Progeny

by Shawn Hopkins

  John frowned. Was this Pastor Brian’s idea of a joke?

  Back on the screen, it looked for a moment like the man’s adversary was going to interject, but apparently the time for presenting his case had already expired because he bit his tongue and remained quiet. He would have to wait for his turn to respond.

  Thunder sounded outside.

  The man with the beard was getting more lively. “Perhaps, though, Professor Adler is correct in his charge that no first-time reader of the verse would ever assume the phrase to be speaking of angels. Or, I should say, no first-time reader proceeding a certain point in history, if my view is the correct one. You see, if he is right, which he probably is, I argue that the reason has nothing to do with the language, the context, history, or any other body of evidence other than that the notion of it is simply too far removed from our ordinary conception of reality. However, to think that a first-time reader would just the same know to interpret the phrase as ‘the sons of Seth’ is even more unbelievable. In fact, I am quite sure that once the reader is educated in the language and the context, and sees where the phrase is used to mean angels elsewhere, he will then not only understand, but also appreciate a more satisfying explanation as to why God nearly exterminated the whole human race. Especially when seeing that the alternative theory for such destruction appears to be the judgment of simple marriage between ungodly women and godly men — something that still happens every day and without such bizarre results. So, though the initial reaction to the idea of angels being present in our text may be one of unbelief, it is more believable than the other views when we see that such marriages—” he held up his index finger, “regularly produced supernatural offspring, of which no other position can account for, and—” he put up a second finger, “called for the near annihilation of every living thing on the planet. These are two extraordinary factors that Professor Adler, and most theologians, will not deny. Is it so hard to believe then that the extraordinary offspring and the extraordinary judgment were the result of an extraordinary circumstance?”

  The man put his glasses back on, looked up at the clock, and took a sip of water from a glass that was resting on the desk in front of him. “Bne-Ha-Elohim, Bnoth-Ha-Adam… No other view was prevalent among Christian theologians until three or four hundred years after Christ. Since then, we have this view of Seth and Cain, we have the filii-magnatum which claims to read ‘sons of princes or rulers’ and ‘women of inferior station.’ We have a view that suggests the sons of God are earlier descendants of Adam and Eve who intermarry with the latter. And we have the opinion that the patriarchs in chapter five are referred to as thus because of their longevity. But none of these views, as with Professor Adler’s, can account for the supernatural offspring that resulted and the unprecedented judgment that followed. There is only one view, as ridiculous as it may be to our modernized way of thinking, that can offer an adequate explanation.”

  Though John’s eyes were fatigued by the poor picture quality, he nonetheless found himself mesmerized and strangely fascinated by the man’s words — despite still not having the proper context through which to interpret them. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he finally understood the debate to be over the meaning of a specific phrase in the book of Genesis — whether it was speaking of angels or the sons of Seth. Goosebumps were still tracing his arms when the man began making his closing statements.

  “Lastly, ladies and gentlemen, and Professor Adler, I ask you, is it not likely that the children of these condemned unions, the ‘ancient heroes’ as they are called, are none other than the originators of all the legends concerning the gods — which the legends themselves expressly declare? If not, and God truly did annihilate everything and everyone simply because the godly began intermarrying with the ungodly, then perhaps we should pause and wonder at such a judgment. Though, I do not know how the marrying of holy Sethites to unholy Cainites could disturb the development of mankind so much as to render the human condition utterly hopeless, requiring the extermination of all but eight people. Perhaps, along with a more intimate knowledge of who the mighty men of old truly were, there is a reason why the angel-view is the oldest view there is on the subject. Thank you.”

  The picture instantly turned to static.

  John sat unmoving before the static, the subconscious awareness of an evil presence quickening his beating heart. Of course, he was as unsure about the stalking tendencies of evil presences as he was about attic demons, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be God’s holy angels stirring such feelings within him. Leaving the tape, he got to his feet and went into the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed Pastor Brian’s number.

  It rang three times before someone picked up, but it took another five seconds before that person’s groggy voice fully escaped the clutches of a sound sleep. “Hello?” Brian rasped.

  “Brian, it’s John Carter.”

  “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, did I wake you?”

  A pause. “It’s 2:30 in the morning.”

  John looked up at the clock, swore for not realizing the time and then apologized, embarrassed, for the swearing.

  “It’s okay, John,” he said, and there was a long pause as he yawned. “We all grow at different paces.” Brian had been over this with him before. “It’s a long uphill battle. We rarely change overnight.”

  “I can take some rebuke.”

  “If I thought rebuke was what you needed, then I’d give it to you. No, you need encouragement. You need to look back for a second and see the proof of who you’re becoming, of how far you are from being who you used to be.”

  He was right, of course. Though his shortcomings always whispered condemnation, he was nothing at all like the man he was three years ago. And he knew it should be encouraging.

  “But that’s not why you called, is it?” Brian asked.

  “No.” He paused, suddenly aware of how absurd he was about to sound. “This may sound stupid, especially at 2:30 in the morning… but is there a place in the Bible that talks about ‘sons of God’ and ‘daughters of men’?”

  Silence for a second, like he was waiting for the punch line to a bad joke. “You’re right, that was probably the last thing in the world I expected someone to call my house for. Ever.” He sighed over the line. “Yeah, the sixth chapter of Genesis.”

  John’s heart fluttered. “What’s your take on it?”

  “On what?”

  John knew he should just let the guy go back to sleep, but for some reason it was important that he know right now. “On what the verse is talking about.” Even as he was asking the question, he was reaching into the next room and grabbing a Bible off a corner table.

  At that point, Brian whispered something to his wife, telling her to go back to sleep — no one was about to jump off a bridge, the church wasn’t burning to the ground, their children were all okay… “I hold to the orthodox view, that the sons of God are angels. What’s this about, John?”

  He found chapter six of Genesis and began reading it softly over the phone. “‘And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose. And the Lord said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, for that he also is flesh: yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty years. There were giants in the earth those days; and also after that…’” His voice began to tremble. “‘…when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.’”

  Brian spoke up. “You’re reading from the King James.”

  “Yeah,” John muttered, his mind suddenly lost somewhere else. “Giants?”

  “Yeah, Han-Nephilim and Hag-Gibborim. Listen, John, is everything okay?”

  “It says that there were giants also after that. What does that mean?”

  “Well
, it depends on your interpretation of it. I understand it to mean that, even after the promise of judgment was to be fulfilled in a hundred and twenty years, angels and women were still marrying and producing giants — all the way up to the Flood.”

  “Could there be giants after the Flood?”

  “Sure. We find giants mentioned all over the Old Testament as well as in other historical accounts.”

  “So then this angel thing still happens?” His throat was dry, the phone shaking in his hand.

  “You mean, like today? I don’t think so. I believe the severity of the Flood put a stop to that. Although there are others who don’t agree. Jewish tradition even holds that Og, King of Bashaan, survived the Flood as the last of the giants and was responsible for their outbreak afterward. To tell you the truth, I never really thought this a subject I had to nail down to a perfect theological argument. I guess, as you’ve noticed, my own view seems somewhat contradictory. Can you tell me why you’re asking?” It was obvious from his tone that he was as confused by the query as was John himself.

  “I’m so sorry for waking you, Brian.”

  “That’s why I’m here. Hey, aren’t you leaving in the morning?”

  “Yeah.” He hung up the phone without even waiting to hear Brian’s next question. Standing there in the kitchen, he reread through the first part of Genesis six and shuddered. “Giants,” he whispered. Suddenly, and somehow, all of the ill-feelings he’d had over the last few days converged and attached itself to that one word. He prayed it had nothing to do with where he was headed to in the morning. But then, how could it? He turned the television off and went upstairs, looking over his shoulder the entire way, trying to spot the movements dancing in the shadows of his vision. He got into bed just as more rain started falling on their house, his thoughts a tangled mess of insinuations all pointing to his past.

  THREE

  Something is leading me, showing me where to go. I can feel it pulling me. There’s something I’m supposed to find. But I’m scared. I don’t know where I am, where the rest of the men are. I’m not supposed to be scared, though — I’m a trained killer and better than most. I’m not afraid of anything. Except this. Whatever it is. I wander deeper into the caves, hearing bombs explode somewhere up above me. I should go back before I get lost in here. But I can’t. I have to keep going…

  John snapped into a sitting position, suddenly awake. He was sweating, breathing heavily. Getting out of bed, he quickly crossed the bedroom and shut himself in the bathroom. He flicked on the light and vomited in the toilet. His whole body was shaking, sweat dripping into his eyes. Sitting on the floor, he tried to regain his composure, to weed the nightmare’s lasting impression from out of his reality.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Johnny, are you okay?” Kristen was leaning her ear against the door, her hand trying the locked handle.

  John wiped his mouth. “Yeah.”

  “You sure? Why is the door locked?”

  In fact, he didn’t realize he’d locked it. “Yeah, it’s nothing. You can go back to bed.”

  It was obvious from the ensuing pause that she was wrestling with what to do, whether or not to believe him. “Okay, but I’m right here if you need me.” No doubt she was thinking about the dreams he’d told her about, the things that used to torment him.

  He heard her footsteps evaporate away from the door, her shadow disappearing from the sliver of light beneath it. He stood, flushed the toilet, and went to the sink. He turned on the faucet and splashed handfuls of cold water into his face. Then he bent over, gripping the edges of the sink, and tried to stop himself from shaking. When he finally looked up into the mirror, he could only stare at himself. For five long minutes, he held such a position, reciting in his head what was real while trying to ignore the tattoos that covered his chest and wrapped his biceps.

  John Adam Carter. He was named such after the founding father, which was in keeping with the custom held by his family. Most Carters had patriotic names and were expected to serve their country in one lifelong capacity or another. It was a legacy John had every intention of living up to, and in 2001, he was one of the first to Afghanistan. But a rocket propelled grenade had changed everything.

  He shook his head. This wasn’t the reality he was searching for, but it was the one the dream had brought back. He closed his eyes and tried to forget both.

  Shutting off the water, he dried his face on a towel before glancing at an old wrist watch he kept on the sink. 3:52. His flight was at seven. The taxi would be here at 5:30. He flicked the light off and returned to bed, climbing back in beside Kristen. Whether she was really asleep or just pretending, understanding that getting into a conversation at this hour would be pointless, he didn’t know or pursue. Instead, he laid there on his back, stared at the ceiling, and listened to the rain whip the side of the house. It didn’t take long, however, before his thoughts were back to the video. If there was a message he was supposed to have gleaned from it, he’d failed miserably. And yet, the video led to a discussion about giants — which had triggered a dream that he hadn’t had in three years… Something was at work here, he knew it way down in the deepest part of himself, a billboard advertising some vague spiritual truth he didn’t understand.

  He prayed silently and eventually fell asleep.

  ****

  Morning had come way too soon. Looking down at his wife, he knew she felt the same way. They were standing together — John’s arm around her shoulder, her arm around his waist — staring out the window, waiting for the taxi to materialize out of the pouring rain.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” she asked, leaning her head against his chest.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He hoped. In all actuality, he had no idea what would be awaiting him.

  “Look at me, Johnny.” She turned him so that they were standing face to face. “I have something to tell you. Something very important.” A mist settled over her eyes, and she squeezed his hand tight enough to communicate the severity of what she was telling him. “But I’m going to wait until you get back and all of this, whatever you’re going through, is behind us. That means that you have to come back to me, Johnny. You understand me?”

  He smiled despite what he was really feeling. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her head. “Sorry about last night,” he whispered, the words meant to alleviate the horrible feeling that was stabbing him in the stomach.

  “I guess you’ll have to make it up to me on Sunday,” she teased.

  “I’ll be here.”

  Because the atmosphere suddenly seemed too final for her liking, and because crying would just make it feel more so, she took his hand in hers and began dancing with him. It was something she often did to lighten a moment.

  Laughing, John twirled her around, sudden flashes of him doing so on their wedding day flooding his throat with emotion. He knew now, more than ever, that he didn’t deserve her — that she should have married someone else, someone that grew up in the church like she had. She didn’t need his baggage to complicate her life. It didn’t seem fair. “Sorry I’ve been out of it the last few days. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  She didn’t want to bring up last night, a discussion about the nightmares having possibly returned not exactly her idea of a happy parting. Not after what he told her about them, what he’d been through before meeting her. Hopefully, he would be fine when he returned. And if not, maybe she could help him deal with the dreams this time around. “Well, when I see you on Sunday, not only will you have a hot tan, but you’ll be back to being my Johnny again.” She leaned up on a tiptoe and pecked him with a kiss before being spun again.

  “I promise.” He stared at her as they circumnavigated the living room, keeping time with the sweet-sounding melody Kristen was humming. “So what is this thing you have to tell me?” he poked.

  “Guess you’ll have to be here on Sunday to find out,” she
smiled, her eyes sparkling.

  “I see. And there’s nothing that can persuade you to spill it now, huh?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Really?” He picked her up and tossed her onto the couch. She landed in laughter even as he was jumping on top of her, tickling her.

  “Stop it!” she was screaming, her arms and legs flailing.

  “Tell me!”

  She found a way to scream through her laughter. “No way!”

  So he engaged the most ticklish spots on her body.

  And then the sound of a horn sounded from outside.

  Their laughing slowed, and they stared at each other for a second, as if holding their positions would prevent time from continuing and the moment from coming to an end. Suddenly, the weight of a thousand unspoken words fell upon them, desperately wanting to be expressed but without the time or knowhow to do so.

  For a moment, John spotted a certain look in Kristen’s eye. The look of fear, of uncertainty and desperation. They were all wrapped up in a sole expression that came and went so fast that, had he not seen it before, he would have completely missed it. It told him more about this trip than anything else possibly could. It was the look his mother gave him the day he left for Afghanistan. It was the look in the eyes of fathers, wives, brothers, and sisters while they waved goodbye to their loved ones for perhaps the last time.