A half a million people, most of them stoned, many of them nude, and all of them covered with body-paint and dust, gathered around the stage.
The Tribs were surprised to find that they were the only act. They were even more surprised when Amy appeared and handed them a playlist of only one song.
“There’s no water and only two portajohns,” she said. “Better start playing now!”
Cap struck a funky chord. Gotha approached the mike and wailed, “Please allow me to introduce myself…”
The crowd went wild as The punched PLAY on his drum machine.
Vince picked up his bass. Behind him he saw a huge cardboard box being lowered onto the stage by a crane.
It had 666 on it.
“I am a man of wealth and taste…”
AT MIDNIGHT
“What the…?”
The Tribs were rocking the “house” when Cap’s strat went suddenly silent; so did The’s drum machine, Vince’s bass and Gotha’s mike.
Amy had unplugged them.
It was 12:00.
The applause was deafening.
The silence that followed was even more so.
The box in the center of the stage was slowly lifting, as if by magic. The crowd gasped as they saw the slim figure sitting in a lotus position underneath it.
He stood, and the crowd gasped again.
There was no mistaking that gentle, wise face, those scratchy robes, that crown of thorns.
“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Cap.
“Bingo,” said Jesus, with a smile.
“It was you all along!” said The, falling to his knees.
“Rise up, faithful dude,” said Jesus, helping him to his feet. “It was and it wasn’t me. Think of it as a yin-yang thing. I’ll explain later. But first, I’ve got one last job to do.”
He grabbed the dead mike stand and, swinging it like a club, ran through the parked cars that surrounded the stage, sending kewpie dolls and plastic ponies, beads and rhinestones flying.
Then he climbed back onto the stage and cast the mike stand aside.
“A little action is good for the soul,” He said. “I haven’t had so much fun since I trashed the temple. Imagine gluing all that shit on a car!”
“He likes cars,” said Amy.
“Whatever,” said Gotha. “But what now? Is it Heaven or Hell for us?”
“Neither,” said Jesus, spreading His arms wide and addressing the crowd. He didn’t need a mike; everyone could hear Him just fine.
“Listen up, humankind,” He said. “Here’s the deal. The Earth is yours, but you have to pick up all this garbage and quit trashing it. Share everything equally.
No more rich and poor.”
“That’s communism!” shouted someone from the crowd.
“Bingo,” said Jesus. “It’s never been properly tried, and now it’s up to you all to make it happen. Just follow these simple rules.”
“Rules?” said Gotha. She didn’t like rules.
“The Ten Commandments,” said The. “I told you He was strict!”
“Pay attention,” said Amy.
“I’ve trimmed the list,” said Jesus. “It’s the Three Commandments now. Listen up:
1. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
2. Love your neighbor as yourself.
3. No more art cars.
“What about Heaven?” asked The, clearly disappointed. “What about Eternal Life and the forgiveness of sins?”
Jesus hugged him. “I forgave you all long ago, dude.
Especially you! And you wouldn’t like Heaven, not after playing in a rock band. It’s a white bread scene. I have to go there and hang out, since my Old Man’s expecting me, but you’ll have a better time here. Promise.”
“What happened to all those who were Rap-tured,” asked Vince. He was starting to feel like a news- man again, looking for answers.
“Let’s just say that they were recycled,” said Jesus. He pulled a bag from under his scratchy robes and handed it to Amy. “Pass these wafers around.”
They were like animal crackers with human faces.
“They taste like Fritos!” said The.
“They taste funny to me,” said Cap.
“They’re not so bad,” said Amy, tossing handfuls to the crowd. ”Once you get started you can’t stop eating them.”
“So the Rapture was just a way to get all the bad elements out of the way so we could begin to make the world better?” said Vince, munching on a Murdoch.
“Bingo,” said Jesus. “And this Rapture wasn’t the first Rapture. What do you think happened to all those dinosaurs?”
“Those other dinosaurs, you mean,” said Gotha. “But I have one more question. Who folded all those clothes?”
“Mary Magdalene,” said Jesus. “She takes care of the domestic stuff.”
“First I’ve heard about a Mary,” muttered Amy. “I’m outta here.”
And she was.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER
The sun was rising. It looked new every day, but it looked especially new today, Vince thought.
After a long round of hugs, handshakes and autographs in Aramaic, the immense crowd had followed Jesus to the center of Black Rock City. There they watched in solemn silence as He climbed to the top of the Leary-looking wicker man.
“He’s not wearing anything under that scratchy robe,” said Gotha, admiringly.
“So?” asked Vince, resentfully.
“So, he’s kinda cute.”
“Don’t leave us!” the crowd shouted. They were waving little lighted crosses.
“Please!” said Jesus, looking pained, “put those things away!” He spread His arms and balanced on the head of the wicker man. “It’s time for me to say so long.
I love you all to death, but I’ve got to split and I won’t be back. I’ve got other worlds to attend to.”
The crowd moaned. He stopped them with one raised hand.
“It’s up to you now. Don’t blow it. Love one another. Get to work building a decent world and make me proud.” He looked around. “You can begin by picking up all this trash.”
“But who will rule us!?” the crowd shouted.
“You’ll have to rule yourselves,” said Jesus. “You’ve already started. Keep it up. The Three Commandments are right there in the Good Book.”
He pointed down at The, who was holding up his Bible.
“Two of them, anyway. And for the day-to-day practical stuff—“ He reached into His robe and pulled out a cell phone, a nifty little Nokia, and tossed it down toward Gotha.
“If you get confused or need advice, call her.”
“Me?” said Gotha, catching the phone. “Why me?”
“Why not?” said Jesus. “You’re cute, you’re smart, and you have a program.”
“I do?”
“Sure. ‘From each according to their abilities, to each according to their needs.’ You studied Marxism in college, didn’t you?”
“You did?” asked Vince, impressed.
“I went to Berkeley,” said Gotha. “I told Dad it was a music school.”
“I just thought you misspelled it,” said Cap.
“There He goes!” said The, blinking back a happy tear.
And indeed, there He went—straight up into the stars.
SIXTY-SIX YEARS LATER
“Enough with the autographs,” said Gotha. “Get on the train.”
“The fans expect it,” said The. “And this damned ball point keeps skipping.”
“Nobody said it would be a perfect world,” Vince pointed out. “Just a better one.”
Even in their old age, the Tribs were still packing them in, thanks to Cap’s cascading guitar solos, The’s afro-beat drum machine, and Vince’s rock-solid bass anchor.
Not to mention Gotha’s wild vocals.
“Sometimes I’m afraid we’re going to live forever after all,” she groaned, settling into her seat as the train got underway. She was almost eighty (she had quit lying about her age) and her tattoos were so wavy with wrinkles that a skull might look like a heart. They were still in interesting places, though.