Eli (25 page)

“Now, where were we?” Eli asked.

“You was gonna tell us ’bout some company,” a teen in a sleeveless T-shirt replied.

“But you hadn’t decided what type,” a heavyset mother added.

An elder in a frayed sports coat spoke up. “Make it an insurance company.”

“How ’bout a beautician school?”

“Or a—”

“Thanks,” Eli grinned, “I think I’ve got one.” He took a brief moment to gather his thoughts. Conrad scanned the group. He estimated there were nearly thirty people there.

Thirty Southern black folks sitting in the hot, Texas sun waiting to hear some West Coast Jewish kid weave a story. He shook his head in amusement. The miracles just kept coming.

Eli began. “Once there was a computer software company.”

“That will work,” the elder agreed.

“The owner was a genius. I mean, this guy created the absolute, top-of-the-line software. He invested wisely, hired the best managers, the best employees—”

“Had great health care benefits?” the mother asked.

The group chuckled, and Eli agreed. “Had great health care benefits, plus a retirement plan, plus a day-care center, plus profit sharing. I mean this guy had it all. Plus money—

lots and lots of money.”

“All right, Bill Gates.”

“I’m talking bigger than Bill Gates.”

Someone whistled. Eli grinned. Once again his ease and camaraderie with the group were obvious. But it was more hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 189

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than camaraderie. It was a joy and a love that he had for them, for each of them. And it was a love they sensed and readily returned.

Eli continued. “Eventually he goes off on a long trip.

Spends the summer in Switzerland.”

“How ’bout Bermuda?” a younger woman called out.

“Let the man speak,” the elder insisted.

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, when he logs on to check how things are going, he realizes that the managers have locked him out. They’ve built a firewall he can’t go around. So he calls up one of his corporate vice presidents and asks him to visit the plant to find out what’s happening. But the guy—”

“Or gal,” the younger woman corrected.

Eli nodded. “Or gal, shows up, and the managers won’t let her in. Not only won’t they let her in, but they slap a restraining order on her, refusing to let her anywhere near the place.”

“They can do that?”

“Let the man speak.”

“So the owner, he tries again with another corporate V.P.

Only this time they beat him and throw him out with all kinds of threats on his life.”

“So he finally comes back himself?” the mother asked.

Eli shook his head. “No, not yet.”

Conrad watched as Eli grew more and more involved, almost as if he were taking the story personally.

“He sends yet another V.P., and he too is beaten and thrown out. So finally, finally, he decides to send his own son, his heir who will one day inherit the company. I mean, surely they’ll respect his own son, right?”

The group listened, unsure how to respond. They had also noticed Eli’s growing intensity.

“But they don’t. Not in the slightest. Instead, when the owner’s son finally arrives and enters the building, they grab him. Then they beat him. Worse than that . . .” He took a deep breath. “Worse than that, they eventually decide to kill him.”

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190 Eli’s eyes faltered, then dropped to the cracked sidewalk in front of him. Silence stole over the group.

Finally Brother Hudson, one of the visiting clergy, spoke up. “Why’s that?”

Eli turned to him, then quietly answered, “You tell me.”

The visitor stiffened under his gaze.

“So they can have all the profits,” the young woman suggested.

Eli turned to her and nodded.

“Or maybe so they can stay in power,” another offered.

“What happens next?” the elder asked.

Eli looked at him a moment, then continued. “Finally the owner has had enough. He comes back home. With the sheriff and a truckload of deputies, he enters the building. And what do you think he does?”

“Fires ’em all,” the teen in the sleeveless T-shirt shouted.

“And tries the managers for murder,” another said. “That’s his son we’re talkin’ about.”

Eli nodded. “Yes, he fires everyone on payroll, and he presses charges against all of the department heads for murder.”

“What happens to the company?” the young woman asked.

“Ah . . .” Ever so slightly the sadness lifted from Eli’s eyes.

“This is where it gets interesting. The owner then goes out into the streets and hires anyone who wants to work for him.”

“Anyone?” the teen asked.

“That’s right,” Eli smiled. “Anyone at all. It doesn’t matter how unqualified they are—how bad their work record has been. Not only does he make them his new employees with even greater benefits, he also allows them to become co-owners of the company.”

The group approved. A few clapped.

“And the moral to all this is . . .” It was Brother Hudson again. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

A large man sitting with his wife and kids answered, “The owner, he’s supposed to be like God, right?”

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Eli looked at him, his smile broadening. “That’s right.”

“And the company,” the teen added, “that’s like the whole world.”

“No, fool,” his buddy chided. “It’s like the religious establishment or somethin’, ain’t that right, Eli?”

“Right again.”

“And those vice presidents?” the young woman asked.

It was the pastor’s turn to answer. “I believe those are the prophets of God, the ones who kept trying to turn the people back to Him.”

“Oooh,” an older woman teased. “Very good, Pastor.”

He chuckled, flashing his gold tooth. “Why thank you, Sister Benson.”

“And the managers?” Reverend Caldwell’s voice came from the back. It was brittle and cool.

Eli turned to him but did not answer.

Caldwell cleared his throat and repeated a little louder.

“And the managers that were thrown out, who exactly did you intend them to be?”

Eli’s smile slowly faded. “It sounds to me like you already have your answer,” he said.

“Why don’t you enlighten us?” Reverend Hudson replied.

“The answer lies in the Scriptures you are so fond of quot-ing.” Slowly, Eli rose to his feet. The group exchanged glances, unsure what was about to happen. Eli began to quote,

“‘The foundation which the builders rejected, the very cornerstone, is the chief cornerstone for the entire building.’”

The two visitors remained unmoving, staring hard at Eli.

He took a step closer, his voice growing more quiet, even more intense. “And every person, regardless of their education, regardless of their wealth, regardless of their high religious position . . . every person who falls upon this stone will be broken to pieces.” The group remained silent. Only the clatter of dry leaves stirring in the afternoon breeze could be heard.

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Eli continued, speaking directly to the two men. “And whoever this stone falls upon will be smashed and ground into dust.”

The silence grew as the entire group digested what had been said. But Conrad already understood. And he was already lowering his eyes, already shaking his head. Eli had done it again.

v

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to go other places if my needs
were met here!”

“How dare you!”

“Daddy, don’t leave!”
Julia was between them, in the living room.

“Maybe if I got the respect I deserve I wouldn’t have to—”

“Respect! Don’t you dare talk to me about respect!”

“Please, Daddy . . .”

“You with your bimbos, your—”

“Rachel is twice the woman you’ll ever be. She’s—”

“Get out!”

“At least she knows how to treat a man.”

“Get out!”

“Mommy!”

“She knows how to be a real woman!”

“Get out!”
Her mother’s voice was breaking
. “Get out!”

“My pleasure!”
He spun around and headed for the door.

She started after him.
“Daddy!”

But he was outside and slamming it before she arrived.

The windows in the old house shuddered.

“DADDY!”

But Daddy was gone. Daddy was gone and only her mother remained, sobbing.

“Don’t cry, Mommy.”
She raced to her mother and threw her arms around her legs, clinging tightly, burying her wet face into her skirt.
“Don’t cry, Mommy, don’t cry.”
Her mother’s hand reached down, absentmindedly stroking the hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 193

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top of her head. Julia looked up at her through the tears.
“He’ll
be back,”
she choked.
“He promised. He’ll never leave me. He
promised . . .”

But he did not come back. Never again. At least to them.

Now, twenty years later, Julia leaned against the doorway of her old room, staring out into the living room, lost in the memory. It had been a long, excruciating day. Too long. She turned and headed into her bedroom, suspecting that tomorrow would be no different.

v

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure until last night. Trevor’s waiting outside to take me to the bus station now.”

Conrad remained standing near the door. He watched as Suzanne flitted about the camper she’d been sharing with Maggie. The place always smelled of scented candles, a mixture of orange and cinnamon, he thought. And it always contained a certain warmth and hominess. A peace. Except this morning. This morning Suzanne scurried about, busying herself with last-minute preparations to leave. He knew she was upset. He could tell by the way she kept her back to him, the way she wouldn’t let their eyes meet.

“Did you talk to Eli?” he asked. “Does he know?”

He caught a moment’s hesitation before she answered.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said what he always says, ‘Michael’s sickness is for the glory of God.’”

“I mean about your leaving, what did he say about your leaving?”

Suzanne slowed to a stop, her back still to him. She took a trembling, uneven breath. Conrad immediately spotted it and crossed to her. He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”

She sniffed softly.

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“What did he say?” Conrad repeated more gently.

She took another breath, steadying herself. “You know how he’s always saying our life is made of choices?”

Conrad nodded.

“He said if I choose to follow him, if that’s my decision, then I must hate my life. I must hate my mother and father, I must hate my sister . . . and I must hate my brother.”

“He said
that?
To
you?”

She looked down and nodded.

Conrad grew cold with anger. This was too much. “Where is he?”

“At the overpass. There’s a homeless woman there that lives in the cemetery. People think she’s possessed.”

Conrad knew the place. It was a quarter mile away, easy walking distance from the campground where they’d spent the night. He released her and turned toward the door. “I’ll talk to him. Don’t leave until I—”

She grabbed his arm. “Connie, no.”

He turned back to her. “Why?”

“Because . . . he’s right.”

“What?” She still would not look at him. He continued.

“Telling you that you’re supposed to hate yourself, that you’re supposed to hate your brother?” There was no holding back his indignation. He wanted to pace, but there was little room in the camper. “What about all this talk of love, all of this—”

“No.” She finally looked up to him. “He’s not saying I shouldn’t love my family.”

“Then what is he—”

“He’s talking about comparison. He’s saying my love for him should be so great that by comparison it’s like I hate my family.”

“That’s crazy. They’re your family. Michael’s your brother.

And Eli’s just your . . . your . . .”

“My what?” she asked.

Conrad looked at her but said nothing.

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“He claims to be the Lord, Connie, the only way to his Father.”

Now it was Conrad’s turn to avoid Suzanne’s eyes. It was one of the incongruities he still struggled with.

“And I believe he is.”

His eyes raised to hers.

She nodded. “I do. But . . .” She took a ragged breath. “But he’s not
my
Lord, not if I put my family ahead of him. Not if I love them more.”

“What are you saying?”

“I love them more than him, Connie. I love my family more than the Lord. And if that’s the case . . .” She swallowed hard. “If that’s the case, then I can no longer follow him.” She turned, looking for something to busy herself.

Conrad stared, dumbfounded. Then suddenly he declared, “I’m going too.”

“No.”

Her response surprised him. “Why not? Listen, if you’re not good enough for him, then I’m certainly not—”

She turned back to him. “But you are, Connie.”

“What?”

“Following Eli has nothing to do with how good you are.

It’s about how much you love him. And you love him, Connie. Look where you are, how far you’ve come. You’ve even walked away from your work, something I could never have dragged you from.”

“I’m on a sabbatical.”

She shook her head. “No. You love him more than your work, Connie. You love him more than your friends, your family. In truth, you love him more than—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I do not love him more than you!”

She looked up into his eyes, holding his gaze. “Yes, you do,” she whispered softly.

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He shook his head, but before he could continue, she gently pressed her finger to his lips. “And you should.”

He stood, searching her face. A moment passed before she suddenly reached over and scooped up a large, black gym bag from the counter. “He needs you, Connie. And you need him.