A Handicap of the Devil? (31 page)

"Do we still get the sunflower seeds?” asked Bugs.

"Two boxes.” Jonathan disconnected the phone.

I. Faarkham shifted nervously on his hillside log. It was getting close to the advertised time for the walk on water. His eyes were trained on the bend in the river around which Jonathan would come in the boat.

The crowd and I. Faarkham saw the boat round the bend at the same time, and a mighty roar went up. I. Faarkham triggered the button on his phone and put it to his ear. He watched the irregular dip and splash of the oars as the two giant men rowed the boat towards the noisy and expectant crowd on the hillside.

There was no response from the phone and I. Faarkham, puzzled by the non-ringing in his ear, glanced at his phone to see the legend
No Coverage
displayed.

He cursed and got up quickly from his log inadvertently elbowing the ruddy-faced pensioner who liked an occasional knuckle as he did so. Ruddy face cried, “Oy, I know you,” and swung a punch that knocked I. Faarkham off his feet. The swarthy gentleman was no slouch in the knuckle sandwich stakes himself. He rose quickly and back handed the ruddy-faced pensioner who immediately shaped up. The two men fought into a clear space, and the fight once again became a biting, eye gouging wrestle, as the police moved in to break it up.

"I know you,” roared I. Faarkham as he fought the ruddy-faced pensioner.

"And I know both of you,” roared back Detective Sergeant James as he and a pudgy senior constable helped to restrain I. Faarkham and the pensioner.

"We are arresting both of you, and we'll have you good and proper this time.” The pudgy constable pointed a pudgy finger at the ruddy-faced pensioner. “We'll have the two of you behind this tent here, and we'll remind you about a few things what happened in the mall and on that houseboat. What do you say, Detective Sergeant?"

Detective Sergeant James grunted his agreement. He, the senior constable and three of his fellow beefy police officers, took I. Faarkham and the ruddy faced pensioner who liked a knuckle behind the tent. There they taught them a hard lesson about ‘resisting arrest', before hurling them into separate cage cars and locking the doors.

Jones P. senior and the rest of the lawyers secreted in the bush heard the first mighty cheer that went up from the people on the hillside, as the boat carrying Jonathan came around the bend. They all paused and waited for the fateful phone call, but as it did not come they reasoned that some sort of entertainment must be going on at the river bank. The lawyers resumed their former tension charged past-times as they awaited the call to action.

"We can't land on the river bank. There's too many people and there's media everywhere,” Jonathan yelled.

"What'll we do, man,” called the dwarf from the tiller.

"Let me off on the houseboat."

The dwarf steered in that direction. The boat moved swiftly as it had the stream with it, and Sampson and Scarface were no slouches with the oars.

A gaggle of journalists and cameramen tried to board the houseboat to be first to interview Jonathan. They were beaten back by a posse of police.

"Leave him be,” shouted the Police Commissioner who had taken charge of the afternoon's operation personally. “It's almost time for the walk. Let's get it over with as quickly as we can."

John ... A ... Than John ... A ... Than. The chant grew in volume and intensity, and ended in a roar, as Jonathan appeared around the deck housing and walked slowly down the gangplank. The crowd broke into a cacophony of cheers, whistles, boos and catcalls, as the T.V and radio anchors tried desperately to make themselves heard. Denise Huxley was at the very top of her register. Her shrill, nasal delivery jarred on her producer who wondered whether he should have stayed with the National Broadcaster despite the money being nowhere near as good.

The crowd was at fever pitch as Jonathan stood at the water's edge and tried desperately to remember where the remains of the underwater jetty began. Whatever happened, he would have to wade a few feet out into the river before he reached the jetty's remains. He hesitated and looked into the murky water as people crowded around him. T.V and still cameras were thrust into his face. Journalists hurled questions at him. He was unable to hear above the terrific din from the crowd. Scarface Cecil, Big Bottom Bertie, Jones P. junior, the four handicapped people and a number of heavy-duty police officers forced themselves between Jonathan and the media scrum and pushed them back.

"Give him room, give him room.” The Police Commissioner was with his officers

"Where does the jetty start?” Jonathan mouthed to Marcie.

"Just about there I think,” she mouthed back to him.

There was a mighty roar from the crowd as Jonathan slid off the bank into the water. It was so cold that he almost got out again immediately. The crowd marked the fact that his feet disappeared into the mud and ooze near the riverbank, and the catcalls began.

Jonathan lifted up his arms towards the heavens in one of the theatrical gestures Marcie had rehearsed with him before they left the cabin and began to intone and chant. He turned back towards the crowd who, while unable to hear what he was chanting and intoning, could make out the fact that he was mouthing words. Jonathan was desperately calling upon God to let him walk on the river while feeling about with his bare feet for the start of the jetty.

He couldn't find it.

The crowd saw that he had stopped his chanting and praying. Jonathan's lips pursed. If they had been able to hear, the people on the hillside would have been extremely irritated by his tuneless whistling.

He stumbled and nearly fell headlong as he trod in a hole and almost disappeared from sight. The cold of the water almost took his breath away as he struggled out of the hole. The crowd noise grew even louder, something that had seemed impossible a few minutes before. He walked up out of the hole, and there it was beneath his feet.

The crowd was stunned into silence as Jonathan rose from the water and began to walk. True, the water covered his feet, but he was walking on it nonetheless. Jonathan turned back towards the crowd and raised his arms once more. A mighty cheer went up from the more liberal among the religious minded who hoped to see him succeed. A lot of people thought it was time for the second coming, and that the world would eventually self-destruct if God didn't make his promised appearance soon. The cheering and shouting rose in volume, as Jonathan reached the end of the underwater jetty and began the return journey. Not even the fact that he was almost knee deep as he splashed off the jetty into the water for the last few yards before climbing up the bank dissuaded the crowd. An empty void was filled for many. For the first time in their lives they had something to believe in, apart from rock and roll, soap opera, football, cricket, and poker machines.

Back in the bush, Jones P. senior and his lawyers became aware that something had gone dreadfully wrong with their plans. The volume of noise coming from the riverbank could only mean one thing. It meant that Jonathan was attempting his walk, and he was succeeding. Jones P. marshalled his troops, and they charged over the hillside. They were just in time to view the last stages of Jonathan's triumphant walk.

With blood curdling screams, the lawyers hurtled over the hill and attempted to get down the hillside and to grips with Jonathan. Unfortunately the very point of their attack was right in the middle of the busloads of pensioners. Now it is an indisputable fact that the only thing that will rile an aged pensioner more than the prospect of losing a free morning or afternoon tea, or a free meal, is the prospect of interference with free entertainment.

And so the last great fight between good and evil on Earth was staged between pensioners and lawyers. The pensioners rose as a body of determined and fiery force to resist these louts who seemed set to spoil their afternoon. The crash of crutch upon head was heard clearly as were the cries of lawyers wedged between wheelchairs, as the occupants of the chairs beat them to a pulp. The ruddy-faced pensioner who liked a knuckle broke out of the cage car he was incarcerated in and joined the fray. With blood streaming from various parts of his body from wounds earlier inflicted by I. Faarkham and by the police, he was in his element. He was the victor in no less than five separate face-to-face encounters. This was not counting the three lawyers he felled from behind as they were fighting with other pensioners. War cries resounded over the hillside. Every pensioner got stuck in. And they carried the day against the lawyers before the police, who were struggling to get to the mass of fighting humanity up the hill, could intervene.

Detective Sergeant James, felled by a flying crutch, was the only serious police casualty. He was taken to hospital once again with concussion.

The media was beside itself as television, radio and print journalists scrambled over one another to record the classic fight on the hillside. Jonathan and his walk were temporarily forgotten, until the police established some sort of order. Journalists and cameramen then swung back to record and broadcast what Jonathan had to say. He held up his hands and refused to answer questions.

"Shut up, all of you,” hollered Marcie. “Jonathan will make a statement and will answer individual questions at the end of that statement. He will not speak until he gets silence."

Jonathan's disciples waved the crowd to silence, and gradually a hush fell. He began to speak to the media and to the watching crowd. “I said I would walk upon the water to prove I am in fact a messenger from God. You have all seen me perform this miracle. I call on you all, the people on the riverbank, people of Australia, people overseas watching or listening to this on television or radio, listen to the message I bring you from God. To those of you who have attempted to raise me up to the status of God, I am not He. I am merely his very humble messenger. Peace on Earth and goodwill to all must become our credo. Let us outlaw war, famine, strife in all its forms. Let us see everyone on Earth fed, clothed and housed. Let us all find it in our hearts to forgive past wrongs and to learn the lesson of tolerance towards the beliefs of others. Let us not bow down in humility to God. That is not what he wants. Stand tall, look your creator in the eye, and do good works here on Earth. Above all do as he himself preached. Be kind to one another...."

Jonathan trailed off as the crowd began to roar once again. He turned and saw what the shouting was about.

Jones P. senior was walking upon the river.

The lawyers had all been forced into a clear space on the side of the hill where they now stood and sat—bloody and bowed. The police had driven the rabid pensioners away and had them contained on the other side of the hill. Then it started.

From a cloudless sky the sound of thunder rolled, and huge flashes of lightning struck all around the lawyers. The Earth opened up and received them, as the blackened and charred bodies of lawyers were dragged down into the individual holes that opened for them. Screams rent the air from the doomed lawyers and from the people observing as they vanished. People ran and others cowered. Jonathan and his party stood and watched by the riverbank where Jonathan had been giving his media interview.

Jones P. senior stood on the end of the underwater jetty looking at the dying and disappearing lawyers. “No,” he screamed as he beat his fist in the air. “No, I did it. I proved he was a fake. No. Don't do this. Don't do it.” Jones P. senior's face flashed so red he looked ready to explode or have a seizure. He didn't have to bother doing either.

There was an especially large flash of flame, and Jones P. senior vanished with a hiss of steam into the river, which opened as the Earth opened for the others, to receive him.

And all the lawyers went to hell.

Nobody present understood what went on that day, although Jonathan and his party had an inkling of what lay behind the slaughter of the lawyers. All people understood was that some terrible calamity had befallen a large number of lawyers, and that Jonathan was a fraud. After the lightning strikes were over, a number of people—including the Police Commissioner—waded out into the river and discovered the remains of the underwater jetty. Jonathan's credibility was zero as was Marcie's. Their quest to convince the world that Jonathan was God's messenger, sent to deliver them from evil, was doomed. Not even the sight of all those lawyers being zapped convinced anyone present, or anyone watching on worldwide television, that things were otherwise.

The Police Commissioner enforced his contract with Jonathan and his disciples that they undertake no further religious or political activity from that day. The premier and the leader of the opposition both made speeches deploring what had happened. Both political leaders admonished anyone who had believed in Jonathan's quest to be wary in the future of tricksters and frauds. They, no more than anyone else, could explain what had gone on and why so many formerly peaceful lawyers had suddenly turned feral. Nor why they had disappeared in the bolts of lightning that had come from a clear blue sky. It was considered that a rare phenomenon had struck them, but that there was a rational explanation for it all.

The Catholic Archbishop and the Anglican Bishop both smiled as they reasoned that those who died were probably all of the opposite persuasion to themselves. The gunrunning businessman who was into drugs and prostitution searched the world through his contacts to try to find out who manufactured a weapon so potent. Many people found many explanations for what went on, but none hit upon the truth or would have chosen to believe it if they had.

In the end it was put down as a freak of nature, some unexplainable but rational experience that happened to hit that particular hillside on that particular day. The lightning just happened to hit the very spot where the cops had rounded up the lawyers. The fact that no one but lawyers had been zapped was amazing, but there you go. Life's a funny business, isn't it?