The Harvest

by John David Krygelski

  Peter quickly reached forward so that it would stream through his fingers. “It is the blood of our Lord.”

  Holding the chalice upright, stopping the flow, Elohim said, “There seems to be something else in the box. It is a gift for you.” He turned the box so that the Pontiff could see inside.

  Within the box, lying upon a gray, rumpled fabric, was a snow white sheet of parchment, untouched by time, folded once. The Pope removed it from the box, and as he unfolded it, his eyes widened. Turning to Peter, he asked, “Is this…?”

  Peter answered, “It is. It is in the hand of Jesus.”

  To the group, the Pope read the message, “Behold, before you stands my Father. It is signed, Jesus of Nazareth.”

  The parchment trembled in his hands as the Pope slowly laid it back upon the gray cloth. Peter explained, “That is the shawl of His mother, Mary. He told me it was Her shawl which She used to wrap Him, as an infant, before putting Him down to sleep on the straw. He carried it throughout His life as a remembrance of Her protective love.”

  Elohim said, “My child, it would be most fitting that, in this church consecrated and dedicated to Her, the shawl be kept upon the altar.”

  Handing the parchment to Bonavente, the Pope removed the gray cloth from the bottom of the box and took it to the main altar. Kneeling before the crucifix, he paused to say a prayer before reverently placing it upon the marble.

  The old man backed away from the altar before finally turning to join the gathering. Wistfully, he said, “I fear we have much work to be done.”

  “You are right,” said Elohim. He faced Peter and smiled ruefully. “I give you my love and the love of my Son.” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the saint.

  They all heard Peter say, “And mine to You and to Your Son,” and then he was gone. At the same moment the Pope straightened slightly, and the worried expression left his face, replaced with one of comfort and serenity.

  Speaking to Elohim, he said, “Can You forgive me, my Father, for permitting so many to stray from the flock before reaching the Gates of Heaven?”

  “There can be no forgiveness, for there has been no offense. All of the souls on Earth are your sheep, and you are the shepherd; yet, this is only a metaphor. My children, all men and women who breathe this air, are not to follow blindly any god or any man. If they follow, it must be of their choice; their eyes must be open as well as their minds and hearts. It is your role to preach, but not to unwilling ears. It is your duty to answer, but only if the question is posed. It is your obligation to those who are lost to burn a candle in the window. The servants of my Son were not intended to stand in the city square and exhort, but to sit on the bench and explain.

  “Your Church has sent missionaries to every corner of the Earth, as have many others. Some of them have attempted to coerce and browbeat those to whom they had been sent to minister, in an attempt to convert. This is not the way of my Son. Yet many others, upon arriving, tended to the wounds and the diseases of the villagers, helping them grow their food, sharing with them the techniques of science so they could live a less strife-ridden life, and brokering their conflicts to peaceful resolutions. After they did these things, some in the village inquired of their faith. It was then, and only then, that they shared the wonder of the teachings of my Son. That is His way.”

  “I understand, my Father. And where else do we fail?”

  “When I arrived a few days ago, I walked the streets of America. It was there that I found something that made me most sad.”

  Mario Bonavente asked, “What was that, my Father?”

  “I came upon a beautiful church, built with great love for my Son. Wishing to be embraced by this love, I attempted to enter only to find that the doors were locked.”

  The Cardinal explained quickly, “If they remain unlocked, there is much damage; so many times the sanctity of the altar is violated….”

  “It is your mission to guide the lost, not protect your possessions!” For the first time since their arrival at the chapel, Reese saw displeasure showing on Elohim’s face. Mario and the Pope saw it, as well. “The sanctity of the church is only violated when a lock is placed on the doors. Let a thousand vandals in before you keep out one lost soul in need of comfort. Would my Son have you build a sanctuary, only to lock out the troubled among you?” Elohim’s voice had risen in volume and intensity. Striding to an alcove which held a small statue of the Virgin Mary, he turned to the Cardinal and Pope and said, “Have these objects become more important to you than a single soul?”

  As he spoke, his arm swept the statue from the ledge. It fell to the floor and shattered, the crash echoing off the walls. “If they have, your feelings have gone beyond respect and have become idol worship.”

  All were stunned to silence. The expressions of Bonavente and the Pope were of someone stricken. Elohim, calming his voice, continued, “If those who are filled with anger damage your churches during the night, the faithful must awaken each day and repair them. If those filled with hate and contempt destroy your churches, then the faithful must rebuild them. And so it must be for each new morning, for to not have done so has wrought a lasting damage upon the hearts of many. And there is no brick, no glass, no precious metal on Earth that has more worth than a single man or woman. If you know, with certainty, that an unlocked church will be entered during the night by a vandal, my question to you is this: why is there not a priest waiting inside to greet him?”

  Cardinal Bonavente looked stricken. “My Father, I am most sorry that these lessons, so well taught by Your Son, must now be relearned.”

  Elohim saw the pain in their eyes. Softening his brow, he said, “I know there is love in your hearts, and the good that you both have done is nearly immeasurable. Yet, during the coming days, weeks, and months, there will be strife as your servants have never seen. Their skills, their courage, their faith, and the very depths of their souls will be tested in the onslaught ahead. If the past is any measure of the future, I can tell you that most of your Church will fall by the wayside, trampled by the hoards of empty vessels which seek to dominate the world. Only a few will remain to carry forth the candle, the message, the truth. There have been far too many men of the cloth who have believed that the best course when facing evil is to hide behind locked doors. The lesson they have not yet learned is that when you hide from evil, your refuge becomes your cage.”

  א

  Reese trailed behind the rest of his group as they departed for the car. The Pope and Bonavente had escorted them out and were standing on the steps of the chapel as Reese turned and walked back to them.

  “You looked troubled, my son,” said the Pope.

  Glancing over his shoulder and seeing the others climbing into the car, Reese turned back and said, “Cardinal Bonavente, when we spoke in Washington, we discussed the possibility of…the need for an….”

  “Exorcism,” Mario answered, sensing his discomfort.

  “Yes. In light of the way this visit went, it seems foolish to broach the subject.”

  The Pope reached forward and clasped Reese’s hand. “My son, there are times in our lives when certainty is impossible. There are also times when being ‘right’ is not as important as being true to yourself. If this man who calls himself Elohim – this man who has performed the wonders you have beheld, this man who has touched your soul and brought you great joy – is indeed Lucifer, no ceremony that we can perform is a match for him. If, on the other hand, He is our Lord, our Creator, and our Father, which I believe Him to be, I cannot bear the thought of subjecting Him to the ritual.”

  Reese stared deeply into the eyes of the Pope, seeing the unmistakable fire of absolute belief burning brightly. Turning his gaze to Bonavente, Reese saw the Cardinal smile and nod in agreement, adding, “Reese, I believe that it is best for you to decide what you believe, and then rely upon it.”

  Reese nodded, saying, “You’re right, both of you. Besides, what would we accomplish either way?”

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nbsp; Reese hesitated for another moment. He then knelt down and kissed the ring of the Pope. Standing, he said, “Thank you.”

  “For what do you thank me?” asked the Pope.

  “I don’t really know,” Reese answered.

  א

  The return drive to Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport was silent, as all were lost in their own thoughts until they approached the tarmac, when Reynolds said, “I felt as though I was eavesdropping on someone else’s performance review back there.”

  Reese and Craig stared at Reynolds, taken aback by his comment, as Elohim explained, “Even the best horse requires the feel of the spur at times.”

  א

  The rest of the second day passed with a minimum of incidents, the massacre in Times Square causing most to pause for a time. Millions of people reeled from the reality of the evil act. The news organizations pandered to this public obsession by providing uninterrupted coverage of the event, including graphic presentations by pathologists showing the effects of sarin gas on the human body. The names and brief biographies of the dead were presented as an ongoing crawl across the bottoms of TV screens on each channel.

  The FBI was not forthcoming with clues or suspects to feed the insatiable appetite of the media, leaving them to repeatedly parade the same experts-hired-as-consultants who found increasingly creative ways to say that they knew nothing.

  The reporters were able to discover from an unnamed source at the New York Police Department, who was involved in the process of gathering and bagging the deceased, that the majority of those killed did not have the mark. This created an entirely new direction for the coverage to take into the evening and night, with numerous psychologists brought in to explain the motivation of those not chosen who had joined the gathering.

  No one within the FBI or the Vatican leaked the news about Elohim’s visit to the Pope. The media clearly expected Elohim to publicly respond to the morning attack, and the question as to Elohim’s whereabouts had been posed countless times during the day, with both the State Department and the FBI answering only with a “No comment” response. With the lack of success in finding Elohim, the news channels then sought to find Reese Johnson, again with no result. Speaking to staff, who preferred to remain off-camera, they were able to determine that Reese and Claire Johnson as well as their two children were staying at the Watergate and had not been seen leaving their suites all day. The unnamed staff employee at the Watergate also told the reporters that when she took meals to the Johnsons during the day, Reese Johnson was not present, and only three meals were delivered each time. Shortly after this broadcast Shirley Gonzales, a room service attendant at the Watergate, was terminated.

  A priority list of sought-after interviews was topped by Elohim. The media’s second choice, Reese Johnson, also unavailable, was then followed by any of the others who had participated in Elohim’s televised statement. No reporters succeeded in locating Craig McWilliams or Nicholas Reynolds. Margo Jackson had sequestered herself inside the Hoover building and was also unavailable. Bill Burke was similarly unavailable. Walter Penfield, immediately after the statement, had flown home to California, rejoining his family, and was refusing interviews, as well. Archbishop Coughlin’s illness continued, and Cardinal Bonavente was not to be found. Rabbi Leo Schmidt held out their only hope as he promised to appear in the near future. As a result, cable and airwaves were filled with discussions among those with no firsthand information.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The aroma of frying bacon escaped through the open french doors of the second-story balcony, triggering hunger pangs in Walter Penfield. He sipped his coffee and looked down at the morning traffic on Lake Boulevard in Pasadena. Doris called out to him, “Honey, do you want to eat out there, or are you coming in?”

  “Out here,” he answered. “I’ll come help.”

  He went inside as she was sliding the two breakfast plates onto a tray which already held a third plate of toasted English muffins, a pot of jam, and a white porcelain carafe filled with coffee. Penfield grabbed the tray and turned to carry it out, when their doorbell rang. “Who would that be this early?” he asked. “It’s barely seven.”

  “I’ll go check. Go ahead,” Doris answered.

  Walter Penfield took the food to the balcony, removing the plates of bacon and eggs from the tray and arranging them on cloth place mats. He then put the plate of muffins in the middle of the table, as well as the coffee and jam, and headed back inside with the empty tray. Stepping inside, he found Doris coming toward the patio with a man Walter did not know, but who looked familiar.

  Smiling, she said, “Walter. This is Randolph Duncan.”

  “Of course, Professor Duncan,” Penfield acknowledged. “I thought I recognized you.”

  “I am very sorry to intrude,” Duncan apologized, noticing the breakfast set out on the veranda behind Penfield. “And it looks as though I’ve interrupted your breakfast. I’ll come back.”

  “No, please stay,” Doris urged, always the gracious host. “Join us for breakfast.”

  “I can’t, really. I feel bad….”

  “Professor Duncan, I insist. It’s only bacon and eggs. We have plenty of muffins and coffee. You and Walter start eating. I already have extra bacon made, I’ll fry some eggs and join you in a minute.”

  Walter joined in the process of persuasion. “Come on. Let’s go out and eat. We’ve received our orders.”

  Feigning reluctance but obviously glad to join them, Duncan answered, “Thank you very much. I appreciate it. Please, both of you must stop calling me Professor. It’s Randolph or Randy, whichever you prefer.”

  “Randolph, it is,” said Penfield. “And this morning I’ll be Walter,” he added with a chuckle.

  They both sat, and Penfield immediately snatched a buttered muffin from the plate, liberally applying strawberry jam. Duncan followed suit. “This is one of the joys of Elohim’s news,” said Walter.

  “What’s that?” Duncan asked.

  “Before all of this, Doris and I were each having a bran muffin and yogurt for breakfast, and meals with low fat and no refined sugar or flour for lunch and dinner. The first thing I did when I came home from Washington, D.C. was throw away everything in the house that had the word organic on it.”

  Randolph Duncan let out a laugh, saying as it subsided, “That’s the first laugh I’ve had since this whole thing began.”

  “Why is that?” Penfield took a bite of bacon.

  “Well, I don’t know your private positions, but publicly you’ve always straddled the fence with regard to religion and God. I’ve publicly staked my whole reputation on the premise that there is no God. Now, with what’s happening, I kind of feel as if the revolution is over, and I backed the wrong candidate for king.”

  “Waiting for the new guy’s troops to arrive at your door for your beheading?”

  “Figuratively, yes.” Duncan hesitated, then added, “Well, maybe not so figuratively.”

  “Are you truly afraid?”

  Randolph Duncan considered the question before answering, “I do feel a fear. I can’t quite put my finger on it, can’t explain it.”

  “Then it doesn’t exist,” Penfield said flatly.

  Not expecting that response, Duncan asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “Hasn’t that been the overriding theme of your statements for the last two decades? If you can’t explain it, it doesn’t exist?”

  Duncan stared at Penfield’s face, trying to detect the presence of malice. Instead, he only saw genuine curiosity and a sincere friendliness. “I guess I’m a bit oversensitive and defensive. My first reaction to your comment was to lash out.”

  “That’s hardly the scientific method,” replied Walter, between bites of bacon. “I was just trying to illustrate a point. It makes it difficult to discuss anything intelligently when some of the doors are slammed and nailed shut.”

  Duncan decided to roll the dice with Walter Penfield. “That’s essentially the point of
my visit: how can the existence of God be intelligently discussed? And before you respond, please know that I don’t mean for that question to sound as harsh and condescending as I know it does.”

  Before Walter could answer, Doris arrived, carrying her plate of bacon and eggs, and said, “It’s the six-hundred-pound gorilla.”

  Penfield just smiled, as Duncan asked, “Excuse me?”

  Sitting down and applying jam to her own muffin, she answered, “Randolph, don’t you remember the old joke? ‘Where does a six-hundred-pound gorilla sit? Wherever he wants.’ That’s God. He’s always been the six-hundred-pound gorilla. And throughout eternity he’s always done what he wants. So the question is not this: how do we discuss Him intelligently? The question really is this: how can we go on having intelligent conversations while trying to ignore the six-hundred-pound gorilla in our midst?”