Son of Man
Found an old notebook of mine from my first year of university (1997-1998), which contained the beginning of story called "Son of Man". Here's the first paragraph:
Jesus of Nazareth stood watering the flowers in front of his house in Franklin, Oregon, on a lovely June day in the year of our Lord 1998. His neighbours, the Labazy's (Ted and Ann, with their twins Michael and Julia, and new baby, Peter) had just pulled into their driveway next door and they all flashed him a neighbourly wave and a toothy smile as they piled out of the car and into the house. Jesus, who was wearing a bathrobe and Birkenstocks and humming "If I had a Hammer" under his breath, waved back and with a wry grin pondered about how the shit would hit the fan if he was ever found out, alive and well, living in a little house all alone in the Pacific Northwest.
Now, I find some of the actual prose a bit clichéd and amateurish (for example, now I would never write phrases like "toothy smile" and "wry grin" - I think I'm much more adverse to adjectives in general, but maybe at the time I was going for a populist, mainstream fiction tone). However, I like the premise. Maybe in another seven years I'll re-read this post and actually do some work on the story.
Jesus of Nazareth stood watering the flowers in front of his house in Franklin, Oregon, on a lovely June day in the year of our Lord 1998. His neighbours, the Labazy's (Ted and Ann, with their twins Michael and Julia, and new baby, Peter) had just pulled into their driveway next door and they all flashed him a neighbourly wave and a toothy smile as they piled out of the car and into the house. Jesus, who was wearing a bathrobe and Birkenstocks and humming "If I had a Hammer" under his breath, waved back and with a wry grin pondered about how the shit would hit the fan if he was ever found out, alive and well, living in a little house all alone in the Pacific Northwest.
Now, I find some of the actual prose a bit clichéd and amateurish (for example, now I would never write phrases like "toothy smile" and "wry grin" - I think I'm much more adverse to adjectives in general, but maybe at the time I was going for a populist, mainstream fiction tone). However, I like the premise. Maybe in another seven years I'll re-read this post and actually do some work on the story.
posted by Jason at 9:08 PM
4 Comments:
Welcome to the adjective deserters club.
I do not know about ye, but if there were truly such a Thing as American Roots, mine would undoubtedly include Words in the Vein of "Neighbour" and "Colour" rather than "Neighbor" and "Color." And I would make better use of the Terms "forthwith" and "heretofore," not to mention "inasmuch." The modern Statesian-led Degeneration of traditional Spelling is a Bit sad. As is the Lack of Capitalisation of the Nouns.
Yes, I too lament the abandonment of the "capitalize the words you feel are important" movement that our forbears embraced.
Here's the opening of MY Jesus story:
Darker than the Gethsem'ane night, the priest's eyes seemed to draw out the light in the dim room.
"Shanti, bhaiya. Tat ki khabbya bhakthitha shanti bhab araya?"
Weary, thirst hardly quenched by the warm water in his pouch, Yeshua of Galileau, much later called the Nasserene, now known as Jeshu by these friends, nodded his half-understanding of this wisdom.
"Pos Patrikis," he answered in Greek, the only language he shared with these north Indians, though his improving comprehension of Sanskrit was laudable. What he said was a reminder of his commitment to his fathers: his earthly one, Yosef, far away, who had blessed this journey; and his heavenly One, never far, the One he came here to know better, Who had blessed him, from the first.
In Greek, the brahmin said, "You understand me better at 18 years of age, in your fifth tongue, than I understood my guru after 30 years of discipleship."
Jeshu smiled; he'd always been something of a prodigy. And he couldn't wait until he was ready for some disciples of his own. He would definitely send his smartest one back to this land someday.
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