Messiah
John Andrew C. Chilver
All material, including cover artwork, copyright ? 1999, 2015
by John Andrew C. Chilver
Electronic Book ISBN 978-0-9948161-2-2
For my wife Connie,
who supports me in everything I do.
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c1 Faith
The Nicene Creed
(The basis of Christianity)
I believe in one God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, And all things visible and invisible:
And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God, Begotten of his father, before all worlds, God of God, Light of Light, Very God of very God, Begotten not made, Being of one substance with the Father, By Whom all things were made; Who for us men, and for our salvation came down from heaven, And was incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary, And was made man. And was crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate. He suffered and was buried, And the third day He rose again according to the scriptures, And ascended into heaven, And sitteth on the right hand of the Father. And he shall come again with glory to judge both the quick and the dead: Whose kingdom shall have no end.
And I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Lord and Giver of life, Who proceedeth from the Father and the Son, Who with the Father and Son together is worshiped and glorified, Who spake by the Prophoets. And I believe in one Cotholick and Apostolick Church. I acknowledge one Baptism for the remission of sins. And I look for the Resurrection of the dead, And the life of the World to come. Amen.
Al-Fatiha
(The Opening) the opening chapter and most quoted words in the world of Islam.
"In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate.
Praise belongs to God, the Lord of all Being, the All merciful, the All-compassionate, the Master of the Day of Doom.
Thee only we serve; to Thee alone we pray for succor. Guide us in the straight path, the path of those whom Thou hast blessed, not of those against whom Thou art wrathful, nor of those who are astray."
Koran 1: 1-7
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1999.12.31
c2 Dawn
He awoke in darkness. There was no sound, and no immediate clue as to where he lay. But the bed was comfortable. He drew a deep breath. The subtle smell of nothing and no one confirmed he was home.
He groped for his watch. Its hands glowed dimly suggesting 10:30. Something was very wrong. He turned the timepiece upside down - the right way up. 4:00am. - That made more sense.
A dim, grey light made it's way through the window defining vague shapes to avoid.
He swung his legs around and gingerly placed his feet on the ground.
He moved his head carefully from side to side and rubbed his neck. Everything felt stiff. He got up slowly and simultaneously groaned. He moved to the window, leaned on the sill and stared for a few moments at the ice crystals that had formed. They shone brightly with the moonlight that danced through their intricate geometric shapes.
His eyes turned to the trees. Black, with insect like limbs. The starkness of their appearance softened only in those closer by the layer of fine, hard snow that covered the countryside.
He missed his wife. He missed the warmth of her body, the smell of her hair, the gentleness of her touch. The last time he stood staring from the window like this it hadn't been long before he felt the embrace of her arms around him, her head on his shoulder, and their shared contemplation of the future - together. But no caress warmed him now. His soul lived in the singular. Cold, and more often than not, alone.
She had died - suddenly. A pause, a look in the wrong direction at the wrong time. Just one fleeting, stupid moment, and nothing. Her life was gone. She was gone.
He strained now to see her. He never wanted to forget the way she looked, the way she really was. Not in the shadows of pictures or videos, but in life. Vibrant, colourful life.
Sometimes it was difficult to remember. More often than not it was difficult to forget. He opened his eyes and the grey predawn smothered him, holding him to its wintry bosom. He opened the window to a rush of snow and despair that chilled his skin.
He watched his breath as he blew through the suspended life that was winter. He was still alive and today he would try and leave the memory of a death so close to him so very far behind.
He would not sleep again until the new millennium, for the day about to begin was the last of the twentieth century.
He shut the window and flicked on the lights. He had found that a hundred watts scares most ghosts away - even wanted ones. He blinked into the charm of the electric day and ran his fingers through his hair.
Bags stood packed in the corner, his passport and tickets on the table nearby.
He made his way to the kitchen and filled a machine with liquids and solids. With too much commotion for such an early time the machine spluttered to life. After a minute or so, and with a crescendo of huffing and puffing, the unit finished its task by producing the natural stimulant enjoyed by so many.
He sat with his cappuccino and pondered the future. His future. He had booked the flight with his wife seven years ago. A long time past just to guarantee a seat, but they were lucky even then that there were two cancellations, for this was the flight of a lifetime. They would travel across six time zones, celebrating the new millennium three times and returning to Nice for New Year's Day. It would be comfortable there. Not hot, but warm, and the forecast was for a clear, sunny day. He looked forward to tomorrow. It would be the start of his new life.
Some of the most serious New Year's resolutions would be made tonight. Hundreds of millions of people wanted a fresh start of their own, and what better way to delineate and define it than that stroke of a midnight that would cut between the millennia of past and future.
That moment would take all that was painful, wrong or forgettable and place it in the time capsule that was the past - two thousand years past.
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1999.12.31 05:00 G.M.T.
c3 Information
He pushed a button and broke the predawn silence with the satellite news. Live pictures of myriad gatherings of hundreds of thousands of people around the world, all apparently waiting for its end, greeted him.
Where it was still dark, many groups held candles and moved in waves to songs or chants. It was disturbing and beautiful at the same time. Just like any other day, no one was sure what tomorrow would bring, but today the uncertainty was more certain.
He sat and watched as they switched from country to country, talking to the various organizers, hearing the many different reasons the world would end with the morrow.
Stonehenge had already attracted over sixty thousand with thousands more arriving every hour. The organizer was young and convinced, as was most of the crowd.
A neo-hippie stood, somewhat disheveled, in what looked to be some sort of hemp sack clothing talking to millions of viewers.
"I really didn't believe it myself until a few months ago, but if you look at the predictions of those more knowledgeable than us, Nostradamus for one, you'll see the truth. The world will end. Only hours from now. None of us can escape it. So we're here, together. There's some comfort in that."
"What are you going to do if the world doesn't end?"
"It will?But?"
"Yes?"
"Well, we don't know exactly when, because God might not be in sync with Greenwich, or even our calendar, so, if it hasn't ended by noon, I guess we're going to go home, because our permit expires then."
"Thanks Roger. I've been speaking with Roger Willet, organizer of today's 'Enders' vigil at Stonehenge, over to you Jerry."
"Thanks Victor. So there we are, we'v
e taken a quick look at just a handful of the thousands of groups around the globe waiting for the end of the world, as we know it. We will keep you up to date on this, the ongoing event of a lifetime, as the day goes on, but now to today's other headlines. The Y2K bug..."
The news continued but the sound was mute to his thoughts. His mind had drifted, triggered by the gatherings he had just witnessed, to a question of his own philosophy.
He never thought of himself as a fatalist, until the death of Diana. Not his wife but Diana, Princess of Wales. It had seemed to him that her death was almost preordained. From the moment she was born she had been led down a path that was not of her making and from which she could not escape. With her wedding day, that path only became more defined. She could only live through the life that had been given her, guided and pursued by others to her final fate.
Since that time he had believed more strongly in destiny than before, yet he was still determined that he had a say, and could make a difference, at least along the way, even if the final destination remained the same. His wife's death had brought different feelings. With no justification, other than the passing wind of fate, his faith had been shaken. In the empty years that followed he had become an agnostic verging on atheist.
There had been revelation in that he found nothing spiritual about his wife's death. He believed that there could be no level of being that could make it a 'good' thing, or the 'right' thing. To pass that mystery to a greater power was to lean on faith as a crutch. A simple way to explain away the pain of the needless, of the pointless, and of the terrible.
As a hundred, no, as a thousand times before he put the pain away, to forget - at least for now - and perhaps for today.
Enough. There was time to attend to. He began by making the requisite calls, e-mails and faxes to family and friends that the occasion dictated. Several times he encountered the 'network busy' signals that plagued all methods of communication on this day. So many people reminding so many others that even if they couldn't be with them, they cared. And, even if they didn't, they would show themselves to. A political and family necessity.
By the early afternoon he had completed his task. He spent the rest of the day taking a walk by the river that flowed peacefully nearby. The hard snow of the night was beginning to melt, and its texture had changed, as if a mood. It was a hazy, almost foggy day, especially near the water. He watched the swans feeding and preening. Majestic and elegant in their ignorance. This day was no different to them than any other winter's day. They went about their lives without quest or reason other than to live and reproduce. This, surely, was all that was meant, a purity of being that mankind had sought - through his over active imagination - to hide. He walked and pondered, his mind drifting from serious and moody to elation. The sun was trying hard to break through the mist. He returned home at just past five looking forward very much to the next twenty-four hours. He wouldn't mind trying a little reproduction of his own. And with that delightful object in mind, he filled the kettle and made himself a cup of tea.
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1999.12.31 17:55 G.M.T.
c4 Departure
At a few minutes to six the car arrived to take him to the airport. The driver loaded his bags, and held the door waiting for him to enter. He paused for a moment and looked around. It was a strange thing to do really. He'd be back in a few days, and now he found himself looking at his home as if he might never see it again.
"Sir?"
"Yes? Sorry."
The driver held the door open for him, as his duty dictated.
He smiled weakly at the chauffeur and seated himself. The door shut and in a few moments they had pulled away.
He usually spoke to the driver, just idle chitchat, but it was sometimes quite interesting. Drivers rarely turned out to be career chauffeurs. Quite often they had a story to tell, how they were in between management positions, or had had a business that had fallen on hard times. Sometimes the stories were funny, sometimes sad, but in truth or fiction, they always passed the time for both. Today he did not speak. He stared from the window and watched the passing lights come and go. He'd pick one in the distance and track it, watching it become brighter as it grew closer and apparently faster, till it was upon him - and gone. His thoughts ran again to his wife. But it was not what she would have wanted for him this day - to think of sorrow and pain. He asked for the volume to be increased, to drown his thoughts in music. The driver glimpsed at him for a moment in the rear view mirror, and made the adjustment. He shut his eyes and let the harmonies wash over him. For the second time in as many hours his mood made the convoluted journey back to expectation and hope.
Thirty-five minutes after the car door closed it was opened.
"British Airways, terminal three sir, Concorde check in is through the doors to the right. If you'd like to wait here for a moment I'll fetch a porter for your bags."
"It's okay, I'll take them myself."
The chauffeur wasn't about to argue.
"Very well sir."
He'd already taken two twenty-pound notes from his pocket and now presented them. The driver began to search his pocket for change.
"That's fine."
"Thank you very much sir, and a happy Millie to you."
"To you too."
It always sounded strange to him like, the return of an insult. "The same to you" seemed even worse, so he used the simplest response, if not the most elegant.
He hadn't needed a porter because it seemed to him that for a shoulder bag and another carry on, it would be the height of decadence and laziness. Not that the trip itself wasn't unnecessary, but it was an extravagance he had allowed himself.
He made his way through the doors and glanced around. The terminal didn't seem overly busy, but it wasn't quiet either. It always amazed him how many people were reported to travel on holidays like Christmas and New Years, but even with the expectation, the sight seemed odd. Surely, on this night, the last of the millennium, people would be with their loved ones, or, if they had no one, try and find a place to celebrate, or, perhaps, to be even more alone. What was so important that they travelled tonight? Apparently oblivious to the potential danger of the Y2K bug, every person in his presence had determined that the importance of their own trip outweighed the potential risk to their life. Every person he could see had a reason and story. Of that he was sure.
He soon located the Concorde check-in counter, for tonight, in dramatic contrast to its usual appearance, it was the busiest of all. Five of the seven Concordes in the fleet would fly the same route this evening.
Busy as it was, within just a few minutes he'd been greeted and ushered through to the lounge. He couldn't help staring at some of the airline attendants, and wondering about all the people who had to work this night. How could they? The papers were reporting people being paid ten times and more than their normal rate to work tonight. But then, with such rewards, how could many not? After all, was it really so important to be with their loved ones to usher in the 'New Time' as he'd heard it referred to more and more frequently? Finishing his thought he glanced around the room, looking for familiar faces. Celebrities - movie stars, perhaps.
'Yes, there's...Hmm I can never remember his name, and there's Melanie Hanson...Well, maybe.' he thought to himself.
Several other faces seemed vaguely familiar, probably they were well known, but who, in the age of information overload generated by an unbelievable array of media, could keep track of them all? He was too busy with his own life to give more than a passing thought to such things, but still, there weren't too many obviously famous people on the flight. Maybe they too were doing the things ordinary people were indulging in this night.
'Why am I looking for celebrities? They're probably at cult gatherings.' He indulged himself for a few more minutes in similar playful, meaningless and drifting mind fillers.
What he didn't give a thought to was who would be seated next to him. The seat was worth a small f
ortune, but he couldn't bring himself to sell it, and the emotional baggage that it carried was too much to share with anyone he knew. So it would remain empty - his tribute.
The check-in had been very early, considering the flight would not take off until 23:15, but there was much organization, and checking of passengers was particularly stringent tonight. So, a special area with a beautifully catered dinner had been arranged for those flying, so that they might get to know a little about with those they would be sharing several New Years with - one or two, perhaps, at more than the speed of sound.
As soon as the security checks had been completed the guests were ushered into the dining area. Upon entering the lounge, they were welcomed with a choice of fine Champagnes and offered a variety of hors d'oeuvres. Once everyone was with glass, an elegant young lady, with immaculate navy blue uniform, and matching hat, which was very obviously British Airways, but cut of a different quality, made her way to an announcement microphone.