Al nodded, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
Al reached for the black, leather bag sitting beside him on the booth’s maroon cushion. He glanced around but none of the other patrons in the bar were paying them any attention. He unzipped the bag and pulled out an extremely worn copy of the King James Bible. He set it on the table facing Lester and nudged it toward him. With slow and careful reverence, Lester pulled it another inch or two toward himself and opened the cover.
“This looks old,” said Lester.
“First edition,” Al replied. “1611, I believe. I have one that is a bit older, but it’s written in Latin. Actually, I have some scrolls too, but I wrote them in Hebrew and Greek, and for our purpose here tonight that just wouldn’t do.”
Lester caressed the first page with his fingertips; his hanging jaw was evidence of his astonishment. “This thing’s like four hundred years old.
“Yep,” said Al, “now if you’ll just turn a couple more pages to Genesis I’ll start telling you my story.”
“Oh, come on, Al. I don’t need to be saved again. If this is just some ploy to get me to start going to church or something we’re both wasting my time.”
“Lester,” Al cut in. “Do you want to hear my life story or not?”
“Yeah, sure Al.”
“Then turn to Genesis. It’s important to start at the beginning,” Al added, still sensing Lester’s hesitation.
“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,” Lester read aloud.
“That’s true, He did,” said Al, “but that’s a little too far back. Let me ask you this, Les. How old do you think I am, roughly?”
“Heck if I know, Al. I mean you’ve hardly changed in thirty years. You look the same as the day I met you. Are you going to finally tell me?” Lester asked before taking a drink from his beer.
“I am nearly six thousand years old,” Al said.
Lester snorted, nearly choking on his tongue and spitting out a mouthful of beer. “Six thousand years…?” he gasped, reaching for a napkin. “You don’t expect me to buy that, do you? I mean how could that even be possible? Gimme a break, man.” Lester kept on muttering and wiping while Al patiently waited.
“Look at me, Les. Look into my eyes the way you did that day at the car wash thirty years ago. Look at me, and try to remember what you saw way back then.”
“I don’t have to, Al. I see the same thing every time I look at you. I see a man who is unlike any other man I’ve ever met; a man whose eyes are ageless and tell no stories; a man whose body is youthful but carved like a canyon by the steady dripping of time. I see a soul that has seen things never seen before by another human being. You are an enigma, Al, a mystery wrapped in a riddle. Maybe I know you better than anyone else that is alive right now in this world, but I sense there have been others who have known you much better than I do and still never scratched the surface. Am I close?”
“You are,” Al whispered.
“Okay then, if you say you’re six thousand years old…I just need some time to wrap my mind around it.”
Al smiled at him. He always knew, when this day came, it would not be easy for the one chosen to hear the story. He was glad it was Lester.
“Okay, so why the Bible?” asked Lester. “You’re not about to tell me your real name is Adam or something, are you?”
Al raised an eyebrow. “No, he’s dead, long ago. He died shortly after my mother did.”
“Oh, and who’s your mother?” asked Lester with a bit of apprehension showing in his green eyes.
“Eve,” said Al.
“Right. So, let me get this straight. I know a little bit about the Bible. If Adam and Eve are your real parents, your birth parents…right?”
“Right.”
“Then you must be Cain or something, maybe Seth. Not Abel though, because he’s dead? Right? And the Bible can’t lie?” Lester stopped talking. He could sense a tidal wave of melancholy emanating from his friend and saw the deep sadness that his words had stirred up in Al’s blue eyes. They were moist and shiny with tears.
“Al, I’m sorry, What did I say? I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay, Les,” said Al, waving off his apology. “I still, even after so long… No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Al cleared his throat.
“Please read Genesis chapter two and verse seven,” Al asked.
Lester turned and found the right passage. He cleared his throat and read, “And the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”
“Good,” said Al, “now read verse twenty-two of the same chapter.”
“Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib He had taken out of the man, and He brought her to the man.”
“And verse twenty-four.”
“For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.” Lester looked up from his reading and waited expectantly for Al to explain.
“What you have just read, Lester, is how my parents came to be. Your ancestors; something like great, great, great grandparents, except a lot more greats. They were my dad and mom. Dad was made out of dust. Mom was made from a bone. It went a long way toward explaining their personalities. But the fact is they were never kids, never babies. They were created as adults, with language built in, intelligence preprogrammed. They were smart. Now that I think about it, they were genius compared to anyone living today. The things they thought about, talked about, and taught us. They knew a lot, but they didn’t know babies. I was the first baby they had ever seen. In fact, I am the first human being with a belly button. Ha,” Al laughed.
“Now wait a minute,” cut in Lester, “doesn’t the Bible say that Cain and Abel were sons number one and two? How can you say that you were the firstborn?”
“I am the firstborn,” said Al, his gaze calm and steady. “The first thing my parents did when they saw each other was explore each other. They spent intimate hours and days getting to know each other, sort of a honeymoon you could say. I was the result of that love affair.”
“So you were born and they named you Al? How come you’re not in the Bible?” challenged Lester.
“Well, to answer your second question first, I am in there, but no, they did not name me Al,” said Al, chuckling. “That is a name that I’ve only been using for about four hundred years. My real name, the name my father gave me at birth, is Kole Chay.” And Al spelled it for him. “That’s as close as I can spell it with the English alphabet; Kole meaning entirety, or whole, and Chay meaning life, or living. I was Kole until the King James Bible translated my name as All Living. Then I became Al. Al Living.”
Lester stared at him. Al stared back. Finally, Lester looked down at the Bible once more, scanning the pages.
“It looks here like there wasn’t time for them to have a baby before Cain was born. The Lord made Adam and Eve,” looking up at Al, then down again, “uh, your mom and dad, then Adam named all the animals, the devil tricked them, they were cursed, kicked out of Eden, and had Cain and Abel. I still don’t see where you fit in.”
“Yeah,” said Al, with a sigh, “I don’t really ‘fit in.’ See, that passage there in Genesis was written by Moses several thousand years after the fact. God inspired him to write it that way and conveniently left me out, unless you know what you’re looking for. Here a little, there a little,” mumbled Al to himself.
“You see, by the time this was written, I already had my assignment, and it was not necessary to include me in the activities of history. Not until the very end. But I am there. After my mother and father satiated each other, my dad continued to name the animals. I mean, it was not something that could be done in a day. It took months. He was also given the task of caring for the garden; touching and t
ending the plants, singing to the animals and flowers. My mother followed him, picking fruit to eat, singing to him and with him, touching him, and of course, periodically distracting him from other duties. They were very much in love, the first and only perfect couple. Although other couples have come close,” Al said with a faraway look in his eye.
“One year, in the grand scheme of things, is actually a very short time,” Al continued, “and with the potential to live forever, even a thousand years would seem like a day. The time went fast, and before long my mother was showing her pregnancy. They told me later they were surprised, but the Lord explained to them what was happening. Back then the Creator would just show up and talk to them in person, instructing them and showing them things.
“Soon it was time, and my mother went down to a clear pool of water. She waded in until the water buoyed her belly and then, after giving my father a small kiss, gently pushed me into his hands. I was born underwater to sinless parents.
“It was not long after this that the devil started his campaign against my mother. He accurately guessed how susceptible a woman could be, how emotional she was, after bearing a child. I suppose I was about six months old when he made his move and deceived her into eating that which was forbidden. My parents were cursed, the earth was cursed, and every one born thereafter was cursed; cursed to have an uncooperative earth; cursed to have pain in childbirth; cursed to have temptation from the devil. Only I was left uncursed; born before the curse was in place and too young to have been offered solid foods.”
Lester stared at him aghast. This was blowing his circuits. He needed to have something that made sense before he overloaded. “Why aren’t you mentioned in any of this? Why would God inspire the writer of Genesis to leave you out?”
“He didn’t, Les. Up to this point my parents just called each other man and woman. There was nobody else. It worked. Sort of like newlyweds, nowadays, just calling each other Honey or Sweetie. They called each other Ish or Ishyah. But after I was born, or sometime after the curse, my father named my mother Eve. He was very good at naming things. Do you know why he named her Eve?”
“No, why?” asked Lester.
“Look, read it,” said Al. “Genesis 3:20.”
Lester looked down at the page, and his eyes grew as large as chicken eggs. “Adam named his wife Eve, because she was the mother of all living.”
“That’s me,” said Al. “All Living. It’s not until chapter four that it says my mom became pregnant with my brother and named him Cain because she had gotten a man from the Lord. By then I was almost two, and she’d realized by watching me get bigger that babies were just small adults in the process of development. She was very astute.”
Lester signaled for the waitress and ordered another beer. He took a long drag from his cigarette, then nearly dropped it in surprise. His cigarette, the same one that had been miraculously lit ten minutes ago, was still just as long as if it had been pulled from the pack that very moment. It was still burning, and he was still smoking it, but it was not burning up.
Al watched him with a smile twinkling behind his eyes.
“What’s going on here,” demanded Lester, half incredulous.
“I guess just another part of the miracle,” said Al. “That cigarette is going to last you until we are done talking, until you’ve heard as much of my life’s history as I can tell you.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope, and when you put that cigarette out you won’t ever want another one again. They won’t even taste good to you.”
“I doubt that,” said Lester.
“That’s why it’s so hard for God to work with you, Les. Miracles happen every day. Not just the big obvious ones, but tiny, small ones that go unnoticed. The Lord goes unthanked every day for miracles he allows to happen. You’re seeing one now because God has a special purpose for you, and he’s trying to impress that upon you like he did with Moses and the burning bush. Which, by the way, was very cool.” Al grinned.
Lester shook his head. “You saw that too?”
“I’ve seen almost all of it,” Al said. “Played some small parts in it too, but we’re getting way ahead of the story. Let’s take a short break. Here comes your beer.”
Al closed his eyes and thought about how best to proceed. Lester drank his beer and smoked his cigarette. The thought flashed through his mind that he wished he’d brought a fancier pack of smokes with him tonight of all nights. If only he had known this Camel might be his last, he’d have brought a Sherman.
From somewhere music played and seemed to underscore the moment; Iron Butterfly’s “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.” In the garden of Eden, slurred lyrics sung in synchronization with a heady combination of bass, organ, drums, and guitar. Al loved music, and this particular song was special to him. He thought back.
It was in 1968, a warm spring evening in Hollywood when Al, with a gallon of Red Mountain wine, stopped into the apartment of a musician he had met. The musician, Doug, had a nice little tune going, and even though Al couldn’t tell him his story, he certainly wasn’t prohibited from talking about biblical things. He managed to say, “In the garden of Eee-den,” in perfect cadence to the music. It was no accident, and Doug loved it. He played one-handed and repeated it over and over, laughing and taking long pulls from the jug in between choruses. Al laughed and sang along for a while, feeling good, but left when his brain started going fuzzy. The jug of wine, still half full, stayed with Doug in the apartment. Al heard the complete song on the radio a few months later and treasured it.
“What are you chuckling about?” asked Lester.
“Huh? Oh, nothing. I just like this song.”
Lester cocked his head to listen. “Iron Butterfly, right?”
“Yeah, heavy on the iron, but light on the butterfly.”
“Sounds more like a soul screaming for help,” Lester opinioned out loud.
“Yeah. You’re not the first person to think that,” Al said.
They sat in ponderous silence for a few more seconds then Lester snapped his fingers in front of Al’s face. “Come on, old buddy. I’m dying to know more of this tale. Where were we?”
“Screaming for help,” Al quipped. “Whether we know it or not, we’re all dying, Les.”
“Yeah, except you.”
“No,” Al said, “the soul that sins shall die, and I’m far from perfect, my friend, but we’ll get to that.”
Al reached into his black briefcase again and pulled out a stack of notebooks.
“These are some of my journals,” Al said. “When the Bible was first printed, I was impressed with the way some parts of it were told in third person. When Moses wrote about himself, he didn’t say ‘I did this,’ or ‘I did that.’ He said, ‘Moses went up the mountain,’ or ‘the Lord spoke to Moses.’ I decided after I’d done some reading that if I couldn’t share my story with someone, at least I could write it down. I thought it might be appropriate to write it as if I was a witness to my own life, and I thought reading parts of it to you might be better than trying to retell it.”
“I’m all ears,” said Lester.
Al nodded and picked up the first notebook on the stack, putting the rest back in the bag.
“Keep in mind,” said Al, stalling, “I have tried to maintain an authentic vocabulary in my writing, but over the years I have rewritten or translated my journals several times, and some of the words I have updated to a more modern form.”
“Like what?” questioned Lester.
Like the word years or the word miles. I did not originally refer to time and distance in those terms, obviously. In some places I translated the original word I wrote into English, but in other places I have substituted the words with updated English terms.”
“You’re killing me here, Al. Just read it.”
Al opened the journal to the fi
rst page and stared down at the ink, idly scratching at a faint scar on his jaw. He looked up at Lester, and when Lester nodded a go-ahead he looked back down, cleared his throat, and began to read.
Kole woke up early that particular day, not thinking that a day can come along that is so different it will change every part of your life, of all life. There had been many days, each one fresh and filled with promise. There were no old ideas, no copying or mimicry. Every dawn was an opportunity to unwittingly establish a course for human history. If something needed to be done there was no human being to ask guidance from. It was new. It was all new.
The sun came up in the same place it always had, and the ground that he had been sleeping on was wet with dew. Kole Chay stood up and shook out his wrap, then tied it around his waist. His parents still had their beautiful animal skins that the Creator had given to them before they were banished from the garden, but the one Kole used had been made as a blanket by his mother and merely served its purpose. Kole had seen some of his younger siblings wearing nicer cloaks, but his was his mother’s first attempt, and although it was ill-fitted and stretched at the seams, Kole had an attachment to it.
He walked down to the stream and splashed the cool water over his face and neck. He looked around and found berries growing on a low bush, and with no regard as to whether they might not be good for food, he started plucking them off and popping them into his mouth. When he was full, he again rinsed his mouth and hands in the water and, picking up his stick, went to find his family.
Kole could count thirty-two summers since his birth and would soon notch another summer on his walking staff. He felt good as he walked downstream along the path. He had never sensed any danger here although his dad, The Man, Adam, had repeatedly told him that in the garden animals had been more gentle. Out here, outside the garden, certain creatures were starting to act funny; as if humans were berries and they wanted to break their fast with one.
All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923) Page 2
