Mission (49 page)

Centuries of oppression had sharpened our sense of survival but had blunted our unique sense of inner awareness. The Celestial presence had become entombed like a Pharaonic king deep within his pyramid. It had shrivelled into a semi-mummified condition. But it was not totally dead. It was like the parched seed of those desert flowers that lie dormant through long years of drought then blossom, as if by magic, when touched by the rain, filling the arid wastes with colour and life.

So although the Book records that The Man broke the rules of the Sabbath, spoke to Samaritans, and mixed with dubious company, it is important to keep his actions and motives in perspective. One has to constantly bear in mind the fact that the Gentiles, who took over the Judeo-Christian movement, played around with the texts to bring them into line with their own interpretation of the ‘truth'. With a small ‘t'. The Canons of the Church; the big guns that were quickly readied to blow away all opposition to Paul's New Order.

In the process, we Jews found ourselves stuck with the charge that we had crucified Jesus Christ. We've lived and died with that lie for the last two thousand years. Like Herr Doktor Goebbels said – it's the big one that is the easiest to sell. I'll come to this in more detail later but let me tell you this – The Man
wanted
to die. His orders were to get himself killed. As he said himself when we first talked up at Sleepy Hollow – ‘
That was the way it had to be.
' The High Priest and his allies on the Sanhedrin, the Jews who clamoured for his crucifixon, the Galatians on the execution squad who pulped his back and broke his ribs with leather flails loaded with knuckle-bones were just part of the crowd laid on by Central Casting. And Judas was the willing fall-guy.

I was inside looking for a fresh reel of tape when the first car arrived. Miriam and The Man were on the porch. I went back out to greet Jeff Fowler and Gale McDonald and saw that Jeff had also
brought along Carol Shiragawa.

Miriam saw my raised eyebrows and smiled sweetly. ‘Ah, there you are. Why don't you introduce everybody?'

‘What's
she
doing here?' I hissed.

‘I'll go and make the coffee,' she replied. She side-stepped my clenched teeth and went inside, leaving the three of them facing me and The Man. A really lousy trick.

There was a moment's uneasy silence which I finally managed to break. ‘Uh – I'd like you to meet Yale, uh – Sheppard.' I introduced the others in turn. ‘Gale McDonald, from Channel Eight, the girl who's been following up the Mrs Perez story. Jeff Fowler, who dragged her into this. Jeff is a big wheel at the Voss Institute. They spend a lot of time looking at blood. Which is why he's interested in yours. Carol's the girl to see if you want to fly to Tokyo. She's with Jeff.'

Carol gave me a slant-eyed look. ‘You kept saying you'd bring me up here so I came along for the ride. Is that okay?'

‘
Mia casa es su casa,
' I said, showing her a smiling set of teeth that itched to sink into her jugular.

The Man smiled as he shook hands with everybody, and fixed them with his golden eyes. Everybody said ‘Hello' back.

I turned to Gale. ‘Did, er, Linda have a word with you?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I passed the news on to Jeff. The, uh – ' she threw a self-conscious glance at The Man, ‘ – idea takes a bit of getting used to.'

‘Just give it time,' I replied. I didn't plan to give them a hard sell. The Man's presence was enough. I looked at Fowler. ‘Does Carol know what this is all about?'

Fowler shook his head. ‘Not yet. I couldn't figure out a way to tell her.'

Carol turned back from the view. ‘Tell me what?'

‘I'll go and help Miriam with the coffee,' I said. And I left them to it. After all, nobody held my hand. Or Shimon's, brother Andrew's, James's or John's.

By the time I reached the kitchen, the smile on my face had become a petulant snarl. Miriam took one look, then turned her back on me and carried on with what she was doing. I slammed the side of my fist into the door of the ice-box. ‘What the fuck does Fowler think he's playing at? Was this your idea?'

‘No,' said Miriam. ‘Calm down. Relax.'

‘The nerve of the guy. Bringing that Japanese meat-ball …'

‘Why not?' said Miriam. ‘
You
were going to.'

‘Ah, I see,' I replied. ‘You ran out on me when it got sticky but you stopped to listen from behind the door.'

‘A woman's privilege,' she said. ‘I was a little shaken when I saw her get out of the car but now that I've had time to think about it, I'm glad Jeff brought her along. It'll be interesting to see how someone like her reacts to The Man.'

I became defensive. ‘What do you mean – “someone like her”?'

‘I'm sure you don't really need me to explain that,' said Miriam, with one of those knowing smiles that always irritates the hell out of me.

‘Yeah, okay …' I replied. ‘I thought we were through with all that.'

Miriam eyed me and went back to spreading chopped liver.

I was reluctant to admit it but what she said made sense. If the Man could sell himself to someone like Carol, then the world was his oyster. It was a big ‘If'. From my brief but intimate acquaintance with the lady I knew it was unlikely that she would rush out and buy a pound of spikenard. And that was why I'd been upset to see her. I didn't want her, or anyone else for that matter, treating The Man like a side-show at Coney Island. It was a measure of my conceit that I felt, however fleetingly, I should have exclusive control over access to the being who had come to save the world.

I loaded the coffee tray with cups and saucers and carried it out on to the porch. Miriam followed with a trayful of open sandwiches, dips and crisp warm bagels. We found the four of them sitting round The Man in these folding-type movie director's chairs I have. He was sitting in the same spot as on on that first Sunday, with his legs crossed and his back against the white clapboards, listening with unfeigned interest as Carol told him, in minute detail, about life in Cedar Falls. Gale and Jeff sat chafing at these apparent total inconse-quentialities.

I began handing round the coffee as Miriam filled each cup and prayed under my breath that he wouldn't disappear on me until Linda had clapped eyes on him. I didn't mind what happened after that; they would all know I wasn't kidding.

I heard another car scrunch on to the gravel drive below the house. A fire-house red Dodge Omni had pulled up behind Fowler's Rabbit. ‘That'll be Linda,' I said. ‘Excuse me.'

I walked down to the Dodge and noticed that it had Virginia plates. Linda was sitting in the passenger seat. ‘Hi … good to see you.' I looked past her at the man who sat with his hands on the wheel.

‘Uh, this is Peter,' said Linda. ‘My, er – brother.'

‘Oh … I didn't know you had one,' I replied, in an unwelcoming sort of way. I nodded at brother Peter, who wore tortoiseshell glasses and a tan leather jacket. A nothing sort of guy of indeterminate age; late twenties, early thirties perhaps. He bore no discernable family resemblance to Linda and, to judge by his expression, carried coffins for a living.

Linda did her lip-gnawing bit. ‘Pete came into town for the weekend and, uh – since he had the car …'

‘Sure,' I said.

‘But if you don't want him around, he's quite happy to-call back for me.'

I eyed her woodenly. ‘Does he know what he's getting into?' Her mouth wobbled. ‘Well – '

‘That's all I need to know.' I opened the car door to let her out and looked across at her brother. ‘Join the party …'

We went up on to the porch and waited for a pause in the conversation. I made the introductions. ‘Linda and Peter Kovacs. Linda's my secretary. Peter owns the car.'

Everybody shook hands or gave them a friendly wave.

‘Hello, Linda,' said The Man. He stood up and kissed her on the cheek.

Linda's cheeks flushed. ‘This is my brother.'

‘Yes, of course …' The Man gripped Kovacs hand and gave him a sharp, hawk-like stare. ‘I was wondering when you'd come.'

Kovacs laughed uneasily. ‘It's not often one gets an invitation like this.'

There was something going on but I couldn't work it out. I looked at them both with a frown. ‘Have you two already met?'

The Man smiled. ‘In a way.' He let go of Kovac's hand. ‘I know some of Peter's friends …'

Kovacs exchanged a glance with Linda as The Man settled down against the wall.

‘Here, take this,' said Miriam. She passed the remaining chair over to Linda. ‘There are plenty more inside.'

Kovacs parked his butt on the rail of the porch.

‘Uh-uh,' I said. ‘That needs fixing. I'll get you a chair.' I turned to
Miriam. ‘Do we have enough coffee?'

‘Plenty,' she said. ‘But we'll need a cup for Linda's brother.'

Game, set and match.

Kovacs followed me into the house and picked up one of my black bentwood chairs. ‘One of these?'

‘Yes, sure …' I went into the kitchen, pulled out a cup and saucer and opened a bottle of wine for The Man. Kovacs carried the chair to the door of the kitchen and watched as I nearly ruptured myself on the cork. I jerked my head towards the porch. ‘That was a curious exchange. What do you think he meant?'

‘No idea,' shrugged Kovacs, ‘but it was kind of creepy, wasn't it?'

‘I guess he must have picked up your name and number on one of his trips through Linda's head.' I finally got the cork out. ‘I imagine she must have told you who he is. Do you believe it?'

The question made Kovacs blink. ‘I'm prepared to accept the possibility.'

I grinned at him, ‘In that case, you'd better watch your step. From here on in, it's uphill all the way.' I picked up a glass and brandished the bottle of red wine. ‘It's for Yale. He's not into coffee and stuff.'

‘Why do you call him Yale?' asked Kovacs.

‘He told me that was his name. We haven't had much occasion to use it. Miriam and I normally refer to him as The Man. Yale Sheppard was something we came up with so as I could book him into an hotel. It's not Yale, it's Ya'el – pronounced Yah-
ell
. If you use that name, or think of him as The Man, it stops you getting hung up on the conventional image that springs to mind when anyone starts talking about Jesus. Though, if we were being pedantic, it could be argued that Jesus of Nazareth was the Spirit of God in the flesh. That body out there on the porch originally belonged to a Galilean called Joshua barjoseph. The Man may look like one of us, but he isn't. Believe me.'

Kovacs pursed his lips. ‘Ya'el … mmmm, that's interesting. I wonder …?'

I put the things I was carrying on the kitchen counter. ‘Wonder what?'

‘If it's an abbreviation of Yahoel…' Kovacs put the chair on the floor and leant on it.

‘Who's that?' I said, lighting a cigarette.

‘Yahoel is the first of the seventy-two names of Metatron,' said Kovacs. ‘The king of angels, prince of the divine face, or presence.'

It gave me a very curious feeling to hear those words coming out of someone else's mouth. The Man had admitted to being a Prince of the Ninth and of the Presence but I'd always considered it to be our secret. Once again I was being overly possessive but at the time, I felt a flash of resentment. Almost as if I'd discovered that Kovacs had been eavesdropping on my conversations with The Man.

‘Metatron,' continued Kovacs, ‘is the Celestial power that links the human and the divine. Assuming, of course, that you believe in angels in the first place. He even holds sway over Michael and Gabriel – two of the great angelic princes. Yahoel, or Metatron, is believed to be the angel who was the spiritual guide of Abraham, and the guardian of the Israelites during the Exodus from Egypt and their journey through the wilderness. He's also been identified, by some authorities, as the power that occupies the throne on the right hand of God – and also as the Messiah of Christian theology.'

Four weeks ago, all this would have sounded like gobbledygook, but not any more. I helped myself to some of the wine and offered the bottle to Kovacs along with my cigarettes. Kovacs, it turned out, didn't drink or smoke. ‘That's quite a mouthful,' I said. ‘Do you keep tabs on angels for a living?'

He smiled and took a more comfortable grip on the back of the bentwood chair. ‘No, it just happens to be a hobby of mine. It started when I picked up a second-hand copy of a marvellous book called
A Dictionary of Angels
at Leakey's – '

‘You mean the shop on Second Avenue at 79th Street?' I interjected.

‘Yes,' he said.

‘Amazing,' I replied. ‘I've been getting books from there. I can't understand how I missed that one.'

‘It's out of print,' said Kovacs. ‘I got my copy a good ten years ago. And I've been hunting down copies of the books mentioned in the bibliography ever since.'

‘It sounds fascinating,' I said. ‘And it all fits with what our friend out on the porch has told me. Could you send me a Xerox copy of anything you have on Yahoel?'

‘My pleasure.' Kovacs adjusted his glasses. ‘I hope this doesn't sound impertinent, but what was it that convinced you that he was the – you know …?'

‘The Risen Christ?' I smiled. ‘You don't have to feel embarrassed. I know how tough it is to discuss something like this without generating waves of laughter or cries of outrage. All I can say in answer to
your question is something inside me responded to his presence. He has never told us, in so many words, who he is but he has never denied it. We were just fortunate enough to recognise him – and we've also seen him do some pretty incredible things. But that was later. The knowledge of who he was came first. If you're lucky, it may come to you and Linda. But it won't be through me telling you. It comes from within.'