Disclaimer: I don't own Jesus Christ Superstar
If I Had Another Choice
Always hoped that I'd be an apostle,
Knew that I would make it if I tried.
Then when we retire,
We can write the Gospels
So they'll still talk about us
When we die.
I knew I was doing the right thing. He was losing control, letting his fame and popularity get to him. It wasn't intentional, of that I was sure, but rather the same thing that would happen to any man in his position. And soon…well, who knew what he would do to please the crowds. He knew as well as I did how easily they could be swayed, and without that support, he was as good as dead.
I hoped that being arrested would change him. I expected he would probably get beaten up a bit, something that I was used to but he was not, and I hoped that would give him back a sense of reality. I hoped that such a show of his own weakness and pain would remind him that he really was just a man, and not a god. Perhaps he would get locked up, and I'd never see him again. But if I stopped him being lynched by the hoard, I could manage. I was even prepared for his death, as unlikely as it was. As much as he was a brother to me, he was dangerous. Maybe it wasn't his fault, but he was bringing Israel unwanted and unneeded attention from the higher-ups. We both knew that many of his supporters believed Jesus was going to be a way out of the occupation. They thought that he was going to start a war with Rome, and if word of that spread too far…Rome would obviously attack first, and they would hurt the people I'd always worked to help.
For that had always been my intention when I first joined up with Jesus. He was aware that we were in this for different reasons. Yes, we both wanted to help people, but he was a very religious man, much more so than I, and he firmly believed that saving a man's soul was more important than saving his body. I took a more practical approach to helping people. I lived a minimalistic life, giving everything I possible could to those who needed it most. That was the only reason I'd excepted the priests' blood money. I knew they were right; I could help people with it. I would have gone to them regardless, but the more good that could come of it the better.
Over the last few months, Jesus had got much more involved with the religious aspects of his beliefs. Perhaps that was why we had disagreed so much more recently. The more he began to believe in souls and heaven, the less need he felt to aid the suffering, as he felt their best cure would be ever lasting peace. But this wasn't something I could agree with. If someone was hurting, I had to do something about it, regardless of the consequences.
I liked to believe that Jesus respected me for this. I used to think that together we made a good team, balancing each other out. Some of the other apostles objected on the basis that Jesus' right hand man should have more respect for religion, but it didn't matter, not then. Before all the messiah talk came, we traveled around, healing the sick, helping the poor, imploring anyone who would listen to do some good in the world. He was still trying to do that, in his own way. He fed their minds, he fed their souls, but gone were the days where he'd feed their hungry mouths.
If only he had listened to me. I'd tried so many times to warn him, but he never paid me any attention. He always just gently reminded me that he had never made those claims and that once people realised that he wasn't going to start a war, they would start listening to what he was actually telling them. Each time, I would persevere, tell him that by then it might be too late, and begged him to tell me he didn't think he was the son of God, but he never gave me an answer. I think that he was suffering from having an image forced upon him, an image that he'd never made for himself, yet was being made to live up to.
As I looked at him now, I realised that he might actually be realising what I'd spent so long telling him. We stared at each other across the table, my face burning and angry tears forming in the corners of my eyes. Normally this would embarrass me, but I could see he was struggling against his own tears too. I think he'd finally come back to Earth. He believed he was going to die tonight, and whatever he said, he was still only human. He didn't want to die, much less because of me.
For some reason this infuriated me. Why, after I'd made so many efforts to help him, did it take this, my betrayal, to bring him back to Earth? It shouldn't have been like this. I was his best friend, I shouldn't have had to have gone to such extreme lengths to reach him.
And then my anger was gone. Now that his constantly calm and superior exterior was gone, leaving only his raw and very much human feelings behind, I was reminded of the man I'd befriended in the first place. His eyes were pleading with me, begging me not to do this to him. I turned and ran out of the temple. I looked back once. His face had crumpled, all hope that I might save him gone. For the first time, I found myself doubting the existence of his God. If there was such a being, why would he do this to such a fundamentally good person?
I started off in the direction of the priests, then stopped. I didn't have to do this. I didn't have to betray him. Maybe I'd got through to him enough, maybe he's finally realise that there were people who wanted him dead, and would stop at nothing to achieve their goal. And I decided then and there that I wouldn't be one of them. I changed course, now running to the smaller temple that Jesus would often frequent. Along the way, it occurred to me that it might already be too late. Who was to say that they wouldn't take him anyway? Maybe they'd catch me and have me killed for defying them. Would it be worth it? Yes, my mind screamed, yes, it would be worth it.
When I arrived, I quickly scaled one of the pillars so that I could sit up on the raised walkway. I let my legs dangle over the edge as I absorbed myself in my thoughts. I thought back to all the conversations I'd ever had with him, playing them over and over in my mind, trying to figure out if there was something I could have done sooner. Had I missed something? Had his switch from teacher to God happened right in front of me? Had it not happened at all? More than once I considered going to the priests like I was supposed to, but just thinking about the expression on Jesus' face when he thought I'd left to betray him strengthened my resolve no end.
I didn't look up until I heard heavy boot falls on the temple floor. The five priests had entered, along with the Roman guards. I straightened, then stood, hands clenched tightly on the railings.
"You didn't come tonight." Annas stated, stepping forward from his position on Caiaphas' right hand side. "I thought we had made things clear when we last spoke." I swallowed.
"I know. I…I've re-thought matters." I reached into my trouser pocket and removed the small leather pouch of silver coins. "Here" I tossed it down towards them. The priest on Caiaphas' left hand side caught it. Annas looked like he wanted to kill me.
"How dare you! You made a deal with the high priest! There is no re-thinking things. You will take-" Caiaphas raised a hand to silence him. He stared up at me solemnly.
"Is this really what you want, Judas Iscariot?" He asked. I took a deep breath, and nodded. He shook his head. "I believe you are making a mistake. But I am a fair man. You have returned the money. You owe us nothing." I breathed a sigh of relief. "I believe we have reached an understanding here." I nodded again. I knew what he was talking about. "We cannot force you to betray your 'friend'" He exchanged smirks with the other priests. "But going back on your word to the high priest…This is a grave offence." I nodded once more, then moved to climb down the ladder. I had no intention of resisting.
"I understand." I told him. He gestured with his head to the guards, and approached me, two of them putting their hands on my shoulders. The priests turned and walked away in perfect unison. The guards holding me dragged me after them.
I was taken to the high priest's house. The other priests made their way straight to the dining room. Caiaphas directed the guards to take me downstairs.
"Try to make it quick. I want him out of here." He ordered. I was dragged down the staircase into what appeared to be cellar-come-prison. The guards threw me into the central part of it. I tried to stay standing, but ended up falling backwards onto the floor. I gasped as my back landed on the hard stone floor. I glanced around at the guards, with only a tinge of fear in my mind. We all knew what was about to happen; there was no point fighting it.
When the first kick collided with my stomach, the wind was knocked out of me. I didn't have time to catch my breath, or even make the slightest effort to protect myself before my entire body was set upon with kicks and blows from their nightsticks. Just when I was sure I would die if they hit me once more, I was dragged into a standing position by my hair, marched up the stairs and thrown out of a back door. I moaned in agony as I lay there. I coughed, surprised to find blood in my mouth. Gingerly, I tried standing up, taking stock of my injuries as I did so. A broken rib, probably more than one. My head was bleeding and everything around me was blurry: a concussion. My arm was bent the wrong way, again probably broken. My entire body was covered in bruises, a mess of purples, blues and greys, and cuts and scrapes. But I couldn't stay where I was, I was certain it wasn't safe.
Staggering and limping, I slowly made my way back to the temple from which I'd been taken. I only made it to just inside the entrance before I collapsed on the floor from the pain and exhaustion.
I was disturbed, again, by the sound of footsteps. I tensed, ready to protect myself from whatever they were going to do to me this time, before I realised that this time the noise was softer; quiet slaps of bare skin against stone. I slowly opened my eyes to see Jesus standing next to my head, frowning down at me in thought. Without thinking, I began to move my shaking hand to touch him, but, on remembering our earlier conversation, thought better of it. After a couple of seconds, he spoke.
"No one came last night." He stated. Wordlessly, I shook my head. Or at least, the best I could when I was lying on the floor and trembling all over.
"Can I expect them tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?" Again, I shook my head. He still seemed thoughtful. I licked my lips, and attempted talking.
"I…I can't promise that they won't come…But if they do, it won't be…it won't be because of me." He nodded once, then slowly sat down beside me.
"Judas, what happened to you?" He asked sadly. I wasn't sure if he was referring to my current beaten-up state or if he meant something more. He glanced at my face, briefly making eye contact, then smiled slightly. "Yes, it's obvious that you've got into some sort of fight." He chuckled slightly. This was a subject of much amusement to him, more so in our early days of friendship than now. I was very much a pacifist – the closest I'd ever got to violence was when I'd pushed Mary down the stairs the other day, and I was truly sorry for it – but I had a habit of provoking people, so it wasn't that unusual for me to get into situations like this. Then the moment was gone, and he was looking at me seriously again.
"As much as I don't want to, I can't help but feel that you deserve this." He told me sharply. "But…Thank you. I don't understand why you even considered doing what you did, but thank you for changing your mind." I was struck again by a moment of anger. Mustering all the strength I had, I pulled myself up into a sitting position so that I could more easily speak to him.
"How can you not understand?! Don't you see that-" I broke into a bout of coughing. "Don't you that it would have been so much worse if I hadn't?" He looked at me blankly. "You were angering the wrong people, Jesus, and they weren't going to sit there and not do anything! Even the priests and Pharisees weren't doing this just out of spite!" He shook his head. He still wasn't getting this, though perhaps I only had myself to blame. I'd hurt him badly, and, whatever he may preach, he was upset and angry so therefore unlikely to see that my intentions were good. "Jesus, you're my brother, but…you're not my primary concern. Think. You know why I got in this with you in the first place. I need to protect the people who live in our country, Jesus! And if one must be sacrificed to save the many…Even if that one is you…" I shook my head. "Maybe you don't agree, but I only did what I thought was best." He appeared to be deep in thought about what I'd said.
"You underestimate me, Judas." He finally said, quietly. "You don't think I haven't thought of that? You don't think I haven't wondered if things would be better if I was…?" He sighed and ran his hands though his hair. "I am aware of the situation, Judas. But…these people, the ones you want to protect…right now, they're down. Some of them have given up hope, some of them want to start a war. I feel like this is the only way I can help anymore! I feel like I can give them something to believe in!" I frowned. This was exactly the sort of talk that was going to get him hurt.
"I don't think you do get it! Giving them hope is one thing, but you do more than that! They worship you! They think you're a king, that you're a god!" He opened his mouth to object. "I'm not saying that you wanted it. But you've got used to it. Just…Just tell me if you believe it all."
"People will believe what they want to believe, Judas. Even you." I stood up, ignoring the shot of pain that immediately ran though me at the movement.
"That's not an answer!" He stood up to and placed his hands on my shoulders, calmly meeting my angry gaze.
"Listen to what I say before you get upset, Judas. If they want to think I'm the son of God, then nothing I can tell them will make them think otherwise. As for you… Will what I say really effect your opinion?" I looked away. He was right. If the answer wasn't what I wanted, I wasn't going to listen to it. "Besides, does it really matter?" I slowly shook my head.
"As long as you still help people." I muttered. He nodded in approval.
"Judas you have to remember that. Even when a person does something wrong, something really awful… You have to understand their intentions. Almost all of the time, they only hope for something good to come of it." I thought of what I'd been planning to do last night. Was it really so easily forgiven?
"What about you, Jesus? Do you practise what you preach? Am I forgiven?" Judas, my brother, there was never anything to forgive. But he didn't say that. He stared at me passively, his silence answer enough.
I wish that I had another option, but it seems that damage is done either way. I wish that what is right won't hurt him so badly. I wish that he could've seen sooner! It would be so easy to leave now, before I say something I'll regret. Even if I do fetch the guards, we could have parted on better terms. Maybe then I won't cut him so deeply. If I thought it would do any good at all, I wouldn't do this to him. But they'll get him, with or without my help, if not now than a day from now, a week from now, a month, a year. They want him dead and it won't take them long to succeed.
I want to forget about the Romans. I want to forget that they can and will attack at a moment's notice if they think we pose a threat. I want to forget that I'm doing this to save everyone. I want to think that I have a choice in the matter. I don't want to be manipulated. It makes it easier for me to feel I'm doing the right thing. It makes it easier to blame myself for it later. But the fact of the matter is, rightly or wrongly, I'm in this thing too deep, I always have been, and I fear that it will be the death of us all eventually. At least this way, I can choose my own ending.
You sad, pathetic man!
See where you've brought us to!
Our ideals die around us
And all because of you!
And now the saddest cut of all,
Someone has to turn you in!
Like a common criminal,
Like a wounded animal!
A jaded mandarin!
A jaded mandarin!
Like a jaded, jaded, faded,
Jaded, jaded mandarin!
I hope you liked it, and that it was obvious what happened. I don't know if it's any good, but I really wanted to examine Judas' part in JCS in more detail.