TEN
To err once is always acceptable. To err twice is always foolish.
Julius Mann, Reflections, ch. 7
Roy wanted to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He did nothing but toss and turn through the night, his mind surging with worry. At four-twenty in the morning he decided to get up. With his usual cereal and milk spilled into a bowl, he went to his den and found the index volume to his Mann Expository set. For the first time in his life he did not treat the pages with the utmost care. He snatched and flicked them with impatience as he turned to the subject he wanted.
“Resurrection” covered many sub-headings. Roy ran his finger down each of the numerous columns, looking for anything that was remotely what he was after. Most of the subjects concerned Mann’s thoughts on “the personal resurrection of each and every believer”. The only reference that looked promising was that which covered the resurrection of all souls, the blessed and the damned. He jotted down the page and volume numbers and went to work at finding the quotes.
Two hours later he sat back in his chair and went over his hastily scribbled notes. The essence was that Mann had talked about the First Resurrection for the saints, and the Last Resurrection for the sinners. After closely reading through a sermon, one of Mann’s rare ventures into Revelation, and chapter twenty, Roy analysed the Bible text and saw that Mann had basically said the same but with vastly more words and lengthy digressions.
Roy closed the books and did not bother to set them back in the bookcase. He knew before he started, but he needed to have one last look. Mann said nothing about any rapture, or any “Great Tribulation”. He plainly held no belief for it. Roy thought it was a good enough conclusion for Mann; he was not living at this time.
For the first time in his life, Roy gave up on Julius Mann. The church had been levelled, the congregation vanished, the remnant scattered, and the wisdom of Mann no longer gave Roy any satisfaction. His training had not prepared him for what he now found. What do you do when everything you have ever believed falls apart in the face of disaster? The only thing his training told him to do in such times was to pray, but Roy could not bring himself to do it. Was he doubting even God?
At six-thirty-eight he called Lenny. He let the call play for five minutes before it was answered. Lenny fired an angry early-morning reply into the speaker.
“Lenny, relax. This is Roy.”
After a pause Lenny said with reservation, “Reverend, are you all right? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t call me Reverend. Roy will do from now on.”
“You can rebuild it, can’t you?”
“The church? Why do you say that?”
“Well, we need a church, don’t we?”
“Lenny, tell me what you know about the rapture, about what you think is going to happen to us from here on in.”
Roy hoped that Lenny could not detect the desperation and sadness in his heart. This was not the shrewd approach he had planned to take with him; he was too tired to bother. He knew the young man had no idea what it was for him to lower himself and ask for theological advice from one so unlearned in spiritual truths.
“I can’t say over this line.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t know who’s listening.”
“No one’s listening, Lenny.”
“Where the deacon stands. How about that?”
“Yes, all right. I’ll see you there, soon as you can,” said Roy, wondering if Lenny’s fear was justified, hoping it was not.
“See you there, Reverend.”
“Call me Roy, would you? Not Reverend. I just prefer it.”
“I guess, if you want. See you there, Roy. Is that all right?” Lenny’s voice was quizzical, unsure of why Roy was forcing the change. Roy thought it was obvious.
“Yes, that’s fine.”
As he closed the call he looked at the volumes on his desk, and then to his bookcase. He would not mind if he never saw them again.
When Roy arrived at the site he saw a short, stocky man dressed in a uniform similar to a fire-fighter’s, poking around the remains of the church. He had all kinds of technical equipment stuffed into every pocket. He was fascinated with the readout of one gadget he was waving in a wide circle, that he did not see Roy approaching.
Black heaps of ash were spread over the general area where the walls had been. Roy randomly kicked at the ash as he carefully walked over what used to be the front door, unconcerned about ruining his shoes and trousers. He looked across what used to be the hall and imagined himself preaching. Everything he had ever said seemed as empty as the open air open before him.
“It’s a sorry mess, isn’t it?” the man called when he saw him.
Roy did not know how to respond to such a remark. He knew the man was right, but it was his church he was talking about; surely he could be a little more sympathetic.
“Graeme Carr, Chief Fire Inspector for Carlow,” he said when he came closer. He thrust his right hand at Roy, who duly obliged in a handshake. “If you’re wondering why my whole team’s not here, we’re a little short-staffed, you understand. But who isn’t, right?”
“What is there to inspect?” Roy asked with a weary sigh. “It all looks pretty much destroyed to me.”
“There’s always something to look at, don’t you worry about that, buddy. We put our equipment over all fire remains. But I’ll agree, it’s a bad one here. Nothing’s left that’s of any use to anybody. Do you know anything about what happened?”
“A group, just thugs—street people I guess, invaded the service, throwing burning bundles of I-don’t-know-what into the church. Then one put some sort of gasoline over some pews. It all exploded.”
“You’re kidding. Anyone hurt?”
“No one, no. We all got out in time. I don’t know if any of the arsonists were hurt; don’t care either.”
“You were there?”
“I was right in the thick of it, yes. I saw them doing it. I told them to stop. It was all useless. I couldn’t do anything.”
“Can you identify the assailants?”
“They were wearing masks.”
“How many were there?”
“Five or six. The one with the gasoline I would guess was the ringleader. Have you heard of this happening before?”
“Not like the way you said it; not like that, I can’t help you there. But I’ll go back and put it all on file, and see what the computer tells us. I didn’t catch you name; I’ll need it for the record.”
“Roy Hoyle. The Reverend, for what that’s worth, of this church.”
“That’s too bad. My equipment picks up gasoline substances, so your story checks. Do you have any idea why they did it? I mean, why did they target you, do you know?”
“I had a bit of a run-in with some street people last week. They caused me some problems and I was forced to call the police. When the police came they were too forceful with them, and with their children.” He was about to mention the children, but he could not bring himself to say it.
“Typical with such people. They’ve got no respect for anyone else, even a church. Well, I’m all done here. Sorry about your church. But if you ask me, we’re better off with one less church, no offence intended. They’re everywhere, these religious buildings. Can’t see the point, myself; no offence.”
“The point?” Roy answered with frustration. “We worship God in buildings like this. It’s a holy place, sanctified by prayer.”
“Yes, but you all have your own buildings, all your different denominations, each one thinking they’re better than the others. It doesn’t make any sense to me. One group goes into one kind of building, and another goes into another building. From what I hear, none of your churches are ever full; now even less so, huh? It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“There are diversities of worship but the same God,” Roy said as an automatic response, quoting one of Mann’s most famous phrases.
“Suit yourself, then,” he said as he began to wal
k off. “I’m just a poor old agnostic, and don’t have anything to do with anything spiritual. But if it’s good for you and it works, and you enjoy it, then what’s the harm? I’d rather play tennis, myself. There are diversities of players but it’s the same game, wouldn’t you say, Reverend?”
Roy felt too beaten and drained of life to think of offering a reply.
“Lighten up, Reverend,” the man called to him again when he was further away. “So you lost your building? No one was hurt, right? I’m sure you’ve got other outlets for your computer files?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you’ve got insurance?”
Roy gave no answer and let him continue on, happy with his work, content that another fire scene had been investigated. The Church of the Kingdom of God policy of insurance was to leave it in the hands of God. It dated back to Mann, and no one had seen any reason to change it. Few Kingdomite churches had been affected over the years, and their good record was always put down to the faith.
Roy felt embarrassed at the thought of reporting the disaster to Chichester. His building not only had a fire, it had burnt to the ground. Such a blot on their record would not be appreciated. It would also be a blot on Roy’s record, for what that was worth to him now.
As he watched the inspector drive away he heard footsteps trudging behind him, and turned to see Lenny walking through the ash.
“Are you looking for what you can salvage?” Lenny called with enthusiasm.
Roy did not want to tell him that he had little care for what could be found. He glanced across to where his office used to be and saw a mound that might be his filing cabinet. Perhaps something was preserved in there. Perhaps he might even want to keep it.
“Have you found anything?” Lenny asked again.
“No.”
“You want me to look?”
“Lenny, I want you to show me those end-time books of yours.”
“Yeah, sure. I brought one with me,” he said as he indicated to an inside pocket of his leather jacket. “It’s the best one, I reckon,” he said as he took it out. “I figured you’d be interested in it.”
“Give it here,” said Roy.
He surprised Lenny when he grabbed it from his hand. Lenny shrugged and looked around to the neighbouring houses. Roy quickly paged through the book. It was full of diagrams, references and quotes; just what he wanted. In a second he realised he did not have to ask Lenny about the rapture. He could read it for himself and save himself from further humiliation.
“Maybe we should be a bit more discreet,” Lenny said as he peered through to the next street. “You don’t know who might be watching us, standing around out here.”
“Yes, I agree. We shouldn’t be standing around. Thank you, Lenny. I’ll be in touch.”
“You want to go already?”
“I have to be on my way, yes.”
“Mind if I have a look around for anything that’s salvageable?”
“Take whatever you want.”
He left Lenny bursting with eagerness in kicking though the remains. A soon as he was in the safety of his car he took a closer look at his book. At once his eyes fell on a remark and scripture quote that irked him. He knew it was wrong, and taken out of context, and misapplied. But he decided he should study it some more at home, with an open mind.
After spending the best part of a day reading and studying, he found he had struggled with nearly everything the book said. The author was flippant to the extent of putting a checklist at the end of each chapter for any unfortunate person left behind after the rapture. Even Lenny had written nothing on the checklist. It was exactly the sort of levity that Roy despised about the “popular” books.
And Roy could not see how the quoted scriptures supported the author’s claims. He was further agitated with the way the Old Testament prophets were quoted at random, ignoring the context and validity of the sources. To make it worse and almost unbearable to read any further, the author had set a date for the rapture and other future events. The book was written in 2005, and set the date for the rapture at 2011. Reading it in 2026 seemed utterly futile.
If this is true and I’ve missed the rapture, then why is this book so unclear and ambiguous with its scriptural references that try to prove it? Why are there so many jokes and pointless arguments? And why is it so complicated and unclear?
In the end Roy could do no more than toss the book on his desk and close his eyes. The thought of what he was going to do about his vocation made him sit up. He no longer knew what to believe; his church’s traditional stand or Lenny’s appreciation for the rapture. He wondered if he should continue to entertain thoughts of either. He went to his bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked older than thirty-five, or what he thought thirty-five should look like. He wondered if he had wasted his life.
He showered and took his casual, non the-church-minister clothes from his closet and dressed himself handsomely. The thought occurred to him that he was doing the same thing he did over a week ago; that Saturday night he had spent hours repenting and praying forgiveness over. He told himself that he did not have to make that same stupid mistake. He told himself that he could just relax and have a good time, and forget about the present problems. His concern for finding a new line of work could wait another day. He was not too worried, due to the obvious conclusion of there being a great shortage of jobs in the city. He might have his choice to top-line work, probably in the counselling area; a work not too different from his church ministerial duty.
He drove down the main road taking him east to the other side of the island, to Blackstone, home to some fifty thousand. Life in Blackstone was quieter than Carlow, and the traffic always conservative. It was a nice place to live, far from the big city. He cruised through the main part of town and found himself pulling into the same alley and parking somewhere near where he had last time. He turned off the engine and looked at the familiar brickwork of the nightclub wall in front of him. He thought he would never see that wall again.
He locked his car and lingered to discreetly watch the people passing on the street. He saw a few going into the nightclub and that encouraged him to follow. The doorman gave him a greeting and Roy wondered if the man remembered him. There was no matter if he did; he was not visiting in secret this time.
He descended dark, circling stairs that took him deep below street level. Then he came to a gloomy room that was filled with loud music and multicoloured lights, none bright enough to make any real effect on the darkness. He went to the bar and sat on one of the high stools. Three others were sitting further down the bar and too far from him to comfortably converse. The tables behind him were well populated, and the dance floor about half full.
The same drink was ordered and the same waitress served it to him, with the same smile. It was a smile that made him appreciated why he was there. Last time he had her talking and he told her outlandish things, none true. Perhaps she would remember and ask him about his fictional business prospects on the mainland. He turned his head away from her until she served someone else further down the bar.
He looked out over the dance floor and tried his best to enjoy the hyperfast music. Various dancers were jumping around in a random and at times violent fashion. Roy never once contemplated joining them. He was just content to watch. He found the young women’s dresses extraordinary revelling, just like last time. Unlike the last time, he noticed that the men’s clothes left little to the imagination.
“This seat isn’t taken, is it?” came a soft voice to his left. He looked around to see a woman probably in her forties, her face layered in makeup, her dress elegant, her body the work of skilled surgeons. She had slid her glass down the bar and was intent on sitting on the stool next to Roy.
“No, it’s free,” said Roy. He smiled to himself, pleased that women were always naturally attracted to him, even though he had once looked at it as a burden to bear. His theological training drummed into him the need to keep away fro
m women, to remain pure; “a chaste virgin of Christ” the called it; a “spiritual truth displayed in the natural”. Roy once believed it enough to devote his life to it. Now he was not so sure.
She began to make small talk and he complied to entertain her, which made her even more friendly. It was so much like the last time, but Roy noticed he had lost the feeling that he was cheating his faith. He discreetly looked her over. The amount of makeup concerned him but he chose to ignore it.
He finished his drink and ordered another. This time he forgot to act evasive to the waitress and she looked at him square in the eye. He relaxed when he saw she did not remember him. He told himself she must see many men like him hanging on the edge of the bar all night.
This is so much like the last time!
As the woman talked about herself he looked across to the tables and the other couples. As he watched them share stories, probably lies, he felt sorry for them. What kind of a life was that? Most had probably come down from Carlow to get away from anyone they might know. Although Roy was no stranger to such ways, he was far from a regular practitioner; about once every two years. To visit the same place in less than two weeks was abnormal for him; but then, everything in his life had become abnormal.
Then he saw her. She was looking at him like she had been watching him from when he first entered the club. His first reaction was to look away and pretend she was not there. He wondered if it was only the drink getting to him, that he had just imagined it. He took another look and again turned back. Now he was sure it was her.
He never once thought she might be there. It simply did not occur to him. It was a Monday, not a Saturday. Did she go to the club every night? Roy had no idea, but he knew he should have made allowance for that. He silently swore to himself for not going to another nightclub, even one in Carlow. How could he have been so stupid, and come to her nightclub?
He looked at her again, firstly to confirm that it was the same woman, and secondly to see if she was really looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on him; those same enchanting green eyes.
The woman he was with asked him what was wrong. He ignored her, stood, left him glass untouched, and walked quickly for the door. A large group of people had arrived at the bottom of the stairs and he had to stop to manoeuvre to get around them. In doing so he glanced back to her. She was still looking at him.
Once he was free from the nightclub and could see his car, he ran for it. While opening the lock he kept his eyes on the nightclub door, fearing she was about to come running after him. He roared the engine and sped out of the alley and down the street without waiting for much of a break in traffic. Sweat dripped down his face as he sped back to Carlow, cursing himself, asking what had happened to his common sense.
He did not want to answer his TCS call. When he heard it sounding he was locking his garage. He made no effort to rush inside, and told himself that he would only answer it if was still going when he got to it. After giving it as long as he could bear, he answered it with a mumble. He usually said his name; now he barely said a greeting.
“Hello, this is Angela Arnold, the publicity agent for the Blair Laraine Show. May I speak to the Reverend Roy Hoyle please?” The woman’s voice was breezy and full of life. It seemed a world away from Roy.
“Yes, speaking,” he said, feeling light-headed and ill; in no mood to return the woman’s approach.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day, Reverend Hoyle. I need to confirm you will be present tomorrow for the in-studio interview with Blair.”
Roy recalled her at the meeting of the church leaders. She seemed demanding then, now more so. Her tone made it difficult to think anything different than what she was saying, let alone to allow him to tell her he did not want to appear on the show.
“You will be there, can you confirm?” she persisted after giving Roy a few seconds to make a reply. “We need a confirmation today. I’ve been trying to reach you for you to confirm.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said absently.
“That’s great, thank you. Report at the studio gate no later than two-thirty p.m. Good-bye.”
Roy listened to the silent speakers, unwilling to believe that he could agree to her. He had thought no more about it since the meeting. He was totally unprepared mentally or theologically, and yet he agreed. He could not believe his stupidity.