The Fiction of Douglas Lain
Selling Jesus
This story originally appeared in:
an excerpt:
Set your briefcase on the motel toilet seat, flip the latch, and then reach inside the case in order to focus the holographic projector. Now pull the shower curtain aside and watch as Jesus Christ appears in the stall.
Feel relieved because He looks traditional, biblical. Dressed in a burlap tunic and with long hair and a neatly trimmed beard, He looks okay.
"You follow the rules but you're not really complete," Jesus tells you. "If you want to be whole, then get rid of all your stuff, give it to a charity or something," Jesus says.
It sounds like Scripture, it's from Mark probably, but the tone is too casual. There must still be a bug in the system.
Glance up at the mirror. Your face is, as always, somewhat uneven. One eye is open just a little more than the other. And worse, you look weathered—older than thirty-seven. Turn on the tap and try to wash the dust off your skin.
You're not looking forward to hitting turf, approaching doors. Last year at this time you were a star, your numbers were the second highest in the organization, but last year doesn't matter. What counts is what you're selling now, this season, and yesterday you could find only two people even willing to listen. You ended up with nothing. That's what this job is turning you into: a goose egg, a zero, a nothing.
At least the water is hot, and the air conditioner doesn't clank. In Salt Lake City the air conditioner clanked all night and you couldn't sleep. When your buddies were raking in all that Mormon money, you just scraped by. How could you spin a decent pitch when you were too tired to remember the names of the disciples?
Jesus taps you on the shoulder as you lather up for a shave.
"If you'll forget about your family, your colleagues, your car, your insurance policies—if you'll just put that aside and follow me then you'll end up with more than you can imagine. You'll end up with eternal life," Jesus tells you. He looks smug, really happy with himself.
"You can't even get out of the shower," you tell Him. The hologram gives it a try, lifting His foot up and over the edge of the tub and disappearing.
"Selling Jesus" is reviewed by Christopher East at Tangent Online.