The Weekly Screed (#749)

How Joseph Saved the Nativity Scene
by David Benjamin

BETHLEHEM, 0 A.D. — This usually sleepy village was bustling and noisy with pilgrims who’d been ordered there by Caesar to register for the Roman census. Among them was an aged carpenter named Joseph, who had just arrived after the long trek from a grubby little waterhole called Nazareth.

“Excuse me,” said the bedraggled carpenter to the innkeeper at a slightly rundown but respectable hostelry called Binny’s Roost. “I’m here with my pregnant wife, who might pop any second now. We’re tired. We’re cold. We’re low on cash. But we’re desperate for lodgings.”

“Hah!” said Binny, the eponymous innkeeper. “You are in luck, pal. We just had a cancellation on the Bridal Suite and I’m brimming with the spirit of Saturnalia. Out of the goodness of my heart, I’m gonna offer you and your little lady our finest suite, but I’ll only charge you the regular room rate! Not only that, but my sister-in-law, Miriam? She’s a midwife. Talks too much and her teeth are a wreck. But she’s terrific with childbirth.”

Joseph looked crestfallen. “Oh, really? A suite?” he said pensively.

“What’s the trouble, ace?” said Binny. “You can’t do better anywhere in Bethlehem. Especially with this census mob in town.”

“Oh no, I appreciate the offer,” said Joseph. “It’s just that…”

“What?” said Binny. There was an edge of impatience in his voice.
 
Joseph took the innkeeper aside. “Well, y’see, I was really looking for something a little humbler, more appropriate to the birth of the Christchild.”

Binny knitted his brow. “Christchild? Ya mind telling me? What the hell is a Christchild?”

Joseph rolled his eyes. “Where’ve you been, man? How long have us Jews been waiting for the Messiah? Forever, right? Well, this kid — my foster-son to be. Well, he’s it. The Christchild. The Savior. Honest to God. There was this angel, who comes down from Heaven, into my wife Mary’s bedroom, through the ceiling. Poof. And right there, he imbues into Mary’s womb the holy seed of the Son of God. Never laid a finger on her, either. She’s still a virgin.”

The innkeeper took a step back. “You wife got knocked up by an angel? And she kept her clothes on? And so did the angel?”

“Yes, well…” Joseph actually blushed. “That’s what she says.”

“And you swallowed that?”

“Hey,” said Joseph, “she’s 16, she’s gorgeous, she’s demure, and she’s a nice clean Jewish girl. Look at me. I’m 50 if I’m a day. I got corns, calluses, hardly any hair. My back is killing me and I can’t see any farther than I can spit. My prostate is a mystery and I’m lucky if I can get it up once a month. But I’m married to the best-looking babe in Nazareth County. Am I gonna ask questions?”

The innkeeper smiled sympathetically. “So, I assume this angel, who came down on your wife, he gave instructions on his this whaddya-call-it?”

“Christchild.”

“Right. The angel had some idea for this Christchild’s nativity.”

“Oh, yes. Mary’s been very specific about the arrangements. She wants a simple, unpleasant place to give birth. The Christchild has to be poor and humble from the very beginning, so that the wretched of the earth can relate to him. So, I was hoping that you might have, like, a dirty, drafty servant’s quarters. Maybe with a view of the garbage pit?”

Binny shook his head. “Look, pal. I’ve worked my tuchis off to make this into a nice little hotel. I’ve got locks on the doors, glass in the windows, clean sheets once a week. If you’ve got your heart set on wretchedness and squalor, I can’t help ya, man. It’s either the Bridal Suite or there’s no room at the inn.”

“ ‘No room at the inn.’ That’s good!” said Joseph, “I gotta write that down.”

Binny said, “So, I’m sorry, pal. See ya.”

“Wait a minute,” said Joseph. “On the way here, I saw, out back, this filthy, broken-down, disgusting little outbuilding.”

“Out back? That’s the stable, fella,” said Binny. “We don’t put people — ”

“Whaddya got there?” Joseph was excited.

“What do I got? What does anybody have in a stable? There’s the cow, a donkey, a few chickens and goats. And it’s hip-deep in fresh manure. It stinks.”

“Really? Manure? That’s great! It’s perfect! What about a manger? You got a manger?”

“Well, of course. What’s a stable without a — ”

“What about sheep? You got sheep? We need sheep!”

“You want sheep?” Binny paused to consider this lunatic request. “Okay, yeah. There’s my cousin, Shlomo. He has a whole flock he keeps on the hillside east of town. We don’t usually invite Shlomo to family gatherings. Nice enough kid, but well… He smells of sheep.”

“So, you can get Shlomo, and his sheep, to the stable?”

“If you really want — ”

“What about music?”

“Music? What?! You’re having a baby and you want a dance band?”

“No, angels!” said Joseph.

“Angels again?” said Binny. “Do Jews have angels?”

“Mary wants to be able to tell people back in Nazareth that there were angels heard on high, bending near the earth, to touch their harps of gold.”

“Harps of gold?” said Binny, barking a sardonic laugh. “This is Bethlehem, pal. We’d consider ourselves well off if we had even one harp, carved out of a dead olive bush.”

Joseph whacked his brow. “What? I don’t believe it. You’ve got no musicians at all in this one-camel town?”

“No, we have a few,” said Binny, a little defensively. “There’s my brother-in-law, Moishe. He plays the three-string lute. You could call that a harp.”

“Okay, he’s hired. Who else you got?”

Binny sighed again. Joseph was getting on his nerves. “Well, for a few extra shekels, I guess Moishe could bring along his brother, Meshech, who’s dynamite on the wooden pennywhistle! Oh, yeah, and then there’s my neighbor’s kid, Egon, the little drummer boy.”

“Egon?” said Joseph. “Doesn’t sound like a Jewish name.”

“Nah. He’s a Philadelphian. All the good percussionists come from Philly.”

“Oh, really?”

“So, okay, pal, you got sheep, you got music. Are we good now?”

“Not really. We need a crowd. Lots of faithful, joyful and triumphant, beholding and adoring. Earth has to receive Heaven’s all-gracious King in style. God and sinners reconciling, the soul feeling its worth and all that jazz. Dig?”

“Yeah, I dig,” said Binny, wracking his brain. “Look, I’m sure I can get Shlomo to round up his shepherd friends — although the smell? Whew! And the music? That’ll draw people, even to a stable.”

Joseph didn’t look satisfied. “Shepherds and drop-ins. Is that all?”

Binny’s face lit up. “Hey, I just remembered. You’re talkin’ Heaven’s all-gracious King. There’s these three guys sharing the big bed in the Presidential Suite. Call themselves kings, but I was thinkin’ more like, y’know? Queens?”

“Great!” said Joseph. “Invite ‘em. Tell them to bring gifts fit for a king.”

“Gifts? You want gifts, from total strangers?”

“Listen, if these guys are real kings, they’ll know what I’m talking about.”

Binny shook his head, “Well, with chutzpah like you got, maybe you’re right. I’ll talk to the Magi.”

The innkeeper, wary of further demands, led Joseph outdoors, making small talk on the way. “So, whaddya gonna call the kid? Angel?”

“Funny,” said Joseph. “I was thinking Anthony. But Mary wants to call him Woodrow.”

Just then, Binny looked up in the sky, where a brilliant light shone down on the little town of Bethlehem. “Jumpin' Jesus! Look at the size of that star!”

“Hm,” said Joseph. “Jesus. That’s a nice name…”