Travel Bug (16 page)

“I’ve always had sympathy for the poor,” said Harold. “This is fucking insane; they’re starving people and turning brother against brother!”

Electroshock therapy is supposed to be for the criminally insane so they might recover from their mental illness. It was used by the secret police for the balls of young men who made off-color, tasteless remarks about the divinity of “the people’s president.” Religion was poison and the opiate of the masses but the obvious god like qualities of the messiah, the anointed one, “people’s president” was self-evident. How could someone possibly be happy when “the people’s president” needed more good folks to worship him and his socialist utopia of Venezuela?

“I hate this fucking bastard, if we can kill him when we’re done with the Bible thumping bitch, let me know…”

“Easy, Harold…”

The screams and torture were unbearable, only thinking of great grandfather a dirty old man made me laugh and forget about the horror. Harold P. Godley went traveling through time looking for love, like Ian Flick in ‘Party School” just a hell of a lot older!

“Great grandfather, I love you…”

“I love you, too, son…”

I wanted the useless, pathetic United Nations to grow a pair and do something about this damned tyrant! They, of course, would not. All of their hatred was reserved for the United States and Israel. It was an innocuous arrangement.

“I shouldn’t think too much more, Andrew.”

How many family members turning each other in before you finally get the point that this society is evil? Hollywood is full of sheltered idiots in denial.

“Please, Harold. I want to go home. I can’t take anymore, please…”

The unnamed species was looking more like a banshee than a bug upon our return from the rough and evil world of reality.

The travel bug was a horrific thing to bestow. I could always envision the day this monster would come lose upon the unsuspecting and vulnerable world!

“I’m sorry I wasn’t ready… for the real… world…”

“Oh, dear God, Andrew, don’t be so hard on your point of view, son. You were always an optimist and I think when our little adventure is over, you still will be.”

My typical ranting and cursing, using the foulest language I could, was now escaping me again. Sharks were better than dictators were. Hell, animals themselves if they could talk would not be so cruel. Survival of the fittest and all…

“Andrew?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?’

“Yes, Harold. Just found myself thinking very profoundly about animals.”

The worst animals were the ones denying basic medical care for those poor wretched political prisoners. Untreated diseases and starvation were the cost of freedom of speech. What a tragic waste and it made me ashamed of those Hollywood hypocrites, even though I was already a hypocrite in terms of my own faith. Still, there is right and wrong even if God does not exist.

“You’ll be okay, Andrew. I promise.”

My great grandfather, always trying to make things better or at least appear that way…

He was also a dirty old man but look at how some of the most famous of the original holy rollers got started. The chastity loving Saint Augustine immediately comes to mind. Prior to writing ‘City of God,’ he could have written articles for pornographic magazines.

“Harold, in a world that made any sense, the star of ‘Party School,’ the evil dictator of a Marxist country and a Bible thumper gone mad would never meet or collaborate on anything.”

“All of their hands, quite busy,” he said.

It was all so depressing; the irony was that the woman from Rapture was the one who might just usher in “the end times.” We were always taught that the antichrist was actually Nero. The fundamentals or at least quite a few of them, believed the world ending was and is always coming to a theater near you. Every generation believes that it’s the last and that they will be “ruptured’ up to heaven, missing out on the physical pains of death that those “left behind” will inevitably face.

“Folks like her always lusted for the end of the world, Harold.”

“Yes, Andrew, I think so.”

“Why?’

“I have to tell you why? Hell, son, you’ve seen her life. All she had was the sadistic hope of waiting for others to die so she could laugh while they roasted in hell for all eternity. Your parents… took that hope away from her.”

Perhaps she and big brother always had more in common than would ever meet the eye. Sadists who hated anyone who would ever dare to question them or who did not see the world the same way they did. God help anyone who ever had to submit to the authority of anyone like this in order to stay alive. That included Christianity in all of its forms through history as well as the most devout secular humanists.

“Once she uses these two men, she will get what she wants. This is either the destruction of all life on earth or the end of faith, the same faith she lost and wants no one else to have.”

“Please brainstorm with me, Andrew.”

“I will.”

“You see, I’m not real sure what to do anymore.”

“Neither am I.”

“She will get what she wants if she has enough time or at least a leg up on time, if she has enough of the bug meat.”

“Let’s have a drink,” said Harold.

“That’s your solution to everything,” I said.

I poured two stiff drinks and the dirty old man, my beloved great grandfather, my best friend smiled at me.

“Let’s propose a toast, son.”

“Okay,” I said. “What are we toasting, Harold?”

“Freedom, son, freedom is a blessed thing.”

There was no better reason to drink strong drink than that.

“Harold, to freedom…”

We raised our glasses.

“Andrew, to freedom…”

The Suffering Stranger

“The thunder and lightning, it frightens me,” said Melissa Jones.

“It’s all part of nature, you know. God designed the weather system that way,” said Pastor Richard Jones.

The sound of the thunder was very frightening indeed. It could make the most liberal theologian hasten back to the old idea of a wrathful God in the Old Testament. That would never have been an issue with Pastor Jones. He was as staunch an “old timer” as they came. No drinking, no dancing, no movies and no relationships with the inferior liberal churches. No, he was a man who loved his bible when it was taken literally. Pastor Jones was working on a sermon for the next morning when he heard a knock. He couldn’t tell if it was the thunder or an actual knock for a moment. He answered the door.

“Hello, brother.”

“Oh, Deacon Harris, please come in. How are you?”

“Fine, sir, I’m doing very well.”

“Mrs. Harris is fine as well, I hope.”

“Yes, thank you so much for asking.”

“What can I do for you?”

“May we talk privately, Pastor Jones?”

“Certainly we can talk alone.”

The men of God looked at the pastor’s wife and she smiled with absolute obedience. She knew quite well to obey her husband when his orders were given. Women who attended Bible Faith Church knew not to show disobedience. They also knew not to wear pants but rather modest dresses. The girls at Faith Bible Academy knew this too. It was one of the rare Christian schools that still used corporal punishment. The boys wore their hair short and were denied ever learning to cook. There were filed trips to the creation museum where dinosaurs had saddles. The word behemoth in the scriptures meant dinosaur and that beast was once tamed by man in Eden. No cooking for boys. That was for women like wearing pants was for boys. The deacon and the pastor were silent for a moment. Then the deacon said his peace like he had first intended.

“There is a man; he’s come here to Deer County. He said that he is in fact, a truth seeker. I have no idea what his intentions are. He’s already been preaching to people in town.”

“What does this have to do with us, deacon?”

“Well, with all due respect sir. It was everything to do with us. I think we should invite him to our church for a sermon.”

Deep in the most rural heart of Deer County, sat their little church. They did not often invite outsiders. On occasion, there would, of course be new people coming through town. That was fine. Many of them walked out on in the middle of a controversial sermon. These might include learning they were unsaved or that interracial marriage and dating was forbidden biblically. Still, the invitation to personally accept the lord was open at the end of every service.

“What makes this man so special, Deacon Harris?”

“Well, he has a way with folks. I mean I’m thinking that if we could get him saved, you know he could be a great crusader.”

“A great crusader, you say?”

“Yes, a tremendous one.”

“Good. Invite him then but make sure he’s no troublemaker. You know how I feel about troublemakers.”

“You just hate a rebellious spirit.”

“I am commanded to do so.”

“That’s why your son Richard Jr. turned out so well.”

“Well, that wasn’t the only reason. You well know that I am a firm believer in not sparing the rod and I never did.”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

“Well, goodnight, Jonathan.”

“Goodnight, Richard.”

The next day Jonathan went into town and saw the stranger. He didn’t like his slovenly appearance; he looked like some kind of rock star. He had long hair and a beard. The man’s appearance was unacceptable but that would change once he got saved.

The man was already headed in the wrong direction by lying to him. Who was this lunatic to act as if he knew who he was? That was quite an arrogant assumption on his part. Someday the younger Deacon would be pastor. The assistant pastor passed away the year before. As far as the folks in town knew, he left town over a dispute with Pastor Jones. The elderly pastor demanded strict obedience from his flock.

“Deacon Harris, you will be named assistant pastor soon.”

“It’s no secret that the assistant pastor resigned,” Harris said.

“I had heard that he was now dead,” said the stranger.

“Who are you?”

“In time, you will know.”

“I will know what?”

“I believe you came to invite me to your church?”

“Yes.”

“I accept your invitation.”

“Glory, amen.”

The stranger smiled an almost suspiciously condemning smile at the good deacon. Harris didn’t care for his personal appearance.

“I look forward to meeting your pastor.”

“Oh, friend, I guarantee you that he wants to meet you.”

The stranger kept his on and on with his oddball preaching. “Love each other as I have loved you…” It was mostly about that love nonsense. Loving each other and forgiving debts. The deacon was not impressed with these little street sermons coming from the stranger’s big hippie mouth. That would change in time, for sure. Harris was starting to think that perhaps Jones was a little weak. If this town was his, if he were pastor then he would not even allow such trouble to take place. Secular people and religious liberals are always afraid of good Christians imposing a so called theocracy. Harris hated that word. It implied that God should be kept out of the public square just as they had already removed him from the classroom. The sacrifices of true Christians against those who endured the false Christs of apostolic succession were immense. Their blood would not be spilled in vain. Not on his watch.

The deacon and pastor met at Jones’s study. The secretary brought them some coffee.

“What did you think?”

“Well, sir I must say…”

They heard a knock on Jones’s door and for a brief time were not sure what to do. Should they allow the stranger to come in through the door or leave him in the hall? They let him inside.

“Hello,” said Jones.

“Hello again,” said Harris.

“May I have a cup of coffee?” asked the stranger.

“Certainly you may. We’re not Mormons,” said Jones. He smiled briefly.

The two men laughed out loud but the stranger didn’t seem to understand the source of their humor. He just stood there until a chair was offered up to him. Then he smiled but it wasn’t a pleasant, pleased type of smile. It was almost an attempt to make them comfortable. Some of the folks who did leave the flock made some off color, disrespectful jokes and comments on their road to damnation. One such joke was that the deacon was known as the “that’s right” guy. All the preacher would have to do is speak and the deacon would repeat “that’s right” like some kind of parrot. The eyes of the stranger almost seemed to condemn them. It was like they were saying “that’s wrong.” The deacon was beginning to resent ever meeting this man.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said the stranger.

“You’re quite welcome,” the pastor answered.

The deacon nodded.

Jones was now a little bit more comfortable with the stranger than he had been mere seconds ago. Good manners and respect were held in the highest regard in his spiritual culture. Now the man could still have a rebellious spirit. It was clear that some type of spiritual problem was keeping him from dressing up like a man instead of a homeless hippie. Still, good manners forgave many a sin in his eyes.

“What is it you wanted to discuss?” asked Harris.

“Just to talk with you about beliefs and spirituality, that’s all.”

“I see,” said Jones. “There are very few of us who will be saved, sadly.”

“Is that so? “asked the stranger.

“Yes.”

“What do you base that on, sir?”

“The word,” answered Jones.

“I see.”

“Scripture is filled with verses of condemnation against the sinners who will burn forever in the lake of fire,” said Harris.

“Okay.” The stranger grimaced at the other man’s comment.

“This is the most important thing in the world. It’s literally the meaning of life itself. Most men, most women are doomed to hell. Doesn’t that alarm you?”

“No.”

“No?” asked Harris.

“What are you talking about, sir?” asked Jones.

“God is the judge of all; no man ever is or has been.”

“Yes but those of us who walk with the lord,” said Harris.

“Please be careful, pastor, deacon. There is more to following God’s paths then rules and regulations. Many who believed they were righteous will hear something else on the last day.”