Mission (13 page)

That got me on the raw. ‘Did I say anything about that? It just so happens that, for once, I'm more concerned with the effect this could have on other people.' It wasn't all bullshit. There was a grain of truth in there somewhere. If he didn't handle it right, he could really cause a lot of trouble.

Would reactionary governments stand idly by while he espoused the cause of the poor and the oppressed? Would the multi-national corporations put up the shutters if he denounced materialism? Would the Pope, the Chief Rabbi, the Grand Metropolitan – which I hope is the head of the Greek Orthodox Church and not an hotel – the Archbishop of Canterbury, the chief
Ayatollahs
of Islam, the Hindu and Buddhist hierarchy – would
they
agree to accept him as their joint cheerleader? Would Kings, Presidents and Praesidiums defer to a supra-national authority in the shape of a thirty-three year-old Jewish woodworker?

Are you kidding? Hell would have to freeze over first.

The Muslims would cut off oil supplies and declare a
Jihad.
The Christians would never reach a consensus. The Hindus would riot, and the Buddhists would set fire to themselves.

And the Jews? The Jews would never admit they had made a mistake. Or would they? Supposing the Christians turned him down? I pictured this bizarre scenario in which my people recognised him, belatedly, as the Messiah. The leader of Eretz-Israel. The final justification of their right to the Promised Land that stretched from Tel Aviv to the Euphrates. I could see it all. The sons and daughters of Zion massed outside the Mayflower Hotel waving placards which read – ‘Come back, Jesus. All is forgiven.' That really would set the Middle East on fire. And it could happen. Wasn't there a prophecy
that the War To End All Wars would begin in the Hills of Hebron? I dismissed that chilling thought and tuned back on to The Man.

‘You look worried,' he said.

‘Not really,' I replied. ‘I've just been thinking you'll need a change of clothes. We can't sign you into the Mayflower dressed like an Egyptian camel driver.' I opened my Samsonite, pulled out my cheque book and made one out in Linda's name for three hundred dollars. ‘Now listen,' I said. ‘And don't argue. My secretary will take you out and get you fixed up with something to wear, then book you into the hotel. I'll call you this afternoon around four when the court hearing is over. Then I'll come round and pick you up this evening. Sometime after six. Okay?'

He nodded. ‘Sure …'

I buzzed Linda, and when she came in, I explained about Mr Sheppard's lost luggage, wallet, et cetera, and what I wanted her to do. ‘The clothes don't have to be fancy,' I said. ‘Just make sure he's got something to change into while the rest is with the hotel's valet service. And try to leave him with fifty dollars in his pocket.' As I said it, I wondered what on earth he might spend it on.

Linda looked at the amount I'd made the cheque out for and raised an eyebrow.

I sighed. Women … ‘Is your bank account good for a hundred?'

‘Just about.'

‘Okay. Use it if you have to. I'll square it with you later. Get Sally to take over your phone while you're gone.'

‘I'll get my coat,' she said. She flashed a friendly smile at The Man on the way out.

I waited until the door closed. ‘Just do me one favour.'

‘What's that?' he said.

‘Don't drag Linda into this. I know that may sound kind of impertinent but …'

He waved away my unfinished apology. ‘Supposing she asks me questions?'

‘Tell her you're a writer,' I said. ‘I know one or two. You flew in from Los Angeles. You write scripts. Tell her you're working on a big biblical epic.'

‘I don't know anything about Los Angeles,' he said.

‘Don't worry,' I replied. ‘We can fix that right now.' I got up and selected a couple of paperbacks from my office bookshelf. He caught them as I dropped them into his lap. ‘The top one is a guidebook to
the State of California, the bottom one is a street atlas of Greater Los Angeles and Orange County. You should be able to take both of those on board before Linda comes back from the ladies room. The rest you can get from her. She spent a year out there working for a producer at Universal Studios. All you have to do is re-hash the information she's got inside her head.'

He smiled. ‘You learn fast.'

‘I'm doing my best,' I said. ‘Let's face it. The way things are, we can't afford to waste any time.'

‘True,' he said. Sitting there as if he had for ever. He held up the two books. ‘Shall I put these back on the shelf?'

I just couldn't believe it. ‘What, already?' I gaped. ‘Do you mean to say that you can take
two
books in at the same time?'

He shrugged. ‘A whole shelf-full or a whole library if you like. It just takes a little more concentration, that's all.' He got up and replaced the books.

I watched him, saucer-eyed. ‘But you didn't even close your eyes!'

‘Yes, I know,' he said, tongue-in-cheek. ‘I didn't want to waste any time.'

It was reassuring to know that he still liked to score one now and then. And it was true that, after Linda had brought in the mail, I had bounced back from the blue funk his presence had put me in, and had become a little pushy. In other words, I was acting normally.

Linda knocked and put her freshly combed head round the door. ‘Ready when you are.'

‘We'll be right out,' I said. I got up and ushered him across the room. When we reached the door, I took hold of the handle and laid my other hand daringly on his shoulder. I have to tell you there was no tingle. No electric shock. Just a plain, ordinary shoulder. Well, not quite ordinary. But you know what I mean. ‘One last thing. If you decide to go into Central Park, there'll be quite a few people around. So please, don't do anything fancy. Just stay on the main paths and keep clear of the bushes.'

‘Can I hire one of the rowboats?'

‘Do whatever you want,' I said. ‘Just don't go walking across the lake.'

It is at this point I just want to stop and say that I'm aware that some of you may have been upset by some of the things you've read. And that any Evangelical Christians who've got this far without throwing the book on the fire may be downright angry. Outraged
even. But the plain fact is, whatever he, or I, or any of us said or did was bound to offend somebody.

Take for instance the small thing like what The Man should wear. What should I have told Linda to do? Fit him out with a Brooks Brothers three-piece in banker's grey, or a bleached pair of jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt which read ‘JESUS SAVES'? That may make some of you laugh but really, it was no joke. The way I saw it, sacrilege just didn't come into it. From what he'd already told me, it was clear that The Man was above religion. Religion, and all the self-righteous attitudes that went with it, was something
we
had invented. And let's face it, where he had just come from, there were plenty of people who didn't give a damn who he was. Especially those goons who had been on the execution squad in the Fortress Antonia. This was not the soft-focus Catholic Repository image of the New Testament figure. This was the real thing. The being, or whatever he or it was, who had been the epicentre of a tenuous and imperfectly documented event that had sent shockwaves around the world. Upon which, over the centuries, generation after generation of ecclesiastical rip-off artists had built a massive power-structure, financed by extortion, murder and plunder from the East; riddled with corruption and intrigue, and centrally-heated by burning heretics. A structure that, when impudent monarchs separated the functions of Church and State, and began killing people in the name of the King instead of in the name of Christ, had become increasingly hollow, meaningless and irrelevant. If The Man had come to cast it down, or open the windows and let in some fresh air, there would be a lot of prelates in urgent need of career counselling.

The first day of the hearing didn't go quite as smoothly as I expected and I spent the lunch recess reviewing game-plans with Delaware's staff lawyers. Which meant I didn't get to call the office or the hotel. When I returned just after four-thirty Linda was back behind her desk and looking busy.

She tailed me into my office.

‘How'd it go?' I said.

‘Fine. Your cheque covered everything. He's in Room 315. It's a suite facing the Gulf and Western building. I couldn't get him anything overlooking the Park.'

‘That's okay,' I said. ‘He's not going to be in town for long.'

Linda gave me an odd look. ‘By the way, are you sure your friend writes for the movies?'

I braced myself for trouble. ‘Yes, why?'

‘Well – ' She hesitated. ‘He's, uhh – such a nice guy. I mean he really is, you know?'

‘Of course he is,' I said. ‘One of the best.'

I've mentioned the fact that Linda had spent a year in LA. It was a few years back, when her mother had gone out to the West Coast to nurse a sick relative. She had got the job at Universal through family connections and rubbed shoulders with some of the glossier folk in Tinseltown. Maybe even put a few dents in the odd casting couch. Who knows? Whatever it was, the West Coast magic failed to cast its spell. Which meant that I gained a good, but slightly soured, secretary on the rebound.

And then I saw her eyes brim over with tears. My heart sank. ‘What is it?'

‘Nothing.' She wiped her eyes and honked into a Kleenex.

‘What did he say? What happened?'

‘Nothing. We just went shopping.' She shrugged. ‘Oh, by the way, there was thirty dollars change. He didn't want a lot of stuff.' She gave me a wobbly smile. ‘It's funny, you know. I've never met a guy like that before.'

You can say that again.

‘It was like – ' She searched for the right phrase. ‘Like shopping with a child. It was almost as if he'd never been in a big department store.'

I nodded. ‘I know what you mean. He's always struck me as a guy who prefers the simple life.'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Apparently, he's got this cabin up in the woods near Lake Tahoe. No telephone. No TV. In fact, I don't think he even owns a typewriter.'

‘He probably likes doing things the hard way.' I sat down in my five hundred buck soft hide swivel chair and lit a cigarette.

Linda folded the tissue over and wiped her nose again. ‘I know how he feels. We went round two or three stores and, for the first time in my life, everything suddenly looked very tacky. You know? There was just too much of everything. And I found myself thinking – who needs all this junk?'

‘I often ask myself the same question,' I said. I did my best to bolster her belief in the consumer society with a few well-chosen words then asked her to rustle me up a cup of coffee. I glanced quickly through the paperwork that had found its way on to my desk during my absence and put in a call to The Man in Room 315. ‘Hi, how's it going?'

‘Just great,' he said. ‘I've got a really nice room but the clothes take a bit of getting used to.'

‘You hear the same thing in the lobby of the UN every time there's a big debate on the Third World,' I said. I explained why I hadn't got through to him earlier. ‘I'll be round as soon as I finish up here. Give me about an hour.'

‘Okay,' he said. ‘Take care.'

It seemed an odd thing for him to say but I put the phone down and thought no more about it. I mulled briefly over his impact on Linda and fervently hoped that she had no inkling of who it was who had moved her to tears. He certainly had a way with women. And it was at this point that I tuned out and got on with the job in hand.

By the time I reached the elevators in the lobby, it was going on a quarter of six. Our offices are on the twenty-second floor. The building starts emptying at five with a big rush which then slows to a steady trickle over the next hour leaving a residue of midnight-oilers. Which usually includes me. The doors closed on two of the elevators as I got there, leaving the lobby empty. I hit the button on the middle one and the indicator lit up to show that it was on its way down.

As I stood there, about half a dozen people gathered behind me. There was the usual ‘ting' as the elevator arrived. The doors opened. I started to step forward – and saw to my horror that the car wasn't there. I glimpsed the void beneath me as I began to lose my balance then a giant, unseen hand slammed into my chest and hurled me backwards. In the same instant, the empty elevator flashed past like a guillotine blade and plummeted down the shaft. I heard someone scream then I crashed into the people behind me, knocking several of them to the floor.

‘Jesus H. Christ!' gasped a man. ‘Are you okay?'

I nodded as he helped me up. Fortunately nobody had been hurt as I'd cannoned into them but a couple of ladies were pretty shaken up. As soon as I found my voice, I offered my apologies which were brushed aside. Everbody seemed to think they were lucky not to have been first in line.

I should have taken the next car but I was too chicken. I unlocked the fire door and went down the emergency stairs instead. I was still quivering when I reached the ground floor and my bones felt as if they'd turned to jelly. I found the other escapees clustered round the building superintendent. Everybody was totally mystified. The elevator was now working normally and, as the superintendent explained for what he claimed to be the tenth time, there was no way that the elevator doors could have opened if the car wasn't there.

I knew a way. But there was no point in trying to tell him. I went out on to the street and flagged a cab.

When I got to the Mayflower, I called The Man's room from the house phone and asked him to come down and meet me. He stepped out of the elevator wearing olive green cords, a plaid shirt that toned in nicely, and a black nylon wind-breaker with blue and white shoulder-stripes. The Roman Army issue sandals had been replaced by a pair of jogging shoes. He looked more like a rising young
cinéaste
than the Good Shepherd. But why not? Once again, I had to remind myself that the blue-eyed firm-jawed Anglo-Saxon Sunday School
Jesus was a PR image produced by Christian propagandists of the Roman persuasion. If anything, it was the figure portrayed in the Byzantine mosaics that most resembled The Man who now approached me. But even that was the wrong way to look at him. I realised I had to stop comparing him to any of the stereotypes that had been constructed from the available evidence and see him
as he was.
As a non-practising Jew, I had a head start, but it was amazing to discover the amount of the subliminal conditioning I'd acquired by living in a predominately Christian world.