The door closed as Baruch hurried down the escalator towards the platform. The conductor grinned at him in the side mirror and pulled away. Baruch cursed him softly. He immediately regretted it and offered an unheard apology. The next train pulled out at four in the morning. A taxi got him to the family farm by five.
Flashing lights mobbed the house as the taxi made its approach down the long, country road. An unease settled over his stomach as the red and blue circles streaked across the barn. Baruch jumped out at the end of the driveway, sent the driver off, and snuck through the grove of parched apple trees leading to the house.
A dry gully marked the border between the trees and the open field which served as the front yard. Baruch slipped into the gully and raised his head over the lip. A gray skin hung over the house in the pre-dawn haze, the pallid hide of a corpse. Reds and blues arced across its flesh too. Blood and ice. Anger and fear. A shout exploded from an upstairs window. A terrified scream followed.
Baruch lowered his head and tried to make sense of the scene. Was his family OK? Why hadn’t he tried to help? His brain told him to run to his family. The nausea in his stomach prevented his feet from moving.
Another angry shout drew his attention. He heard the officer clearly. ‘Where is he?’ Baruch knew they wanted him. How he knew or what they wanted escaped him. The repeated question preceded the slap of a hand across a cheek as well as the yelp of pain and a one-sided struggle between his cousin and a couple of officers. Baruch peered back over the edge of his hiding place. His aunt leaned against a police car with her hand covering her struck face while his cousin Robbie lay on the ground with a boot to the back of his neck. Near the door, his uncle pleaded for something. Baruch didn’t understand for what until Sara fell into her father’s arms, her own crossing her chest to hold the ripped blouse in place.
Baruch rose to a knee, intent on putting an end to his family’s suffering. Robbie saw him before any of the officers did. His mouth formed a word. Baruch froze. The same word formed again. Baruch understood it clearly. His legs carried him back through the apple trees and out to the road.
The sun had begun its daily mission to scorch the countryside by the time Baruch arrived in town. A patrol car guarded the entrance to the train station. Luck or divine intervention or both had prevented the officer from seeing Baruch earlier that morning. They would not protect him if he attempted to leave the same way. A coffee shop down the block and around the corner provided a place to think and plan out how to get back home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The apartment was even dingier than the previous one. Two people lay unconscious in the alley, asleep, overdosed, or dead. Broken windows gnashed their fangs at the muted, lethargic world. Inside, the working faucet surprised him. He rejected the offered glass of water, afraid of what it might contain.
“It’s OK to drink,” Jeremiah said. He thought for a moment. “Or maybe I’ve become accustomed to it.” He set the glass on the counter. Offering Baruch the only seat, Jeremiah slouched against the wall. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know. The police were there. The national police, local guys. I counted ten cars. They dragged Aunt Margaret and Robbie out of the house. Both looked like they’d been beaten. And Sara and Uncle Joe ….” Baruch paused to catch his breath. “I think … I think they violated Sara.” The tears and resentment mixed in his throat and prohibited any more words from leaving.
Jeremiah stretched out a hand to comfort his friend. Sobs shook Baruch’s shoulders and traveled up Jeremiah’s arms.
“I … I wanted to stay … to help. Robbie told me to go, and I ran away. I’m such a coward.”
“You’re not a coward,” Jeremiah said.
Baruch raised his eyes. “You wouldn’t have run away. You always stand up to them.”
“It’s been nearly two years since I last spoke publicly. There’s a time and a place. Robbie told you to go. You said it yourself. Obviously, he thought your life was more important than theirs.”
“Do you think …?” The question lingered in the stale air.
“I don’t. The rumor has probably made it around town by now. The publicity would hurt Jehoiakim now. He’ll call off his dogs. It was more for show, to intimidate your family into giving you up.”
“Why do they want me?”
“The book. They’re aware it’s about to be published. Or that it was already published. I’m sure Jehoiakim made a call by now to prevent it. I’ll have to check to confirm.” He mulled over something he didn’t share with Baruch.
“What are they going to do to us?”
“If they find us?” Jeremiah said. “I’m sure it won’t be pleasant.”
Baruch continued to shake. “They’ll look here. We have to leave.”
“They don’t know where I live. You’re the only one who does. That’s why you should probably stay with me for a while. At least until things blow over.”
“How long will that be?” Baruch asked.
“Hard to tell seeing as how I’m about to stir the pot.”
“You’re going out there? You can’t do that.”
“I can and I must. Sometimes the signs are so clear even I can’t miss them.”
Baruch didn’t understand what Jeremiah meant, but he didn’t ask for clarification.
“In the meantime,” Jeremiah said, “I want you to work on getting the book out.”
“How?” Baruch asked. “If Jehoiakim told Pinman-Ferris not to publish it, they won’t. No one there has the stones to stand up to any kind of pressure. A few squawks from some easily offended loud-mouth and they’re pulling books off the shelves.”
“Why did you go with them then?”
“I thought I could slip it through unnoticed.”
“Find someone else.”
“Who? And does it matter? All the copies of my manuscript are on my computer or some disks back at the house. The police must’ve found them by now. It’s not like I hid them or anything.”
Jeremiah pondered another question, only speaking it after arriving at a potential answer. “I wonder why the police didn’t check your house before they checked your family’s farm.”
“They probably did. I haven’t been home in a couple days. I was coming home from a weekend at the beach and decided to go straight to the train station without stopping off at home. Couldn’t tell you why. Then, I missed the train and had to take the early morning one. If I hadn’t missed it, I would’ve arrived hours before the police did, and they would’ve found me.”
“Seems like someone’s looking out for you,” Jeremiah said. “I assume you have a change of clothes and a toothbrush in your backpack.”
“Two changes.”
“As though he knew all along.”
Baruch’s lip twitched. His face disappeared into his hands. A few minutes passed before he spoke.
“What should I do?”
“You need to start on the book again.”
“How? It’s all gone. Not like it matters anyway. No one will publish it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, you must rewrite the book, even if it means starting from scratch.”
“I can’t,” Baruch said. “There’s no way I’ll remember everything.”
“You must,” Jeremiah said. “The Lord has told me to speak through you, to have you preserve his words.” He stood up and headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Baruch asked.
“I told you,” Jeremiah said. “It’s time to stir the pot.”
“You can’t go out there.”
Jeremiah smiled. “I’ll see you in a while. There’s food in the pantry if you’re interested. Just stocked up, in fact. It’s almost as if he knew you were coming.”
The door shut behind him. Baruch listened to the footsteps plod down the stairs. Finding a pad of paper and a pencil, he let the thoughts flow.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They started to gather around him long before he hit the steps of the Capitol. Tension, excitement gathered with them as though they knew something special had happened. He heard the whispers.
“Is that really him?”
“Did they let him out?”
“I thought he was dead.”
The rumors had begun two years ago, first appearing in the Washington Register after that night. Immerson had publicly admonished him not to speak or face worse than just one night in the stocks. The Register picked up on that angle, linked it to Jeremiah’s sudden disappearance from the scene, and concluded that he had admitted his ‘sin’ and decided to repent. The Daily speculated that he had disobeyed the direct order and landed in deeper trouble. The next paper added its own spin. The rumors spread faster than the fires cutting through the dead timber of the southern forests. Wishful thinking on the papers’ part. Feeble attempts to discredit him, make him seem weak. Six months in, the newspapers’ editors tired of the joint campaign, or perhaps believed they had won, and went on to a new mission. Truth was, in the last two years, Jeremiah had nothing to say.
Today, that changed. He strode down one of the sidewalks which lined the green strips of the mall. Even as the rest of the city rationed water, Congress found enough funds to maintain the illusion of luxury and plenty, at least in their front yard. A trickle of visitors exited the museums to his left. Many of them watched the growing procession with cautious curiosity. A few joined in. More as the newly whispered rumors grew into a collective, ecstatic rumble.
By the time he reached the top of the steps, a buzzing hive encircled him. He raised his hand, and the noise ceased.
“You brood of vipers. You wake of vultures. Why do you follow me? What do you expect to hear? For two years I have remained silent as the wolves dressed in their wool suits and spoke blasphemous words to the eager flock. Should I speak of your wonders? Should praise fall from my lips? Or condemnation for your evil which grows continuously worse?”
“What prevents you from carrying out the wicked plans fermenting in your wicked hearts? What sign can the Lord give that he hasn’t already given to show his displeasure with you? To show his rebuke of your sin?”
“An old sign he will give. A new sign as well. The drought which laps up your water will become a gaping mouth, swallowing the rivers and lakes in a single swallow. In your misery, a fierce wind will descend from the north. A fire which contains sword and famine and plague and death. No one will escape. Only the remnant God has chosen to proclaim his greatness.”
“Why do you turn to the Chinese, you evil generation? Has the Lord not told you to separate yourself from them? Can their gods forbid the clouds from releasing their store? Can their treasures buy you forgiveness or show you mercy? Yet you let the people of the south ravish you as the depraved ravish a prostitute. And you pay them for the privilege!”
“Will you escape the yoke of the Lord just to place an iron one on your necks? Listen to me, nation. Circumcise your hearts and hear the words of the Lord. Admit your error. Turn from your sin and follow the Lord. Only he can heal you. Only he can heal the nation of its disease. His discipline may be painful, but it will lead to reconciliation, to life. Throw off the yoke of disobedience and take on his yoke, which is easy, which is light.”
A commotion broke off to Jeremiah’s side. The crowd parted to let four officers pass through. Jeremiah stared them down and refused to move. The first officer grabbed his arm and forced it behind his back.
“Let him be.”
The unknown voice carried the weight of authority. The officer released his arm as the four took a step back. From the edge of the crowd, a trio of men in matching black shirts with inverted white collars made their way up the steps.
“Let him be,” the tallest of the three repeated as he arrived by Jeremiah’s side. “And you’re dismissed.”
The officers, recognizing who spoke, headed away but remained close enough to return quickly if needed. The speaker turned his smooth, milky face to Jeremiah, its only blemish a thread of a red mark down the left jawline.
“Nice to see you, Jerry. What’s it been? Fifteen, twenty years?”
“I’m sorry,” Jeremiah said, “but have we met?”
“That’s just like you. Too wrapped up in your own concerns to notice anyone but yourself.” He said it loud enough to sound like a public censure pretending to be private. When Jeremiah didn’t respond, he continued. “Mark Doyle. I was a year behind you at Annandale. You were a legend even then. I used to follow behind you, imitate what you said, how you moved, the inflection in your voice. You were the closest thing to a god in human form to me. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to be you! But we all make mistakes, don’t we?” His tongue flicked onto his lips for a second.
“Mark Doyle,” Jeremiah said. “I remember the name but not from Annandale.”
Pride flashed across Mark’s face. “I’ve been in the news. Just confirmed to the Religion Secretary position. It was a shame that Immerson suffered the stroke. Don’t get me wrong. I’d have rather achieved this honor some other way, but I figured the least I could do was try to fill a part of that great man’s shoes.”
“That’s not where I remember it from,” Jeremiah said.
Mark’s face clouded over. The innocuous comment shielded a rebuke, but Mark couldn’t figure out how. “Regardless,” he said, “it’s good to see you again, even if the situation is less than ideal.” His voice became louder and carried over the onlookers.
“Friends, countrymen. Do not hold any ill will towards this man. He may suffer from delusions, but his heart is in the right place. He wants to speak for God. I can see that. I’m sure you feel great pain and fear when you hear him. Ignore those feelings. They do not lead to God! Proclaiming false destruction to get your attention is not the way God operates. What my friend, Jeremiah, may not realize is that speaking lies to be heard, to be relevant, can only backfire on him. What will he say when his prophecies don’t pan out? Maybe he hopes, that in the future when his words are proved false, you won’t remember what he said. I don’t know. It’s not my place to judge. What I do know is that this nation is a godly nation and not one rebuked by God.”
“Look around at the splendor you see? Is not God on our side? Are we not a rich nation? If we have any sin, it’s that we don’t love our fellow man and woman as we should, meeting them where they are. Understanding that we are all sinners in our own way, accepted and loved by the God who made us like we are. Does God grant wealth to those who don’t serve him?”
“I must agree with him in one respect, though. This drought resulted from our sin.” He raised his hand to quiet the murmurs. “Hear me out. Have we loved the earth like we should? Or have we wasted her resources, polluting her skies with our filth? What did we expect when we threw bottles into the ocean, destroyed the forests to build rivers of concrete? Of this sin, we can repent, we should repent. But to say that God in his anger is punishing us is patently untrue. Our God is a God of love, extending his mercies to a thousand generations. Do not fall for his words, but do not be angry either. He is a good man struggling with issues of the mind.” Empathy or perhaps pity but not derision filled his final words. “Jail is not the answer. A good psychiatrist is.”
Jeremiah replied. “I remember you from a vision I had. A snake wrapped around a man and a woman, squeezing them until the money fell from their wallets. It continued to whisper in their ears. Their faces smiled even as they turned blue. When they collapsed, the snake walked to the next couple and draped itself over their shoulders. Its mouth spoke the very words you said today.”
“I had a dream too,” Mark said. “In it, the Lord came to me. His countenance was like the morning star falling from the clouds to earth. He told me not to worry. The drought would soon end. The yoke, as you called it, will fall from our shoulders, and our former glory will be restored. Even our brothers and sisters to the north will be released from their servitude. In the end, we will once again come to together as a single, united nation under the rule of our blessed president, Jehoiakim.”
“May your words be true,” Jeremiah said. A seed of doubt pricked his conscience but couldn’t stop him. “Still, I know what the Lord has told me. Death and destruction wait for us. Forgiveness and mercy have long been abandoned.”
“Can we all have the same dream,” Mark said, indicating the two men beside him, “and not have it be true? Three men of God versus one. Another five of our colleagues hearing a similar thing from God. Could we all be wrong and only you be correct?”
“You have seen the drought,” Jeremiah said, “and how other things I have spoken of have already happened. Yet your ears are closed. What makes you think you will hear the truth when the rest of the words God has given to me come to pass? Still, I must speak. Not because you deserve his patience but because God is a God of mercy, slow to anger, not willing that any should perish.”
“You pay lip service to your sinfulness,” Jeremiah continued, “while in your heart you believe you are sinless, even as you run headlong into your lover’s arms every time her husband leaves town. Does your wife know? Is she OK that your kids’ college fund has purchased a diamond necklace and matching earrings for that Jezebel? And you ….” He pointed at the two men with Mark. “… who rob money from widows and orphans so you can drive your Mercedes and so you can add another room to your beach house. What will you do when the waves wash up the sand and sweep away the treasures you have stored up for yourselves?”
A red pall fell over the three men’s faces, their tongues fixed by surprise. The officers waited for a command to sound from frozen tongues but could only watch as Jeremiah marched down the sidewalk along the long strips of green. The pouring sun blinded their eyes and hid him as he disappeared behind the museums.