Chapter 16 JOHNB'S JOB
"Sol, where's JohnB?" asked Dad.
"I don‘t know, sir. I’ve been out checking my traps."
"JG, do you know? Was he here when we got up?"
"I really didn't notice, Dad. I’ve been out to the spring to get the water, I don't think I’ve seen him." "Scopi, did he tell you what he had on his mind?" asked Dad. "Was he talking about seeing those girls again?"
"Dad, he hasn't mentioned girls since our last trip. He's not given me any clues about today."
Rooster chimed in, "Maybe he went off to fast and pray by himself like he did those three days up at Buzzard‘s Rock."
"But, wouldn't he tell us?" Dad asked.
We hardly knew how to have any fun without JohnB. We always depended on him to tell us what we're going to get into next. He is the only blonde in our bunch, and the oldest. Mom and Dad gave him his nickname from a TV boy they watched when they were kids. We had to think up our own projects that day after we had finished with our school work.
It was nearly dark when we heard him coming up the hill, whistling just like Dad always does and carrying two big bags of stuff. After the hugging and questioning, we sat around the fire watching him pour out his loot while he explained himself.
"Dad, I hope you’ll understand. I felt that there had to be some way to beat this marking business. This idea came to me in a vivid dream last night. I went to the new store and asked Mr. Thompson if he would let me work for him in exchange for things that they were throwing out. Mom, you were always telling us about that -- how people could live without money just by swapping things.
"He remembered us kindly. You know how his wife always bought our things that we had to sell for the school? He said he didn‘t really care about politics or religion and was willing to try my offer. He knew what I meant, about not being marked."
After sweeping, stocking shelves, and carrying trash, JohnB was to help himself to anything that was being discarded. That first night, along with the rotten bananas and stale bread, he brought a pair of tennis shoes. They were exactly my size. They were out of style, but had leather sides, and would have been expensive. It made me feel really humble. Was God watching out for me? Just for me?
The boat was a big help in shuttling the bags and boxes of salvage across the Bad OId River. We had to dump out the water sometimes, but the cable was still strong and he could pull himself back and forth without any help. When he got over to our side, he chained her up to the shaggy tree. If the water was high, she had enough slack to let her go up and down.
What we had been craving even more than goods was news. We made JohnB tell us every scrap of information that he could remember.
"There is a lot of talk about the fabulous New World President. It’s against the law to say anything negative about him or anything," he reported.
He brought in an old newspaper that explained more about the gigantic earthquake that had hit, throwing everyone into a panic. The radio story had been sketchy. It was probably true; we had seen the black skies. It seemed that fear made people ready to accept anything that would quickly solve their problems.
"But, JohnB, what about the Christians? Did you see anyone that we know from our old church?" asked Mom.
"Mom, the church people go right through the scanner as if nothing had happened. They‘ve all taken the mark. I asked one of the men about it, and he made fun of you, Dad. He said that a computer chip isn't a mark. They didn‘t bow down to any false Christ to get their chip, all they did was to pledge allegiance to the man. They think we are stupid fanatics. “
"Oh, Dad, we're not, are we?" cried Sol, running to grab Dad around the knees.
"They told me that it couldn't be the mark in the Bible, because we will all be raptured by then. They say God is too good to let anything bad happen to His people."
When we went to bed we were a very sober bunch. Out on the porch we whispered back and forth. Were our parents crazy? Were we the only ones holding out against the chip? Worse yet, should we split from Mom and Dad for our own survival?
JohnB was too tired to talk. He prayed a short prayer, asking God, our heavenly Father, to help us know what to do. He then he rolled over and went to sleep. It took me longer than usual.
The next day was boring. Why couldn't I go out and do something useful for the family? Why did Mom and Dad drill us in math and stuff that we would never need? What was the use of it all?
When JohnB got home that night, we sat around the fire and heard his news and checked out his bags. I could see that he was itching to tell something special, Dad noticed it too.
"What is it, son? Has something happened?" asked Dad.
"Well, while I was out behind the store, flattening and stacking boxes, Mrs. Thompson sort of sauntered by. As she passed, she muttered to me, 'I’m on your side,' and then she went to her car."
"What side did she mean? She's not hiding out, is she?" asked Mom.
"Well, a couple of hours later, she brushed past me while I was stacking cans on the shelves. She bragged on my work and smiled. She made a quick look around and then slipped me this note."
"Let us see it, JohnB. Read it to us," we begged.
I was desperate for some kind of answer that made sense. I’m not always sure about spiritual things like prayer. That's the trouble, they're spiritual. I’m not sure if I can trust my parents. We might have all lost touch with reality.
"Here, JG, you read it -- for all of us," JohnB said with a grin.
I unfolded the piece of delicately flowered note paper, and began, "My dear, brave brother in Christ. Do not be confused. Do not be shaken. You and your family are under the Shadow of the Almighty. I am under the same, only I am protected by my head, my husband, who does not believe and will not have eternal life with God, but he provides for me, as I have not taken the mark. You are not alone. I go to the meetings, but as a spy of sorts. I go to see prophecy being fulfilled. The 'church' services are a mixture of all sorts of religions. They are mostly about love, mindcontrol, and positive thinking. The Bible is all watered down. No one reads it anymore, except for formalities. I will be helping you all I can. Look for white bags in the garbage with green twist-ties. Bless you, young brother. We don‘t have much longer to endure. Please give my love to your family, and please save my neck by your secrecy. In living hope, your sister."
God had really answered JohnB’s simple prayer! That was all I needed to know. Were we kooks and alone? No, we were not.