by john | Jul 1, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
When I woke up, Myra was lying next to me. She was awake, just lying down after a shower. Her hair smelled fresh and clean, and reminded me that I could use a quick shower to get rid of the road grime. From time to time over the years I’ve forgotten how nice it is to wake up next to someone. Someone you actually give a shit about, that is. That’s when I realized that Eve was on to something; that I actually had started to care about Myra. I was going to have to deal with that before too long. She had been special to me when we were first together, and the intervening years had only softened the sharp edges of youth. She looked more comfortable in her skin now, and I liked that she wasn’t out to impress anyone. She just lay down next to me on top of the scratchy hotel blanket in a baggy t-shirt and panties, not trying to get all supermodel on me, just comfortable.
Yeah, I was definitely going to have to cut this short before it got in the way of things. If I had a Choice of my own coming up, then I was gonna need to focus. And all signs were pointing towards whatever great Event happening sooner rather than later, so I had better get in the game.
Eventually. But first I kissed the top of Myra’s head, then kissed my way down her forehead to her temple, and along the side of her face as she looked up at me. I paused for moment or two at her ear before moving on to her lips. We kissed rather seriously for minute or two before she pulled back and grinned at me.
“Shower. Shave. Mouthwash. Dinner. In that order. More playtime later.” She kissed the end of my nose and got out of bed, digging through her bag for a fresh pair of jeans. I got out of bed, tossing clothes around the room as I headed for the shower. One of the great things about travel in the modern world is the advent of little hotel soaps and shampoos. I know women still carry seventeen pounds of hair goop and facial scrubs, but all I require nowadays is a razor and an electrical outlet. So I took a quick shower and dutifully scraped off a few days’ worth of stubble, and headed back out into the room to get dressed. I instantly regretted not taking more clothes into the bathroom with me when I was greeted by a chorus of wolf whistles from Myra and Eve, who were sitting on the bed watching TV.
“Hey baby! Shake what you got!” Eve had more than a few years’ experience with what men yelled at strip clubs, so she dredged up the more prurient phrases she’d learned strutting runways from L.A. to Miami in an effort to embarrass me. Once I realized that Emily was nowhere to be seen, I just tossed the towel on the floor. After all, there’s nothing here they both haven’t seen before, right?
“Pick that wet towel up!” Myra shrieked.
“How dare you throw that towel on the carpet?” Eve followed right on her tail. Great. Two of them. I tossed the towel into the bathroom and dug around in my bag for some clean underwear, jeans and my favorite Johnny Cash T-shirt. Hey, if we’re in Nashville, might as well rock the Man in Black, right?
“Underwear, Adam?” Eve smirked a little.
“Hey, we call it progress, sweetheart. We’ve come a long way since fig leaves.” I shot right back. I pulled on my boots and we went downstairs. I was a little worried about what the two of them might have been chatting about while I was in the shower, but I figured I hadn’t left them alone long enough for them to get into any real trouble. I never was that bright.
We walked across the hotel parking lot to an Applebee’s because wherever there’s a critical mass of hotels, there’s an Applebee’s, and the food is harmless, if not terribly interesting. And there’s beer. We grabbed a big round table in the corner and loaded up on bar food and beer. After we eased our appetites, I looked over at Michael and started the party.
“Okay, Michael. Who are we looking for and where do we find him?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not certain of his name, but I will know him when I encounter him. He is a young lay minister who frequents the downtown area.” He said.
“A lay minister? You mean like a street preacher?” Cain asked.
“I believe that is one way that people refer to his ministry, yes. He speaks from The Book to passersby downtown. He is very, how should I put this? Um, he’s very outgoing in his ministry.” Michael continued.
“So he’s an obnoxious street preacher in downtown Nashville, the big gold-plated buckle of the Bible Belt. That’s not gonna be easy to find.” I opined.
“As I mentioned, I will sense that he is the one we are searching for once we are near. For now, I suggest that we depart this fine dining institution and make our way downtown to begin our search for the young man in question.”
“Well, you boys have a goooood time quizzing street preachers. I’m sure that with Mikey’s spidey-sense in full bloom, you don’t need Myra and me to find one Bible-thumper, and we could use a little “girl time,” if you know what I mean.” Eve stood and started for the door, motioning for Myra to follow.
“I don’t know what you mean, and I think we should all stick together.” I said.
“He’s so cute when he tries to play leader, isn’t he?” Eve said. “C’mon honey, we’ll leave Emily with him to make sure he doesn’t get in too much trouble, and we’ll take Cain with us to make sure that we do. I hear there are a couple of bars in this town where they might play a little music. Let’s see if we can find one, and I’ll tell you more stories about Adam from the good old days.” With that, my first wife and my latest lover went off with my eldest son in tow. Cain looked back at me with a helpless look on his face as they headed to the door.
“Don’t get busted, I can’t afford bail for three!” I called out after them. Eve flipped me off as the hostess held the door for them. I paid the tab and Emily, Michael and I headed to the car.
by john | Jun 30, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
I was with them for another forty years, one of the longest stretches I ever spent in one place. There were a few skirmishes around, but nothing touched our remote little fishing shack. And on the off chance that someone did wander by with ill intent, it’s always been very useful to be immortal when people started waving swords about.
Fin died about ten years after I arrived, a very old man for the time. The last couple of years he would go out in the boat with me, but he’d just sit in the stern and tell stories while I hauled in fish. Then for the last few weeks he sat in the house by the fire and told Sorcha stories of her mother, and how much like her she was. I dug the old man’s grave with my own hands, and built his cairn out of stones that Sorcha helped me carry down from the hills.
I wept for the passing of that old man like I hadn’t cried since Abel died, and wasn’t ashamed of a single tear. I let that man and his daughter touch something inside of me that I had walled up when Eve and I split up. I didn’t even know it was still in there; it had been so long since I’d seen it. And then eventually, Sorcha grew old, and she died one night in my arms. We had no children, so I was the only one with her at the end, or at least I thought I was. It was a spring evening, and the first fireflies had just appeared. She had been fading for weeks, and I knew it was coming soon.
“Aidan, love, carry me out to the rock in the front yard. I want to see the fire flies one last time.” She never called me Adam in all the years we were together. I was always Aidan to her. I did as she asked, and lay her down on the grass in front of our cottage. I piled up blankets around her so she would be warm enough and I sat behind her so she could lean on my chest and sit up to look across the hills at the fireflies flickering in the dusk.
“The little people are lovely tonight, aren’t they, Aidan?” Her voice was a papery whisper, and I had to lean close to hear her. Just as I got close enough to almost feel her breath on my earlobe, she reached up behind her head and pulled me down further, kissing me passionately. Sorcha was nothing if not a creature of passion, and no number of years could steal that from her.
I turned her frail body around and kissed her with everything I had. I held her tight, but gently at the same time. She was so thin, but I could feel a passion in her grip and in her kiss that had all but burnt out months before. I don’t know if we kissed for seconds or minutes, but when the kiss was over she leaned back, let out a contented sigh, and died. I laid her down on our yard with fireflies dancing in the spring evening, and I kissed her one last time. I lay there on the grass with her all night, and when the sun came up the next morning, I wasn’t nearly as alone as I was expecting to be.
Eve was sitting on the front steps of the house, watching me. I hadn’t seen her in several hundred years, and like most of our meetings, that one hadn’t ended well. I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, but she just stood up, walked over to me without a word, and put her arms around me. I fell to my knees on the lawn and cried on her shoulder for a little while, and eventually we got up and buried Sorcha next to her father. We never spoke a word that day, and when we were finished, Eve walked back out of my life. Sometimes nothing needs to be said. But now, standing beside an elevator at a Fairfield Inn in East Nashville, Tennessee, Eve had brought all that rushing back to me.
“Why bring that up now?” I was not happy with the comparisons between Myra and Sorcha. I had loved Sorcha like I loved few women in my life, and it still hurt to remember losing her. But I also still smiled a lot when I remembered her, so in a lot of ways it was worth it.
“Believe it or not, Adam, I don’t like to see you hurt.” She said.
“If that’s true, why have you beaten the shit out of me so many times?” I was straining to keep things light, but she wasn’t making anything easy.
“No, asshole, I mean really hurt. The kind that takes a long time to get over, if you ever do. And you’re falling for this woman, and that only hurts you in the long run. I know, I’ve watched it.”
“Yeah, I’ve always meant to ask why you were there that night in Ireland.” I started, but Eve cut me off before I could get going.
“Don’t. You don’t need or want to know why I was there, but you needed me, and I was there. That’s all that matters. Now I can see the look in your eyes with Myra, and I can see how she looks at you, and you’ve got to remember, this isn’t smart. It doesn’t work out for us. Ever.” She was right up in my face by now, speaking low and very intensely. There was a lot going on behind her eyes that she wasn’t saying, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get into in a motel hallway.
“Butt out. I appreciate your concern, and I’m grateful for your help back in Ireland, but this is my deal. I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.” I turned to head into the waiting elevator, and Eve followed me.
“I know you can take care of yourself, dick.” She muttered, pushing the button for the third floor. I all the rooms were together, so I just leaned as far away from her as I could in the cramped space. “But for once in all these years, please think of something or someone outside your own skin. I don’t even really know what you’ve gotten me into here, but if it’s as big as you claim, then for my own good, and maybe the good of everybody else in the world, we need you to keep your shit together. And that means you can’t go tits-up and tail-waggy over Little Miss Cuppa Joe until this is all over. Let’s just stay focused, save the world, and then you can chase waitress tail for another thousand years for all I care.”
There were so many absurdities in Eve’s monologue that I couldn’t even begin to address them, so I stayed quiet until we got off the elevator and went into our separate rooms. I did toss her a glance across the hall as I opened the door and said “Eve?”
“What?”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Really.”
She didn’t look very mollified, but she obviously knew it was all she was going to get, so she gave me a little smile, shot me the bird, and went into her room. I went into mine, kicked off my boots, and flopped down on the bed for a quick nap before dinner.
by john | Jun 29, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
Somehow I found an excuse to stick around Finlay’s place, and became somewhat less useless as a fisherman, although I was a much better oarsman than I’d ever be an angler. And I found other ways to make myself useful, splitting wood, re-thatching the roof, hunting rabbits and other small game. Sorcha wasn’t immediately receptive to my charms, but after a few weeks of persistence, not to mention a few weeks of being the only guy around who wasn’t her father, we came to an understanding of sorts.
That understanding being that whenever her father wasn’t around, we’d make love like minks as often as possible while still getting all her chores done. This went on for a couple of months before Finlay made mention of getting along in years and needing someone to start taking the boat out a few days a week. Now Finlay wasn’t an old man, but when the average man lived to only his mid-thirties, it didn’t take long for someone to think he was old, especially when he was well into his third decade. That would usually have been my clue to move on before anyone caught on to the fact that I wasn’t aging, but I decided that Finlay already knew something was odd about me, and Sorcha was so head over heels for me that she wouldn’t care. So one night, after dinner, I decided to tell them the truth about myself.
“Sorcha, Finlay, there’s something about me that you should know.” I started.
“Aye, son, what’s that?” Fin replied.
“Well, I’ve enjoyed my time here. A lot. And I’d like to stay on for a while longer. But if you don’t want me around after you hear what I have to say, then I understand.”
“What is it, lad? I can’t fathom anything ye could say that we’d toss ye out on your ear for, but go ahead with yuir tale.”
“Well, it’s like this. You were talking about getting on in years…” I paused, unsure of how to continue.
“Aye, and I am. It’s not something I’m thrilled about, but it’s happenin’ just the same.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“Huh?” I love it when I can get that reaction out of someone else. Petty, I know, but that’s how I roll.
“I don’t age. And I don’t die. I’ve been alive a long time, a lot longer than anyone else ever has, and there’s no sign that I’m going to die any time soon.” It felt good to say it, but I wasn’t really sure what was going to happen next.
“What…are ye?” Sorcha asked in a scared, small voice. The look on her face was why I so seldom told anyone about my true nature.
“I’m a man, like any other. Except I don’t get old, and I don’t die.”
“So yuir a god?” She asked, breathless. In Ireland at that time it wasn’t out of the realm of most people’s understanding for a deity to visit the Earth and consort with mortal women. And Sorcha was worth some consorting, let me tell you.
“No. I’m just a man.” I said.
“But ye won’t die? Ever?” Fin asked.
“If history serves as any indication for future performance, no, I’ll never die.”
“And Aidan isn’t yuir name, is it?” he continued.
“No. Most places I’m called Adam.” I confirmed.
“I need a drink.” Sorcha sat down heavily in a chair by the fire, and I got a bottle from the cupboard and poured a big slug for each of us. Fin drained his in one gulp, and held out his cup for another. I poured him another drink, and sat down myself.
“So do you want me to leave? I’m sorry I deceived you both, but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”
“Nay, son, ye don’t need ta leave. I’ve grown a bit attached to ye, and I know Sorcha’s taken a right shine to ye as well. I don’t mind keeping ye around if ye’ll learn to be a bit of a better fisherman, so ye can take car of our girl here once I’m gone.” Fin sipped his second drink and settled in to his chair.
“I…I don’t want ye to leave.” Sorcha spoke very quietly, not looking at me. “But what will ye do when I get old?”
“I’ll love you.” I said very quietly, surprising myself a little because it was true. I hadn’t talked of love to anyone since Eve, but this fire-haired maid of Erin had captivated me completely.
“Do ye mean it?” She looked up at me then, and there was a moisture in those jade eyes that tore my heart apart. I knew it was a bad idea, and I knew that it was going to hurt like hell when it ended, but Father help me, I was in love with the girl.
“Aye, I mean it.” I went over to her, took her hands in mine, and said, “Sorcha, will ye be mine and no other’s?” I don’t often affect the accent of the times, but it seemed appropriate at the moment.e
“Aye. Will ye be mine and no other’s?” She asked in turn, and then thought of whom she was asking and added, “as long as we both draw breath?”
“Aye. As long as we both draw breath I am yours and no other’s.” I pulled her to her feet and kissed her for a long time in front of the fire. After what might have been an uncomfortable moment for a father, Finlay coughed.
“Then it’s done. Now that ye be me son, ye must learn to fish for real. I’ll not be havin’ ye stay here and do woman’s work just so ye can sneak off to the woodshed with me daughter every afternoon.” I had the courtesy to blush, and we all laughed and drank well into the night. It was with a throbbing head and a delicate stomach that I went out with Fin the next morning to begin my true education as a fisherman, but somehow I managed.
by john | Jun 27, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
We rolled into Nashville a bit before suppertime and got a couple of rooms at a Fairfield on the outskirts of town. I didn’t know how long we were going to be on this little adventure and wanted to stretch our cash as long as we could, so I decided to forego the Jacuzzi room, no matter how good a soak sounded after a day in a car with Michael and Myra. Myra was a good co-pilot, but driving all day was driving all day, no matter how much you liked the navigator. Eve and Emily had ridden together, Eve giving me some line about wanting to get to know the kid better, but I figured she just didn’t want me to suggest that Michael ride shotgun with her in her beat up pickup, and I was pretty sure that the suspension in that thing didn’t do anyone any favors after the first five hours on the road. Cain looked fresh as a daisy after a day on his motorcycle, and I was more than a little jealous. I’ve always loved bikes, the feeling of power and control is like nothing else in the world, and there’s really nothing wrong with a couple of gnats in your teeth. I’ve always considered it a fair exchange.
“Alright, kiddies. We’ve got three rooms, so I figured Myra and I would share one…” I started, but Eve was smirking at me so I pulled up short. “What?”
“Nothing, dear. Go right ahead with your little bunk assignments.” Eve replied.
I went on. “Um…there are two beds in each room, so I thought Eve and Emily would share one room and Michael and Cain could share the other one. Is that okay with everyone?” Hearing no objections, I went on. “Why don’t we take an hour or so to freshen up, grab a nap if you want one, and we can all meet back here for dinner, then we can figure out where to start looking for whoever it is we’re supposed to find. That work?” I passed keys out to everyone and grabbed my bag from the back of Eve’s truck. She was still smirking at me as I passed her on my way to the elevator.
“What are you grinning about?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just think it’s cute.” She said.
“What’s cute?”
“You’re being so, what’s the word, solicitous of Myra. I mean, really, Adam. You left her more than two decades ago and haven’t spared a moment’s thought for her until a couple of days ago when you were steered back into her life by our friendly meddling archangel, and now all of a sudden you’re playing Daddy of the Year to little Emily, who I assure you is more than capable of taking care of herself, and you’re being all Ward Cleaver to Myra, who might even be buying it, which is quite possibly saddest thing I’ve seen since you fell head over heels for that redhead in Ireland. You remember her? What was her name?”
“Sorcha.” I replied quietly. I remembered her well. Almost stereotypically Irish, with brilliant green eyes, milk-white skin and curly red hair. The name means “bright, radiant, light” and I used to joke with her that she got particularly radiant when she was angry, which with me around happened more often than she deserved.
I met her when I was passing through Ireland studying the myth of Cuchulain. I’d heard them once long ago, and when Sechan Torpeist brought them back in the 7th Century, I decided to wander through Ireland following the trail of Ulster’s Hound. I’d been hanging around Mecca for a while listening to the (at that time) new teachings of Mohammed, but headed West when it became apparent that one more time a young prophet was going to talk a lot about love and peace, and one more time the powers that be were going to start killing people to protect he status quo.
I’d seen all that before with the Carpenter, and I kinda liked Mohammed, so I headed to Europe before the people around him could muddy up everything he was trying to teach. I’ve always wondered if I stuck around if I could have avoided some of the stupidity they put into his version of The Book about women. I know if Eve had been around that crap would never have seen print. But anyway, I headed west, and stopped in Ireland to wander around and look for Hound tracks.
I do that every now and then, meander a countryside to look for evidence of legends. It’s pretty entertaining to see where the tallest of tales grows from, and you get to see some pretty country that way. Well, I was meandering around the part of Ireland where Cuchulain was supposed to have killed Cullen’s watchdog and taken its place, when I came upon a little farmhouse. It was late, I was hungry, and there was a pot on the fire. The Irish have always been a hospitable people, and when I knocked on the door and showed that I had a little booze with me, I was welcomed to hearth and home.
Her father, Finlay if I recall, was a fisherman in County Donegal, and he had a couple of big mackerel over a fire when I first arrived. He and I sat up most of the night drinking and telling lies, as fisherman and travelling men are wont to do, and by the time the sun came up, we were fast friends. Truth be told, I didn’t even notice Sorcha that first night, but I later found out that she noticed me. That’s not some great comment on my virility or spectacular attractiveness, although I am plenty virile and more attractive than most. It’s more a comment on exactly how few men of apparently similar age had ventured near the coast of County Donegal since she had developed an eye for young men.
The next morning Finlay and I went out on his boat, my first efforts at fishing since most people stopped doing it by standing in the shallows and casting nets. I’d been pretty good at surf fishing, and was relatively handy with a spear in a stream, but this whole business of rods was foreign to me. There were no reels involved, thank Father, or I’m sure I would have ended up more frequently punctured than I did, but I still managed to provide Finlay with a good day’s worth of amusement. At least he knew what he was doing, and I could row well enough, so the day wasn’t a complete waste. It was when we walking back up the path to their house that I first got a good look at Sorcha. She was chopping wood for the dinner fire, and the sun was setting behind her making it look like her hair was a fiery halo. I’ll admit it; I was downright twitterpated. I might even have left the fish lying along the path if Finlay hadn’t noticed my plight and helped me back into motion with a kick in the ass.
“Put ‘em back in yer head, laddie, that’s me Sorcha you’re gapin’ at.”
“Your?”
“Me daughter. And I’ll thank you to be scrubbin’ yer thoughts clean as snow before ye direct ‘em her way again.” I looked over at him, but the old man was grinning at me.
“Sorry.” I said, not meaning a letter of the word.
“Liar,” he laughed as we continued on our way up to the house.
by john | Jun 26, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
“Em, would you go talk to Michael? He’s sulking.” I asked as she finished singing.
“Why is he sulking? What did you do?” She asked. She looked so cute when she crossed her arms like that and glared at me. It was less cute when I realized that Eve and Myra were doing it, too. Cain, for his part, was sitting on the base of the statue picking out the opening notes to an Avett Brothers tune called Murder in the City. The song is written from one brother to another telling him not to take vengeance if he gets killed. Kid definitely had the ironic thing down cold.
“I might have given him the impression that the youth, and probably most of humanity in general, was indifferent to religion.” I went for a sheepish grin at the end, but probably only looked queasy. She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering woman, which oddly enough has been quickly mastered by every female I’ve ever spent more than a couple of days with, and went over to talk with Michael. She sat on the bench next to him as Myra came up to stand next to me.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to fix your mess, and I knew you’d come to Em for help. Everybody does eventually.” She said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Then why didn’t you just send her over to talk to him in the first place? Hell, Myra, I don’t even like the guy. Remember, I’m the one who decked him!”
“Yeah, but you needed a little reminder that your words carry weight. Even with angels, Adam. Everybody pays more attention to what you say than you think. And probably more than we should. But we do it anyway.”
“And why is that?”
“Call it respect for our elders if you like.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m kidding. But face it, you’re the Adam. You’ve been around forever, and even though Michael has been an angel a lot longer than you’re been human, he’s only been on earth a few days. You’ve been on earth longer than anyone. So when you talk about human nature, he’s gonna believe you. And if you drop a bombshell, somebody’s gonna have to pick up the pieces. Lucky for you, she’s good at picking up the pieces.” There was something in her eyes when she said that, a little glimmer that she blinked away almost before I could notice it, but I filed it away under the “things I want to ask about when we’re alone rather than in a park with out whole posse and a passel of unwashed kids wearing hemp pants” category.
Emily sat with Michael for a minute or two before he sat up and looked at her. Then they sat there for a few more minutes before he straightened and began to assume a little of the officious shithead posture that we were looking for. Then Emily waved me over to them, and after a few seconds of the confused chest-pointing thing I realized she really did want me over there, so I went. I walked up, a little nervously, to where my daughter and the Sword of Heaven sat on a park bench, her arm around his shoulders and him blotting his eyes with a blue silk hanky that I swear he didn’t have when I was sitting there.
“Dad, I think you owe Michael an apology.” Emily said as I walked up. Crap. They weren’t going to make this easy on me. I looked back at Eve and Myra, who made a “go on” gesture with their hands. Cain just shrugged and smirked a little at me as if to say “I’m not the one who made the angel cry, dad. I just invented murder.”
“Michael…I don’t really know what to say, but I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intimate that people today didn’t believe in The Father anymore, and I didn’t mean to upset you. So, um, sorry.” God I hoped that was all he needed to get going. It had gone from muggy to chilly as the night went on, and if we stuck around this park any longer I was gonna need to pee before we hit the highway. That, and I couldn’t really think of anything else to say.
“What about my face?” Michael asked, his expression a perfect mask.
“Your, uh, face?” I was honestly confused here.
“Yes. My face. You hit me, Adam. That just isn’t done. If I deserve an apology for anything, it’s for you putting your hands on one of the Host.”
“You have got to be kidding me. You deserved every single punch you’ve taken since I saw you, and probably more besides. If you think I’m going to apologize for punching you in the face, then you can take your flaming sword and” Michael was up off the bench with his arms around me before I could tell him exactly where I thought his sword would fit nicely.
“Oh, you do like me! Emily was right, you put on this gruff exterior to hide your true feelings, and the nastier you are to people the more you care about them! I knew there was no way you truly despised me, after all I am an Archangel, the most Heavenly of the Heavenly Host. Oh, Adam, it is so good to know how you truly feel.” I glared over the angel’s shoulder at Emily, who mouthed at me “just go with it” in exaggerated expressions. I took the high road and gently disentangled myself from Michael before he started to sport a chubby. The last thing I needed was an immaculately dressed angel feeling me up in a New Orleans public park in the middle of the night. I’d already been to the precinct house once today, and that was quite enough, thanks.
“Well, now that we’ve got all that sorted out, can we go?” I asked Michael as the rest of our troupe gathered ‘round.
“Of course. We must away at once to find the one who must make the Choice.” Replied the angel.
“So, where are we going? And I’m not leaving my truck. Period.” Eve has always had such a way of making her opinions known. Usually by stating them loudly and often.
“Nashville. We’ll find the young man in Nashville, Tennessee.” Nashville. Ok, I guess we were going country.
by john | Jun 25, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
I don’t know what I expected to find in Lafayette Square in the middle of the night, but Myra dancing in a drum circle wasn’t anywhere on the list. And Michael beating a tambourine and singing folk songs was even further from what I thought we’d find. But that’s exactly what we encountered when we got there. Michael was sitting at the base of the statue of Henry Clay keeping time with a kid playing a battered Martin acoustic while a half-dozen or so dreadlocked white kids beat on djembes around a portable fire pit and Myra danced with two or three hippie chicks who looked like they hadn’t shaved legs or armpits since well before Katrina.
As we walked up to the love-in, I looked incredulously as Michael and a couple of college-aged kids sang “A time to dance, a time to mourn, a time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together…” Michael set the tambourine down beside Henry Clay’s bronze feet and came over to us, his face positively glowing. I swear I could see an outline of wings around the angel made flesh.
“Adam, isn’t it beautiful? They remember the old Books! They haven’t lost faith, these children of yours remember!” It was all I could do not to laugh in the exuberant angel’s face.
“Michael, lemme ask you something. In all your time up there among the heavenly host, have you ever heard of a guy named Pete Seeger?” I was trying to keep a straight face, but it was tough, let me tell you.
“No, who is this Pete Seeger? Is he a minister? A man of God?” Michael asked.
“Kinda. He’s a folk singer. And he took the words from Ecclesiastes and set them to music. He made it into a protest song against a war a few decades ago.” As much as I disliked the archangel and all his brethren for meddling with my family for thousands of years, I hated to watch people’s illusions shatter, and that’s what happened to Michael as he realized that these smelly kids weren’t holy after all, just a little dirty.
He walked over to a park bench, looking for all the world like he’d lost his only friend. Since I never considered myself a friend of his in the first place, I followed along more out of a morbid curiosity than out of any real concern for his feelings. I mean, let’s face it; I really didn’t like Michael on his best days, and this hadn’t been my most stellar week. He put his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. If I didn’t know them to be cold emotionless bastards, I’d have thought the archangel was about to break down and cry.
Myra came over from her dancing, a little breathless, and sat next to Michael on the bench. She looked from the shaken angel to me, and her tone was less than friendly. “What did you say to him?” she demanded.
“I just told him that Pete Seeger used the book of Ecclesiastes as a basis for a protest song from the Vietnam War. He got all weepy when he realized that the kids weren’t quoting scripture and I came over to see what was up.” I noted with no small hint of irony that in the background I could hear a girl singing in a lovely soprano Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try…
“Oh, Adam, what did you have to do that for?” Myra asked me with a glance that was more pitying than accusatory. It read something like “you hapless bastard, why did you have to stick your foot in it up to the nuts this time?”
“Well, aside from the fact that it’s the truth, I don’t really know!” I was starting to get a little defensive. I mean, it’s not as if I wanted to turn the Sword of Heaven into a blubbering pile of goo in the middle of a public park in the wee hours of a Louisiana morning. But for the record, if I’d known that a little folk music was all it took, I’d have trotted out some old Buffy St. Marie records a long time ago.
“The truth doesn’t matter, he was happy. And we need him. If it makes him feel a little better to think that people are still reading the Bible, then let him think that.” She patted Michael on the back for a minute before she got up, shot me a look that spoke volumes, and went over to join Emily, who was singing harmony with the soprano.
I sat there for a minute, trying to figure out what to say to a distraught seraphim whose faith in humanity was restored for one brief, shining moment before I reached in and ripped it away. “Uh, Michael?” I started tentatively.
“Go away, Adam.” He didn’t look up; he didn’t even take his hands away from his face.
“I can’t. For one thing, Myra will kick my ass. And for another thing, we kinda still need you. And we need you with your head in the game. Because, well, because you’re the only one who has any idea where we’re supposed to go next. We got Eve. We got some traveling money, and we’re all here, ready to roll. Except we need you to tell us exactly where to roll to.” Maybe not comforting, but it was all at least honest.
“I don’t care. If the people have no place for The Book, or God, or angels, why should I even bother trying to help them? Why waste my time?” Wow. He had gone from zero to suicidal in .4 seconds. This might require some tough love. Or it would get me skewered on the flaming sword of heavenly retribution. One of those.
“What else are you supposed to do with your time? Tune your harp?” I went for snide, hoping if I behaved the way he expected me to behave, he’d cut out the sniveling and behave the way I expected him to behave. Not that I really liked the way he usually behaved, but at least over the past few days I’d grown accustomed to that Michael. That Michael was an insufferable tightass with an Archangel complex (although I suppose it’s not really a complex if you really are part of the heavenly host), but at least he wasn’t a whiny little bitch.
“You’re immortal, Michael. And immortality is something I know a little about. If there’s one thing the past seventy-five odd eons has taught me, it’s that there’s nothing less precious to an immortal than time. It’s practically impossible to waste your time, because you have so much of it that it’s meaningless. It’s nothing for one of us to put tape measures on the ocean floor and check it every hundred years to see if the earth is expanding (Yes, I did. Yes, it is.). It’s less than nothing for one of us to spend eighty-three years counting every grain of sand on a mile of sea shore (Again, yes, I did. But no, I don’t remember the exact number. I also admit to having lost count a lot and become quite distracted by some of the scenery at the beach. It was Italy, it was several hundred years ago, and while the Italian women of that era may not have been as enhanced as young women are today, they were every bit as lovely, and every bit as unselfconscious at the beach. And that is all I shall share on that topic.) So how can you waste your time? You’ve got nothing but time. So get your head out of your angelic ass and let’s get moving.”
I thought that was pretty good as far as motivational speeches go. For me, it ranked right up there. But Michael didn’t move. Okay, he raised one hand to flip me off, but he left his head bowed and never even looked over at me when he did it. I got up and headed over to Emily, figuring that she would be less likely to chew me out for getting us in this spot than her mother, and more likely to help get us out of it than Eve or Cain.
