Remember the parable of the Good Samaritan? Of course you do. For a second there, I almost forgot we were living in the country with the highest Christian population density after the Vatican. But anyhow: in case anyone’s forgotten the story, Jesus Christ once told a parable about a Good Samaritan... specifically, about how this Samaritan once rescued a man who had been set upon by robbers, and left for dead on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. You might remember also how the story ended: i.e., with the Good Samaritan committing this man to the care of an innkeeper... to whom he gave two shillings, adding that “whatsoever thou spendest more, I, when I come back again, will repay thee.”

* * *

Thus endeth the parable of the Good Samaritan... or at least, the parable as it appears in Luke, 10:25-37. However, recently discovered scrolls have revealed that the real story did not quite end that way. In fact, there is a good deal more. According to these scrolls, the parable resumes with... Hang on, let’s make this easier. This is what the scrolls, translated by yours truly, actually say:

* * *

And behold: the innkeeper took the Samaritan aside, and spoke unto him in confidence, saying: “My friend: art thou sure it is such a good idea to leave this man in my care, and to charge his bills to thy own account? After all, thou dost not know him from Adam, and he might well turn out to be himself a thief, a crook or even a murderer...”

To which the Good Samaritan, irked by the innkeeper’s lack of faith in his fellow man, replied: “Fie, innkeeper, for shame. Know ye not that the Lord created us all in his image and likeness? To be charitable to thy neighbour is not a matter of personal choice: it is a sacred duty that none may decline if they, too, wish to be received into the Kingdom of Heaven in their turn.”

With those words, the Samaritan turned haughtily on his heel and strode out of the room... leaving the innkeeper to mutter under his breath: “These Samaritans are crazy...”

* * *

Many moons later, the Good Samaritan returned to the village, and as promised, he made his way to the inn to settle the man’s bill.

“Good heavens,” he exclaimed (after reading and re-reading the bill in varying stages of shock and horror), “Thou must be kidding me! Why, this cannot be the bill for a single person, half board at low season. Why, it looks more the annual budget deficit of an entire Kingdom...”

But the innkeeper insisted that there was no mistake, and invited the Samaritan to verify with his own eyes. And so the Samaritan entered the inn, and found to his intense astonishment that it was jam-packed with people of all ages... for it seems that the man he had rescued from the wilderness, and who had by now been restored to the fullness of health, had meanwhile learnt that the Samaritan had offered to cover all his expenses. And so he proceeded to contact his numerous relatives and friends from all four corners of Judaea, inviting them over to the inn to enjoy this newfound bounty (for he was a very generous man according to his own lights, perfectly willing to share other people’s wealth with those of his neighbours who were most in need).

* * *

On perceiving all this, the Good Samaritan was aghast. And so he spoke unto the man, and said thus: “My friend, I rejoice to see that thou hast recovered thy health, and art now strong and fit enough to return to your home, where no doubt thy loved ones will welcome thee with open arms...”

But alas! The man replied that he no longer had a home to go to. It seems that war had meanwhile broken out in many parts of Judaea, including his own home town. Even if they survived the homeward journey without dying of hunger or thirst, or without being once again waylaid by thieves, they would, upon their return, be persecuted, enslaved, tortured and possibly killed.

And verily the Good Samaritan pondered this reply, and, although he was loath to accept the burden of responsibility, he agreed that evicting the man and his extended family under these circumstances would be little short of murder.

* * *

And so it came to pass that with each passing day, the Good Samaritan’s account with the inn grew larger and larger... until it became clear to both the Samaritan and the innkeeper that something had to be done before it was too late. So the Samaritan decided to seek help from his fellow man, so that his burden could be shared equally among all his neighbours (for, like many good people, the Good Samaritan automatically assumed that everyone else was intrinsically as good as himself).

But alas! His neighbours held different opinions on the matter. Some were vaguely sympathetic to his plight, but argued that they had their own crosses to bear and, what with all the new taxes recently introduced by Rome, they simply could not afford to be generous. Others were downright hostile, and even went so far as to blame the Good Samaritan for “inviting” more refugees than the village could contain.

Finally, in desperation, the Samaritan turned to the office of the Roman Governor of the time: General Menefregus Maximus, who was widely known to have the cleanest and sweetest-smelling hands in all the Empire.

* * *

After waiting many moons for an appointment in the corridors of the Governor’s Palace – in the course of which time, messengers arrived to inform him that more and more refugees from different parts of the Empire were now pouring into his village and availing themselves of his hospitality – he was finally admitted for a private audience with the Governor.

Long and passionately did he argue his case, which was met with murmurs of sympathy and understanding by Menefregus as he lay upon his gilded settee, being massaged by his own personal Nubian slave. In the course of his supplication, the Good Samaritan eloquently pointed out how the problems of Judaea were not his alone, but rather of the Empire as a whole. After all, he argued, had Rome not conquered the entire region in order to guarantee peace and prosperity for all? Surely, then, the Empire could dig into its pockets, and contribute a few measly sestertii to help him settle his exorbitant account?

* * *

At length, the Governor replied... but alas! It was not exactly the reply the Samaritan had hoped to hear. For while, in principle, the Empire shared the Good Samaritan’s concerns, in practice, it was powerless to intervene. For Judaea, like all the Empire’s provinces, had ratified the United Tribes’ Charter of Jews’ and Gentiles’ Rights, according to which every man, be he Gentile or Jew, had the inalienable right to a roof over his head, enough food to eat, education for his children, as well a decent standard of living, and access to a wide variety of reasonably-priced household commodities (although, it must be added, the United Tribes’s Charter conveniently omitted to specify exactly who should pay for all this in the end.)

Menefregus Maximus concluded by extending his own personal sympathies to the Good Samaritan, and claiming that, unless copious amphorae of mead meanwhile befuddled his memory, he would do his utmost to raise the matter with the Emperor at the next Governors’ convention in Rome. But, he warned, the Empire had problems of its own to cope with, what with the unexpected revolution of the ungrateful Gauls and the people of the Lowlands to the North, who inexplicably rejected the Empire’s generous offer of permanent and irreversible annexation.

* * *

Thus disillusioned, the Good Samaritan returned to his village... only to find that much had changed in his absence. For one thing, the inn was now officially a “detention centre”, surrounded by a tall fence and manned by heavily armed guards. For another, the refugees who had previously been housed in the inn’s chambers, had meanwhile been transferred, kicking and screaming, to the stables and pigsties, which they shared with the village’s swine, livestock and occasional Prodigal Son. To make matters worse, the Good Samaritan discovered that the same man whom he had rescued after being beaten to within an inch of his life, was once again the victim of physical violence... this time, however, the beating was administered by the selfsame innkeeper and his henchmen, who set upon the man and his family with sticks and stones the moment he refused to leave the comfort of their private rooms. (Today, 2,000 years later, the authorities are still officially investigating this incident.)

On perceiving all this, the Good Samaritan was profoundly disturbed, and remonstrated with the innkeeper. These were human beings, he argued, and not animals; therefore, it was the religious duty of all and sundry to see that they were decently housed, and treated with dignity and respect. But the innkeeper had by this time lost his patience, as well as all semblance of humanity, and replied gruffly that he would be only too happy to transfer the refugees back to their original rooms... if the Good Samaritan agreed to pay double for the accommodation.

Faced with this choice, the Good Samaritan found that his previously boundless generosity was suddenly less boundless than before... and, despite gnawing guilt and profound misgivings, he left the hapless refugees in the hands of the innkeeper, and set off on another journey, this time with no intention of ever returning.

* * *

The Good Samaritan travelled through the wilderness for many long years. Only this time, whensoever he came across a less fortunate neighbour in need of assistance, he found himself doing what his predecessors, the priest and the Levite, had done in the original tale. That is, he simply looked the other way, and passed them by without stopping to help.

Meanwhile, news reached him that the innkeeper had hit upon a plan to stem the never-ending tide of unwanted visitors to his home village. Together with a band of hired thugs and mercenaries (quite possibly, the same bandits and thieves who had set upon the original man in the first place), he cordoned off the village with a blockade. Upon arriving at the perimeter, the endless caravans of men, women and children – most of whom were on the point of death after their long and arduous journey across the desert – were given a blunt ultimatum: either turn back and face the desert once more... or be beaten to death with clubs and truncheons.

* * *

And the Good Samaritan saw all this from afar, and his heart bled at the wickedness of humankind. But alas! His courage was not sufficient to rebel against these injustices... and in any case, he was by this time very much alone in his sympathy for those less fortunate of his neighbours.

In time, he came to accept that his mission was a total failure, and he soon ceased altogether to introduce himself as the “Good Samaritan”... choosing the more humble (and altogether more appropriate) title of “Ordinary Samaritan” instead.

* * *

The same, however, cannot be said for the innkeeper... who, despite having degenerated into a foul-mouthed, slovenly, ill-tempered and murderous brute, came to understand that the more heartless and cruel he and his fellow villagers became, the more urgently they felt the need to believe that what they were doing enjoyed the blessing of the Lord.

So in the end, he did what many murderous brutes had done before him, and became to all outward appearances “holier than the holiest of Pharisees.” He joined all the available prayer groups and charitable institutions, and went on regular pilgrimages in the company of similarly devout men and women of good families. He made a habit of loudly denouncing the sinfulness of others, while making public demonstrations of his own piety and moral superiority... sometimes by writing scandalised letters to the local tablets, sometimes by erecting billboards all over Judaea, featuring his own face above the words: “Thou, too, couldst be as holy as me...”

Needless to add, as a result of all this he earned himself the instant respect, trust and admiration of the authorities, who naturally rewarded him in kind. And so it came to pass that, while the Ordinary Samaritan passed from all recorded memory, the “Good Innkeeper” (as he now called himself) quickly became the richest and most respected man in all of Judaea.

* * *

So it was, and so it is, and so it continued to be, now and forever and ever, until the last syllable of recorded time, Amen.