Virgin Mary arrived home at seven o’clock that evening. It had been a hard day’s work on the building site. He pushed his keys into the locks and turned them on auto-pilot until they clicked.........
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The Memories of the Serpent and the Crescent Moon
Virgin Mary arrived home at seven o’clock that evening. It had been a hard day’s work on the building site. He pushed his keys into the locks and turned them on auto-pilot until they clicked, he opened and shut the door and locked it with the same unthinking mind. He did the same thing everyday. He took a deep breath and exhaled.
Now Our Lady was alone and he could be himself.
He stretched his neck and back, he stroked his two day stubble and yawned. Today was Friday, no work tomorrow. He walked down his small hallway towards his living room, scratching his balls as he went. He passed his shrine on his left hand side as he entered the room and crossed himself.
Spectacles, testicles, watch and wallet.
The Mother of Christ lit the two white candles with a single match and then lit a single stick of incense off one of the candles. Dutch sailors be damned! Standing there in his sweaty vest and dust covered jeans he said a little prayer for the world’s children. He hoped they would be okay. He knew they never would be. Looking down upon the mixture of years of melted wax, photos of his parents, a pencil drawing of Jean Genet, Russian ikons and rosary beads he felt troubles disappear like steam from a boiling kettle. He crossed himself again.
The big hairy man crossed the room and squatted down. He gazed into his large fish tank with its artificial lights and looked at the python lying there. He saw how beautiful the different shades of brown, gold and green of his scales shone and shimmered under the hot light bulbs. The creature began to move slowly, effortlessly unwinding itself from the knot of colours and dry cool fingertip strokes. Its tongue went in and out. In and out, like a priest’s tongue in a pulpit on Sunday morning, in and out as it tasted the air. It could taste its master’s sweat, all pungent and sickly around it. It was hungry and it sensed that it would soon feed. The man felt a twinge of guilt at seeing this wild and wise beast in its glass cage, but what could he do? He was in love with the serpent as an actress loves her poodles.
The Madonna knew the snake was hungry, stood up and instantly headed for the refrigerator. He pulled out the plate of dead mice that had defrosted from the night before, holding them up and pulling their little legs, making them move and dance and sing. After a couple of minutes, bored with the rodent entertainment, he placed them gently in the corner of the tank and watched his serpent circle them, hunting, feeling the primeval bloodlust, the senses becoming more acute, the heart beating faster.
Then Virgin Mary turned away from the creature, giving it the respect it deserved. He despised people watching him eat. Do unto others. He went into his bedroom and began taking his clothes off one by one. He felt his skin come off piece by piece, replaced by something new, something clean. Naked, he walked into his bathroom and ran his grimy bath. Steam began to fill the room and grabbing an unopened bottle of wine, a bottle opener and a wine glass, he popped the bottle and filled the glass to the brim, taking a large swig and finishing the glass. Then he refilled the glass, lay down in the scolding hot water and closed his eyes as colours jumped and blossomed.
After drying himself and downing another full glass of the bull’s blood, Virgin Mary searched in his cupboard for his true garments. He pulled the white robe and blue silk shawl from their wooden hangers and sat in front of his bedroom mirror. Opening the top drawer of his bedside table, he found his make up box and started applying rouge to his cheeks and dark eye shadow. He wished he still had some of that kohl that he had once bought on his trip to Egypt. He finished with bright red lipstick and pouted his lips together, feeling their sleekness.
He took one more drink of wine trying his best not to leave any stains on the rim of the glass. Gracefully he grabbed his blue shawl, placing it on his crew cut head and he stood in front of his mirror.
He looked ridiculous.
He looked like an extra in a Monty Python sketch.
He looked like a painted whore, a harlot, Babylon.
She could have cried with joy.
She remembered her fiancée coming home one night and finding Her like this. She remembered the tears and the screaming. She remembered how she had insulted Her. How she had called Her a freak and a faggot.
That seemed so long ago now to Mary. She understood and felt compassion for the woman’s ignorance.
Walking into the living room, She switched on the fairy lights and the room came alive in an explosion of red, green, yellow and blue and glancing around her at the little colourful fairy lights, She felt as if she was walking amongst the stars. She was there at the beginning of the universe.
Leaning into the fish tank, She pulled out the serpent, it rested on Her strong shoulders and She let it dangle onto the floor. The beast’s tail searched for Her leg and began to wrap itself around Her.
Standing in front of the open window She looked up and saw that it was a crescent moon. The Holy Virgin broke into a smile.
She saw her own profanity and loved Herself for it.
Jason Michel has been turned on, tripped up and stumbled over all around the world on a ten year self imposed exile. He currently lives in France and now wonders if that was such a good idea... He has had work and will have work published in remark, scarecrow, dogmatika, zygote in my coffee, triptych haiku, faux pas magazine and straight from the fridge...
Last update : 22-10-2007 12:11
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