When the orange monkey finally found Jesus cringing behind the toilet he yelled, “Woah, man! Where’s my crackers?”

Jesus just shrugged and pointed – grinning mysteriously.

The monkey knew he’d been beaten by the best, and no shame in that, but, still, it irked him that he should so suddenly be deprived of something which he loved so well. He beat his chest angrily and punched his fist through the mirror above the bathroom sink, sending shards of glass flying through the room. Jesus hunched his shoulders and pulled back more snugly beneath the toilet.

The blue and white tiled floor was a mosaic of glittering images. The monkey stared down at a hundred different reflections of his face. No image on the floor was whole, he noticed, and there was a nose here below his feet and an ear over there and, when he waggled his fingers, too many fingers waggled back from all across the floor. He looked darkly over to where Jesus was smiling weakly up at him from behind the toilet. Jesus waggled his fingers at the monkey and smiled.

“Where’s my crackers?”

Jesus shrugged again and said, “In the end, they all come back to the room where the beans are roasted.”


“Also, if you would, remember the bat. Not the whiffle-ball bat you used to play with when you were a kid but the large, black, winged creature who danced down the wall juggling those lemons you thought were impossibly round, singing that `Impossible Dream’ song. This bat, you know, he never even had a juggling lesson, didn’t even have hands, but he still got that blonde chick in the skin-tight cat suit to feed him bread and wine after the show.”

“What the hell does that have to do with my crackers?”

“Well – everything,” Jesus said, smiling brightly.