Calamity (22 page)

That’s for you, Dad
.

“Go ahead.”

“When I was a young boy, I used to wander off. That’s how my mother put it, though I’m sure my little wanderings nearly gave her a coronary.
I would walk into the woods or down the street or off through a parking lot. She scolded me several times but it never deterred me. My father once grounded me for three months straight--I was twelve at the time--and I never tried to escape my room, but once I was let out again, off I would wander. It wasn’t because I wanted to defy my parents, God rest their souls, but because I had to go--something was calling me and I had to find it.”

“What was it?”

Ellis smiled. “God, of course, though that’s really the simplest answer. I’m not sure what, or who, was calling me. It wasn’t as though I heard something, don’t misunderstand me. Something was calling for me, but I didn’t hear it--I
sensed
it.”

“And whatever it was wanted you to walk off so your parents couldn’t find you?”

“Whatever the power is, I don’t think it cares who I may leave behind. It only wants me to go toward something, typically someone. I wandered off once when I was about seven. I walked off our front lawn and headed through the neighborhood with only the vaguest idea of where I was headed. I passed several people, I remember not one of them said anything to me, and I grew frightened. But I kept walking because whatever was calling for me had gotten stronger. I was close, though I had no idea why I believed that.

“I came upon this house with green shutters, I remember that detail quite clearly. There was a car parked in the driveway, the driver’s door open. An elderly man with thin wisps of hair covering his scalp dangled out of the car, the seatbelt the only thing keeping him from falling head-first onto the concrete.

“I walked right up to this man and tried to say hello but his eyes were closed, his body slack as if he had fallen asleep while getting out of his car. I touched him on the forehead, right above an incredibly bushy eyebrow. His skin was hot from the sun beating on him. He was going to get sunburned. Without any idea why, I said, ‘You’re wa‘Younot finished, not yet.’ Then a car screeched to a halt in the road and my mother was screaming for me to get in her car right now.”

Ellis paused, made sure Anthony was still with him. “When I turned back, the old man’s eyes were open and he whispered one word: ‘help.’ My mother never told me anything more about that man but I overheard her and my father talking about it that night. The guy had suffered a stroke and had I not found him, he’d be dead.”

There was promise in that anecdote, no doubt, but Anthony couldn’t let go of the part of his mind that argued the whole thing was spurious, a mere coincidence.

“Sometimes,” Ellis said, “when I’m in crowded places, I sense that calling for me again and I wander until I find where I’m supposed to go. I once stopped a wife from beating her child, a young man from breaking up with his sweetheart, and several people from committing suicide.”

“In public?”

“They were people who intended to go home that very night and kill themselves until I found them. I realize this sounds very coincidental, convenient even. But you can talk to many of those people if you want. Several of them are part of this ministry.”

You’re a predator
,
preying on the weak and brainwashing them into your empowerment ways
.

The giant Jesus moved again, just a twitch, but enough to give Anthony a jump.

“I’m telling you this because last Saturday when Dwayne and I knocked on your door, I had that calling again. It led me to you. There is a reason.”

“What?”

Ellis shook his head but didn’t lose the smile. “I don’t have all the answers, Anthony. Only He can help you with those.” He stepped aside and made a slight upsweeping gesture toward the giant, crucified Jesus. “Your daughter was taken from you, but now you are here. Whether it was to stop you from doing something or simply help you get through your pain, I am happy that my calling led me to you.”

“You knew I’d come back?”

“The man you assailed yesterday, Dwayne, was once a repeat wife abuser. He had been arrested five times for domestic disturbances. He broke his wife’s nose twice. Her arm three times. She never pressed charges, however. He’d go to jail for a few days, sleep off his drunkenness, and return home.

“She got pregnant, hoped having the baby would somehow cure Dwayne of his problem. We think that way a lot, as people, that additions (more kids, more money, whatever) will help eradicate the bad habits, the ill inclinations, the darkness that hovers around some people. But there is only one thing that can heal people.

“This was five years ago. I was a parishioner in a little church that wanted to make big changes. I had brought in half of the congregation just from my little wanderings. Some people called me a prophet, but I’m just a man, following whatever mystical power it is that guides me. I went wandering one cold Saturday in February. It was already past nightfall and I really didn’t want to go on one of my jaunts, but I went. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I did.

“I eventually came to a house echoing with screams and the clattering of thrown objects. The houses next door were dark. The people inside had heard this little violent drama enough times and were content to ignore it. I walked right up to that house, found the door unlocked, and walked inside.

“Dwayne has repented for this more times than ned,times teeds counting, so please don’t mention it to him. I found him standing over his pregnant wife, at least five months at that point, I believe, dining room chair over his head to use as a bludgeon. His wife clutched her midsection and rolled onto her side to protect the baby.

“Dwayne looked at me, I remember how cold his eyes were, how dead, and asked me what the fuck I wanted. I told him he had to put the chair down and come with me. He asked why, were the cops coming? I told him he needed to come with me because he had important things to do in this world and one day he would be thankful that a child lived somewhere with his DNA.”

This had to be a ruse, right? Anthony didn’t want it to be, however; he wanted Ellis’s story to be true, to be, as it were, Gospel.

“He put the chair down and walked away with you?”

“He cursed at me a few more times but, eventually, yes, he walked away with me.”

“Why?”

Ellis shrugged. “
Why
are you here?”

Anthony thought for a moment. There was something unsettling here, something threatening that lingered just beneath the normalcy.
Like a predator hiding in the fog
. He sensed that danger but he couldn’t say why or even what the danger was. It was something about what Ellis said. The stories had come out naturally, perfectly, and it was impossible not to be moved, but maybe that was what was so disturbing--the perfectness of his tale.
Like it’s been delivered a million times
. Maybe, but there was still something more . . .

Anthony took out the flier again and held it up to Ellis, the flier shaking. He read from the back: “Come to me, all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Tears burned in his eyes. Simply reading the words of Jesus had brought those tears and he was completely caught off guard. “I want rest.”

Ellis squeezed his shoulder again, harder. “Tonight is the Last Supper, Anthony. At the Last Supper, Jesus said to His disciples, ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in me. In my father’s house are many rooms. I am going to prepare a place for you.’”

The tears flowed unabated now. Still, none of the other people praying turned to look.
Maybe they’re fake
,
just statues like the giant Jesus
. The Jesus twitched his head as if to contradict the thought.

“Pray with me and let us find the place He has prepared for you.”

* * *

Anthony hadn’t prayed, honestly, truly prayed, in many, many years. He did so now with a ferventness that shocked him. Tears kept slipping from his eyes. He clutched his hands together and pressed his forehead against them. At times he gritted his teeth; at other moments his tongue dangled loose and he sobbed low and quietly. He thought of only one thing while he prayed: Delaney’s face. He focused on that, held it so tightly that it would never slip from his grasp. He thought of her beautiful face and begged God for rest.

At some point, Anthony couldn’t tell when because time had ceased to be relevant anymore, Ellis started talking to him in soft tones that slipped around Anthony’s sobs and eased their way into his thoughts.

“When we pray,” Ellis said, “we are not begging for an answer. We are not pleading for salvation. We are opening ourselves up and hoping that the eternal light of God fills our void. Prayer is a time of soul-searching. Don’t look to heaven; look inside yourself.

“You
are
carrying a heavy burden and it’s time to let it go. Jesus suffered on his cross so you wouldn’t have to suffer on any. He will take the pain away; he will carry it for you. Do you want that, Anthony? Do you want the pain to go away?”

Anthony was wandering in his own thoughts again:
When we are strong and confident we can never imagine being weak and vulnerable, never imagine professing such weakness in ernest
.
My daughter is dead, my wife a lost soul, a corpse practically with whom I share a mattress. The pain is immense, overwhelming, crippling. Whether emotional or physical I can’t tell. There is no longer any difference.

“Yes,” he said. “I want it to go away.”

“Good. Now, you must re-imagine your life in Christ’s eyes. You must honestly evaluate every aspect of your life and every person in it. You must accept a higher standard for all. This will not be easy, but in exchange for your promise to do better, to live better, God will carry your burden and He will do it gladly.”

What did that mean, though? Did he have to give up potato chips and
American Idol
? Did he have to stock his house full of Bibles and learn the Gospels by rote? Did he have to attend church nightly? Would Ellis ask for the deed to his house, a simple sign of good faith, in return for the promise that his concerns would go into God’s In-Box?

Though he knew he couldn’t afford such pessimism now, he couldn’t stop it. The restlessness of his mind. All he wanted was some peace, some fucking peace, why was that so hard?

That’s for you, Dad
.

“You must free yourself from all the bonds that tie you to your worldly suffering. If you want your family to come with you, you must free them as well.”

This was not what Tyler and Brendan needed right now. They deserved a father who was a stoic rock, a figure of unquestionable fortitude upon which they could hang their sorrows. They didn’t need a father who wanted to turn their lives even further upside down. Still . . .

“People will tell you to turn to the Bible, to seek God’s word, but I will tell you the truth. It is so simple, so revolutionary, that others in my position would never dream of sharing it. You don’t need the Bible. You don’t need organized faith. You don’t need this temple. These are all crutches. All you need you already have because God gave it to you. You need only your head and your heart. If you are willing to accept that there is something out there, something that wants to help you, you can have the peace of the angels.”

Ellis’s open refutation of organized religion gave him more validity and, ironically, encouraged Anthony to want to return to this empowerment Temple. He knew it was all rhetoric, all cleverly phrased persuasion designed to suck him into their flock. Anthony was exactly the type (previously confident man torn to shreds by the death of a loved one) that people like Ellis loved to encounter and seduce. Anthony knew this and yet he could not shut out Ellis’s words because they rang with the clarity of truth. Or at least the tones of what ought to be truth. He wanted to deny this man and even blame him for Delaney’s death, but he couldn’t. He recalled a Talking Heads song whose refrain was “stop making sense, making sense.” No other words could so perfectly capture his feelings.

“I can help you,” Ellis said.

Stop
.

“Don’t you want to be free of your burden?

Making
.

“Let Jesus heal your soul and empower you.”

Sense
.

“What should I do?” he asked.

Ellis told him. While he listened, Anthony was vaguely aware that after he left this temple he was never going to be the same again.

9

Brendan had agreed that Tyler could handle his problems by himself, but Brendan knew better. His brother had gotten himself stuck too deep in a pit of quicksand to crawl his own way out. He needed someone to throw him a rope. Whether Tyler liked it or not, Brendan was going to throw that rope.

He removed a business card from his pocket. On one side was a picture of Jesus’ face only with a gold crown rather than one of thorns topping his head. Beside the face the card read: The First Church of Jesus Christ the Empowered. Beneath that was the address and phone number and beneath that was the simple offer that
Jesus Can Empower You
. Brendan knew, now finally after wasting so much time and energy on those silly Greek Gods (the book,
Finding God: a History of Appeasing Higher Powers and Fulfilling Man’s Destiny
, was safely tucked deep under Brendan’s bed) that Jesus was the right path. But he couldn’t simply pray to Jesus and hope that Tyler’s problem was somehow miraculously solved. That wasn’t how it worked.

“There’s an old adage,” Ellis had told him, “that says, God helps those who help themselves. This is true. We can seek answers and change through prayer but only action will bring us closer to God and toward His empowering ways. If we want to be free of worry and know the glory of God, we need to not fear what needs to be done; we need to embrace each other on the journey toward salvation.”