the Catholic Church.
Jesus Christ murdering people, men who wanted to be reincarnated as themselves? Somebody else could have them. What Jacob needed now was a really greasy salty plate of fried food and a cup of tea. It was too bright out today. Perhaps he could go somewhere dark, but the only types of places that were dark at this time of day were strip clubs. Could he get a fry in a strip club?
Jacob wandered off, thinking about greased strippers and whether the two would be available together. He didn’t notice Rajette as he fell into step with him a regulation thirty yards back down the road, nor did he notice that the little Palestinian man was fingering what could only have been a gun in his jacket pocket.

Well, you wouldn’t would you?