Jonah began walking away from the co-op, fighting back the tears. His hands were shaking. He was feeling the dope finger up some false courage and numbing the Big City cold. Jonah’s feet made heavy boot falls on the sidewalk as he thought of his father again.
“What was he thinking?” Jonah wondered aloud, “What the fuck was my father doing in The Harbor?”
Chapter Nineteen
What the fuck Amittai was doing in The Harbor:
Amittai closed his eyes as the door to his office shut slowly on its automatic hinges. The minister and televangelist took on more than he should once again. He always seemed destined to absorb completely the pain and distress of his flock.
This had already cost him his marriage to Jonah’s mother years before. She’d left Amittai with nary a backward glance and never a phone call or letter since. He still loved her and sincerely hoped she had found whatever it was she was searching for.
Amittai rose and went to the ornate window overlooking a setting Big City sun. He was worried about his accountant’s despicable foible. It had him sorely troubled. However, he was even more concerned about his son’s dual announcement of marriage to a pregnant harlot and his incredibly short-sighted decision to throw away his religious education.
Jonah was always hardheaded. As his father, Amittai realized all of his own shortcomings and how they tainted Jonah’s decisions. The minister knew that sacrificing time with his wife and children for the sake of his ministry cost him them both.
She took the children that were young enough to still be at home with her when she left. Jonah was the eldest and the only one to stay with his father following the uncontested divorce. But by that time neglect had already sprouted bitter fruit. Jonah ignored his father. In turn Jonah’s father threw himself even more into his ministry. The blame was shouldered squarely by Amittai.
The minister believed with whole heart of God’s Great Plan for the redemption of all mankind. He believed that the Heavenly Father has a plan for all of His children. He loves us and protects us from evil. This Amittai supped on to sustain his faith in the Almighty during these dark times.
The Lord God had a plan for Amittai. Most of his life could be counted successful. The few failures of the televangelist however were huge. The loss of his own family while preaching family values never ceased to leave a foul taste of hypocrisy in his mouth. This failing will never allow his healthy, wealthy ministry to cancel it out.
Still, Amittai felt assuredly that his eldest son was tossing onto the dung heap his future and his many God-given gifts just to be with some little slip of a girl. As nice as Rebecca seemed to be nothing was more important than studying the Word. To lead one’s own flock of believers. How can marrying a pregnant girl, one who probably got herself knocked-up on purpose, equal this most Holy Calling?
The irony of these thoughts completely escaped Jonah’s father.
Amittai knew that there was no stopping Jonah from the boy’s chosen path. Amittai was helpless in this regard and it made him feel truly bad. He did not know what to do. He felt like an empty, useless shell. He was a failure as both a parent and a pastor.
To make himself regain some semblance of balance and control he instead turned his mind back to his wayward accountant. He picked up the embezzler’s hand written note of confession and studied it carefully. Amittai sighed.
My God, he thought, so many problems.
It happened all of a sudden and all at once. He was responsible for the misdeeds of all beneath him and took his charge seriously. Always, always, it fell to him.
He lit a match and touched the orange flame to the sheet of the accountant’s evil confessed misdeeds. The suicide note caught fire and was quickly engulfed. It burned to ash. There was no need to display his dead employee’s sin to the world. He would deal with this himself. For ALL have sinned and fell short of the Glory of God. Amen.
The dead accountant had spelled out in gruesome detail all of his sins to the suicide note that lay in ash on Amittai’s desk. It told of investing in Plata. It told of washing dirty money. It spoke of sins enormous. It spoke of names he had never heard before: Juan de Batista and a Pilate. These names came to Amittai straight out of the Holy Bible, but residing and doing dirty business in The Harbor. Amazingly it’s only a short drive from his Big City offices and home.
Amittai rose immediately. He decided in an instant that he needed to go to The Harbor and confront them both. He was going to get to the bottom of this sordid business. He will allow no stain on his precious ministry.
* * * *
Amittai arrived soon after in The Harbor. He sought out Pilate and Juan. He needed to confront the men his accountant had dallied with. He had a cell phone number from the dead man’s personal effects. Amittai used it to secure an appointment with Juan de Batista. He met this man at a park beneath the big old trees.
The two men spoke briefly as the sky darkened. They spoke mostly of inconsequential pleasantries. And then, without so much as a brushing of a sound, Pilate took Amittai from behind. He fed complete on the televangelist. Pilate left him bloodless and dead with a broken neck.
Juan and Pilate tossed Jonah’s father like so much trash into a dumpster. Juan called the police to report the body as they walked away.
Chapter Twenty
And now, batting clean-up for the New Christians:
Mary Magdalene stood in the shower room of the closed down and otherwise unused high school. They were located right outside of the girls’ lockers. She had on a full coverage wet suit replete with head covering. Her destroyed eye covered by a black patch, a leftover from her days with Pilate and her man Juan de Batista. She had died that day. Only Pilate’s quick thinking to find the Christ and asking Her to save her life. Bring her back from the dead. Mary had been touched by the living Christ before Herod had the Holy One Immanuel crucified.
More than three years now, thought Mary, So very much has changed since those days.
Mary found eventually out that being filled with the power and Grace of a Holy One had left her with the ability to restore to health the sick and desperate. In this The Harbor had kept her quite busy.
Working with Pedro, whom she met after Immanuel was long gone; Mary healed as many Plata fiends as she could. Every one that desired healing and forgiveness she helped. She did not judge and she would not turn anyone away.
She rinsed the last sinner off of her and waited for the next to come up. They were all smoking potent hydroponic weed. The whole queuing sad lot of them were puffing and wheezing like a Mary Poppins chimney sweep. The recently healed who have stayed to help with the ministry kept rolling blunts. The weed came from an inexhaustible cellophane baggie. Pedro claimed that the super-strong smoke had been blessed by Immanuel Herself. The water had turned to wine. The sack of skunk never emptied.
The marijuana blessed and calmed the Plata fiends. They wanted to be cured of their horrible addiction to the evil scourge of Plata, but they were all scared as fuck at the process and prospect. They were at the end of their ropes. As soon as the weed helped to calm them down they went through the painful purging process with Mary.
Mary and Pedro ran this part of the ministry, but Mary did much of the physical purging portion. The recidivism since they began this was an amazing one or two percent. The fiends still had to fill the hole that Plata once took care of. Often they did that by staying to help, until they got back on their feet and could go it alone. Mary Magdalene and Pedro’s ministry grew by leaps and bounds.
It amazed Mary, these things. She and her man Juan de Batista profited from this suffering years ago. They worked with Pilate to sell Plata and they all thought they had it made. They took home millions of dollars from Plata so the irony of helping the addicted had not escaped her.
For a while, a good five years, all their dreams did come true. The three of them made boat loads of cash. They had respect. Because of Pilate they were feared. That all ended in a twinkling of an eye it seemed and now Mary
had to pay back her karmic debt and help those she had hurt.
The next Plata fiend put down his blunt and was ready to be purged. Mary was just about to call the man forward when she felt invisible arms encircle her. Joy pulsed through her. An involuntary smile lit up her face.
“Hello, Mary,” Immanuel said, “Sorry it has been so long. There is always so much to do.”
“I understand,” she said to the Christ, “I have been busy as well.”
“So I see,” She replied, “and you are doing marvelous work. How many have you cured?”
“In the last year or so, I could only guess, Lord.”
“Would you be surprised if I told you, Mary, that you are personally responsible for healing over four thousand souls?”
Mary smiled. She was very pleased. She felt she’d been working hard, but never thought about quantifying her efforts. She was pleased.
“And I need you to heal someone specific. To help him in a couple of ways,” Immanuel, still invisible, continued, “Could you do that for me, Mary?”
“Of course,” Mary replied, “you saved my life and gave to me Life. I will do gladly anything you say, Lord.”
Immanuel hugged her hard, pushing Love into Mary. It was making her manic smiling so big. It was kind of freaking out the waiting dope fiends. As far as they could tell, Mary was talking to herself. She was squeezing her own self and rocking back and forth for absolutely no reason. They could not fathom it. They feared that their wonderful Mary Magdalene had gone loopy.
“Thank you, my most beloved,” Immanuel said. “And then I have a change in the direction of your life, Mary. I want you to be happy. You have helped so much. I promise that he will love you,” She continued, “Even more than Pilate and Juan did.”
Mary was shocked.
“What about the ministry?” Mary asked.
“It will get along just fine without you, sweetheart,” Immanuel promised. “Pedro will stay here. He will still be converting and healing with the other Apostles.” She then leaned in very close. She whispered his name, the man that will change her life as she would his. She heard Immanuel whisper his name, but Mary had no idea who he was. She had never heard of him. Not in any context. Immanuel laughed at Mary’s doubtful thoughts. “You will see him soon enough, sugar,” She told Mary, “Trust me. You shall both love each other immensely and madly and very far away from here.”
“I’m leaving The Harbor,” asked Mary.
“Yes, sugar, with him,” Immanuel replied.
“Where will we go?”
“I don’t want to spoil the surprise, Mary,” Immanuel explained, “But don’t bother packing a parka.”
Mary simply nodded. She could not see how this would transpire, but she would do as instructed.
As always, Mary Magdalene believed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Our hapless prophet tries to hide
In the belly of the whale:
The Edmund Fitzgerald was a maximum sized Laker with a gross tonnage of over 13,600 and was a majestic 711 feet in length. The ship was a monster and had set both cargo and speed records as it plied the Grands.
Jonah had wrongly and foolishly assumed he could book passage. Hell, there was plenty of room, being so big, but the Fitz was taking on 26,000 tons of banded iron ore. She had a full crew and no room and they were not even remotely insured for passengers. This was a working freighter in every sense of the word. Jonah still wanted on it. He needed to get the fuck away from Big City. Jonah felt that he hadn’t the luxury of waiting for another ship to secure.
Rejected but trying to remain hopeful, Jonah left the pier that ran alongside the huge freighter and went instead to a nearby bar. He sat at a table by the door and waited on anyone who might find that they needed a few more stiff drinks before reporting for duty on the Fitz. After a couple of hours, a few Plata bumps, and the worst martini Jonah had ever had in his life, he ran into Bruce, a young deckhand.
Jonah made his proposition to Bruce slowly and carefully over five very strong Long Beach cocktails. Bruce declined at first, but desperation made Jonah charming as all Hell. The cash he kept pulling out and placing on the darkened table before him whetted the deckhand’s appetite and fueled his greed. Thirty-five $100 dollar bills later and Jonah had secured passage in Bruce’s own berth, with a promise of meals and drinks delivered by him.
All twenty-nine hands would work the entire voyage across the Grands, so it made more and more sense to Jonah. This would be even better than he could ever have imagined. No one would look for Jonah there, smuggled on a freighter, hiding in a deckhand’s berth. Jonah would be hidden from even those on board. And by the time they dropped anchor and he was smuggled off, the freighter would have deposited his ass several states away. There would be no Herod, no Pedro, and no little dead Christ getting wise to Jonah’s plans. It was perfect.
The deal having been struck, Jonah met Bruce at the Northern Railroad Dock with his cash in hand. Bruce gave him some seaman’s duds. While Jonah changed into them, Bruce placed the cash inside his shirt, buttoned up his pea coat. Then Bruce brought his stowaway on board. He walked Jonah carefully to his berth. It was about as big and as charming as a jail cell, encased in a steel bulkhead.
The berth contained a metal desk and chair, a small sitting chair and a cot. A combo music and film player with a small screen sat on a corner of the desk, opposite the cot and small chair. A tall stack of movie discs were lined up in a case on the desk and bolted to the wall. A steamer trunk was locked and shoved under the cot with Bruce’s personal shit. And he had books. Bruce didn’t strike Jonah as much of a reader, but he apparently was. Paperbacks, of which there were literally dozens and dozens of. At quick glance it looked as if most of the books had covers missing, some were water damaged, but they were readable and they lay all around Bruce’s tiny home away from home.
Bruce had told Jonah to stay put. He apologized at the bucket he would be forced to use for his waste. Bruce told Jonah to try and make himself at home. He helped Jonah get quickly settled in and then was off to help the big bastard of a ship get underway.
Jonah sat on Bruce’s cot, snuffle-sucked up a big dose of Plata. He stowed his backpack with the bulk of Plata, money and clothes alongside the steamer trunk under the cot. Jonah put a movie on the player. It was a B-grade slasher film and Jonah only half watched it. His current situation was certainly more than frightening enough to hold his attention.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Lake, they said, never gives up her dead:
Jonah reached over and selected at random a paperback, tugged s’more Plata and began to alternate between peeks at the film and reading the slim novel. By the time the movie was ramping up, page fifty-two of the paperback was getting blurry and he began to doze.
Jonah slept, dropping deep down to where the rapid eye movements began when, with sudden certainty, the huge freighter listed hard. Jonah’s sleeping ass was thrown in a snap straight into the unforgiving wall of the bulkhead. It gave Jonah’s head a nice crack. He fell straight back onto Bruce’s cot, half hanging off as the storm cranked up another notch. Winds exceeding sixty knots lifted and dropped the Fitz up and down the fifteen foot waves like a kid’s plastic boat in a bathtub. The freighter began to crack at the pressure points and the ship took on water. Jonah knew none of this business that was going on around him. So:
* * * *
“Wake up, baby,” she whispered to him with a tiny shove. “Jonah, honey,” she said and shook him harder, “You’ve got to get up.”
“No, I’m tired, Becca,” he told his dead wife.
“Just open your eyes, baby, please.”
“No.”
“Okay, then,” she said and punched Jonah in the face as hard as she could.
* * * *
The blood spurted out from the nose, Jonah’s face swelling. He rose; eyes still closed, still mostly asleep. With his head and face hurting, Jonah opened his eyes just in time to see the door to the bert
h open and Bruce enter. He looked to Jonah like he was scared shitless. The noise of the grinding ship and the raging storm was deafening, so he had every right to be. Jonah, on the other hand, was just standing there like a dipshit, waiting to drown. Bruce grabbed him, yelling something Jonah couldn’t place, and dragged him out.
Jonah followed without protest until he realized that he was leaving his backpack with his cash-flow and the bulk of Plata. In a panic, Jonah tried to turn and retrieve it when a big metal groan and crunch brought icy water raging in. He lost instant track of Bruce as he flailed away from Jonah, getting sucked down the passageway. Covered now in the Lake, Jonah swam furiously away from Bruce, in the shockingly cold and dark water. Jonah was uncertain as to which way was up and he was getting himself nowhere very fast. The frigid temperature of the water knocked what was left of the wind out of him. It all went dark and Jonah saw nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It’s alright, it’s alright; it’s alright.
She moves in mysterious ways:
Pedro and Mary were sitting quietly in a small outboard. They were in the storm, but could see the shoreline, were they looking that direction. They could see the Fitz foundering through a pair of binoculars. Pedro was calm, his long chin braids dancing with the gusting wind. Mary was not feeling calm. She was growing more and more concerned by the minute. Mary Magdalene got pissed off when she heard Pedro laughing.
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