Dark Resurrection

  * * *

  Sensing his parents needed them, Jesus and consort stayed at the house and moved into an adjacent room, retrieving their bed from the cave, to assist in preparation for the baby. A hurried Joseph put the finishing touches on the house and built an outhouse over the latrine pit. Jesus completed the top of the well during the next nights, building a stone structure, roof, and dip bucket. Joseph and wife found a personal well a luxury they truly appreciated, for in Nazareth they always had to take a long walk to use the community well, waiting in line as their hateful neighbors shunned them and derided their eldest son as a blasphemer of the Hebrew god. Jesus’ next project was to finish constructing the fireplace and chimney. Using his acquired talent as a stonemason, it was quickly and professionally finished over several evenings, his father mixing lime mortar, looking on while his son set the stones in place.

  His mother taking care of housekeeping, the dwelling was shaping up fast, thanks to Joseph and his undead assistants, Jesus coming up with new ideas practically every night.

  “You know, we need windows for this place,” Jesus observed, sitting on the porch one early evening after having finished building a cradle for the baby.

  “You mean glass ones?” Joseph asked, pouring cups of wine, looking to oiled parchment covering holes serving as windows.

  “Why not, they have them in Rome, prefect Gavinal has them at his residence too,” said Jesus, taking a cup.

  “They’re expensive aren’t they?”

  “So?”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Joseph replied, looking about the house, and again realizing money was no object. “Terracotta roof tiles and plastered walls would be nice too.”

  “They would indeed father, does Drusus carry such?”

  “He has bundles of tiles and plaster at his store, I suppose I’ll have to pick some up.”

  “We’ll have to build the slave quarters and a stable too,” said Jesus, “The trader’s due in town soon.”

  “Where do you want to put those?” asked Joseph, finishing his cup and pouring another.

  “I figure about a hundred cubits toward the east, near the river,” Jesus answered, “We can even put a grain mill down there; I’ve read of such systems installed on rivers in Greece and Italy.”

  “So have I, it’s said they use the running water to turn a grinding stone,” said Joseph.

  “I wonder if he has windows.”

  “Who?” Joseph asked, not following his son’s meanderings.

  “The trader of course.”

  “It would help at times if you’d speak in complete sentences.”

  “Oh,” said Jesus, shrugging.

  The door opened and the Magdalene stepped out. “Your wife is resting so I made food for you,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Joseph replied, smelling the aroma of the fine meal, “I was getting a bit hungry.”

  “So am I,” she agreed, looking to her consort.

  “Let’s take off,” said Jesus, rising from his seat as Joseph stepped into the house, “We’ll be back in a while father.”

  Walking into the darkness, they strolled the property, heading to the adjacent parcel of notary Marcus Pertinax. Lately they were staying off the local roads, as robbers were rarely available in Tibernum and hunting for them seemed to be a waste of time. Occasionally they would fly south toward Mansahir when they felt the need for a human blood treat, perhaps once a week. Most times they stayed near home, contenting themselves with the blood of wild boars or deer. While not finding it particularly tasty, they had grown used to the odd flavors, and it did fill that certain void. On this night boar blood was the fare, the couple dispatching and draining two of the ferocious creatures easily. Dropping the remains to the ground, Jesus leaned against a pine tree and belched loudly.

  “It’s a terrible waste to leave these animals to rot after we’re done with them,” said Jesus, staring at the emptied carcasses.

  “No it isn’t, jackals will eat them,” Mary replied.

  “True, but why don’t we bring them home for my parents to eat instead?”

  “They could use meat, but do you think they can eat these animals after the way we took them?”

  “Jackals eat them and it hasn’t killed or turned them into vampires,” said Jesus, taking a dagger from his tunic.

  “What are you going to do?” Mary asked, watching him.

  “Gut them.”

  Preparing the carcasses for transport, Jesus lifted them over his shoulder, heading back to the farm.

  “You have pig blood all over your tunic,” said Mary as he dumped the meat at the porch steps.

  “It washes out,” an unconcerned Jesus replied, his father opening the door.

  “Where’d you get the hogs?” Joseph asked, looking to the gutted animals.

  “A few miles from here; I figured you could use meat, especially since mom’s pregnant.”

  “Did you drink their blood?”

  “Of course,” said Jesus, “I figured it was a waste leaving good food to rot in the woods, so I brought them home for you and mother.”

  “Are you sure we can eat it?”

  “Yes,” answered Jesus, “The same jackals, ravens and other scavengers have been eating the remains we leave behind for months and have had no problems, so I figured what was good for them should be good for you.”

  “Thanks,” said Joseph, unconvinced by Jesus’ theory, but willing to take a chance on the fresh meat. “We’ll tell your mother I killed them, okay?”

  “Sure, would you like to help me split and roast them, after they’re finished cooking you can take the choice cuts.”

  “Okay,” said Joseph, stepping to the porch, “It’s a shame we can't preserve more of it.”

  “There’s plenty more where this came from; we won’t be able to save most of the meat from these animals anyway. The woods are full of boars, this is best till we build a salt room and smokehouse.”

  “You’re always finding work for me to do aren’t you?” his father observed with a fond smile as they butchered the hogs. After splitting the carcasses, Jesus dug a pit, his consort bringing rocks from the riverbank to build an oven. Leaving one side open, Jesus laid three courses of stones around the pit, stringing chains over the third course. Setting another layer on top to secure them, he created a grate like structure from the chains to be used for roasting the meat. Joseph built a fire in the pit, using dried tree stumps and roots his son had split, sitting the meat on the chains to cook. Jesus, having nothing better to do at the time, ducked into his bedroom to don a fresh tunic, afterward returning to the makeshift grill.

  His wife strolled to the porch, smelling the roasting pork and asking, “Where did you get the meat Joseph?”

  “Jesus caught them and I killed them.”

  “It’s pork?”

  “There’s not much else to eat around here mother, especially when it comes to larger wild animals,” said Jesus, “There are deer and auroch roaming about, but boars are much more plentiful.”

  “You drank their blood, didn’t you?” his mother asked, as if making certain he had cleaned his plate.

  “Yes mother,” a patient Jesus replied.

  “Good,” said Mary, turning from the doorway, “Please bring some in when it’s done.”

  Stunned, Joseph and Jesus looked at each other, the Magdalene remarking, “Well, that was easy.”

  Soon the meat was well done, Joseph removing the tenderloin cuts from the animals for he and his wife, along with the hams. The other meat was not salvageable, as in a short time it would have spoiled, so it was left to burn up in the fire. His parents feasted on pork tenderloin, Joseph relating he wanted to pick up salt from town for the hams.

  “Tell me the truth, you didn’t kill those pigs, Jesus killed them in his usual way didn’t he?” his wife asked after
finishing her meal.

  “Well, yes,” Joseph answered, “I just didn’t want you to – ”

  “Complain?”

  “That’s part of it, but – ”

  “Look Joseph,” his wife continued, “You may not realize it and may still want to shield me from it, but I’ve grown as used to this situation as you have.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, our son Jesus is a vampire,” she said, rising from the table and collecting the dishes.

  “We know that, but he – ”

  Looking her husband in the eyes, she continued, “He is a vampire, he kills people and animals to survive and he sucks their blood.”

  “Yes woman, but – ”

  “Our son also robs the corpses of the people he kills on occasion, that’s why we have this farm. Jesus purchased it with money he took from his victims. At times he even broke in and looted some of their homes after he killed them. Further, as long as he and his woman don’t bring people here for us to eat, I don’t care what he does.”

  Joseph sat, jaw agape, digesting her words. “Okay,” he replied as his wife cleared the table, afterward retiring to her room. He looked to the door, seeing Jesus and consort heading into the kitchen, joining him at the table.

  “Did you enjoy the food?” Jesus asked, pouring a cup of wine.

  “Yes, your mother did too, she also knows how you killed it,” said Joseph.

  “She does?” asked Mary.

  “Yes indeed,” Joseph replied, “She’s very perceptive nowadays, and she also told me she doesn’t care what you do, as long as you don’t bring people here for us to eat.”

  “We would never do that!” Mary exclaimed, “What kind of people does she think we are?”

  “She thinks you’re vampires,” answered Joseph, looking to the Magdalene.

  “We are vampires,” said Jesus.

  “That’s obvious,” Joseph retorted.

  “You told her we took them?”

  “No son, she figured it out herself, not that it was that hard to.”