The Messenger

by T. Davis Bunn

  Manny retraced his steps the best he could, his growing inward vision spurring him to hurry despite the weakness in his limbs. All that time, all those years, chasing after a good time, fueled by anger and bitter cynicism, certain he was strong enough to be his own man, unfettered by all that held the rest of the world down.

  What a joke. What a lie.

  His anger had been a trap. His so-called independence had left him nothing but blind. His good times had been the grease lubricating the slide to doom.

  Then something caught his eye.

  He stopped and realized that he was gasping for air. His legs felt encased in lead. He swung about, saw the gypsy drunk leering in his direction, one arm reaching out, begging for a dime. Then Manny felt the hair on the nape of his neck prickle upward as he caught sight of the man’s shadow. It crawled along the earth behind the drunk, but instead of holding to the outstretched form it weaved and beckoned, drawing other shadows to come and join and grow and strengthen. The shadow linked with others hauled from alleys and cellars and doorways until its arms began to lengthen and grow and stretch across the street and along the sidewalk and over the building like two great crablike claws reaching out and around where Manny stood.

  Manny turned and tried to run, but his footsteps were faltering and slow. He felt as though the very earth were trying to draw him deep inside. He craned and searched but could not find a sign he recognized, nor any indication of where he might be. His panic-stricken mind held to that thought as he fought and struggled onward, his legs carrying him in stumbling half-steps toward the corner. He had to get to that church where Roskovitz said he was working.

  From the corner of his eye he spotted the shadows racing forward, dark tentacles that split and grew and lengthened, a beast from the deep ready to ensnare and draw him down.

  Manny lifted his face to the sky, his neck so taut that the tendons stood out like cables, and screamed, “Help me!”

  The tentacles faltered, the load on his legs lightened, and he made the corner. Manny gripped the building’s edge, pulled himself around, and spotted a steeple up ahead. He gave a cry of pure relief and ran forward.

  ****

  “Miss Simpkins,” the hospice director said, beaming at the name. “Oh what a lovely lady she was.”

  Was. Clarice turned in time to see the word register on Ariel’s features. The young woman swallowed, then asked meekly, “She’s gone?”

  “Just yesterday. And what a pity, too. She said she was called back home, I forget exactly why, but it had to be something urgent. Right in the middle of the afternoon shift, she came and told me she had to leave that very minute.”

  The director was a woman in her fifties, plump and orderly and strong. The hospice itself occupied what once had been a grand private residence. Now there was the sense of settled quiet about the entrance hall, as well as the same strength that radiated from the director. She wore the weight of her work with the calm certainty of one not bearing the burden alone. “We shall miss her.”

  “Yes,” Ariel said simply, her face slack with disappointment. Then she picked herself up and asked, “Would it be all right if I visited the area where she worked?”

  The director looked doubtful. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We are a home for those who have nowhere else to go, you see. Some of them are not happy about their fate.”

  “I understand,” Ariel said quietly. “But it would be nice to see what she was doing before . . .” she hesitated, then finished, “before she left.”

  “Ariel worked in a hospital,” Clarice offered, seeing how much this fragile contact with her absent friend meant to her.

  “Oh, well, in that case.” The matron pointed through the pair of doors to her right. “She worked with patients in the central ward, just along there.”

  “Thank you,” Ariel said, her voice quietly submissive. With eyes downcast, she slipped through the doors and was gone.

  “What a strange young lady,” the director murmured, her gaze questioning.

  Clarice nodded her agreement, then explained how she had met Ariel. The director listened with the patience of one used to the chore of waiting. Clarice finished with, “I have so many questions about her myself. But one thing I can say for certain. She is a child of God.”

  The director opened her mouth to respond, but before she said anything the doors popped open once more, admitting a young nurse with the eyes of an ancient. “Did you send someone back here?”

  Both women turned together. The director demanded, “Is something the matter?”

  “It’s the strangest thing,” the nurse replied, shaking her head. “But until I saw her, I thought for sure Miss Simpkins was back.”

  Clarice followed the director and the nurse through the doors, down the hall, and into a cheerfully decorated room. It had the high ceiling and great windows of what once had been a formal parlor. Now a series of movable screens offered the choice of privacy to the seven beds, all of them occupied. But the screens were pulled back now, permitting in the brilliant summer sun.

  Clarice arrived in the doorway just as Ariel was rising from having knelt beside a bed. Clarice knew a moment of alarm when she realized the old woman lying there was crying.

  But as Ariel rose, the old woman refused to let go of her hands. Ariel gave a smile so gentle it twisted Clarice’s heart. Ariel bent over the wizened figure and spoke a few words and the old woman nodded back, her peaked chin quivering. Ariel slid one hand free, rested it on the old woman’s forehead, and closed her eyes. The old woman released a gasping sob. Ariel opened her eyes, bent down, and kissed the parchment-covered cheek. The old woman smiled through her tears as Ariel turned to the next bed, where a young child lay with arms already outstretched to greet her.

  Clarice watched and felt herself drawn into the scene, melding with both prayer and penitent as Ariel knelt beside the second bed. She had the impression that all light in the room was focused upon the kneeling figure. The child had eyes made overlarge by suffering, hollowed and aching in their unspoken need. She watched Ariel’s face with unblinking intensity. And as she did, the child’s dark stains of pain and fatigue eased, the pinched features softened, the shadows drew away.

  Ariel raised her head and opened her eyes. She spoke words so soft that only the tone carried to where the trio stood. The child managed a little smile and a smaller nod. Ariel reached out and stroked the little forehead. The child caught the hand and held it to her cheek. Clutching at more than just flesh, the eyes searched for what remained unseen to all but her questing gaze. Ariel spoke again, then reached over with both hands, her arms encircling the little form and drawing it to her breast. The child closed her eyes and released herself to the comfort of knowing love.

  A small sound drew Clarice’s attention away from the scene. She glanced up to see the nurse standing beside her, hands to her mouth, eyes overflowing. Clarice turned her attention back, full of the moment’s grace.

  She watched as Ariel went from bed to bed, carrying the light and the love with her. Received by each in silent communion, the message given so softly that it was meant for only one pair of ears, each time unique, each time the same. Sharing all she had with those in need. A prayer so strong and luminous that fear was vanquished, pain dimmed, and hope rekindled.

  Then, as Clarice watched Ariel rise from the final bed, the Spirit whispered to her heart. Clarice looked at the young woman, and she saw.

  ****

  “Manny!” The scarred giant crossed the church foyer with a grin and outstretched hand. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Welcome, brother!”

  Manny gripped John Roskovitz’s hand like a lifeline. He gasped, “They’re after me.”

  “Of course they are.” The grin carried the wisdom of shared experience. “You think they’re just gonna give up and let you be? After all this time you been one of the lost tribe?” Roskovitz shook his head. “They want you back, Manny. Ain’t nothing in their agreement says you can quit when you wan
t.”

  Manny’s free hand reached for a hold on the biker T-shirt. “What’m I gonna do?”

  “Calm down for a start,” Roskovitz said, gently prying himself loose. “They can’t follow you in here.”

  A ray of hope pierced his fear. “They can’t?”

  “This is God’s holy temple, filled with the power of prayer and living faith,” John assured him. “Come on, there’s somebody I want you to meet.”

  He led Manny down a side hall and into an office where a strong young black man sat talking on the phone. When he set the receiver down, John said, “Hale, like you to meet a new seeker. Manny, this is the guy that asked me down to Washington.”

  “Nice to meet you, Manny,” Hale said, coming around the desk with an outstretched hand.

  “Yeah, likewise,” he mumbled. So many smiles. So much difference from what he had seen outside. Manny’s inbred caution urged him to withdraw, but he was lured outward by the gentle luminosity in those dark eyes, the same light he saw in John’s gaze.

  “The brother’s coming from a place I’ve been myself,” John said. “Needs a little help from the God squad.”

  Hale nodded as though the words made perfect sense. “What did you have in mind?”

  John’s hand rested strong and reassuring on Manny’s shoulder. “I think maybe we ought to gather the strongest prayer warriors we can lay our hands on, help this brother set his burdens down.”

  ****

  “I went into the ward, and I thought for a moment I was going to drown in all that pain and fear,” Ariel told Clarice. “And then I remembered what you have been teaching me about prayer. So I prayed. And you were right.”

  They were driving back to the church in the car Reverend Townsend had lent them. Clarice listened to what Ariel was saying and waited. She knew she was going to have to speak, to say the words, but she did not know how.

  “Now I think I understand why I was called here. The lesson of prayer is at the heart of faith. I never understood that before. But I do now. It is not just a responsibility. Prayer is a gift. Prayer is our way of drawing heaven into our home and our lives here on earth.” Ariel looked out her side window and said, “The Father truly does dwell among us here.”

  “God is everywhere,” Clarice replied. So much was coming clear now.

  “I forgot that,” Ariel admitted. “No, not forgot, I simply did not comprehend. When I arrived, I found so much that was not of Him, I thought He had no place here. That He had made the world and then left it. But I was wrong. He is always here. And everywhere. Just waiting for hearts to open to Him and let Him enter.”

  “And then work through that heart on other hungry souls,” Clarice added.

  “I understand that now, thanks to you.” Ariel turned from the window. “I carry the Lord with me everywhere I go. It is the one gift I shall always have, the one I can never give enough of to others.” She was silent a long moment, then added, “If it is His will for me to stay and work here, then I accept it. Because now I understand.”

  Clarice found herself unable to wait any longer. She pulled over to the side of the street and parked. It took a long moment to release her grip on the wheel and turn to Ariel, and when she did she found the young woman watching her, quietly expectant.

  Clarice took a long breath, then said solemnly, “I think I know who you are, Ariel.” She gestured with one unsteady hand at the world outside the car. “You are not from here at all.”

  “No,” Ariel agreed, matching her solemn gaze. And she explained the story of her arrival, of her mission, of all that had happened since.

  There was a long silence before Clarice remembered to breathe. After that she was able to ask, “What is heaven like?”

  “It is home,” Ariel replied simply. “Our only home.”

  “Our home,” Clarice whispered, and seemed to give a little shiver. Another silence, then, “Do you know Jesus?”

  Ariel’s face bloomed with a light that suffused everything around her. “Yes,” she replied. “I know the Lamb. And He knows me.”

  Awe gave Clarice’s aged features the brightness of a little child’s. “What is He like?”

  Ariel returned the open gaze with a smile and the words, “You will see.”

  ****

  “What do I do?”

  “Just answer the call, brother.” John had not let go of Manny for an instant since his arrival. “The message is already there in your heart. Can you feel it?”

  “I guess so. Yeah.” Manny’s teeth were chattering so hard he could scarcely get out the words.

  They were seated in a side chamber, together with a circle of perhaps two dozen men and women, joined in hand and in Spirit. All eyes rested on Manny. Not in accusation, not in judgment. In joining.

  “We’re right here with you,” John said. “Walking the walk, helping you take that first step. The turning is just there in front of you. Are you ready?”

  Manny managed a nod. The trembling had spread throughout his entire frame, a shivering that moved in waves from the inside out. Pushing away all the dregs of who he was and what he had done. Making room for what was now to come.

  “Just let the love rain down from above,” John murmured. “Let the light shine for you, straightening out the path, showing you who you are.”

  Who he was. Empty of all that he had called himself, he felt a new wind begin blowing through him. Strange and frightening in its awesome power, yet blissfully welcome.

  “I will start with a little prayer,” John said. “Then let your heart speak for you. Admit you’ve done wrong, that you see it now and you’re ready to turn away from the sin and the tainted ways.”

  A pair of voices began praying softly across the way. Manny could not hear the words. But he could feel them. Their prayers joined with this newfound power, a silent shout of joy blowing through his heart.

  “Ask the Lord God to enter your life,” John went on. “Accept the gift of salvation offered by His Son.”

  More and more quiet voices joined in prayer, heads bowing around the room as one after another the brothers and sisters allowed the Spirit to speak through them. The silent chorus grew ever stronger in Manny’s heart, a witness to the power of what was now arriving.

  “Ask for His protection,” John said. “Ask for His cleansing and His love and His guidance. Ask for whatever you want, Manny. It is your right.”

  His right. Manny did not consciously drop his head. The gentle guiding hand was there, and this time he did not resist. He heard himself begin to speak, but he could not hear. His entire being was vibrating to the power of what grew within his awakening heart.

  Freedom.

  ****

  “It’s so quiet,” Clarice whispered, the silent church causing her to lower her voice. “Where is everybody?”

  “I don’t know,” Ariel replied quietly. “But something’s going on. I can feel it.”

  “Sure is,” announced a hearty voice. They turned as a bent old man shuffled out, pushing a mop in front of him. “They’re in a room back along that corridor there, and they’re praying their hearts out.”

  Ariel nodded, as though she already knew the answer. “Why aren’t you in there with them?”

  “Don’t need to be.” The janitor shambled over to his wheeled bucket, sloshed the mop in the water, pulled it up and twisted it dry in one practiced motion. “I can pray just as strong out here. ’Sides, I got work to do.”

  Clarice felt the coming of unspoken wisdom, a gift of insight beyond herself. She glanced at Ariel and let herself be guided into saying, “My name is Clarice, and this is my friend Ariel. She needs praying over.”

  Both the janitor and Ariel looked up at her. But it was the old man who spoke. “That a fact?”

  “Yes,” Clarice replied. “She has fallen from heaven and wants to return to God’s sweet embrace.”

  The old man looked at Ariel. “That true, what she’s saying?”

  “Yes,” Ariel said, her eyes big as saucers
. “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, ain’t a soul on earth who hasn’t stumbled and fallen at one time or another. Happens to the strongest believer.” The janitor set his mop back in the bucket, turned his full attention on Ariel. “What’s important now is that the erring child wants to be reconciled. Returned to the fold and joined again with the Maker of all.”

  “Oh yes,” Ariel said. Stronger now. “I want that more than anything.”

  “I hear the truth in your voice,” the janitor said, and wiped his hands on his trouser legs. “Wait here just one minute, let me see if they’re ready to help another.”

  When the janitor had shuffled off, Ariel walked over and grasped Clarice’s hand. “Do you really think it will work?”

  “Ask and you shall receive,” Clarice repeated. “My whole life has been built upon the truth in those words.”

  ****

  The janitor came back with one of the biggest men Clarice had ever seen. “Which one of you sisters is Ariel?”

  “I am.” Her voice was soft, yet strong as the wind.

  “I’m John Roskovitz. He shook hands with her, then with Clarice. His eyes were bright as midnight lanterns. “Got to tell you, the Spirit’s strong in there. Strong.”

  “That’s just exactly what we need,” Clarice replied for them both.

  “Never can tell who God is gonna use,” John said, ushering them down the hall. “Might even be you or me, we let Him have His way.”

  They entered the room to find a group of smiling people clustered around one young man, whose face was suffused with newfound wonder. Clarice felt Ariel start at the sight of him. The young man glanced over, jerked just as Ariel had, and exclaimed, “I don’t believe this.”

  “Better stop with that right smart,” the janitor said, shuffling in and seating himself. “Belief is something you can’t have enough of.”

  “It is you,” Ariel said.

  “Bet your life,” the young man said. He reached into a hidden pocket of his vest, came out with a shining silver card. “This yours?”

  “Oh yes.” Staring at it, at him, then to Clarice, wonder filling her features. “But how—”