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  Lamb

  The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal

  CHRISTOPHER MOORE

  Author's blessing

  If you have come to these pages for laughter, may you find it.

  If you are here to be offended, may your ire rise and your blood boil.

  If you seek an adventure, may this story sing you away to blissful escape.

  If you need to test or confirm your beliefs, may you reach comfortable conclusions.

  All books reveal perfection, by what they are or what they are not.

  May you find that which you seek, in these pages or outside them.

  May you find perfection, and know it by name.

  Contents

  AUTHOR'S BLESSING

  PROLOGUE

  The angel was cleaning out his closets when the call…

  PART I

  The Boy

  ONE

  You think you know how this story is going to…

  TWO

  The angel wants me to convey more of Joshua’s grace.

  THREE

  The angel will tell me nothing of what happened to…

  FOUR

  Yet another reason that I loathe the heavenly scum with…

  FIVE

  Well, it worked, I finally got the angel to leave…

  SIX

  When we got back to Nazareth we expected to find…

  SEVEN

  And the angel said, “What prophet has this written? For…

  EIGHT

  I’ve managed to sneak into the bathroom long enough to…

  PART II

  Change

  NINE

  I should have had a plan before I tried to…

  TEN

  The angel and I had been watching a movie about…

  ELEVEN

  Since my escape attempt, I can’t get the angel to…

  TWELVE

  Well, by pretending to have an overactive bladder, I’ve managed…

  THIRTEEN

  “I could kick that punk’s punk ass,” the angel said, jumping…

  FOURTEEN

  Meanwhile, back at the hotel room, Raziel has given up…

  FIFTEEN

  Joshua and Balthasar rode into Kabul at a time of…

  PART III

  Compassion

  SIXTEEN

  We were twelve days into our journey, following Balthasar’s meticulously…

  SEVENTEEN

  I’ve settled into some sort of droning routine here at…

  EIGHTEEN

  I have been out among you, eating and talking and…

  NINETEEN

  Another day spent wandering the city with the angel, another…

  PART IV

  Spirit

  TWENTY

  The road was just wide enough for the two of…

  TWENTY-ONE

  “You make a very attractive woman,” Rumi said from the…

  TWENTY-TWO

  Tamil, as it turned out, was not a small town…

  PART V

  Lamb

  TWENTY-THREE

  We rode Vana north toward the Silk Road, skirting the…

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I’ve finally finished reading these stories by Matthew, Mark, Luke,…

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Philip, who was called the new guy, asked that we…

  TWENTY-SIX

  You can travel the whole world, but there are always…

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The angel and I watched Star Wars for the second…

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Joshua’s ministry was three years of preaching, sometimes three times…

  TWENTY-NINE

  When it was all finished, Simon looked great, better than…

  PART VI

  Passion

  SUNDAY

  Joshua’s mother and his brother James found us outside of…

  MONDAY

  On Monday Joshua led us through the Golden Gate into…

  TUESDAY

  We all slept that night in the upper room of…

  WEDNESDAY

  At first light Maggie and I were pounding on Joseph’s…

  THURSDAY

  It was Simon and Andrew who stormed up the steps…

  FRIDAY

  Eleven apostles, Maggie, Joshua’s mother, and his brother James gathered…

  EPILOGUE

  The angel took the book from him, then went out…

  AFTERWORD

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PRAISE

  BOOKS BY CHRISTOPHER MOORE

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  Prologue

  The angel was cleaning out his closets when the call came. Halos and moonbeams were sorted into piles according to brightness, satchels of wrath and scabbards of lightning hung on hooks waiting to be dusted. A wineskin of glory had leaked in the corner and the angel blotted it with a wad of fabric. Each time he turned the cloth a muted chorus rang from the closet, as if he’d clamped the lid down on a pickle jar full of Hallelujah Chorus.

  “Raziel, what in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  The archangel Stephan was standing over him, brandishing a scroll like a rolled-up magazine over a piddling puppy.

  “Orders?” the angel asked.

  “Dirt-side.”

  “I was just there.”

  “Two millennia ago.”

  “Really?” Raziel checked his watch, then tapped the crystal. “Are you sure?”

  “What do you think?” Stephan held out the scroll so Raziel could see the Burning Bush seal.

  “When do I leave? I was almost finished here.”

  “Now. Pack the gift of tongues and some minor miracles. No weapons, it’s not a wrath job. You’ll be undercover. Very low profile, but important. It’s all in the orders.” Stephan handed him the scroll.

  “Why me?”

  “I asked that too.”

  “And?”

  “I was reminded why angels are cast out.”

  “Whoa! That big?”

  Stephan coughed, clearly an affectation, since angels didn’t breathe. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to know, but the rumor is that it’s a new book.”

  “You’re kidding. A sequel? Revelations 2, just when you thought it was safe to sin?”

  “It’s a Gospel.”

  “A Gospel, after all this time? Who?”

  “Levi who is called Biff.”

  Raziel dropped his rag and stood. “This has to be a mistake.”

  “It comes directly from the Son.”

  “There’s a reason Biff isn’t mentioned in the other books, you know? He’s a total—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “But he’s such an asshole.”

  “You talk like that and you wonder why you get dirt-duty.”

  “Why now, after so long, the four Gospels have been fine so far, and why him?”

  “Because it’s some kind of anniversary in dirt-dweller time of the Son’s birth, and he feels it’s time the whole story is told.”

  Raziel hung his head. “I’d better pack.”

  “Gift of tongues,” Stephan reminded.

  “Of course, so I can take crap in a thousand languages.”

  “Go get the good news, Raziel. Bring me back some chocolate.”

  “Chocolate?”

  “It’s a dirt-dweller snack. You’ll like it. Satan invented it.”

  “Devil’s food?”

  “You can only eat so much white cake, my friend.”

  Midnight. The angel stood on a barren hillside on the outskirts of the holy city of Jerusalem. He raised his arms aloft and a dry wind whipped his white robe around him.

  “Arise, Levi who is called Biff.”

  A whirlwin
d formed before him, pulling dust from the hillside into a column that took the shape of a man.

  “Arise, Biff. Your time has come.”

  The wind whipped into a fury and the angel pulled the sleeve of his robe across his face.

  “Arise, Biff, and walk again among the living.”

  The whirlwind began to subside, leaving the man-shaped column of dust standing on the hillside. In a moment, the hillside was calm again. The angel pulled a gold vessel from his satchel and poured it over the column. The dust washed away, leaving a muddy, naked man sputtering in the starlight.

  “Welcome back to the living,” the angel said.

  The man blinked, then held his hand before his eyes as if he expected to see through it.

  “I’m alive,” he said in a language he had never heard before.

  “Yes,” the angel said.

  “What are these sounds, these words?”

  “You have been given the gift of tongues.”

  “I’ve always had the gift of tongues, ask any girl I’ve known. What are these words?”

  “Languages. You’ve been given the gift of languages, as were all the apostles.”

  “Then the kingdom has come.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “Two thousand years ago.”

  “You worthless bag of dog shit,” said Levi who was called Biff, as he punched the angel in the mouth. “You’re late.”

  The angel picked himself up and gingerly touched his lip. “Nice talk to a messenger of the Lord.”

  “It’s a gift,” Biff said.

  Part I

  The Boy

  God is a comedian playing to an audience that is afraid to laugh.

  VOLTAIRE

  Chapter One

  You think you know how this story is going to end, but you don’t. Trust me, I was there. I know.

  The first time I saw the man who would save the world he was sitting near the central well in Nazareth with a lizard hanging out of his mouth. Just the tail end and the hind legs were visible on the outside; the head and forelegs were halfway down the hatch. He was six, like me, and his beard had not come in fully, so he didn’t look much like the pictures you’ve seen of him. His eyes were like dark honey, and they smiled at me out of a mop of blue-black curls that framed his face. There was a light older than Moses in those eyes.

  “Unclean! Unclean!” I screamed, pointing at the boy, so my mother would see that I knew the Law, but she ignored me, as did all the other mothers who were filling their jars at the well.

  The boy took the lizard from his mouth and handed it to his younger brother, who sat beside him in the sand. The younger boy played with the lizard for a while, teasing it until it reared its little head as if to bite, then he picked up a rock and mashed the creature’s head. Bewildered, he pushed the dead lizard around in the sand, and once assured that it wasn’t going anywhere on its own, he picked it up and handed it back to his older brother.

  Into his mouth went the lizard, and before I could accuse, out it came again, squirming and alive and ready to bite once again. He handed it back to his younger brother, who smote it mightily with the rock, starting or ending the whole process again.

  I watched the lizard die three more times before I said, “I want to do that too.”

  The Savior removed the lizard from his mouth and said, “Which part?”

  By the way, his name was Joshua. Jesus is the Greek translation of the Hebrew Yeshua, which is Joshua. Christ is not a last name. It’s the Greek for messiah, a Hebrew word meaning anointed. I have no idea what the “H” in Jesus H. Christ stood for. It’s one of the things I should have asked him.

  Me? I am Levi who is called Biff. No middle initial.

  Joshua was my best friend.

  The angel says I’m supposed to just sit down and write my story, forget about what I’ve seen in this world, but how am I to do that? In the last three days I have seen more people, more images, more wonders, than in all my thirty-three years of living, and the angel asks me to ignore them. Yes, I have been given the gift of tongues, so I see nothing without knowing the word for it, but what good does that do? Did it help in Jerusalem to know that it was a Mercedes that terrified me and sent me diving into a Dumpster? Moreover, after Raziel pulled me out and ripped my fingernails back as I struggled to stay hidden, did it help to know that it was a Boeing 747 that made me cower in a ball trying to rock away my own tears and shut out the noise and fire? Am I a little child, afraid of its own shadow, or did I spend twenty-seven years at the side of the Son of God?

  On the hill where he pulled me from the dust, the angel said, “You will see many strange things. Do not be afraid. You have a holy mission and I will protect you.”

  Smug bastard. Had I known what he would do to me I would have hit him again. Even now he lies on the bed across the room, watching pictures move on a screen, eating the sticky sweet called Snickers, while I scratch out my tale on this soft-as-silk paper that reads Hyatt Regency, St. Louis at the top. Words, words, words, a million million words circle in my head like hawks, waiting to dive onto the page to rend and tear the only two words I want to write.

  Why me?

  There were fifteen of us—well, fourteen after I hung Judas—so why me? Joshua always told me not to be afraid, for he would always be with me. Where are you, my friend? Why have you forsaken me? You wouldn’t be afraid here. The towers and machines and the shine and stink of this world would not daunt you. Come now, I’ll order a pizza from room service. You would like pizza. The servant who brings it is named Jesus. And he’s not even a Jew. You always liked irony. Come, Joshua, the angel says you are yet with us, you can hold him down while I pound him, then we will rejoice in pizza.

  Raziel has been looking at my writing and is insisting that I stop whining and get on with the story. Easy for him to say, he didn’t just spend the last two thousand years buried in the dirt. Nevertheless, he won’t let me order pizza until I finish a section, so here goes…

  I was born in Galilee, the town of Nazareth, in the time of Herod the Great. My father, Alphaeus, was a stonemason and my mother, Naomi, was plagued by demons, or at least that’s what I told everyone. Joshua seemed to think she was just difficult. My proper name, Levi, comes from the brother of Moses, the progenitor of the tribe of priests; my nickname, Biff, comes from our slang word for a smack upside the head, something that my mother said I required at least daily from an early age.

  I grew up under Roman rule, although I didn’t see many Romans until I was ten. The Romans mostly stayed in the fortress city of Sepphoris, an hour’s walk north of Nazareth. That’s where Joshua and I saw a Roman soldier murdered, but I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, assume that the soldier is safe and sound and happy wearing a broom on his head.

  Most of the people of Nazareth were farmers, growing grapes and olives on the rocky hills outside of town and barley and wheat in the valleys below. There were also herders of goats and sheep whose families lived in town while the men and older boys tended the flocks in the highlands. Our houses were all made of stone, and ours had a stone floor, although many had floors of hard-packed dirt.

  I was the oldest of three sons, so even at the age of six I was being prepared to learn my father’s trade. My mother taught my spoken lessons, the Law and stories from the Torah in Hebrew, and my father took me to the synagogue to hear the elders read the Bible. Aramaic was my first language, but by the time I was ten I could speak and read Hebrew as well as most of the men.

  My ability to learn Hebrew and the Torah was spurred on by my friendship with Joshua, for while the other boys would be playing a round of tease the sheep or kick the Canaanite, Joshua and I played at being rabbis, and he insisted that we stick to the authentic Hebrew for our ceremonies. It was more fun than it sounds, or at least it was until my mother caught us trying to circumcise my little brother Shem with a sharp rock. What a fit she threw. And my argument that Shem needed to renew his covenant with the Lo
rd didn’t seem to convince her. She beat me to stripes with an olive switch and forbade me to play with Joshua for a month. Did I mention she was besought with demons?

  Overall, I think it was good for little Shem. He was the only kid I ever knew who could pee around corners. You can make a pretty good living as a beggar with that kind of talent. And he never even thanked me.

  Brothers.

  Children see magic because they look for it.

  When I first met Joshua, I didn’t know he was the Savior, and neither did he, for that matter. What I knew was that he wasn’t afraid. Amid a race of conquered warriors, a people who tried to find pride while cowering before God and Rome, he shone like a bloom in the desert. But maybe only I saw it, because I was looking for it. To everyone else he seemed like just another child: the same needs and the same chance to die before he was grown.

  When I told my mother of Joshua’s trick with the lizard she checked me for fever and sent me to my sleeping mat with only a bowl of broth for supper.

  “I’ve heard stories about that boy’s mother,” she said to my father. “She claims to have spoken to an angel of the Lord. She told Esther that she had borne the Son of God.”

  “And what did you say to Esther?”

  “That she should be careful that the Pharisees not hear her ravings or we’d be picking stones for her punishment.”

  “Then you should not speak of it again. I know her husband, he is a righteous man.”