Revelations (Lamb)

[storypaint]

Comm: fandom20
Words: 1341
Title: Revelations
Fandom: Lamb: The Gospel of Christ's Childhood Pal, Biff (by Christopher Moore)
Rating: PG for sexual references
Pairing: Biff/Maggie and Joshua/Maggie, but not really the focus of the story
Disclaimer: Lamb is the property of Christopher Moore. This fanfic is a derivative of canon material that is not my property. I do not profit from these writings. The opinions and actions expressed in these stories are not necessarily the views and beliefs of the original author or me.

Excerpt: "He said that Joshua was coming back soon," Maggie continued as if I hadn't spoken. Her face was wistful. "What do you think?"
"That it would be just like him to show up and steal the rest of my rice," I replied.

"Where did you learn to use chopsticks?" Maggie asked me. I tried to look puffed-up and important. When we'd first gone out on our own, there'd been plenty of things I didn't understand (mortgage rates, country music television, electric razors) and she'd taken a "modern woman" know-it-all tone with me. Maggie was in charge. I wasn't exactly unfamiliar with this side of her, this is true, but I was appalled to learn that modern society encouraged it. This was distinctly un-Jewish. Jewish women already had the power of guilt. If that was combined with the tenacity and independence categorized by our fathers Moses, Elijah, and Abraham, the women would be unstoppable. And she was.

But here was something I knew how to do, that she clearly didn't. I demonstrated the chopsticks-up-the-nose trick first-- that one had always gotten the monks to laugh... okay, it had gotten interesting looks, but Joshua had always cracked up and that was worth it for me. She didn't seem impressed, so I sorted things out for her and was then returned immediately to my standard position groveling at her feet.

The modern man, I must admit, was a bit of a wimp. It was a good thing that I loved Maggie enough to play the part.

I thought that we were fitting in pretty well. It was, after all, New York, and apparently it was pretty hard to stand out in New York City. There was a holy man calling apocalypse on every corner and a beggar in front of every nice building. It reminded me of India a bit, actually, except that most of these "blind, helpless men" had guns. I was a wonderful, generous, kind person, so I always gave them something so they wouldn't kill me. Ah, just like old times.

In fact, it was still tradition for Jews to eat Chinese on Joshua's birthday, even if they seemed to have lost track of the actual date over the years. (Don't ask me when it was; I'm not any good at dates either. Though I definitely don't remember this weather occurring at the time.) So Maggie and I sat in our apartment and ate fried rice.

"Saw another crazy guy today," she said, gesturing out the window with her chopsticks. We were sitting on the floor around a low table like they had had in the East. The apartment that the angels had found for us had been occupied by Japanese people before us. For some reason, they had left their things. Perhaps seeing a divine manifestation consisting of two of the stupidest angels in the universe had rattled them. Though, since they lived in New York...

"I saw four yesterday," I replied. "They were doing a demonstration in the subway. More advanced at the village idiot thing than I ever was, even with Bart tutoring me."

"He said that Joshua was coming back soon," Maggie continued as if I hadn't spoken. Her face was wistful. "What do you think?"

"That it would be just like him to show up and steal the rest of my rice," I replied, shoveling in another mouthful. American Chinese food was nothing like real Chinese food. But then again, who knew if aesthetic monks had eaten "real" Chinese food? I felt a bit resentful that we'd been denied this greasy pleasure on our visit to the East.

"Seriously, Biff," she said, biffing me in the side of the head. She loved me, so it was gentle, and I hardly spilled any rice at all. Damn, that woman had a punch to her. Perhaps I should have been nicknamed Huggy. That would have shown her.

"He'll come when the Father says it's time," I said, trying to sound all mystical without choking on my food. I waved my chopsticks in the air mysteriously. "You know how he is. A flare for the dramatic and all that. The painting..." I reminded.

As soon as my gospel appeared, though heralded as it was by stupid angels, an uproar arose claiming it was false. Since unfortunately Raziel had said that my picture wouldn't be appearing on the dust jacket, I couldn't step forward and tell the world that the stories were indeed true. I was supposed to be dead, after all. Neither Maggie nor I wanted another publicity mess. Managing Joshua had been hard enough. I had charisma. The girls would have been breaking down the door, unable to accept the fact that I was a one-Maggie man.

Right, the painting. I knew that Joshua still had a sense of humor because only one week after the Book of Levi Called Biff was published, he performed one of his better miracles. He graffitied the Last Supper. It wasn't like the painting had been accurate in the first place anyway. With skin as white as that, we all would have fried in the desert. Plus, they made Joshua look like a pansy, and they forgot to leave a space for Thomas Two and Bartholomew's stench. So he stuck me in the painting in a bare spot, the place between Philip and Matthew. And of course, because it was Joshua, he altered a centuries-old painting to put in a short Jewish guy picking his nose. Which I certainly tried not to do at dinner. Most of the time.

Like I said, one of his better miracles. Thousands of instant converts to Christianity as the tests came back and revealed that the painting hadn't been altered at all, according to paint age and other factors. Plus, now everyone knew what I and my bogeys looked like. Not that they'd recognize me without my finger up my nose.

Despite accusations that the Christ wasn't an appreciator of art, they kind of had to add my bits into the Bible. Maggie's too, actually, but she got to be the Mona Lisa when Joshua did that relevatory miracle. No nose-picking there. She always got the better deal. And she had a better smile than that Lisa girl any day.

She flashed me that beautiful smile as she considered my words. "You're right," she replied. We finished dinner and were about to settle into a lovely birthday celebration of nakedness when a voice boomed in my ear.

"BIFF, THE TIME HAS COME."

Of course, I screamed like a little girl. There was rustling as someone unseen seemed to adjust the volume.

"Sorry about that. Dad likes to turn it up really high. Anyway, like I said before, it's time to come home."

I turned around, looking for the source of that familiar voice, and Joshua stepped out of the air, looking just the same as he had when he died. Except, of course, that he wasn't bloody, and his acne had finally gone away. Maggie's mouth dropped open.

"Can't you see I'm kinda busy?" I said, gesturing to my beloved half-naked modern woman, but she had already risen to her feet and jumped into Joshua's arms. That traitor. I readjusted my clothing and rose as well.

"So this is it?" I asked curiously. "Final Judgment, White Throne, Go-Directly-To-Jail-Do-Not-Pass-Go?"

"What was that last one?" Joshua asked, setting Maggie back onto her feet, and she self-consciously fixed her clothing.

"You've been out of the loop for a while," I said airily, and after a moment, he nodded.

"I came to get you guys first," he said, his face softening. "Sorry I couldn't have given you more time. When my Father says it's time to go, there's no arguing."

"I remember that from the first time," I replied wryly. He took Maggie's hand and then mine, and I shut my eyes.

"There aren't any yaks in heaven, are there, Joshua?" I had to ask.

"What do you think?" he answered cryptically, beginning to rise in the air. It didn't hurt to go through the ceiling and as I did it I considered.

"I'm not shaving them," I warned, and he laughed. His hand was warm in mine and Maggie was there on his other side. That was all I needed to dance on streets of gold. And maybe bacon.