All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923)
Page 33
“Am I interrupting anything,” said Al, coming around the corner in to the kitchen.
Realizing that he’d been caught staring off into space daydreaming, Lester smiled sheepishly. “Just thinking,” said Lester.
“Well, I’ve been doing a bit of that myself,” replied Al, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that this house may be compromised.”
“Compromised? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that my contacts have informed me this afternoon that they have seen some suspicious vehicles driving past the house lately. And since the lane is poorly graveled and really doesn’t lead anywhere, it would seem that the house is under some kind of surveillance.”
“What do we do?”
“Well, I think we need to relocate again. I don’t believe we are in any kind of imminent danger, but we should probably take steps. I really don’t want you getting sucked into all this, Les.”
“Little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Better late than never,” said Al.
“Should I pack my stuff?” asked Lester.
“Nah, I don’t think it’s anything that dire. But I suspect our dubiously enigmatic friends are somewhat tired of dragging their feet and may have a more forthright approach planned in the not so distant future. It might behoove us to shake them for a while. Once I have departed for the Middle East next Sunday, things here will probably cool off.”
“What if they don’t? What if they bring me in for questioning?”
“We’ll just have to take some measures to discourage them from directing their efforts in that manner.”
“Like what?”
“I’m still working on it.”
“That’s very comforting.”
“Trust me, Les. I’m not going to leave until I’m sure that you will be in no danger here.”
“Well, I guess I’m okay with that then,” said Lester, sort of sincerely.
Al laughed. “I’ve got something for you,”
Lester watched as Al pulled out an iPod and ear buds from his shirt pocket and set them on the kitchen table.
“What’s that for?”
“For you.”
“I mean, what is it?”
“It’s an iPod.”
“I know it’s an iPod, wise guy, why are you giving it to me?”
“Do you know how many times I’ve written those journals?” asked Al. “How many times I’ve rewritten them, updated them?”
Lester shrugged.
“Dozens I think. Papyrus, parchment, paper…it all has a way of breaking down, yellowing, the ink bleeding into illegibility. Even vellum doesn’t last forever. I am constantly rewriting my life story, preserving it on newer, more modern surfaces. I’ve actually just completed entering it all onto a hard drive and saving it on a number of thumb drives and disks.”
“You mean you’ve got all this in digital format?” asked Lester.
“I do,” said Al, “but I prefer reading it in book form. I guess I’m just old fashioned that way.”
“How many journals do you have then?” queried Lester.
“Oh, hundreds,” Al replied with feigned nonchalance. “And several copies of each, I suppose, scattered around in various places so that if any were ever destroyed by fire or some other catastrophe, or God forbid stolen, the information, the memories, wouldn’t be entirely lost. My memory ain’t what it used to be, as they say. And I’m constantly updating them with things that I remember. You’d be surprised at the modern day events that might trigger an ancient memory. Sounds, smells, even something that someone might say in passing.”
“So, you’ve got it all on a computer file somewhere?”
“Even better than that,” answered Al, “I’ve been recording them with an old four-track into MP3 format. One of the first sections I did was the next bits that I want you to read, the journals about Tubal-Cain, Noah, Keziah, and the flood.”
“So instead of reading them, I can just kick back and listen.”
“Precisely.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I hope you will. I don’t exactly have a radio-friendly voice.”
“Wait. What? You didn’t hire a professional?”
“Funny.”
“So, where do you keep all these journals anyway?”
“Well, like I said, they’re in several different locations, but tomorrow maybe we can take a short trip, and I’ll show you my warehouse.”
“Your what?”
“My warehouse. There are some things I’ve saved that should make my journals pale by comparison.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Ugh,” groaned Lester.
The two of them sat and talked about Al’s first meeting with Keziah for a while. They talked about flying and about Al’s ability to manipulate the world around him using the natural harmonics of creation. Eventually, even though it was only about nine at night, Al began to yawn.
“Us senior citizens are getting sleepy,” said Al.
“I’m the senior citizen here,” said Lester. “You’re more like a senior-asaurus.”
“Watch it,” said Al with a smile. “But I’ll grant you’re not too far off. I seem to need a lot more sleep lately than I used to. I think the final seed that I swallowed may only be a few years from wearing off.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Lester anxiously.
“It means that soon, the world as we know it will pass away and the Creator will usher in a new part of his plan—a wonderful world tomorrow; a thousand years of millennial rest with peace for all mankind and abundant well-being.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yes, but to get there, mankind will have to endure one of the worst periods in history that the world has ever known.”
“Oh, way to gild the lily.”
“Well, God never promised mankind an easy ride. He only promised that the destination would make the journey worth the effort.”
“I wish we had more time,” opined Lester. “I would have liked to learn to hang glide.”
“Well, then you should.”
“Yeah, but to hang glide with the inventor of hang gliding would have really been something.”
“Maybe things will work out to make that possible,” hinted Al, getting up and heading off to bed.
“What? In the next five days?” quipped Lester.
“You never know, Les. You never know. Get some sleep, my friend. I’ll see you in the morning. It should be quite a day,” Al called over his shoulder.
“I expect so,” said Lester, taking a long pull on the last of his beer.
“Oh, and by the way, Les, how much do you know about mermaids?”
“How much do I know about what?” choked Lester, spitting beer all over the table. But the door to Al’s room had shut, and the house was quiet.
“Shit,” mumbled Lester, looking around for Al’s laptop.
seedvisionsagas@yahoo.com