A Step of Faith (18 page)

I didn’t spend much time in Tupelo, just long enough to get the rest of Elvis’s story, then, avoiding the interstate, headed south on Highway 6 toward 278, then east, crossing into Alabama. My route led me through two of the most peculiarly named towns I had encountered, the neighboring municipalities of Guin and Gu-win. I sensed there was a story there, so I asked an employee of a Guin gas mart how the towns got their names. I was told that the town of Guin, with a population of less than a thousand, was seeking to annex the neighboring town of Ear Gap. (Really, who comes up with these names?) The owner of the drive-in theater in Ear Gap—a
justifiably influential man in a town of less than a hundred—was about to put up a new sign at his theater, so he lobbied to change the town name to Gu-win, close enough to Guin that he wouldn’t have to change his sign if the annexation went through. The town’s name change succeeded, but the annexation failed.

Highway 278 intersected with Interstate 78, a busier, but better-constructed road, which took me southeast into the heart of Birmingham. I walked through Homewood (the site of Red Mountain with its famous Vulcan statue—the largest cast-iron statue in the world) and Vestavia Hills, stopping for the day in Hoover.

Birmingham is Alabama’s largest city and, like all metropolitan areas, wasn’t the easiest walking. Still, Birmingham has a welcoming southern ambience that made me glad to be there. I considered staying an extra day, but eventually decided to keep on walking.

If someone had told me what I would encounter on the next leg of my journey, I never would have believed them.

CHAPTER

Thirty

Those willing to trade freedom for certainty are certain to find the cure worse than the ailment.

Alan Christoffersen’s diary

My next target destination, Montgomery, Alabama, was a little more than ninety miles south of Birmingham, which, health willing, I could make in four days at a reasonable pace. Departing Birmingham from Hoover, I walked twenty miles the first day to the little town of Pasqua, then, feeling strong, followed up with a grueling twenty-four miles to Clanton and almost sixteen miles the third day to a tiny dot on my map called Pine Flat. Actually, I didn’t quite make it to Pine Flat. As my day wound down, about a mile before I reached my day’s walking goal, I had one of the strangest and most frightening experiences of my entire walk—one that haunts me to this day.

In the flammeous, retreating light of a fading day, it took me a moment to be sure of what I was looking at. Or maybe it was just my difficulty in believing it. There, in the middle of nowhere, about twenty yards back from the road near a grove of dogwoods, a woman was tied by her wrists to a tree. She was young and reasonably attractive, in her mid-twenties, with long, golden hair that rested on her shoulders. She was partially obscured by the tree, and had it not been for the bright yellow T-shirt she wore, I might not have seen her at all.

I couldn’t make sense of the situation. The woman
wasn’t struggling nor did she seem distressed. I briefly looked around to make sure there wasn’t anyone else nearby before I crept toward her.

When I was ten yards away, I asked, “Are you okay?”

I startled her. She looked at me warily. Silently.

After a moment I said, “You’re tied up.”

She didn’t respond.

“Do you need help?”

Still nothing.

I looked around me, then walked closer, wondering if she were perhaps deaf. “Would you like me to untie you?” I said, making gestures to my own wrists.

“Stay away,” she barked.

I hadn’t expected that response. “Why are you tied to a tree?”

“My master tied me here.”

“Your master?”

“Master El.”

I
definitely
hadn’t expected that response. “Is Master El going to untie you too?”

“If it is His will.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you are of this world.”

I stood there wondering what to do when someone said, “It wouldn’t matter if I cut her loose, she still wouldn’t leave.”

At the sound of the voice the woman gasped. I turned to see a tall, thick-lipped, redheaded man walking toward us. “. . . Would you, dear?”

The woman bowed as far as her constraints allowed. “Please forgive me, Master. This Earthman spoke to me.”

“You’re forgiven, KaEl.” He turned to me. “KaEl
asked
to be tied to the tree. Isn’t that true, KaEl?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Why would she do that?” I asked.

“She feared that in a moment of weakness her carnal self would rebel and she might run away, so she wisely asked for help. But I don’t think she really needs it. She’s been very obedient.”

“Thank you, Master.”

He turned to face her. “How goes your purification?”

“The flesh is weak, Master. But the spirit is willing.”

I looked back and forth between the two of them. Part of me wanted to bolt, the other part wasn’t willing to abandon the young woman. “Why is she tied to the tree?” I asked.

“I just told you,” the man said curtly.

I rephrased my question. “Why is she standing here?”

“She’s learning to overcome the carnal nature within. She’s on the last twelve hours of her five-day purification and submission.”

“Submission?”

“Each member of our society must purge the world from their heart by undergoing the purification and submission ritual. It’s a privilege. She forgoes earthly food for five days and drinks only blessed, holy water mixed with frankincense. During this time she cannot speak to anyone but her Master. Unfortunately, you interfered with her sanctification.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry, I can absolve her of her commission. Our religion is not without mercy.”

“Religion? This is a church?”

“Not
a
church.
The
church. We are the church of the AhnEl.”

I looked at him quizzically. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“You have now.”

“What kind of church are you?”

A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “We are a pearl of great price—a rarity of rarities. A church of truth.”

“What kind of truths?”

“The word is not plural. There is one truth, simple and unified, and millions of extrapolations, subterfuges and delusions.”

“Tell me about this . . .
truth
.”

He crossed his arms, his gaze leveling on me. “Are you prepared to receive it? I have neither the time nor inclination to cast pearls before swine.”

His arrogance surprised me. “Try me,” I said.

“If you have ears to hear, you may ask me anything.”

“Does your church believe in the Bible?”

“Do we believe
in
the Bible, or do we believe
the
Bible? Be specific.”

“Do you believe the Bible to be the word of God?”

He grinned. “Now that’s a question. The answer closest to your intent is yes. Of course we do. Not that it’s
His
word. It’s not.
He
didn’t write it. But we do know that it’s a record of His teachings and history. But, unlike the rest of the Bible-blind world, we actually
understand
the book.”

Again, I was taken aback by his arrogance. “You don’t believe that anyone, besides you, understands the Bible.”

“I’m quite certain of it,” he said. “For centuries, before Gutenberg came along, the clergy hid the Bible from the people. Today, the people shroud it in mystery and hide it from themselves.

“You see, the Bible must be understood in context. The Bible is true, at least it was in its earliest, unadulterated renditions. It’s common knowledge, or should be, that through time there have been tens of thousands of
alterations to the Bible. In fact, there have been more words changed in the book than there are words. But, that aside, even assuming that it was all truth and preserved as such, it would still only be true within the realm of its authors’ experiences, since all writing is tainted by the context of the writer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Allow me to explain it this way. If an aborigine should find a radio and hear a voice coming from it, he might say that there is a spirit in the strange box. He isn’t being deceitful, he’s just explaining his experience from what he understands. Even if he were to break the radio open and examine its parts, he still couldn’t possibly understand what he sees—the circuit boards and transistors that make the sound possible. His explanation doesn’t make him a liar, it’s the best he can do given his cultural and educational limitations. The interpreters of the Bible are the same as this poor aborigine.”

After a moment I said, “That makes sense.”

The man smiled, pleased with my answer. “KaEl, could it be that we have found an Earthman who is more interested in truth than patching up the holes in his own leaking belief system?” He took a few steps toward me. “What is your name?”

“Alan.”

“I am Master El. You may call me El. Why are you wandering the world, Alan?”

I didn’t want to tell him. “I’m just walking.”

He examined my pack. “Where are you walking to?”

“Key West, Florida.”

“Where did you begin your journey?”

“Seattle.”

“You’ve walked the whole distance?”

I nodded.

“Then you are a man with stories. I would like to hear them. A man who has walked all day must be hungry. Come dine with me.”

For a moment I said nothing, hesitant to go anywhere with a religious nut who would tie someone to a tree. “I have food,” I said.

“I’m sure you do, but, if you’re eating from your pack, I guarantee I can do better. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll provide you with a hot meal and you can tell me of your travels. Agreed?” He put out his hand.

I just looked at him.

“Come on, Alan. You have nothing to fear. I may be sly as a serpent but I’m harmless as a dove. Come with me and I will feed you—body and, should you desire, soul.”

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Just a mile or so from here,” he said pointing east. “I have a vehicle.”

I thought a moment more, then my curiosity got the better of me. “All right.”

“Splendid,” he said. “Splendid.” He turned toward the woman. “We will leave you to your quest. The celestial spirit abide with you, KaEl.”

She bowed her head. “Praise be to my Master.”

I followed him about twenty yards to his car, a brand-new Range Rover with the paper dealer plate still in the window. Kyle Craig had owned a similar model. I knew enough about the vehicle to know it was worth more than a hundred thousand dollars.

“You can lay your pack on the back seat,” he said.

I started feeling hesitant again, wondering what I
had gotten myself into, but still I opened the back door and set my pack inside. I climbed into the passenger’s seat.

El started his car and pulled out of the grove onto a dirt road, which we followed back for nearly two miles.

“How far have you walked today?” El asked.

“About sixteen miles.”

“Is that how far you walk every day?”

“I usually try for twenty. Sometimes more.”

“You must be in very good physical condition.”

“Walking twenty-five hundred miles will do that,” I said.

“Indeed it would.”

We drove almost ten minutes before we came to a fenced compound consisting of a large, rustic-looking red barn, an A-framed house and two log buildings. A garden and a vineyard ran the length of the front fence.

There was a guard booth near the compound’s front entrance and the gate opened at our approach. El pulled the car to the front of the barn and put it in park, leaving the vehicle idling. A muscular young man wearing the same style of yellow T-shirt as the woman at the tree ran out of the building as if he’d been waiting for El’s return.

“This is where we’ll be dining,” El said.

The man stood at attention as El handed him the car keys. “Welcome home, Master,” the man said.

“Thank you, MarkEl,” he replied.

El walked around the side of the car where I was standing. “Follow me,” he said.

I opened the back door to retrieve my backpack.

“You can leave it,” El said. “It will be safe.”

I pulled it out anyway. “I would be more comfortable having it with me.”

He looked annoyed, but said, “Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

I shut the car door and the man pulled the vehicle away, disappearing around the side of the barn. Behind us the large gates shut. I wondered if I was a prisoner. I thought about the gun my father had given me, stowed in the bottom of my pack.

“This way,” El said, motioning to an open door.

I followed him inside. Even though the building looked rustic on the outside, inside it was clean and nicely furnished in a modern European style. The high-ceilinged room was spacious and open and three of its walls were painted with murals. The largest wall depicted the moai statues of Easter Island, while the other two were of the Egyptian Pyramids and the Mayan Pyramids of Tikal. The vaulted ceiling was painted dark blue, with constellations, and the exaggerated stars had eyeballs in their centers. The floor was hardwood, with areas covered by rugs.