The Antarcticans (3 page)

“The Gospel of Thomas?” He held it up, arching his left eyebrow. “You’ve been warning me about these Gnostic Gospels since I was a kid. Are you reading them now?”

“It’s for something I’m working on. Put it back.” He wanted it out of his sight. He didn’t like that he was being dishonest with his son. The lies were bundling up inside him like twine and being yanked every time he thought about it.

“Let me level with you,” he said. “The man I met today isn’t a fan of what I do, and he gave me that book. He told me I should read it before the next time we meet. Under normal circumstances, I—”

Joshua cut him off. “Really? No, I don’t think so.”

“What?” The word escaped Gavin’s lips before he realized his son must be talking to one of the voices in his head. For the most part, Joshua kept the conversations quiet; he knew they drew attention and seemed to make things worse.

He turned to Gavin. “She said I should go with you. She said you want me to go, and she can help me once I get there.”

“Can you ask her what her name is?”

“I know her name already. It’s Margie.”

“You don’t know what they look like, do you?”

“That’s really hard to explain, because when I see them, sometimes they change what they look like. Their voice is always the same, so it’s usually the voice I recognize.”

“Can you be sure they’re just voices?”

“You know, mental illness runs in families. Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Dad?” Joshua reached over and poked his father’s side.

The rest of the drive was silent, and when Gavin pulled into the driveway at their house, he got out of the car quickly, took the Gospel of Thomas with him, and went directly to his study. He peeled back the thin film of plastic that lay over the cover page. The document looked like it had been printed at a local chain print shop. He put his glasses on and said a prayer. Then he tentatively dove into the text. His undergraduate degree was in classics, and he had learned to read ancient Greek; he kept those skills sharp by reading the New Testament in ancient Greek only. It was a struggle for him to translate some of the passages for the congregation into twenty-first-century American English. On many Sundays he’d find himself fifteen minutes into the contextual meaning of a passage before he could even get to the lesson he had pulled from it. It was one of the few churches in the area where worshipers were encouraged to raise their hands and ask questions during the sermon. Gavin wanted to make sure everyone understood what the authors had intended to say when they had put their message down on paper.

The text of the Gospel of Thomas was short and, unlike the other gospels, devoid of any real narrative. It was just a group of sayings attributed to Jesus. At first glance, the sayings didn’t seem blasphemous or heretical, as his seminary had taught. His professors had instructed the students to avoid them and had described them as thoughts of a layperson, not the inspired writings of those closest to the divine source. Gavin read through them with interest.

Jesus said, “Images are visible to people, but the light within them is hidden in the image of the Father's light. He will be disclosed, but his image is hidden by his light.”

Jesus said, “Those who know all, but are lacking in themselves, are utterly lacking.”

Jesus said, “Whoever blasphemes against the Father will be forgiven, and whoever blasphemes against the son will be forgiven, but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either on earth or in heaven.”

When Gavin reached the end, he flipped back to the beginning and read them over and over. There were 114 sayings in total. Two hours passed, and he stood up from his soft leather desk chair to brew some tea in the kitchen. The sayings moved through his head as he made his way around the kitchen, putting the loose tea into a cup and pouring the scalding water into it. The mint and lemon aromas burst into the air. He felt the sanitized English version of the Gospel of Thomas he’d read wouldn’t let him through to its true meaning. He felt something living just below the words. He needed to see the original text. Although he couldn’t read Coptic, he knew the complete Coptic text existed, and getting a copy wouldn’t be difficult. He would translate it word for word into Hellenistic Greek then decipher it.

A text came through to his phone. It was Lucifer, with instructions on where to meet him the following day.
How does he have my number?
Gavin wondered.

He checked on Joshua, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching an
I Love Lucy
marathon. His hand was buried in a bowl of cashews, and an empty Coke bottle lay on the coffee table. Gavin shook his head; he knew the caffeine made the voices quieter, but Joshua’s psychiatrist had recommended against it because it could cause overall agitation. Seeing him peaceful among his demons, he let him lie there; he wouldn’t wake him up for the practice Joshua had mentioned. He walked toward his bedroom and stood outside the door, unsure if he should go in.

Noila was in their bedroom; she had kept somewhat to herself over the last couple of weeks. Gavin knew it was because of the argument they’d had over moving. She had found a research position in Costa Rica, a dream position as she called it, working for a famed biologist. She swore Gavin would be able to do God’s work there, even more than he could do in Florida. She argued her point well—he knew that—but he also knew what the answer to his prayer about this decision had been. He would stay at his church, and his wife and son would reside with him; it was the final answer—the answer she didn’t want to hear. She sat on the bed, her long brown hair falling over her slight shoulders, her incredibly gentle eyes reading a novel by her favorite author. Gavin said hello, but she didn’t look up.

…

He met Lucifer the next day at a dock off the Intracoastal Waterway. The water was a brackish blue, washing over the seawall on which the dock had been built. The rising ocean waves had begun their march over the lowest-lying strips of land in Miami, and street flooding was becoming the norm even with no storms. Gavin parked the Camry in the numbered slot Lucifer had mentioned in his text message last night. He sat there for a couple of minutes, sipping his third cup of tea and Googling the original texts of the Gospel of Thomas. He stepped out into a sunny day and looked down the docks at the glaring white hulls assembled to form a parking lot of mega yachts.
Anything—and anyone—can be Lucifer’s
, he thought.

A deckhand in khaki shorts and a starched white polo with something embroidered over the breast pocket was waving Gavin around a bend in the seawall and a line of eucalyptus trees. Gavin turned away from the long dock and walked toward him. When he cleared the grove of trees, he saw white rotor blades bending in four directions on top of a blue-and-white helicopter. The nose was sleek and capped in gold, giving the machine the air of a Tiffany brooch. Lucifer was leaning against the small winglet just behind the aircraft’s door, talking on the phone and gesturing. He looked up at Gavin and waved, then gave him a “one minute” hand gesture and kept talking. He was wearing all white again, along with Ferragamo calfskin loafers, with their signature gold buckle across the top, and a matching belt. After the deckhand ushered Gavin into the helicopter and guided him to his seat, he helped him fasten the dial seat belt; the round emblem in the middle of it had a gold
L
on it. There were four seats—two facing the rear and two facing the front—behind the pilot and copilot; Gavin sat in one of the rear-facing seats. The deckhand sat across from him, their knees slightly brushing against one another.

“Welcome, Gavin. Lucifer will be finished in a minute, and then we’ll get going.” He put his seat belt on and relaxed his head against the headrest, letting out a sigh.

“Thanks. Do you know where we’re going?” Gavin was unconsciously tracing his fingers over the
L
on the round seat-belt mechanism. He was working hard not to let his buzzing feeling of nervousness that was crawling through his body show.

“I’m sorry. Lucifer will give you the details. Can I get you a drink?” The man pressed a button on his armrest, and a small cooler, filled with cans and bottles, opened in the area between his seat and the seat next to him.

“Sure,” Gavin said. “I’ll take a Coke.”

The deckhand pulled out small frosty glass bottle, popped the top off, and handed the bottle to him. “Sorry, there aren’t any glasses on the copter. Lucifer likes to keep things informal.”

A few moments later, Lucifer jumped into the helicopter, slid the door closed, pressed the button to latch it, and settled into the seat next to Gavin. “Have you ever flown in one of these before?” Without waiting for his reply, he said, “This is the new Airbus H155. Smoothest beast in the sky. You’ll think you’re on a luxury jet.” He turned to the pilot and made a “spiraling up” gesture with his finger.

As the engine whined to life, the blades cut the air, creating waves in the canal. The copter lifted into the sky then, at five hundred feet, pitched forward and rocketed over the salty turquoise water at 150 miles an hour. They crossed over the sandy beach and out over the sandbars off the coast, where the ocean floor plunged, causing the water to turn dark blue.

“Where are we going?” Gavin said into his headset.

“My boat,” Lucifer answered.

“Why not just dock it in Miami?” Gavin was trying to come up with questions to avoid facing the fact that he was actually meeting with Lucifer again.

“You’ll see. It’s not your average fishing dingy.”

“How far away is it?”

“About a hundred miles off the coast, so get comfortable. It’ll take us the better part of the hour to get out there.”

Gavin pushed his shoulders back into the comfortable leather seat and let it hug his body. The hum of the engines was lulling him into a trance. He stared out the window at the boats and cargo ships cruising in the open waters.

Lucifer was busy looking through documents and presentations on his tablet. The deckhand seemed to know exactly what he needed and when, down to the times he was most likely to want a sip of his drink. Gavin tried not to watch, instead looking at the pristine ocean below him, but it was hard not to notice the extremely fluid interactions between the two of them. He saw small islands coming into view under them.

“Is that the Bahamas?” Gavin asked, adjusting his microphone.

“Yes. We have about forty miles to go,” the pilot informed him.

Gavin turned to Lucifer. “My son said he’s willing to see you,” he blurted out as the thought entered his head.

Lucifer turned his head with an expression laced with surprise and satisfaction. “Let’s wait to discuss that until we have a more private setting.” He sipped his drink and looked back at his tablet, which he was typing on. “How’s your wife?” He swept his blond hair back and dropped his fingers along his thigh, giving the appearance that he was working out a stiff knot.

“Noila? Unhappy as always.” Gavin looked as if he had rehearsed the line.

“With such a charmed life, that seems impossible. I would imagine the wife of such a talented minister with a flock of adoring congregants would lead a very social and comfortable life, no?”

“I thought she would adjust eventually. But she’s always had dreams of moving to Central America and working there. I was offered my post in Fort Lauderdale, though, and we both agreed it was God’s plan.”

“Sounds like God’s plan isn’t working out so well.” Lucifer looked out over the water. “What kind of work does she do?”

“She’s a marine biologist.”

Lucifer cocked an eyebrow. “There should be all the options in the world here. The ocean is teeming with life in the Sunshine State. Look right there.” He pointed at a school of sharks swarming the sandbar. “So that’s it? Just a lack of career opportunities causing such unhappiness?”

“She’s worried about Joshua, his demons, and all the bad luck that has surrounded us. I think sometimes she wishes she hadn’t married one of God’s soldiers.”

“So obsessed with these demons,” Lucifer said, shaking his head.

“Yes. It’s why I found you in the first place.”

Lucifer didn’t respond. He focused his eyes on his tablet then said something into his headset. Apparently he had turned off Gavin’s headset so he wouldn’t be able to hear him. Gavin saw the pilot laughing when Lucifer was finished talking. Then the copter swooped to the left. The force of the turn pulled everyone against their restraints. Gavin grabbed the side of his seat, and when he looked to his right, he was staring straight down at the water, where a US naval ship was running a drill. All the battle stations were manned, and the guns were in the upright ready position. Before seminary, Gavin had spent four years in the navy and identified the ship as a Wasp-class amphibious assault ship. The Airbus leveled off, and he spotted a different ship a couple miles ahead of them. When they were flying above the ship, they circled it twice.

From above, the ship looked like a floating island. Half of the top of the ship was metal decking, with two yellow H’s with a circle around them for incoming helicopters. Two helicopters, identical to the one they were riding in, sat idle on the deck. The other half of the ship had a swimming pool, what looked like trees—though Gavin couldn’t be sure—grass, a few structures, chaise lounges surrounding the pool, and cabana tents with beds inside. The grounds were lush. As they descended, he saw a profusion of flowers as well as a wall that had been raised between the two halves of the deck. After the copter’s landing gear touched down on the deck, the whine of the engine faded as the blades slowed then stopped. The pilot gave a hand signal to the passengers that it was clear to exit. Gavin waited for the deckhand to get out, and then Lucifer gestured for him to exit.