Corona and the Virus

John Corona had just turned off the faucet and reached out for the paper towel dispenser, when all of a sudden the cloth mask was torn off his face and his mouth was gagged with a dusty rug. Two strangers behind lifted his body from the floor and quickly manhandled him out of the comfort station and into a Toyota minibus, where another man, with a fast, sure movement of his hand, sent John instantly into a deep chloroformed sleep.

On coming back to his senses, John found himself lying on the floor of the vehicle, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his head aching terribly. All his three captors were in the minibus - the driver and the two husky guys seated on both his sides. He did not know who these men were, neither did he know where he was being driven to and what the hell was going on. But he knew for sure that he had missed his Kyiv - New York flight and that his wife, who was supposed to meet him at JFK airport, would be very alarmed to discover he wasn't aboard the plane.

He managed to take a glimpse at the watch on the wrist of one of his captors. It was about four hours since he had stepped over the threshold of that damned bathroom in downtown Kyiv. Perhaps if he hadn't done that, he would have been flying safely home now. "Shit," he whispered and closed his eyes.

Soon he felt with all his body that the vehicle had turned off the highway onto a dirt road and after twenty minutes of bouncing over pits and bumps, the minibus stopped and the driver shut down the engine.

"Here we are. Wake up," one of the guys shook John by the shoulder, "Come on, buddy, get up and out."

John Corona had no choice but to obey and leave the car. A heady fresh air, saturated with the bracing smell of spraying water, burst through his nostrils and into his chest, replacing the stale gas his lungs were full of after his journey on the floor of the car. He looked around to find himself standing on a dirt track bordered with a wood on one side and a river on the other. The sparkling, frothing waters of the river with a buzzing hubbub pushed their way through the rapids of smooth, grey boulders that stretched across the frisking stream up to the opposite bank, fringed with the wall of a forest.

"Don't be scared, you're safe here. Let's go to the house," the driver, now out of the car, interrupted John's observation of the landscape and made him notice a small mud-walled hut standing at the edge of the wood. Half a dozen goats peacefully strolled around the house, exploring the ground that had not yet quite forgotten the numbing coldness of winter and which April had just dyed verdant. A flock of noisy geese enjoyed the first hot sunbeams, paddling in a dirty pool that had obviously been a snowdrift only a couple of weeks ago.

John, accompanied by his captors, walked over to the hut, then all the four entered the low door, passed through the small antechamber and got into a faintly lit room, where at the long table there sat five casually dressed men. On seeing their captive, the tallest and most handsome of them arose and with a benevolent smile headed towards the captive.

"Glad to see you, John Corona," the man said in slightly accented English and there was no trace of aggressiveness in his soft and suave voice. "Oh, brethren, haven't you yet released his hands from the bonds? Please do it immediately and let our guest join us at the table."

"I have an apology to make for the way you've been brought here," continued the man as he enclosed John's hands, now freed from the rope, in his big, warm palms. "But there was no other way to convey you here. You may check your pockets - we didn't touch your wallet, but had to confiscate your smartphone just for your own security."

"Where am I?" John asked.

The man relinquished his hold on John's hands and took a step back.

"In Ukraine, of course. We're in the woods of Vinnitsa region. The river you've seen is the Southern Bug, or the Hypanis as Herodotus named it in his Histories. The land of the extinct Scythians, the very outskirts of the former Roman Empire, the empire within whose boundaries our Lord has sacrificed himself. Well, John, pray take any seat you like."

John cast a glance at the table set with jugs of wine and crusty loaves of brown bread.

"Thanks, but first I'd like to know who you are and to what I owe my being here. How dare you hold me in this ramshackle hut now, when I'm supposed to be on board the plane crossing the Atlantic this very moment? What the hell does all this mean?"

"My dear friend, I do understand your resentment," replied the tall man, "and, of course, you're absolutely right, we must introduce ourselves to you. Let me do it first - my name's Pontius Pilate."

"What?" John made a sarcastic grimace. "Pontius Pilate?"

"Aye, and the people you see at the table are Peter the apostle, then Andrew, John, James. The men that came with you are Phillip, Mathew and Thomas. The rest of the apostles are going to be present with us tonight."

"Are you a sort of sect?" asked John.

Pontius Pilate poured some wine into a tumbler to down it straight in a gulp, and then replied:

"It's not the best term for our fraternity, but you may call us so, if you like."

"It's pretty amusing, but I'd like to inform you that I've nothing to do with any sect of any religion whatever." John drew a chair off the table, sat down on it, crossed his legs and gave everyone at the table an estimating look.

"So, you're the apostles," he said, his voice heavy with irony. "Nice to meet you, saint martyrs. But I see there's one grand person missing. Where is your Good Shepherd?"

"You mean Jesus Christ?" Pilate asked as he put the empty glass on the table.

"Yeah, the King of the Hebrews. You see I had a chance to read some of the Gospels."

"There's no better thing in the world than reading Holy Writ," Pilate broke a piece of bread off a loaf and sent it into his mouth. Having chewed and swallowed it, he went on with his speech: "We've been missing Our Savior for so long, but now at last He's with us."

"Could you be so kind as to introduce me to Him?" asked John, still smiling maliciously. "'Cause I've never had a chance to have the Savior Himself standing by my side."

"And you'll never have a chance to see Him beside you," responded Pilate, "because our Jesus Christ is now sitting before me in a vulgar posture and speaking to me and all the saint apostles present in a tone that doesn't befit His divine dignity."

"What?!" John exclaimed, nearly tumbling down off his chair. "You mean me? Are you nuts? I'm Jesus Christ? Who would believe this? How utterly absurd!"

"You'd better try some of our wine to calm yourself down and relax," Andrew the apostle joined in the conversation, speaking with a heavier accent.

"Yes, Andrew's right - it's no good refusing our frugal dinner." Pilate helped himself to some more bread. "Now, my dear friend, try and attend to my words. For a long time we've been looking for you all around the world, and now, after all those years of strenuous searching, we've got you here, and at length we can help you fulfill your sacred mission."

"What the hell mission?"

Pilate straightened up and sternly looked at John Corona.

"To save mankind from this diabolical coronavirus infection for once, anf from all other calamities to boot."

"Coronavirus?" John seemed amazed. "Are you kidding? Is this some kind of joke concerning my last name?"

"Mr. Corona," Pontius Pilate looked severely at John, "it has nothing to with your last name whatever."

"Then what is it all about?"

"I told you - it's about you saving humanity at this trying hour of human history."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Through martyrdom and death."

"Whose death?" asked John.

"Yours, of course," replied Pilate.

"But I'm not going to die," declared John.

"Maybe you are not, but it's me who's named Pontius Pilate, and it's my destiny to have you crucified."

"Nonsense," Corona shook his head in confusion, "you must be kidding."

"It's no nonsense," replied Pilate, "but an inevitable thing."

"Then you're nothing but a mob of maniacs." John got up and spoke in a tremulous voice: "Who gave you the right to capture an innocent man in broad daylight, carry him hundreds of miles away and then talk this fucking shit about saving the world through the death of this absolutely innocent person. You'd better look at yourselves, saint apostles, at your faces of thorough boozers."

"You're getting abusive, Mr. Corona," Pilate sounded irritated, the sweetness of his voice gone.

"Abusive? You ought to be not only abused, but accused of an attempt to murder a man in a sadistic way."

"Do stop blaspheming for Heaven's sake!" yelled Peter the apostle and hurled an empty glass at John.

John dodged and then made a sudden dash toward the door, but Pilate was quick and strong enough to grasp the runaway by the collar of his jacket and flung him down on to the floor.

"I tell you once again," Pilate roared over the prostrate figure, "I'm Pontius Pilate and you're Jesus Christ. Your sacred destiny is to be crucified by me in order to save all the people of the world and deliver them from this evil disease. Should you not agree, I'm not going to be extremely kind to you at all."

"Yes, dear John, Pontius speaks the truth," said Phillip the apostle. "He's a nice buddy, but it's his solemn fate to kill you. "

John slowly got up to his feet, shook the dust off his clothes and reoccupied his seat.

"Well, John, please don't try to drive me crazy anymore," Pilate again sounded amiable. "I understand very well that this kind of situation is somewhat odd to you, but there's no need to be afraid of anything while you're among us. It's not going to be as awful as you might first have imagined. Everything will be done according to the letter of the Scripture. Today's Thursday. Tomorrow's going to be Good Friday. In the morning we'll take you to the hill that we call Golgotha. It's not far from here. There we'll nail you up to a wooden cross and then, when you're dead, we'll put your body in a tomb at the foot of Golgotha. After that, on Sunday, when everybody celebrates Easter, you will successfully resurrect and it shall be the beginning of a new era, the era that should put an end to this damned COVID-19, as well as to Man's previous sinful way of life. You see there's nothing so fearful about the whole thing at all."

"Okay," John sighed deeply, "let me pretend I believe in all those weird fantasies of yours. But there's still one question - why me? Why me, if my last name has got nothing to do with it? Why of all the people on Earth have you chosen me to be your Christ and not anybody else? I've never met any one of you before, I know nothing about you and I presume you hardly know anything about me."

"Your presumption is wrong, Corona," declared Pilate. "We know all about you. And the first point in the list of the reasons for our choice is your age. Thirty-three, the age of Christ."

"Oh, I'm not the only one at that - millions of men are thirty-three."

"But you're the most sinless of them all."

"Me?" John gave Pilate a look of distrust.

"Yes, you've been leading such a way of life that you happened to make the least number of infringements on the Ten Commandments of all the men of your age, in the whole world."

"Incredible! I wasn't aware of that until now. In that case I should be in Paradise, not here, in this godforsaken shack."

"No doubt you will be there, but your way to Paradise lies through the act of self-sacrificing."

"Well," John gave Pilate an inquiring look, "do you mind proving my stainless purity of mind and body?'

"First, you haven't murdered anyone," replied Pilate.

"Most people have never committed that kind of felony."

"You've never stolen a thing."

"I'm not the only person who has been properly brought up by his parents."

"You've never borne false witness against your neighbor."

"I've just never been called to witness in the court. If I had, nobody knows what I'd have said."

"But fact is fact, and what's more you've never coveted your neighbor's property.

"Stop, stop, stop, please. Maybe the statement about the property is correct, but I remember now - I stole once."

"What did you steal?" enquired Pilate, astounded.

"When I was eight I swiped a handful of candies in the supermarket."

"John, don't be so droll. It was just a child's prank, not a crime. Objection overruled. Another more important point - you've never committed adultery."

John gave out a heavy sigh.

"I would have been unfaithful to my wife millions of times. I wanted to do it, but it's my sexual cowardice and diffidence that prevented me from doing so. You see I'm not a sinless person at all." John's voice grew more and more tremulous. "There's no room for sin in my life only because of the dull way of life I'm leading, the way that's never given me a chance to enjoy life through numerous sorts of sin, like most people of the world do. You must realize I'm just a poor kind of creature, a nonentity, a cipher, a loser, not a Messiah at all. A mere sales rep can't be Jesus Christ."

Pilate stepped closer to Corona.

"Don't get so agitated, my dear friend. Now we can only see your being rather self-critical. It's not a bad quality at all, I must say. Undoubtedly you've committed some minor sins, but they can't be compared to those a common man commits during his life. That's what makes you so unique. You're the One, John, the only One." Pilate splashed some wine into the chalice that stood in the centre of the table and brought the vessel up to John's lips. "Have a drink, John! Have a blissful drink from the Holy Grail!"

"Hope it isn't poisoned," said John.

Pilate grinned.

"The one doomed to be crucified can't be poisoned."

John took the chalice up to his lips and with a few greedy gulps emptied it .

"Well done, buddy! Take some more! Help yourself to the bread!" the apostles shouted, animated and boisterous.

"Thanks," John took a breath and put the vessel down on the table. "Okay, let's suppose you've convinced me that I'm perfectly suited for the role of Jesus. But the thing you'll never be able to persuade me of, is that I can resurrect in two days after the crucifixion."

"Nobody's going to persuade you of anything," retorted Pilate, "Don't you believe me yet?"

"Or don't you trust Holy Writ?" echoed Peter.

"Well, John, look here," Pilate came up to the corner, took a well-thumbed bible from the small shelf hanging under an icon, leafed through the book for a while and then started reciting: "For He will be delivered to the Gentiles and will be mocked and insulted and spit upon. They will scourge and kill Him. And the third day He will rise again." Pilate stopped reading and looked at John. "Don't you believe these words?"

John shook his head.

"You can't make me believe that my death is able to change anything in this world, particularly exterminate any virus. To say nothing of saving all mankind."

"Well, Jesus Christ, as well as you, John, doubted the necessity of His execution. Listen, please," Pilate turned over a few pages and quoted another piece of the writing:

"He went a little farther, and fell on the ground, and prayed that if it be possible, the hour would pass from Him. And He said, 'Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Take this cup away from Me; nevertheless, not what I will, but what You will.'"

"That's the limit!" John cried out. "You may talk as much as you like this religious fantasy of yours, but I don't have the least wish to save mankind in the way you've been suggesting to me."

"Why?" Pilate put the book aside and looked straight into John's eyes. "It's not only about this virus disease, killing thousands of innocent people. It's about a better future for all of us. Now when mankind's been wallowing in dirty sins, endless wars, violence, terrorism and daily increasing crime. Now, when the world is overfilled with anger, hatred and spite, when millions are suffering from hunger, incurable diseases and every possible sort of natural calamity, at this very moment you're the only remedy for all the people who long to get rid of all these evil things that has been incessantly flooding our planet. Two thousand years ago God gave His Son not to let anyone perish, and now He's just waiting for people to give one of their sons in return. Only after the hero's sacrificed the Lord can grant everybody everlasting life. I wonder why Man is always so willing to accept someone's gift, even if it costs the donor a great deal, and why a human being is so reluctant to return someone's generosity."

Pilate came closer to John and gave him a furious glare.

"For thousands of years so many heroes have been trying to fight and defeat evil, but all in vain. Why? Because they failed to know one important thing. They used to think that by destroying their enemies they were doing good for mankind, but in fact all they achieved was getting themselves as bloody sinful as their own foes in that cruel fight. There's no need to destroy anyone to defeat evil. To achieve that aim Man must kill only Himself without intending to take anyone else's life. Christ killed no one save Himself. That's the secret the heroes failed to know! You see, John, it's all so simple!"

John jumped up to his feet.

"That's enough! I can't bear any more of your demagogy and hypocrisy! Don't you understand that after my death people won't stop sinning and viruses breeding? People will always be murdering, deceiving, stealing, bribing, watching porn, taking drugs, whatever. Viruses will be killing us. Nothing will change, all will remain the same!"

"Shut up!" roared Pilate. "I say no more discussion! For so long we've been striving to find the right man to fulfill our sacred purpose and now nothing can stop us! Nothing! I don't care whether you like it or not, but I will crucify you to put an end to all sufferings and hardship of mankind. I will do what I must do. I won't fail in carrying that out. Don't you doubt me!"

Pontius Pilate drank some wine right from a jug to soothe his temper and then tapped John on the shoulder:

"Cheer up, brother! Now I want you to visit Golgotha and see the spot where the sacred act of crucifixion will take place. No doubt the excursion is going to be of great interest to you."

"Brethren," Pilate addressed the apostles, "please secure his hands with a rope again. He tried to escape once and we must prevent any further attempts."

In twenty minutes John Corona was strolling through the woods, escorted and guided along a wide path by Pilate and the seven apostles. The company had walked about a mile, when the track brought them to the open, sunlit space of a meadow, bordered with the sparkling ribbon of the river on one side, and the high wall of a granite outcrop on the other.

"Here we are," Pilate stretched out his hand to point at the cliff. "Welcome to Holy Mount Golgotha."

"Let's show him the tomb first," proposed Peter.

"Sure. Come on John," Pilate led the group over to the foot of the cliff, where a narrow opening in the stone wall could be seen.

"This cave is going to be your tomb for the two days following the crucifixion," pronounced Pilate as the men halted before the crack in the granite monolith. "I guess, John, you wouldn't mind seeing the insides. Friends, light the lamp please."

After a steady flame blazed up inside the kerosene lantern that James had been carrying, Pilate shoved John through the opening into the dank darkness, where he was met by the anxious flapping of bat wings over his head. In a few seconds the darkness was dispelled by the light of James' lamp. The rest of the apostles and Pilate joined them, pushing themselves one by one through the narrow cave mouth.