Am I Being Followed?

by G. M. Hutchison

  But conscience wasn’t the final arbiter, I had once heard the Pastor declare. You had to go a bit deeper than that if you wanted to resolve any uncertainty you might have about what was right and what was wrong. Weren’t very evil men capable of having a good night’s sleep? he would ask.

  Although I had doubts about some of the things he said with such apparent authority, I hoped, for his sake, that it wasn’t true, as Alexis De Tocqueville, the great 19th century French historian had said in the Book Collection, that no man can struggle to advantage against the spirit of the age, for I was beginning to see that this was the kind of struggle which the Pastor was actually involved in, but perhaps more significantly, if I was absolutely honest with myself, the beliefs that underpinned his world view were gradually becoming things I was giving some weight to in my own struggle, too. His beliefs had made a much deeper impression on me than I thought.

  The way he had justified his uncompromising stance on issues I had long since thought dead had certainly made me sit up and think. Giving in to his suggestion that I go back and re-examine some of these old-fashioned beliefs didn’t necessarily mean that I had was being got at, like a convert to the teachings of some ridiculous cult, I had reasoned with myself at the time.

  But what then was the true nature of what I was being drawn into that could so effect my way of looking at things, even when it looked like I wasn’t going to get caught? In what way was the Pastor’s world view cutting into my own? Maybe if I could get to the bottom of this I would feel a good bit better about myself.

  To him, for a start, the planet wasn’t just suspended in space with the human race being left, or always having been, on its own, to face the diverse threats to its existence. Indeed, many of these very threats, according to him, were directly connected to what he saw as the hand of an almighty God on human affairs which, in the way he told it, seemed a bit more than just an old fashioned fear of God. Even the climate change he had used to introduce the subject was topical.

  The Bible, as he had pointed out so often, was replete with passages in which certain natural disasters, similar to those occurring today, were described as punishments for wrong doing, meted out to countries and peoples whose conduct was contrary to an exacting divine standard.

  The list he had recited was easy to remember and included floods, famines, storms, earthquakes, insect pests, and diseases, to which he had added those other scourges – war, unemployment and loss of economic prosperity, attributing all of these to the same root cause.

  And to make matters worse it wasn’t as though ‘modern man’ hadn’t been warned, he had pointed out, just as much as man had been warned in Noah’s day and afterwards, as Linda was always saying. That the apostles were quite few in number, as was commonly thought, and couldn’t have reached all that many people with their message, was something he strongly refuted. Paul was only one of thousands who had spread the message to the far corners of the world. There were hundreds of churches in North Africa, for example, in the 2nd Century, and in Mongolia a little later. The heathenism which pervades many parts of the globe was more often than not attributable to a rejection of the truth which had been delivered at an earlier period in history, according to him.

  If all this was an integral part of the Pastor’s world-view then how did my own world-view relate to it and how were his ideas eating into mine.

  Or, perhaps more to the point, did I really have a world-view worthy of the name? Wasn’t I really just an observer pleased to gain an occasional insight of some kind from one of my books. But no, his ideas did supplant mine, I could see. For if many of these great events I had read of in the Book Collection had indeed been influenced by various kinds of divine intervention then this showed history up in a very different light from the one I had grown used to.

  Was the calm sea at Dunkirk heaven sent to allow the bulk of the British Army in France and some of its allies to escape the Germans. Was the Battle of Britain won by the Royal Air Force alone, or was the victory also decided at a much higher altitude. Was France, with all its huge armies, defeated by the Germans in a few days because of a non-military intervention?

  Even if the Scriptures were writings of less than divine origin, as his opponents would say, the many excerpts he used as examples of divine intervention had more than a ring of truth to them. The actual events themselves were often recorded in the history books of the period, too, and the explanations he gave for their occurrence sounded appropriate, regardless of whether or not his sources were inspired.

  To dismiss out of hand the connection he made between the catastrophes that befell certain nations and the great wrongs they had committed I now felt was unreasonable. Would anyone say that Gibbon was automatically wrong about the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire just because he, like the Pastor, hadn’t actually witnessed the events and was without a certain kind of proof.

  Was it all that far-fetched to say that the Syrian leaders in days of old had lost their power and that their people were enslaved because they slaughtered the population of Gilead. And that Tyre, Nineveh and Babylon fell because they conducted their business affairs dishonestly. Were these assertions not even worthy of being given a hearing?

  When he split up the various kinds of national misdemeanours that God so thoroughly disapproved of into three groups – political, religious and moral – to my surprise almost every example he quoted from the ancient world brought to mind similar behaviour on the part of several countries as recently as just before, during and after the two World Wars.

  In fact, so easy to recognise in recent history were the kind of misdemeanours he described that I could recite them from memory.

  Those of a political nature were:

  •Breaking treaties.

  •Committing atrocities.

  •Undermining the government of other countries.

  •Being ruthless towards those seen as enemies.

  •Being aggressive towards other countries to promote own national self-interest.

  •Lacking sympathy for countries in trouble.

  •Being arrogant because of one’s industrial might and power.

  •Plundering fallen nations.

  •Slaughtering the innocent to achieve military gains.

  Those of a religious nature:

  (These were more controversial since the right to indulge in some of them would be upheld today, even applauded, by many people holding ‘liberal’ or ‘liberalising’ views.)

  •Bending the truth to accommodate immoral behaviour.

  •Allowing false teaching to be freely disseminated.

  •Scorning the advice given by religious leaders.

  •Indulging in pagan practices and making false claims for them.

  •Adoring and worshipping men instead of their creator.

  And finally, those concerning morals:

  (As for the evils committed within this group, so ingrained and widespread were they, he declared, that most of them wouldn’t even be recognised for what they are.)

  •Being ungrateful for the fact that all basic needs were being met.

  •Pining after a life of luxury and self-indulgence.

  •Allowing dishonest commercial practices to become the order of the day.

  •Being lethargic and indifferent to very important national issues.

  •Encouraging vanity to the point of absurdity in women.

  •Approving, even applauding, various kinds of immorality.

  It wasn’t just the Pastor’s ability to clearly identify these misdemeanours that had so impressed me, it was the skill with which he could place the events, both the crime and the punishment, in a realistic historical setting.

  The opposing point of view in which the wayward instincts of man, which drove him to these extremities, would be gradually rendered harmless as civilisation advanced, without any need of a divine regu
lator, sounded good but there was absolutely no sign of its being true. As I thought again of some of the evils described on the Pastor’s list and of my own petty little transgression in making these deliveries I knew at last what it was that was really bothering me. To do something and know you would never be found out was one thing, but to know that a day of judgement would definitely dawn and that all your acts were being observed, recorded and measured was a simple restraint of great magnitude, not just effecting the human race as a whole but bearing down, right at this minute, on me.

  Only going to Church in the first place to please Aunt Grace, and after that mainly because of Linda, I was now reciting the Pastor’s list of political, religious and moral sins as if my life depended on it. There was no doubt the pressure was taking its toll. I was beginning to develop a genuine and heartfelt fear of God, in spite of my otherwise worldly view of life.

  I pulled into a lay-by to gather my thoughts and clear my mind, parking at the opening, on this occasion, so that I could better see the occupants of any cars that might pull in beside me.

  The rays from that ‘far distant heavenly body’ were once again heating up the inside of the car but in spite of the heat and the lack of fresh air my head began to clear. The significance of the blinding light caused by the sun shining directly onto the bonnet of the car didn’t escape me.

  Who were the Pastor’s opponents? I had to ask myself again, the people whose views I no longer found so convincing. For the most part, I felt, they seemed to be people who would propel your thoughts back millions of years in support of their ideas, along a highway strewn with signposts marked Science in large print but with the words, Assumption, Possibility and Probability, in very small print, written underneath.

  The Pastor, in introducing me to the basic tenets of his world view hadn’t had to go back nearly as far as these scientists. With him, for practical purposes, it had all started at the Flood. What Flood? I remember asking myself at the time. Surely he meant the local ones. That he had meant a world-wide one, had come as a surprise. How could he still believe this?

  That none of the geological evidence for or against this world-wide flood was considered to be conclusive surprised me even more. He wasn’t flying in the face of all the facts, after all.

  But how could someone in this day and age attempt to turn the story of Noah into a main line issue, I couldn’t help asking myself once more, when it was really a topic suitable for children’s books?

  Easy, according to the Pastor. Hadn’t Christ himself wholeheartedly endorsed it? Wasn’t that reason enough? he had asked. Throwing out the story of Noah and The Flood meant, at the same time, disposing of the moral judgement that lay behind it and that, from his point of view, said it all. Man wanted the freedom to do anything he wanted. He didn’t want such things as divine restraining orders to hinder him or other divine enactments which might call him to account. Not only did they not exist, they weren’t needed. Man was quite capable of sorting things out himself, even if there was little real evidence of it.

  But surely the number of war dead, even in recent times, killed in action or otherwise removed from the scene of time, suggested that man was beyond self-help. How could ‘civilised’ man purport to place such a high value on a single human life and yet so frequently find a reason to destroy it en masse. That organised religion had often mishandled, even manhandled its application of the divine edicts he was willing to admit, but that didn’t annul them. It was just that they weren’t wanted.

  But wanted or not, he had gone on, they are there just the same and just as surely as God has set up the Law of Nature by which fruit falls from the tree and fire burns the finger, the former making even the premier league footballer tumble to the ground and the latter the professional fire fighter run for his life, so has he set up the Moral Law with different but just as certain means of enforcement.

  Like the above Law of Nature which the footballer and fire fighter are so respectful of, so is the Moral Law, often in a less immediate and therefore less obvious way, exerting its full force on those who have chosen to disregard it.

  ‘This is God’s world, not man’s,’ I remembered him saying. ‘And while man can often choose his actions, he can’t, in the same way, choose the results of these actions.’ According to him, any man who thought he could disregard the Moral Law with impunity was a moral imbecile. As I drove along the dual carriageway with nothing in my rear view mirror to disturb my thoughts I felt, with inescapable finality, that all this applied to me.

  It was impossible to ignore it. Whether I had been got at, persuaded or enlightened was academic and didn’t alter the overall effect his ideas were having on me. What the Pastor said wouldn’t go away.

  And, even if there did seem to be pieces missing from his world view, the extent to which I nevertheless felt able to subscribe to it was enough. Although I wasn’t pleased with the suddenness of my about-face I knew that, come what may, I had to completely sever my connection with the work I was doing for Andy, and with the men who were behind it. It didn’t matter what it made me look like. I wasn’t just having cold feet, and even if I was it wasn’t for the usual reason. It wasn’t a question of getting caught. Deep within me I felt I had been caught already.

  Pleased that I had made a firm and clear decision, albeit for a seemingly very old fashioned reason, the fear of God, and that the fear of God was said to be the beginning of wisdom, I began to enjoy the drive. I realised that the cars behind me were unlikely to be following me for ‘right’ was now very much on my side.

  But the strong feeling of relief gradually slipped away as I wondered what I was going to say to Andy.

  chapter eighteen

  In spite of all my soul-searching I found it hard to put out of my mind the fact that the envelope Andy had given me, containing my cash payment, represented the only real progress I had made in my efforts to solve my financial problems. I slipped the envelope into my pocket and sat back in a chair outside the caravan to consider the best way of telling him about my decision to give up the work. It was going to be a lot harder to say ‘no’ than it had been to say ‘yes’.

  Unexpectedly, Andy slid another envelope across the table and onto my lap.

  “This one’s a nuisance,” he said. “It’s a job I want to get out of the way.”

  “Oh right,” I muttered, before I had managed to tell him about what was on my mind.

  “Big Tom’s away and you’re the only one available to do this run,” he added. “I’m glad you’re here, John.”

  I lifted up the envelope, hesitating as I was about to tuck it into my pocket beside the other one. I didn’t want to go back on my decision but I didn’t want to let Andy down either.

  “And I thought I’d better tell you, John,” he said, again before I could find the right words, “I’m leaving Bartons. I’ll be out of this hell-hole in a few days,” he declared, with a broad grin on his face.

  “You mean this is going to be my last job?” I asked, relieved at first that I might not after all have to tell him I had decided not to continue with the work but suddenly and sadly aware of the fact that this might also bring to an end the evenings in the Old Toll Bar and the weekends at the caravan. Were Karen, Big Tom, Liz, all going to vanish into a way of life I was no longer a part of?

  “Of course it won’t be your last job,” Andy answered. “The deliveries won’t be affected just because I’m leaving Bartons. Don’t worry, John, your future is secure with me,” he went on, affecting the authoritative but kindly tone of a benevolent employer, and then grinning in his usual way.

  I wasn’t surprised. His words only confirmed what I already knew. Andy wasn’t the kind of person who let you down. It was me who had been about to walk out on him. If he needed me for this run, then I was going to do it.

  “Will you still be working in Fire Protection?” I asked him, feeling that I was entitled to an explana
tion, of some sort at least.

  “Hardly,” he replied, scowling.

  That his answer suggested he might not want to take me into his confidence disappointed me, but I tried not to show it.

  “I suppose you’re wondering what this is all about?” he asked, now saying exactly what I wanted to hear and what I had learned to expect from him. The conversation always seemed to flow like this when I was talking to him. With Andy, there were never any subtle undertones that made you suspect his motives. He was always straight with you, someone you could trust, and if he held anything back deceit was never a part of it.

  “To be honest, Andy, I am wondering,” I admitted. “What kind of business are we in?” I asked, hoping I could at least get a few things cleared up. What were we actually doing? What kind of criminal was I?

  “Well it’s not drugs, John, in case that’s what you’re thinking. It’s often just money. You know, transactions you don’t want to record.”

  “Laundering?”

  “Sometimes, but sometimes just payments for services rendered. That kind of thing. It’s just a back to basics and much safer way of doing business, that’s all. But we’re into something much bigger now,” he added enthusiastically.

  “And that’s why you’re leaving Bartons?”

  “It’s something to do with it. Up to now I’ve been a kind of transport manager. I organise the runs, make sure everything gets from A to B, and sometimes do a bit of heavy stuff if it’s needed.”

  “Heavy stuff?”

  “A spin off from the army,” he further explained. I was in Special Forces for five years with Big Tom. When we came out I set up a security company down south. The Operation made me an offer, and here I am, a good bit safer than I was in the army, at least for most of the time, and with a lot more money to spend.”