shes-the-king - Tumblr blog

shes-the-king · 8 months ago

Text

The Passion of our Lord Jack Kelly

Gospel: Kelly 14:29-15:39

Racetrack said to him, “Even though all become scabs, I will not.” Jack said to him, “Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the bell rings twice, you will deny me three times.” But he said vehemently, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” And all of them said the same.

They went to a place called Central Park; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Racetrack and Davey and Les, and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He came and found them sleeping; and he said to Racetrack, “Anthony, are you asleep? Could you not keep awake one hour? Keep awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” And again he went away and prayed. And once more he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to say to him. He came a third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Enough! The hour has come; the Son of Manhattan is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”

Immediately, while he was still speaking, Jesdus, one of the twelve, arrived; and with him there was a crowd with clubs, from the bulls and the scabs. Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I will kiss is the man; arrest him and lead him away under guard.” So when he came, he went up to him at once and said, “Jeck!” and kissed him. Then they laid hands on him and arrested him.

A certain young man was following him, wearing nothing but a newspaper. They caught hold of him, but he left the newspaper and ran off naked.

They took Jack to Snyder; and all the bulls and the scabs were assembled. Racetrack had followed him at a distance, right into the courtyard of the Spider; and he was sitting with the scabs, warming himself at the fire. Now the bulls were looking for testimony against Jack to put him to death; but they found none. For many gave false testimony against him, and their testimony did not agree. Then Snyder stood up before them and asked Jack, “Have you no answer? What is it that they testify against you?” But he was silent and did not answer. Again Snyder asked him, “Are you the Cowboy, the Son of Manhattan?” Jesus said, “I am; and

‘you will see the Son of Manhattan seated at the right hand of The World,’ and ‘coming with the tumbleweeds of Santa Fe.’”

Then Snyder tore his clothes and said, “Why do we still need witnesses? You have heard his blasphemy! What is your decision?” All of them condemned him as deserving death. Some began to spit on him, to blindfold him, and to strike him, saying to him, “Prophesy!” The scabs also took him over and beat him.

While Racetrack was below in the courtyard, one of the employees of Snyder came by. When she saw Racetrack warming himself, she stared at him and said, “You also were with Jack, the man from Lower Manhattan.”But he denied it, saying, “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” And he went out into the forecourt. Then the bell rang. And the employee on seeing him, began again to say to the bystanders, “This man is one of them.” But again he denied it. Then after a little while the bystanders again said to Racetrack, “Certainly you are one of them; for you are a Newsie.” But he began to curse, and he swore an oath, “I do not know this man you are talking about.” At that moment the bell rang for the second time. Then Racetrack remembered that Jack had said to him, “Before the bell rings twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and wept.

As soon as it was morning, Snyder held a consultation with the bulls and the scabs. They bound Jesus, led him away, and handed him over to Governor Roosevelt. Roosevelt asked him, “Are you the King of New York?” He answered him, “You say so.” Then Snyder accused him of many things. Roosevelt asked him again, “Have you no answer? See how many charges they bring against you.” But Jack made no further reply, so that Roosevelt was amazed.

Now at the rally he used to release a prisoner for them, anyone for whom they asked. Now a man called Weisel was in prison with the rest of the strike-breakers. So the crowd came and began to ask Roosevelt to do for them according to his custom. Then he answered them, “Do you want me to release for you the King of New York?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that Snyder had handed him over. But Snyder stirred up the crowd to have him release Weisel for them instead. Roosevelt spoke to them again, “Then what do you wish me to do with the man you call the King of New York?” They shouted back, “Crucify him!” Roosevelt asked them, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Crucify him!” So Roosevelt, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Weisel for them; and after flogging Jack, he handed him over to be crucified.

Then the soldiers led him into the Newsie Square; and they called together the whole town. And they clothed him in a purple cap; and after twisting some papes into a crown, they put it on him. And they began saluting him, “Hail, King of New York!” They struck his head with a pape, spat upon him, and knelt down in homage to him. After mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cap and put his own cap on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.

They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from Brooklyn, to carry his cross; it was Spot of Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. Then they brought Jack to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). And they offered him seltzer mixed with water; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take.

It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, “The King of New York.” And with him they crucified two Delancey bruddas, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would strike against The World and form a union, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” In the same way Snyder, along with the scabs, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Cowboy, the King of New York, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe.” Those Delanceys who were crucified with him also taunted him.

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jack cried out with a loud voice, “*אין” which means, “I ain’t got nothin’ if I ain’t got Santa Fe!” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “Listen, he is calling for Crutchie.” And someone ran, filled a sponge with dirty seltzer water, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Crutchie will come to take him down.” Then Jack gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the freshly printed newspapers were torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when Pulitzer, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was Manhattan’s Son!”

*How to translate the following into Hebrew:

“I’m sorry sir, but that item seems to be out of stock right now. If you like I can place it on back order and notify you upon its arrival, or perhaps I could direct you to another establishment which may have it.”

In Hebrew all this translates simply: אין.

#newsies golgotha #newsies #golgotha #good friday

29 notes · View notes

shes-the-king · 11 months ago

Note

Kiss in the moonlight with dot? Thanks man we stan

it’s been idk even how many years since you sent this ask originally (at least a billion); here’s the latest gift you’ve ever received bestie ily

———-

1900

They meet on the Manhattan side of the bridge, this time. Spot is standing down by the riverfront, staring at the reflection of the moon on the water. It’s nice out tonight, still warm, the last vestiges of summer beginning to give way to fall. It’s late, almost midnight, but Spot doesn’t mind. He’s always been a night owl despite his job requiring an early start, and there’s something about the night, a certain calm that’s different than that of the dawn. It’s difficult for him to be alone in the mornings, anyway, with the bustle of the other newsies, and his walks across the bridge on certain evenings allow him to sink into his own thoughts, if only for an hour or so.

He’s lost in thought now, still staring out at the water, when a hand on his shoulder startles him. He spins to see Davey, who looks surprised but is already smiling.

“Sorry. I scare you?”

Spot scoffs. “Hardly,” he retorts, but there’s no heat in it. He smiles back at Davey and puts a hand on his upper arm, giving it a fond squeeze. “Good to see ya, Mouth. Been a while, huh?”

“Yeah, too long. Sorry,” Davey says again. “It’s just… it’s been hectic lately.” He doesn’t have to say anything else; Spot knows him well enough. Davey’s dad started working again a couple months after the newsies strike ended the previous year, which meant his mother wanted him and his little brother back in school. Davey and Les still sell papers in the mornings, though, and Sarah works full time as a seamstress. And Davey has been studying much more lately, preparing for…

“So when do you start?” Spot asks.

“In a couple of weeks.” Davey sighs. “Still not even sure if I’m gonna go.”“Of course you’re gonna go,” Spot says, more roughly than he intended. “You’d be stupid not to, Dave. You’re booksmart, it’s part of your charm. Now you get to use it.”

“It’s gonna be so different,” Davey says, staring out at the river like Spot was earlier, a wistful expression on his face. “I mean, it’s college, Spot. I won’t be able to hawk papers anymore, and I won’t get to see… well, see anyone, ya know? And my folks, and Les and Sarah, what if something happens again, and—”

“You’re babblin’,” Spot says, and he places his hands on Davey’s shoulders. “Look at me, Dave.” Davey does, tearing his gaze from the water. “Your dad’s workin’ again, so is Sarah, so is Les, even. And it’s not like you’re gonna be gonna be a thousand miles away. It’s what, an hour, hour and a half walk from your folks’ place? Hell, get a job down there near the college, bring money back to ‘em, and when you get your fancy reporter job, you’ll be makin’ more than you even know what to do with.”

Davey doesn’t say anything, and Spot gives him a gentle shake. “You hearin’ me? Change is hard, Dave, I get it, but you’re gonna get yourself a good life this way.”

At this, Davey cracks a smile. “You sound so wise, Spot. You sure you don’t wanna come with me?”

Spot drops his hands from Davey’s shoulders. “Like they even would.”

“You’re plenty smart, you know that.”

“College ain’t for me, I don’t think,” Spot says. “And I still got kids to look after.”

“Yeah.” Davey takes one of Spot’s hands and holds it in his own. “You ever think about the future, Spot?”

“I do,” Spot admits, “but it’s not here yet, is it?”

“I guess not.”

Davey looks downtrodden. Spot squeezes his hand. “We’re all gonna be alright, Dave. You know that. Hey, how’s Jack, by the way? Still goin’ for that art school he’s been talkin’ about?”

Katherine finally convinced Jack to pursue an art career beyond political cartoons, and Governor (or Vice President now, rather) Roosevelt had put in a good word for him at one of the new private schools, practically ensuring him an acceptance letter and a scholarship.

“He’s excited,” Davey says. His smile hasn’t returned. “He won’t be selling papers for much longer either, I guess.”

“Race and Crutchie and them got those kids well in hand, though, I bet.”

“Yeah. And Jack says he wants to propose to Kath after he gets out of school.”

This surprises Spot, only a little. “Her dad gonna go for that?”

Davey snorts. “Like Katherine would care. Or Jack, for that matter. Anyway, that means they’ll probably take off in a couple years, too. Jack never did stop thinking about Santa Fe, ya know?”

They’re all growing up. It’s a sobering thought, but growing up isn’t that bad, Spot thinks, especially since there was a time when he wasn’t sure he’d get the chance.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Davey says. “College, I mean. Getting older. It’s exciting.” He pauses, like he’s thinking about something. “You’ll… you’ll come visit, right? I mean, like you said, I won’t be far away at all, ‘specially with all the walking we do anyway, but what if I can’t get to Brooklyn, or I want to—”

This time, Spot shuts him up by leaning forward and pressing his lips to Davey’s, soft and quick. When he pulls back, Davey is blushing so fiercely Spot can see it in the dark.

“‘Course I’m gonna visit, Dave,” Spot says. “See you at your fancy college, readin’ your fancy college books and everything? It’ll be like finally seeing you in your natural habitat.”

Davey finally smiles again. “Then it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, it will.”

They stand in comfortable silence for a long time after that, holding hands and watching the moonlight dance on the water.—1905

The room is thick with cigarette smoke, and Davey feels slightly embarrassed as he suppresses the urge to cough; many of his classmates in college smoked, and most of his coworkers do as well, but he has never understood the appeal. He had tried it once, his first year at school, and immediately coughed so hard he thought he might vomit. Spot had teased him for weeks.

Davey stares into his drink, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the memory.

“Amazin’ you haven’t hacked up a lung yet, Dave.”

“…Shut up, Spot.” Davey clears his throat again in an attempt to get rid of the persistent tickle and hands the cigarette back. “Don’t know how you do it.”

“What, this?” Spot takes a long drag, smirks, and blows the smoke up into the air. “Brooklyn boys was practically raised on the stuff.”

“So that’s why you all smell so bad.” That earns Davey a punch in the arm, but he just laughs.

“Just full’a jokes, aren’t you, Mouth?” Spot flicks a bit of ash off the end of the cigarette. “Hey, wanna see me blow a smoke ring?”

“Thinking hard there, David?” Bryan Denton, editor at The Sun and Davey’s new boss, lays a hand on Davey’s shoulders and startles him out of his reverie.

“Just, uh… thinking about old friends, Mr. Denton.”

“No need for the ‘mister,’ David, I’ve told you that,” Denton says. “Old friends, you say?”

“Yeah, a kid I knew back when I was in school.” Davey doesn’t quite know how to quantify his relationship with Spot, and he certainly won’t talk about it to his boss, anyway. “We actually sold papers together for a bit before that. You remember when I told you about the strike?”

“Oh, yes.” Denton takes a sip of his own drink. “Quite an affair, wasn’t it? Shame I was overseas at the time, but that Plumber—I read her articles, you know, once I returned. Fantastic stuff. It’s no wonder she moved up into investigative journalism so quickly. At her age, and as a woman—it’s something to really admire.”

Davey smiles. “It is.” He knows Katherine travels now, selling her stories to newspapers all across the country, really making a name for herself. Jack always sounds so happy in his letters, so proud of Kath’s accomplishments.

“And how are you faring?” Denton asks. “I know sometimes everything feels like it’s moving far too quickly, but that’s the beauty of the news. It’s always moving, and it’s up to us to capture it and give it to the people who need to hear it.”

“It’s fantastic.” And Davey doesn’t have to fake the enthusiasm in his voice. It’s so strange to think that once he was just hawking the news, and now he’s writing it. And with more assignments coming his way every day, he has ample opportunities to make sure he tells people’s stories right.

“I’m glad,” Denton says. “You know, I see a lot of myself in you, David. You’re going to go far. Just make sure to keep your head up and your words honest.”

David feels heat rising in his face and takes another sip of his drink, hoping Denton will think it’s just the alcohol. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good lad.” Denton reaches over and gives Davey’s shoulder a warm, brief squeeze. “I will see you tomorrow. Early day and all that—the news never sleeps.”

“The news never sleeps,” Davey agrees. Denton gives him a nod before rising from the table. Davey watches him gather his coat and hat and leave the building. He should leave, too, he thinks, even as he orders another drink and sits back in his seat, watching other patrons come and go.

Some time later, Davey has finished his second drink, and the smell of smoke is beginning to make his head pound. He gathers his things and is headed for the front door when it opens again, and another group of men floods in.

Dockworkers, probably, Davey thinks, noting the smell of seawater wafting into the room as well. He waits for the crowd to thin so he can leave, and when it doesn’t—surely, the saloon is not large enough for all these people—he resorts to pushing his way through. He is nearly to the door when someone bumps his shoulder and he staggers.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man says, and Davey is about to wave him off when he realizes he knows that voice.

“Spot?”

They stare at each other for a moment; Spot looks as surprised as Davey feels. But then Spot’s shock quickly melts and he gives Davey a grin and a hearty clap on the shoulder.

“Dave! How are ya? It’s been…”

Too long, Davey thinks. He and Spot had lost touch somewhere in Davey’s second year of college, after Spot got a job at the docks and Davey got busy with the school paper.

“It’s been ages, huh?” he says. “It’s good to see you, Spot.”

“Wow, I haven’t heard that name in a while,” Spot says, taking his hand from Davey’s shoulder. Davey pretends he doesn’t miss the warmth. “Mostly Sean now, down at the docks.”

“You know, I didn’t know your real name for months after the strike,” Davey says. Spot laughs, and it’s a wonderful sound.

“I was probably the one who told ya, wasn’t I?”

“I think so. I asked Jack once, but he said, ‘he’ll soak me good if I let it slip, Mouth.’”

“And he was right,” Spot says, but his voice is light.

“Hey, Conlon!” a burly man close to the bar interrupts, waving toward them. “You gonna order?”

The spell of the moment is broken. Davey suddenly feels like an intruder; he’s not in Spot’s life anymore, they’ve both moved on.

“I should go, Spot,” he says, turning back toward the door. “It was, uh, it was good seeing you.”

Before he can change his mind, he gives Spot’s arm a subtle, fleeting squeeze and pushes through the crowd.

He opens the door and escapes into the crisp evening air. Winter hasn’t tightened its grip on the city yet, and the night is cool but comfortable. Davey takes a moment to breathe, pushing away the guilt that has begun to encroach upon his thoughts. But he’s only taken a few steps when the door opens behind him.

“Dave, wait.” Spot’s voice is enough to make Davey hesitate for a moment, then Spot’s hand is on his shoulder again.

When Davey turns, Spot looks sadder than he’s ever seen him, his eyes suspiciously shiny under the dim light of the waning moon. To Davey’s embarrassment, his own eyes prickle almost painfully. He glances around; for the moment, they’re alone in the street. But before he can gather his courage, Spot surprises him by leaning forward first. Their lips graze each other tentatively, and Spot starts to pull back, but now Davey is ready. He tangles his fingers in the front of Spot’s sweater and drags him closer, and this time their lips crash together. The kiss is deep and hot, desperate and soul-crushing and perfect.

When they finally separate, Davey can see the tears on Spot’s cheeks. He realizes this is the first time he’s ever seen Spot cry, but he doesn’t mention it; his own face feels damp and there’s a lump in his throat.

“I can’t lose you again, Dave,” Spot croaks.

Davey laughs, raspy and relieved. He had forgotten what this felt like—what Spot felt like. He closes his eyes and leans forward until their foreheads are touching. His hand finds the back of Spot’s neck and stays there, squeezing gently.

“You won’t.”—1910

Sean walks briskly down the street, straightening his cap for what feels like the hundredth time as he dodges another pair of people walking too damn slow. It’s his first night of shore leave, and the moon is full and high in the sky. The weather is perfect, a warm breeze carrying the promise of summer drifting between the buildings, but Sean barely notices it; he just wants to get home. He tries to resist the urge to jog, but once his apartment building comes into view, he can’t help it. He runs the last couple blocks and wrenches open the front door, nearly bowling down his elderly neighbor.

“I am so sorry, Miss Leary,” he says, taking off his cap and nodding his head in apology. But she just laughs.

“That is quite all right, son.” She gives him a wink. “I saw your friend get back just about two hours ago; he looked just as excited as you do. Better get upstairs.”

Sean feels his cheeks heat. He grins and nods again, then holds the door open for Miss Leary as she leaves. Then he’s hurrying up the stairs two at a time until he reaches the seventh floor.

He passes Miss Leary’s apartment and then he’s standing in front of the door at the end of the hall. He turns the knob and enters the small but well-organized living room, places his cap on a nearby wall hook, drinks in the sight of home. And there, in one of the armchairs that faces the large windows overlooking the rest of the neighborhood, sits David, scribbling away in one of his many notebooks. A small pile of the things has already accumulated on the floor beside his chair.

“Still working?” Sean can’t suppress his smile as David jumps, obviously startled. “I thought this was supposed to be a break.”

David recovers quickly and jumps up from his chair, dropping his notebook carelessly on a nearby end table as he crosses the living room. Sean meets him halfway, his fingers tangling in David’s hair as he presses his lips to David’s own. They take a moment like that, then David pulls away just enough to smile at Sean.

“Hello, sailor,” he says cheekily.

Sean rolls his eyes. “Hello yerself. How’s life on the front lines?” He tries to keep his voice light, but he can tell by David’s falling expression that he didn’t quite succeed. David knows his job as a war correspondent for The Sun worries Sean, and Sean’s naval duties aren’t much better at the moment. But there will be time to talk about that later, Sean decides.

“Never mind,” he says, pulling David close again. “But you gotta stop workin’ so hard; I’m sure the news can survive a couple nights with you, huh? I only got a few days on shore, after all.”

“Yeah, it can wait.” David toys with Sean’s neckerchief. “I’ve missed you, Spot.”Sean laughs at the old nickname, but it warms his heart to hear it again. “I’ve missed you too, Mouth.”

Now it’s David’s turn to laugh, and it’s the best thing Spot’s heard in months. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since their jobs took them to opposite sides of the world near the beginning of the year, and Sean is going to enjoy every moment of it. He pulls David toward the windows and they stand together, staring out into the darkness. The city looks better at night, Sean decides, when it’s lit up only by the streetlamps and the light of the moon.

“I’ve always liked this time of night,” David says, as if reading Sean’s mind. “Especially when the moon is full.” It illuminates his face and reflects off his eyes until they almost seem to glow.

“Me too.” Sean leans over and kisses David’s cheek. If he had his way, they would stand here forever, under the moonlight. “Me too, Dave.”

#wow this was definitely worth waiting like 3 years for #thanks rach <3

7 notes · View notes