Chapter 7
It would later be referred to by some as The Returning.
It began without notice until Jake whispered into Luke headset,” I-don’t-know-where-this-guy-is-coming from.” Luke thought it a reference to the caller’s point of view, and shrugged. “Luke, he’s-not-coming-through-the-phone-lines-anywhere-on my-board-or yours. He’s-just-there, on-the-air. I-can’t-find-him.” Luke waved Jake off, listening more intently now to the caller. This would turn out to be another one of Jake’s electronic gremlins that surfaced occasionally, a selector switch he’d inadvertently turned on or off in his lurches around the control room.
“Caller, what was the name again?”
“That’s not important, Luke. I just wanted to tell your listeners that the answers they’re looking for are unknowable. You don’t have the vocabulary yet to understand. That’s all.”
“So we can’t know if there’s life elsewhere in the Universe because of semantics?”
“More than semantics. Think of it as a language, or a frame of reference. But I want you to know that there is life. Just like you. All having the same experiences in thousands, multiplied by thousands of places.” Then he was gone. After the show Jake summoned Luke into Master Control. “Sit. Listen.” He punched on the huge Ampex tape recorder that was used to create the
tape delay for dumping obscene calls before they made it to the air. Listeners were actually hearing the playback of the tape, recorded three seconds earlier.
Luke heard his question to the caller. “So we can’t understand if there’s life elsewhere in the Universe because of semantics?”
Silence.
Luke looked over at Jake, a question etched on his face. “Go back. Go back to my first question.” The tape reversed.
“Caller, what was the name again?”
Silence.
Jake looked at him over the top of his horn rims. “What you just heard was the input to my board from the telephone lines and the playback side coming out of your board. Nothing. Nadda-nobody fucking there. Now listen to this. This is the air-monitor tape we keep for the FCC. It records the final transmitter signal going out over the air.” The caller was there, heard on the ultra slow-moving tape that turned almost imperceptibly, 24 hours a day, hearing everything.
“Again.”
There it was.
“Luke, Jake explained, “This is science – basic electricity. That guy wasn’t coming in over the phone or even out through the line that runs to the transmitter. He was just on the air, somehow.”
“How?”
“That’s my point. I don’t fucking know.”
“What do we do now?”
“Nothing. What’s to do?” The next night he was there again. “Caller, I’m puzzled about where you’re calling from. You seem to be outside of our equipment, so to speak.”
“Yes. I knew Jake would notice.”
“How do you know about Jake?”
“I am who you think I am, Luke. Do you need another sign? Your baby will be a boy. He’ll be born 238 days from today.” Luke just sat doing the math in his head. He didn’t care about the dead air. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I know you believe. That’s why I chose you.”
“Why have you come?”
“We’ll talk more another time. There’s a lot to be said. It’s enough for now that people know I’m here and that I’ll reveal more soon.” The station’s telephone banks went wild. In thirty minutes, Pacific Bell called out 20 emergency switching crews to try and release the main telephone feeder lines that were jammed all over the city. They got the hospital, police and fire department and the station’s circuits back up, but that was all.
The next day, Zack Osfelder was in top form. “We have a contract for those lines, and you’re gonna keep them up. I don’t care how much cable you have to run or what it costs.” The telephone lawyer huddled at the other end of the huge conference table. They had him by the throat, and he knew it. The attorney looked ill. “OK. But can you keep this visitor or whatever off the air until we can gear up? If we have a major emergency, this city is cooked, and so am I.”
“Yeah. We can keep Luke off the air until you’re ready. But you gotta move ass and get this done.” On the way out, Zack pulled Luke and Jake aside. “You guys have gotta dummy-up on this. Don’t talk to the press or anything. I owe Pac Bell and the city that much. Just refer everybody to me until they get the new lines in. By the way, I have a feeling this is for real. And I’ve been an atheist for a long time.”
The local news reports ranged from skeptical to sarcastic, making all the obvious arguments. The national media picked up the story next, feeding off the local coverage. Even Cronkite had an amused “kicker” report at the end of his newscast, but his usual, “And that’s the way it is,” closing carried a more solemn undertone that night.
Luke remained above it. He believed in what had happened and it offered him some measure of confidence, as it would in the months to come.
Zack met him for lunch up the coast in Carlsbad, to avoid reporters. “The network is already calling me about picking you up but I’m stalling them. If your visitor doesn’t come back or turns out to be a hoax, we’ll both be looking for another line of work.”
“I know this is real, Zack. I’m certain and I can’t tell you why.”
“Yeah, but let’s just cool it a little longer. I also got a call from Ray Volpe. He’s the top agent in the country and he wants to represent you. He’s a decent guy though, and he’ll take good care of you. You oughta talk to him.”
“I don’t care about money right now, and besides, KOGO and I have a contract. You’ve been more than good to Eileen and me.”
“That’s fine, but you’re gonna need him with the networks. He knows all the angles.”
Luke and Eileen talked endless hours about what was happening, but kept coming back to the same place. “Nobody knew about the baby except the doctor. I haven’t told anyone yet, not even my folks or yours. But your friend had my due-date exactly.”
Chapter 8
The extra telephone lines were installed in a week, and Luke was back on the air. The callers were all the usual suspects. But the subject was the same. As the nights wore on the skeptics became the majority, counterpoint to the religious zealots who were becoming more extreme as the nights of silence continued.
Luke had mixed feelings, hoping the visitor would return and wishing not.
By the following Monday, new topics were slipping into the show. Then the voice was there. This time, Luke tuned-in to something that had stirred him before, but below his conscious threshold. It was the effect the voice evoked in him, in Jake, in all the callers later. It was a calming, a certainty. “I’ve caused you a lot of trouble, haven’t I Luke.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. A lot of people find this hard to swallow, eh, believe.” Luke was choosing his words carefully, realizing how ridiculous it was at the same time.
“I have important things to tell, but I think you need something more to know that I am who you think. Something is to happen now. It’s a gift.”
Eileen was listening, an earplug running up from the tiny transistor radio in her pocket. She sensed it before actually seeing. The tempo of the hospital had changed, almost imperceptibly at first, a stirring, rustling. Movement where there had been none.
“Where are my clothes? Where have you put my clothes?”
She whirled around.
Mr.Fagel, age 89, was not expected to survive the night. The cancer that raced through his body had left him in a coma for the last 24 hours. On morphine, deprived of fluids, he could pass quietly, without pain, a merciful end.
Now he sat on the edge of the bed, determined to go home, alert, energetic and mainly, impatient.
“My God. Oh my God.” Across the hall, Carol Julian clung to the door knob of her daughter’s room, grasping desperately to prevent falling. She was terrified of her own imminent collapse and uncomprehending of
what just happened in her daughter’s room. In a hospital gown, Cynthia Julian helped her mother to a chair. “It’s alright Ma. I’m alright.”
A minute earlier, she too had been comatose.
She smiled wanly at Eileen, motioning to the IV attached to her arm. “I don’t think I need this anymore.”
In New Delhi, London, Sydney, Buenos Aires, Singapore, thousands rose, restored and bewildered.
News crews pulled up in front of countless hospitals within minutes, assignment editors tipped off by their inside sources that always called with major accidents and bloodshed. This was the biggest story anyone would ever cover, and nobody quite knew how. They hadn’t learned miracles in journalism school.
Luke and Jake were oddly isolated from the turmoil, though they were at the very center of it.
Eileen got through on the private line. She was crying and laughing at the same time. He could barely make her out. “ It’s . . . I don’t know how to describe . . . it’s chaos here, Luke . . . all the sickest people . . .”
Luke and Jake juggled the deluge of on-the-air callers, many with firsthand stories. A leukemia victim of eight receiving last rites 30 minutes ago was now chasing the family cat through the house. Nursing home attendants, shaken by halls filled with wandering elderly, whom an hour ago lie vacantly staring at the ceiling tiles, unseeing.
Most moving was Justine, in a wheel chair for eight years, with MS. Her voice was so small and tentative. “I’ve been hoping he’d come back, Luke. I knew it was him, but I didn’t expect him to make me better. Just to let me accept it. I’m awfully weak, but I can walk, kinda.”
Luke said goodbye and gave Jake the sign for commercials, too emotional to continue. He broke down several more times as the stories poured in. Jake kept him going, calming him through his headset, feeding him just the calls he thought he could handle.
Zack appeared in the newsroom. Luke could see him through the glass, directing the KOGO reporters who had come in, on their own, to write stories for air and help out stations calling in from around the world for telephone voice reports.
Then he was on TV, fielding one network interview after another. Understated, telling only what he knew as facts, refusing to bite at the sensation-seeking questions. Those reporters Zack would just stare down. NBC’s local stringer wouldn’t let up. Zack finally lost it as the film rolled. “Do you have a real question there somewhere, or are you just gonna be an asshole all night?” He knew that would never get on the air.
Ray Volpe had started out with the William Morris Agency after college, and had risen through the huge company by working twice as many hours as everyone else. This was a legacy from his father who had escaped a concentration camp and made a fortune in America by age 35. “You work twice as much, you learn twice as fast,” David Volpe now intoned to his grandchildren. But they were already too rich to care.
Ray had tirelessly prowled the nightclubs and off-Broadway theatres, looking for the standouts that would one day be stars. Bill Cosby and Joan Rivers were his discoveries and they were now regulars with Ed Sullivan and Steve Allen. The resulting torrent of club dates and year-long Las Vegas contracts were now paying for a Beverly Hills life for his growing family.
Luke Trimble was another matter. Ray didn’t know what to do with him. He’d handled the high-powered radio guys who’d moved over to TV. Dick Clark, Gary Larson, Bob Crane, Wink Martindale. Luke was their opposite number. His main interest seemed to be avoiding celebrity and network and book deals. Ray liked this guy because they had a lack of materialism in common. The agent wasn’t really in the business for money. He’d been born rich, and it meant nothing. Like his father, he loved to build. Instead of office buildings and shopping centers, he built careers for the supremely talented.
“So, Luke, another Jew goes to work for Jesus.” Luke smiled lightly at Ray across the suite at the Hotel Del Coronado.
“Zack said I needed you. He said you were a good man.” Ray smiled and shrugged. Contradicting the silk shirt, linen slacks, Bally loafers, Patek Philippe watch and delicate gold
bracelet, the gesture revealed that Ray was a good man, acknowledged it and minimized it, all at once. They returned to silence for a moment, regarding each other.
“Luke, I know you don’t want much for yourself, but there are some things you have to take into account. Mainly, when all of this is over, it’s possible you’ll be unemployable. Do you know that?”
“Why?”
“Because you could be the most type-cast talent in the world. Or you could be too controversial for anyone to touch. You and your family could wind up broke in a few years.” Luke squinted, nodding his concern.
“You have to think of your wife and kids, sock away enough to live comfortably the rest of your life if things go south.”
“So what do we do?”
“I’m already talking to some people about a book deal and lecture series that will take care of your future, and I want ABC Radio to give you a five-year, no-cut contract. They’re twitching a bit on that, but Zack is talking to them on the other side. He’s done a lot for them over the years and they owe him.”
Luke and Eileen sat in front of the fire, warming themselves in the unusually cool night. “It just seems, I dunno, weird to be talking about money for this.”
“But, what if this visitor doesn’t come back ever again? Where does that leave everything?” Now they were thinking of the visitor as some kind of supernatural entity, because of the healings and answers to eternal questions.
Eileen adjusted the logs to burn better. Luke could never get the fireplace to work right.
“Luke, you have to think of the people too. KOGO is a local station. It only goes out about 100 miles. You have to hook into the network so people everywhere can hear.”
“I’m just afraid of losing our lives to this. It’s too big for me. I’m really scared sometimes. Two years ago I was playing records on the radio.”
“He picked you for a reason. So, if he believes in you, you must be the right one.”
Luke would recall that whenever he felt anxious.
Eileen adjusted the pillows and settled back. The first contraction began a moment later. In 18 hours their firstborn arrived, exactly on the due date.
Chapter 9
“Luke Trimble here with Voices in The Night on The ABC radio network. We’re live from the studios of KOGO, San Diego. Our lines are open, so give us a call.1-214-555-1212 from anywhere in the United States. 1-214-555-1212.”
The first several nights on the network had been a battle of the extremes. The believers and the non-believers railed away at one another. It was great radio, with Luke and Jake carefully crafting a forum from among the more articulate. All was prelude, awaiting the visitor. The callers seemed to understand, tempering their comments against the possibility of his arrival, hedging their bets. But nothing happened.
The nun that led Luke into Bishop Noonan’s office seemed to barely touch the ground, as though treading in a sacred place, a cloister.
“Luke, Luke,” he boomed, shattering the illusion. He smiled his welcome and charged from behind his desk like a pulling guard on an end sweep. He was a tiny man, but Luke would later learn to brace himself for the onslaught of his handshake. The first nearly took him off his feet.
“Sit. Sit. Father John Noonan. Never mind all that eminence stuff. I’m just a parish priest with a fancy hat. Can we get you anything? Coffee?
Luke nodded not. “I’m happy to meet you . . . father. I could sure use a little help.”
“What can I do?”
“Well, I’m lost in all of this. I’m just a guy on the radio and now this. I’m just not prepared. I don’t know any more theology than I learned in high school, father.” He poured his heart and his questions out for two more hours. The priest listened with a warmth and acceptance that opened Luke’s floodgates. In a matter of minutes he trusted this man with his deepest fears. “Yes. I understand. Go on,” was all the bishop said.
Finally, Luke slumped back in the chair, his emotions emptied.
“Well, first, remember, for example, that Jesus didn’t pick the scholars for his time on Earth either, Luke. He picked regular working stiffs like you. I sense in you a belief, sincerity and openness and I think that’s why this entity is using you. I’ve been listening every night and that’s come through to me loud and clear. You’re instincts are good, Luke, and when you get off track, he’ll guide you. Just be yourself and ask him what’s in your heart. The other thing is I want you to call on me anytime you like, day or night if you want to talk things through. I can also put you in touch with the other denominations, people without an axe to grind.”
He didn’t tell Luke about the calls he’d received from Rome.
The following week, the visitor returned. “A lot of people are concerned about judgement, aren’t they Luke. Judgment for their sins.”
“Well, I’ve said things that don’t agree with scripture on that, exactly.”
“Like your idea about Moses making up the Ten Commandments?” Luke froze, the adrenaline coursing through him, remembering that afternoon with Eileen back in Bridgeport.
Silence.
“Luke, you weren’t entirely mistaken. Moses was angry with his people who we’re turning back to the old ways. The commandments were inspired but the story was embellished later. Remember, these were tribal people where events were passed on in stories and changed through many generations.”
A Voice In The Night Page 3