1233 hours
Nick and Steve took to the main street, passing by clusters of people. Even a day later, the townspeople continued to discuss the details of the Preacher’s incredible acts.
“They must really love this preacher guy,” Steve said, nodding to a particular group of ten.
“The Preacher can control the demons!”
“He is truly endowed with God’s power!”
“Amen!”
“He will lead us when the Lord calls!”
“And soon! Just like the Preacher was told!”
Nick looked incredulously at the amazed people. “They certainly do. Alright, we’re here. Let me do the talking.”
Underneath a wooden banner that read “Sheriff,” Nick gave the door three hard knocks.
“Excuse me, sir. Lawkeeper Binky, are you there?”
"One-second," came a hoarse voice from inside; distinct sounds of drawers closing, glass bottles clanking, and a man clearing his throat followed. A minute later, the door pulled inward halfway, revealing a disheveled Binky; glazed eyes pulled down by heavy bags, cursed the sun’s rays.
“What can I do for ya?”
Nick’s hands were interlocked over his belly button. “Good morning, Binky. We were hoping to have a minute of your time.”
“As long as it’s quick. It’s my day off but I do have business to attend to," he said, pulling the door open fully.
The main room was small, offering a deputy’s desk and a pair of iron-bar holding cells with moth-eaten cots that seemed on par with the exposed metal toilet.
“This way,” Binky said, leading the group to the right.
“What’s in there?” Steve asked, pointing to the first door in the hallway.
“Where we keep the town’s guns and weapons,” Binky answered, though not bothering to look back. “Your stuff is in there too. Don’t worry, it’s locked up safe.”
The door across from the armory was half-open. Steve noticed a small table with a can of food opened, and near the back, a foam camping mat and pillow. “Must be where he’s been sleeping,” Steve mumbled.
Five creaky steps later came the Lawkeeper’s personal office. The room was big enough for a hand-crafted, 1800s era wooden desk, a vintage Union flag and a dust-covered filing cabinet. With only one window for natural light to enter, the room felt even smaller and more depressing than it was.
Steve entered last but was just in time to observe Binky slide a Polaroid picture into the top drawer.
Binky collapsed into the uncomfortable wooden chair and said, “Have a seat.”
Steve and Nick looked at the lone folding chair and then at each other.
“Take it,” Steve said, pulling over a crate.
“So, barely a day, and you’ve already made quite the impression, and not a positive one.”
“Our intention was not to disturb your town.”
“Regardless of your intentions, you caused quite an ordeal. You know how many people came to me asking if youhadto stay? Asking why I couldn’t just send you and your friends off?”
“Sir-“
“And what was this I heard about you calling the Preacher ‘infected?’ And that those things out there are really just people not demons? You guys sure know how to make an entrance.”
“I’m sorry, but we refuse to lie about who we are or where we have been and what we are doing.”
Binky massaged his eyes, then his cheeks. He dragged his hands downward, pulling the skin with it. “Right...about conspiracies and infection.” The tone of the response indicated a lack of concern.
“It’s the truth,” Steve blurted out.
Binky’s fingers stopped at his cleft chin. For seconds, he did nothing but stare at Steve with a look of curiosity, contempt, or judgment. Then, his chair creaked as he leaned back and placed his forearms on the rests. “You must be Steve.”
“Yes.”
“Good to see you on your feet. Came pretty close to death I hear.”
“And I hear one of our group wasn’t so lucky.”
“Jason thought she was a,” Binky began but sighed. “Your friend Kelly was brought inside and has been kept in the cellar underneath the stables. There’s a plot surrounding the willow tree next to the Church. I spoke with the Preacher and you are welcome to bury your friend there.”
“We thank you very much for that,” Nick said before changing subjects. “Sounds like you have heard everything about us and what weclaim...where do you stand? Do you think we’re lying?”
"It doesn't matter what I believe.” Binky stood up and walked over to the window. The next part was barely audible. “But I can tell you it isn't much these days."
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Is that why we didn’t see you at church?”
“Someone has to be on watch, and I’ve chosen to-”
“Sacrifice your time in church for the good of New Jerusalem. So I heard,” Nick said, surprising Binky. “I’m curious about something, and I’m hoping you can clarify...if New Jerusalem is a Christian town full of the chosen people, the good ones who God is going to call to Heaven, what’s the purpose of a lawkeeper? I can’t imagine there would be crime or a need of a facility like this or a position like yours.”
“As far as I’m concerned, everyone here is still human and humans make mistakes. The town isn’t perfect. We do have our share of minor squabbles and complaints...We are communal society that operates on a simple code of ethics and egalitarian obligations, and my job is to keep the peace and uphold the town’s laws-”
“You mean the Preacher’s laws?” interrupted Nick.
Binky’s eyes narrowed. “The town’s laws.”
“And what laws might those be?”
“Do your work, keep inside the walls, common sense things like that...there aren’t many. If you want a summary of the others, just look in the Bible...no stealing, no adultery, no killing, no drugs…”
Sounds like religious law to me, Steve thought but decided against verbalizing. “So why’d they choose you?”
“I suppose it was because of who I used to be. I was an Air Marshall; had been for close to fifteen years. Since I’m guessing you were going to ask how I ended up here, I’ll make it brief. I was traveling south with my family, and we ran into some trouble. Next thing I know, my feet led me to the front gates. The Preacher gave me the job and the rest is history.”
“Where’s your family?”
Binky sighed. “Something tells me you didn't bother me on my day off to get my life story."
"No, sir,” Nick said, sitting upright. “We came here to ask your help…”
During the petition for exit and reentry into New Jerusalem, Binky subtly nodded his head in understanding, but his reply completely contradicted his body. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“What? Why not? Our friend’s life is at stake!”
Nick touched Steve’s arm, imploring him to sit and calm down. Nick’s tone held less anger and outrage when he asked, "Can’t or won’t?"
Binky did not answer.
“Look man,” Steve paused, forcing himself to be as polite as possible. “We appreciate what you guys have done so far. If our group was able to go, we would leave, but we can’t move yet, not all of us. But if we do nothing, our friend could very well die. We need to get outside.”
“Look kid,” Binky replied in kind, “I get it. I empathize with you, I really do.”
“But?”
Binky sighed. “But there’s nothing I can do. Rules are rules. I’m sorry.”
Steve snorted and shook his head. “Don’t confuse empathy with sympathy,” he began. Then he decided to pursue another route: blackmail. “Rules are rules right? No drinking or drugs? Mind if I ask...is that bourbon I smell? Jim Beam? Jack? I thought that stuff was illegal? Serious offense, right? Didn't someone else get kicked out for having some?”
Binky pursed his lips and swallowed. "I don’t smell anything...I'm afraid you are mistaken."
Both s
ides of the desk could sense tension. The chess match was on.
He’s lying, Steve. You know whiskey, and his breath is full of it.
Binky’s eyes shifted suddenly, and then he walked casually behind Steve. He bent over and whispered, "It's not wise to make threats in this town...especially to the person in charge."
Steve rose and faced Binky. "I thought the Preacher was in charge?"
"Of issues concerning faith. He put me in charge of legal matters”
"It would appear there is very little separation of church and state here."
"What are you getting at, Nick?"
“You’re a man of the law, Binky. And the law should come first. It should protect its citizens and help them when it can. We came here to ask you to help us help our friend."
"And you have my answer,” Binky replied rudely. “Now, you should probably get going.”
"For the record, it wasn't a threat, just an observation,” Steve lied, dragging the crate back to its original place. “We are just trying to help our friend. We look out for each other. We’re a family, just thought you might understand that.”
The Lawkeeper glanced over at the desk and then back at them. "If you want outside the gates and want to come back in, I suggest you get the Preacher's permission."
“The Preacher’s not sick?”
“Seemed fine to me last I saw. Now I’m sorry but I need to get going.”
Binky followed the men to the front door and just outside, he stopped them. “Oh and before you go,” he said, looking up and down the boardwalk confirming no passersby. “I will keep the extra details of this meeting between us. And I suggest you do the same."
1257 hours
"The Preacher was not expecting you, but will take your appointment,” Jill Cromwell said in a discourteous manner. She pointed to the first row of pews. “Sit there. He will be with you shortly.”
The robed woman disappeared into the back room, leaving the two men in quiet.
Steve looked up and around, taking in the church with all his senses. He watched the sun’s rays enter through the stained glass, enchanting a scene of Jesus washing the feet of a beggar. Then his eyes fell upon the candles on the walls that burned slow with high flames, illuminating the darker corners. A certain stale wetness combined with incense, which Steve closely associated with Nag Champa, lingered in the air.
"I haven't been to church in years,” Steve confessed, breaking the silence. "I don't think I've ever asked you, Nick. What do you practice?"
"Spirituality.”
“So no religion or God?”
“I do believe in a higher being. A life force if you will. I don't believe people are defined by any one religion, though. I believe all religions possess positive traits to be sought after and incorporated. But to strictly identify oneself a Christian, a Muslim, a Jew, a Hindu or anything else should not be a matter of concern. We should just be good people and act without selfish gain.”
To Steve, Nick’s answer started out complex, but by the end, the explanation offered a vague simplicity.
"What do you believe in?"
"Nothing really," Steve replied, looking away.
“Nothing at all?”
“Maybe once, but not anymore. Not since everyone I have ever cared about has been killed. If there is something up there, it’s a cruel fucking child.”
There was a moment of quiet before Steve deflected.
"You always had that mentality? Of spirituality?"
"Everyone believes in something...but to answer your question, no, not always. As a child in my tribe, everyone was taught to believe in the world of spirits. Everything has a spirit and they are watched by The Great Spirit. You see, everything is connected..."
As Nick discussed his tribe's views and beliefs, Steve couldn't help but think about JP Chin, an old Asian horticulturalist who had once spoken similar words; about life, about everything having a soul and everything being connected.
The same day he heard those words from JP was the very same day he spent with Sarah- the most perfect day- picking berries outside The Eye, falling in love with her. The memory made Steve both happy and angry. For Steve had experienced loss at a level similar to JP, but unlike Steve, JP was a man who found peace amidst the pain and chaos.
Sarah, I miss you...
"To be honest, I was a lot like you, Steve…"
Steve shifted his body, playing off the nervousness as a stretching motion.
"You act like you are already dead inside. It’s not hard to see. You distance yourself from everyone, even a fourteen year old girl who needs you. Who has lost more than you and I, who is alone but is choosing not to be lonely.”
"It's not like that. Jenny, she-" Steve began but stopped himself. “I-I don’t want to talk about it.”
Nick observed Steve’s jaw muscles tighten and his fingers claw at his knees. "Mind if I talk about me?”
Steve shrugged. “Preacher isn’t here yet.”
“Well, in my youth I was full of hatred. At myself, at my life and at the Great spirit."
"What happened?" Steve asked, trying not to come off too intrigued.
Nick leaned back, causing the wooden back rest to flex and creak under the tension. "I haven’t told many people this, but I...I lost my fiancé in an accident.”
“What? You had a fiancé?”
“Yes,” he continued, though his smile had reversed. “I blamed everything, hated everything. I couldn't stand being in my tribe, everyone pitying me, talking about her death as a product of The Great Spirit's inevitable causality. That is what my people believed in. That the Great Spirit who controls everything caused it to happen. I couldn't believe that, I wouldn't accept that. Mapiya was a good person, there is no way she deserved her fate."
Steve wanted to ask what happened, but instead, let Nick take his time.
"So I ran away and tried to start anew.Triedto start anew. But I was still holding on, still angry. I didn't realize it until years later.”
"Realize what?"
"That no matter how far we run, we cannot outrun regret. And I regret years lost, years spent sulking and angry."
The word regret was a powerful trigger. It elicited Steve’s own regret; all the things he had pressed down and locked up deep inside his mind. Things that he would erase if he could, if it would mean no more hurt. But the memories surfaced in an emotional tidal wave.
Steve thought about the regret Mike had with their mom, Barbara. Then his own regret with Tom, fighting about school and military; he loved his dad and regretted never saying it enough. Then there was how he left things with Alex. But the worst regret was not being able to save Sarah.
Steve felt his eyes filling with tears. The way the candle light bounced off his glazed orbs was like an apparition dancing across water. "I-I don’t want to forget them," he mumbled.
"I'm not saying you should. But there is a fine line between remembering the departed and obsessing to the point where you cripple or destroy yourself emotionally. You need to hold on to them here," Nick said, pointing to his heart, "but you need to let go of them here," he finished, raising the finger to his head.
At first the irony was confusing, but slowly Steve understood.Keep them in your heart, but get rid of the regret...
"I believe life is the culmination of our existence, not our individual choices. I believe in karma and that it exists to act as a rectifier not an enforcer for a higher being. Life is about living for the sake of being good and allowing ourselves to do good because it is right. In the end we will face judgment for who we were and the life we led. But that is not to say people are judged solely by who they were at the worst of times. Just as a new day replaces the dark night, you too can start anew if you choose..."
Another word, judgment, brought up memories of choices only recently made. Steve remembered vividly, every moment torturing Jimmy Sanchez, experiencing firsthand how fulfillingly unfulfilling vengeance was. How terrible a sin he committed. Now, he could not bear
to think what Sarah would have thought of him.
Steve’s emotions began to jar him physically. He looked down and saw his hands shaking and his feet tapping. Then, he looked to the statue of Jesus on the cross.
Every thought of Sarah. Of his family. Every wise word of Nick’s. Understanding and clarity. It all came bearing down on Steve. But in the peak of the climax of an emotional resurrection, one word halted everything.
"Interesting,” declared the Preacher as he entered from the room in the back. “But know the Lord forgives all who ask for it. First John chapter 1 verse 9, says if we confess our sins He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and will purify us from all unrighteousness."
"I agree…to an extent,” Nick replied, standing. “No matter what we have done good or bad, I believe we can restore ourselves and our spirits."
"God can, I believe you meant to add….”
Nick thought it best not to correct the Preacher’s incorrect assumption.
"And forgiveness is one of His greatest gifts,” the Preacher finished.
"I would suggest inner peace and love are the greatest of God's gifts," Nick quoted as though reciting scripture.
"I'm not familiar with that Bible verse."
“It isn't one, it is a Sioux proverb.”
The Preacher’s yellow front teeth glowed through his smile. "You are quite the complex man, Nicolas."
"And you seem to be doing well for a man who has been bitten.”
"I am doing very well, but I am growing tired of your doubts. Nicolas, must we discuss this again? There is no virus, only God's wrath..."
The Preacher lifted his robe and showed the bare skin of his bitten arm.
The wound had closed up, leaving no trace of any puncture, not even a scar.
“Impossible,” Nick mumbled.
Is this guy really touched by God? Does he have an immunity? Steve thought.
"I told you, God would protect and heal me,” The Preacher continued. “Now what can I do for you on this glorious day?"
"I,” Nick began, but hesitated, still in disbelief. “I wanted to apologize for how we reacted last night. We did not mean to offend or upset the community."
Based on the Preacher’s arched eyebrow, he had not expected this. “Well, I do thank you for saying so. And I do accept your apology…”
The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side Page 50