Jerome Bixby's The Man from Earth Read online

  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?

  EDITH. Drugs? Oh, my, I hadn’t thought of that.

  HARRY. I’ve done consulting work for the Narcotics Division. I’ve seen a lot of people tripping. Whatever gives with John, I don’t think it’s that. I’ve looked for signs. Not one.

  LINDA. Could cavemen really talk?

  (EDITH rolls her eyes impatiently.)

  DAN. We think
language came into existence maybe sixty thousand years ago. The structure of Stone Age cultures is evidence of the ability to communicate verbally.

  HARRY. (indicating Linda) [he wolf-whistles].

  ART. Oh, shut up.

  (The people inside the cabin continue to speak but we don’t hear them. Shift our attention outside – JOHN puts the last box in the station-wagon. He turns to go back inside, and SANDY puts a hand on his arm.)

  JOHN. Maybe it’d be easier if I were just –

  SANDY. (cutting in) Crazy?

  (shakes her head – soft)

  No.

  (They share a moment of silence, under the beautiful nighttime sky. Each wanting to say more, but knowing there’s no need.)

  (JOHN looks off, hearing something she doesn’t. A moment later, we hear the Howl of a distant coyote.)

  (SANDY returns her gaze to JOHN, and sees that he’s looking at her, with an expression of deep fondness. And beneath that, she sees a loneliness in his eyes, that she cannot begin to comprehend. JOHN smiles softly. She smiles back.)

  (Back inside the house… each with their own thoughts. Finally:)

  DAN. It is fascinating. A brave attempt to teach Buddhism in the west. It’s no wonder he failed, we’re not ready for it.

  EDITH. Now you’re talking as if you believed him.

  DAN. Well, it’s possible, isn’t it? Anything is possible!

  (off EDITH’s defiant glare)

  We have two simple choices. We can get all bent out of shape – intellectualizing, bench-pressing logic – or we can relax and enjoy it. I can listen critically, but I don’t have to make up my mind about anything! Do you think you do?

  ART. Unfortunately, there aren’t any authorities on prehistory. We couldn’t stop him on that.

  EDITH. There are experts on the bible!

  HARRY. Dream on.

  DAN. Thus the “lost years” of Jesus. They didn’t exist, because He didn’t, until John put on the hat.

  EDITH. I don’t believe about angels and the Nativity and a star in the East, but there are stories about the childhood of Jesus.

  (During following, LINDA moves to sit on the floor near the fireplace. ART thinks about it for a moment. Then joins her.)

  GRUBER. History hates a vacuum. Improvisation, even sincere, will fill in the gaps. It would have been easy to falsify a past then. A few words, credulity and time would do the rest.

  EDITH. Now you’re talking as if you believed him!

  ART. Look at the popular myths about the Kennedy assassination, in just a few short years. Conspiracy, Mafia, CIA – a mystique that will never go away.

  DAN. It’s always been a small step, from a fallen leader to a god.

  (DAN has joined those by the fireplace. Squatting, holding hands near the flames. He sits.)

  EDITH. Nobody will deify Kennedy! I think we’re more sophisticated than that.

  DAN. We are? We are…

  (JOHN and SANDY enter.)

  HARRY. Well, you’re finally fulfilling one prophecy about the millennium, John.

  JOHN. What’s that?

  HARRY. Here you are again!

  (No one laughs. JOHN closes a window the last inch, and kneels to place another log on the fire. It flares up, filling the room with flickering shadows, quickly dies down again. JOHN remains kneeling. Others sitting nearby look at him.)

  (More and more there is the sense of time and place falling away. They could be hunters sitting around a campfire, sharing tales of the day.)

  GRUBER. You like the fire, John.

  JOHN. Everywhere I’ve lived, I’ve had a fireplace. A childhood fixation, I suppose. I feel insecure without it.

  SANDY. There are predators out there.

  (SANDY moves to sit beside JOHN at the fireplace. Leans her head against his shoulder.)

  JOHN. One last thing I didn’t pack. Thought I might need it.

  (He reaches over to turn on a midget CD-player beside the fireplace. The 2nd movement of Beethoven’s Seventh, low volume.)

  ART. Wouldn’t “Sacre du Printemps” be more appropriate?

  HARRY. (to ART) What?

  DAN. (to JOHN) You have four men of science totally baffled, my friend. We don’t know what to make of you.

  JOHN. Did you know Voltaire was the first to suggest that the universe originated in a gigantic explosion? Not that he was right, according to Paul. And Goethe was the first to suggest that spiral nebulae were swirling masses of stars, which we now call galaxies. Funny how new concepts in science sometimes find first tentative expression in the arts.

  (Now HARRY and EDITH are moving to join those sitting by the fire. GRUBER remains stolidly on the couch, blanket over lap and legs.)

  HARRY. (sitting down) So did Beethoven do physics on the side?

  SANDY. He spent most of his time lying on the floor in front of his legless piano, surrounded by orange peels and apple cores.

  HARRY. We’re on the floor, listening to Beethoven. Full circle.

  DAN. You don’t have any religious beliefs? Or you haven’t given it much thought?

  JOHN. You don’t get there by thought.

  DAN. You have faith?

  JOHN. In a lot of things.

  SANDY. Do you have faith in the future of the race?

  JOHN. I’ve seen species come and go. It depended on their balance with the environment.

  DAN. We’ve made a mess of it.

  JOHN. There’s time. If we use it right.

  EDITH. Christianity’s been a worldwide belief for two thousand years.

  JOHN. How long did the Egyptians worship Isis? The Sumerians, Ishtar? Sacred cows wander freely in parts of India, as reincarnated souls. In a few thousand years they’ll be barbecued, and the souls will be in squirrels.

  EDITH. You weren’t Jesus.

  (The room is getting darker. Outside, the breeze has turned to steady light wind. Somewhere something rattles, then is silent.)

  SANDY. If it rains, you’d better –

  JOHN. It’s not going to rain.

  ART. How do you know?

  JOHN. I don’t smell it.

  LINDA. Were you ever, I guess, a medicine man?

  JOHN. I was shaman a few times. I’ve revealed a lot of truths, in order to eat better.

  EDITH. You think that’s all religion is about? Selling hope and survival?

  JOHN. The Old Testament sells fear and guilt. The New Testament is a great work of ethics, put into my mouth by better philosophers and poets than I am. But the message isn’t practiced. The fairy tales build churches.

  ART. What about the name “Jesus”? Did you pick it out of a hat?

  JOHN. I called myself John, I almost always do. As tales of the resurrection spread, the name was confused with the Hebrew Yohanan, meaning “God is gracious.” My stay on earth was seen as divine proof of immortality. That led to “God is salvation,” or in Hebrew, “Yeshua,” which in translations became my proper name, changing to the Late Greek Iesous, then to Late Latin Iesus, finally to Medieval Latin Jesus. It was a wonder to watch.

  DAN. Then you didn’t claim to be the son of God?

  JOHN. It began as a schoolhouse and ended as a temple. I said I had a Master, who was greater than myself. I wanted to teach what I had learned. I never said he was my father. I never claimed to be king of the Jews, I didn’t walk on water, I didn’t raise the dead, I never spoke of the divine except in the sense of human goodness on Earth. No wise men came from the East to worship at a manger. I did do a little healing, employing Eastern medicine I’d learned.

  DAN. The Three Wise Men first appeared in a myth about the birth of the Buddha.

  HARRY. I should be home, kissing my wife. We’re trapped by your story, John, hoping for an outcome, I guess. Are there more revelations to come?

  (JOHN shakes his head, no. Firelight. Tired faces. Now that’s all that can be seen, a glowing orange cameo on a matte of darkness. A sense that there’s a room out there, or something else, or nothing. JOHN stirs the fire wit
h a poker. Looks into it.)

  DAN. Just like old times?

  (Silence. A gust of wind. The flames.)

  EDITH. You weren’t Jesus…

  HARRY. Quote the Sermon on the Mount!

  JOHN. (laughs) Sure. Which version do you want? King James? Darby? New American Standard?

  EDITH. Do you know them all?

  JOHN. No…My point is no one knows the one. Not even me. I did try some teaching one day, from a hill…Not many stayed to listen.

  DAN. But you –

  JOHN. The biblical Jesus said, “Who do you think I am?” He gave them a choice. I’m giving you one.

  EDITH. … Were you?

  JOHN. If I said no, could you ever be sure?

  (Ten seconds of silence. Only the intermittent wind, the crackle-pop of the fire. Then a sob, in the darkness.

  EDITH. Finally she’s crying. LINDA tries to console her. The sobs grow. Suddenly:)

  (The lights come on, brutally. GRUBER has risen and crossed to the switch on the wall.)

  GRUBER. (nods at CD-player) Turn that off, please.

  (JOHN does so)

  This has gone far enough. It has gone much too far. These people are very upset. I don’t believe you are mad, but what you’re saying is not true! That leaves one explanation. The time has come when you must admit this is a hoax, a lie. Isn’t that true, John? If you don’t stop this now – if you can – I’ll be convinced that you need a great deal of attention. I can have you committed for observation. You know that. I ask you now, I demand it, that you tell these people the truth! Give them closure. (off JOHN’s silence) It is time. Please.

  (EDITH has been crying during above, but less and less as she hears what’s being said.)

  (JOHN remains silent for a moment. But his expression, looking around, tells it all.)