That was when I felt I needed a drink.
I got up and poured myself a stiff shot of bourbon and got some ice from the kitchen. I remember standing holding the open door of the ice-box, watching the cubes swirl around in my glass. To give me time to collect my thoughts. He had been right to warn me about George Lucas and Tolkien. He could have thrown in Doris Lessing as well. The Man had just outlined the best scenario I’d heard since Star Wars. It had an engaging plausibility but there was no way I could prove whether any of it was true. I just had to accept whatever he chose to tell me. I was conscious of this tug-of-war going on inside me. An eager, almost child-like credulity fighting a see-saw battle with this hard-faced, dismissive cynicism. Why had his words had such a disturbing effect on me? And what was it? Regret for lost innocence? A nostalgic memory of a simpler time, for ideals long discarded? Whatever it was I did my damnedest to bury it under a mountain of indifference. Once again, I asked myself the sixty-four dollar question: Why me? Why was he here? Why was he telling me all this? Had I gone quietly crazy? Was I going to wake up in a flower-filled room to discover that everything I had seen and heard in the last eight days had been taking place inside my head? Or was I dead? Had I, like the central character in that story by Michael Frayn whose title I was unable to recall, been the victim of traffic accident on the way to pick up Miriam at the Manhattan General? Was this God’s way of breaking the news to me? Or was it The Man who was crazy? Or maybe not even The Man at all but some metaphysical freak from another star-system who, for opaquely alien reasons, had decided to take advantage of my guilt-laden Jewish consciousness by presenting himself as the Messiah?
I am telling you this to show you how my mind twisted and turned in an effort to get myself off the hook. It was all too much, and had come at totally the wrong time. Listen – a two hundred million year war. The Black Legions. Atlantis. The news that we were the aliens. It’s okay to speculate about such things in the privacy of one’s own home but, even if it was true, there was nothing we could do about it. The Twentieth-Century-Flier might be rocking dangerously on the rails but anyone who tried to stop the train would merely incur the wrath of his fellow-passengers. He and I might indeed be one but where did that get us? Life had to go on. Wasn’t I due in court at eleven-thirty on Monday morning? Didn’t I still have four depositions to read through? Was Resnick the Resolute going to ditch everything he believed in – fame, fortune and fornication – because some bearded golden-eyed wine-bibber had taken the wrong turning on the way back to his starship? Goddamnit, it was only by accident he was here, anyway. He said that himself.
I closed the door of the ice-box, carried my drink back into the living-room and sat down with a resigned sigh. The better half of me knew the answers to most of those questions, and the blanks were filled in later. I wasn’t crazy and neither was he. He was The Man and he spoke The Truth. This wasn’t a drugged fantasy or death-bed vision, this was really happening. But part of me had been dead, and had been brought to life by his presence. I sat there under his gaze and hoped fervently that the road he might propose to lead me down would not be as stony as the route he’d chosen first time around.
When I’d proofed myself against adversity with the aid of the bourbon, I took up the thread of our conversation. ‘Just let me check to make sure that I’ve got this right. Are you saying that what I think of as me, is actually part of one of you?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s your soul, spirit, psyche, or whatever you may wish to call it. The animus. The intangible essence which provides the life force. The power that enables you to express your humanity, as opposed to your biological functions. The part of you which continues to exist after clinical death turns your body into pot-roast.’
‘So does that mean that part of us goes on?’ I said. ‘That reincarnation is possible?’
‘It’s more than possible,’ he replied. ‘It’s a necessity.’
‘To provide continuing protection for the Ain-folk that are trapped here …’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘So, in fact,’ I concluded. ‘We are the aliens. The extra-terrestrials.’
‘Yes. Except, as I’ve explained, the individual psyche is now composed of elements drawn from several of the Ain-folk. It’s one of these things that is complicated to explain but it has something to do with planetary configuration at the time of birth, plus a host of other factors. That goes for Miriam, and everybody else too.’
‘Are any of the bad guys mixed up in there too?’
He shook his head. ‘No. They work in a different way. They get to your brain through your body. It’s the easiest way to keep control. The way we manifest ourselves is through the intellect, imagination, instinct and the positive emotions. By that, I mean love, compassion; not desire and the urge to screw.’
I mulled over this new disclosure. ‘What you’ve said could explain a lot of things. My star sign is Gemini. Now I have a plausible explanation for my latent schizophrenia. Would I be correct in thinking that these twelve Celestial sleepers are tied in with the signs of the Zodiac and the whole astrology bit?’
‘They’re tied in with everything, Leo. There isn’t time to go into all of it now. Just believe me when I tell you that it all hangs together. If I seemed callous when I said that you were expendable, you must understand that I was talking about my feelings on the approach phase of this mission. From the Empire’s standpoint – the overview, if you like – your bodies were, and are, just vehicles. Mobile homes. The only thing we are interested in is the drivers. It was only on my own journey through the world that I began to realise the depth and strength of the bond that had been forged between the Ain-folk and their host-bodies, and the pressures that ‘Brax had brought to bear on both of them. It was pretty discouraging to discover that most of them had accepted their fate. They’d had enough. They didn’t want to be liberated. As far as they were concerned, someone else could fight the war. For them it was over.’ He smiled. ‘In the same way that you wish it was over. You resent me disturbing your cosy routine.’
‘That’s not fair,’ I protested. ‘I never said that.’
‘True,’ he said. ‘But do you deny it?’
I shrugged petulantly. ‘If you’re reading my mind, you must also know I’m trying hard to come to terms with what you’re telling me. At the moment, I’m not quite sure how it relates to the big wide world out there.’
The Man smiled again. ‘Do you want to know something, Leo? Clever people, like you, are always the last to understand. The Truth is incredibly simple; but it’s not easy to find The Way. You must first get rid of all the garbage that has collected inside your head. You have to create a clear path that leads to understanding. It takes time and a great deal of effort. The bad guys are constantly laying down smokescreens. Creating diversions. Feeding you false information. They will do anything to stop The Truth getting out. It takes a brave man to stand up against them. They have immense power, and many ways to break you. They can sap your will, corrupt you, ridicule you and, if all else fails, they can destroy you.’
It sounded as if I might do better to put my money on the other team. ‘Can’t you do anything to stop them?’ I asked.
‘We’ve got the power,’ he replied. It’s right here in the air, the earth, the sea, rocks, trees and every other living thing. Our big problem is persuading people like you to use it.’
Chapter 4
Miriam arrived about half an hour behind schedule in a borrowed Pontiac station wagon. She got out from behind the wheel looking nervous and excited. ‘Is he still here?’
‘Yes, relax,’ I said. ‘I have a feeling he’s planning to make a night of it.’ By this time I’d become adjusted to the idea of spending the weekend with Jesus. The trouble would come when he decided to apply for a Green Card. I put my arm around her shoulder. ‘Come on in and say “hello”.’
‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some stuff in the car.’ She opened up the tail-gate. The rear of the Pontiac
was packed to the roof with food.
‘This must be the first time anybody’s robbed a supermarket and taken the store instead of the money,’ I said.
Miriam gathered up two bulging check-out bags. ‘Save the jokes. Just help me get it inside.’
Actually, I’m exaggerating a little. There wasn’t all that much. Just enough to feed a football team for a week.
She caught me rolling my eyes. ‘Listen, you told me you’d asked him to stay on here. Most of it can go in the freezer.’
We ferried the food through the back door into the kitchen. The last item was a case of red wine. ‘Now that really is something we don’t need,’ I said, as we dumped it on the counter. I told her about the magic bottle in the living-room.
‘Leo,’ she said primly, ‘that isn’t very funny.’
‘Miriam,’ I replied. ‘It’s true. I swear it. Honest to God.’ I reached for one of the bottles she’d brought. ‘What is it, French?’
‘No. Californian.’
I pulled out the bottle and checked the label. ‘If you’re the soul of sensitivity should you really be serving him this brand?’
She began to put things away busily. ‘It was marked down. Listen, you can tell him about Chavez and the grape-pickers later.’
We packed the ice-box and the freezer and crammed the rest into the cupboards then she freshened up her face with cold water from the sink tap and ran a comb nervously through her hair. I watched with amusement as she tucked her blouse neatly into her skirt and adjusted the sleeves of her jacket.
‘Would you like me to go upstairs and put on a tie?’ I asked.
‘Don’t be such a smart ass,’ she hissed. ‘Go and see if he’s still there.’
I edged towards the door, glanced over my shoulder into the living-room then signalled his presence with a grave nod. She moistened her lips, swallowed hard, picked up her black bag and allowed me to usher her into the living room.
The Man looked over his shoulder as we came in then rose to face us with a smile. ‘Hello, Miriam,’ he said.
I didn’t bother to introduce him. They shook hands. Miriam didn’t let go. She looked as if she’d fallen under a spell. And despite my confused, self-centered response to the situation, I knew how she felt. To come face-to-face with The Man with the full knowledge of who you were looking at was a unique, and overwhelming experience, despite the lurking premonition that we might later pay dearly for the privilege.
When Miriam finally found her voice, the tone was blandly professional but I knew from experience that she was hiding her emotions behind her matter-of-fact medical persona. Deep down, she was a wide-eyed New Jersey kid whose own heart was pounding too loud for her to be able to hear anything through her stethoscope. ‘That’s a good resetting job somebody did on your nose. No sutures, or post-op bruising.’
Listen, you have to start somewhere. If that makes you smile, put yourself in her place. After you’d got up off your knees what would you use for openers?
‘I heal fast,’ he said.
‘Good,’ said Miriam, swallowing hard. ‘Is it, uhh – okay if I check you out?’
‘Yes, sure, whatever you want.’ Just like that.
Miriam threw me a nervous glance. I gave what I hoped was a discreet, reassuring nod. It didn’t help to know that he was probably monitoring all this inner turmoil and quietly laughing up his wide, pale brown, woollen sleeve.
Miriam extended a hand and ushered The Man towards the stairs. I followed them up so the master bedroom and peeked round the door. ‘Is it okay if I watch?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Come in.’
Miriam peeled the bandages off his wrists. There was no trace of the wounds we had seen on the previous Saturday. No scar tissue. Nothing. I’ve got to hand it to her. Her eyebrows went up a good inch but apart from that, she took it in her stride. ‘Oh-kay…’ she said, in a detached sing-song voice. ‘Let’s have a look at the feet.’
I held my breath as the bandages came off. It was the same story. Nothing to show that an inch-square metal spike had been driven through both feet and then had torn the surrounding flesh as it had taken the weight of his exhausted body.
‘Move your toes around,’ said Miriam.
As he wiggled his piggies, she flexed each foot in turn, gently probing the bone structure with her fingers. ‘Mmmm, that’s amazing,’ she said. She glanced up at me. ‘The bones that were smashed are all completely sound and back in place.’
‘Yes, well, I guess they would be,’ I said lamely.
Miriam got up off her knees. ‘Uh – would you mind taking off your robe? I’d like to have a look at your back.’
He stood up, slipped his arms out of the wide sleeves and pulled the robe over his head. Underneath, he was naked apart from a loincloth made out of a strip of white linen. The brown skin covering his lean torso was unbroken. The hideous bruising and lacerations had disappeared, along with the ugly stab-wound just under the ribs on the left side.
‘Incredible,’ said Miriam. She shook her head in disbelief, and turned him gently around so that he was facing her. ‘You must tell me how it’s done. It would certainly move things along at the Manhattan General.’
The Man smiled. ‘It’s easy when you have the Power.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and laid his hands on his knees, palms upwards. ‘Look …’
If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. His appearances and disappearances had been mind-boggling bits of magic but what followed was absolutely fantastic. A sharp dent appeared in the skin of both wrists. The dent got deeper then suddenly, the skin was punctured. There was only one way to describe it: two invisible spikes were being driven through his wrists. The wounds began to bleed. I felt sick but I couldn’t take my eyes away.
Miriam fell down on her knees and grabbed his wrists, covering the wounds with her hands. ‘Stop it – please!’
‘It’s okay,’ he said quietly. ‘It doesn’t hurt. It’s all in the mind. Take your hands away and you’ll see what I mean.’
Miriam slowly let go of his wrists. She had blood on the palms of her hands but the wounds had vanished. The skin was quite unmarked. I stood there with a mouth like a goldfish, my mind reeling. From my passing acquaintance with the Book I knew that if he had only done half the things he’d been credited with it was clear that, even on a bad day, he could out-perform the combined talents of the AMA. But if, in his resurrected form, he could travel through time and pull strokes like this, he was unstoppable. There wasn’t a man alive who could touch him. I’ll never forget that small but telling demonstration of his power, or the look on Miriam’s face as she knelt in front of him, brushing her fingers over the spot where the invisible spikes had punched through flesh and bone only seconds before.
He took her hands in his. ‘Is it okay if I get dressed?’
Miriam nodded and got to her feet. She popped the discarded bandages into her black bag and gave me an odd look. Almost as if everything that had happened had been my fault. I suppose that after years of medical school and six years on the job it must be tough when you run up against your first cast-iron miracle.
Miriam headed for the door. ‘I need a drink. See you downstairs.’
The Man pulled his robe back on. ‘I didn’t mean to upset her.’
I shrugged and did my best to sound matter-of-fact. ‘All doctors are the same. They don’t like being out-smarted by their patients. Let’s face it, that was pretty spectacular.’ It was more than that but I didn’t go overboard. After all, there might be more to come. If so, I would need every superlative I could lay hands on. I showed him his room and the toilet just in case he might wish to use either; then we went downstairs.
Miriam was sitting by the fire with her hands cupped round a glass that held enough vodka to put a Cossack and his horse under the table. Drink usually makes her happy. This time, she looked a little subdued. But in view of what we’d just witnessed it was understandable. We turned down the lights and sat
around the flames and talked – mainly about ourselves. The Man was curious to know where we were from, what we did and why, and how we had come to be together. Et cetera. With his ability to read minds he must have known what we were going to say. I can only think that he wanted to compare what came out of our mouths with what was going through our heads. So Miriam and I laid edited versions of our life stories on him. Maybe he reached into our memories and gathered up the bits we left out. If he did, he was kind enough not to ask any awkward questions.
Eventually, we moved on from True Confessions to America in general and the global situation. We told him that it was a mess and that, sooner or later, things would have to change radically. The trouble was no one was sure that things would change for the better. The major political systems of both East and West were now recognised to be morally and economically bankrupt. And it was no good looking to religion for salvation. Of the two major faiths, the Christian church had been spiritually bankrupt for centuries, and oil-rich Islam was suffering from fundamentalist schizophrenia; Judaism you couldn’t give away.
‘Ask almost anybody,’ said Miriam, ‘and they will tell you that the world is going mad. But nobody believes in anything strongly enough to actually start doing something about it. Resolve has been replaced with resignation.’
I knew what she was talking about but I tended to take a more optimistic view. After all, people have been saying that the world was going down the tube ever since God told Noah to build the Ark. Despite what Henry Ford said about history it did, at least, prove one thing: man was the great survivor. When I pointed this out it made The Man smile.
Mission Page 7
