I just finished taking a 3-week summer Fiction Writing class, and this story is the product of intense discussion, editing, wokshopping and revision. As far as short stories go, this one came in at 6,101 words, which is probably a bit too lengthy for most magazines to publish. In any case, I feel that the experience of taking a class focused on fiction writing was something that will definitely help me grow as a writer.

On to the story itself. “Hey-Zeus” is a science fiction piece. When I began talking about this in class, one older lady asked me, “Is science fiction these days still like Star Wars?” I had to disappoint her. There are no robots shooting lasers at spaceships or aliens with supercomputers zipping about the cosmos.

This is a story about a man who goes on vacation.

Please enjoy the short story, “Hey-Zeus”.

*I still seem to have trouble with the formatting when I copy-paste things into WordPress, so I apologize for the lack of indents and if there are some spaces missing between words.

-JimminyJoJo

Hey-Zeus

Jesus Rodriguez turned the time machine over in his calloused hands. The small, flat device felt like it was made from the same cheap plastic as a disposable camera. It had been hard to afford even the most inexpensive model on the meager salary he earned as a carpenter for a small Mexico City construction company, yet he almost felt a sense of pride. This would be the first real vacation he had ever taken in his life.

Setting the device on the dirt floor, Jesus went to change into something more appropriate for the time and place he would be visiting. It was late, but he could smell the meat cooking and hear the sizzle of frying tortillas from the neighbors next door. Though it was a hot night, the children from the favela were running up and down the dusty streets, shouting and playing until their mothers called them in.

Jesus returned from the hovel’s other room dressed in plain linens and sandals, and carrying nothing but a small bag. He crossed himself with shaking hands before bending down to adjust the dial marked “Destination.” That morning he had spent hours before the altar at his local church, lighting candles and praying. Although he had been raised a good Christian by his family, his experiences growing up a poor child in Mexico City had taken a heavy toll on his faith- especially after what happened to his parents. With so little else to hold onto, he hoped this vacation would reaffirm his faith by giving him a chance to meet his namesake, witness his miracles, and hear his teachings firsthand.

He turned the knob to “30 AD,” and input a few more variables just as the Time Vacations vendor had shown him in the market, and pushed the red button. A few moments passed, uneventful. He tried the button again. This time the device began to hum at his feet, and what seemed like a cloud of light began to emanate upwards, slowly enveloping him. The man from Time Vacations had said something about photons accelerating the quantum-tunneling effect, and Jesus guessed this must have been what he was talking about. He had been swallowed by the shimmering mist, and the device made an ugly sound like a racecar stuck in first gear.

Suddenly his entire body was being pinched, as if he was an ant being slammed between the pages of a book. He couldn’t breathe! There was a rushing sound like a train barreling through a subway tunnel at top speed – his body felt pins and needles, he was going to die! And then…

All he could hear was the sound of the night breeze blowing over the hilly countryside. He opened his eyes.

His hovel was gone. The entire favela – all of Mexico City was gone. Instead, he was alone on a hilltop beneath unfamiliar constellations. He almost couldn’t bring himself to believe what had just happened, even though there was nothing he had ever wanted more in his entire life.

He was in Galilee at the time of Christ.

He hadn’t known what to anticipate, but he was not prepared for the flood of tears that washed over him. Sinking to his knees, he clenched fistfuls of sand and wept with joy as the grains trickled out from between his fingers – the same sand that Christ and his Apostles walked. He would be able to see them in person. He was filled with excitement as he anticipated meeting his savior, and returning home to tell everyone he knew about it. He cleared his eyes with his sleeve and glanced back at his time machine.

A thin trail of smoke rose from the lifeless device. The readout had gone dark. He smacked it a little, tried twisting the dial and pushing the button.

Nothing.

The cheap plastic was easy to pry apart. Inside, several delicate and important-looking copper wires had snapped. Unless he could find a way to repair the machine, there was no going back.

For a long time, Jesus sat alone on the hilltop outside the port of Galilee, wondering what to do. Moonlight illuminated the city below and cast a shimmering silver net on the sea. He had come here to meet Christ, whom he supposed was somewhere down in that sleepy town. As the sun rose, he watched the docks come to life. He stuffed the broken time machine into his bag and started down towards the city.

The shops, the people, the streets… the entire place smelled of fish. Somehow he had not imagined his Lord smelling like the back alley of a seafood restaurant. Everyone was dressed very plainly, just as he had expected. He was grateful that his grandparents had dumped him at the local synagogue while they worked in the tomato fields outside town. He had absorbed a passable understanding of Hebrew, without which he wouldn’t have been able to understand the snippets of conversation he caught between people on the busy streets.

As he walked through the market, the sights, sounds and smells overwhelmed him. From behind a cart filled with dates and goat cheese, a burly man with friendly eyes called out to attract customers.

“Freshest cheese, here! Dates like you’ve never tasted, come and have a look. Prices cheaper than yesterday, cheaper than tomorrow – prices cheaper than water!”

He saw Jesus eyeing his merchandise and waved him closer.

“My friend,” he exclaimed, “You look hungry. Come, try one of my delicious dates. Three stones’ worth for one shekel!”

Jesus mustered up his best Hebrew and said, “I am a traveler. I just arrived in this city and have no money.”

The merchant laughed. “I see many of your type. You come to Galilee looking for work. Can you fish? There are always ships looking for an extra hand.”

“I’m a skilled carpenter-“

“Bah, too many carpenters and not enough wood! You go down to the docks and look for my friend Markus. He’ll give you a job on his boat.” He paused for a moment to brush a fly off the cheese. “Life is hard in Galilee for a stranger with nothing, my friend. You fish.”

The vendor was right. He might be stuck in the past for a very long time, and until Jesus could find a way to fix his time machine, he would need money to survive.

The docks stretched out like long, wooden fingers into theSea of Galilee, grasping at the boats returning with their fish-heavy hulls full. The bright morning had turned cloudy as Jesus stepped onto the docks in search of Markus’ vessel. The planks beneath his feet resounded with a thick thud accompanying each footstep. Rivulets of salty water cascaded onto him as he ducked under a net bulging with fish while it swung overhead.

Jesus started down the southern end of the docks, towards the only ship not unloading a large haul of fish. It was a rickety affair. He wasn’t a sailor himself, but as a carpenter he could recognize the rot many of the planks showed, and wondered how it managed to remain seaworthy. As he approached, a curly-haired youth appeared at the railing and spoke to him in a language he couldn’t understand. He tried again in Hebrew.

“Don’t speak Aramaic? Well greetings to you all the same, stranger. Looking for work?” he asked.

“Yes, I was told that Markus was willing to hire a hand on his fishing vessel.”

The youth smiled. “That I am.” He reached down and helped Jesus climb aboard. “It’s lucky you came along, friend. We needed one more set of hands to head out today. Let me introduce you to the rest of the crew,” he said. He called below deck, “Luke, John, Judas… Come up! We’ve got a new hand and we’re ready to set sail!”

The boat rocked slightly as the three fishermen came topside.

“About time, Mark. Who’s the stranger?”

Jesus paused for a second before giving his name. In Hebrew, it was “Yeshua.”

They nodded, and immediately set to work sailing out of harbor and onto the Sea of Galilee. The clouds had begun to gather overhead, and the wind was starting to pick up. A storm was no doubt approaching, but the crew was still determined to haul in at least a few fish for the day.

Jesus realized, of course, who he had just met. He wondered if these could be the same Mark, Luke, John and Judas from the Bible. He almost couldn’t help shouting in excitement when he spoke.

“So, I’m new in Galilee, but I’m looking for someone, a great healer and prophet they say. His name is the same as mine in the Hebrew language: Yeshua of Nazareth. Have you heard of him?”

None of the men showed much response to his question.

“If you need a healer, you could try Judas’ mother. I’ve heard she cures men of loneliness every night!” Luke joked.

“You dog!” laughed Judas as he whipped him with an empty net.

A crack of thunder sounded in the distance.

“Enough, you two!” shouted Markus, “Keep your wits about you. We might be in for some rough sailing if this storm doesn’t pass over us soon. Yeshua, why don’t you head below for now?

The rain made a curious sound as the wind began to drive it against the sails.

Jesus heard Markus and the others talking loudly, securing the sails to prepare for the foul weather, as he descended to the cabin. He was confused. Surely these fishermen from Galilee must have been Christ’s apostles? They had the same names, but they didn’t seem to have any idea of who he was talking about when he mentioned a Yeshua of Nazareth. Frustrated and tired, he curled up on a cushion and tried to sleep as the worsening storm began to rock the ship.

He dreamed of his parents. They were eating tacos at the station before boarding the train to Veracruz. He had never been to the beach, and his parents had been saving for months to take him for his eleventh birthday. A hail of gunfire erupted. His mother pushed him under the table as the Police and the Los Diablos drug cartel fought out their differences in the middle of the crowded station. The sound of gunfire stopped. He crawled out from under the table, and saw the crumpled bodies of his parents.

“Jesus!” they cried, “Jesus!”

“Yeshua!”

He started, bolting up from his sleep. The fishing boat was rocking violently. Markus was standing over him, yelling his name.

“How can you be asleep down here? This is the worst storm I’ve seen in years! Get up top and help if you don’t want us all to drown!”

They rushed up the stairs as seawater washed down around their ankles. Luke, John and Judas seemed to be squabbling, each blaming the other for somehow causing the storm as the waves battered them.

“Stop this nonsense! Pay attention to the rudder, John!” ordered Markus. John turned, ready to strike him with a closed fist.

Jesus knew that if they injured each other, they would have no chance of making it back to shore. He threw his hands in the air.

“Stop! Be calm!” he implored.

Thunder rolled ominously overhead, and the rain stopped. Almost by magic, the storm began to die down. Jesus blew a sigh of relief and wiped water droplets from his drenched face. The sailors gazed up at him in amazement. John was frozen in place, one hand grasping Markus by the front of his tunic, the other cocked back for a punch.

“How did you do that?”

Jesus didn’t understand what he was talking about.

“You commanded the storm and the sea to be calm…” said Judas.

He just stood there, dumbfounded. Surely they didn’t think he actually made the storm stop?

Markus pulled himself away from John’s grasp and stepped toward Jesus.

“Who are you?”

The next few months went by in much the same fashion. He would go out to fish every day with Markus and his crew. They seemed to worship him after what they superstitiously perceived to be his performance of a miracle aboard the ship, which they often compared to Moses parting the Red Sea. Jesus was not in such a hurry to fix his time machine anymore. He had grown to like Galilee and his new friends. It was not so very different from living in the favela, after all, and he was learning to sail and fish expertly. Although he asked everyone he could, no one in the city seemed to know of a prophetic healer named Yeshua.

At first, he had become very disheartened, but when he asked people about this prophet, he would usually end up discussing Christ’s teachings with them. As a Christian himself, he decided that it was good to spread the word of Christ to these people who had never heard it before, so every Sunday after the ships had come in, he would preach outside the temple to anyone who wanted to listen. Markus, Luke, John and Judas helped too, and he was glad that they were so eager to listen, even if it was due to their superstitious view of him.

On a warm day, Jesus and Markus were hauling their fish to market, which made a sickly flopping sound, writhing and gasping for air in the baskets.

“You know, Yeshua,” Markus began, “the season is starting to turn. We’re going to take the boat across the Sea to Magdala tomorrow for a better catch.”

Jesus looked into the baskets as he lifted them off his shoulders and onto the dusty ground. Markus was right- there had been less and less fish nearly every day for a week now.

“The crew and I would be honored if you would come with us,” Markus continued, “They – we all really look up to you. There is so much more we want to learn about your faith.”

Jesus smiled. “Of course. The man I came here to meet doesn’t seem to be in Galilee anyways. Perhaps I will have more luck finding him across the sea.”

“That is true. Jerusalem is across the sea as well. Big city. Lots of people”

They finished unloading their fish and received their payment from the vendor, who still referred to Jesus as “My friend!” just as the first day they had met. The vendor was one of the few who was there every Sunday to listen to him preach about Christianity. There was something about those words of faith, the promise of God’s kingdom made real on Earth, which gave the people who listened real hope. That was something the people from Jesus’ favela in Mexico City needed too, but instead of religion, so many of them had turned to drugs. He would miss the people of Galilee.

Night came, and just as Jesus was about to fall asleep inside the small room he shared with his friends, a knock came at the door. More than a knock; the captain of the guard stood pounding on the door, almost shaking it from its hinges.

“In the name of the law, I command you to open this door!” He bellowed.

Jesus sat up. He could see the orange glow from lit torches outside finding its way through cracks in the door and windows. The others looked just as startled and frightened as he felt. Markus pulled the door open.

“How can I help you, Captain?” he asked.

The guard scowled at him.

“We’re looking for Yeshua, a so-called prophet. He’s been preaching without authorization in front of the temple for weeks.”

Jesus swallowed hard. He’d had no idea that his preaching had upset anyone. He didn’t want to end up inside a Roman jail cell, though. He slowly reached for his bag and felt for his time machine, making sure it was still inside.

He would need to make a break for it.

Markus looked back from the doorway at the others. Everyone rose to their feet, ready to protect their friend Yeshua.

He turned back to the Captain of the guard and smiled, then suddenly leapt forward and brought him to the ground with a surprisingly forceful tackle. John and Judas rushed the other two guards before they could draw their swords, and Jesus leapt over Markus and the captain, heading at for the docks at full speed. Their shouts had attracted attention, though, and a more guards were headed in their direction, swords glinting like silver spikes in the torchlight.

Jesus broke right and ran down an alleyway. The sound of his bare feet running along the hard-packed dirt road seemed as loud as a kettle drum. He could hear the guards in close pursuit, but after weaving his way down a few more narrow streets, he had lost them. His breath came heavy and fast as the sweat trickled down his forehead. He hadn’t stopped to look back. Hopefully the others had made it to the docks. The only thing to do now was to escape on the boat and head to Magdala as they had planned. He waited a few moments to be sure there was nobody still in pursuit, and headed down towards the boat.

As he neared the wooden planks, he heard shouting and saw several guards firing arrows at Markus and his crew as they jumped into their vessel and pushed off.

“Don’t let them escape! One of them is the heretic!” he heard one of the guards shout. He saw the sail come down and the night wind began to carry the crew to open waters.

Should he risk swimming out to meet them? He didn’t know how far it was to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, and he wasn’t sure he could make it. Certainly he could not stay here, though. The guards would find him eventually, and after evading arrest, would likely kill him.

He slunk down to the edge of the docks, and grabbing a large wooden plank, slipped quietly into the water. He would have to paddle across and hope the piece of wood was buoyant enough to make it all the way.

It was slow going at first. He laid his body across the cool surface of the board, his chin pressed almost into the water, and paddled as quietly as he could. Once he got to open water, he paddled and kicked as fast as he could, hoping to catch up to his friends. As the night wore on, his limbs began to tire and the board began to rub his chest raw. He couldn’t help but think of the tourists he would see in Mexico City, passing through with their clean clothes and large cars to the coast to swim or surf. He, on the other hand, was in the dark, paddling alone out on open water towards a place he had never been. He reached into his bag and cracked open a glowstick- one of the few items he had brought with him for an emergency. He would have prayed if he thought it would matter, but who would be in heaven to listen to his prayer if Christ was in Jerusalem right now?

Once or twice he thought he saw a light from a boat or from the shore. As they began to grow more frequent, he realized it was a storm approaching. The wind chilled his wet limbs every time he lifted them out of the water, and as the rain started to fall it bit into his face, nearly drowning him as he turned his mouth up to gasp for air. The sea began to swell as the waves increased in size. How he wished he had the power to command the elements as his friends thought!

Over the clamor of the storm, he heard very faint voices. Pushing himself up on the board as he rode the crest of a wave, he crouched into a kneeling position to see where the voice was coming from. It was Markus’ fishing boat! He held on to the board for balance as he rode the wave on his knees.

“Markus, Judas, look!” exclaimed Luke, pointing out toward the dark sea behind them. “What is that strange light?”

John leaned over the railing. “It’s a man!” he shouted, “It looks like Yeshua! He’s walking across the water towards us! See how he glows!”

The sailors weren’t sure whether to be terrified or elated. Sure enough, it was their companion approaching them, glowing in the darkness.

Jesus did his best to keep his balance, but slipped off the board as the wave slammed into the water near the port side of the boat. Scrambling to keep his head above the water with his exhausted limbs, he let the glowstick slip from his grasp. Suddenly he felt himself being lifted from the sea, scooped up by one of the nets. It smelled like fish.

As they hauled him onboard, Jesus tumbled out of the net onto the deck. He lay there coughing up water, freezing, waterlogged.

Markus helped him to his feet and wrapped a blanket around him. Below deck, out of the storm, the crew gathered around him.

“Yeshua… we thought you were taken by the guard. We barely escaped with our lives! Please, forgive us for abandoning you, friend,” pleaded Judas.

“How were you able to walk on water like that?” Luke asked.

Markus glared at them. “Don’t you understand? The things he’s been teaching us… it must be his faith that allows him to perform such miracles. This prophet, Yeshua, he has been telling us about, the son of God. Don’t you see? It’s him!”

Jesus was exhausted. He could barely breathe. As the ship rocked, he huddled upon the cushions and fell asleep without seeing his friends kneeling in honor of who they thought was: the son of God.

As morning came, Jesus woke to find that they had made it to Magdala. He felt as stiff as the board he rode in on, but was able to raise himself from the cabin and make his way down the docks to town. Although it was a port city like Galilee, it looked and smelled very different. There were plentiful palm trees swaying overhead, and the place did not smell so much of fish as it did perfume. The women here were much more beautiful than in Galilee.

He joined his friends at the estate of a wealthy Roman merchant where they were discussing a fishing contract.

“Eighty shekels? Surely you jest! Arcturus Philandros has never signed such an outrageous deal, by Jove! Sixty Shekels is the most I’ll give you – and that’s if you can actually bring in as much fish as you claim.”

Jesus decided to stretch his sore limbs in the estate’s garden instead of listening to the bickerings of fishmongers. They were very beautiful and well-kept gardens, too, but not nearly as beautiful as the woman standing by the fountain. She was lovely; perfumed, dark hair cascaded down her back, her slim wrists encircled by gold and copper bracelets, luminous green eyes which captivated him and almost seemed to scream his name… He could almost hear his heart beating like a drum inside his chest.

She smiled as he stood beside her, trailing her thin fingers along the edge of a marble fountain.

“I did not expect to see the world’s most beautiful woman when I woke up this morning,” he said with a coy smile.

Her laugh and her smile were just like his mother’s. Even the way she carried herself reminded him of his mother, yet she was a beautiful girl in a fishmonger’s garden, thousands of years from his time.

“I did not expect to meet the son of God when I woke up today, or so they tell me you are.” She smiled, “Come, show me a miracle.”

Normally, he would have been angered at the idea of such blasphemy, but right now all he could think about was impressing this girl. He reached inside his bag and came out with a silver coin.

“Watch this,” he said, flipping the coin around his fingers. With a flick of his wrist, it appeared to have vanished! He held his hands up. She raised an eyebrow.

“Making money disappear is something even I can do,” the woman remarked.

With a look of surprise on his face, Jesus reached behind her ear and produced the coin again. She faked a look of astonishment and laughed merrily.

“So, does the son of The Almighty, who can pull coins from pretty girls’ ears, have a name?” she asked.

“In the language of your people, I am known as Yeshua. But where I’m from, I am called Jesus.”

“Yea-soos?” she asked, “I’ve never heard such a foreign-sounding name before.”

“Hey-zeus,” he corrected. “Yes, I am from very far away. I swam across the Sea of Galilee last night.” He joked.

“I heard from your friends you walked.”

“If I knew that a girl as beautiful as you was waiting over here, I would have run across the water.”

He heard Markus and the others descending into the garden, ready to leave after sealing a deal.

“Tell me, what should I call you when I come to see you again?” he asked earnestly.

“Mary,” she said. Her rosy lips framed the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

“Well, Mary of Magdala…” he had stooped to kiss her hand, but stopped short upon saying those words aloud. It couldn’t be coincidence that here, on his way from Galilee to Jerusalem, he had just met Mary Magdalene. Mark, Luke, John, Judas, preaching Christianity, the way he was believed to have commanded the elements and walked on water, the signs all pointed to one thing. It was even in his name… but somehow he refused to believe it.

That night he sat restless in the small room they had rented, turning the facts over and over in his mind. Inside, it felt as though he was trying to hold back a flood of emotion with a paper napkin. He felt choked, as if the brutal reality of his epiphany was strangling him. Perhaps it was just the sobs he was trying so hard to suppress.

There was no moon.

The only light that filtered through the open window was the cold glow of the stars, so far away and uncaring. The tracks of his tears burned as if they were molten lead. He thought he had known loneliness when his parents were taken from him, but even then he believed he still had God. No longer. He couldn’t be Jesus Christ. He wouldn’t. But he was! The God he had turned to for guidance and comfort his entire life had never existed. It was always just… himself, alone.

He looked up at the stars that night and wept. He wept until his throat clenched from sighing and his eyes swelled themselves shut. In the morning, his disciples found him somber and bleary eyed, watching the sun rise; an orange and purple smear across the eastern sky.

Over the next few days, Jesus came to find that he was not as alone as he’d thought. He and Mary saw each other more often, and began to fall in love.

They would often sit in the garden as he spoke to her about Christianity. He was beginning to accept himself as the center of it, someone who people could look up to and worship. He remembered how much hope and happiness it had brought the people of Galilee to hear his words. Even if he could no longer believe in the divine nature of his own message, he couldn’t take that hope away from others. Mary developed a faith in his words that rivaled even that of his disciples, who had also taken to spreading his word throughout town when they weren’t fishing. People jokingly referred to them as the “fishers of men.”

For the rest of the season, he and his disciples continued preaching near Magdala. Some of his new followers, Peter, Paul and Matthias also joined his ranks as disciples, and helped him teach the tenants of Christianity. Eventually Markus suggested they finally make the move to Jerusalem, where they could preach at the Temple.

A sizeable crowd of his followers gathered to see them off from Magdala. Women in their finest silk garments wept, and children ran beside their camels. Suddenly a scream went up from the crowd. Several people parted to make way for a hysterical young woman. She ran and fell, weeping, in front of the procession.

“Please, my Lord, you must help!” she sobbed, pointing back the way she had come. “My father isn’t breathing! We came to watch you go, but he fell. The life is gone from him! Please, help!”

Jesus wracked his brain trying to remember the CPR training he had been subjected to for his job at the construction company back in Mexico City. He jumped off his camel and rushed to the woman’s father. Perhaps this was one miracle he could perform.

He knelt over the still body of the old man. Several of his friends had gathered around, fanning him.

“Move back!” he ordered. He could hear no breath as he placed his ear next to the man’s mouth. He knotted his fingers together and began chest compressions. As he pressed down, he could hear one of the old man’s ribs break with a sickening crack. Several of the bystanders gasped. One tried to pull him away.

“Have a little faith in me!” He snapped at them as he shrugged the hand off his shoulder. Bending down next to the weathered, sun-baked face of the elderly man, he placed his own mouth over the man’s and began to blow air into his lungs while tilting the head and pinching the nose with his other hand. Suddenly a rush of air came blowing back into his own mouth and the old man sat bolt upright, gasping. The crowd cheered.

“Lazarus… You’re alive!” exclaimed one of the man’s friends. His daughter rushed forward and hugged him tightly, tears streaming from her eyes. Even Mary and Jesus’ disciples stood in awe. He knew he had to say something.

“It was through this man’s faith in me, the Lord, that he was restored to life. So too can miracles happen for you who have enough faith,” he proclaimed. Naming himself as the Lord gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew it was a lie, yet it was the part he now had to play.

Mary threw her arms around his neck and reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“You truly are the son of God,” she said. He couldn’t look into her eyes, but broke away and mounted his camel again. This time as they departed, there were cheers of “Christ!” and “Yeshua, our Lord!” Jesus wished he could believe it.

Entering Jerusalem, they received much the same reception. The people had heard tales of the son of God, come to teach the way to salvation, who could walk on water and raise the dead. The more he taught Christianity and proclaimed to be divine, the more he grew to hate himself. Some nights when Mary had already gone to sleep, he would take out the old time machine and fiddle with it, turning the knobs and trying to reconnect the wires. He longed for his simple life back in the slums of Mexico City, rather than living a lie. It had been years, now, since he had first found himself on the hilltop above Galilee. He knew he had to replace the copper wires that had snapped, so he had started stealing the copper bracelets that some of his more affluent followers donated to him and his disciples. He would bend and twist them until they fit where the old wires used to be. It was almost ready.

The time finally came for him to leave. He couldn’t stand pretending to be the Lord and Savior any longer, but he knew there was one more role he had to play. He needed to fake his own death, and for that, he needed the help of one of his disciples.

“I don’t understand, my friend, why do you want me to arrange such a spectacle?” Judas asked Jesus.

The night wind chilled them as the self-proclaimed prophet and his disciple walked through the garden of their estate in Jerusalem. Nightshade blossoms had opened.

“I must tell you something, Judas. I am not from this place. I must return to where I belong,” Jesus replied.

“You mean return to your Heavenly Father?”

Jesus sighed. “Not exactly. You wouldn’t understand. But in order to leave, everyone must think I have died.” It pained him to have to fake his own death and leave the people who meant so much to him, but it was the only way to fulfill his role as Christ so he could return to his normal life in the future. He handed Judas a heavy bag of coins.

“You will have to use some of that to bribe the city guards into playing along, but the rest is yours.”

Judas hefted the bag. Jesus knew he could rely on him.

“I will miss you, my Lord. Ever since we started fishing together and you commanded that storm to stop, I always knew you were special. We will continue to spread your word, while you are gone, but, will you ever return?”

Jesus put a hand on Judas’ shoulder. “Perhaps, someday. Please make sure the others are well looked after, especially Mary. She will not understand.”

Leaving Mary was the hardest part of making the decision whether to stay or leave. If there had been a way to take her with him, he would have, but his time machine could only accommodate one person.

When Judas brought the guards, it woke the rest of the household. His disciples pleaded with them and Mary screamed and sobbed, but Jesus told them that a good and faithful Christian should turn the other cheek. He told them he was not afraid of death, and left peacefully with them.

When his faithful followers attended to see him crucified, Jesus wept. After a show of putting a crown of thorns on his head, which hurt tremendously, and exclaiming that he was no son of God, the guards tied his hands and feet securely with rope to the wooden cross. One, whom Judas had bribed especially well, discreetly fed Jesus the last sleeping pill he had saved in his bag.

He awoke later that night, wrapped in linen inside a dark tomb. Reaching around in the dark, he found his bag and pulled out a small flashlight, along with his time machine. The quiet tomb smelled of dusty stone. Holding the flashlight in his teeth, Jesus carefully pried the time machine apart and reconnected the last copper wire.

The display lit up, reading “30 AD.” He turned the knob until it read “2112,” and set it on the ground. All that was left was to push the large red button, and he would be transported back to his own time. He almost couldn’t bring himself to do it… He had inspired countless people with his teachings, formed close friendships, and met the love of his life. But he could not continue living what he knew in his heart was a lie: pretending to be the son of God. He needed to go back to where he belonged. It was time to say goodbye. He pressed the button. The device started to glow brightly.

Jesus Rodriguez opened his eyes. He was back in his hovel in Mexico City. The time machine lay on the ground at his feet. It was a hot night, and he could smell the meat cooking and hear frying tortillas sizzling next door. He listened as his neighbors sat down to pray to him before dinner. No, not to him – he was free from all of that now. His vacation was finally over.

In the morning, the air was filled with the bells of Santa Maria de Esperanza Cathedral, calling the faithful to mass as Jesus slept soundly.

Outside the tomb, Mary was weeping.