Subway Break by Vera Searles

 

      Christ got on the subway at the 14th Street station and leaned His cross against a pole. My sister gave me a poke in the ribs.       "That's God," Doreen whispered.
      Across from us, a mother pulled her child onto her lap to make room for Christ to sit down. "Thank you, " He said, and made the sign of the cross at them. The little boy kept staring at the sandals on Christ's feet.
      "I wonder where He's going?" my sister whispered.
      I shrugged. "Maybe to Sim's to get a new suit," I said. His toga was ragged and His halo bobbled loosely. "He could use a shave, too," I added.
      "Rosie, show some respect," my sister said, shifting her thick body away from me.
      We were quiet for a while. At Penn Station the doors opened and closed. Also at 42nd Street. Christ was nodding off, His head lolling on His chest. The little boy was picking his nose and pasting the results on Christ's toga. "Stop that!" his mother said, slapping the child's hand and waking up God.
      Christ rubbed a hand through His beard. His gaze drifted and landed on my sister and me. I felt Doreen begin to quiver. "Calm down," I whispered.
      "You think He likes me?" she asked.
      Christ smiled. His teeth were dingy. My sister smiled back. He rubbed His beard again. On the back of His hand was an old scar, probably a nail hole.
      Doreen took out her compact and slathered more gloss on her pudgy lips. "Stop flirting," I hissed.
      "Who's flirting?"
      At Columbus Circle, the mother and her little boy got off. Their seat was taken by a teen with a boom box. "God doesn't want to listen to those rocks," my sister said. She made a face at the teen.       He turned up the volume.
      Christ's feet jiggled. His toes twitched and twingled. His sandals tapped the floor and His fingers drummed His knees. His beard swayed. His halo swirled.
      Doreen snapped her fingers in time to the music. She rolled her shoulders. "Stop it," I said. "Act your age."
      "I'm only thirty-two, Rosie," Doreen flung at me. "I might be an old maid, but I'm not old."
      Christ was watching and listening. He extended His hand. Doreen accepted it. People cleared a space in the middle of the train for the dancing couple.
      It was a nice party. A man wearing a Mets baseball cap shared his peanuts. A black kid did some break dancing. A woman with a bag of fruit handed out grapes. A man in a business suit called his wife on his cell phone and said he had to work late. He asked me to dance. I said no, I had a bad toe.
      We sailed along, stopping at 72, 96, 110. As people got on, they joined the party. As people got off, they promised to call or write.
      Christ's beard was dripping with sweat and His halo was crooked. He had been dancing non-stop. Finally the kid with the boom box got off at 125th. Doreen sank down next to me, her bosom heaving. "Wow," she said. "That Christ is some dancer."
      "Are you going to see Him again?" I asked.
      She shrugged. "I might. He's awfully busy, though."
      Across from us, Christ mopped His face with the bottom of His toga. He ran His fingers through His beard and hair and straightened His halo. He picked up His cross and hoisted it to His shoulder. When the doors opened at Washington Heights, He stepped out onto the platform.
      "Did you give Him your number?" I asked Doreen.
      She shook her head no and nudged me. Christ had His arm around a girl in a long skirt and a threadbare shawl. They walked off together
      "She came a long way, that Mary Magdalene," Doreen said as the doors shut. "She looked tired."
      I nodded. "So did He. I think He still has a lot of work left to do."
      "Yes," Doreen agreed. "But it was nice He could take a break."

 

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