Ultimate Sports (26 page)

“But what?” she said.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that I was born and raised in America and I think everyone has the right to believe whatever they want, and from watching my own parents I think two people from different religious backgrounds can become friends and live together and even get married. So I won’t laugh at you, and I won’t try to take away your religious freedom. Like I said, I’ve read about lots of different religions, and I find some beautiful things in all of them.”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Jennifer said slowly, and then broke off. We looked at each other for a long time. “Okay,” she finally said. “Okay. Have you heard of Bernard Shaftsbury?”

“No. Who is he?”

“He was a brilliant physics professor at Berkeley. When he was forty he began to have visions.”

“What kind of visions?”

She hesitated. “Telepathic messages.”

“Messages from where?”

Her face didn’t change expression and the tone of her voice remained sincere and constant when she said, “From a UFO orbiting the earth. They were preparing him for his ride.”

“He went on a ride in a UFO?”

“Yes,” she said. “They came down and got him, and took him all over the galaxy. They went into black holes and came out white holes, they went back in time through intercosmic wormholes and he saw the creation and they
went forward in time and he saw the end. And then they let him come back to earth to prepare the faithful.”

“And that’s you?”

“And my parents, and a few thousand other people.”

“A few thousand?”

“We lived in a commune in Shaftsbury Valley, between Los Angeles and San Diego. We were totally self-sufficient. It was beautiful.”

“How many years did you live there?”

“I was born there. We had our own school, and organic farms, and a church, and a sacred grove for yoga and meditation, and a tennis court.”

I nodded, trying to take this all in. At least Shaftsbury had had the good sense to put in a tennis court. In its own weird way, this was beginning to make a little sense. “If it was so beautiful there, why did you leave?”

“Shaftsbury sent us all out, to each of the forty-nine states, to prepare for the submergence.”

“There are fifty states,” I told her.

“We only needed to go to the continental ones,” she said. “Hawaii wasn’t necessary.”

“What’s the submergence?”

Her shoulders shrugged under the pink and white tennis dress. When she spoke, her voice came out much lower. “The end of the world,” she said. “In less than a week. The seas and oceans will rise up and swallow us down, and the surface of the earth will be covered with water, just the way it was at the beginning.”

“Why will this happen?”

“Because we’ve polluted our air and pumped sewage into our water and destroyed our atmosphere. We’ve killed creatures for their meat and for their hides and for their horns and…we just went too far. So what was
given to us as a gift is going to be taken away and given to another species.”

There were a lot of tears on her face now, and she wiped them off with the back of her hand. “Who?” I asked. “I mean, what species is gonna get the earth next?”

“The dolphins,” she whispered. A little April breeze stirred her blond hair around her shoulders. She sniffled a few times and managed to stop the tears. “Shaftsbury says we shouldn’t be afraid, so I’m trying my best. Only—” She broke off and looked out across the tennis court and beyond, where the flower gardens were budding and the grassy lawns were like lakes of brilliant emerald. She surprised me by putting her hand in mine. I closed my fingers around it. “Only, it’s very beautiful and I hate to see it all go,” she said, and her voice quivered and broke.

I kept holding on to her hand with my right hand, and I put my left arm gently around her shoulders. “Listen, Jennifer,” I said. “You’re not in southern California anymore. You’re in New Jersey now. And the world doesn’t come to an end in New Jersey.”

Her head jerked up and she pulled away a little bit. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” I said. “I just think that Shaftsbury needs to think this thing over a bit more.”

She stood up. “He’s the one true prophet.”

“Maybe he is,” I told her, “but you’re so sensible and intelligent, how can you believe this garbonzo?”

She tossed back her head, and her blue eyes shone bright. “I don’t think intelligence has anything to do with what you believe or don’t believe,” she said. “I thought you were sincere when you said you wanted to know about my religion. I never thought you’d laugh at me. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. I forgive
you.” She stomped off down the bleachers, sat by herself on the bus ride home, and took off by herself as soon as the bus let us off at our school.

During the next few days, I thought a lot about what Jennifer had said. At first I thought the whole thing was humorous—her ideas were so wacky it was hard to even know how to take her seriously. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have turned her beliefs into a joke. From what little I know about history, there have always been fringe religions, and most people who dare to be different are persecuted. The ancient Egyptians enslaved the Jews and the Romans fed the early Christians to the lions, and if Jennifer had had the courage to share her beliefs with me, maybe I should have been more tolerant. Even if the whole thing was nonsense.

Finally, I called her up. To my surprise, she answered the phone and seemed willing to talk to me. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior the other day,” I told her. “I honestly feel bad I teased you about your religion. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “It doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters now. But I’m glad you called, so that we could say goodbye. My parents are almost finished getting everything ready, and we’re going to leave.”

“What are they getting ready?”

“The world is ending tonight,” Jennifer said.

“What time?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“And where are you going with your parents?”

“To the highest point in New Jersey. All of the faithful in all of the forty-nine states have to go to the highest points in their states tonight at the appointed time, and perform the Ceremony of the End.”

I surprised myself by asking, “Can I come?”

“Tonight? You want to come with us tonight?”

“Yeah,” I said. “If it’s okay. I promise I won’t disturb anything.”

“Don’t you want to be with your family for the end?”

“I’ll say goodbye to them before we go,” I told her. “Can I come?”

“One sec, I’ll have to check with my mom.” She was gone for a few seconds, and then she came back on. “My mom says you’re very welcome. We’re leaving at eight. Do you know where I live?”

“Sure,” I said. I hesitated—I didn’t want her to think I was making fun of her beliefs again. “Should I dress casual?”

“Whatever.”

“Can I bring anything?”

“No,” she said. “Just be on time. See you at eight.”

That night at dinner I told my mother that I was going to be out real late, because I was going on an astronomical viewing trip with Jennifer’s family. I told her that they had just bought a telescope, and that we were going to try to see the different rings of Saturn.

“Why don’t they go earlier?” she wanted to know. “Ten is pretty late to start on a trip.”

“They’re nice people, but they’re a little bit strange,” I told her. “They’re from southern California.”

“Strange how? Like they put ketchup on their hot dogs?”

“Something like that, Mom. I should go. Bye.” I gave her a little hug and a kiss on my way out.

“What was that for?”

“For being such a great mom. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?”

“Bye,” I said. In the living room I passed my father, who was watching a sitcom on TV. “Bye, Dad.”

He didn’t look up. “I don’t know why I’m watching this. It isn’t funny at all.”

As I went by I punched him lightly on the shoulder, and the punch made him look up at me. “Bye,” I said.

“Goodbye, goodbye,” he said. “Have a good evening.”

I enjoyed the four-block walk to Jennifer’s house. It was a warm, clear April night. The streets were quiet and the air smelled sweet from all the budding flowers and new grass. I passed a whole row of azaleas, each branch decked out with tiny yellow buds. I slowed down and inhaled, and felt the April breeze on my face. It didn’t feel like the end of the world—it felt like the beginning of something fresh and sweet and new.

When I reached Briarwood Lane I crossed over to Jennifer’s house. A short and pretty blond woman was loading what looked like clothing into the back of a big station wagon. She finished loading it just as I walked up, and turned to greet me. I guess I expected her to look strange in some way or other, and I was a bit startled by her warm smile, direct manner, and firm handshake. “You must be Andrew. I’m Connie, Jennifer’s mom. Congratulations on the tennis title.”

“Thanks,” I told her. “Can I help you load stuff?”

“All finished,” she said, and swung the station wagon’s door shut. “I think I met your mother. She works at the library, doesn’t she?”

“That’s her.”

“Does your father also work here in town?”

“No, he works in New York. For the city transit system.” After all these frustrating months of not getting
straight answers from Jennifer, I couldn’t contain my curiosity. “May I ask what you and Mr. Krenzwinkle do?”

“I’m an oceanographer,” she said. “My specialty is the effects of industrial pollution on freshwater mollusks. My husband is a nuclear engineer. Here he comes now.”

Jennifer’s father came down the steps carrying three flashlights. He was in his early forties, with boyish features and long brown hair which he kept in a ponytail. I have to admit that the fact that he was a nuclear engineer completely blew me away. Even as I shook his hand, I looked from him to her and wondered how two scientists could bring up their child to believe this junk, let alone believe it themselves.

Jennifer came out of the house wearing jeans and a blue windbreaker, and we all climbed into the station wagon and began the journey. Mostly we drove in silence. Take it from me, there isn’t much to talk about when you’re riding with three people who believe the world is about to come to an end. You can’t say, “So, think the Yankees may take it this year?” because in their opinion there won’t be a baseball season. You can’t say, “Nice night, think it will rain tomorrow?” because there won’t be a tomorrow. So for the most part I just sat in the backseat next to Jennifer in silence, as the big white station wagon roared through the night.

Once, I asked Mr. Krenzwinkle where he first encountered Bernard Shaftsbury. “I took his class at Berkeley, when I was a grad student there. It was the best class I ever took. Every time Bernard opened his mouth, you knew you were in the presence of real genius.”

I have to admit that as it got closer to ten o’clock and we began to climb through the foothills of the Kittatinny Mountains toward High Point State Park, I began to feel
just a bit nervous. Not scared, but very uncomfortable. I guess part of it was because the Krenzwinkles seemed so bright and sane and decent. I found myself wishing that they had been real weirdos, or stupid, or uneducated. The fact that they were scientists with advanced degrees was a bit creepy.

Not that I was beginning to believe any of this mumbo jumbo. But creepy is creepy.

We reached High Point State Park and drove up the winding road to the mountaintop that is the highest point in the state. Several other cars were already there when we arrived. There were about six other couples and fifteen or twenty small children. As I followed Jennifer away from the station wagon toward a flat grassy area, I checked my watch. It was nine-forty. The world was supposed to come to an end in twenty minutes.

It turned out that Jennifer’s father was the ranking priest. Mrs. Krenzwinkle opened the back of the station wagon and began distributing purple robes to all the adults. She offered me one, and I slipped it on. The April night was getting a bit chilly, so it felt good to slip on the thick cotton. Mr. Krenzwinkle put on a special robe of bright scarlet and a pointed hat with a tassel on top. He would have looked comical, except that all the preparations were being carried out simply and seriously. There was no wand-waving or incantation-chanting or anything like that.

By nine-fifty everyone was robed except for the youngest children. Mr. Krenzwinkle told us to form a circle and link hands. Families stood together, with children between their parents. Jennifer’s dad stood in the center of the circle, so I got to hold one of Jennifer’s hands. It was warm and her grip was firm. At nine fifty-five I gave
her a little squeeze and she squeezed back. Then we all just waited.

At nine fifty-seven Mr. Krenzwinkle tilted back his head and made a sound deep in his throat: “Oooooohhhhhh.” Everyone standing in the big circle joined him and for several seconds even the children were going “Oooooohhh.”

Then, as if on cue, everyone stopped making the sound at the same moment, and Mr. Krenzwinkle began to speak. He didn’t shout, but his voice filled the clearing. “The oceans of the world are beginning to rise. The winds are whirling, the ice caps dissolving. We are grateful for the time we’ve spent together. Bernard, we thank you for your light. Let us all face the end in peace.”

He picked up a musical triangle and held it aloft, then struck it once, so that it vibrated with a pure, silvery sound. We waited. Everyone extinguished their flashlights, making it completely dark, except for the light of the full April moon. As I stood there on the hilltop in pitch darkness, I began to realize for the first time in my life what religion must have meant to mankind in earlier days.

We’re so sheltered in our homes, with electric lights and alarm systems and central heating. For the first time I understood why when the ancient Greeks saw the lightning bolt flash out across their farms and fields and heard the thunderclap shake the sky above them, they said it was Zeus, king of the gods, thundering angrily on Mount Olympus, and sacrificed oxen to appease his anger. I imagined what it was like for the Jews when Moses led them out of Egypt across a seemingly endless desert, and then climbed up into the mountains to receive the law from God. And I understood a bit of what it had been like for the disciples in their little boat on the Sea of Galilee when
Jesus rebuked the raging winds and commanded the waves to be calm.