by Andy Andrews
With no other discernible move, the archangel simply and slowly nodded. It was David’s signal to begin. And so he did.
“Gabriel,” he began, “as a group, we appreciate the opportunity to have gathered here together. Our unsuccessful efforts in answering the question with which we were tasked ultimately led us not only to the answer itself, but to greater knowledge to benefit humanity as a whole. The previous solutions we explored—while incorrect—did succeed in bringing us to what we now recognize as the answer.”
David relaxed. Gabriel was nodding now. It was slight, but David saw the archangel’s gesture, and as he spoke, David’s confidence increased. “It was an exploration of hope, Gabriel, that allowed us to begin this quest with great energy and expectation.
“We sought wisdom, and our hope began to take greater shape. The understanding we gained about the necessity of courage moved hope and wisdom into action—and a broader search for where the true answer might lie. And though discouraged, our own exhibition of self-discipline kept us in the race long enough to develop”—David lifted his chin— “what humanity also needs to develop. And that would be . . . character.
“So the answer, sir, is that humanity, with its attention focused to ‘building character,’ will restore itself to the pathway toward successful civilization.”
It only took a moment for the archangel to smile, and when he did, cheers erupted from every corner of the room.
CHAPTER 11
The celebration extended into the audience. David turned to shake hands with Winston, who was fumbling for a cigar. Carver stood, looking across the table and up into the audience. He waved at Dr. Washington, who had both fists in the air and a victorious grin.
Joan formally shook hands with Eric, who was greeting friends streaming down from several rows up into the theater. Everyone was overflowing with emotion, and no one, it seemed, any longer felt the need to observe the boundaries between the audience and the table. It was still an odd sight, David thought, watching the king of Israel embrace Dr. Carver—the “Ethiopian.”
David turned and was almost bowled over by his favorite twelve-year-old. Anne Frank had come down the aisle as fast as she could, and now, close at last to her friend, she leaped into David’s arms, and he whirled her around.
Placing her feet back on the floor, David laughed as Anne began to speak. He had forgotten how she went from one topic to another, chattering without slowing down. “I am so proud of you,” she said. “I am proud of you all. King David is my friend too. Can you believe that you both have the same name? Were you aware that I knew him? Mrs. Meir introduced us. Do we have time to talk? Do you get to stay?”
As Anne drew a breath to continue on, David saw her countenance falter. Her smile, which had been so intense just a moment before, wavered as a question formed in her eyes. It had been only a second since she glanced away, but she looked past him now with a confused expression.
Quickly, David turned to see what had caught Anne’s attention. The celebration was still in full force except, he saw immediately, for a few who wore the same questioning look on their faces. The odd reaction amid all the hoopla made him search quickly for the object of their attention. “What is it?” David asked Anne. “What’s wrong?’
With her eyes and head, she indicated a direction for David to look. When he did, the same expression formed on his face. Now, around the room, the celebrations subsided, and it became noticeably quieter as first one small group then another became aware that something was wrong.
President Lincoln had not risen from his chair. In fact, it looked as if he hadn’t moved. He was certainly not smiling—not even close. His gaze was fixed firmly on Gabriel, who David now saw had not moved either.
Everything had all happened so quickly, and now David’s mind was racing to remember just exactly what had happened. He had answered the question . . . the archangel confirmed the answer . . . the relief washed over everyone . . . the celebration began . . .
As total silence overtook the theater, David saw that Gabriel was no longer smiling and was returning the gaze of the president as if each knew what the other was thinking. No longer smiling, David thought. Then a cold wave of fear washed over him. He smiled, David suddenly realized. Barely able to breathe, David was still working it out in his mind. Gabriel smiled. He only smiled. We assumed . . .
The archangel broke the silence in the room, but not his eye contact with the sixteenth president of the United States. “Do you have a question?” he asked.
Without moving, the president said simply, “The answer was incorrect?”
“Yes, Abraham Lincoln,” Gabriel responded, “the answer was incorrect.”
Lincoln nodded slowly. There was certainly nothing else to say, and the air had gone out of the room in any case.
The archangel looked around the theater and said, “As always, you are welcome to continue your conversations in this place or in any of the other locations that are provided.” Looking to David, he remarked, “Assuming that you might wish to stay a while longer, I will leave now. I will return soon to escort you home.” With that, the archangel moved toward the door, which had begun to open.
David had been horrified before, but now he felt a rising fury. It was inconceivable to him that the archangel would play with them in that way—that he would deliberately allow them to believe all was saved when, in fact, all had been lost. David opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped as Gabriel turned at the door.
As angry as he was at that minute, David still managed to catch something in the archangel’s eyes that prevented him from speaking out. Instead, he heard the strangest confession he ever could have imagined.
“Travelers,” Gabriel said, “as a divine being, I have never been required to experience sorrow or sadness. Joy, yes. Excitement, yes. A sense of duty, yes. What you refer to as your feelings of sadness or remorse are simply not in my nature. As I have told you before, I am a servant.”
He looked at Joan. “When I attended you on earth so many years ago, I did so at His behest. Please know that it was joy with which I paid you heed. Even at the fire, your body was fearful and I knew not how to help, so I showed you my joy. Do you remember?” When Joan nodded, he said, “And I was indeed joyful, for I knew that your time of suffering was at an end.
“Moments ago, it was not my intention to mislead you with the joy I expressed. Turning to David, he said, “So many times with the Travelers, I have wished to know how you feel. You are so strange to me . . . My momentary thought was one of joy for your accomplishment.”
“Gabriel,” David said rather coldly, “we accomplished nothing.”
The archangel looked perplexed. “I have tried so hard to understand human beings. I assumed you believed that there is value in struggle. You say—I myself have heard you say—that the winds of adversity fill the sails of accomplishment.”
Someone groaned. David was angry again. He couldn’t help it. “That is a saying, Gabriel. It’s a quote. I don’t know who said it—probably someone in this room—but it is just a saying.”
“I don’t understand,” Gabriel said.
David wanted to scream. He had rarely been this frustrated with anyone in his life. I cannot believe, he said to himself, striving desperately to remain calm, that I am standing here trying to explain ‘encouragement’ to an archangel. “It’s an adage, Gabriel. A platitude. It is just something you say to someone so that they will fight on even when everything looks hopeless!”
The archangel furrowed his brow, thought for a moment, and said, “Oh.”
Then he turned and walked through the door.
If David had been angry before, it was nothing compared to this. If he had been able to lay his hands on something, he would have thrown it.
Winston’s face was a deep red. “I’d like to punch that angel right in the wings,” he said.
“I understand how you feel,” Joan replied, “but trust me; don’t ever try. And he’s an—”
“I know, I know,” Churchill mumbled and walked away.
“I suppose I feel . . . well, hurt,” Carver said. “I have worked with Gabriel myself—several times—and I never expected to be mocked.” He paused and thought for a moment, then said to Eric. “That’s what he did; isn’t that right? He turned our words on us and walked out. I never,” he repeated, “never expected to be mocked.”
“I’m used to humans acting crazy,” Eric said, “but I’m with you. I never expected that from an archangel.”
Around the theater, it was the same in every gathering. The Travelers were hurt, angry, and confused. They seemed to seek some kind of understanding or comfort by gathering in groups of their peers. Bear Bryant was standing with John Wooden and Jesse Owens. Coach Bryant laid a hand on David’s shoulder and squeezed as he walked by.
David sat down heavily in one of the theater seats. Across the room, Lincoln and Churchill were standing with Adams, Jefferson, Golda Meir, and Churchill’s old friend, FDR. George Washington and Teddy Roosevelt were surrounded by another cadre of presidents and world leaders.
David was by himself. The other Travelers, it seemed, were giving him a moment to gather himself. Or they’re avoiding me because I blew it, David thought darkly. Near the table, Red Grange and Jim Thorpe talked quietly with Babe Didrikson Zaharias, while behind him on row four, Edison and Einstein were still at it. Anne sat down next to David and, taking his hand in hers, never said a word.
Together they watched as people drifted around the theater, greeting old friends and talking quietly. Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, and Lucille Ball. Napoleon Hill, Og Mandino, and Noah—or Moses (David couldn’t tell the difference). It would have been fun if he had not felt so miserable.
Benjamin Franklin sat down on the other side of Anne. Removing his spectacles, he wiped them with a handkerchief and perched them back upon his nose. He smiled at David and sighed. “I don’t know what to say.” He motioned around the room and added, “I don’t think they do either, but I want to tell you that all of us thought you performed admirably. It was a difficult task, Mr. Ponder. None could have done better.”
David was about to say, “Thanks” or “What does it matter?” or any one of the ten other things that were running through his mind, when a wadded-up piece of paper sailed over their heads and landed in the middle of the floor. Anne, David, and Franklin turned to see where it had come from, and it was obvious at first glance that either Einstein or Edison had thrown it. The two scientists were almost nose to nose.
Anne stepped out into the floor to retrieve the trash. While she was out of earshot, David whispered irritably to Franklin, “What in the hell are they arguing about?” The statesman peered over the top of his eyeglasses. “First of all,” Franklin said, “don’t curse. And especially not with that word. Not here.” He smiled. “Many of us made it in by the skin of our teeth—a decision at the last moment—and would rather not be reminded of how close we came to the alternate destination.”
Anne returned and sat back down. It appeared to David that after she had picked up the trash—something his daughter would have done when she was twelve, he thought—that Anne had looked for a place to deposit it. Not a trash can in the whole place, I’ll bet, David thought to himself and held out his hand to Anne. He couldn’t help but smile when again, just like Jenny would have done, the little girl put the trash in his hand without another thought.
Shoving the paper ball into his pants pocket, David was distracted again by the two men behind them. “No kidding,” he said to Franklin. “What are they bickering about?”
Franklin laughed and shifted in his chair. Without even looking behind him, he said, “Same old thing. This time with a different twist. I think that’s why they are so worked up.”
“What same old thing?” David asked.
The founding father sighed. “Thomas Edison was afraid of the dark. Many people never knew this about him. He was ashamed—”
“Wait,” David interrupted. “The guy who invented the lightbulb was afraid of the dark?”
Franklin dipped his head and peered over his spectacles again. “Why do you think he worked so hard to succeed at that particular task?” He relaxed again. “In any case, yes, that is quite true. Thomas Edison was afraid of the dark. Some folks on earth knew, of course, but here it is common knowledge. In fact, Thomas is quite proud of it.”
“Why would he be proud of that?” David asked.
“Because it became his greatest asset in the specific task of inventing the first lightbulb. And that task, when he finally succeeded, became his greatest accomplishment. I’m sure you’ve heard the story.” Franklin leaned in. “Thomas still tells it ad nauseam, doesn’t he, Anne?” The girl giggled and nodded. “Thousands of failures before ‘Eureka!’ and he invented the lightbulb.” Franklin had thrown his hands into the air when he said, “Eureka” in an apparent imitation of Edison. Anne doubled over laughing.
Concluding, Franklin said, “So that is the basis of his argument to Albert. And that is what he is hammering away at today. He contends that fear and adversity should lead to action. And that man should continue to act against fear and adversity, creating breakthrough after breakthrough until he is dead. Edison eventually obtained 1,093 patents for his inventions, you know.”
Franklin looked at Anne and did his Edison impression again. “And what if I had quit? What if I had given in to my doubts and fears? Where would the world be today?” This was the funniest thing Anne had ever seen. Actually, despite his mood, David thought it was pretty funny too.
David glanced at the scientists again. “So . . . what? Edison thinks we should still be working on the answer to the question Gabriel posed?”
Franklin shrugged. “And that brings us to Albert. No one else but Albert would dare argue anything with Thomas Edison, of course. But Albert says, ‘The significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking with which we created them.’”
“I believe that,” David said. “If a person does not grow and change and become more . . . well, I believe that.”
“As do I,” Franklin said. “But Albert argues that, except for you, they have put the wrong people in charge of solving the problem.”
David frowned. “Except for me? Wrong people? What does that mean?”
The statesman grinned. “Don’t you see? Albert contends that we are the wrong people to solve this ‘significant problem’ because our ‘level of thinking’ should be fixed.”
Again, David frowned and shook his head, so Franklin tried again to explain. “Albert says our level of thinking should be fixed . . . unalterable . . . settled . . . permanently without forward motion. Because we are here. His assertion is that when we arrived here, our ability to expand our level of thinking—in earthly terms—was finished. So Albert says that you could have been left at home and worked this out yourself.”
“Hmm,” David mused. “So who do you believe?”
Franklin glanced around to make sure he wasn’t overheard. “Edison.”
“Why Edison?” David asked.
“Because,” Franklin explained, “I have learned never to doubt the wisdom of Gabriel. He is a servant, correct? I mean, how often does he say that? And to doubt the servant would be to doubt the One he serves. You were brought here for a reason, my friend.” He paused, then added, “It is hard to go against Albert, though. He was obviously right about the time travel thing.”
“So I was brought here for a reason,” David said. “Was the reason to fail?”
“No, of course not,” Franklin insisted. “Back to Gabriel. To doubt the servant would be to doubt the One he serves! Gabriel did not bring you here to fail, because you were not created for failure! David Ponder, remember who you are. You are Everyman! You were created to learn, to become . . . to fight the winds of resistance. You were created to succeed!”
“Then why did we—why did I fail?”
“I don’t know,” Franklin said, frowning and shaking his head
. “There is something more. I just know it. Have you ever had that little tingle just outside the realm of your consciousness . . . a word you couldn’t remember . . . something you just couldn’t get a handle on?”
David nodded.
“That is how I have felt ever since the archangel walked out of the theater.”
“I’ve just been mad,” David said, and Franklin chuckled.
For a time, they simply sat there. Franklin crossed his arms and physically relaxed. He closed his eyes and seemed to have retreated from their conversation. Anne held David’s hand, and the two watched as the Travelers moved across the room from one group to the next. There is no urgency in their voices or their movements now, David thought. It is over.
About five minutes had passed when, suddenly, Franklin opened his eyes, stood up, and reached to get David to his feet. The man who helped form a nation had taken David by the arm and said, “Quickly. Come with me.”
David and Anne followed Franklin, who passed Lincoln and asked formally, “Mr. President, would you join us, please?”
Lincoln glanced at David, who shrugged and followed Franklin with David and Anne seeing Benjamin Franklin walking so briskly against the backdrop of unmoving people caught Churchill’s attention. Winston was curious and also joined the small group.
Franklin stopped at the table beside the hourglass and asked dramatically, “What do you see?”
David spoke for the rest. “An hourglass?”
“Not just an hourglass, my fine friend.” Franklin arched his brow mysteriously. “This,” he said,” is the hourglass.”
They all looked again. “Right,” Winston said. “It is the hourglass that has been sitting here the whole time we’ve been talking.”
“No, no, no,” Franklin said to him, shaking his head back and forth. “Don’t be dense. Look at it.”