Jonah flinches, but Frame doesn't notice. “Maybe I'm going to act on my dream.”
“Go for it.”
“That UFO you saw—didn't it leave you awake nights, thinking about it?”
Long face. “Maybe it was ours.”
“You still doubt.”
“I don't doubt there are unidentified flying objects. Sounds like you want to be the one to identify them. Not only that, you know the cosmic meaning of it all.”
“Kind of disgusting,” Jonah admits.
“A little.”
Jonah decides to jerk on the line, see if he can reel in the fish.
“We're going to plant a garden out here, Frame, and there is going to be a band. And we're going to master the art of invisibility.”
“Have another drink, Jonah.” He picks up the bottle, cocks his head.
“We have swivel bases, Frame. We can swing into the shadows. No one will notice us. From all appearances, we'll be living like everybody else. But here in the privacy of our own habitat, we'll foster the child struggling to be born, the unique individual we are all born but few become.”
Frame narrows his eyes. “What's with you?”
“Remember that story about what happened to the followers of Jesus after he skyed up?”
“They all became missionaries.”
“Nah, that's not what I'm talking about. Before St. Paul was abducted.” Jonah waits for the objection to that remark. Frame's face is stone. He shrugs. “They were in this upper room praying, and a violent wind sweeps in, and something like tongues of fire light on everyone's head. They were being filled with the Holy Spirit, the Good Book says. Well, I was thinking about that and Jesus telling people the kingdom of God is in us, and how he had to die so the spirit could come.”
“You went Jesus?”
“Sure, why not? I've been thinking about myths lately. Jesus was always using parables to express things people had a hard time understanding. Stories that appeal to a large number of people over a long period of time, even when they have different ideas about God and all. What if the story about the flames over the head, and the Holy Spirit is about activation of some part of our brain that is dormant until we reach a certain point in evolution?”
Frame exhales a wad of smoke. “What's your point?”
“Clanarchy.”
Sweat beads pop out on Jonah's forehead. Pieces of what he wrote Christmas night are coming back to him. Scared him then, scares him now.
Frame says, “Well, there's a thousand-dollar word.”
Jonah pours more brandy, takes a drink. Sometimes a man catches a fish and throws it back. Sometimes the fish jumps into the creel.
He shrugs. “Clanarchy—midway between anarchy and totalitarianism.”
That thing he wrote Christmas night said he would form a clan of like-minded, like-hearted people. He would know who belonged, who didn't. The clan would be one of many “habitats” forming all over the world—to usher in the birth of the new human being. Where was his head when he wrote that? Gave him the willies…
“Way I see it…lots of wild rumors these days, UFOs being one. Myself, I had a very weird experience. Don't know if I was bodily taken, or it was some kind of cosmic consciousness trip. I figure whatever's coming down, it makes sense to band together.”
It's essential they band together, he feels deep in his guts. Absolutely necessary. But no way can he put that thought out there without sounding like some zealot. And anyway, he doesn't want to convert or manipulate anyone. What if he's flat wrong?
“Not to prepare for doomsday,” he goes on, stroking his beard, “or some cosmic shift, but to start living more like we've always wanted to. Remember we used to talk about buying some land up near the mountains? Why not use the resources we have now and come as close to our dreams as we can? Keep it simple. I'll grow my garden, you'll paint, we'll figure some way to run the businesses, and we'll have that band, make some music.”
Music our only hope?… Jonah thinks he knows what it means now, in a backward kind of way. Without music, life is like the dull tapping on a computer keyboard. In essence, music is high mathematics and the computer keyboard is as much an instrument as a piano, but what are words on a screen or on paper issuing from a printer in comparison to songs, dance, or sounds made by musical instruments? Computers are to music what the intellect is to our souls, like technical manuals to poetry, like water forced through a faucet compared to a waterfall, like electric lights to sunsets….
“Music is our only hope, Frame. Without it, our souls are paupers.”
Frame is squinting at him. “You've changed, Jonah.”
“I suppose….”
Jonah feels a pang of sadness. He has changed, but not so much he can convey the essence of the wisdom he encountered on the other side. And what good is it if he can't bring it down to Earth? He knows Frame is one of the clan, dammit. What will provide the bridge over the gap he feels between them now?
At the sound of Triss's van turning into the yard, the two men sit up straight. Frame crushes his cigar, fans the air with his hand. Jonah caps the brandy. He stands up to put it back in the cabinet. Stops.
“Look at us.”
“Women are powerful, Jonah.”
“Why?”
“Because they have the babies.”
From the look on Jonah's face, you would think Frame's words were matches that set his hair on fire.
“Just as I always suspected. You don't know the ABCs of life, do you, Jonah? Maybe you ought to shave off that beard, and forget you ever saw a UFO. Some people can take it in stride. I worry about you.”
Zion is the first to enter the kitchen. She stares at the cigar in Jonah's mouth, drops a plastic bag. No reason for her to be rattled by the symbol a man smokes to show pride in the birth of a child, after all, he doesn't even know she's pregnant. But symbols are powerful. And sometimes they catch you off guard.
Frame is waiting for the explosion.
Jonah arches an eyebrow, removes the cigar from his mouth, inspects it.
“Hello, Frame.”
“Yo, Zion. Sorry we smoked up the house.” He shoots a dirty look at Jonah. Told you so.
“I don't mind.” She picks up the bag.
Jonah sticks the cigar back in his mouth, hitches his pants and winks at Frame.
Chapter X (24)
The day before Valentine's, Jesse Nightsky is carving an angel from birch wood for Maria. He is sitting on a lawn chair on the porch of the Red Feather Motel, midway between Questa and Taos, New Mexico. Jesse is the youngest of ten children—all raised at the Red Feather, out back in a rock house. Nine offspring, now. Raymond is dead. Killed in a drunken brawl over in Gallup. But the rest were doing all right. And then there is Jesse, age eighteen, with no talents except checking in guests, maintaining the place…and woodcarving.
“You are good, very good,” his brother Malachi assured him. Mal took some of his carvings, put them in a big hotel in Taos, and that was the last Jesse heard. Mal was a drinker. Probably sold the carvings for whiskey.
“Told you not to give them to him,” his mother said.
Jesse knew it was a chance. But you never take a chance, you never go anywhere, and Jesse needs to go. His brother Henry said he will come clerk for the parents when Jesse finds a way to leave. Henry does not like Taos, or any town larger. His wife Jewel will clean the rooms, and the kids can grow up in the woods, free as birds.
That's good, because when Jesse goes, he's taking Maria, who cleans the rooms now. It had better happen soon. Maria is pregnant. He wouldn't be the first Nightsky to get a woman pregnant before marriage, but he's sure none of his brothers were as young as eighteen.
Jesse has saved enough to move himself and Maria into a small place on the outskirts of Taos. No reservation for him, and he doesn't want to live in the town with the rich people and the noisy spirits. At night, when there is no traffic and everyone goes to bed, you can hear the noisy spirits in Taos. He has his heart s
et on getting a car. But he doesn't have enough money for both a car and rent on a place for him and Maria. Maria's sister swung a raven feather over Maria's stomach, and says they will have a little girl. Maria has already picked a name…Mercy. Maria is beautiful beyond words. Jesse has carved seven sculptures of her, so far. He doesn't know which is stronger, his passion for carving, or for her. Will God allow him both?
He prayed last night. Give me a car and I will move to Taos and marry Maria. Everything I carve will be in praise of you. It could happen. A car could just materialize. Jesse smiles.
Just then, a customer drives up in a black ‘98 Taurus sedan. The car looks in pristine condition. There it is. Pretty fancy car for God to give to me, but I will be humble and accept it.
When the customer gets out, Jesse decides the possibility of this being the miracle car is slim. The man looks like the law. Tall and square-shouldered, wearing a black sports jacket, gray T-neck, and pressed jeans. Lama boots. Probably a Colt .45 tucked in a holster under his armpit. Thick black hair, silver at the temples. Haunted eyes. He might have Indian blood, that nose and those sharp cheekbones. Jesse decides not when the man is close enough to get a better look at his eyes. Not Indian eyes.
“How's it going?” The man sits down on the step, clasping his hands around his knees.
“I can bring out a chair.”
“I'm fine. Just want to sit outdoors a few minutes…smell the pines.”
Could have stopped anywhere along the road. It's beautiful country. Sangre de Christo Mountains, the blood of Christ. But people are in a hurry to get to Taos. To buy carvings by Jesse Nightsky. He can see it.
“You drive, Jesse?”
Must be the Man…he knows my name.
“Yes.”
“Got a valid driver's license?”
“Yes.”
“Citations?”
“Never. I'm a careful driver.” Why did he say that? If he got no tickets, that means he's careful, doesn't it?
“You have any citations?” he asks the Man. Jesse is sure he's a cop. They all look alike.
The Man laughs. “Not in a long time. But I was pretty reckless when I was your age.”
A very talky cop. And wants to know all about him. Jesse tells him a little.
“What are you carving?”
He shows it to him. Whatever the Man thinks it is, Jesse will say, You guessed it. He hands it over.
“Mmmm…looks like the beginning of an angel.”
“If I do it perfect, it will fly away.”
“Better leave a flaw. I bet it's a gift for someone.”
Jesse doesn't say anything.
“A woman.”
“Almost a woman. About July…”
Now why did he say that? Jesse sees out of the corner of his eye, the man is staring at him, trying to read him. He reaches for the angel. He doesn't want the Man's intense thoughts to enter the carving.
“Jesse, I'm going to trust you with something.”
Maybe Jesse doesn't want to be trusted.
“I've got a big problem. Do you have any coffee?”
“I can make some.” This is your big problem? Jesse doubts it.
The Man wants to talk inside. His secret is so terrible, the trees and birds cannot hear it. The office is small but cozy and colorful. The Man sits in the only chair in front of the big window. The sun shines on his hair. Jesse sees red highlights in the black.
While he prepares the coffee, the Man sits quietly. Thinking about his big problem. Are you going to be a big problem for me, Mr. Man? He can step on the button on the floor and rouse his father, but this does not feel like a threatening encounter. The Man is lonely, sees Jesse is an easy touch. Maybe he has a bartender's face.
When the Man has his coffee, Jesse leans on the counter, waiting.
The Man's face hardens.
“If you repeat anything I say to you, I will hurt you, Jesse. Do you want to hear what I have to say?”
“I'm not very tempted.”
“Let me tempt you. I need to get rid of that car out there. I need to disappear.”
Jesse's heart leaps. “It's stolen?”
“No. It's mine; I have the title.”
“Did you murder someone?”
“No.”
“Do you deal drugs?”
“No. No crimes, Jesse. The car has no karma.”
Jesse looks at him.
“Karma. It carries no sins to be paid. It is me they want, not the car.”
“Who wants you?”
“G-men.”
“You are a G-man?”
“I'm trying to retire. They won't let me because I know too much.”
“Even if you were sixty-two?”
“I can't wait that long.” He thumps his chest with his fist. “I can't stand it anymore.”
Jesse is afraid the man is going to cry. “If I take your car and they find me and see it is yours, will they torture or kill me, or put me in jail?”
“Anything is possible. But if you are subtle, they probably won't notice. If they do, you show them papers. The papers will prove you bought it from a man with a different name than the one they know.”
“I can't buy your car. I don't have money for a car.”
God is playing tricks today.
“Do you have a dollar?”
Just how tricky is God today?
“That's the price,” the Man says.
“But I will have to lie.”
“If ever you are questioned, tell them the truth.”
“You said you would hurt me if I told anyone what you said to me.”
“I am a desperate man, Jesse. I hope to be so far from here, I won't hear it if you do squeal on me.”
He's going to Mexico.
“Don't tell me where you're going.”
“I won't…but you know, don't you?”
Jesse doesn't answer.
“We're birds of a feather, Jesse. What do you say?”
“Great Spirit has a sense of humor.”
A glint of light shines in the Man's dark eyes. Or are those tears?
“Jesse…that is the most hopeful thing I've heard anyone say in a long time….”
Chapter Y (25)
What happened to Old Jonah after he delivered the big message? He went home to his wife Miriam.
Spotting him coming up the dusty trail toward their stucco house, Miriam is waiting at the door with a frying pan raised in the air.
“I hope you enjoyed the games in Tarshish!”
Jonah grabs her by the waist, swings her, plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek.
“Yuck! The least, you could have brushed your teeth!”
“No rooms at the Ritz in Nineveh. I chewed some grass….”
“Nineveh?”
Leaving her bewildered, he goes into the house, plops down on a mat to sort through the mail piled up in his absence.
“Cup of tea?” Miriam yells in his ear.
Jonah heaves an odorous sigh. “You want to know what I was doing in Nineveh? You won't believe it.”
“Try me.”
When she settles cross-legged in front of him with cups of rye tea, Jonah recounts the incident with the whale, and how he warned the king of Nineveh that an earthquake would hit the city in forty days unless all of the inhabitants knocked off the sin and violence.
“The king believed you?”
“The king—the whole city. I can be very persuasive, Miriam.”
“—Telling me—I married you, didn't I?”
He pinches her cheek. “Lucky woman.”
She swats his hand. “What does this mean, Jonah? I have to get used to living with a psychic, remote-viewing, out-of-body-traveling, channeling kind of prophet guy?”
“Relax. I don't think I passed the test.”
“A whole city believed you.”
“I think it was a fluke. It goes against everything I know about human nature. When did a whole city believe a messenger? I camped outside the gates, fully
expecting the humble routine wouldn't last a week. I suffered out there, Miriam, but I had to see. It was hot and windy, and a worm chewed down my only shade, this puny vine. Then God speaks to me again, says, ‘You have any right to be angry?'
“'Damn right!' I said. ‘Where's my closure?' I wanted some sign I wasn't cuckoo.”
“The whole city believing you wasn't sign enough?”
“I expected God would rumble the hills, something to show he meant business. Show I didn't dream up the earthquake vision.”
“Because no one would know for sure if you were a real prophet or just a catalyst.”
“Yeah…”
“Did you tell the king about the whale?”
“You kidding?”
“What do I know of prophets? You left, my husband who can hardly tell his left foot from his right, you come home, tell me you saved a whole city from destruction.”
“That's sort of the way God put it. Said the Ninevites didn't know their left from their right hands. I'm dying and God gets philosophical. It still doesn't make sense to me…a whole city believed me?”
“The forty days aren't up,” Miriam says.
“Oh, I'm pretty sure they won't change back. God did something to them. I was just a voice box. Anybody could have done it.”
“Sounds like God went to some trouble to make sure it was you. Not every day, he has a whale swallow a man. Sheesh!”
“You believe me, Miriam?”
“Am I a loving wife? A loving wife believes her husband's big fish story.”
“You know what I think, Miriam? God used me as a model for future prophets. No more spectacular events to prove God has spoken. From here on out, men will have to become aware of what both hands are doing, right and left. No more excuses we don't know right from wrong…because we do. That's why the king listened…he knew I was speaking the truth.”
Miriam's eyes are adoring him. “See? you're a true prophet, Dear. Jonah, you made a difference….”
“Yeah…”
Bolstered by Miriam's praise, Jonah was particularly passionate making love to her that night…so passionate they made a baby….
In the beginning after God furnished the planet with all of its splendor in water, land, vegetation, and animal life, He made a man. Adam was a very likeable fellow, and very obedient. But after watching this miraculous creation bumbling around the garden for a few weeks, gorging on fruit and frolicking with the animals, God thought: Adam, I have made life too easy on you. If you know no hardships, you won't appreciate what a good world I created. You'll remain a child and you won't be motivated to learn the arts of creation. You'll think dividing the darkness from the light is some kind of magic trick only gods can do. You'll take your world for granted, grow fat and die, never having tasted of contrasts. You won't be a being who can discern, and discernment is essential for creation.
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