Acts of God

by James Beauseigneur

  "Christopher," Decker said, shaking his head regretfully, "I know. I know. And this may be hard for you to understand, but I don't want to live forever. I've had a full life, but. .."

  "But what?" Christopher prodded.

  "There is one thing missing from my life. It was taken from me twenty-three years ago."

  "Your family?" Christopher asked.

  Decker nodded. "After all these years," he said haltingly. "I still miss them." Tears began to form in his eyes. "I still ache for them. I still find myself thinking I hear Hope or Louisa's voice when I hear children playing." Decker wiped his eyes and shrugged, "I still sleep on one side of the bed," he said. "Now don't start thinking I'm getting suicidal or anything," he added quickly. "I'm in no hurry to die or anything. It's just that when my time comes, it comes. I shall welcome death as rest."

  "Decker, I had no idea you still hurt so much," Christopher said softly.

  "It's okay," Decker answered. "On a day-to-day basis I'm fine. It's just that when I look at the long run, I don't think I could live forever with this emptiness I feel."

  "I'm so sorry, Decker. I wish I had known."

  "There's nothing anyone could have done."

  "But, don't you see, Decker, there is!" Christopher let slip an ironic laugh that left Decker struggling to understand what he meant. "Don't you see?" Christopher said again. "Haven't you been listening to your own speeches? For more than three years you have overseen the creation and administration of training and indoctrination for those unfamiliar with New Age concepts. You've lectured on dozens of college campuses, been interviewed by hundreds of reporters, written who-knows-how-many articles, and yet you still don't realize that what you've been saying applies to you, too? No one really dies, Decker; not forever! Life goes on long after the body dies. We're reborn time and again. It's no different with Hope or Louisa ... or Elizabeth!"

  Decker felt as though his heart had stopped. He wasn't sure what Christopher meant, but it seemed he was saying there was hope that he might see his family again.

  "Decker, there's no reason for you to accept death! You haven't lost Elizabeth forever! She's alive! She has already been born again!"

  "What are you saying?" Decker asked, his voice trembling as he choked back tears.

  "Elizabeth is alive, Decker. Can't you feel it? She was born again just months after you lost her."

  "But where is she? Can I see her?"

  "Not yet," Christopher said apologetically. "But you will. I can tell you a little about her, though. She's twenty-one years old and lives in a city in New Brunswick."

  "How long have you known? Why didn't you tell me? Why can't I see her?"

  "Decker, it's not time yet. She wouldn't know you."

  Decker was confused. "Will she remember me?" he asked slowly, a wave of dread telling him Christopher's answer would be'no.'

  "Yes, Decker. She will. Even now she knows there is something missing from her life. In a few years — it's impossible to say exactly when — she will go through past life therapy and will remember who she was in her previous life. Then she will remember you."

  "And . . ."

  "Yes, Decker," Christopher smiled. "She will come to you. How could you believe otherwise? Decker, there are some things that are stronger than death. Yours will be a love story for the New Age."

  "But... you said she's twenty-one? I'm old enough to be her grandfather."

  Christopher started to laugh but this time he didn't hold back. It was a joyous laugh. "Decker, when you're going to live forever, you don't let a little thing like fifty years get in your way."

  "No, I guess not," Decker acknowledged, starting to laugh along, though his eyes were still filled with tears. "Besides, I guess I'll seem a lot younger by then."

  "Then you'll take the communion?" Christopher asked.

  "Of course. I'll go right now."

  "Well, I don't think you'll find a clinic open this late. You'll have to wait at least until morning."

  Decker looked at his watch and nodded. "What about Hope and Louisa?" he asked.

  Christopher nodded. "One day they will remember you, too. Soon, Decker, in perhaps a hundred years, all the veils will be lifted, and all of Humankind will remember who they were in all of their past lives. And they shall understand just how really connected all of us are to one other. Many will find that their enemies in one life were their dearest friends in another. And in that day, when they know who they were, they shall begin to understand who they truly are"

  "Can you tell me about. . ." Decker hesitated to ask. He wanted to ask about his old friend, Tom Donafin, but he was not sure how Christopher would feel about his continued interest in the man who had shot him.

  "It's all right, Decker. Who do you want to know about?"

  "Can you tell me about Tom Donafin?"

  Christopher smiled, not at all upset that Decker would ask. "He was reborn last year to a family in Paraguay."

  Decker shed another tear and tried to thank Christopher, but words failed him.

  "It's all right, Decker. Why don't you go home now and get some rest?"

  Decker nodded.

  As he was about to close the door behind him, Christopher went after him to give him a hug. With tears in his eyes, Christopher said, "I'm sorry I didn't understand before how you felt. I'm just glad we've got this worked out now and that you're going to take the communion. I need you, Decker. I don't know how I could get along without you."

  Decker left the building in a euphoric daze. Suddenly his whole life ... his whole eternity had changed. He had something worth living for ... something worth living forever for.

  "That's him in the grey suit," whispered one of the two men who stood waiting in the shadows.

  Decker walked along, totally lost in joyous thought and unaware of their presence.

  They emerged from the alley as Decker passed, the red Hebrew lettering of the Koum Damah Tatare now clearly visible on their foreheads.

  Decker struggled to get away but the two men overpowered him. The chloroformed rag, though old-fashioned, was effective.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Petra

  1:30 p.m., June 3, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — The wilderness of Jordan

  Decker sat quietly in the back seat of a rapidly moving, dirty, four-wheel drive vehicle, his hands and feet firmly tethered, bouncing with each bump in the road. As the two men in the front seat spoke to each other in Hebrew, Decker observed everything, trying to memorize every characteristic of the Jordanian wilderness. If an opportunity presented itself, he would need to know every feature of the terrain to make good an escape. Outside the vehicle, the sun's rays beat down with blistering heat. Decker thought back to his escape from Lebanon twenty-three years ago. While it was true that when he fled Lebanon he was badly malnourished, he wondered which was worse: being malnourished or being old. Of course, he lamented, attempting flight by foot over this wasteland at his age would cause rapid dehydration and starvation to accompany his advanced years. It was hard not to be pessimistic, even though he knew discouragement was probably the worst impediment to his chances of getting out alive.

  It seemed bitter irony to Decker that his life should be placed in jeopardy at this particular time. Had he been kidnapped an hour earlier he would have considered his life of little consequence. Only moments before he had told Christopher that when his time came, he would welcome death as rest. But that was before he really understood; before he learned that Elizabeth was alive. Now more than anything — more than ever before in his life — he wanted to live.

  Passing the ruins of the ancient stepped village ofElji and the more recent but no less deserted village of Wadi Mousa, Decker scanned the horizon for any sign of their ultimate destination. In the distance the desolate jagged slopes ofSier, a rocky chain of mountains stretching from the Dead Sea to Akaba, rose above the gray stony wilderness floor. Looming above the rest of the range was the mountain Gebel Haroun, said to be the burial place of Moses' brother Aaron. It
was another twenty minutes before they reached the mountains and it became evident that this was the end of their journey.

  "We'll have to walk from here, Mr. Hawthorne," the taller of the two KDT said as the other pulled the jeep to a stop.

  Decker looked around for what it was they were going to be walking to but found nothing but barren cliffs. Could they have brought him to these rocky crags just to kill him in some ritualistic execution? The KDT who had been driving pulled his seat forward so Decker could get out of the jeep. This was not an easy task with both his feet and hands bound.

  "Where is it?" asked the other KDT who was behind the jeep rummaging through a small metal bin.

  "It's in there," answered the other. "Just keep looking . . ."

  "Oh, here it is," said the first at one. Coming around to the other side of the vehicle, Decker could see what had been the object of his search. Now standing directly in front of

  Decker, the KDT revealed the knife he held in his hand. It was not very frightening in appearance but it was sufficient to do the job. Decker braced himself as the man dropped to one knee and raised the blade with a quick thrust and cut the cords that held Decker's feet.

  "Let's go," said the other KDT as he took Decker by the arm to lead him. But still there was nowhere to go, and no explanation that did not smell like death. Furiously Decker surveyed his surroundings for any avenue of escape. If he was going to make an attempt, this might be his one and only opportunity.

  They walked a short distance and Decker heard voices: they were not alone. Coming around a bend Decker saw them: scores of other people, nearly all KDT. They were all walking toward the mountain. There was no chance to flee — Decker's captors never left his side and except for the path before and behind them there was nowhere to go but up the rocky slopes. All those around him spoke in Hebrew, making it impossible for Decker to understand. Their path now brought them along the bank of a small stream — the wadi Mousa, or river of Moses — which they followed toward the mountain. Looking to his right, Decker was startled by the unexpected sight of three square stone pillars, each about four feet wide, the tallest of which rose twenty feet above its base. They had not been erected there, but were cut from solid stone, carved right out of the mountain. This was not the work of nature but rather of some ancient craftsmen. Rounding one more bend, they came upon a scene even more unexpected than the pillars. Carved into the white stone face of the mountain were two large facades that looked like buildings — weathered by thousands of years, one above the other like layers of a cake. The upper was dominated by four stone obelisks with a door in the middle. The lower was far more ornately designed, perhaps Roman or Hellenistic in style. In addition to a door, it appeared to have a rectangular window near the facade's leftmost corner.

  It now appeared that the stream and the path they followed were heading for a dead end. Instead, the wadi made a sharp right turn and ran along the base of the sheer rock cliff. On the left was a dam of relatively recent construction, built across a wide fissure in the rock wall. Its purpose appeared to be to prevent flash floods from rushing into the passage at the base of the mountain. It was into this fissure that the flow of people now carried him. On his right, opposite the dam, Decker caught a quick glance at several small obelisks carved into the rock in low relief.

  The rock walls on either side of the gorge they had entered were about twenty feet high. Just beyond the entrance on either side of the gorge were faint remnants of what could only have been a man-made arch, though it had long since collapsed. Along the foot of the left wall of the gorge a small channel had been cut into the rock and a stream of water from the wadi had been diverted through it. A little farther in, the gorge opened up, but this was not the end of their journey. Instead, along the path which sloped slowly but constantly downward as the rock walls rose steadily higher, the flow of people entered into another smaller fissure. The path went on and on, passing down long straight stretches and then winding through narrow turns, with the rock walls rising to as much as four hundred feet above them. From time to time they passed stone monuments, wall carvings, and niches cut into the stone walls, as well as steps leading up and away from the path. The color of the rock walls, which had been bleached-white before they entered the gorge, now ranged from pearly white to yellow gold to red to grayish pink. At places the narrowing path opened up wide enough for bushes and even a few trees to grow, but each time led into a narrower fissure. Along a few short stretches the path was marked by paving stones from some ancient civilization.

  Decker was beginning to tire. They had gone on for over a mile through the narrow chasm and it seemed the journey would never end. Then finally, around a turn, at the narrowest and darkest point through the passage, Decker saw the most curious of sights: a large baroque Greek temple-styled tomb cut out of, or more precisely, cut right into the side of the mountain. As they exited the fissure — which Decker would soon learn was called the Siq — they entered into a deep wide canyon. Decker's captors allowed him to pause there a few seconds to take in the magnificence of the monument. It was beautifully preserved, cut deep into the mountain's face with perfectly formed columns, ornately carved capitals and pediment, and towering 120 feet from its base to its pinnacle. The color of the rock from which it was cut appeared a beautiful rosy red as it reflected the sun.

  Turning right, they continued past numerous additional ancient facades cut into the canyon's walls. The most ornate were tombs, but many others seemed to have been carved as primitive homes — a purpose which they now served to a new set of residents. A little farther on they came upon a Roman-style amphitheater large enough to seat four or five thousand people. It, too, was carved entirely out of the stone. The canyon grew slowly wider and soon it emptied into an immense valley spreading out for several miles — a huge basin, surrounded on all sides by jagged-topped mountains. The massive cliffs were predominantly red but with alternating patches of black and white and yellow stone, and everywhere the sheer slopes were dotted by magnificent stone facades.

  On the floor of the basin, there were tens of thousands, probably even hundreds of thousands of tents, housing a whole city of people. And there was one other thing: between the tents and on nearly every patch of ground there were fruit trees and well-tended vegetable gardens, all lush with produce waiting to be picked.

  "Welcome to Petra, Mr. Hawthorne," one of the KDT said, as Decker took in the sight.

  Ahead Decker saw a single wooden building about 15 feet wide by 25 feet long which could best be described as a cabin, with a small porch off the front. That being the only structure in sight with walls of anything more substantial than canvas, Decker assumed it to be his destination, the place where he would be imprisoned pending whatever action the KDT had in mind. This assumption was reinforced by the six large men who stood around the periphery of the building — obviously the guards who would terminate his exodus should he attempt to leave. The two KDT brought Decker to the front door.

  The inside of the cabin was not at all what Decker had expected: it looked more like a rustic vacation home than a jail. Upon entering and looking around, Decker half expected to see fishing rods or deer antlers on the wall. The first room was a combination kitchen and sitting room which ran the full width of the building and about ten feet deep. The sitting room had two old but recently recovered chairs, a coffee table, and a couch. The kitchen, which was separated from the sitting room only by the placement of the furniture, was furnished with a gas stove and a small refrigerator. For future reference, Decker scanned the area for knives or other kitchen implements that might make a good weapon, but saw nothing more intimidating than a spatula and a large wooden spoon. In the center of the kitchen area was an empty space bordered by two straight-backed wooden chairs with padded seats, where it looked as if there had recently been a table. Slumped over in one of the wooden chairs with his feet propped up on the seat of the other sat a man with reddish-blonde hair. He was asleep. On his lap was a decades-old copy
of Mad magazine in Hebrew. Decker noticed that he did not have the mark of the KDT.

  "Charlie, wake up!" one of the KDT said. "Your guest is here."

  The man sprang from his chair, though it was clear he was not yet fully awake.

  "We'll let the appropriate people know he's here," the other KDT said. Then, cutting the bonds from Decker's hands, he added, "I know you won't believe this, Mr. Hawthorne, but I sincerely regret having to bring you here under these circumstances."

  Decker just glared and after a moment the two KDT left.

  "Welcome to Petra," the other man said as though he really meant it.

  "So, are you my jailer?" Decker asked.

  The question caught the man off guard. "I'd, uh, prefer not to be described that way, but I guess I can't blame you for thinking so." Decker would not so easily be charmed from his indignation by the man's disarming disposition. "Well," the jailer said uncomfortably, "your room's right over here." He pointed to a door behind them. "It's not the King David," he said, referring to the hotel in Jerusalem, "but it's better than most in Petra."

  The jailer opened the door and motioned for Decker to follow. With six guards outside and hundreds of miles of wilderness all around, resistance seemed rather futile; and besides, from the looks of it, this was not the most uncomfortable dungeon he had ever been sentenced to. Inside the room was a metal-framed bed, a table (which looked to be the size of the empty spot in the kitchen), two chairs which matched the two in the kitchen, and a dresser. The room was light and pleasant with windows facing east and west. The curtains were made of colorful Israeli cloth which matched the chair seats and bedspread. Off the back of the room was a bathroom, and a closet in which hung two pairs of pants and four or five shirts that appeared to be Decker's size.

  "This is where you'll be staying," the jailer said. And then turning to leave he paused to add, "I'm sure you must be hungry. If I had known when you'd arrive, I'd have had a meal waiting. I'll be back just as soon as I can put something together for you."