Scars

by Patience Prence

  Maitra meaning ‘universal love.’ He will teach and guide mankind to a better, more loving and peaceful world.”

  Peter Roma extended his arm. “Please welcome ‘Lord Maitreyas’!”

  People’s eyes searched the crowd trying to get a glimpse of Maitreyas. They were puzzled for no one came forward.

  Again Peter Roma loudly announced, “The great teacher the world has been waiting for. . .‘Lord Maitreyas.’”

  In the shadowy recess of the entrance to the basilica, a flash of fluttering white caught the bright sunlight. A thin man stood framed by the massive bronze doors and the legions of stone saints and angels carved into the archways. His white robe moved gracefully in the warm breeze, and his turban glowed brilliantly in the dancing sun. An aura seemed to emanate from him as he emerged from the dark hollows of the basilica and onto the sunlit stage.

  The bright glowing light was familiar to Becky.

  “Oh, my gosh!” she blurted out loud, her voice shaky. “I’ve seen him before! He’s the floating man from my dream!”

  Momma, Dad and David paid no attention to Becky’s astonishment. They continued staring quietly across the living room at the wide, flickering television screen.

  With a narrow face and long sharp nose outlined by a coffee-black beard, Maitreyas held his chin up high as he approached the microphone-filled podium. The square was silent as the crowd curiously watched his movements.

  Standing tall before the crowd and cameras,

  Maitreyas rolled his shoulders back and puffed out his broad chest. His elegant figure seemed to soar skyward like the great arches and dome of the basilica behind him. He closed his eyes then lifted both of his hands up toward heaven.

  A roar like that of a thousand screaming jet engines erupted over the square. The sound of a strong gust of wind9 descended on the crowd. People grabbed their hats as wind slapped at their faces and tousled their hair.

  Shimmering waves of electromagnetic energy began to emanate from Maitreyas’s body. His body glowed brightly in the fading afternoon light.

  “Cool!” David bellowed.

  Minutes passed as the crowd watched in stunned silence. Maitreyas slowly lowered his hands to his sides.

  The roaring wind stopped, and the brilliant glow around Maitreyas’s body faded.

  Becky stared at the screen in disbelief. The television was silent. The crowds of thousands in the square stood still. Locked in place by a combination of fear and amazement, they were as quiet and motionless as the stone statues looking down on them from the top of the basilica.

  “Imagine. . . .” Becky heard a deep, soothing voice speak. She looked around the living room. Her parents and David had not taken their eyes from the television screen. She turned her gaze back to the dark brown eyes of Maitreyas. They seemed to look directly at her through the television.

  “Imagine. . . .”

  She heard the voice again. Maitreyas’s lips had not moved, but Becky knew the voice she heard was his. She looked at Momma, and by the deep creases in her forehead she knew she too had heard the voice. Becky looked back at the eyes staring out at her from the television.

  “Imagine”—the gentle voice had a slight stutter as it echoed in her mind—“a world where there is no hunger and no suffering.”

  “Imagine. . .a world where goodwill overshadows the thoughts and hearts of all.”

  “Imagine. . .a world where there is no war, a world of peace10 and goodwill.”

  His thick eyebrows curved above his dark amber eyes as he unblinkingly gazed into the camera.

  Becky felt her heart twitch as it quickened. She turned her head in an effort to look away, but her eyes remained glued to Maitreyas’s hypnotic gaze. She felt her muscles tense and an urge in her feet to start running. She remembered bright morning light shining through the entrance to the tent in her dream. She trembled with the same feeling of panic mixed with hopeful curiosity that held her at the feet of the bearded man who had come to her in her sleep.

  “As Peter Roma has said, we have entered into a new age and a new revelation.

  “My beloveds, in this new age we can have a world of peace—because without peace there is no future. ‘For broad is the road that leads to death and destruction, and many enter through it. But narrow is the road that leads to peace and unity.’

  “My beloveds, humankind is on that wide road to death and destruction: Many are wealthy, greedy and wasteful while millions suffer and starve to death. There are economic crises, social unrest, division, starvation, environmental calamity and war. Humankind must change and take the narrow road that leads to unity, economic prosperity, happiness, environmental restoration and a golden era of peace and prosperity.

  “The solution to get humankind back onto the right road is by sharing. You must start by sharing the world’s food and resources. The resources of this world are given by divine right for all of humanity, not just the more privileged members of society. Food, housing, health care and education are universal rights for all.

  “My beloveds, you must learn the ‘principle of sharing,’ and together we can feed the millions who are starving and suffer needlessly, and when you share you will recognize the love of God in yourselves. . . .

  “You must make a choice. Either you continue on the wrong road and stay as you are—selfish, greedy, proud and self-destructive—or take the right road and accept me and my ‘principle of sharing’—a path to peace and prosperity.”

  Maitreyas turned toward Peter Roma then back to the crowd of people.

  “You have met my disciple Peter Roma. He was the earthly son of the blessed virgin Mary, queen of heaven, and is now the master of wisdom. He has ascended from the outer ray and is here to lead and guide all of the churches into this new age.

  “You must put your trust in Peter Roma by allowing him the seat of St. Peter. By awakening the ‘love principle,’ he will guide the churches in this change.”

  He took a brief pause then continued to communicate without speaking.

  “My beloveds. . .we are all one. You must accept that we are all one, and together we can transform our civilization into the most beautiful, peaceful civilization this world has never seen before. Together we can stop the planetary peril. Take the first step and let me lead you and show you the way. Allow me to help you and guide you so together we can create a brilliant new civilization where all may participate as equal members of humankind.

  “Many of you will follow me and see me as their guide. Many will not.

  “If you choose me and the ‘principle of sharing,’ the world will see peace and prosperity.

  “If you reject me, death and destruction will continue to rain down upon the earth until it has destroyed itself. My beloveds, follow me. Accept me.”

  His lips formed a wry grin. His dark, glassy eyes continued staring forward. “Who am I, some of you may ask? I am that I am.”

  He raised his right hand in the air and made a sign. His third and fourth fingers were bent slightly forward. “Peace and goodwill to all.”

  He lowered his hand to his side then turned and walked back toward the entrance of the basilica. Peter Roma nodded as Maitreyas passed him.

  The cardinal bishop lifted his hand and smiled and waved to the people, his solid gold ring reflecting the bright afternoon sun. He lowered his arm, and then he and Peter Roma turned and exited the stage. They moved past the colorful Swiss guardsmen and disappeared through the heavy, bronze doors of the basilica.

  It was over.

  The massive crowd began to move slowly. The flags and banners that had waved excitedly over their heads now bobbed listlessly above the bewildered masses, leading the way to the narrow, twisting streets of Rome and beyond, back to a world still in peril.

  The pictures of the dispersing crowd beamed from helicopters high above the square abruptly changed to a closeup of the pretty, dark-haired news lady.

  “Well, Suze, it appears as though the moment we all waited for has come and gone
.” She spoke breathlessly into the microphone held close to her lips. “Many people here in St. Peter’s Square are not quite sure what they just saw and heard.”

  The video changed to a shot of Suze Graham sitting at her glass-and-steel desk in the WNN headquarters.

  “Wow! That was powerful!” Suze said unscripted. “I’m not quite sure what I just saw and heard either!” Stray wisps of golden-blond hair drifted over her green eyes. “Did you see all that light coming off Lord Maitreyas’s body?” she asked someone off camera. Then, remembering her professional obligation, she turned back to the camera and struggled to regain her composure.

  “Our viewers should know we have spoken with our affiliates around the world. While we definitely heard Lord Maitreyas speaking—or communicating, I should say—in English, we are told by our affiliates in Japan that they heard him in Japanese, and the Russians heard him in Russian, and in Brazil they heard him in Portuguese.” Suze Graham’s voice quivered with amazement. She took a deep breath and deliberately slowed the pace of her speech.

  “We are receiving calls and e-mails from viewers who claim that amazing occurrences took place while they listened to Lord Maitreyas’s announcement which happened moments ago in St. Peter’s Square in Rome. Let’s go live to Brock Summers who watched the announcement with a group of people gathered at Ben’s Café in Santa

  Monica, California.”

  “Yes, Suze, it’s true. People are claiming that miracles happened while they were watching the amazing events unfold in Rome.” Brock stood grasping a black microphone, his white dress shirt neatly pressed. He was ruggedly handsome. The hot California sun had turned his skin a deep tan. He grinned big, his wide jaw jutting from his clean-shaven face.

  “This gentleman just told me he was born deaf and has been deaf his entire life. And, as he was watching closed-captioned television in his upstairs apartment, his show was suddenly interrupted. He said that while he was watching the Lord Maitreyas he began to hear!”

  “Is that right, sir?” Brock turned to a short, stout man wearing a loud red-and-white-flowered Hawaiian shirt.

  “It’s true! It’s true! I can hear! I can hear!” the little man shouted excitedly. The few white hairs combed over his bald head waved in the breeze. “I was born deaf, and now I can hear! It’s a miracle! Lord Maitreyas has healed me!”

  A small crowd gathered around the man as tears streamed down his cheeks. A lady put her arms around him, and others clapped. An older black man yelled, “Hallelujah!”

  “Quite a story here, Suze,” Brock said, looking into the camera. “But there are more amazing stories. I want to take us over to Joe’s Bar and Grill which is across the street here in downtown Santa Monica.”

  He walked out of Ben’s Café, and the camera jostled as it followed him into the dimly lit street. Main Street was eerily quiet and empty of traffic. The camera continued to bounce up and down as it followed Brock to a trendy restaurant where maroon umbrellas towered over sidewalk tables. Brock stopped and turned back to the camera.

  “Here, a lady claims to have somehow been healed while she was watching the Lord Maitreyas on television.”

  Brock pointed to a black chair mounted with large wheels padded with rubber. A few feet away a group of people surrounded a grey-haired lady, her face wet with tears. Brock pushed his microphone through the crowd and into the face of the woman.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Is this your wheelchair?”

  “Yes, it is, young man!” she cried out into the microphone.

  “Can you tell our viewers what happened while you were watching the Lord Maitreyas?”

  She smiled, apparently enjoying the attention. “I was watching that mar-ve-lous Lord Maitreyas on television.” Her voice was hoarse from years of smoking. “When I heard him tell me, ‘Now, Arlene, you don’t need that wheelchair anymore. Now, Arlene, get up and walk!’ I thought I was going crazy. But the next thing I know I’m getting up out of that darned wheelchair and I’m walking! Look! I’m healed!”

  Her body bounced up and down. “I can walk. Thank you, Lord Maitreyas!”

  “Amazing stories of miracles here in downtown, Suze.” Brook looked into the camera and adjusted his earpiece.

  “Thank you, Brock.” Suze Graham shuffled papers in front of her. “We are hearing similar stories from all over the city and around the world.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “This is truly an amazing day.”

  * * * * *

  Less than a month after the Day of Pentecost, the cardinal electors assembled under the hands of man and God, in the high rectangular brick building of the Sistine Chapel. They were charged with the responsibility of choosing a new leader for the Catholic church, the next holy Roman pontiff.

  While the cardinals debated behind locked doors out of sight of the media, thousands gathered in St. Peter’s Square just as they had during Maitreyas’s Day of

  Pentecost. They anxiously waited and watched the chimney above the red-tiled roof of the chapel. Black smoke indicated the cardinals had not reached a decision; white smoke signaled that a new pope had been selected.

  Days passed. Reporters staked out small claims in the square with good views of the chimneys behind them. Several times the crowd let out a loud collective moan of disappointment, and cameras swung to focus on the puffs of black smoke streaming up from the chimney and into the hazy Roman skies.

  The world waited for the answer to one, central question: Would the church accept Peter Roma as Jesus of Nazareth? Would the cardinals, draped in the robes of authority and knowledge, validate Maitreyas’s claims? Would they put their official stamp of approval on the miracles he had performed and the prophecies he had made? Would they give their permission to the world to follow him and his disciple?

  One early morning, after days of anxious waiting, the heavy, ancient bells of St. Peter’s Basilica rang, and white smoke curled up out of the chimney. A new pope had been elected.

  The proto-deacon of the College of Cardinals stepped onto the main balcony of the Vatican and declared to the world: “Habemus papam! We have a pope. . .Petrus Romanus─Peter Roma!”

  Becky became disheartened as she watched the cheering crowds. Peter Roma walked onto the balcony; his white linen soutane glistened in the sun, and a two-horned mitra11 gently covered the top of his wavy jet-black hair. He gave an apostolic blessing to the city of Rome and to the world.

  The crowd fell silent as his voice echoed off the colonnade. “We all believe in the same Christ. Humanity must prepare and respond correctly to the return of Christ. In order to accomplish this, you must know the truth of God’s word. Through centuries God’s message to mankind has been lost in flawed translations and rewritings of his holy Bible. Evil men have corrupted its meaning and used it for their own good, and humanity has become ever more distant from the truth and love of God’s word.”

  The crowd stood silent as Peter Roma held a small black book up over his head. “Rejoice, for today I bring you ‘The New Gospel.’12 Destroy your old, flawed and meaningless Bibles. God never intended for it to be taken literally. Today I give you the correct understanding of God’s message. It is here, for the entire world to hear and understand. From this book will come the peace and love and sharing which Lord Maitreyas spoke of.”

  That night Becky sat curled in a ball on the couch, holding a large pillow in her arms. Tears filled her eyes as she watched Brock Summers report on a Bible-burning party from Santa Monica Beach. The sands glowed bright red and orange as people laughed and sang around a ten-foot-high pile of burning Bibles.

  A little girl—Becky guessed her to be around six years old—emerged from the crowd holding a black leather-bound Bible much like the one that sat in Becky’s nightstand drawer. Its gold letters sparkled against the flames of the bonfire. The camera zoomed in on the little girl as she held the Bible up over her head, her brown hair whipping in the cool ocean breeze. She turned her head and looked up at her father’s face. He smiled and nodded approvingly. With that,
she flung her arms down in a wild motion and sent the Bible flying into the roaring fire. The camera followed the book and zoomed in tight as the edges curled and succumbed to the flames. The black leather cover bubbled and warped as the thin pages quickly evaporated into smoke. Becky felt her chest shudder with grief as she watched the gold lettering melt and run down the face of the book like tears.

  For false Christs and false prophets will rise and show great signs and wonders to deceive,

  if possible, even the elect.

  Matthew 24:24

  Beware of false prophets, who come to you

  in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are

  ravenous wolves.

  Matthew 7:15

  3

  THE HOLLYWOOD QUAKE

  Becky’s prison was once a grand, old hotel. Years ago wealthy and famous guests paid a great sum of money to stay in the room she cannot escape. The stained and faded Navajo-white block walls are riddled with toggle bolt holes. Eerie patches mark the places where expensive, brilliantly colored artwork had hung, their shadows forever burned into the walls like victims of a nuclear blast. A train of ants snakes its way past an opulent, broken light switch and along the crack of the baseboard searching for meager scraps of food to haul off to their nests. Dirt and bacteria have collected on red frays of carpet that once covered the now-splintered floors. It smells of mildew and stale cigarette smoke.

  A grey metal student desk and chair sit below a small window. A brand-new copy of the “New Gospel” sits on the corner of the flat metal surface along with a writing tablet and pen. Becky always leaves the book lying open to appear as if she is studying the text. She hopes it will please those watching her.

  Opposite the window a flat pillow and light-blue blanket cover a bulky mattress held up by a squeaky metal frame.