Authors: David Kempf
“What does it take then?”
“Faith,” she answered him.
William had had it. He passed out. During the course of the night she asked him to change the diaper of their first son Adam. He was in a state of deep sleep and pushed his fists forward. This caused a small bruise on his wife’s arm. She screamed and he came out of the darkness to wake up.
“You hit me and scared the child. Youth services will believe me and not you!”
“What do you want?” he asked frightened.
“I want you to accept Jesus and meet with Pastor Fred about being a real man. The head of the house and ensuring his wife is subordinate just like the apostle Paul always said.”
“I thought that he was never married,” he said.
“Good luck in jail,” she said.
“No!” he exclaimed.
“You better make a personal choice for Jesus Christ and get baptized soon,” she said, angrily.
“Okay,” her husband answered.
He did and they raised their son Adam to believe in Jesus, to distrust Catholics, atheists and Jews. Not to mention liberal Protestants who believed in crazy ideas like the one that Charles Darwin came up with about man’s origin.
Adam sadly was not long for the world…
He was killed in combat in Afghanistan.
The Rapture woman wept uncontrollably at the death of her only son. It shook her faith in the U.S. government, which was always a bit shaky since the new world order was coming just around the corner. She had always said that real men, real followers of Jesus Christ fought for freedom. They would come back to the country and if they lost arms, so be it. If they retained one arm, they didn’t deserve it. That was the real Jesus talking. Her husband briefly bought it but the death of his son made him hate this abusive, borderline psychotic religious nut.
“I’m leaving you,” he said.
“What?” she asked him.
“I’ve had it. I’m leaving you. Adam’s death was the last straw.”
“You must cling to your wife as the lord commands……”
He struck her with his fist on the left side of her face. He struck her so hard that she fell down to the side and hit her head on a table lamp.
“How dare you, William, you……”
“Fuck you and fuck Pastor Fred! If I would have married a normal woman, we might have kept Adam out of harm’s way for God…… your imaginary, fucking stupid, unscientific, historically inaccurate fundamentalist imaginary friend!”
“William…”
He left, got into his truck, drove away and never came back. She never saw him again, was broke, lost her tiny country home and almost became homeless. This was years ago and she thought the real reason William left her was because she was fat and unattractive.
“If this is your will lord,” she said.
“She makes my heart bleed… so awful, Andrew……”
“I agree. She’s a walking tragedy……”
“We’re not even halfway through, are we?” I asked.
“No,” he answered.
“What happened next?” I asked.
“She needed a job; saw an ad for hired help in a fancy magazine. Then she became a servant for you and your family.”
“I see.”
“Andrew, I don’t want to enrage you any further butt his Bible thumping bitch had a most clever nickname for your family.”
“What was that?” I asked.
“The ungodly family…”
“I want to go back home, Harold.”
It was great that we took good Christian pity on our time traveling nemesis but it was also a foolish policy. I was sorry for the woman’s great pain and I was sincerely praying for her. I was also looking to God to ask for the strength to forgive.
“We’re going to hunt her down,” Harold said.
“We will but we need to know what she wants…”
“Her travels through time have been devastating to her. She saw something terrible like the real origins of life and her faith was destroyed, Andrew.”
“Primordial ooze,” I said.
“Whatever,” he answered me.
“The point of all this is, Harold… she saw… something.”
“Yes,” he answered.
“What did she see?”
“The missing link, Charles Darwin, her son’s death, her husband being happy, evidence that non-Christians get into heaven, almost anything could get that woman unstable, I should think. That was fine, just fine. Her dreams and frustrations and beliefs all revolved around the cult of fundamentalist Christianity.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
I remembered how close to a train our mansion was. God, I loved the sounds of trains going by. She hated them. Some of the other servants insisted she could never sleep due to the sounds of the trains going by. That probably was not the reason she was unstable but it didn’t help the situation either.
“The real question is not what she saw per se but what she intends to do, Andrew. I know you want to get on with your life soon but she could end the world!”
“We have got to stay on top of her…”
“We’re going to eat the bug and find out where she is,” Harold said.
We did.
“Please, I beg you, father, I am not a witch” said a sixteen year old girl.
“Do you… accept the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal savior before facing the punishment of this just inquisition?” asked the murderer of the cloth.
“Yes but I’m innocent…”
The flames were lit at the base of the hay and the agonizing young girl went up in flames. We watched her scream… it was extremely terrifying.
“My God, I see her,” said Harold.
It was her, I could tell because no one else would be a fellow time traveler. She was no longer fat, she was seductively thin. She was no longer a brunette, oh no, her hair was a lovely shade of gray. Now the biggest shocker of all, she was wearing a monk’s robe. Well, perhaps that wasn’t the most intriguing fact I could see that the former zealous woman of modesty was nude underneath the holy garment.
“My God,” I said.
“I know, Andrew.”
She was sexually aroused by the sadistic torture of watching someone burned alive at the stake.
“Her style is sadism and unreality……”
“Yes, son,” said Harold.
She didn’t touch herself but she sure as hell looked like she was giving it some serious consideration. Then she spoke.
“I might have been wrong about you people. Only the true love of Christ could lead people to do this. It’s a reversal of things, to find out you might have been hasty in your judgments.”
“She’s fucking crazy,” said Harold.
“I forgot all about not judging. Judge not, lest ye be judged, what a wonderful thought and phrase. The idea that sinners can get a little taste of hell is wondrous. I’m sorry for all of that, well, some of that Whore of Babylon talk. You allowed them to suffer in pain to save their soul, I love…”
“She really is fucking crazy,” said my great grandfather.
“I know, Harold.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.
“I need a break for a little while,” I said.
“Good. Where do we go?”
“I don’t know, anywhere, anywhere, we’re filthy rich you know.”
“I feel bad for struggling families like the Bush’s and Kennedy’s.”
“So do I,” answered Harold, laughing.
Bermuda was lovely and we paid off some folks to get the breathtaking Horseshoe bay to ourselves. Well, not completely to ourselves, we met two beautiful ladies. We never once asked them their names and they didn’t volunteer the information. I had never slept with a woman before and losing my virginity was a very intense experience.
A private oasis awaited us with two outstanding servants and two new beautiful women. I was far less nervous this time around and lasted much longer inside this lovely Asian girl with a perfect body. She orally satisfied me over and over again and I was more than happy to return the favor. Orgasm after orgasm every time but thoughts of Jezebel or whatever her real name is haunted my mind like a demon. She appeared in my head over and over and again and again. That sensuous gray colored hair and that knock out nude body underneath the modest robe of the monk. I wanted so badly to taste what was underneath that robe. I wanted to go down on her so badly. When I went down on my striking Asian lover, I thought of the Rapture woman.
“We’re sure having fun but it’s not going to last much longer,” said the dirty old man, also known as my great grandfather.
“I know, Harold.”
“What next?”
“We set a trap for her… somehow…… …”
Our days and nights of hedonism would soon give way to our collaboration to save the world but we weren’t sure from what. I wrote the story that is coming next, dear reader, after my return from watching the Christian faith I love transformed into the most sinister force of evil that I had ever witnessed. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me with the exception of watching the white haired witch slit my mother and father’s throats.
“That story you wrote after we came back from the dark ages, Andrew?”
“It is.”
“I wrote down something quite similar but your story makes more coherent sense.”
“Oh?”
“There is something in the air here,” said my great grandfather.
THE MONESTARY
Father Hitchens knew that the monastery he was looking for was hidden behind several mountains. It would be many a long day and night’s journey from the civilized part of England. The superior, the leader of these Jesuits, was Father Superior Darrow. He was an odd man with some strange methods. Reports of his men sleeping with the wives of local peasants and even with other men had built up Darrow’s sorry lot’s dreadful reputation. The worst part was that now that they seemed to have rid themselves of sexual deviants, the few families who lived in the mountains were being torn to shreds by some kind of or animals. Father Hitchens brought fifty men with food so this group of pathetic folks wouldn’t starve to death or simply die from their own stupidity.
“Who is it?
“It’s Father Hitchens,” said Father Darrow.
“What does he want?”
“He wants to show the spirit of the inquisition is still alive.”
There were very few younger men here anymore. Mostly they were well over forty years of age. Hitchens and Darrow were both overweight, unattractive men in their early fifties. They were both blessed with great intellects and cursed with stubborn wills. This was one of the poorest monasteries but their monsignor Aragon demanded that it be that way.
“We have brought food and supplies. Courtesy of our master Aragon, may God bless him and save him.”
“No doubt,” said Darrow.
The visiting priest was shown to his quarters.
“Why are you really here?” asked Darrow.
“You’re a man who gets to the point, I admire that, Father.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, the church is very clear about the rules of celibacy.”
“I know.”
“No one must have sex with a woman or a man.”
“I understand and we are in total agreement, Father Hitchens.”
“We are, yes.”
“God help us if our monks are accused of touching children again.”
“No. They are not, I assure you.”
“I mean what kind of reputation would the church have if it was known for having and protecting perverts. Everyone would be Lutheran tomorrow!”
The two men smiled at one another. It was almost as if they were trying desperately to read the other’s mind. They were not clairvoyant so treading lightly and carefully choosing words was the correct path for them.
“Sir, you needn’t worry.”
“There is another matter and it’s delicate and not nearly as important as the others we are discussing.”
“Yes?”
“Aragon is very strict about church law and does not dissent on one single matter. Do you understand, Father?”
“Yes, Father Hitchens.”
“Good.”
“What is it then?”
“If the men are in good standing and are truly celibate, then they need not worry for their lives. Barring starvation or these damned animals that keep killing villagers that is.”
“Understood, Father Hitchens, I understand.”
“Anyway, true celibacy requires that they don’t even touch themselves or provide for their own sexual gratification. It’s forbidden by church law.”
“I assure you that none of that is going on either.”
“Father, you can’t assure these men that they won’t be eaten by wild beasts in the middle of the night. How can you assure me this behavior isn’t going on?”
“Trust me, I can.”
“Oh, you mean the loophole?”
“Sorry?”
“I know you think that when men confess their sexual sins to one another then they are washed clean. It’s like they are receiving baptism all over again!”
“No, actually…”
“That won’t work with our master. He’s sick of men who use the confessional to justify mortal sins.”
There was a certain level of decency and rationality that was coming from Hitchens. Darrow had to admit to himself that he was partially incorrect on his assumptions on the man’s nature. He thought he had a fanatic who was ready to feed all who dwelled in the monastery to the beasts of the night. He was a coward but he was in his own sad way trying to make the peace and satisfy a bloodthirsty master without a drop of blood being shed.
“These men are as pure as the snow that comes to this place. Incidentally, you’ve come in the early winter. In a month’s time, you may not be able to make the travel back. You’re horses will freeze to death.”
“That’s my affair, Father Darrow.”
“Yes it is.”
“Now onto less important matters, perhaps not to you or me but from the perspective of Aragon and the church these are lesser matters.”
“Yes.”
“What are we supposed to do about these damned animals?”
“They’re wolves, Father.”
“How many wolves do you think there are there Father Darrow?”
“There are as many wolves as there are monks.”
“Jesus, our lord, I see.”
Father Hitchens knew the Jesuits would always be an order in trouble, an order fighting to exist and that was almost all of the time. The kind of group that made the members concerned if all of this aggravation was worth it. It was just so they could be the most intellectually gifted. They were humble enough to communicate with the peasants and bright enough to discuss philosophy with kings. If it wasn’t for Luther, the radical order known as Jesuits may not ever have existed. There would be popes who were Jesuit sympathizers but Darrow always felt that there would never be a Jesuit Pope.