Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1)

by Luis Gonzalez

  The Son of Man kept his eye on that blazing shooting star he had finished wishing upon and commanded it toward him, bringing it spinning high overhead and making it burst in a refulgent shower of light straight above him.

  “Sorry, Father. I’ve had plenty of time to reconsider things, and Man does not deserve to be rescued. I meant it when I said I wasn’t going back down. So forget about any Second Coming, Father—just forget it! By the way, where are those scrolls of mine? What did you do with them?”

  The Creator of the Universe knew exactly what the Son of Man was alluding to with mention of these scrolls. He simply ignored the question for, in addition to all His many greatnesses, the Creator could also be the Great Ignorer. Besides, He was too incensed right now to address anything other than his son’s impudence and insubordination. It was one thing to mingle among man and challenge the authority of the high priests and scribes and the temple elders. It was another thing to challenge He who had created and would forever rule the Heavens.

  “But Son, scripture has got to be fulfilled and you’re six years overdue. You were supposed to go back down in ’88, remember? You know that I wanted to wrap things up one generation after the homeland became a state.”

  “Too bad, Father. I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going back down.”

  “But you’ve got me seriously behind schedule, Son. The final conflict is long overdue, and you don’t understand the gravity of the situation. You can’t be serious when you say you’re not going back down!”

  “Oh, I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, Father. I’ve had plenty of time to contemplate all that Man did to me, all that Man is still doing to me, and if you think I’m going down to sweep him up so he can enjoy a life of eternal happiness, you can forget it, Father. It ain’t happening!”

  The Creator of the Universe found himself doing the unexpected just then: tapping into His deepest reserves of constraint, which happened to run very deep. He did this only under the most extreme of conditions: when it became absolutely necessary to maintain an even-tempered tone with the Son of Man.

  “Come now, Son, let’s be fair about this, shall we? There’s no need to be so hard on man. Just be patient with your brethren. He’ll turn himself around, you’ll see.”

  “Patient, Father? Are you serious? Not even with the patience of Job will man ever turn himself around. Really, I don’t know what was in that dust you used, Father. From his very inception man has been nothing but trouble, nothing but grief.”

  The Creator must concede that the Son of Man did have a point there. Still, nobody was going to order Him around, not even his son. Before responding, the Creator continued holding himself in check. He took only a shallow breath of that soothing celestial air which had taken him mere seconds to fashion from nothing. A deeper breath would have produced great disturbances far and wide.

  “It’s not man’s fault, Son. You mustn’t blame him. You know whose fault it is. You know it’s the doing of that snake, that Satan. You know it’s all his deception and trickery and constantly doing his best to confuse and tempt man. That’s whose fault it is.”

  The Son of Man peered over at that black hole off in the central portion of the galaxy. He had to admit that, as much as it frightened him to gaze upon that violently spinning vortex, he also found something alluring and enticing about it, something mesmerizing about its fierce and fantastical force.

  “I’m sorry, Father, but I beg to differ. It’s time to stop playing the blame game, time to stop shifting fault. You need to call a spade a spade, Father, and man’s misfortune has nothing to do with Lucifer. It’s all man and his conceit. It’s all his own doing and you know it.”

  That was it! At the mere mention of that name, the Creator’s self-imposed constraint burst open into a cascade of spatial shrapnel, every last drop of it. It was clear why constellations of fiery volcanoes were the most prevalent visual in the Heavens, why He so inspired their image.

  “Lucifer! Did I hear that correctly, Son? Did I? So now you’re on a first-name basis with him? You actually call that Satan by name? Listen here, Son. You don’t like being called the Son of Man. I don’t like hearing the name Lucifer. Do not utter that devil’s name in my presence again. Especially on a night like tonight, on the night of your sister’s conception.”

  While there was nothing more intimidating than the expression on the Creator’s inscrutable face during the times He truly turned angry, His tone could be equally menacing. The Son of Man decided to tone things down a bit.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I meant no disrespect, and you know it.”

  The Creator instantly calmed Himself down. As incensed and enraged as He could get at times, He could also un-anger Himself just as quickly. He could change his tack just as easily, and decided to appeal to his son’s conscience.

  “It’s all right, Son; all is forgiven. You know I’ll forgive anything as long as one is truly sorry. Now, why don’t you try doing the same thing with man? Why don’t you try understanding that man is a just slow learner, a little dull if you will. But He’ll get it eventually.”

  “Eventually, Father? Hasn’t two thousand years been long enough? How much more time does man need? You know, I learned something invaluable when I was down there, Father. Sometimes you have to cut your losses, and well, this is one of those times.”

  “That’s perfectly fine, Son. Let’s do exactly that. Let’s cut our losses, as you say. But first you have to go down there. First you have to make contact and fulfill scripture.”

  The Son of Man shook his head vigorously. “Sorry, Father, it ain’t happening. Not in my lifetime anyway.”

  The Creator tried His best to ignore the lowbrow colloquialism His son had just employed.

  “Really, Son? Are you absolutely certain of that? I mean, you are going to live forever, remember?”

  Just then, the Son of Man felt what seemed like a pelting shower of meteors, a hail of asteroids rain down upon his spirit, realizing that, no matter what he did or wherever he went, no matter how far into the outer reaches or the outer limits or even the most remote regions of the universe, his Father would always be there right alongside him.

  “Please, Father, no need to remind me. I know that already.”

  The Creator of the Universe shook His head in total dismay. So now the Son of Man was knocking eternal life—the very bane of his existence, the one gift he had presented and offered mankind. If the Creator couldn’t believe such infernal flippancy, He was convinced more than ever of the source, of who had influenced this attitude: Satan, that snake. Something had definitely transpired during the three days before his son’s ascent into Heaven; those three days when the Son of Man had descended into hell after being on the cross. Since then, he had lightened up considerably on Lucifer. The Creator couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but Satan had planted some kind of kernel in his son’s head.

  “Why are you being so cynical, Son?

  Why?”

  “Because I know you’re up to something, Father. This ill-conceived whim of yours to have another child. There’s some scheme behind it and you know it. Tell me what it is, Father. What are you up to?”

  “I’m not up to anything, Son. What makes you think thus?”

  “Because I know you, Father. I know you and your mysterious ways. After two thousand years, you can’t conceal things from me that easily. You don’t do anything unless there’s some grand design behind it all, just like when you had me conceived.”

  “You assume too much, Son, way too

  much.”

  “It’s true, Father, and you know it. Hadn’t you had enough of man and his misdeeds when you concocted the scheme for attaining salvation and eternal life? Just look at my name, Father, the name Jesus. What does it mean? It means God saves. And look at the name you want to give this girl, Father. It means light. If you had a reason for creating me, you’ve got a reason for creating her. It’s that simple, Father. I don’t believe you just want to
be a parent again. You’re not exactly the paternal type, Father.”

  The Creator fell absolutely silent. Even for Him, He who had created the Universe, there was nothing that stung quite as much as the mordant recriminations of one’s angry offspring.

  “You’re absolutely right, Son. You’ve caught me red-handed as they say down there. I’ll admit that, when you were conceived, I did have a grand scheme behind it all: man’s salvation. I made you the ultimate trade-off for eternal life. I wanted you to be perfect and become the ultimate overachiever. Not this time, Son. I’m older now, I’m wiser. I just want to relax this time around. I want to enjoy fatherhood plain and simple, that’s all; and I’ve decided there’s nothing more precious than a daughter.”

  The jabs from one’s offspring could sting, but so could the barbs from one’s parent.

  “Thanks a lot, Father. So now sons aren’t good enough? Is that what you’re saying?”

  The Creator smiled slightly and came over to put a consoling hand on his son’s shoulder, a right hand.

  “Now, Son, I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. It’s just that, well, thanks to man, daughters have always gotten the short end of the stick and I plan on rectifying that.”

  Despite so rare and tender a confession, the Son of Man remained skeptical and on guard. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew he was still being toyed with. Such were the drawbacks to being part of the Godhead. Sure, he and the Creator and the Holy Spirit all belonged to the Trinity, but there was still plenty the Creator of the Universe kept from him. He purposely arranged it so that, in the pyramidal structure of the Trinity, the Son of Man was not fully privy to all the designs and schemes that took place at the top.

  “I don’t believe you, Father. You’re conning me. This is all some conniving scheme of yours, and you know it. Tell me what you did with those scrolls, Father. Where did you hide them?”

  The Great Ignorer cast aside all mention of the scrolls again, focusing instead on his son’s atrocious and foul use of language.

  “I’m not conning you, Son. And please, must you use that type of language up here? What a foul mouth you’ve acquired: con, ain’t, cutting losses. Remember where you are, Son. You didn’t talk that way even when you walked among man.”

  “I was tempted to, Father, believe me.”

  “But you didn’t, Son. You controlled yourself. And I know where all this filth is coming from. This must have been what you learned in hell those three days you were down there. Is that how Satan contaminated your head?”

  The Son of Man could be a great ignorer himself, and decided to borrow a page from the Creator’s book. He knew it drove his Father absolutely wild not knowing what had happened down there, what took place during those three days of his descent into hell. But as long as the Creator refused to hand over the missing scrolls, the Son of Man had no intention of making his own revelations. Yes, there could be certain advantages to the divisional structure of the Trinity: sometimes those at the top of the pyramid couldn’t always see all the way down.

  “Pardon me, Father. I didn’t mean to offend you with my language. How’s this for a compromise: you tell me what you’re up to and I might reconsider, I might just go back down.”

  If the sheen of the stars and the glow of the galaxies should have flared up in the eternal light of the Creator’s eyes, He was still Creator of the Universe and would not allow Himself to be tempted or toyed with, not even by the Son of Man.

  “For the last time, Son—nothing! It’s like I told you. I simply want to enjoy fatherhood this time around. It’s difficult for me to admit this, but when you were growing up I was so wrapped up in all the matters of salvation that I missed out on way too much, on all the cute little things you said and did, on all your milestones. This time I’m not letting that happen. I plan on being there for all the important things in your sister’s life: the sports events, the recitals, the birthday parties.”

  “Birthday parties? It’s Cuba, Father. What birthday parties?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Son. She’ll have birthday parties like no other. You’ll see.”

  “Well, that’s great to hear, Father. In the meantime, what birthday parties did I ever have? Even now, when despicable man celebrates my birthday, is it even on the actual date? No, of course not. Let’s see, man can figure out how to send rockets to the moon and space probes to explore the deepest recesses of outer space and he builds computers capable of performing millions of calculations per second, but he still hasn’t figured out my real birthday.”

  The Creator patted his son’s shoulder affectionately and in consolation.

  “Let it go, Son. I know when you’re real birthday is. That’s all that matters.”

  “No, Father! I will not let it go! What type of celebration is it for me, anyway? The whole Nativity is only so man can give himself gifts and satisfy his own selfish needs.”

  The Son of Man suddenly brought his invective to a halt, his emotive countenance flaring in visible anger as he looked down with contempt on the third planet from the sun and wished it would just detonate into trillions of subatomic particles.

  “You know what, Father? I’ve just reconsidered, and I will definitely not be going back down—definitely not!”

  “Son, Son, just calm down, will you! You need to understand that man celebrates your birthday with acts of giving, with the gifts of sharing, that’s all. Believe it or not, those are the two main reasons I’ve decided to be a parent again—for your sake, for your own good.”

  “Listen, Father, I’m in no mood for any more of your games tonight. I’ve got things to do and places to go, and I don’t feel like deciphering your riddles. What do you mean for my sake?”

  “For your sake, Son, for your own good even. You see, you’ve been an only child for too long, and unfortunately, you’ve adopted many of the traits of an only child. Trust me, Son, you’re going to benefit greatly from having a sibling. Not only will you have someone to share things with, but someone to talk to and confide in as well.”

  “Oh yes, Father, I’m really going to have a lot in common with someone two thousand years younger than I am, aren’t I?”

  “Two thousand years is nothing and you know it, Son. Besides, your sister will catch up in no time; I’m making sure of it. I plan on making her extra smart.”

  The Son of Man turned and looked straight at the Creator’s iridescent but inscrutable face, the only other being in the universe who could do so without being singed to a crisp.

  “Smarter than I, Father?”

  “Well, let’s just say she’ll have different talents, Son. I made your primary gift the gift of healing, the gift of touch. Your sister will have the gift of tongues.”

  The Son of Man raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

  “Isn’t that a gift that girls already have, Father? You know it is. Besides, I wouldn’t exactly call it a gift. It’s more a curse.”

  “Son, Son, there you go again. When did you become such a contrarian? You love to oppose me these days just for sport.”

  “Honestly, Father, don’t you know when I’m joking? You don’t have a sense of humor anymore—if you ever did, that is. Why ‘tongues’ of all things?”

  “Why tongues? Very simple, Son. Have you seen what’s been happening down there lately? Technology is destroying man. It’s sucking all the humanity and soul from him. Technology is terrorizing man and he doesn’t even realize it. Man has got to get back to basics, Son: language, speaking, words.”

  “And you are not the least bit biased, Father, are you? Considering you are the Word.”

  “Well, I guess you could say just a little, Son.”

  “A little, Father? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s a reason why that is happening, why words and language are things of the past and nobody cares about them. They’re boring, Father—boring!”

  “And you’re not the least bit biased yourself, are you Son? You, who’ve had two thou
sand years to master all the languages in existence, but insist on speaking only Aramaic and that little smidgen of Hebrew you know.”

  The Son of Man shrugged his shoulders casually, unaffectedly. “It’s like you said, Father. It’s not my gift. It’s not my bag.”

  There he went again, those lowbrow expressions of his.

  “Regardless, Son. That’s not why language is dying. It’s because of something else, something sinister that’s awakened man’s need for instant gratification, man’s built-in desire for pushing the limits and hoarding knowledge. It’s because of…of the E word.”

  “The ‘E word,’ Father? Evolution?”

  “Electronics, Son, that ‘E word.’”

  “What’s wrong with electronics, Father? First comes lightning, then electricity, then electronics. It’s just evolution, Father, and not even you can do anything about it.”

  All at once, the Creator’s tone and expression and his very essence fashioned itself into a force of cosmic fury.

  “Of course I can, Son! I can bring it all down if I want! Electronics is the new Tower of Babel, and remember what I did with that, Son—I brought it all down! The Tower of Babel had man thinking he could accomplish anything he wanted, that he could be just like me. Well, electronics has given man the same illusion: except, now he thinks he’s even more like me. Man needs to realize that anytime I want, I can flip the big switch off in the sky.”

  “Do it, Father! Flip it off! Start with that satellite over there. Just wrap your hand around it and crunch it into dust, pulverize it!”

  “No, Son. I won’t do it! Not until I’ve given man a chance to reconcile, to realize all the harm it creates and he turns away from it on his own. Not until man realizes where the ‘E word’ comes from and who is behind it all.”

  “Who is behind it all, Father? Who?”

  “Who do you think, Son? The one and only enemy himself: Satan, the Great Tempter, the Great Defacer. He’s behind all this technology and man has absolutely no clue. That’s how great his final deception will be; that’s how skilled a con man he is.”