The Atua Man

by John Stephenson

  The arguments kept going on in his head. It wasn’t just Gary. They needed the staff. They needed to invest the money and make it work for the Ministry. Ministry? Jason had never been religious, nor did he accept religious dogma and theology as relevant to modern life. Now, he could debate the most learned of scholars about many of the world’s sacred texts and point out the differences between doctrine and mystical principle. But that was not what he was about. His mantra was freedom! Ironically, he had become a prisoner of his own creation.

  Jason sat before the large windows in his parlor looking out into the darkness. He was in his meditation chair and he started to clear his mind. Although the thoughts and judgments came like Niagara Falls, he struggled to keep them at bay. He kept focusing on the spaces between the thoughts until they slowed down and he found moments of stillness. He settled into his chair and experienced deeper and longer moments of complete mental stillness. But a thought came that jarred him back to the chaos of the past two days.

  He opened his eyes and looked down at his arms. They were still on top of the armrest. He got up and walked over to Lillian’s chair. He moved it a little; so that it wasn’t in the exact place the maid had put it. He didn’t want to admit to superstition, but his last few meditations in that room had led to events out of his control. Was there some kind of portal here? He rejected that thought. What he’d experienced was an activity of his consciousness and it was about his quest to know spiritual oneness. That was the foundation of mysticism, oneness—one life, one substance and one love.

  He turned on the light. Satisfied with his preparations, he sat in Lillian’s chair and it didn’t take long to still his mind completely. Jason then entered the deep realm of silence.

  Voices talking softly around him caused him to open his eyes. Jason didn’t know where he was. He was in a different room. It had wood framed sofas up against the walls and a large Persian carpet on the floor. He saw a kitchen through an open door where people talked in quiet but anxious conversation. Jason couldn’t understand the language, but thought they were an extended family—two men, two women, a few children and an older man with a white beard. He closed his eyes again, contemplating his purpose for being there.

  Outside the building he heard the popping sounds of gunfire.

  He opened his eyes again, stood up and walked into the middle of the room. That movement caught the eye of the two girls in the kitchen. They were in their late teens, and when they saw Jason they jumped.

  The men in the kitchen reacted to the girls and also saw Jason. They panicked and pushed their women and younger children into a corner. The older man ran into the living room yelling at Jason. The other men followed and joined the old man, who was in Jason’s face. Jason put his hands across his chest in a prayfull gesture.

  “I come in peace,” Jason said, not knowing what else to do.

  Automatic weapon fire exploded outside on the street. And then another blast rattled the windows and sent plaster dust falling from the ceiling. The older man turned from Jason and drove everyone out through the kitchen. One of the girls darted back into the living room, followed by the other girl and the men.

  “You’re the English healer!” the first girl cried out in accented English.

  Everything stopped. The girl’s recognition of Jason brought a moment of peace. The men put their arms around the girls, and things seemed normal for an instant.

  The mood was broken when more gunfire slammed into the walls and shattered the windows. The girls dropped to their knees. The men blocked the front door just as it exploded into the room, throwing them backwards onto the floor. A squad of British soldiers burst in, ducking and weaving and clinging to the walls just like in the movies.

  The old man was again shepherding the rest of the family out the back door.

  “Stop!” the first soldier in the house shouted as he ran toward the kitchen. He aimed at the fleeing family, but Jason crashed into him. He missed his shot and shot up the kitchen instead. Chunks of plaster fell from the walls and the cupboards and appliances were destroyed.

  Jason grabbed the soldier. “They’re unarmed!” he shouted.

  The soldier twisted free, ready to shoot Jason, but two of his buddies stopped him.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” one of the soldiers demanded.

  “Where are we?”

  “Baghdad, you idiot.”

  “These are just ordinary people, a terrified family,” Jason said.

  The squad leader pushed his men aside and threw Jason into a chair. “How would you know, you fuck? This whole street is nothing but fucking Al Qaeda.” The sergeant turned to his men and shouted, “Search the house for weapons. Secure the people on the floor and find those who ran away!”

  “They were little boys and an old man.” Jason stood up and the sergeant pushed him back down with the butt of his rifle.

  “Shut up. We’ve been attacked by women in hijabs hiding suicide belts.”

  “Do you know who’ve you got here, Sarge?” said the corporal pointing his carbine at the people on the floor.

  “Probably some fucking reporter from the Guardian doing a human interest on the poor suffering people of Baghdad.”

  “No. He’s Jason St. John! The healer!”

  “The fucking Antichrist. Wouldn’t you know he’d be in Baghdad, stirring up trouble?”

  The sergeant lifted his C-8 carbine and fired a line of bullets from the floor to the ceiling right where Jason sat. The corporal tackled the sergeant, wrestled his gun from him while screaming at him to stop.

  The men chasing the escaping Iraqis rushed back and stopped in shock. The chair Jason had been sitting in was empty. A line of bullet holes had cut it in two.

  The sergeant, recovering from his anger, turned to his men and pointed to the chair. “This is fucking insane!”

  The corporal cried, “But you shot him.”

  “We all saw it!” another soldier yelled.

  “Then where’s the body?” The sergeant walked around behind the shattered chair.

  “No. He grabbed me. I felt his body,” said the soldier Jason had seized. “You did too! You shoved him into that chair and shot him.”

  “It was a fucking hallucination,” the sergeant said. “You all got that?”

  “We’ve been here too long. We’re seeing things.” The corporal said lowering his weapon.

  Chapter 18

  Chester, England

  Thursday Morning, November 2004

  Lillian woke up early to a gloomy morning. She’d slept in her old bedroom and hadn’t liked the fact that after being away from home for twenty-four years her parents had not changed one thing. Everything was in the same place it had been in since she left the Queen’s School and went off to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London.

  Lillian put on her robe and went downstairs. She stopped on the second-floor landing and peeked through the curtains. The car was still there. It had been there all night. She continued to the kitchen where she put on the kettle. She left the kettle and walked over to the den where Alex had spent the night. She peeked in to check on him. He was sound asleep on the sofa.

  The kettle began to sing, and Lillian rushed back to the kitchen before the sound of the whistle woke everybody up. She made a mug of black tea, adding just the right amount of milk and honey, and took her perfect drink into the parlor where she sat in the window seat to catch the early morning light. She looked out the window again at the car parked across the street. It couldn’t be from the Ministry. It didn’t look like a Ministry car and she didn’t believe they had followed her. It wasn’t a secret where her parents lived. No. It was someone else. A reporter? Hopefully not some kook bent on assassinating her husband.

  Across the room she heard a moan. There, on the sofa, was Jason. Lillian jumped up and ran to him. Jason was pale; his clothes were filled with dust, and his T-shirt was bloodstained, with a line of holes in it from his belt to his neck. She stifled a scream and took Jas
on in her arms, whispering, “What happened? Are you alright?”

  “I need some water,” he said weakly.

  “What did you do? Can you sit up?”

  Jason took a deep breath, and using the back of the sofa, pulled himself up. “What time is it? What day is it?”

  “About seven on Thursday.” Lillian got up and dashed to the kitchen. There she filled a glass of water and dampened a tea towel. When she returned Jason had his head down and his elbows resting on his knees. She sat next to him and gave him the water. He drank a few sips and looked at her with fear in his eyes. Lillian’s first impulse was to cry as she ran the cool cloth over her husband’s face. “What’s going on, Jason?

  “I don’t know.” He placed a hand on hers and with the other he lifted his shirt where a line of welts the size of fifty-pence coins ran up his torso. There was very little blood and streaks of dirt obscured his tattoos. “I know people hate me, but I’ve never really felt that hatred until now.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was told I was in Baghdad.”

  “Baghdad!?” Lillian tried to keep her distress at bay. She did not want to lose her husband this way.

  “I don’t know why I’m taken where I’m taken. I’ve been thinking about that since I first appeared at the hospital. Is it someone reaching out to the Spirit that draws me? Those girls in the hospital were asleep. It wasn’t a conscious thing on their part. And I was just in a Muslim house in Iraq.”

  “Who shot you? Terrorists?”

  “No. British soldiers.”

  Lillian continued dabbing the cool cloth over his chest and the line of welts. The act of tending Jason’s fast disappearing wounds, kept her from thinking too much about their situation.

  “They’re good shots,” Lillian said and immediately regretted it. “I mean, how can you have survived?”

  “I don’t know. I’m in this other dimension, I guess, with my body, and …”

  Lillian threw the towel on the floor and hugged him. She squeezed him and felt his solid flesh in her arms. She kissed his neck and face and tasted his salty sweat. He smelled of fear and dust and gunpowder. “This is too bizarre. I don’t think I can handle it.”

  He hugged and kissed her back, and they both began to laugh and cry at the same time.

  “Shush,” Lillian said, “I don’t want to wake Alex.” She caressed his face and then leaned back into his arms.

  “When Jesus appeared to his disciples after his Resurrection, according to Scripture, he had the same body with all the wounds of the Crucifixion. What if I enter that dimension of life when my ‘instant appearing’ occurs? My physical body was in that Baghdad living room and I have the marks of being shot, but nothing happened.”

  “What if you left before the bullets could penetrate into your chest?”

  “Then it wasn’t by conscious thought. I had no idea that soldier would shoot me.”

  “Do you remember him? Could you identify him?”

  “Not really.” He struggled for the right words. “This phenomenon is more on a feeling level than a mental level. I felt the fear of the Iraqis, but also the longing of that family to protect itself. The two girls were in awe. Their love was incredible. Then I felt the anger and fear of the soldiers. And then, one soldier … oh, the one that said my name, I felt a wonderful recognition from him, but then the hatred exploded from the soldier who shot me.”

  “What if all of this is connected to what happened to you in the Marquesas?”

  “That was fifteen years ago. Why do you think there’s a connection?”

  “You’ve never really faced that experience, J.J. You’ve told bits and pieces, but I can tell there are parts of what happened that you’re afraid to look at.”

  “I think I’ve analyzed it from every angle. You don’t think I purged all that trauma when I wrote my book?”

  “I think you went as deep as you could. Maybe something you overlooked is coming to the surface now.”

  “I don’t think so. This is new. It hasn’t any connection to the past.”

  Lillian shook him, struggling to control her fear and anger. “You said it would never happen again. We had a family meeting. I had to escape from London with Alex, and he’s now wondering who you really are. You’ve got to think about us.”

  “What do you think I’ve been hiding?” Jason grew a little angry. “You know me better than anyone. I don’t want these manifestations to continue any more than you do. If you think they’re caused by some latent curse from a South Seas tuhuna … “

  “I never said that.” Lillian let go of Jason and turned from him.

  “But you’ve felt this—when we held hands meditating. You saw how easily we just fell into it.” He took her hand and brought her back into his embrace.

  “I don’t know. Something must draw you to these places.”

  “Those girls wanted to be healed. Baghdad was entirely different. I couldn’t sleep. I was furious at Gary. The duty officer actually handcuffed me in the dining room.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why don’t we just leave it all?”

  “What would that solve? You know as well as I do that we’d just carry all this with us”

  “You know, J.J., your entire experience is an out-picturing of your state of mind.” Lillian didn’t mean to sound so condescending.

  “I guess my mind is a warzone then.” He paused and rubbed his temples. “The only way to understand this is in the stillness of that deep peace. But when the peace takes you into another dimension, and deposits you … who knows where? It’s not something I want. What enables me to heal is the oneness and omnipotence of the spirit within me—whatever it’s called. It’s the same spirit that’s in everyone. If this were a universal, transcendental activity, something coming from universal consciousness, it would be harmonious, filled with love, and a blessing to all. Right now, I’m not seeing that. To be jerked here or there because people are thinking about me, or praying to me, is hell!”

  “Why one place and not another? Maybe you’re being called on to recognize the non-reality of disease or dissolve the hatred and brutality of war.” Lillian got up thinking how stupid she sounded trying to be rational. “It’s too strange. My tea’s cold. You want a cup?”

  Jason followed her into the kitchen. “The ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ of this are going to take a while to figure out, if they ever can be. What I’m most worried about is my being here and what your parents and Alex are going to think.”

  Lillian lighted the fire under the kettle again and took another cup from the china closet.

  “Dad.” Alex stood in the doorway. “I thought I heard you come in. Can I have some tea too?”

  Lillian went over to Alex and gave him a hug. “I thought you were sound asleep.”

  “I heard you guys talking.

  “Your dad just surprised me, that’s all.”

  “Just like he surprised Irma?” Alex said.

  “Go get your dad a dressing gown. There should be one in the wardrobe in Grandpa’s den,” Lillian said as she got another cup down for Alex.

  “Did Dad do another one of his—‘instant appearing’?”

  Jason found a package of muffins in the breadbox. “Alex, why don’t you set the table and we’ll talk?”

  Alex stood there, looking at his parents with a teenage defiance. “I thought we were all going to level with each other. First mom kidnaps me from school and tries to outrun Gary and his goons, but everybody knows where we are, and some strangers have been watching us all night. I’m not stupid.”

  “No one thinks you’re stupid, Alex.” Jason gave the muffins to Lillian and she took everything into the dining table. She and Alex sipped their tea in silence.

  “It’s love that drew me here,” Jason said, coming back into the room wearing a robe. “That’s got to be the secret behind what’s happening, otherwise why wouldn’t I return to where I’d started, like the first time?”

  “Where did you go?” Alex a
sked.

  “That’s not important,” his father answered.

  “It is important. I’m part of this too,” Alex insisted.

  “The question is, can I control it?” Jason continues. “Can my affection for you keep me here, where you are?”

  “Don’t use us as an anchor, Jason. As much as this frightens me, I don’t want to be the one who prevents some quantum shift in human perception,” Lillian said.

  “So, where were you?” Alex got frustrated at being ignored.

  “Iraq,” Lillian whispered.

  “Holy shit.” Alex’s language went unnoticed.

  “We need to figure out what to do next.” Jason reached for more sugar and the tattoos on his arm seemed to glow. He pulled the sleeve of his robe down to hide them.

  “Why haven’t you ever told me about Uncle Dave and the South Seas?”

  “Well, maybe it’s time I did.”

  Chapter 19

  Ala Wai Yacht Harbor

  Monday May 1, 1989

  The sun was just breaching Diamond Head when Larry drove up to his yacht. The Mata‘i listed noticeably to port, which was caused by all the gear and provisions that had been loaded onto that side of the yacht to compensate for the upcoming twenty-five-hundred-mile voyage south, most of it on a port tack.

  “I think you overdid your storage plan.” Byron got out of Larry’s car and grabbed his gear

  “Once we’re underway you’ll appreciate it.”

  Byron followed Larry onto the boat and Larry went below where David was sound asleep.

  “How you doing, Dave?” Larry said cheerfully, waking him up. “Ready for our little voyage?”

  It took David a moment to compute where he was. “Yes, sir.”