The cows were standing as if watching them, face forward. They had projections from their sides and when he got closer, Portafack saw that they were rudimentary arms. The arms were bare and of slightly different lengths. The fingers moved in the air like they were rolling balls or playing piano, constantly moving. He felt an instant’s revulsion, but his fury led him forward. He saw Tercepia and the dog run to the middle of the cows and stop. Tercepia was pointing at him and crying.
He was surprised that the two of them had stopped. He thought he might have outrun them, somehow, might have outmaneuvered them. Perhaps, like some animals that hid a part of themselves they thought he couldn’t see them. But he could, and he was going to teach them a lesson.
He waved his stick, but then he thought better of it. He didn’t want a struggle, he wanted to get close to her and tie her hands up. If he looked frightening, she might run again. He held the stick behind his back with his right hand.
“Here, Tercepia,” he called sweetly. “It’s okay. Good girl. Come here. Don’t worry. It’s all right.”
The cows were shifting and moaning. He pushed the head of one cow out of his way.
The dog came racing at him and he lifted the stick and whacked him on the side. It jerked away with its mouth open but still silent, stumbling a few times, its head down. The cow next to him mooed loudly and the arms along its side began to wave. Portafack stepped away from it. He couldn’t see what was behind him. He stepped back from one cow only to find himself between two others. He lifted his stick again, automatically, as arms reached for him, and in an instant the noise in the field rose. The cows moaned angrily and surrounded Portafack. He lifted the stick and began to swing blindly, as arms came at him from all sides.
He went down among the hooves endlessly moving around him, catching fragmented glimpses of the girl and the dog seen through the motion of the cows’ legs, the oncoming crush of their low stomachs, the jabbing torment of those arms tightening around his throat and covering his face.
“Tercepia!” Sandam called, coming closer, but he was too far away, too far away; the weight of the cows came at Portafack and the hands pressed forward, reaching at him, finding him.
“Home, home, home,” Tercepia cried and danced with the dog. She held its front paws and they pranced around together, the dog on its back legs, its blue eyes trained on her. “Happy now,” Tercepia said. “Happy here forever. Cerbo, happy with you!”
The blue-eyed dog raised its head and moved its mouth. Portafack’s eyes were closing, it was his last sight as a cow stepped on him and the hands held him down.
“Brother!” Tercepia cried again. “Brother forever!”
“Well, there’s gonna be a Rapture. All the sanctified people will be called to God. They’ll leave the Earth. Called to God.” Jonah made helpful gestures, his chin upturned, his eyes to the sky, his arms whooshing up.
“What will happen to the goods?” his friend Joey asked, interested.
Jonah frowned. “The Good?”
“The stuff. Will the cars and TVs go up too, or will they stay here?”
“That’s not important.”
“It is to me,” Joey said excitedly. “I’m stayin’ behind. I’ll make a killin’. I bet I could get a good deal on a house, too. Not this shit we’re livin’ in now.”
“Now, wait,” Jonah said, slightly annoyed. “That’s the wrong way of looking. You should want to
go
. . .”
“The bank accounts too,” Joey said, excited. “Can you put my name on your account, you know, leave it in
trust
. Get your Church to all, like, leave it in
trust
for me? I could water your lawns or whatever. Services rendered.”
Jonah sighed. “You’re missing the point.”
Joey smacked him on the back. “The point is, you’re good and I’m not. I get it. You spend a lot of time at Church, I’m watchin’ TV. You sing hymns, I like Rap. Rap, Rapture, I wonder if there’s a connection.” He snapped his fingers, both hands, and shook his head.
Jonah tried to pity him, because he knew he
should
pity him, because his parents would
tell
him to pity Joey for his sinful fate. But Jonah liked Joey too much to visualize his damnation. Instead Jonah saw—in full Panavision—Joey sauntering around in left-behind clothes and a good car, grinning like a lottery winner. Having fun. Always having fun.
Joey whistled—not a tune, but a series of random notes; he was always doing that. He pulled out notes like a man jingling change. The world would certainly be different after this Rapture, he thought. He liked Jonah and certainly would miss him, but it would be interesting to see who disappeared and who would be left behind with him. It would be fun to see them disappear, actually.
“Huh,” he said. “How do you do it? I mean, does everyone float up all at once or is it alphabetical or by age? I bet it’ll be on TV. So how does it work?”
Jonah shrugged. “We all float up together. Or we all just disappear while the rest of you blink. There’s an argument about it.”
Joey bit his lower lip thoughtfully. “We don’t all blink at the same time.”
“But you
could
,” Jonah said.
Joey admitted they could. “Of course I could get a camera and watch you. Or you know,” he got excited, “I could put a camera
on
you so I could see you lookin’ down at me as you floated away. Because you know when it’s gonna happen, right?”
“A week from today,” Jonah said.
“And the time?”
“Sunset-ish. Seven PM.”
“Good,” Joey nodded. “I don’t want to miss prime time. I like my TV.”
Jonah sat with his family in the yard. They had all showered and put on their best clothes. His little sister, Gina, clutched her favourite doll. Joey had not shown up, and Jonah was relieved. And the weather was still good. They had gone through storms all week, dry storms with high winds. Another front had been predicted, but hadn’t shown up. They felt blessed.
His father led them in prayers and then they sang together, and then his father read to them from Thessalonians. The birds put up a mighty ruckus, and when his family sang it seemed to Jonah that the birds joined in, shouting the joy of God in their bird way.
Jonah kind of liked it. It did seem like the attention of the universe was focused on him. On them. A breeze came through, like an angel’s wings, and he could feel the presence of God. His parents and his church were always talking about the presence of God and up till then he hadn’t been quite sure about it, though he learned to drop his voice to a whisper and smile with encouragement whenever it was discussed.
But now he felt it, like a splendid sunset hitting his chest. And it
was
a splendid sunset, right on cue, with blues and pinks and purples. Clouds chugged along the horizon, picking up colours and getting bigger. Gathering. As he had already noticed, the birds sang like they were convinced of something.
Finally they all held hands on the last “Amen” and lowered their heads and waited, their eyes closed. God, he knew, would breathe in, and they would rise on His breath.
The first few moments were calm and steady, but nothing happened. Time went on, the birds got still, the wind picked up, and Jonah peeked out through his lids. His mother’s face was lifted up to the sky, her lips faintly parted and Jonah could tell she was breathing through her mouth. Gina was wide-eyed, looking around in the evening. Her hand had already abandoned Jonah’s hand, but she still held on to her father, who had a frown line appearing now just above his brow. A frown or a shadow—it was rapidly getting dark. And then there was a loud crack—this was it!—and the heavens opened and a rain came down like a booby trap. They stood up slowly and went inside.
The next morning Jonah’s parents were very quiet. They never listened to the radio or the TV for news in the morning, just said their prayers and ate their breakfast. That morning was dreary.
“Maybe we got the calculations wrong,” his father said. “They were very delicate.” He looked better than his wife, who seemed to be huddling even as she prepared breakfast. The rapt look she’d had was gone, replaced by uncertainty.
“The numbers were checked,” she said softly. “Over and over. We’ve been waiting for years.”
Jonah’s parents, of course, disliked Joey but he hadn’t actually been forbidden to see him. Instead, a sentence would pop up in their talk every so often. “I hear that Joey is failing in math. Does he need a tutor?” or “See if Joey can make it to Bible study this week. If he’s a friend, save his soul.”
Joey’s soul seemed pretty sturdy, and he went to Bible study only once, where he smiled gamely and asked confusing questions. He said, for instance, that the bible wasn’t meant to be literal. He said he’d been told that by an ex-nun and a Reformed rabbi. The rabbi had impressed him. “He’s
reformed
,” he repeated. “Gone straight.”
“I’m not sure your friend is the right friend to have,” Jonah’s father said.
“And he may be bad for you; he may accept sinful situations and make them seem harmless to you,” his mother added. “Out of ignorance. Because he doesn’t know any better.”
“He doesn’t have God,” his father confirmed. “And when you don’t have God you’re condemned to Hell. You know that.”
The fact that Joey was going to Hell made it harder than ever for Jonah to give him up. The rules his parents laid out were clear: he should be polite to Joey, but he should ignore him whenever possible. But Joey was always interesting; Jonah felt his own life was boring, and predetermined. He was at that age when he wanted to be surprised, to be alerted, and maybe even to stun someone in return. He was thinking about the last conversation they’d had, when the Rapture was imminent and Joey was going over all the things he might pick up cheap.
“Now look at that,” he’d said, nudging with his chin as he looked out the school bus. “That would be good to have, a dog like that. If you guys take off, let me know where the dogs are so I can pick one out.”
Jonah looked and saw a big dog sitting in front of its dog house.
“I’m thinkin’ about a career with dogs,” Joey continued. “Maybe search-and-rescue, or trainin’ them. I like it when they do what they’re told, you know? Even when they’re not exactly
told
—when you click or make a noise or raise your arm and they jump.”
“Like an airplane,” Jonah said. “Remote control.”
Joey nodded, once. “And what about you? You still goin’ into space?”
It sounded sarcastic, at first, since they were going to ascend soon, but Jonah had once said he wanted to be an astronaut. That was before the date had been announced. He always loved to look at the sky. It was mixed up with God, of course; he wanted to see with God’s eye: the earth compact below, the stars around him like hair. He didn’t know if Joey experienced this same surge of goodness, of wanting to bless and be blessed coming from all his skin, all the cavities of his body. Joey talked about sex all the time, of course, as if that was similar for him. Jonah had been excused from Sex-Ed classes on religious grounds and he got all his information from Joey now. Most often it was crude and boasting, but Joey included masturbation in his talk, and it was the only time Jonah heard about it or sex without the smack of shame.
“That girl,” Joey breathed, as one of the other buses drew beside them, and a fully-formed girl in a pullover raised her eyebrows and stared. “That girl.”
But Jonah didn’t want to hear. “About the dogs,” he said. “Why don’t you get a dog?”
“I have a dog already,” Joey said. “But it’s old and small. Doesn’t do anythin’. I can get another dog when I get a job, but if I get a job while I’m in school I won’t have time for a new dog. One of my dad’s tricks.”
The bus with that girl pulled ahead of them as they neared school and for a while Joey pretended they were in pursuit, chasing her.
“There are girls in heaven,” Jonah said.
Joey shrugged. “But no sex. Never heard of any screwin’ up there.” He snorted. “
Heaven
. Right.”
Jonah’s face lit up. “Souls meet,” he said. “They meet and touch. It’s like telepathy, almost, how you don’t need the body—”
“The body’s the
point
,” Joey said in disgust.
“No, no, no,” Jonah reassured him. “There’s love. Love is more than the body, isn’t it? You love your mother, you love your father—”
“Not that much. Not that way.”
“All right, you love a girl. You love her a whole lot, but she won’t sleep with you. Do you stop loving her?”
“Yes,” Joey said strongly. He twitched all over, happy with himself.
Jonah was trying to think of a way to reach his friend. He knew that everything Joey had just said was a sin, just as everything Joey did was a sin, and everything Joey thought, probably, was a sin. But he believed he could save Joey’s soul, and he thought it was worth saving.
“How do you think about God so much?” Joey asked. “I mean, where do you go with it? It’s like thinkin’ of the colour red. You get it in your mind and then that’s it.”
“No. When I go on thinking about it, I see the sky and it expands and the stars blink and I keep watching. I think of God and the whole world expands and I feel ready to burst.”
Joey laughed meanly. “And you call that God, that burstin’ feeling?”
Jonah’s face felt hot. “I know what you mean and that’s not it. I know what you’re talking about and it’s completely different.”
“Oh sure, sure,” Joey said. “I must have a lot of God in me, ’cause I’m burstin’ all the time. With holy love,” he said, pleased with himself. “Burstin’ with holy love.”
Jonah felt a sharp loneliness at the way Joey was mocking him. He believed there was a strong bond between them, but it was always slipping away, and then coming back, and then slipping away.
The morning after Rapture, Joey wasn’t on the school bus, which was filled with kids whispering and crying. Jonah found a seat by himself, avoiding everyone. He suspected they all knew the Rapture hadn’t come, that they were whispering about him.
But the whispering and crying were all over the schoolyard. Finally, he just stood and looked around. No one was pointing at him or laughing at him. It all began to register, finally: something was wrong.
He passed two sobbing girls, four stiff-shouldered boys. One of the very youngest students stood all by himself, wailing, his arms stiffly at his side.
He saw Corinne, who sat next to him in homeroom.
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” she asked, blinking. “That storm last night. There was a tornado. It got the bus over on that hilly road to Bightsville. They were coming back from a game. Didn’t you notice that storm? It was terrible.”
“It was just some rain,” Jonah said, arguing. “I know because I was outside when it happened.” Then he was struck, both by the look of contempt in Corinne’s eyes and by his own thoughts. He was beginning to worry. “What happened?”
“A lot of people died—that’s what happened.” It was almost as if she hated him, as if she thought he had something to do with it.
“Who died?” he whispered.
She began to name off all the boys and girls. He knew some of them. He was relieved every time he heard a name he didn’t recognize; every time the name wasn’t his friend Joey.
“Joey,” she finally said. She glared at him.
“What?” he said, jumping back slightly. “Joey?”
She nodded, and wiped her eyes. “The whole bus,” she said. “Every single one of them. All gone.”
Jonah walked away from her. His head had gotten a little dull; he kept thinking that sometimes Joey hitched a ride home and he didn’t usually do after-school stuff. Sure, once he showed up at band practice as a goof, but all he’d done was cause trouble. And he’d only gone to one or two games before. Why would he go when he knew the Rapture was coming?
Maybe Corinne had it wrong. She was a smart kid, but she only knew what she’d heard.
He lifted up his head, then, and scanned the crowds. It was the same kids in the same groups everywhere. They held to their regular spots.
Tommy came up to him and said, “Bummer, no? Joey?” And he shook his head and put his hands in his pockets and went off.
The teachers were gesturing for everyone to come in; a few of them were even going around to the groups, putting their hands on arbitrary shoulders, leading them. Jonah got caught in front of a group and had to go forward, into school. They were led into the assembly.
The buzz of words got quieter. Kids filed in and sat down, their eyes scanning the room.
The principal started telling them how sorry he was, and that there were grief counsellors to help all of them deal with this tragedy. And he listed the names of all the dead, no—the “known dead.” There were two bodies not yet identified, and of course, there were two students unaccounted for. Results were awaited.