The Last Day (35 page)

After the final course and before the serving of desserts, the president rose from his seat, officially welcomed the Messiah to the United States, and then offered a toast to the “most famous woman on the face of the earth.” Jeza did not join in the toast, but merely stared down at her virtually untouched plate, in what would appear to be abject embarrassment.

President Moore remained standing, and graciously asked, “Jeza, I'm sure everyone here would love to hear some more of your intriguing thoughts. Would you care to say a few words?”

In a soft voice most could not hear, she replied, ‘My message is of God, not of government.”

To which Moore responded, “It's always been a cherished personal belief of mine that there's an important place for the spiritual in politics. And I can tell you with great assurance that your inspirational message here would be most appreciated. Certainly, government could only benefit from your insights.” Turning to include the body of seated guests, Moore added, “Isn't that so, everyone?”

Feldman wasn't quite sure what Moore was hoping to accomplish here. But he suspected this was a ploy to solicit sound bites from the Messiah for future campaign advertising and commercials.

The response of the dinner guests was overwhelming. The entire assembly was on its feet, encouraging Jeza with unceasing applause and cheers. Understandably, an aura of expectation had engrossed the gathering all evening.

Jeza endured the attention with bowed head. Her sable hair, highlighted in a halo by the bright candelabras and crystal chandeliers, overshadowed her face. Feldman couldn't make out her expression.

The enthusiasm for a speech did not abate, however, and only when at last Jeza rose, did the appeased guests begin to quiet and take their seats. After all was complete silence, the Messiah lifted her head and Feldman could see that she looked both tired and anguished. But this soon passed as she drew up her energy and held forth in an assertive, authoritative voice that commanded full attention.

There was a murmur of appreciation and delight throughout the dining room as the rapt listeners quickly realized they were the privileged recipients of one of the Messiah's infrequent, celebrated allegories. It would later become known as:

THE PARABLE OF THE FARM AND THE OVERSEERS

At this time, Jeza came accordingly to a town in America called Washington, near the river Potomac, and here She was the guest at a great banquet. After the meal, the host, who was the high official of the land, said unto Her, “Jeza, will you now speak to us?”

And Jeza was reluctant, for the affairs of government were not of Her concern. But the guests at the banquet beseeched Her and, not wishing to appear discourteous, She delivered to them a parable:

“There was once a good and honest man who left the safety of his hometown and went forth into the wilderness to seek his fortune. Over many years of hard work, this man built from the harsh land a large and bountiful farm. On his farm were plentiful tracts of golden wheat and barley and corn; and green pastures with great herds of fine cattle and sheep.

“Now it came to pass that the man grew old and died, and having no direct heirs, left his great farm to a young nephew who lived away in the town.

“The nephew, who was also a good and honest man like his uncle, had no knowledge of farming and decided that he must hire an experienced overseer to ensure the farm's continued prosperity.

“Soon, there came to him two shrewd foremen who worked at the farm and wished to improve their station. The first said unto the nephew, ‘Hire me to oversee your farm and I will safeguard your properties and increase the bounty of your grain fields twofold’.

“And the second said ‘Hire me to oversee your properties, for I will see that your farm thrives, and I will double the size of your herds.’

“Now the nephew was much impressed by this and said to them, ‘Each of you has experience in different ways. Therefore will I hire you both, and to both of you will I entrust the care of my properties. You shall share equally in control of the farm and in its profits. For four years shall you labor together to make the land productive, at which time I will return to judge your fruitfulness.’

“The nephew then went away and left his farm in the care of the two men. But soon afterward, the two overseers fell to quarreling between themselves. The first said, ‘I will buy new equipment and hire more workers to enhance the grain fields.’ The second then said, I will buy more cattle and sheep and open new pastures to improve the herds.’

“And attempting to outdo one another, they borrowed large sums of money on the farm, each predicting that his harvest would return the greater measure of profit.

“But the first year the rains did not come. The fields grew parched and the crops withered. The pastures dried up and the herds declined. And the farm lost much money.

“The second year, each man, wishing to make up the losses of the first year, borrowed more money to install great watering systems. But in the summer, the locusts came and devoured the crops and the pastures, and again the harvest failed.

“The two overseers then said to one another, ‘We have much responsibility here and the pressure is great. We should be paid more for our burdens.’ And they therefore increased their wages.

“Each year thereafter, the two men likewise borrowed more money to assure their harvests and to raise their wages, but each year their ambition only served to reduce their yields.

“At the end of the fourth year, the nephew returned to the farm to find his once-golden fields of grain lying barren and fallow, and his prized herds ravaged, sick and dying. No more was the great farm prosperous, but the moneylenders were at the door; demanding payment.

“In great anger the nephew called the two false overseers before him, saying, ‘You were sworn to me to protect the land and double its yield. Behold, this is how you repay me. The great farm is in ruin and its prosperity have you squandered!’

“Yet each man accused the other, saying, ‘My judgment was sound and I would have fulfilled my promise had it not been for the foolishness of he whose profligacy has caused this loss!’

“But the nephew cast them both out, saying, ‘Foolish are you, but more foolish am I, for the master is responsible for the servant. Verily have I failed to honor the faith of my uncle, therefore have I lost all.’ “

And the guests at the banquet marveled amongst themselves and asked of Jeza, “What is the meaning of this parable?”

So in answering them, She said, “The great farm is your nation. The nephew is your people. The two overseers are your Congress. As a nation is divided and corrupted from within, so is it the responsibility of its people to jealously guard over its command and cast out false overseers.

“I say unto you, great treasures require great vigilance. And he who fails to safeguard his treasures, so shall he lose them.” (Apotheosis 23:1–48)

Concluding, Jeza bent toward Feldman and asked if she could now be allowed to retire for her evening meditation. The table was abuzz with reaction to Jeza's homily as Feldman conveyed her request to the somewhat befuddled-looking president. Moore immediately stood and escorted Jeza to a servant, who then led her away to her room upstairs.

Feldman smiled as he observed the controversy Jeza's sermon had fostered around the huge table. Some of the dinner guests, he noted, felt that the parable was a rebuke of the voter who failed to stay fully engaged in the governmental process. Some felt it was a condemnation of the two-party system, or the national budget deficits.

And others felt the parable was a not-so-veiled indictment of the current administration, which had suffered a recent series of graft and corruption charges. Fortunately, the ambiguity of the sermon would allow the White House spin doctors to easily deflect this interpretation, and the official assessment of the precarious evening was that, overall, things had gone well for the president.

Entirely exhausted, and facing an early departure for Utah with another demanding day ahead of him, Feldman soon excused himself also, adjourning to his room. Removing his suit jacket and glasses, he collapsed facedown on his bed, kicked off his shoes and fell fast asleep.

It was nearly dawn when he awoke with a start from yet another nightmare. He loosened his tie and walked out in the hallway to stretch his legs. Across the way, the door to Jeza's room stood ajar. He tiptoed over, listened for a moment, and then rapped gently. No answer.

“Jeza!” he called softly through the crack. “Are you awake?”

No response. He gently pushed open the door to reveal an empty, apparently unused bed. There was no light in the bathroom. Feldman retreated into the hallway and wandered downstairs where he found a night servant in attendance.

“If you're looking for the Messiah, sir,” the elderly gentleman said with some reverence, “you'll find Her out in the Rose Garden. She's been there most of the night”. And he pointed the way.

Shoeless, Feldman padded over to the double doors and stepped outside into the chilly March morning. It was still dark, with only a trace of light breaking on the horizon.

His socks were soon wet on the dewy brick walk, and Jeza was nowhere to be seen. Exploring further along the hedges, Feldman turned a corner and could faintly detect a small form across the patio, crouched in front of a hedge.

As he drew closer, he saw that Jeza was half kneeling, half sitting on the cold ground. The upper part of her body was lying across the seat of a stone bench in front of a large, dormant rose bush. Her face was buried in her arms and she appeared to be sobbing. Feldman rushed over and dropped to her side, placing a comforting hand on her back. Her robe was cold and damp. Her shoulders felt small and delicate.

“Jeza! What's happened? Are you all right?” He attempted to draw her upright and she did not resist. Gently he turned her, smoothing back her hair to see her face.

Her eyes were closed, her brow creased, her lips compressed in a tight, bitter line. With her complexion so pale, it was like gazing upon the marble sculpture of some classic Greek goddess. Only this one was weeping real tears.

“Jeza, sweet Jeza!” Feldman dried her eyes with his handkerchief and caressed her hair. It was as soft as down. “What's happened?”

Drawing back from him slowly, she placed one hand on the stone bench and began to stand. Feldman rose quickly to assist her. He held her arm to steady her, but she seemed impervious to him, looking out toward the dawning sky, introspective and troubled, but no longer crying.

“My soul is sad unto death,” she said hollowly. “What must be is not of my will, but foreordained.” And without looking back, she gave Feldman's arm a tight squeeze with both hands and then slipped away from him, returning along the path to the house.

70

Salt Lake City, Utah 8:00
A.M
., Sunday, March 5, 2000

C
ardinal Litti had been up since well before dawn, too excited to sleep. This was the day he'd been so anxiously awaiting. Showered and carefully shaved, he was dressed in his best cassock, best white shirt and clerical collar. Standing before the full-length mirror, he attempted to suck in the ample girth that strained his cincture, detected little improvement and surrendered, laughing.

The cardinal was in a bright mood, if somewhat nervous. He realized that this day would see him witness his New Messiah, and would most likely determine for him the course he would follow for the rest of his life. He draped his red and black cloak across his shoulders and placed a spotless red zucchetto skullcap meticulously on his crown.

“Now,” he said to himself with appreciation, “I'm ready to meet my maker!”

As it was his policy to preserve his precious remaining dollars, rather than take a cab, Cardinal Litti elected to make the invigorating walk to the hall. It was a mistake.

Unlike the previous two days, which had seen large but navigable crowds in the vicinity, today the turnout was almost impenetrable. It started in Litti's hotel lobby, which was packed with impatient guests. But worse, outside his hotel, the sidewalk traffic was elbow to elbow. He regretted not reserving a ride, but certainly now, getting one would be impossible.

Summoning his determination, the sturdy cardinal pushed out into the mob and began working his way slowly toward the towering Tabernacle Hall in the distance. His journey was made all the more difficult because Salt Lake City's Department of Crowd and Traffic Control had mounted a stubborn effort to keep all downtown streets open for the endless cavalcades of limousines and police escorts that constantly streamed by. To cordon off the roads, barriers had been erected up on the sidewalks, rather than down in the curbs, abnormally narrowing the pedestrian access ways.

Even though the convocation didn't officially assemble until ten
A.M
., Litti was experiencing growing concern about ever getting there. If the crowd was this compact blocks away, he couldn't imagine how congested it must be near the hall. Inching along, he hugged the barricades, as near to the street as he could get, hoping to snare a passing cab. But none that streaked by in a yellow blur paid him any heed. Finally, in desperation, Litti closed his eyes tightly and whispered a fervent prayer to Jeza, asking for deliverance.

When he reopened them, the cardinal found himself staring into the lens of a TV camera. A roving news crew from a U.S. network had been cruising around doing man-in-the-street interviews. Having been unfairly shut out of the convention hall, as were all news media save for WNN, competing networks were reduced to developing collateral stories wherever and however they could. Spying the cardinal's vivid red cap and cloak from their mobile van, the opportunistic crew immediately pulled over. A real Catholic cardinal was a rare find in these parts, and they were obviously delighted with their luck.

“Can we trouble you for a few comments about Jeza for our viewing audience, Your Grace?” the reporter asked, smiling.