The Body Departed

“Oh, him,” I said dismissively.

But Christ pushed on. “He’s a real piece of work, I know, but he’s coming along. Making some great progress, truly evolving.”

“Look, Jesus. I mean no disrespect, but I could give a damn—”

But Christ plunged forward, cutting me off. “He has a girl dying of cancer. Bob really needs this job, and he really needs this show to be a hit. If this show takes off, he can give his little girl the care she’s going to need.”

“And that’s an excuse for him acting like an asshole?” I asked.

“Yes and no,” said Christ.

But my mind was still on burning beds, burning caves, burning devils laughing at my misery. I thought of pain. Eternal pain.

“If I’m going to hell,” I said, changing the subject, “then I’d rather stay here, in this church, and lose my mind.”

“That’s your choice, too,” said Christ.

“Good. Then that’s what I choose.”

“So be it,” said Christ.

“Just like that?” I said.

“Yes, just like that.”

We were silent some more, but I found his words tumbling through my nonskull. “Wait. You said I could choose to experience death any way I want.”

“I did indeed.”

“But you also just said I was going straight to hell.”

“And you were, until you just decided otherwise. I believe your choice was to haunt this church and lose your mind. Admittedly, it wouldn’t be my first choice, but to each his own.”

“Then why did you say I was going to hell?” I asked.

“Because you were going to hell, James. You had already condemned yourself there.”

“I don’t understand.”

“In death, the soul experiences what the soul wants to experience.”

“But I didn’t want to go to hell.”

“True enough. But you condemned yourself there anyway.”

“But I was told there was a heaven and a hell.”

“You were told wrong.”

I sat back, stunned. “But I was told by you, in the Bible, and by my priests, everyone.”

“My words were misconstrued.”

“I think you’re the Devil,” I said suddenly.

“You may think what you want, my son, but the path you are on surely leads to hell.”

“Fuck.”

“You can say that again.”

But I didn’t. Instead, I was mulling over his words. “And what would happen if I chose not to believe you?” I asked. “What would happen if I really did go to hell?”

“Well, then I would imagine you would be highly uncomfortable.”

“And when I was done being uncomfortable?”

“Then you would leave,” he said, patting my hand, “and go to your intended home.”

“Intended home?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“What kind of home?”

“Let’s call it a place of healing. A place of respite. You need a lot of healing, my son.”

He patted my hand again, and his warmth radiated through me, and I suddenly wanted to hug him, whoever he was.

“Then hug me,” he said.

And so I did. I hugged him with all the strength I had, I hugged him with all my heart and soul, I hugged the man I had been raised to love and to worship. I hugged the man who was even now giving my heart hope.

While I hugged him, he whispered into my ear, “My son, heaven awaits.”

And that’s when I wept.

45

“You have other questions for me,” said Christ.

Morning light came through the stained-glass windows and alighted on him. His skin shone milky white, pure, untouched. He had an elbow propped up on the back of the pew.

“I do,” I said. “Just a few.”

He looked at me steadily, love in his eyes, a touch of humor. “You want to know if I answer prayers. If so, you want to know why I seem to answer some prayers and ignore others. You want to know if I did indeed perform all those miracles in the Bible. If so, you want to know how I performed all those miracles in the Bible. You want to know all of this and more. Much, much more.”

“No,” I said. “I just want to know if the Lakers will win this year.”

He burst out laughing, slapping my shoulder. His hand, amazingly, did not pass through my shoulder. It was a real slap. Real touch. Real interaction.

“Not this year,” he answered, “but soon.”

I savored his touch. Savored his laughter. I felt like a son sitting next to his father, like a younger brother sitting next to his older brother, a friend sitting next to his best friend—all rolled into one.

“Yes,” I said, when the laughter had subsided. “Yes, I have all those questions and more.”

“Then I ask you to wait for the answers. Your answers will come soon enough. All of them and more.”

I sighed and nodded.

He asked, “Would you care to know why you experienced my touch just now?”

“Yes.”

“Because you chose to, James. You wanted to feel my touch, and so you did.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

“Just like that.”

He leaned back on both elbows and closed his eyes and seemed to relish the warmth coming from the colorful beams of sunlight. I had a sense he had not taken a human form in quite a while.

I said, “I’m going to have to journey through the tunnel.”

He nodded. “That would be your first step, yes.”

“But I have business here,” I said. “Unfinished business. With the boy and his brother.”

Christ regarded me with his dark-brown eyes, and some of the humor left, replaced by deep love and even deeper concern. “Ah, yes, Jacob,” he said. “May I ask a favor of you, James?”

“Of course.”

“Will you help me bring him home? He trusts you, you know.”

“But I killed him.”

“You are going to have to ask for his forgiveness.”

“Will he forgive me?”

“Try him. He’s a good kid.”

A wave of new guilt threatened to overwhelm me. I fought it back. “I’ll do my best to bring him…home.”

“It’s okay to feel guilty,” said Christ. “You did end his life, James. But his life was not ended prematurely. Remember that. The two of you are bound together, to the very end—or at least to the end of this story.”

“And where does this story end?”