Río de Janeiro 1/2
From behind the bus window I look at a mountain in the distance. I’ve got some time on my hands: traffic congestion. Every hour is rush hour over here.
My gaze keeps getting redirected at the mountain. On top of it stands either a giant statue or a Dutch person. “Nederlander?” I shout at him. No response. I contemplate for a second. “Must be a statue, than.” (I actually went to university.)
From my back pocket I grab a pair of binoculars that I just so happen to carry with me for these occasions. “Man, that looks familiar,” I say while I inspect the statue. The face, the hair, the eyes, the stance as if it’s about to bungee jump. It feels as if we’ve met before, but never really got along.
As I stare the head seems to rotate my way. The statue frowns and turns around one of his hands. It folds all fingers except the middle one. “Jesus,” I say, “that’s pretty fucking blasphemous.”
Suddenly all becomes dark, a high pitched sound pierces my eardrums, an obese, middle aged woman tries to sell me an ab-machine, the number six repeats itself three times and I find myself standing on the mountain, in front of the Christ statue overlooking Rio de Janeiro.
“Okay,” I mumble and nod my head. “Peculiar.”
Statue Jesus looks down at and on me. “Why have you come to my city?”
I smirk. “Aren’t all cities “your city”?”“Just answer the question.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Attend mass, pray, spread the word of the lord and practice celibacy. You know: the usual.”
“Apologies, I’m blessed with sarcasm. All the opposite of what I just said.”
“And your New Year resolutions?”
“Chasing dreams, attracting people, leave alone the phone, reach goals, et cetera, et cetera.”
He coughs. “Some space left for my father and I?”
“I already have an amazing father. I’m good, thanks.”
“You don’t want to deserve your spot in heaven?”
“If trying to be kind, honest and helpful isn’t enough to enter, I’m okay. Plus I like these warmer climates.”
A scornful laugh. “You chose hell yet again.”
I look around me. Fascinated that non of the other tourists are standing in awe seeing a talking Christ statue.
I scratch the back of my neck. “For an omnipotent and omniscient entity you seem fairly surprised. Being both is a paradox by the way, I wonder if…”
“Silence!” screams Statue Jesus. “Don’t discuss matters with me which I can only reply to with contradictory answers, you heathen mess.”
“No worries, Statue Jesus. I’m not here to grind anyone’s gears.”
I check the surrounding area, look down the steep mountain and see the bus, all the way down in the industrial area of town.
“Would you mind being a kind prophet and teleport me back to the bus? I really want to explore this city.”
He squints his eyes. “Thou shallst walk.”
“You’re having a laugh, right?”
“No,” he says. “Humour isn’t my forte. But here’s Ten Commandments, so you don’t feel as if it has all been for nothing. Be sure not to drop them.”
“Wait… Isn’t that Old Testament? You weren’t around, well at least Jesus wasn…”
“Enjoy the walk.”
And thus began his painful way down the mountain road. His personal Via Dolorosa.
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