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

by Luis Gonzalez

  “Tell you what, Son. How’s this for a proposition: you fill me in on what happened during those three days you descended to, you-know-where, and I’ll consider sending an army of angels down to look for these scrolls that have you so riled up.”

  The Son of Man took a moment to weigh his options, still focused on events billions of light-years away: this time the very tail-end of a supernova and its intriguing lifecycle. It was a phenomenon of astronomical physics, watching the fiery and tempestuous nova return to a normal level of intensity after having burned a thousand times stronger than its own brightness. A nova was a giant match that someone had struck and lit then snuffed out in space.

  “Forget it, Father. I’ll find them on my own. And by the way, you’re making a big mistake by getting a Cuban woman involved in all this, you’ll see.”

  “Why, Son? Why do you say that?”

  “Shouldn’t you already know, Father? Didn’t you create them?”

  “Yes Son, but go ahead. Enlighten me.”

  “All right, Father. For starters, they’re all hot tempered.”

  “I know that, Son, I know.”

  “And volatile.”

  “I know that too, Son.”

  “Fiery and tempestuous.”

  “Yes, Son, I know, but that’s what I like that about them.”

  “Worst of all, Father, they love to argue and criticize and have to have the last word in everything—always!”

  “That’s all women, Son, all women. But regardless, that doesn’t work with me. Remember, I enjoy the last word because I am the Word.”

  “There’s only one redeeming feature about Cuban women, Father. They’re…well…quite frankly, they’re hot.”

  “Beautiful, Son. The word is ‘beautiful’ up here. But yes, I agree with you, they’re quite stunning. Did you get a load of her mother, Son? I wasn’t going to place much emphasis on the physical, but while I’m at it, I think I’ll give Luz the gift of beauty too.”

  “Wow, Father, this girl is going to have everything, isn’t she? The gift of tongues. The gift of beauty. Smart. What other gifts do you plan on endowing her with?”

  “Well, let’s see…I think that pretty much covers it.”

  “Just don’t shower her with her mother’s indecisiveness or temper, Father. That Clara may be beautiful, but have you seen what a little fireball she is? She isn’t just a nova, she’s a supernova.”

  “Yes, Son, but I like that about her.”

  “Well I don’t, Father! She’s a middle sister. And you know how middle children always have problems. It was so great seeing Gabriel put her in her place. I found it absolutely enthralling!”

  “Son, Son, you need to understand that it’s a different world from when you were down there. Back then women were second-class citizens. You know that.”

  “They’re still second-class citizens, Father.”

  “True, Son, but that’s one thing I hope to change. That’s why I need a woman who can assert herself and who’s sure of herself. That’s why a Cuban woman will be perfect for the job. There’s no pushing them around.”

  “Aha, Father! You just admitted it! Perfect for the job! See! You are up to something. Now what job are you talking about?”

  I didn’t mean it like that, Son. What I meant is that sons and daughters are different, that’s all. They have to be raised differently. They’ve got different sensibilities and…well…Clara will provide your sister with the proper nurturing and guidance she’ll need.”

  “I don’t see how, Father. It seems to me this girl has plenty to learn about herself. She’s got serious trust issues that began with her own father and the way his work was more important than his children. Sound familiar?”

  An absolute quiet settled upon and pierced its way through the Heavens, silencing both Father and Son. The Creator of the Universe had just been baited again, but this time He actually felt He deserved it, felt the taunt was merited. A contrite expression swept across His inscrutable face, and He knew there was no way out of this one.

  “I know exactly where you’re coming from, Son, and I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “Really, Father?”

  “Yes, Son, of course I do. I know that, as a Heavenly father, I couldn’t have been better. But I also know that, as an Earthly father, you needed a lot more interaction, that you never really bonded with Joseph.”

  The Son of Man grew momentarily moved by so disarming a candor, but this rare moment of tenderness also seemed a bit contrived.

  “Why are you being so conciliatory, Father? Why?”

  “Because, Son, it’s the truth. Now please, just put aside all your doubts and fears and have a little more faith in your old man. You have to believe that I know what I’m doing.”

  The Son of Man felt sudden waves of contrition swelling within him.

  “But, Father, I thought I would always be your only child.”

  The Creator put another consoling arm around his son’s shoulder.

  “Come now, Son, sibling rivalry already? You know that you’re my firstborn and always will be. No one can ever take that away from you, Son—no matter how many children I have.”

  “All right, Father, all right; I’ll give you that much.”

  “Of course, Son. You will always be my one and only son. However, I never said anything about having a daughter, did I?”

  The Son of Man had to concede that the Creator did have a valid point here.

  “Well, I guess so, Father. When you put it that way, I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right, Son. I always am and you know that. That’s why I’m the Father and you’re the Son. Now just trust and believe in me to set things right, will you?”

  Miraculously, the Son of Man managed to pull himself out of that black hole of hostility ensconcing him all night and even perked up a bit, all the glowing in the Heavens invigorating him and making him take note of something.

  “Just promise me one thing, Father—that You’re not sending another savior down there, another Messiah.”

  The Creator shook his head and smiled with the rays of a thousand suns.

  “See what I was saying earlier about learning to share things, Son. Well, part of sharing includes sharing responsibility.”

  The Son of Man’s mercurial temper flared up again with doubt and speculation.

  “No, Father. You can’t be serious!”

  “I honestly couldn’t tell you, Son. I’m not getting in the middle of it. I’m not meddling this time around. If your sister turns out to be another Messiah, so be it. Right now I’m just interested in expanding the family, that’s it. Now go and rejoice, Son! Rejoice! Our family is growing and I for one can’t wait for the blessed day.”

  In annoyance, the Son of Man shook his Father’s right hand off his right shoulder and moved away from him.

  “But, Father, how can you have such a cavalier attitude? You couldn’t possibly be planning on going through the same thing all over again, could you?”

  “Absolutely not, Son. You think I want to go through all that agony again? All that pain and suffering?”

  “Your agony, Father? Your pain and suffering? What about mine? What about what I went through?”

  The Son of Man’s expression went blank. The light in his eyes faded like two dying moons, and the Creator of the Universe knew He should have quit while He was ahead. There was just no having a pleasant conversation with the Son of Man these days—none at all.

  “Please, Son, must you dredge up all this unpleasantness right now? On so joyous a night as the conception of your sister?”

  “Yes, Father, I must, and I most certainly will! I want you always to remember what I went through on that cross—always! Look at my hands, Father. Look at my hands and my feet!”

  But the Creator of the Universe had no intention of looking at these and couldn’t bring himself to do so anyway. He would rather strain His eternal eyes from peering countless galaxies away, than to gaze up
on the black holes that still marked his son’s hands and feet.

  “Go ahead, Father, touch them! They still hurt, Father! Put your fingers right through my scars and maybe then you’ll have an inkling of what I went through! Maybe then, Father!”

  The Creator fell into an abyss of silence, a black hole of self-incrimination. Regret and embarrassment and the gravity of their combined force kept his eyes downcast. It seemed an eternity before He could lift them again and look his son square in the face.

  “Son, I know what you went through. You make sure I know it every chance you get. Can’t we let bygones be bygones? I was hoping for a fresh start, Son, and for your sister to be a major part of that fresh start.”

  But He who could accomplish the impossible was asking the impossible. Those two dying moons in the Son of Man’s eyes rose again. They were filled with fire and fury. He had worked himself up into too much of a lather to let the issue go.

  “I’m sorry, Father. But I just don’t believe this is all as innocent as you’re making it seem. For you to take so drastic a step means there’s some monumental design behind it. What are you hiding from me, Father? And while we’re at it, where are you hiding the missing scrolls? I hope you didn’t destroy them.”

  The Creator shook his ever-splendiferous head with the force of a thousand winds, while brushing off his son’s continued harangue.

  “There’s just no pleasing you, Son, no pleasing you whatsoever these days. Why don’t you relax a moment and have a seat at my right hand so we can iron this all out.”

  But if Father hoped that Son would embrace the tender and paternal overture, the Son of Man remained too rattled and merely rebuffed him.

  “No, Father, I will not join you at your right hand right now. We are not on official business. I’ve got other things to take care of at the moment—like finding the missing scrolls.”

  The Creator had had enough, and this time He cared not if His reply only exacerbated matters.

  “All right, Son, suit yourself. Any idea where you’ll start?”

  The Son of Man was being toyed with again and he knew it.

  “Yes, Father. I know exactly where to start: with the Holy Spirit. He’ll tell me. He’s part of both of us, Father, not just you. I’m going to find out from him, and while I’m at it, I’ll have him tell me what this is really all about. He should know; after all, it was he who…you know…overshadowed that Cuban girl.”

  “Go ahead, Son. By all means, go ahead and find out anything you want. You’ll see soon enough that it’s simply what I’m saying: I want to be a parent again. I want you to have a sibling, Son. It wasn’t fair to keep you an only child for so long.”

  “Well, Father, you’re right about that. Just because I’m the Son of God doesn’t mean I don’t get lonely.”

  “I know that, Son, I know. And I’m trying to make amends, believe me. I know you’ve been lonely. I know you’ve needed someone other than your old man to talk to and confide in. I can think of no better way to remedy that loneliness than with a sibling.”

  “Really, Father? Well, I can think of numerous ways to remedy that loneliness, but they have nothing to do with a sibling.”

  The Creator’s inscrutable face did not glow this time. It glowered, and in disgust.

  “Please, Son, have some respect, will you? You know I don’t like that type of talk.”

  “Respect, Father? What does respect have to do with it? It’s just a fact of life, a fact of eternal life. You promised me I would get to consummate a union once I was up here, and I’m still waiting.”

  “Not now, Son, please! Now is not the right time for that.”

  “It’s never the right time, Father. You never want to discuss that or anything else of importance to me.”

  “But Son, look at it this way: we’ve got all of eternity to discuss that; we’ve got ‘til the end of time to resolve that issue.”

  “No, Father, I’m not waiting all of eternity, and there is no end of time, remember? I’ve waited long enough, and I want a timeline. I want to know when there will be a consummation, and I want Your word on it.”

  With all the pressing and truly important matters the Creator of the Universe had at hand, He couldn’t believe this was first and foremost on his son’s mind.

  “But, Son, if you stop and think about it you’ll realize we have discussed this before, and that you already have…well, you know…consummated.”

  “I have, Father? When, Father? Where and with whom?”

  “With your church, Son, all the time, with those who believe in you and pray to you. Don’t forget that you are the bridegroom and the church is your bride and that every time you save someone or anyone partakes of you, it’s…well…it’s consummation.”

  “No, Father. I’m not talking about that kind of consummation. I’m talking about the physical kind. Not the spiritual one, but the purely physical one—along with all the raw exhilaration that comes from it. And by the way, Father, that’s not consummation either, it’s Communion. So don’t play your word games with me, Father. You’re toying with me again and you know it.”

  “But Son, that’s not what Heaven is about and you know it. If I made an exception for you, I’d have to make an exception for everyone who enters the pearly gates. I certainly won’t have that going on up here—consummation that is; there’s no way I’ll condone it. You have to realize that along with technology, that’s also been a tool the Enemy has used against man.”

  “A tool, Father? A tool? How about a gift? Your gift to man, remember? Now you want to brand it as one of Lucifer’s tools.”

  “Please, Son! I told you, I don’t want to hear that—”

  “Lucifer, Father! Yes, Lucifer! There, I said his name. Stop giving him so much power, Father. He’s just an angel. He’s just a creature with wings who’s starved for attention. He only has power when man gives him power—when you give him power.”

  Once again, the Creator of the Universe found Himself at a loss for words, so He merely sighed in exasperation. His breath expelled only the force of hundreds of gales this time rather than thousands. That was how enervated this exchange had rendered Him. That was how small and closed-in the vastness of the Universe felt right now.

  “You want me to tell you why you want another child so badly, Father? You really want to know why?”

  “Go ahead, Son. Pray, tell me.”

  “Because you can’t handle the fact I’m growing up, Father. You can’t accept the fact I want to be my own man. Not the Son of Man, but my own man.”

  “Of course I can accept you as your own man, Son. I’m as proud of you today as the day John baptized you. The day I cracked open the Heavens and told you how proud I was of you then. Remember that day? It’s just that I’ve got other pressing matters right now, like making sure Clara’s pregnancy goes smoothly and she gets enough to eat. Don’t forget she’s in Cuba, Son. There are severe shortages of everything there, especially food.”

  “What does she need food for, Father? She’s going to be surrounded by faith, remember? Weren’t those your words?”

  The Creator of the Universe shook his head mildly, but it still generated enough energy to produce great solar flares and piercing gamma rays into the galaxies beyond.

  “Look, Son, I’ve got a great idea to set your mind back on course. Why don’t you be a good boy, a good older brother that is, and go down there and check in on your stepmother. Make some contact with her and make sure she’s got everything she needs right now.”

  The look on the Son of Man’s face no longer fell flat or went blank, or grew intense or even irritable. It turned rapt—rapt in white-hot rage.

  “First of all, Father, don’t call that girl my stepmother. She’s no such thing! Secondly, I told you I wasn’t going down there again! Now, less than ever, after two thousand years of being put off by you and having you brush aside that which most matters to me. Goodbye Father, I’m leaving! But it’s not down there I’m headed; that I can assure
you!”

  “But wait, Son! We’re not finished talking yet. And where are you going anyway? When are you coming back?”

  The Son of Man was already halfway to another galaxy before he stopped and looked back in his Father’s direction. He decided to turn the tables on Him.

  “Do you really need to ask me, Father? I mean, isn’t it fair to say you already know where I’m going? Wouldn’t that be a fair assumption on my part? You are the Creator of the Universe, aren’t you? That means you know everything I do—before I ever even do it!”

  But the Creator of the Universe was not one to scare easily. In fact, He didn’t scare at all—except on occasion with His son.

  “All right!” He called out. “Just be careful and stay away from that black hole, will you? Trust me, Son, you don’t know what you’re getting into with that thing. I should know, I created them.”

  Without so much as another utterance, the Son of Man took off with Godspeed, plunging deep into that nebulous and dimly lit galaxy that Man had yet to discover or map out with all his high-powered gadgets and other technological marvels. That black hole continued churning and spinning and violently devouring anything light-years within its reach, but the Son of Man, like any rebellious offspring, came dangerously close to it on purpose, defiantly veering toward its path just to give his old man a good old-fashioned scare. No worries though, not really. The speed of light could not avoid capture by the enormous gravity generated in a black hole, but the speed employed by Father, Son, and Holy Spirit certainly could.

  Still, the Creator of the Universe cringed and shook his splendiferous head worriedly, watching his Son venture into the vicinity of that violently whirling vacuum in what any parent would regard as an adolescent show of exhibitionism. What was going on with him? Why the dogged defiance? Why the need to play the devil’s advocate? Sure, the two were part of the Trinity, but Father and Son were different in so many ways and always would be.

  Why couldn’t he learn to make more concessions? Why was the Son of Man always chasing after the complex concepts of Creation? The quasars. The novas. The red giants and white dwarfs. Why couldn’t he just take pleasure in the simple things of the Universe? The pale white moon as it hung in solitary beauty against a velvet black sky. A wild and wayward comet as its tail streamed and streaked and its particles of dust fired their way through the firmament. A star rising in the east or some planets hanging here and there. How about simple gravity or lack thereof. Why, after all, had the Creator fashioned Saturn’s rings? Why had He created Jupiter’s big red spot? For some local flair and color, for additional excitement. Was there really any need for more than that? No. But it was never enough. Not for man, not for the Son of Man. It was always more and more and more. Maybe one day both would learn that the answers to existence were found by looking inward rather than outward; that the keys to life were meant to be retrieved, not from the remote and unfathomable reaches of outer space, but from the infinite vastness of inner space, from the depths within.