The Atua Man

by John Stephenson

  Every eye was on Jason as he sat very still. The people staffing the media center begin to feel the serene atmosphere Jason created in meditation and quieted down.

  “Keep the cameras rolling,” demanded Reverend Germaine. “The world needs to see this blasphemy revealed.” He hovered over the group like a prosecutor demanding justice.

  The cameramen maneuvered to get closeups on Reverend Germaine, Theodore Spence, and Jason. Not one camera caught Bishop Eastman sitting down next to Jason and putting his hand on top of Jason’s. The Bishop pulled away in shock when he felt the hardness of the table and realized that his hand had fallen right through Jason’s. Jason was in a deep silence, and the Bishop quietly said, “Jason! Jason!”

  Jason opened his eyes and raised his arms for attention.

  “Even now this deceiver demands recognition,” Germaine shouted. “Don’t give him a platform to spread his lies. Turn from evil and let Christ enter your lives.”

  Bishop Eastman composed himself, not even hearing Germaine, and realized that his life had just changed.

  Barbara, talking into her headset, took over the direction. “Keep camera one on Spencer and camera two on Mr. St. John. I’ll queue you when to cut.”

  She blasted the reporter: “Mr. Spencer, are you going to moderate or let this conversation devolve into a shouting match?”

  “I’m waiting for a response from Mr. St. John.”

  “After sandbagging him like that you expect a legitimate response?” Rabbi Levinson said. “My response to you could not be broadcast.”

  “Rabbi. Reverend.” Jason stood, motioning for his guests to be seated. All but Reverend Germain did so. Germain had his hands on his hips and watched Jason like a schoolyard bully. Jason ignored him. “Cardinal, Sheikh, Bishop, as you all well know, there are elements in our society that have no other purpose than to accuse, denigrate, and try to invalidate anything that doesn’t conform to their own beliefs and personal agenda. I fully understand Reverend Germaine’s passionate faith and would never insult his views. I would not insult the tenets of any of your religions. But the religious establishment has seldom accepted what hasn’t conformed to its dogma.”

  Jason walked around behind his guests. One camera stayed on him, and the other followed Germain, who was like a dark shadow attached to Jason. “I rarely address the public’s reaction to what I do,” Jason continued. “The people who come to my rallies and study my healing principles do so of their own volition. I might have a large media presence, but I’ve never solicited money nor advertised my material. People who have been helped by my programs keep their experiences private. Yes, I have done public healing, but they have been demonstrations for the scientific world to show that nothing supernatural or beyond the laws of nature takes place. That being said, if the religious world is offended by this kind of healing, spiritual healing if you will, then they must deal with it.”

  “That’s it!” Germain shouted. “I will not be insulted by this charlatan.”

  “Sit down, Reverend!” Barbara used her best Oakland street voice. “You are not in charge here.”

  Germain would have left, but he didn’t want to be the only one. When he saw his colleagues waiting to hear what Jason had to say, he sat down.

  “The religions of the world cannot be the sole interpreters of an invisible reality…” Jason could put people at ease when he explained esoteric ideas. “… especially when the scientific world is exploring what used to be the sole domain of religion—the relationship between matter and mind and consciousness. Mysticism can no longer be defined in terms of religious belief. Now, as they did with Copernicus, the religious leaders need to adjust their dogma; just as the Church eventually adjusted to the fact that the Earth revolves around the sun and not the other way around. Was religion destroyed by that fact? I ask you, would the religious world be destroyed by the revelation of an inner Spirit, an inner Presence and Grace within each of us? Think how life would change if people knew about the spiritual dimension of reality in which all humanity truly exists as spiritual beings? What Mr. Spencer is asking me—who am I?—is what we all should be asking ourselves. What others say about me, or claim I have done, affects only their personal experience. Did those children who saw the Virgin at Fatima have any effect on the Virgin? No. She endures as an ideal in faith, untouched by those who have had their lives altered by seeing her. So, to all of you out there, be skeptical. Your beliefs and your judgments form what you experience. Don’t let what you believe hide the truth. Jesus said it two thousand years ago, ‘Know the truth and the truth will set you free.’ You have to experience the truth for yourself. Nobody else can tell you what it is. Don’t accept at face value what anybody says. What does it have to do with you?”

  Barbara signaled for the director to cut the broadcast and walked over to the panel.

  “That’s it?” Theodore Spencer said. “No time for rebuttal?”

  “I don’t think you’d have a rebuttal to that.” Barbara took off her headset and stood by the door to wish the panelists goodbye.

  Reverend Germaine stormed out of the studio, followed by Cardinal Richards and Sheikh Qamarussman. Bishop Eastman and Rabbi Levinson remained behind, lending their support to Jason.

  “Prepare for the lions, Mr. St. John,” the rabbi said. “If they still crucified people today you’d be first in line.” Jason shook the rabbi’s hand and gave him a pat on the back.

  Bishop Eastman took Jason’s hand and squeezed it. “I’d like to learn more about what you’re doing.”

  Jason just smiled.

  The audience in the St. John apartment were on their feet as soon as Theodore Spencer reported that Jason had been shot, in Baghdad. Melanie gave Lillian an accusing look. “You know about this?”

  Dorothy shut her up. “Not now, Melanie. Let’s hear what J.J. has to say.”

  Lillian and Alex put their arms around each other in a protective embrace while they listened to the final moments of the broadcast.

  When the screen went to the St. John Ministry’s logo, the ladies and Alex let out a pent-up sigh. Melanie and Dorothy started talking at the same time, but Lillian stopped them with a gesture. “I think we all need to let what was said be weighed by our understanding of spiritual reality. What is rumor and what is true? Who’s behind that ambush? Tony? Spencer? Please think about what we can do to keep J.J. safe.”

  “I need to know if what Spencer said is true?” Melanie wasn’t leaving until Lillian leveled with her.

  Dorothy took hold of Melanie’s arm and said, “I think we need to let Lillian and Alex be alone.” She gently tried to get Melanie to leave with her.

  Melanie pulled away. “I know what J.J. can do, Lillian. Please. How can we help if we don’t know the truth?”

  Lillian sat back down on the sofa with Alex next to her. “J.J. showed up in Chester yesterday morning. He was dirty, disoriented, and his shirt was bloody. Yet he was fine. When I asked where he’d been, he said he was told Baghdad. We all drove back last night.”

  Dorothy and Melanie said nothing. They were in deep thought as they left.

  Jason entered a few moments later and joined his family on the couch. Alex thought his father had nailed it; told it like it was. If people were too stupid to get it that was their problem. He was proud of his dad.

  Jason was depressed. His true intent had been to make his appearance at the hospital so boring that people would forget about it. Now he was a “super hero,” the incarnation of Thor, or Zeus, or a half-human-half-god like Prometheus, appearing to his followers to change the nature of mortal life. To the people who hated him he was more of a flashpoint than ever. The last thing he wanted to do was retreat into a cocoon from which he and his family would never break free. Was this the death of his message to the world? Even the tenderness and affection of Lillian and Alex loving him, holding on to him, and hugging him, did nothing to lift the black cloud that engulfed him.

  Barbara and Gary met in Tony’s office later
that night. They sat across Tony’s conference madly making notes on how to deal with the crisis. The crowds outside carried on their verbal war; some chanting Jason’s name while the detractors tried to drown them out with chants of Lucifer and Antichrist.

  “I never knew that apparitions were just a Catholic thing,” Barbara said, just to say something.

  “Fuck apparitions! Where did that bastard Spencer get his information and is it reliable?” Tony gave Gary a disappointed look. Gary had failed to keep ahead of this news.

  “This story can’t be substantiated,” Gary argued. “I don’t know how he can run it on television without verification. Remember, Spencer latched on to this story from the get-go. Why would you give him any credibility?”

  “Because he has the highest ratings on television,” Tony said, trying to figure out Spencer’s motive. “He lies. He’ll lie to keep his ratings up, but what does it do for him to make Jason into something supernatural? The sad thing is that people believe him. The real question is what is this going to do to the Ministry?”

  “No, the question now is how do we protect Jason.” Gary said.

  “You think Jason is really in danger? Really in need of protection?”

  “Spencer’s given us the scenario we’ve been trying to avoid.”

  “We deny it and turn the tables on Spencer; prove him to be no better than the National Inquirer,” Barbara offered.

  “That’ll just feed his need for publicity.”

  “Why did we invite him in the first place.” Gary faced Tony. He wasn’t going to be the fall guy.

  “You gave him the script. You assured me he’d go along with this if he had an exclusive.” Tony reminded him.

  “Is Spencer that well connected?” Barbara mused.

  “We need to meet tomorrow, with everybody—Jason, Lillian, everybody,” Tony said standing up. “We need to put our heads together. Jason must realize the predicament he’s put us in.”

  The others took the clue and headed for the door.

  “One second, Gary,” Tony said.

  Gary waited while Barbara left.

  Barbara felt a prejudice she had rarely felt at the St. John Ministry. Tony and Gary were circling the chauvinistic wagons. She realized that even with all the teaching of oneness, fear brought out a tribal, exclusive attitude in people, and she marveled at how easy it was for men to revert to their base conditioning, even men who were supposedly following the spiritual path.

  Tony walked over to his desk and sat on the edge of it. He didn’t invite Gary to sit. “Jason is a tumor eating away at this ministry. Now, more than ever, we need to control the public perception of what we are about, and to do that we need to control Jason. And Jason should now understand that more than ever.

  “I think I’ve got a good start on mitigating the situation, if that’s what you want.” Gary stayed in the middle of the room, watching Tony process his next move.

  “I want what’s best for the Ministry.” Tony sauntered over to the windows and looked out onto Collingham Gardens. “What we discussed down there is more important than ever. You said that your military friends would be all over Jason if they thought he could disappear and reappear somewhere else. Is there any doubt now?”

  “Is that best for the Ministry? If it could be proven that Jason was in Iraq, and that he was shot and that he lived, we’d have our religion,” Gary said.

  Tony turned, and walked back toward Gary. He saw a zealot standing in front of him. He wondered who was manipulating whom? He had believed that Gary would be the faithful lieutenant but not take over.

  “Thank you, Gary,” Tony said.

  Gary paused a moment, projecting an attitude of power, and then walked out. That moment troubled Tony. Gary’s vision would destroy the Ministry, and it would destroy it in a way that left Tony with nothing.

  After Gary shut the door, Tony picked up his phone and dialed the Home Secretary, David Plunkett, someone he’d done battle with over the years. The man, however, always took his calls. Tony told him that St. John Ministries would cooperate in every way in an investigation into Mr. St. John’s supposed appearances, if the government thought there might be national security issues involved with his behavior. He made a second call to Child Protective Services and said that he believed that Alex St. John was in danger because of his father’s paranormal incidents.

  Chapter 32

  Fatu Hiva, Marquesas Islands

  Saturday June 14, 1989

  Having survived the storm and with the crew intact, it took another seven days of favorable wind and seas for the Mata‘i to reach the southern-most Marquesas island. The golden light of the afternoon sun bathed the fjord-like Bay of Virgins on the island of Fatu Hiva. The crew had never seen an island so lush. Coconut trees grew out of the cliffs lining the bay, and the dramatic rock formations guarding the valley looked like carvings of the native gods—fierce and protective of this paradise. It was the seventeenth day out of Papeete, and the Marquesas Islands were what Melanie, David and Jason had hoped to see.

  Larry dropped anchor a short distance from the rocky beach, joining half a dozen sail boats in the bay. Soon after they’d set their hook, a native canoe with three boys and a girl paddled out to the yacht bringing fresh fruit—bananas, papayas, breadfruit, and more. The crew was still cleaning up the boat after the rough crossing, and Larry wasn’t in the mood for guests, but the teens tied their canoe to Mata‘i’s transom and boarded anyway.

  They were all smiles, and after they had given Larry their gifts, they sat in the cockpit playing homemade guitars and banjos. The girl did a small dance on the aft cabin roof to welcome the aoe, the Marquesan word for “stranger.” They were so innocent and pure that Larry’s objections melted away. The crew were enthralled by the first Hiva people they met. They sat in the cockpit and ate bananas while Larry tried to talk to the teenagers in Tahitian. The Hiva kids didn’t understand that language, and when Larry switched to French, they refused to speak to him. David thought that strange. Later he would discover that the natives had shunned a yacht in the bay flying the French flag. Where Mata‘i was greeted with fruit and song, the people on that yacht had none.

  The Polynesians are a diverse people that spread across the Central Pacific from Hawaii in the north to Aotearoa (New Zealand) in the south. Its western limits are the Fiji Islands—some of which are Polynesian, but most are Melanesian—and the eastern most island is Rapa Nui (Easter Island), home of the monumental stone sculptures. The major island groups have their own language and culture, and all experienced European and American colonialism in different ways. The Marquesan people differ significantly from the Tahitians. Though politically part of French Polynesian, their relationship with the French had been much more strained than that of the Tahitians. Outside of missionaries, few Europeans would venture that far away from Tahiti to set up trading outposts or settlements. The only outsiders who saw a profit in these isolated islands were the Chinese. They would go where the Europeans wouldn’t.

  The island kids saw that Mata‘i was from Honolulu, and one boy smiled and made gestures of driving a car while making car sounds. Yet there were no cars in Hana Vave, nor anywhere on the island. The boy made it known that it was his dream to go to Hawaii. That same boy kept staring at David. Even though David had tanned up some from his first pale days in Honolulu, he still was not very brown. He had dark hair all over his chest. Finally, the boy staring at David sat next to him. Everything seemed funny to these island kids who couldn’t stop giggling. At last the boy next to David couldn’t resist his curiosity any longer and reached over and ran his hand over David’s hairy chest. The other three teens froze, waiting for David’s reaction. David laughed and then likewise rubbed the hair on the boy’s head, at which point the natives rolled on the deck in glee. They were all now friends for life.

  Sunday, June 15, 1989

  The next morning Larry cooked banana pancakes for breakfast and the same native kids came back as captain and crew were
finishing the meal. Larry invited them onboard and offered them some pancakes, which they tried but didn’t like. Through sign language and now a little French, Larry told his crew that the natives wanted to give them a tour of their valley. There was a wonderful waterfall at the end of it, and the views from the ridges surrounding the bay were spectacular.

  Larry, Melanie and Jason wanted to take the hike up to the waterfall, but David didn’t. He had not been able to let go of his resentment of Larry’s behavior during the storm, and it had festered in him ever sense. Every time he looked at Larry, he saw a coward willing to sacrifice one of his crew for the sake of his boat. Jason understood that David could not tolerate Larry. He could sense the hatred crawling up on his friend like a giant spider, wrapping its black legs around his body, mind, and soul.

  “Come with us, Dave. This is why we’re here,” Jason told his friend.

  David declined again. Larry was going and David wanted to be alone. Jason and Melanie climbed into the native canoe, and when Larry saw how low it was in the water, he changed his mind and stayed on the yacht with David.

  The hikers landed on a rocky shore—many of the bays in these exotic islands had no beach—and Melanie and Jason helped the natives pull their canoe above the high-water line. They walked through the typical Marquesan village. It had a Chinese store, a community center that served as a school and a church, and a government building that flew the French flag. The Chinese store usually had a generator, which, on many similar islands, might be the only power the island had. The stores stocked everything the village needed, from spark plugs to Spam to beer. The Chinese store in Hana Vave was about a mile from the landing, at the end of a muddy lane lined by row after row of coconut trees.

  From the village it took another thirty minutes to hike through the jungle to the falls. Melanie and Jason were told by Larry to wear long pants and long-sleeved shirts if they didn’t want to get eaten up by the bugs, and they were glad they did. They stayed on the narrow dirt path winding through mahogany trees, a variety of palms and the ever-present creepers like philodendron that crawled up most of the trees. When they reached the falls, they stripped down to their bathing suits and dove into the cool, fresh water of the fall’s plunge pool. They shouted and splashed each other, and ducked beneath the surface, holding their breath as long as they could. The freshwater took away the constant salt itch they had endured at sea. It also washed away the feeling of being subject to Larry’s control.