The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  “I would be like a man left with a hostile tribe after the rest of his troop retreated.”

  “Yes. Assuming, just for a moment, that all I say is true.”

  Staring down at the table for a very long time, Rabbi Schmidt finally sighed, turning loose the tension that had been within him. “You’re right, of course. There can be no good outcome from this meeting for me.”

  “Or for me,” said Elohim gently. “Should you choose to join me, many of my children on Earth will not be given a chance to change their course, and they will be deprived of their place in Heaven. Should you choose to stay, I may be deprived of the joy of your company.”

  Looking up at Elohim, with only the slightest trace of tears in his eyes, Leo Schmidt smiled. The smile gradually grew to a soft laugh, the laughter ascending until the room was filled with its sound. Elohim joined him, and both reddened with joyous laughter. Eventually, the laughter subsided. Catching his breath, the Rabbi, in a soft voice, said, “You were right when you said that you want nothing from me.”

  “In a sense, yes.”

  “No fruit shall come from my participation in this process.”

  “It cannot.”

  “And…if…you depart and take the Chosen with you, I will know.”

  “Yes. You will.”

  “Do you need my decision? My decision as to whether I will go with you?”

  “I already know your decision, my friend.”

  Leo stared at Elohim, unblinking, as if trying to memorize every detail of his face. At last he stood. He drew a long, slow breath and said, “It was a pleasure meeting You…Elohim,” extending his hand.

  Elohim rose and walked around the table to the Rabbi. Ignoring the outstretched hand, he stepped in and embraced him. Leo Schmidt wrapped his arms around Elohim and wept.

  Chapter Twenty

  William Burke sat at his desk at home, looking out the window as his wife pushed his youngest son on the swing Burke had built in the backyard. Her long, thick red hair bounced and swayed as the midday sun shimmered off every strand. The playful squeal that burst from his son with each push penetrated the closed window and filled the study, as well as his heart. His fingers traced the edges of the file that had been delivered to him by courier from his office. When his assistant, Christine, called, she had told him that they had been successful in finding the child. The file contained his name, the name of his adoptive parents, their address, the name and address of his preschool, and all of the other information Burke had requested shortly after leaving his brief meeting with Elohim. His staff had worked quickly and efficiently.

  The phone on his desk rang. It was the phone installed by the NSA, a secure line. “Bill, Clayton Dean. How are you?”

  “I’m good, Clay. And you?”

  “I’m well. Margo and the Chief should be on the line in a moment. I was just a little concerned about you.”

  “Well, for someone whose life has been turned upside down, I’m okay.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “Unless you have a time machine gathering dust next to that StairMaster in your basement…no.”

  Burke had known Clayton for years, and it was with Dean that he had shared the rough outline of his situation.

  “You’ll tell me if there is?”

  “Promise.”

  There was a click on the line, and suddenly Margo Jackson joined them.

  “Hi, guys.”

  Although Bill Burke was used to the casualness that Margo exhibited when dealing with superiors, he knew that it still bothered Dean.

  “Margo,” he said, mostly for his friend’s benefit, “when you were a Marine, did you greet your superior officers that way?”

  “What do you mean, when I was a Marine? Once a Marine, you’re a Marine for life. And to answer your question, I greeted them with a proper ‘sir’ every time. Those were the rules. Do I detect a new rule in the offing?”

  Burke, smiling, was about to respond, when the line clicked again, and the White House switchboard announced that the President was coming on the line. There was another click, and they all heard the President’s voice say, “Good afternoon, everyone.”

  Bill and Clayton both answered, “Good afternoon, sir,” as did Margo. The President was, after all, the Commander-in-Chief.

  The President said, “Bill, thanks for joining us. I know you’re on a personal leave.”

  “Not a problem, sir. I feel bad about bailing out during this…situation.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t necessary.”

  With this comment, Burke felt a twinge of guilt, quickly squelched by a glance out the window at his son and wife.

  The President continued, “Margo, any changes?”

  “Well, sir, we’re not going to have Rabbi Schmidt at the public statement.”

  “No? He doesn’t buy Elohim?”

  She paused for a moment, trying to decide the best way to answer. “It’s more complicated than that. I’m not totally clear on his intentions, but I’ll be surprised if he comes out with a statement on the other side, either.”

  Bill Burke said, “Margo, I’m not sure I understand. How did his meeting go with Elohim?”

  “Well…it had all of us in tears, including the Rabbi. He’s in a ‘damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t’ situation. Basically, all of the beliefs of the Jews state absolutely that Elohim cannot be who he says. By the end of the meeting, Schmidt was swayed, I guess. He left without discussing it with us. Anyway…if he gets up with us and says that Elohim is the Coming, instead of convincing any Jews, he’ll just blow his own credibility with them. Because to say that, he’d be saying that every sage and prophet in the history of Judaism was full of…baloney.”

  “I see,” said the President. “I sympathize with his position.”

  Clayton Dean chuckled. “I’m sure you do, sir. If you publicly buy into this, you’ll be playing right into the hands on the other side of the aisle who think you’re a….”

  “Born-again religious fanatic?”

  “Uh…yes, sir.”

  The President continued, “Bill, I wanted you to join us on this call because you are one of my staff who has also met with Elohim, as has Margo. Here’s my question for the three of you… and for right now let’s make it just a theoretical question. We’ve handled this as well as we can. Our statement is just going to lay out the facts of our investigation. Clay’s going to be there to provide our administration’s disclaimer. If Elohim turns out to be a fraud, albeit an incredibly talented and clever fraud, we haven’t done a lot of damage to ourselves.”

  Bill Burke could see the direction he was going. Their boss resumed.

  “If, on the other hand, he is…our Lord” – the President’s voice trembled noticeably with the last word – “aren’t our political concerns a bit superficial and trivial in the scheme of things?”

  Clayton Dean was the first to respond. “Sir, you’re not thinking about coming out on this, are you? You haven’t even met him.”

  “Clay, that’s part of what’s bothering me. How much hubris does it take to keep God sitting in your waiting room because you are too important? Sometimes I think we get a little too full of ourselves.”

  “I agree,” said Margo.

  “MARGO!” chastised Burke.

  “I’m not criticizing you, sir,” explained Margo, addressing the President. “I’m applying what you said to myself. And to history.”

  “History?” the President asked.

  “Well, there might have been a different ending if King Herod had spent a little one-on-one time with Jesus.”

  “Actually, Margo, I think you mean Caesar. King Herod died just before Christ’s birth. But I see your point.”

  “I think it would be a mistake,” advised Dean.

  “I’m just not sure. Sitting back while all of you deal with this doesn’t feel right. I mean, we wouldn’t dream of assigning you, Clayton, to handle Putin when he visits. As I said, if E
lohim is our Lord, he certainly deserves a greater accommodation than a mere Cabinet member. Bill, you’re quiet on this. What do you think?”

  “Well, sir…,” Bill Burke paused, formulating his thoughts. “I think you are in the same position as Rabbi Schmidt. Maybe even worse.”

  Curious, the President asked, “How so, Bill?”

  “There are only two possibilities…actually three if you include a concern held by Reese Johnson. The first is that Elohim is a fraud. If He is…which I don’t personally believe by the way, a meeting with the President wouldn’t be a good thing all around.”

  “I agree,” said the President.

  “The second possibility is that He is not mortal but He is not God. He is, in fact, the devil.” Burke paused, expecting a reaction. Receiving none, he continued, “Again, a meeting between you and Satan would not be a good thing…no matter how you look at it.”

  “True,” agreed the President, his voice neutral.

  “The third possibility is that Elohim is God. If so, He has come down to Earth to effectuate another Judgment Day…this time trying it without all of the fire and brimstone. His spoken explanation, from what I’ve read of the transcripts and what I’ve been told, is to make the transition for the Chosen, as well as those left behind, a little smoother…less traumatic. Your presidency, if I may be candid, sir….”

  “Please…I would appreciate candor right now.”

  “Your presidency has been something of a lightning rod for controversy, particularly when it comes to issues of faith. I guess what I’m saying is…the fact that all of this has happened on ‘your watch’ has already caused many people to doubt Elohim’s authenticity, people who might not have doubted at another time.”

  Burke hesitated, hoping he did not need to explain further.

  The President immediately relieved his concern by saying, “You think my presence, my direct involvement, would hinder Elohim in the pursuit of his goal.”

  All parties on the conference call were quiet…allowing their boss to assimilate Burke’s opinion. After half a minute, the President sighed loudly, saying, “He hasn’t exactly asked to meet with me.”

  “No, sir. He hasn’t,” agreed Margo.

  “You are right, Bill. This is a miserable situation to be in. You are also right that I shouldn’t meet with him.”

  “It is a no-win situation, sir,” added Clayton.

  They all waited through another long pause, before they heard the President say, “So be it.”

  As Bill Burke hung up, he heard the doorbell, knowing it was his sister there to take Will, Jr. to the park so Bill could have some time alone with Mary. He picked up the file containing his son’s information. “One thing is for sure,” he said to himself, “after meeting Him, you know what to do.” He leaned to the side of his desk and dropped the file, unopened, into the shredder. Glancing outside once again, he smiled, relieved that what he needed to do was finally crystal clear.

  א

  Lynn Sheffield saw the type of bar he was looking for and pulled in. The lot was filled with pickup trucks, and country music poured out the front door. ‘Just the right kind of place,’ he thought to himself. His eyes stung from the cigarette smoke as he went in, sliding onto a bar stool.

  א

  Reese sat at one corner of the conference table, huddled over a laptop and composing his statement. Claire was next to him, reading as he typed, murmuring comments or suggestions softly. Margo Jackson, at the opposite end, was also working on her statement, with a pencil and legal pad. Penfield, needing solitude, had borrowed an empty visitors’ office. Reynolds and McWilliams were not present. Hanging from the ceiling behind Reese was a projection screen showing the video feed from the room in which Elohim sat quietly, staring into the distance.

  Staring at the LCD screen, Reese spoke to Claire, softly so as to not bother Margo. “Honey, this is weird.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just a few days ago I was working on my lecture for class, worrying about toning it down a little to avoid a repeat of the Harvard fiasco, trying to soften the ‘God’ thing a little. I mean, I guess, subconsciously I was giving in to the pressure.”

  “That’s how they work. It’s inexorable. They never give up and just keep repeating it until people start to believe it.”

  “Like Hawk.”

  “Exactly. Going through that helped you…helped you to recognize what they were doing.”

  “You know, this time it was God. They decided that He didn’t exist, that He was a crutch for the feeble-minded, an opiate for the masses as Karl Marx said, that believing in Him was a threat to enlightenment, to science, to intelligent thinking. People don’t want to think of themselves as feeble-minded, as a threat to enlightenment. Good grief, it’s powerful.”

  “And what would be next?”

  “I don’t know. Who would have dreamed that it would come this far? Once the mechanism is in place…you can use it on anything. Hell, you could pick incest, and start releasing studies showing that sex between a mother and a thirteen-year-old son is really not unhealthy. In fact, sons who have been through it grow up to be more successful, happier, and live longer. The only damage that’s caused is a result of the judgmentalism of the public.”

  “And also, they could say that it’s natural. Anthropologists have found tribes, who are uncontaminated by western morals, that practice it and function just fine.”

  “Exactly. Then, we’d start seeing television shows where the mother and son kiss on-screen. The first time it would be controversial. But all of the sociologists would come on the talk shows and explain how good it is for this dialogue to finally commence. The next step would be a movie.”

  “Which would sweep all of the Golden Globe awards.”

  “After winning top honors at Cannes and Sundance.”

  “Don’t forget the activist groups.”

  “That’s right. The MASWL, Mothers and Sons Who Love, would have parades and picnics and fund-raisers.”

  “Don’t be a sexist. You forgot about FADWL.”

  “Fathers and Daughters….”

  “Right.”

  “Now you’re offending ‘Fathers and Sons Who Love’ and ‘Mothers and Daughters Who Love.’”

  “I forgot. Wait. We need to stop this. I’m getting sick.”

  Reese said, “I’ve been getting sick for the last twenty years. Anyway, to get to what I was saying…just a few days ago I was softening the ‘God’ angle, and today I’m sitting in a room not thirty feet from someone that I’m convinced is He…and writing a statement to that effect which I’m about to deliver to the world.”

  “Reese, what’s going to happen to them?”

  “Who?”

  “The ‘they’ we’ve been talking about…the ones who have been trying to stamp out His existence.”

  “From what Elohim said, they just stay here.”

  “They stay, and the believers go with Elohim…I think that’s going to make them very happy. Elohim is going to take away the people they’ve seen as their enemies, leaving them the run of the place here.”

  “It’s pretty presumptuous of us to think we know who’s on His list. From what I gather, just being religious doesn’t get you the ‘E’ ticket to Heaven.”

  “Reese, you’re dating yourself. Disneyland hasn’t used ‘E’ tickets in a long time.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, my gut feeling is that when the Chosen leave, there are going to be some surprised zealots remaining – people who were certain they’d be among the ones chosen. If they’re still around, the rest won’t be all that happy.”

  Nicholas Reynolds entered the room, carrying a single slip of paper. Nodding at Margo, he walked to Reese and Claire and handed it to them. “I thought you might want this right away.”

  Reese took the paper, recognizing it as a lab test printout. At the top was printed his name. Underneath were Matthew’s and Melissa’s. At mid-page, next to “Paternity Results,” the box under “Positive
” was checked. Claire was reading the form over Reese’s shoulder and, upon seeing the positive result, let out a quick sobbing sound, grabbing his arm tightly.

  Reynolds turned to walk away. Reese, finding his voice, said, “Nicholas, thank you.”

  Reynolds replied, “Sure thing,” turning to leave. He paused for a moment and said to both of them, “Congratulations,” a slight smile on his face.