The big Jesus
From Griffith REVIEW Edition 1: Insecurity in the New World Order
© Copyright Griffith University & the author.
Written by Andrew Belk
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We met at work. I thought he was unattainable and I mostly felt like a young girl when I was around him. One day we were standing by the fax machine and it was beeping and I made a joke about how maybe the message would come out in reverse and he laughed.
When we found out he was dying we didn't know what we should do but we knew it had to be something special. Our relationship had developed this particular style – sexy and funny and ironic, just like in the movies. We did things like drive in his big old car and play Dean Martin on the tape deck and drink vodka. We were relentless piss-takers. Our fucking was everywhere and rude and other people wanted to be us.
In the doctor's waiting room one day – this is after he decided he didn't want chemo or anything – he found an old coverless copy of the Australian Women's Weekly at the bottom of the kiddie toy box. In it was this story that really cracked us up. It was about some local councillor from south-east Queensland and how he had been on a junket in France studying sheep when he ended up in Lourdes on a day trip. While he was in the grotto of the Virgin, praying for a cure for his gout, God came upon him and told him to go home and build a statue of Jesus 157 feet high. We liked the way God was specific.
It was an issue from 1963 and at the time of publication the bloke was about to pour the slab.
He told me that before he died – which would be soon – we could go and see what happened with this big Jesus. Straightaway I could see the possibilities. Firstly, there was the whole road trip thing, which we'd both love. More Dean Martin and vodka and hotel lovemaking and sitting back watching the road through the chrome hood ornament. Also we both had a thing for the piss-weak. I said to him that maybe on the way up to Queensland to see this big Jesus we could have a bit of a tour of all the other big things. He really liked that idea.
We were just workers so he extended the credit on all the cards he had and applied for all the ones he didn't. It was easy. We bought new cowboy boots and I organised new tyres and brakes for the Valiant. He bought me a road atlas and I plotted a course to Jesus with all the bigs marked in pink highlighter. He said goodbye to everyone.
Mostly I let him do that on his own – so he could truly be himself. I went with him a few times – like the time we went to see his mum – but I found it very hard to deal with. The best people to visit were the ones who were into the trip and who asked us where we were going and to send them postcards and stuff, or the ones who made suggestions about where the best big things were. People who said things like "you never know what will happen" annoyed me because it was like they were saying that he wasn't going to die, which was just a lie. One of them even said "see you later" as we left.
The guys from work got together and bought him an instant camera and heaps of film. I don't know why but I thought that was a really good present. People who are dying can be hard to buy for. At the party he took photos of them all and he mounted them on the dash of the Valiant. Later he would put photos of all the big things there as well.