Maundy Thursday
The Writers' Block #23 - Theme Maundy Thursday (or similar religious festival)
‘... He laughed and said: “You should have seen what happened to the monkey!”’
There was a stunned silence in the room. Everyone at the table stared at him.
The first to react was John, who licked his lips, looked to the ceiling and swooned, sliding off his chair, taking his wine glass with him. Peter, holding his knife tried to catch him, but missed, instead smearing butter all down Andrew’s arm and he tried to assist from the other side.
Thomas appeared to be on the verge of tears, the older James had gone pale and Philip stood up, demanding an explanation. Andrew, placing John back into his chair, wondered if the explanation demanded was about the monkey’s fate or why the distasteful joke had been told in the first place. Bartholomew and the younger James snorted into their drinks.
At the other end of the table, Matthew and Jude stared at Simon for an answer. He didn’t have one and raised his shoulders in despair.
Jesus looked around him. ‘That could have gone better… Blame Judas for that, he swore it would get a laugh…’
Judas paid great attention to his bread. Someone tutted and mutterings of ‘Typical’ could be heard. A bread roll flew across the table, hitting Judas on the forehead and bouncing onto his plate. Bartholomew and the younger James snorted into their drinks again.
‘Friends, I’ve -’
‘That hurt, you know,’ interrupted Judas.
Jesus held his hands up for silence. ‘Now, Friends, I -’
‘It could’ve had my eye out,’ mumbled Judas.
Bartholomew and the younger James snorted yet again into their drinks, both wondering when the food would arrive. The wine, which was good, and, which, even without Thomas’ doubting, would be turned into water very soon, was saturating the bread they had been eating for some time. Food was required or this meal might turn into a riot.
‘Do sit down, Philip.’
‘Oh, sorry, Jesus. I was just, erm … yes.’ He sat down and nudged James next to him. James punched him on the arm.
‘Stop it, you two, or I’ll split you up.’
‘Sorry, Jesus,’ they said, ashamed.
Bartholomew and the younger James started humming Hey Jude. This in turn caused Jude to demand they stop it and he threw a bread roll at them. The action nudged Simon as he was taking a sip of his wine. Simon, who had been simmering all evening because he was stuck in traffic, arrived late and found himself at the far end of the table, roared his displeasure. ‘Who chose this place anyway?’
Bartholomew and the younger James blew raspberries and threw the bread roll back. Simon, unflinching, lifted his hand and caught it with ease like a well-rehearsed circus trick.
‘SHUT UP!’
They all stared at Jesus.
‘Hell fire! You lot are such a pain sometimes… Now, the reason I brought you here.’
The owner chose that moment to enter with food, placing the duck a l’orange in front of Jesus, bowing and kissing his fingers into the air he wished them ‘Bon appetit!’
The aroma was irresistible and Jesus could tell that his speech may have to wait until the meal was over. ‘Right, who’s for duck?’
Twelve hands went up. Jesus counted them for good measure, looked at the duck and, with a huge sigh, started carving.