David Pickering
St. John Henry Newman Writing Group
We haven’t had a good execution in a while. Used to have some proper ones, though, back in the day. I could tell you stories. That Passover Friday trio, that was an execution, that was. Stopped the traffic all along the road outside the wall, on the west side. Get me some more of that wine, I’ll tell you about it.
My first job, taking stone out of that quarry. Should never have been used for executions. Me and my brothers used to help our cousins move the stone, when we weren’t working the family stall. Then, when it was quarried out, my uncle had a garden there. Only they had to start doing executions right there, didn’t they? Ruined the neighbourhood. Took half Uncle Shimi’s garden for it. And when they have a big one, crowd blocks the road. That Friday, worst jam I’ve ever seen, they did three together and I couldn’t get my melon deliveries through. Stuck for hours. Hardly had space to breathe, the crowds were so bad, and the donkeys got all scared and wouldn’t move. Stayed scared, too, younger one’s never been the same. Can’t blame him, after that day.
Strangest thing was the one in the middle, middle of the three. He wasn’t normal, he wasn’t. Didn’t cry and wail like they do, didn’t curse the Romans, talked strange. I seen a lot of them nailed up on those crosses, never seen one like that. Couldn’t understand him. The middle one, he was something else. No cursing no screaming no shouting. Told God to forgive them as hammered in the nails. Never seen anything like it.
He’d done okay up north, of course. They made a right fuss of him, Galilee way. That’s how they get airs and graces, those northerners. Make it at home, think they can make it anywhere. Oh no, not in Jerusalem. You can’t try all that on in Jerusalem. The Romans, the priests, the scribes, Herod Junior, all of them together, it’s too much for some northern hick. He found out, he did.
The other two, one was normal enough, good bit of screaming and shouting. The other, started that way, went all quiet, then he just starts talking to the one in the middle. Not arguing, not shouting, just talking. Couldn’t believe it. Everything was going mad, that day. To top it all, the sky went funny. Went all dark. Shook everyone up something proper. The crowd so big, they trampled over Uncle Shimi’s garden. No consideration for the small producer. Romans should have had their executions somewhere else, and I told them so. Got a crack on the head for saying it, but I told them.
End of it, this centurion, he got a spear and jabbed the middle one, just to prove he was dead. I could have told him. Bleedin’ obvious, he was battered almost dead before they stuck the nails in. He was never going to last, that one. Looked like they’d whipped him good and proper before they marched him to Uncle’s garden. Surprised he even got there. They were lucky they got to crucifying him.
That centurion, he looked pretty pleased with himself when he got the blood and water running separate where he poked him with the spear, but anyone could see that’s what it would be. Centurions ain’t what they used to be, or maybe we just get the dregs out here. Maybe they save the good ones for Egypt, Syria, places that matter. We used to matter, once. This dead one in the middle, he seemed to think we mattered, and look where it got him. That’s what you get for trying to change things round here. Keep your head down, that’s my advice.
And the people they had watching there. Some very grand types from the Temple, right next to the rabble from the bottom end of town. And a load of Galilean accents I kept hearing. Come down for Passover, I suppose. We get too many northerners in Jerusalem for festivals. They’re worse than the foreigners. At least those Gentiles spend money. It’s the big sales for our stall, and the foreigners hardly haggle, some of them. But the northerners! Beat you down for two figs, the aggro they give you, hardly worth selling to them.
And what was going on with the sky that day? I’ll never understand it. Never forgot him, neither, the one in the middle. They say he started this new religion. I said it won’t go anywhere, not if they keep stopping the traffic like that. You got to respect business, that’s how the world goes round. But he was something else, I’ll give him that.
Maybe that’s what sent those followers of his mad. Couple of days later, there he was, dead and buried, and we had nutjobs running round the city saying he’d escaped the grave. Body not there, and here’s the thing. It wasn’t. I had a mate in the temple guards and he checked it himself. No body, just gravecloths. So the idiots thought something magic had happened. Hadn’t they heard of grave robbers? Unusual, I’ll grant you, no valuables to nick, leaving the gravecloths all neat, but these religious types, you never can tell what they’ll do. And his new religion, keeps on going. My own son’s got into it now. Wants me to go to their meetings with him. I told him, over my dead body. He said, Dad, it started with a dead body, didn’t end with one. I told him not to try getting clever with his old man, sent him back to the stall to do some extra cleaning. Thinks he’s too good for a fruit stall? I let him have it. Still won’t shut up, though.
Not the others, neither. That Friday should have been an end of it, but those followers of his, they won’t stay down and they won’t keep quiet. Something got into them. Made quite the commotion, and when you think it’s over it keeps coming back. Can’t last, though, you got to have your head screwed on in this world, mate, got to look after number one. All this dying noble business, stories of getting out of graves, it’s not practical, won’t last. You can’t stop business. All those dreamers, they’ll work it out in the end.
He was a strange one, though, the one in the middle, never saw anyone die like him. And those followers, when he died. I seen unhappy, seen that before. Never seen unhappy like that. They acted like the world was over, like everything was ended, not just one geezer. Two days later, Sunday morning, saw them again, gone crazy mad with stupid joy. I seen happy before, never seen happy like that. They were like the whole world began again, kept shouting about their Messiah alive. Should have been locked up, of course, but I never seen anything like that. Maybe I will go to one of those meetings, one day. Get that son of mine to take me. Make him happy, at least. Maybe I will.