Lamb The Gospel According to Biff Christs Childho - By Christopher Moore Page 0,15

at least I might have the love of an enchanting woman. In those days, we started training for our life's work at ten, then received the prayer shawl and phylacteries at thirteen, signifying our entry into manhood. Soon after we were expected to be betrothed, and by fourteen, married and starting a family. So you see, I was not too young to consider Maggie as a wife (and I might always have the fallback position of marrying Joshua's mother when Joseph died).

The women would come and go, fetching water, washing clothes, and as the sun rose high and the square cleared, Bartholomew sat in the shade of a tattered date palm and picked his nose. Maggie never appeared. Funny how easy heartbreak can come. I've always had a talent for it.

"Why you cry?" said Bartholomew. He was bigger than any man in the village, his hair and beard were wild and tangled, and the yellow dust that covered him from head to toe gave him the appearance of an incredibly stupid lion. His tunic was ragged and he wore no sandals. The only thing he owned was a wooden bowl that he ate from and licked clean. He lived off of the charity of the village, and by gleaning the grain fields (there was always some grain left in the fields for the poor - it was dictated by the Law). I never knew how old he was. He spent his days in the square, playing with the village dogs, giggling to himself, and scratching his crotch. When the women passed he would stick out his tongue and say, "Bleh." My mother said he had the mind of a child. As usual, she was wrong.

He put his big paw on my shoulder and rubbed, leaving a dusty circle of affection on my shirt. "Why you cry?" he asked again.

"I'm just sad. You wouldn't understand."

Bartholomew looked around, and when he saw that we were alone in the square except for his dog pals, he said, "You think too much. Thinking will bring you nothing but suffering. Be simple."

"What?" It was the most coherent thing I'd ever heard him say.

"Do you ever see me cry? I have nothing, so I am slave to nothing. I have nothing to do, so nothing makes me its slave."

"What do you know?" I snapped. "You live in the dirt. You are unclean! You do nothing. I have to begin working next week, and work for a lifetime until I die with a broken back. The girl I want is in love with my best friend, and he's the Messiah. I'm nothing, and you, you - you're an idiot."

"No, I'm not, I'm a Greek. A Cynic."

I turned and really looked at him. His eyes, normally as dull as mud, shone like black jewels in the dusty desert of his face. "What's a Cynic?"

"A philosopher. I am a student of Diogenes. You know Diogenes?"

"No, but how much could he have taught you? Your only friends are dogs."

"Diogenes went about Athens with a lamp in broad daylight, holding it in people's faces, saying he was looking for an honest man."

"So, he was like the prophet of the idiots?"

"No, no, no." Bart picked up a small terrier and was gesturing with him to make his point. The dog seemed to enjoy it. "They were all fooled by their culture. Diogenes taught that all affectations of modern life were false, that a man must live simply, outdoors, carry nothing, make no art, no poetry, no religion..."

"Like a dog," I said.

"Yes!" Bart described a flourish in the air with the rat dog. "Exactly!" The little dog made as if to upchuck from the motion. Bart put him down and he wobbled away.

A life without worry: right then it sounded wonderful. I mean, I didn't want to live in the dirt and have other people think me mad, like Bartholomew, but a dog's life really didn't sound bad. The idiot had been hiding a deep wisdom all these years.

"I'm trying to learn to lick my own balls," Bart said.

Maybe not. "I have to go find Joshua."

"You know he is the Messiah, don't you?"

"Wait a minute, you're not a Jew - I thought you didn't believe in any religion."

"The dogs told me he was the Messiah. I believe them. Tell Joshua I believe them."

"The dogs told you?"

"They're Jewish dogs."

"Right, let me know how the ball licking works out."

"Shalom."

Who would have thought that Joshua would find his first apostle among the dirt and dogs of