Eli (22 page)

Eli and Jake turned and started back toward the cellar.

Cautiously, Conrad rose, staring in unbelief, glancing up to make sure he wouldn’t be hit by falling objects. At last he stepped out of the cellar.

Others followed, carefully emerging, looking as baffled and as astonished as Conrad. Several moments passed before Eli arrived. He wasn’t angry, but the joy in his eyes was missing. Instead, it was replaced by a type of sadness . . . and disappointment.

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“Where is your faith?” he called out. Then, shaking his head, he added, “When will you stop doubting me?”

The group exchanged guilty glances. Most would not look at Eli. But Conrad did. And when their eyes connected he saw no condemnation, just that sad disappointment. Eli repeated the question. Although it was for everyone, Conrad knew that for that particular moment, it was mostly for him.

“When will you stop doubting?”

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C H A P T E R

E I G H T

“MCFARLAND, DO I LOOK THAT STUPID?”

“Do I have to answer that?” the balding news reporter from EBN fired back. It was supposed to be in jest, but the way the overweight man was huffing and puffing as they moved up the terraced hillside, it looked like he was having anything but fun.

Not that Conrad blamed him. After all, the only way he’d agreed to talk with McFarland was by pressing him into service alongside Keith and himself as they handed out food to the crowd. The big man had reluctantly joined them less than five minutes ago, and the poor guy was already working up a sweat in the hot Oklahoma sun. Conrad knew it galled him helping out like this, which was probably why he insisted he do it. Still, with this large of a crowd, they needed all the help they could get.

What had started out as a scheduled event at the Wood-ward Memorial Park in Tulsa, this Saturday, had turned into an all-day marathon. Although the group had rented the bandstand from 9 to 12, the officials and assigned police were so captivated by what they saw and heard that they allowed Eli to continue. The crowd was equally caught up, and noon-time came and went with most not even caring that they’d missed lunch.

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Eli was in great form, sharing one story after another, explaining how absolutely holy God expected His children to be, yet how loving and forgiving He was if they failed. And, despite the crowd’s size, Eli remained as intimate as if it were a handful of his closest friends. More often than not he was off the stage with the park department’s wireless mike, casually strolling through the crowd, occasionally chatting with individuals, sometimes healing them.

But by three o’clock Jake and Robert, along with Scott and Brent, had pulled Eli into the backstage shade and suggested he call it quits. If not for himself, than at least for the crowd.

“The folks haven’t eaten since morning,” Robert insisted, handing Eli a Styrofoam glass with ice water. “Lots of them got kids. They must be starved.”

“I know I am,” grumbled Jake as he slumped onto the wooden steps leading to the stage. He popped open another of the dozen Diet Cokes he consumed daily and began to guzzle.

Eli nodded, slowly thinking it over. He grabbed the towel Maggie had brought from her camper and wiped off his sweating face. Then he scooped ice out of his cup, lowered his head, and pressed it against the back of his neck. The summer heat was taking a lot out of him, but he never complained. Not as long as there was a need. Not as long as people were willing to listen.

“All right,” Eli finally answered, his voice hoarse from the lengthening day. “Why don’t you guys go ahead and feed them.”

“With what?” Scott asked. “All we’ve got are a couple burgers and a side of fries some kid brought you.”

Eli raised his head and gave his face another swipe while catching the stray ice water dribbling down his chest. “Then give that to them.”

“Right,” Brent scoffed, “we’ve got how many thousands of people out there, and you want us to feed them with two burgers and a side of fries?”

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“Give it a shot,” Eli said as he stepped over Jake to head back onstage. Then with that infectious twinkle he called over his shoulder, “You might be surprised.”

That had been forty-five minutes ago. And now Conrad and the guys were
definitely
surprised. So far they’d fed about half the crowd with more hamburgers and fries than they could count. No one had bought more. No one had donated more. Instead, Scott had simply poured the contents of the kid’s bag into a grocery sack Suzanne had provided . . . until her sack literally overflowed with wrapped burgers and loose fries. More sacks and bags were scrounged up. They, too, were filled to the brim. And, still, it didn’t stop. When the sacks were distributed to Eli’s followers and they moved through the crowd passing out the burgers and fries, their sacks never seemed to empty either. All Conrad and the others had to do was reach into their bags and pull out one burger after another after another, or pour out one helping of fries after another.

Now, Conrad was no math whiz, but he knew this defied logic by any standard. Of course, McFarland, who had just joined the serving committee, hadn’t a clue as to what was happening. But he would.

“Look, we just need a link to him,” the big man gasped as he trudged up the grassy hillside passing out the food. “An unofficial diplomatic channel.”

“And the reason it has to be unofficial?” Keith asked.

“You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Try us,” Conrad said.

McFarland lowered his voice, making sure those in the crowd were not following the conversation. “Let’s just say it would be a great source of embarrassment if the public knew he and my boss were talking.”

“But he hasn’t withdrawn his invitation to the City of God, has he?” Conrad asked.

“Of course not. That would be a breach of Southern hospitality.”

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“Of course,” Conrad said. “But you wouldn’t be opposed if Eli backed out.”

“Not in the slightest. But of course he won’t.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well . . .” McFarland sighed heavily, motioning to his bag. “I’m about out.” He wiped the sweat from his face.

“Maybe we can go someplace a little cooler to talk.”

“Here,” Conrad said, reaching over and dumping his sack of burgers into McFarland’s . . . until it was full.

McFarland looked on, astonished. “Where’d you get all those?”

Conrad smiled and continued the conversation. “What else do you want from me? Besides being this liaison?”

“Is it that obvious?” McFarland asked.

“With you, always.”

McFarland tried to chuckle, though it came out more of a wheezing cough. Again he lowered his voice. “Look, you know how the religious community has been looking for a Messiah. How our country’s been going down the drain and how we need someone to kick a little sinners’ heinie to get this nation back on track with God.”

“And you think Eli might be the one?” Keith asked.

Conrad threw a glance at his ambitious young partner. No doubt the kid felt cocky thinking he was on equal footing with such seasoned pros.

“That’s just it,” McFarland answered. “We don’t know.”

Conrad replied, “After his arrest at Leon’s party, the law-suits you’ve slapped on him, the disinformation you’re spreading through the media and Internet . . . sounds to me like your boss has more than made up his mind.”

“He just doesn’t fit the prophecies, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are hundreds of prophecies in the Bible that talk of a man who will rally the people for God. A great leader who will straighten things out and get people to start doing things God’s way.”

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“Someone like . . . Dr. Thomas J. Kerston?”

McFarland gave him a look. “That’s always a possibility.”

Conrad shook his head, quietly musing.

McFarland continued. “My point is, your boy here is not fulfilling any of those prophecies. He’s not fitting the profile.”

“Except for the miracles, the healings, and raising people from the dead,” Conrad said. He couldn’t resist the temptation of pouring more burgers into McFarland’s bag to under-score the point.

“Yes,” McFarland said, numbly watching the burgers pour in, “except for the miracles.”

“And you want us to . . .”

It took a moment for McFarland to recover. “Help us. Help us force him to play his hand. I mean, if he’s the guy we’re all waiting for, Dr. Kerston would be the first to admit that he’s been wrong.”

“I bet.”

“He would. Not only that, but he’d be the first to put his sizable muscle behind him. Think what that could do for Eli, for his cause. Who knows, with Dr. Kerston’s political clout, we might even be able to get your boy into office somewhere.”

“And if he’s not the one?” Keith asked.

For a moment, McFarland did not answer.

Conrad repeated the question, “And if he’s not the one you’re waiting for?”

“Then he needs to be stopped. Before he leads any more people astray.”

“I see.”

“We just want him to be straight with us, that’s all. One minute he says he’s God’s son, then a good teacher, then he performs miracles, then he doesn’t . . . either this man is the Messiah we’ve been waiting for, or he isn’t. It’s as simple as that. We just need to know the truth. Help us find the truth, Connie. You’ve been a proponent of truth all your life; it’s your greatest strength.”

Conrad said nothing. He was grateful that Keith decided to follow his example.

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“For the good of these people, for the good of the country

. . . help us find the truth.”

It was an obvious ploy that Conrad saw through immediately. But still . . . now that Eli had polarized everyone anyway, now that people either loved him or hated him, what would be so terribly wrong with encouraging him to take the next step, to go public with the identity that many suspected of him anyway? And if, as McFarland suggested, they could get the religious establishment behind him . . . well, his impact upon the country would be enormous. Hadn’t that been Eli’s purpose all along?

Granted, it was just a thought, a cleverly planted one whose source he didn’t entirely trust, but it was a thought.

v

The phone rang as Julia opened the front door to the house. She pulled the key from the lock and fumbled for the hall switch, clicking both it and the porch light on at the same time. The screen door slammed behind her, and she elbowed the front door shut. Straight ahead lay the paneled hallway leading to her father’s office. To her right was the arched entrance into the living room.

She chose the arched entrance.

The phone rang a second time. She dumped her suit bag onto a chair already covered in books and magazines. She reached over to the end table and snapped on the lamp. The place looked no better in the light. Magazines, newspapers, and stacks and stacks of videotapes lay on the floor in front of a big-screen TV. It’s not that her father was a slob, it’s just that he was always working. And now that he had the house to himself, his work space had naturally invaded his living space. Then there was the stale smell of cigars. He was never much of a smoker, but from time to time he pretended to be.

The phone rang a third time. She ignored it as she crossed through the dining room, snapping on more lights, seeing more books and papers piled on the old cherry table. She hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 171

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headed for the kitchen as much out of hunger as habit—a habit that started in elementary school and continued later when she visited from college.

She arrived and turned on the light. Another table, another pile of papers. Over at the sink rose a mound of dirty dishes, mostly coffee mugs, precariously balanced. To the right, near the refrigerator, was a garbage bag overflowing with used microwave food cartons and containers. The phone made its fourth and final ring before the answering machine kicked in.

It was her father’s voice, direct and to the point. “Hi. Leave a message at the tone. Thanks.”

Beep.

And then another voice followed.

“Hi, Julia . . . this is Mom. If you’re there, will you pick up?”

What on earth? How did she know she’d be there?

“Julia?”

Julia dashed out of the kitchen and back into the living room. She brushed the papers off the end table, but the phone wasn’t there.

“I don’t know if you’ll get this or not, but Ken said he told you I’d be out in the morning.”

She zeroed in on the voice. It came from the stacks of books piled in front of the fireplace.

“My plane’s boarding now. I think it’s the same flight you were on last night.”

She raced to the stacks, searching for the machine, for anything plastic amidst the pile of paper.

“It’s a terrible decision you’re having to make and, I know, I know, you can handle it by yourself and you probably want me to keep my nose out of it. But I just don’t think you should be there alone.”

“Mom?” She pushed the books aside, digging more frantically until she spotted the answering machine. The phone had to be nearby. She grabbed the line and physically followed it through the books.

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“Anyway, I guess it was stupid, thinking you’d be there. I also left word at the hospital. One way or another, I’ll see you soon, Sweetheart.”

No, that line led to the wall jack. She had to follow the other one, the one to the phone. “Mom!” Backtracking to the answering machine, she dropped to her knees.

“I love you, Jules. And I’ll be praying.”

There it was, on the hearth. She lunged for the receiver and scooped it up.

“Bye-bye.”

“Mom?” she shouted into the receiver. There was a click.

“Mom, are you there? Mom?”

Nothing. Just silence . . . and then the dial tone.