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It wasn’t easy navigating the stone stairs down to the courtyard where the crowd made a path for the condemned writer. But Casey managed to descend them without falling despite the major, uncomfortable load on his shoulders and upper back. The first person he saw was Barabbas who was glaring at him with a big smile full of rotten teeth.
“How’s it feel, murderer?” he said. “You got anything to do with those earth tremors? Are you really the devil?”
“Shut up, Barabbas,” Short Soldier said. “Let us pass before we arrest you again.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Barabbas said, spitting at the soldier.
Tall Soldier was about to poke Barabbas with his lance when Short Soldier told him to stand down.
“He’s not worth it,” Short Soldier said. Then, “Move it, Smith,”
The crowd was not only unruly, but they were screaming in Casey’s face. Some of them tossed rocks at him and spit at him. He tried his best to avoid their hateful displays, but with the crossbeam pressing on his back, it was nearly impossible to do anything other than take their abuse.
Up ahead he saw another man struggling pathetically with his crossbeam. That the man was Jesus of Nazareth, there was no doubt. That he was already close to death, there was also no doubt. He had fallen onto his chest and face. By all appearances, Casey knew the holy man was finding it almost impossible to get back on his feet. The ninety-pound crossbeam might as well have weighed a ton. It was pressing Jesus down against the stone path.
The people who flanked the path were using the opportunity to kick Jesus, spit on him, and toss stones and rocks at him. At this point, he was a pile of hamburger meat and blood, his long, black hair was so soaked with blood it resembled a beaver’s tail. How much abuse and treachery could one man stand before his heart gave out? Maybe God the Father would have been acting in a more benevolent manner if he simply pulled the plug on Jesus’s earthly life earlier than later, and allowed the suffering to stop.
Casey focused on Jesus. The writer realized that despite being condemned to death along with the would-be messiah, he was the lucky one. He might have been beat up and scourged but he hadn’t taken nearly the abuse Jesus had and was presently still taking. Sure, Casey was made to carry his own crossbeam just like Jesus, but he wasn’t finding it all that heavy. With that in mind, he began to make his way directly to the holy man. When he came upon him, he glared at all the angry men and women who continued to kick the poor man while he was down.
“Back...off,” he barked.
That’s when Casey dropped his crossbeam, pulled the blood-stained beam off Jesus’s back, and helped him get back up on his feet. The writer was entirely surprised that the two Roman soldiers who were guarding Jesus allowed him to help their prisoner.
Casey did something else too. He used the baggy portion of his robe to wipe the blood from Jesus’s face. When he was through, he noticed something extraordinary on his robe. It contained an almost photographic resemblance to the messiah’s face.
Casey’s insides tightened up and his mouth went dry. He knew then that the Bible was indeed a true book, and that Jesus wasn’t just some mythical creature made up by the storytellers to begin a new movement or religion. Jesus of Nazareth was the real thing. The real son of God, and these people and the Romans who ruled them with an iron fist, were too ignorant and blind to see it.
Jesus, now with the cross back on his shoulders, was still a bit unsteady on his feet. Casey had the feeling the only thing keeping him alive at this point was the pain that was being electrically pulsated throughout his body from head to toe by overly stimulated neurons and transmitters. But soon, even they would become exhausted and human life for the holy man would mercifully cease to exist.
Jesus looked into Casey’s eyes, and he managed to offer not a word, but a simple nod. Casey felt the nod in his heart and soul. It felt like a brotherly hug. Turning ever so slowly back to the path that would lead out the big city gates and to Golgotha, Jesus slowly walked.
It was then that two women approached Casey. As he hefted his own wood beam back onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around it, he knew they had to be Mary, Jesus’s mother, and Mary Magdalene, Jesus’s female disciple, best friend, and perhaps even his wife. They both thanked Casey through their tears with trembling voices.
Not knowing what to say, he offered them a sad smile. Behind the woman stood two young, bearded men. Casey took them for Jesus’s younger brothers, James and John.
“Look after the women,” Casey said. “They need you right now. I’m sure your brother is counting on you to be strong.”
“We will be,” the younger of the two said. “We’ve known all our lives this day was coming.”
Casey watched the four of them catch up to Jesus. He knew that soon Jesus would fall again, and in no way would the two Roman soldiers assigned to the holy man allow Casey to help out once again. Recalling the New Testament, he knew that a pagan man by the name of Simon would be enlisted by the Romans to help out. He hoped it happened soon.
“Hey you, Casey Smith,” Short Soldier barked. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with that criminal?”
“The right thing,” Casey said.
“Only Caesar decides what’s right and wrong,” the soldier said.
“Yeah, well he certainly got it wrong when it comes to you and your big ugly girlfriend,” Casey said.
Tall Soldier poked the writer in the back with his Lance.
“Move it, murderer,” he shouted. “And for your information, I am all man.”
Slowly Casey turned and gazed at Tall Soldier in the eyes.
“You poke me with that thing one more time...just one more fucking time...and I swear to God, I’ll pull you up on that cross along with me,” Casey spit.
Tall Soldier blinked rapidly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Casey got the feeling he took the threat seriously as if it truly would be possible to pull him up onto the cross along with him. Maybe there had been incidents where insolent Roman soldiers were unexpectedly crucified when they reached Golgotha. Considering how primitive and brutal these people were in the early first century, it wouldn’t surprise him one bit.
Turning back toward the still-upright Jesus, Casey walked. Up ahead he could make out open city gates and beyond them, the hill where he and Jesus would be nailed to their crosses. It seemed far away, but at the same time, it was too close. Still, he walked toward his demise. What the hell other choice did he have?