by Len du Randt
I’m here!
Trevor looked up and saw the silhouette of a man on the other side of the wall of flames. The figure jumped through the flames, and Trevor started crying when he saw his father. ‘I’m here for you, son,’ his father said lovingly. ‘I came back for you.’
Trevor looked into his father’s eyes, and for a split second, time stopped. In that split second, it was only the two of them: father and son. His father came to rescue him, and would take Trevor in his powerful arms and save him from the bad men and the burning flames. He would cover Trevor with his body and leap through the flames to safety, and then they would be on their way. A bullet zinged past Trevor’s ear and struck something close to him with a dull thud.
‘Come, Daddy,’ the little boy shouted and tugged at his father. ‘Let’s go.’ His father remained motionless and as Trevor tugged his arm, the man fell forward and slammed into the ground. ‘Come, Daddy!’ he shouted, but his father didn’t move. He just lay there. Trevor’s heart skipped a beat when the barrel of a gun poked against his head. He looked up, and then everything went black.
- - -* * *- - -
Trevor woke up trying to scream, but his throat would release nothing more than a coarse yelp. He sat up straight in his bed, drenched in sweat. His heart beat so hard that he thought it might burst through his chest at any moment.
His hair, sticky with perspiration, clung to his forehead as if glued in place, and aside from a thin stream of light coming from the small space under his bedroom door, everything was pitch black. It took a minute before he could force himself to move. He heard Andrew and René talking in the living room and decided that he might as well join them. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep again soon anyway.
- - -* * *- - -
‘Tell me more about yourself.’ Andrew adjusted himself comfortably on Trevor’s sofa.
‘Gosh,’ René said and blushed. ‘Where should I begin?’
‘Let’s begin with...your name, and what you do,’ Andrew said and playfully held the television’s remote control to her mouth as if it were a microphone.
‘Well,’ René said and threw her hair back in a dramatic fashion. ‘My name is René Martins, and I’m a twenty-four year old Helpdesk Agent for a 2-bit Internet Service Provider.’
‘And what are your aspirations for your future?’
‘I would like to join one of those save-the-tree foundations, and enlist in the battle to save the rainforests from power hungry tycoons.’ Her voice was less playful now. ‘The hope is to restore mother Earth, and reacquaint ourselves with Gaia.’
‘That’s...deep,’ Andrew said, then his eyes widened and he shoved the remote under her nose again. ‘Tell us, who is your prince charming...?’ It was only when he said it that he realized what he had done. He had completely forgotten that she leaned more towards princess charming.
‘He is,’ René said and pointed over Andrew’s shoulder. He turned around and saw a picture of Victor Yoshe on the television screen. ‘What’s this?’ he asked and turned up the volume.
‘In an effort to finally establish peace between the Israeli and Arab nations, Secretary General of the European Union, Victor Yoshe, has called together five hundred of the world’s most powerful and influential Jews and Muslims. He convinced them to sign a seven-year trial pact in which both sides would agree to a ceasefire, and work together to rebuild a better world. Many other countries have joined in the pact, and they view this event as the corner stone of world peace.’
‘Wow,’ Andrew said, not taking his eyes from the television. ‘I am impressed.’ René only sighed as the news broadcast continued covering events from all around the world: an Earthquake in Los Angeles, two trains colliding in China, more people killed by the mysterious two men in Jerusalem, a space station detecting a meteor that might be on a collision course with Earth, and finally, a heart-warming story of a lioness who adopted a young stag as one of her own. The news ended, and a commercial was aired. It was a shampoo commercial, and for the first time on South African television did a commercial contain full frontal nudity. Neither Andrew nor René were offended by the advertisement, and René thought that it was good to display the human body in its natural form. After a few more commercials and announcements, a GMN presenter announced a special live interview with Victor Yoshe.
‘Now this I have to see,’ René said and clapped her hands together excitedly.
‘You and me both,’ Andrew said as Trevor entered the room.
- - -* * *- - -
‘Hey bud!’ Andrew greeted the half-awake, half-asleep figure that entered the living room. Trevor rubbed his hand through his hair and mumbled something back.
‘What’s the matter?’ René asked. ‘You look like Hell.’
‘Bad dream,’ Trevor said as he fell onto a couch next to them. He pointed to the television where an interviewer was busy introducing his guest for the evening. ‘When were you going to call me?’
‘We didn’t want to wake you,’ Andrew said. ‘Besides, this interview will be repeated quite a few times during the week.’
Trevor nodded weakly. He still wasn’t entirely over the effects of the nightmare.
‘Join me, Greg Melville, as I interview the man of the hour, Victor Yoshe.’
The audience cheered and applauded as Victor entered the room. He stopped and waved at them, smiling broadly and establishing eye contact with everyone before walking to his seat and sitting down in it. The cheers finally subsided, but the atmosphere remained vibrant. ‘Thank you for joining me tonight on Speak Up, Mister Yoshe.’
‘Thank you for having me,’ Victor said and smiled at a camera. All camera angles had been predetermined, and the lighting adjusted according to Victor’s meticulous instructions. Those were some of his basic demands in return for agreeing to do the interview.
‘Who you are, and what you have done for the planet recently needs no coverage here tonight, Mister Yoshe,’ Greg said. ‘But the question on everyone’s lips is: how did you do it?’
‘How did I do it?’
‘Yes. How did you manage to speak to everyone in their minds, in their own languages, and be on television at the same time?’
‘I could tell you,’ Victor said and smiled, ‘but then I’d have to kill you.’
For a short moment they were both quiet, and then they both laughed. ‘I’ll just have to take that chance then,’ Greg said and smiled.
‘It’s a gift,’ Victor said and leaned back into his comfortable chair.
‘A gift?’
Victor nodded. ‘You know how some people can move objects with their minds? Or even pull large commercial jumbo jets with nothing but a rope?’
It was Greg’s turn to nod.
‘It basically works on the same premise. Those people have received a gift, and through diligent practice and patience, they have mastered that gift. Everyone has some sort of gift, but only about six percent of all humans tap into that hidden power.’
‘Are you implying that I have a gift like that as well?’ Greg asked.
‘You do,’ Victor said. ‘You just haven’t developed yours yet.’
‘And what would I use my gift for?’
‘There are many good things that can spawn from developing such a gift. A psychic could assist the police with tracking down a serial killer, without the person having prior knowledge of the perpetrator. Imagine tracking down lost children. Imagine lifting a truck off a little school girl with only the power of your mind. I have gifts that, because it had been well developed, were able to help the people in a time of great need.’
‘Well developed indeed,’ Greg said and smiled. ‘Tell us, Mister Yoshe, what other gifts do you possess?’
Victor laughed. ‘I have a few more,’ he said, ‘but I would rather have time reveal them than boast about them right now.’
‘We wait in anticipation,’ said Greg. ‘But in the meantime, what are your immediate plans for the future?’
‘The plan right now
is to rebuild our beautiful planet. We are to rise from the ashes of the war against the aliens and join hands as we re-evaluate ourselves and our morals and standards.’
‘And according to sources, you plan to start rebuilding Earth by starting with the Jewish temple?’
‘That is correct. The Jews will be allowed to rebuild their temple over the original site of the Dome of the Rock, and in return, I will help the Muslims build a super city; one that is way ahead of its time and that will become a trade and communications hub for the rest of the world.’
‘Still on the alien topic, Mister Yoshe; when they first struck, you immediately knew that it was aliens. How did you know that?’
‘That is one of my gifts, Greg. I have managed to intercept their telepathic communication channels, and have learned about their strategies and even their weaknesses. I was fortunate to be able to assist the Global Defence Forces in their retaliation.’
‘It was indeed a stroke of luck to have you on our side, Mister Yoshe.’
‘Or fate, perhaps.’
‘Or fate, yes.’ Greg said and stole a glance at the teleprompter. ‘Tell us about your past, Mister Yoshe. Little is known about where you come from, and about your parents.’
‘My mother died at child birth and my father had a fatal accident when I was young,’ Victor said. He purposefully ignored the question about where he grew up, and also made sure that Greg wouldn’t mention it again. All it took was one mental suggestion.
‘I’m sorry to hear about your tragic loss,’ Greg said.
‘It’s okay.’
‘Sources tell us that there is a ten year gap in your life that no one knows where you were or what you had been doing. Would you care to comment on it?’
‘Even I don’t know where I was during that time, Greg,’ Victor said. ‘But now that I think about it, it could have been possible that I was abducted by aliens.’
‘You really think so?’ Greg asked.
Victor nodded.
‘Then it’s only ironic that you were the one to lead us to victory against these beings.’
Victor laughed. ‘Indeed.’
‘Why did they take the children?’ Greg asked, suddenly more serious.
‘They wanted to prevent us from rebuilding our kind with a new generation capable of reclaiming our planet at a later stage. With that handicap, they would only need to go in and finish the job; eradicating the current generations.’
‘That’s horrible,’ Greg said with an expression of sheer terror on his face.
‘I agree.’
Greg flipped through his notes.
‘Mister Yoshe,’ he said. ‘There are people that are confused about their religions now that the aliens have come into the picture. What is your take on it?’
‘I suggest that we wait for Arch Bishop Pascale to make his address to the religious leaders of the world, and see where we go from there.’
‘And Jesus? Where do you think He was during—?’
Greg stopped speaking with an abrupt urk and held his hand to his throat.
‘You talk too much, Greg,’ Victor said and stood up. Greg fell forward onto his hands and knees.
Victor just looked at him, his eyes glazed over, his mouth pulled back into a snarl.
Greg was confused. He looked up at Victor towering over him. ‘Why...?’
Victor walked over to Greg and kicked him in the ribs
‘You should learn to keep quiet,’ Victor snarled. He grabbed hold of Greg’s throat and picked him up so that his feet were dangling above the ground.
‘I told you, Greg,’ Victor said, ‘that I would have to kill you. Did you think I was lying?’
‘I...I...’
‘You what?’ Victor said, and flung him across the room as if he were a rag doll.
Greg was struggling to breathe. His face lost its colour and his lips slowly turned purple. Blood seeped out from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears, and with one final jerking motion of Victor’s hand, Greg’s neck snapped. His limp body fell forward, and then everything was quiet.
‘Somebody call an ambulance,’ Victor shouted at the stunned audience. They had just witnessed the host of Speak Up die of an asthma attack. Nobody saw anything happen or hear anything that Victor did not want them see to hear.
Victor was escorted off the stage as the lighting dimmed and the show abruptly cut to commercials.
The three of them just sat there, gawking at the screen. René was the first to pull herself out of the daze, and when she moved, both Andrew and Trevor also came to. They looked dreamily at one another, as if they had just woken from a long sleep.
‘Imagine that,’ Andrew finally said.
‘Yeah,’ René said. ‘An asthma attack on live television while interviewing someone. That’s just terrible.’
The three of them just sat there, saying nothing. It took around ten minutes before they felt fully recovered from the daze.
- - -* * *- - -
Jerusalem: One Week Later
‘This is how it’s going to work,’ Malcolm said as he rolled the blueprints out onto the meeting table. ‘If everything goes according to plan, we can begin construction within this week still, and if we work hard, the Third Temple could be rebuilt within eight months.’
‘Everything is ready and in order,’ Rabbi Morris said as he stared in disbelief at the blueprints in front of him. He never believed that it would ever be possible to rebuild the Temple; yet, here he was, touching the actual blueprints.
‘I will let you know when we can begin,’ Malcolm said. ‘We will start building from the cornerstone.’
‘How convenient that the Dome is out of the way,’ Rabbi Morris said and rubbed his hands together.
‘I thought we had agreed not to talk about that,’ Malcolm said, suddenly very serious.
‘I am sorry, my friend. It is just that we are allowed to build our Temple on grounds that would never have been thought possible, and according to prophecy, only Moshiach could accomplish this.’
Malcolm stared at the blueprints, but his eyes weren’t focussed on the drawings. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,’ he said finally. ‘What do you think about—?’
Malcolm was cut short as something nudged his shoe. He looked down and saw a frog sitting on it. He kicked his foot out and the frog leapt off.
‘What do you think about...?’
He stopped in midsentence again when he noticed another frog sitting on the Rabbi’s shoulder.
‘What do I think about what?’
‘There’s a frog on your shoulder,’ Malcolm said and glanced around the room. He noticed that there were many frogs in the room. They were coming in through the door and the windows. Both men shrugged and walked to the next room, carefully watching where they stepped so that they wouldn’t squish any of the frogs in the process.
‘What is going on here?’ Rabbi Morris asked when they entered the next room. Hundreds of frogs were leaping about as even more entered through the windows.
‘I...I don’t know...’
The croaking had begun softly at first, but as the frogs started croaking together, it grew so loud that both men had to cover their ears.
‘Do something!’ Rabbi Morris yelled.
‘You’re the Rabbi. You do something!’
‘Like what?’
The two men ran from the house, but were stopped in their tracks. The streets were filled with frogs as far as the eye could see.
‘Make them go away!’ Malcolm shouted. He held his head as if it was about to explode.
Rabbi Morris fell to his knees. ‘I...I can’t...’
A realization suddenly dawned on Malcolm. ‘It’s those...those two...aliens!’
‘What?’ Morris asked. He couldn’t hear anything anymore, but Malcolm didn’t bother repeating himself. He sprinted toward his car it took him a few minutes to get rid of the ones that clogged up the exhaust. A minute later his car sputtered to life, and he stepped down hard on the gas pe
dal. The car stood motionless for what felt like forever as it skidded, not able to get a grip on the slimy toad-paved road, but eventually it jerked forward.
‘Where are they?’ he asked through clenched teeth as he carefully tried to manoeuvre the car through the slippery streets of Jerusalem.
.VI.
Restoration
‘We shall have World Government, whether or not we like it. The only question is whether World Government will be achieved by conquest or consent.’
- James Paul Warburg before the United States Senate
Febuary 7, 1950
Traversing the road was extremely treacherous because of the frogs, and Malcolm had to bring his car to a near standstill to turn certain corners. His legs ached as he worked the gas and clutch, and the vehicle slipped once, almost slamming into the side of a building.
‘Where are you?’ he asked as he searched for the two men he thought were responsible for the sudden frog plague. He spotted them standing in the shade of a building. ‘There you are!’ he called out and swerved the car in their direction. In his sudden burst of anger he had forgotten about the frogs, and the car skidded violently out of control. He yanked on the steering wheel, but his efforts only made the car slip and spin in three full circles before coming to a complete halt not too far from the two men.
Malcolm sat still for a minute, looking at the white around his knuckles. That was stupid! He waited until his breathing returned to normal and finally managed to open the door with his unsteady hands.
‘You two!’ he yelled as he climbed out of the car; squashing a frog as he stepped on the ground. The sickening sensation deterred him only for a moment, and then he walked to the men, scraping his shoe on the sand as he went. The two men looked at his antics expressionlessly, neither smiling nor frowning.
‘Are you the cause of this?’ Malcolm shouted at them from what he thought would be a safe distance. He waved his hands violently in all directions so that there would be no misunderstanding of what he was talking about.