Eli

by Bill Myers

  Conrad grabbed Suzanne’s hand and yelled, “Come on!”

  They started forward, tucking their heads down, fighting to keep their balance against the wind. Conrad stole a glance to Jake. The man stood half in and half out of the cellar waving and shouting, though it was impossible to hear him over the wind and growing roar.

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  A loud CRACK exploded above their heads. Conrad looked to see a giant tree limb tearing from its trunk. “Look out!” He pushed Suzanne to the ground, instinctively throwing himself over her. The limb slammed down with a powerful WHOMP, its smaller branches slapping their bodies, the main limb barely missing them.

  Conrad scrambled back to his feet, pulling Suzanne with him. “Let’s go!” Branches whipped and scratched as they crawled over and through them. The wind grew louder, the roar deafening.

  They were close enough to hear Jake’s voice now, as he continued shouting and waving. “Hurry! Hurry!”

  They stumbled out of the remaining branches, half falling, then running as fast as they could across the wet grass. The rain was turning to hail. It began clicking and clattering about them.

  “Hurry!”

  Finally they arrived, breathless and soaked to the skin.

  “You guys all right?” Jake yelled.

  They nodded. “Where is everybody?” Conrad shouted.

  “Down here!” a voice called from below.

  He looked down the steep wooden steps to see a Coleman lantern glowing on a table. Familiar faces of the group were huddled around it. At least a dozen. More in the shadows.

  He turned back to Jake as they helped Suzanne down the slippery steps. “What’s that noise?” he shouted.

  Jake motioned to his left. Conrad turned and sucked in his breath. Out in the field, a hundred yards from the lane and two hundred yards up it, was a swirling vortex of wind and cloud and debris. A tornado. He’d seen enough of them on TV and in the movies, but it took a moment to register that this was the real thing.

  “Where’s Eli?” Jake shouted.

  “Isn’t he here?”

  Jake shook his head. “I thought he was with you! Must have gone on one of those prayer walks of his!”

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  “You mean he’s out there?” Conrad yelled.

  “Everyone else is accounted for!”

  Conrad fought back his panic. He saw Jake doing the same. Neither said a word. They turned and resumed looking across the pastures, the outbuildings, down the lane. From time to time Conrad would steal a peek over at the funnel cloud as it continued to approach. What awesome power.

  There was another crack, then a tearing sound.

  “Look out!”

  Conrad turned just in time to see a handful of shingles from the barn’s roof heading for them. They ducked, dropping to the stairs, as several crashed around them, striking the door, knocking it out of Jake’s hand. The wind threw it backwards, snapping off one of its hinges. The people below cried out in fear.

  “Get down here!” Robert’s voice shouted. “Get down here where it’s safe!”

  Conrad turned to Jake and yelled over the wind, “We better get below!”

  “You go! I’m staying!”

  “Jake!”

  The big guy shook his head and continued to scan the fields.

  It was useless to debate. Jake may not be the brightest bulb in the pack, and there were times Conrad could barely stand his good ol’ boy mentality, but there was something about his commitment and unswerving dedication to Eli—like a bulldog refusing to leave his master—that told him it would do no good to argue.

  “Connie!” Robert yelled. He’d taken a tentative step up the stairs. “Jake! Get down here!” Others from the group joined in, demanding they come down and join them where it was safe.

  Conrad hesitated. He turned back toward the twister. It had closed its distance to them by half. It was now fifty yards to the left of the lane, a hundred yards ahead. The air pressure began hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 160

  160 dropping so quickly that he suddenly found it difficult to catch his breath.

  “Connie!” Suzanne’s voice had joined the chorus from below. “Please come down!”

  Then, without warning, Jake scrambled out into the wind.

  “Jake!”

  He grabbed the door and tried to pull it back down. Realizing he needed help, Conrad joined him. The wind shrieked, its force so powerful, it was difficult to stand. Hail and flying mud stung his face. Jake had hold of the door’s metal handle, so Conrad grabbed the rough wooden edge. Together they pulled, digging in, tugging with all of their might. But the wind was too strong. The door bucked and banged but refused to cooperate.

  “Get behind it!” Jake yelled. “We gotta push!”

  Conrad nodded and joined Jake as they scrambled behind the door. The roar filled his ears; water and mud spattered into his eyes and mouth. He spat as, together, they shoved against the door, arms and shoulders pushing, feet slipping on muddy wet grass. It took three tries until they finally managed to lift it up. Hanging on, they scurried to the other side and began pulling it down. For a moment they nearly had it, until a gust caught the door, ripping it out of their hands and off the remaining hinges. It tumbled and cartwheeled away.

  The people below screamed.

  Conrad dropped back into the cellar three or four steps, catching his breath, wiping the mud from his eyes with one hand while holding the wet concrete wall for support with the other. Jake followed him by one or two steps. But, despite the yelling and pleading from below, both continued standing, squinting into the wind and hail and mud.

  Suddenly Jake shouted, “There he is!”

  “Where?”

  “Coming down the lane!”

  Conrad took another step higher and then another until he could see past Jake. Sure enough, there was Eli, strolling hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 161

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  down the gravel road. Strolling! The towering funnel loomed behind him and the man was strolling! Except for his flapping clothes and flying hair, he seemed completely untouched. And instead of panicking for his life, he appeared to be enjoying the experience. Amidst the wind and rain and hail and debris it almost looked as if he was laughing!

  “Eli!” Jake took a step higher up the stairs and waved.

  “Eli!”

  Eli spotted him and waved back.

  “Get in here!” Jake yelled.

  But Eli only grinned, motioning to the spectacle around him. And then he did something even more incredible. He motioned for the two of them to come out and join him!

  Conrad stared, dumbfounded.

  The black, shrieking funnel suddenly shifted direction. It no longer approached the lane. Instead it began running parallel to Eli, less than sixty yards from his right. Fence posts near him shuddered. Some ripped out, exploding into splin-ters, flipping and whipping barbed wire. Yet Eli was completely unaffected . . . not only unaffected, but enjoying the experience!

  Once again he waved to them. Down below, his followers were screaming in terror, and Eli was waving for them to join him? Things could not have been any more absurd. Well, actually, they could.

  Suddenly Jake turned to Conrad and shouted, “I’m going!”

  “What?” Conrad yelled. “Are you crazy?”

  Again Eli waved.

  Jake hesitated, obviously frightened, and yet . . .

  “Jake, don’t be—”

  Eli waved again.

  “Jake, don’t—”

  And then Jake stepped out of the cellar and into the storm.

  Conrad lunged for him, but he was too late. “Jake, come back!

  Jake!”

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  But Jake was not coming back. Instead, he started walking toward Eli.

  It was a nightmare. Down below people were screaming in fear. Up above, the approaching tor
nado thundered and roared—pieces of building, branches, debris, everything was flying, swirling around the periphery of the funnel. And there, in the midst of all the chaos and confusion, two men walked toward each other.

  A chunk of corrugated metal banged and rattled, barely giving Conrad enough warning to duck as it flew overhead.

  He inched back up, keeping his eyes just high enough above the ground to see.

  Jake continued walking, his eyes riveted to Eli. The wind seemed to have no serious effect upon him either. Except for the blowing of his clothes and hair, it was as if the storm didn’t exist. Eli kept right on grinning at him in encouragement, and Jake kept right on walking.

  Again, the cloud shifted course. Now it was heading directly toward the two.

  “LOOK OUT!” Conrad shouted. But they couldn’t hear.

  He staggered up another step, shouting into the wind. “LOOK

  OUT!”

  To Jake’s left, a rusting cultivator creaked loudly, then groaned, then exploded into a cloud of flying metal. Jake spun around to see the pieces of iron and steel lifting into the air.

  That’s when he panicked. Instead of turning back to Eli, he looked to the cloud, to the giant black snake whipping and roaring toward him. He could not look away. Despite Eli’s shouting, he could not look back. His steps began to falter, then stumble. The wind pulled at him harder, nearly dragging him from his feet.

  Eli continued to shout, trying to get his attention. But it did no good. By now they were only a few yards apart. But Jake did not hear.

  The funnel approached, drawing so close that its outer edges began to engulf them. Jake fought it, staggering, using all of his strength to stay on his feet. But it did no good. The hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 163

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  two were so close they could practically touch, but Jake would not take his eyes off the wind and look at Eli. Suddenly his feet lifted from the ground and he cried out. It was as if he had jumped or skipped. He came back down hard, stumbling, nearly falling before he was lifted up again—only this time he continued to rise.

  He twisted toward Eli, desperately reaching for him, screaming in horror. But he was too late. Jake’s hand was just out of reach. Eli lunged for him and at the last second he managed to catch his waist, the back of his belt. He pulled down hard, and the big man fell backwards onto the ground. Eli stooped down and helped him up. And a moment later, the two stood facing each other in the howling gale.

  Conrad continued to watch, huddled on the steps, peering into the black wind. He could see Jake staring straight into Eli’s face now, obviously afraid to look anywhere else. Eli said something to him, then turned to face the funnel cloud.

  Slowly raising his hand, he shouted. It was impossible for Conrad to make out the words. Whatever they were, they were brief . . . but their impact, astonishing.

  Instantly the wind started to die. The howling faded. Conrad watched in amazement as the black wall of wind and water began to dissolve. Items started falling back to earth, raining around Eli and Jake, raining around Conrad and the storm cellar. The cloud turned light gray. In a matter of seconds, it dissipated into nothing but a rainstorm, the final wisps of black vapor disappearing even as he watched. Now there was only rain and falling debris.

  Eli and Jake turned and started back toward the cellar.

  Cautiously, Conrad rose, staring in unbelief, glancing up to make sure he wouldn’t be hit by falling objects. At last he stepped out of the cellar.

  Others followed, carefully emerging, looking as baffled and as astonished as Conrad. Several moments passed before Eli arrived. He wasn’t angry, but the joy in his eyes was missing. Instead, it was replaced by a type of sadness . . . and disappointment.

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  “Where is your faith?” he called out. Then, shaking his head, he added, “When will you stop doubting me?”

  The group exchanged guilty glances. Most would not look at Eli. But Conrad did. And when their eyes connected he saw no condemnation, just that sad disappointment. Eli repeated the question. Although it was for everyone, Conrad knew that for that particular moment, it was mostly for him.

  “When will you stop doubting?”

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  C H A P T E R

  E I G H T

  “MCFARLAND, DO I LOOK THAT STUPID?”

  “Do I have to answer that?” the balding news reporter from EBN fired back. It was supposed to be in jest, but the way the overweight man was huffing and puffing as they moved up the terraced hillside, it looked like he was having anything but fun.

  Not that Conrad blamed him. After all, the only way he’d agreed to talk with McFarland was by pressing him into service alongside Keith and himself as they handed out food to the crowd. The big man had reluctantly joined them less than five minutes ago, and the poor guy was already working up a sweat in the hot Oklahoma sun. Conrad knew it galled him helping out like this, which was probably why he insisted he do it. Still, with this large of a crowd, they needed all the help they could get.

  What had started out as a scheduled event at the Wood-ward Memorial Park in Tulsa, this Saturday, had turned into an all-day marathon. Although the group had rented the bandstand from 9 to 12, the officials and assigned police were so captivated by what they saw and heard that they allowed Eli to continue. The crowd was equally caught up, and noon-time came and went with most not even caring that they’d missed lunch.

  165

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  Eli was in great form, sharing one story after another, explaining how absolutely holy God expected His children to be, yet how loving and forgiving He was if they failed. And, despite the crowd’s size, Eli remained as intimate as if it were a handful of his closest friends. More often than not he was off the stage with the park department’s wireless mike, casually strolling through the crowd, occasionally chatting with individuals, sometimes healing them.

  But by three o’clock Jake and Robert, along with Scott and Brent, had pulled Eli into the backstage shade and suggested he call it quits. If not for himself, than at least for the crowd.

  “The folks haven’t eaten since morning,” Robert insisted, handing Eli a Styrofoam glass with ice water. “Lots of them got kids. They must be starved.”

  “I know I am,” grumbled Jake as he slumped onto the wooden steps leading to the stage. He popped open another of the dozen Diet Cokes he consumed daily and began to guzzle.

  Eli nodded, slowly thinking it over. He grabbed the towel Maggie had brought from her camper and wiped off his sweating face. Then he scooped ice out of his cup, lowered his head, and pressed it against the back of his neck. The summer heat was taking a lot out of him, but he never complained. Not as long as there was a need. Not as long as people were willing to listen.

  “All right,” Eli finally answered, his voice hoarse from the lengthening day. “Why don’t you guys go ahead and feed them.”

  “With what?” Scott asked. “All we’ve got are a couple burgers and a side of fries some kid brought you.”

  Eli raised his head and gave his face another swipe while catching the stray ice water dribbling down his chest. “Then give that to them.”

  “Right,” Brent scoffed, “we’ve got how many thousands of people out there, and you want us to feed them with two burgers and a side of fries?”

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  “Give it a shot,” Eli said as he stepped over Jake to head back onstage. Then with that infectious twinkle he called over his shoulder, “You might be surprised.”

  That had been forty-five minutes ago. And now Conrad and the guys were definitely surprised. So far they’d fed about half the crowd with more hamburgers and fries than they could count. No one had bought more. No one had donated more. Instead, Scott had simply poured the contents of the kid’s bag into a grocery sack Suzanne had provided . . . until her sack liter
ally overflowed with wrapped burgers and loose fries. More sacks and bags were scrounged up. They, too, were filled to the brim. And, still, it didn’t stop. When the sacks were distributed to Eli’s followers and they moved through the crowd passing out the burgers and fries, their sacks never seemed to empty either. All Conrad and the others had to do was reach into their bags and pull out one burger after another after another, or pour out one helping of fries after another.

  Now, Conrad was no math whiz, but he knew this defied logic by any standard. Of course, McFarland, who had just joined the serving committee, hadn’t a clue as to what was happening. But he would.

  “Look, we just need a link to him,” the big man gasped as he trudged up the grassy hillside passing out the food. “An unofficial diplomatic channel.”

  “And the reason it has to be unofficial?” Keith asked.

  “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

  “Try us,” Conrad said.

  McFarland lowered his voice, making sure those in the crowd were not following the conversation. “Let’s just say it would be a great source of embarrassment if the public knew he and my boss were talking.”

  “But he hasn’t withdrawn his invitation to the City of God, has he?” Conrad asked.

  “Of course not. That would be a breach of Southern hospitality.”

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  “Of course,” Conrad said. “But you wouldn’t be opposed if Eli backed out.”

  “Not in the slightest. But of course he won’t.”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Well . . .” McFarland sighed heavily, motioning to his bag. “I’m about out.” He wiped the sweat from his face.

  “Maybe we can go someplace a little cooler to talk.”

  “Here,” Conrad said, reaching over and dumping his sack of burgers into McFarland’s . . . until it was full.

  McFarland looked on, astonished. “Where’d you get all those?”

  Conrad smiled and continued the conversation. “What else do you want from me? Besides being this liaison?”