by Stan Mason
‘Religion comprises the heart and soul of the people,’ he muttered. ‘It supersedes national borders, the colour of skin, the ravages of the environment and the element of wealth. It occupies the mind, coveys deism, allows people to follow a faith, and helps them to focus their minds on hope and salvation in this world and the next. For many it becomes a crutch on which they lean on, the only point of concentration, the natural following of a concept in a harsh unremitting world. Take away that crutch and their lives crumble before them. In the midst of it all there exists a variety of arguments concerning abortion, divorce, female priests, schisms and political attitudes... all in the name of God but adjudicated by man himself. I mean what right has any mortal to change holy law... but they do?’
‘A-men!’ concurred Maidley. ‘It’s incredible that people choose to think otherwise.’
‘It’s incredible,’ added Guildenstern softly.
They say at a table to discuss the next venue and identify any new ideas to advance their quest. There was a drive within Warrior to exploit it... after all, that was exactly what Jesus Christ had to do under Roman rule. It was clear to him that Christ had got it all wrong! He had advocated that there was only one God and, over the next two thousand years, there were millions of people who believed in his teachings. Yet there was no way that he could know that! No way at all!
Chapter Two
On the following morning, a reporter employed by the local newspaper came to interview the messenger. He had managed to track him down and knocked on the door boldly at an early hour.
‘I’m Mark Sutter,’ he announced to Rebecca, as she stood in the open doorway clutching her dressing gown close to her body. ‘Reporter from The Bulletin. Sorry to come so early but I’ve a deadline to meet. I’m writing a story on the burning down of the Community Centre last night. I understand the meeting was arranged by Mr. Warrior. Can he give me some first-hand experience on what happened?
She stared at him with a doleful expression on her face. ‘I don’t think he wants to talk to the Press,’ she stated politely, shivering slightly in the cool morning breeze. In her opinion, any comment made by her partner would probably be misconstrued in the article. He would almost certain end up as the person responsible... the one to blame! He was extremely vulnerable and she considered it to be her duty to protect him.
‘I could be very useful to him in the future but I do need his help now.’ continued the reporter urgently. He was experienced in his field and felt that the event might be something of a scoop especially as there was religious content which would be of interest to his readers.
Rebecca considered his plea and then changed her mind. After all, a printed story in the newspaper might be useful to the cause. Any kind of publicity had to be good. She asked him to wait and closed the door as she went to wake up her partner.
‘There’s a reporter from the local newspaper who to talk to you,’ she said, shaking him gently. ‘He said he could be helpful if you give him some details. Do you wish to speak with him?
Warrior rubbed a hand over his face to come to grips with the real world. He lifted himself up from the bed and started to dress. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he uttered in a drowsy fashion. ‘We need the publicity. As much as we can get! You go back to bed and leave him to me.’ He took her in his arms and kissed her gently before flicking his fingers through his hair and moving to the front door and opening it.
‘Come in!’ he greeted, taking him into another room. ‘Sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee?’
Sutter sati in an armchair and removed a pen and pad from his pocket. ‘No thanks!’ to replied. ‘I’m grateful you can give me an interview so early in the morning. Most people get very grumpy.’ The reporter was smart. He always made certain to show an element of understanding towards other people. ‘The fire at the Community Centre. Do you know how it started?’
‘All the lights were smashed in the fight and a paraffin lamp was knocked over,’ explained Warrior easily. ‘Then someone lit a torch and the rest’s a matter of record.’
‘Do you know who stared the fight?’ asked Sutter bluntly. ‘A face, an identity, a name?’
‘It was started by a member of a faction who came to break up the meeting.’
‘A faction?’ the question echoed throughout the room. ‘What faction might that be?’ The reporter was becoming interested in the development of the story.
‘They came to stop me from talking. That’s all I know.’’ Her felt his cheek where the stone had struck him. No bruise could be seen but it was still sore.
‘Could it be the Communists, the National Front, some Neo-Nazis or a splinter group?’
‘All I can say is that they were out to stop me passing on my message.’
‘Message!’ repeated Sutter. ‘What message is that?’
‘That people should pray to all the Gods and not just a single one. It’s very simple.’
‘Have you received any threats? Notes, letters, bricks through the windows?’
‘No... they don’t know where I live.’
‘And why do you want to hold such meetings?’
‘Because I’ve been appointed the messenger of the Gods to spread the word and to establish the truth of their existence.’
The reporter stared directly into the eyes of the other man. ‘How do you come by that appointment?’
‘By visions of the Gods and Goddesses in the celestial kingdom who came to me.’
‘They came to you!’ repeated the reporter screwing up his face in a frown. ‘How?’
‘In a vision. I don’t really know how many there are in all. Five of them appeared to me and Magester, the ruler of the Gods, told me what I had to do.’
‘Magester... the ruler of the Gods!’
‘They’re tired of so many people ignoring them and praying to one single God. In effect, he doesn’t exist.’
Sutter began to dither with the pen and pad. This story was so different to the run-of-the mill news about Council matters, local vehicle accidents, people on drugs or drink, charity events or Court cases trotted out to readers each week. ‘What do they look like to you?’
‘Like Gods and Goddesses,’ came the swift reply. ‘Other than operating the sun, the moon, the weather, the crops, animals and all other routines, they use human-beings to carry out their tasks on Earth. For example the God of wars ensures that there are always three or four wars going on at any one time. The Goddess of love has her work cut out and so has the Goddess of fertility. There are Gods of fire, of nature, fruits, flowers, music, the arts, hunting, and so on. Each God or Goddess assumes a role to fulfil a purpose. I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m mad.’
‘Not at all,’ returned the reporter sagely. ‘Bernadette the Saint of Lourdes heard voices, so did Joan of Arc. No one ever accused them of being mad.’
‘Why do you think things are so hard for people in life? If there was only one God in control we would all bask in everlasting tranquillity, love and peace. The truth is that there isn’t. The Gods and Goddesses are always in conflict, trying to score points off each other in the same way human-beings do but on a different level. That’s why people suffer so much on Earth. The only option is for people to align themselves to the Gods for their protection instead of worshipping one single God. ‘
‘Interesting and plausible,’ commented Sutter quietly.
‘’Jesus Christ passed on the wrong message,’ continued the messenger. I don’t blame him. He had his own views.’
The reporter shifted uncomfortably in his chair for a moment, forming the next question in his mind. ‘Is there a time limit on what you intend to do? How long do you expect it will take to pass on your message?’
Warrior’s face assumed a slight smile. ‘A lifetime, I should imagine.’
‘Tell me, why have the Gods waiting two thousand years since Ch
rist to complain about the system now?
‘Two thousand years is but a flicker of time to the Gods They control the whole universe. It’s quite a task.’
‘Could the visions you saw be merely dreams? Something you imagined in your sleep?’
‘No!’ came the flat answer.
‘What are human-beings to the Gods? Can you tell me that?’
Warrior paused to think for a few moments. ‘I really don’t know,’ he replied candidly. ‘They relate love, hate, jealousy, envy, and many other things which affect us. When we resist their wishes, we face all kinds of problems. We are all pawns in a giant game to them.’
‘So you believe that resistance to the wishes of the Gods causes us problems.’
‘Life becomes like a television soap. People get caught up in a web of intrigue and incidents occur against the normal order of things. I presume that’s what happens with regard to the Gods. ‘
‘Do the Gods start a sequence of events and then change their minds?
‘I think we’ve drifted somewhat from the fire at the Community Centre,’ stated the messenger bluntly.
‘My readers would be interested in the insight of a man who preaches that there are many Gods and not just one.’ retorted Sutter sharply.
‘My background would be of little interest to your readers,’ Warrior sounded adamant.
‘I presume you’re arranging further meetings.’ He turned his head to look at the images affixed to the wall. ‘What are those?’
‘They’re images of the Gods and Goddesses. Rebecca, my partner, paints them She’s very good at that.
‘All these come to you in your dreams?’
‘Sometimes only one at a time.’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘About a hundred-and-fifty.’ The reporter’s hand moved towards one of the images. ‘Don’t touch them!’ warned Warrior sharply. ‘They’re not to be touched!’
They continued their discussion for a little while longer and then Sutter put the pen and pad back into his pocket and left the house. As the front door closed behind him, he looked back thoughtfully. Wa Warrior a crank, a nut, a lunatic or simply a dreamer? The fact that the Community Centre had been burned down was evidence that people were out to prevent him from spreading his message. They were willing to fight him tooth and nail. His mind went back to the advice his father had given him. ‘When you start your career in journalism, make certain you’re not involved with religion or politics!’ How great was that advice!
***
Gabby Saunders leaned heavily on the bar at The King’s Head the evening after the Community Centre had been destroyed. He wore the expression of a permanent grin because he was delighted with himself. A giant, slow-thinking, dark-haired man with an ugly weather-beaten face, he had a distinct yearning for fisticuffs and had thoroughly enjoyed the short fight at the meeting. As a man whose strength demanded respect from everyone who knew him, he was certain that any conflict within the community was bound to involve his presence. The coming of Stephen Warrior with his slogan ‘One Heaven, many Gods!’ pleased him enormously. It was a golden opportunity for him to become embroiled in a religious conflict for as long as the messenger intended to hold meetings within the community.
Saudners had a police record a mile long. He had been arrested no lest than thirty-seven times during the past thirty years. His iniquitous life began when he was a teenager, vandalising telephone boxes and stealing goods from the garages of people in the locality. As he grew older, he escalated in crime to stealing cars and joy-riding. Then he began to burgle houses but most of the arrests related to being drunk and disorderly causing problems to passers-by and inanely damaging property. For his misdeeds, he had spent over seven years in prison, He was unemployed, totally untrustworthy, and lived solely on benefits granted to him by the Government. However, none of that dampened his enthusiasm. He was arrogant, boastful, proud of his background, his strength, his fighting prowess, and his ability to drink a pint of beer faster than anyone else around. For the price of a drink, he was willing to become involved in anything legal or illegal simply for the fun of it. The last thing he expected to excite him in life was religious sedition and heresy. Then suddenly a stranger had turned up to inflame the religious sector of the community. It was manna from Heaven to him!
Douglas Hamilton, the town’s leading photographer, hd spoke to Saunders before the meeting, urging him to stop Warrior in his tracks. Two pints of beer was sufficient to motivate him and start the fight. He grinned as he thought about the Community Centre being burned down. It hadn’t been planned that way. However this time he expected to benefit financially from his actions. He had a secret plan in mind. After Warrior’s next two meetings, when it proved that he would not stop his preaching, someone would be willing to pay for the assassination of the man. Saunders considered that he would be the one to do it... for a substantial sum of money. He would set out his stall by offering his services to carry out the deed. He was a professional criminal in his own right. At last, at the age of forty-five, he was using his brain to maximise on his dubious talents., Removing Warrior from this world to the next was a certain way of making money, But he had to be patient and wait for another two meetings to take place whereby tempers would become even more inflamed with logic and reason pressed to extremes,
‘I was the one to torch the Community Centre,’ he boasted openly to a group of people at a nearby table. His declaration was completely false because he had only become involved in the fight after it had been started by someone else. ‘Yes... I burned down the place. It was me who lit the torch.’ He stared at them as though expecting some kind of recognition but it failed to materialise. ‘Oy!’ he shouted. ‘Didn’t you hear me? I burned down the bloody Community Centre!’
‘Good on you!’ called out a man at the back of the room who was totally inebriated. ‘Good on you!’
‘And I’ll do a lot worse to that preacher if the money’s right. Do you hear me? I’ll do it if the money’s right!’
‘You do that,’ went on the drunk at the back of the room without understanding the import of the words. ‘We’re with you all the way, sunshine!’
Saunders returned to his drink at the bar realising there would be nothing gained form the people there. What did they know? He was almost a member of the Christian Action Group devised primarily to resist those who challenged the identity of a single God. It had been formed by people hell-bent on stopping Warrior from preaching his heresy. It was the first time he had been invited to become a member of any organisation and he was extremely proud of the honour. He was the sand in the oyster shell. The irritant required to cause dissension every time the messenger preached. They called him Gabby because he could never keep a secret to himself. It was always the same. One drink and his mouth would run away with him and it was practically impossible for him to remain sober. However, on this occasion, it penetrated his thick skull that it was essential to remain silent. This time he had to keep his secret plan to himself. He would be the one to dispose of the messenger in due course and earn himself a substantial amount of money for doing it. It all depended on whether someone was willing to pay for it to be done. As far as Saunders was concerned, Warrior had better watch out. He was in stark danger and his days were well and truly numbered!
Chapter Three
Three days later, The Bulletin newspaper was published and on sale to the public. It contained an article which was a relatively fair assessment of what had occurred at the Community Centre and related Warrior’s religious message without bias or prejudice. Sutter had been allowed a half page spread which contained a photograph of the burning embers of the conflagration. The news travelled quickly and became the concern of the hurriedly-formed Christian Action Group. As a result, an urgent meeting of the committee was convened. It was held at the Chairman’s home that evening and five committee mem
bers gathered there to discuss the matter,. Warrior’s views were the last thing they wanted to read in the Press yet they had been published for every one to read. There was good reason to establish limitation.
David Hamilton, the Chairman, who had been successful at local elections and was a member of the Town Council. He stared glumly at the faces around the table and then looked down at a sheet of paper on which he had pasted the article. He made no secret of his anger and started to speak to them tenaciously.
‘There’s only one item on the agenda of which you’re all aware. We have to stop him before there are riots similar to the one last evening. We must prevent him from spreading his seditious views which could undermine the Christian faith. Let’s show him up for the heretic that he is!’
‘We’re all behind you one hundred per cent, Mr. Hamilton,’ confirmed Dobson, an elderly retired man, who sported white hair, a curled-up moustache and depicted a florid face. ‘We can’t have our community ruined by meetings which end up with the demolition of our Community Centre. We have to stop him one way or the other!’
And we need him from denigrating the Holy Bible and spouting blasphemy,’ cut in Brown, a middle-aged man who ran a shoe shop and had lived all his life in the town.
‘I think we’re all aware fo the problems,’ added Toomey, the youngest member of the committee who ran his own business as an electrician and had proved himself to be a regular churchgoer. ‘The question is what do we do about it?’
‘We stop him,’ snapped Hamilton. ‘That’s what we do!’
Toomey raised his hands in frustration. ‘But how?’ he enquired in desperation. ‘We all know the law. It’s on his side. He has the right to free speech. That’s why I ask how we’re supposed to stop him!’
There was a long pause as each member was left to consider the ramifications of any action they might think worth while.
‘We need to ask ourselves a number of questions,’ continued Brown after blowing out his cheeks. He was extremely overweight and often puffed out his cheeks as he felt his blood-pressure rising. ‘Firstly, some people at the meeting may look upon his views with favour. Secondly, he has two henchmen with him. Can we consider him to have a private army. If so, we can take action against them. That’s against the law.’