* * *
Such was the routine over the next weeks, the vampiric couple doing much of the heavy work during the night, Joseph finishing lumber and nailing beams and boards in place during the day. His father approving, Jesus dug a spacious cellar beneath the future kitchen, shoring it up with mortar and stones. On early evenings, Jesus would cut and shape stones with hammer and chisel, split timber and do other things that made a great deal of noise, his parents watching him do the work of ten men. Later in the night, he would work finishing the cellar, lining the well pit, moving dirt, and other chores he could accomplish quietly while his parents slept. One evening, with no heavy work to do, Jesus decided to finish digging the well, having reached cap rock the previous evening at the depth of sixteen cubits, or nearly twenty feet. Joseph was standing above the lined pit, while Jesus split away the soft rock with a pick, placing the fragments in a bucket Joseph lowered into the well.
“Take it up now,” Jesus called, his father struggling with the heavy load of stone and earth.
“Allow me,” said the Magdalene, returning from a riverside stroll. Grabbing the rope, she pulled the hundred pound plus bucket of rubble to the surface, dumping the debris on the ground.
“Thanks,” Joseph replied, Mary lowering the bucket.
“Don’t mention it,” said Mary, asking Jesus, “Haven’t you hit water yet?”
“Hell no woman,” Jesus replied, swinging the pick, “This cap rock’s as thick as – ”
A torrent of water began flooding into the well.
“Goddamnit!” exclaimed Jesus, frigid water hitting him in the face, the well rapidly filling. Seeing this, the Magdalene moved back, pulling Joseph from the opening. Leaping from the well while still having a foothold, Jesus, pick in hand, landed nearly ten feet from the opening, his father watching in amazement.
“Jesus Christ!” Joseph exclaimed.
“Yes?”
“How the hell did you do that?”
“I leapt down the well, so I leapt up.”
“How?” asked Joseph, amazed at his son’s physical feats, staring into the deep well, rubble bucket floating in the water.
“I guess vampires can do things mortals can’t,” said Jesus.
“You can say that again,” Joseph replied, staring at his son.
Soon the house, nearing completion, was livable, Joseph and Jesus spending time making furniture for the dwelling and a much-needed bed for their cave. The home design, as with others in the area, was not dissimilar from a large stick-built farmhouse, a pitch-covered wooden roof extended over the front to create a porch. His mother did her best to keep up, washing their rags on occasion and making meals for her husband. Lately, to the chagrin of Joseph, she was feeling sick almost every morning. “I missed my time last month,” she said as he was eating breakfast, “It’s hard to believe, but I think I’m pregnant.”
“Perhaps you’ve reached the end woman,” Joseph ventured, looking to his devoted wife.
“No, I feel different, like the other times, and have never missed even once without being pregnant.”
“You’re kidding, right?” You can’t have a baby now, you’re forty-nine years old!”
“The signs don’t lie, I’ve had bad sickness every morning for the past month.”
“Good Lord, I’m old enough to be someone’s grandfather, not their father,” said a smiling Joseph, hugging his wife. His attitude toward her changed from that day forward, from a sarcastic, boorish man, to a doting, thoughtful husband. That evening, Jesus and consort appeared shortly after sundown and were told of the good news.
Congratulations mother,” said Jesus, taking a seat in the kitchen after kissing her on the cheek. It was something, as the eldest, he had always done when told he was going to be a big brother again.
“It’s wonderful,” the Magdalene declared, taking a seat beside her, “We’ll have to take care of chores around the house during your time and help you with the baby afterward.”
“I can’t believe it,” said his mother, “I’m old enough to be someone’s grandmother, and I’m going to have another baby.”
“We already knew,” said Jesus, “Mary and I could tell a month ago.”
“How?” asked Joseph.
“Who knows,” answered Jesus, “We haven’t figured that out, but Mary and I feel it has something to do with being vampires.”
“I read of such legends when I was younger,” said Joseph, “The scroll said the undead are endowed with great powers that mortals can never understand.”
“Really?” Jesus asked, “Who wrote the scroll?”
“A Greek historian called Herodotus; he lived in Athens several hundred years ago.”
“Interesting, I’d heard of vampire legends during my travels, that’s what made me aware of our strengths and limitations, but I’ve never read Herodotus.”
“We should find a copy,” said the Magdalene, “We’re sketchy on the finer points.”
“Yes, and that brings us to the original question,” Joseph replied, “Without someone to bring him the realm of the undead, how did our Jesus even become a vampire?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever know that dad,” said Jesus, troubled deep inside about his origins. At times he thought his very love of life had allowed him to triumph over the grave, but couldn’t be sure, since he didn’t have all the facts. Then again, could it have been the deep rage he had experienced while dying on the cross? After all, had he not thought he would kill them all if he could only live through that? Have I unwittingly made a deal with the evil one? Jesus mused, quickly dismissing the thought.
“When are you due?” the Magdalene asked, changing the subject and snapping Jesus from his reverie.
“You probably know as well as I,” answered Mary, “I figure a little under eight months.”
“That’s about right,” said Jesus.
“I wonder if it’s a boy or girl,” his mother thought aloud.
“It’s a – ”
“I’d rather not know right now,” she interrupted, looking sternly at her son.
“Very well mother,” said Jesus, the others looking to him, noting he had not said ‘velly’ for a change.