Jewish mothers never change.<\/p>\n
EXT. DUSTY BAZAAR – DAY<\/p>\n
Various stalls selling food and goods provide the backdrop for a group of FOUR WOMEN in traditional dress of 2000 years ago. MARY wears a black band around her arm. Dissolving one into the next we see...<\/p>\n
Title: Galilee<\/p>\n
Title: 0 B.C.<\/p>\n
Title: Sunday, May 10<\/p>\n
Title: 2-ish<\/p>\n
MARY<\/p>\n
So Rachel, how’s your Peter doing?<\/p>\n
RACHEL brandishes a very small bouquet of flowers.<\/p>\n
RACHEL<\/p>\n
Meh. He comes, he goes. Too busy to stop off for a nice brisket with his mother, God forbid. He had one of his followers bring me these.<\/p>\n
Rachel and the other two women – SARAH and RUTH – bow their heads at the mention of God. Mary crosses herself. Sarah rolls her eyes.<\/p>\n
RUTH<\/p>\n
You should do like I used to do with my boy, pack a nice picnic. Some falafel, a piece of whitefish, some honeycomb.<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
How is Lazarus?<\/p>\n
RUTH<\/p>\n
Always running here and there, ministering to his flock.<\/p>\n
RACHEL<\/p>\n
Just like my Peter.<\/p>\n
MARY<\/p>\n
You must be very proud.<\/p>\n
RUTH<\/p>\n
At least when he was dead, I knew where he was all the time. Now, he could be dying in a ditch on the side of the road, God forbid, and I wouldn’t know. It worries me sick.<\/p>\n
The three women bow their heads. Mary crosses herself again.<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
(under her breath)<\/p>\n
Jesus!<\/p>\n
RUTH<\/p>\n
He’s always so dusty from the road. And I haven’t been able to get that smell out of his robes since<\/p>\n
(beat)<\/p>\n
well, you know.<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
I know what that’s like. My Caiphas is always busy at the Temple. I tell him, “Caiphas, the people can get by one day without you there,” but then he goes on about how hard it is managing the guards and the money changers. Always working. It’ll be the death of him, just like his father.<\/p>\n
RACHEL<\/p>\n
At least he’s got a good job.<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
This morning he came by with a brand new ass for Mother’s Day. Just like that! Nothing even wrong with the old one; he just thought I deserved to ride around on a new ass.<\/p>\n
MARY<\/p>\n
I love that new-ass smell.<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
As soon as he left, I spent an hour just sniffing my ass.<\/p>\n
Rachel looks off screen. Her friends follow her gaze.<\/p>\n
RACHEL<\/p>\n
Speaking of asses.<\/p>\n
JOAN ISCARIOT sweeps into the group. She is haughty and overdressed in lustrous silks.<\/p>\n
JOAN<\/p>\n
Ladies. I do wish I could talk, but I’ve got silver pieces just burning<\/u> a hole in my pocket. Toodles!<\/p>\n
Joan flits out as fast as she arrived.<\/p>\n
RUTH<\/p>\n
Rachel, have you tried to see Peter at home?<\/p>\n
RACHEL<\/p>\n
I went by last week and banged on the door, but he acted like he wasn’t home.<\/p>\n
MARY<\/p>\n
Are you sure he maybe wasn’t out?<\/p>\n
Rachel fights back tears, unsuccessfully.<\/p>\n
RACHEL<\/p>\n
Three different times? No, he’s too...busy...for his...mother.<\/p>\n
The women comfort Rachel.<\/p>\n
MARY<\/p>\n
At least he got you those nice flowers. My Jesus got me this.<\/p>\n
Mary holds up a t-shirt that reads, “RESURRECTION TOUR, YEAR 0”<\/p>\n
MARY<\/p>\n
And a hand-written note telling me he’s too busy to make it for brunch this year. He’s going to be spending it with his father, instead.<\/p>\n
RUTH<\/p>\n
The note was personal, at least.<\/p>\n
MARY<\/p>\n
He could have gotten me a nice card. Paul, Mark...they’d have been happy to sell him one, cheap. But no, that’s too much trouble. Three days in hell for a bunch of strangers, he can do. Five minutes to get some flowers or a nice card so I don’t have to squint to read his chicken scratch...that’s too much.<\/p>\n
MARTHA quietly approaches.<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
Martha! How are you doing?<\/p>\n
MARTHA<\/p>\n
I’ve been worse.<\/p>\n
A chrome, RETRO ROBOT crashes through the backdrop. What looked like solid walls turns out to be styrofoam and scrims. PEOPLE in the bazaar scream and run in circles. Our group of five women remain unperturbed.<\/p>\n
MARTHA (CONT’D)<\/p>\n
So what are we talking about?<\/p>\n
RUTH<\/p>\n
Mother’s Day.<\/p>\n
MARTHA<\/p>\n
Oy. Don’t remind me. My son gave me a calendar. I told him I just got a new calendar at Hanukkah, but he tells me that one’s no good anymore. This one, he says, counts up<\/u>. What am I going to do with a calendar that counts up?<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
How is he doing?<\/p>\n
MARTHA<\/p>\n
I always told him that if he applied himself, he could be anything he wanted to be. A doctor, the messiah, even a CPA. So special, that one. But no. He wants to be a comedy writer.<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
People need to laugh.<\/p>\n
RACHEL<\/p>\n
She’s right. It’s a very noble calling.<\/p>\n
MARTHA<\/p>\n
Sure, sure. Easy for you to say. It’s not your son. Besides...what’s funny about a robot tearing through a market?<\/p>\n
RUTH<\/p>\n
Maybe it’s a commentary on<\/p>\n
(beat)<\/p>\n
technology? Building robots is bad?<\/p>\n
A NINJA slinks into view, katana drawn. He closes on the robot.<\/p>\n
SARAH<\/p>\n
That wouldn’t explain the Ninja.<\/p>\n
MARTHA<\/p>\n
No, I have to accept it. He’s never going to get a job and move out. He’s already 14!<\/p>\n
TWO MEN in modern, black suits enter with guns drawn on the Robot and Ninja.<\/p>\n
MAN #1<\/p>\n
Eff. Bee. Eye! Freeze!<\/p>\n
MARTHA<\/p>\n
Oy.<\/p>\n
BLACKOUT:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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