One More Sunday - One More Sunday Part 56
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One More Sunday Part 56

' "Old buddy, you are not going to attract top talent for that project. I'm sorry. You are dealing here with dedicated and intellectual people. These sects, these electronic ministries, give far too strong a suggestion of trading on ignorance, fear, bigotry.. , you name it. If it isn't in the Book, it ain't so.

Believe, or you'll plain go to hell. Evolution is only a theory, they say. The six men I dealt with know that evolution is a fact.

They know about the fossil sea creatures atop Everest, about ferns captured in stone two billion years ago. Every surgeon who has dissected the body of a human being has seen the faint traces in the throat structure of what were once gills a few million years ago, before we came up out of the sea. These men know that the Holy Bible is a great document, that the teachings of Christ are eternal, as are the teachings of Buddha and Mohammed. But they also know that it has been translated and retranslated so many times, many portions of it are so vague and muddy that unscrupulous men can interpret it in any way that suits their ambitions of the moment.

' "These are the top people, Finn, and they cannot afford to compromise their reputations and their futures by becoming entangled with those Meadows people and their anti intellectual message. They are too wary of some of the precepts of that particular sect coming in conflict with sound medical practice. They do not wish to endanger the peer respect and confidence they now have. You and I know that almost a quarter of the people in this great nation can't read or write.

That gives men like the Meadows great scope to use fear, superstition and false hope as their leverage. If you can lower your sights and go second class, I can find you some imposing hacks who will jump at the chance. But your geriatric medical complex will never be first class under their guidance.

' "I followed through on your suggestion of re contacting them on the basis that the complex would be located at least ten miles from Meadows Center, and would not have Eternal or Believer or Meadows in the name. But they said that made no difference in their decision. They wanted no part of it.

Sorry, fella. Let me know what you want me to try next." ' John Tinker held his hand out.

"Let me see that!"

Finn handed it to him. He read it, frowning, handed it back and said, "This Jew Commie bastard heretic is a close friend of yours?"

"Willis has been a good friend for a long time. I've never had any occasion to wonder about his politics or his religion."

They're cute, you know. They develop wonderful cover stories."

"Cover story or not, you can depend on him to tell the truth, to give you the facts, regardless of how they might hurt. You realize that he could have tried to ring in a hack by puffing up his reputation. When I was thinking of taking the offer here, Willis advised against it."

z65 "Did he, now?"

"I came here because it was a challenge. And I have no standing in the scientific community to protect. I had never seen or heard of any organization in such a dynamic state of growth that was so totally devoid of controls, of any administrative know-how."

"And because the money was very good. Don't forget the money, Finn."

"You never believe me when I say it just isn't all that important to me. I like being paid what I am worth, and I enjoy living well, but I came with you people because I'm neat. I hate all unnecessary confusion. And I wondered if it was possible to create order out of total chaos merely by managing the people properly."

"Not exactly chaos."

"John, take my word for it. You do not have the background to be able to see just how bad it was, just how many simultaneous disasters this operation was heading for."

"Funny what a different impression I have, Finn. We were getting along. We had loyal and devoted people working for us. The contributions were flowing in. My father was building the Church tall and strong. Neither of us had time for all the little details, so we went out and bought us a man who could take that burden off our shoulders. I can't recall any threats of chaos."

Finn leaned back and gave him a lazy smile.

"You know, John, you may just be right after all. A man can get so stale in a job he loses his perspective. Maybe I have an exaggerated opinion of my own importance. I think I'd like to take a leave of absence. Say a year."

"You could make it permanent if that's what you want."

"We'll know better what each of us wants after the year is up."

"By the time the year is up we will have a man of the first quality here directing the building of the medical complex."

"I hope so. I think I can get away in thirty days. I'll find a good man to run the store for you."

"Finn, old friend, I don't want to put you out like that. I want you to start enjoying your long vacation as soon as possible.

And living well on that money you've saved. I'm sure Harold Sherman can handle the odds and ends."

Finn Efflander hesitated, torn between loyalty to his organization and his people, and a dirty glee at what he thought might happen at Meadows Center under Harold Sherman.

Character won, and he said, "I don't think Sherman is right for the job."

John Tinker Meadows got up from behind the great desk.

"We had the judgment to pick you, Finn. I think we have the judgment to pick the man who'll fill in for you or replace you, whatever the fates decide. Drop us a card from some island resort, please. We all want to stay in touch with you, of course."

After Finn left, John Tinker Meadows looked over at the wall at the familiar photograph of Matthew Meadows standing beside General Dwight D. Eisenhower at some ceremonial occasion. The General was holding a salute and the preacher had his hat in his left hand and his right hand over his heart.

He remembered his father telling him what he did in moments of stress and confusion. He started to flip the Book open at random. It was the Oxford Bible, handsomely bound in heavy leather, one of the many gifts his father had received. But instead he turned to a familiar passage. His finger came to rest on the fifth chapter, seventeenth verse of Galatians.

"For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh:

and these are contrary the one to the other; so that ye cannot do the things that ye would."

He closed it and took the more familiar Jerusalem Bible and turned to the same verse.

"Let me put it like this: if you are guided by the Spirit you will be in no danger of self-indulgence, since self-indulgence is the opposite of the Spirit, the Spirit is totally against such a thing, and it is precisely because the two are so opposed that you do not always carry out your good intentions." He read on.

"If you are led by the Spirit, no law can touch you. When self-indulgence is at work the results are obvious: fornication, gross indecency and sexual irresponsibility; idolatry and sorcery; feuds and wrangling, jealousy, bad temper and quarrels; disagreements, factions, envy; drunkenness, orgies and similar things. I warn you now as I warned you before: those who behave like this will not inherit the kingdom of God."

He came out from behind the desk and walked slowly through the long conference room and into his suite. He walked into the bathroom and stared into the mirror and fingered his crust of beard, hearing the scratchy sound it made.

He thought he should take a shower. His body felt stale.

By habit long ingrained, after he had stripped, he lowered himself to the cool tile floor for the series of push-ups. But after three he let himself settle naked against the tiles, cool against his chest, belly and groin. He thought about Molly. He thought about her being hurled up into the air when her car tripped over. He tried to feel pity, sorrow, loss. There was nothing. So he tried to feel relief, gladness, relaxation. Still nothing. He created the most vivid pictures of her in his mind, trying to create at the very least some faint visceral stir of longing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

He rolled up onto his knees, and with hands in front of his chest, palms pressed together, chin down, eyes closed, he said, "Father in heaven, please tell me what is wrong with me."

It was a long time since he had tried any kind of direct prayer. He had prayed, but it had been an easy, practiced thing, words without any anticipation of an answer. Always before when he had tried direct prayer, there had been a kind of an answer. There had been somewhere in his consciousness a resonance, as if his own words echoed in the back of his skull, and in their echoing they set up a sympathetic resonance with some part of his spirit, giving him comfort and the sense of having been heard.

This time his words were totally flat. They seemed to rise to a place not more than six inches above his" head, and were there deadened and dispersed, as if absorbed by a slab of cork. He looked up at the light fixture in the center of the ceiling and said loudly, "Father, please tell me what has gone wrong!"

But no one heard. No one was listening. The hoarse sounds died without echo or emphasis. All his life he had thought of himself as being alone. But not like this. Not so totally alone.

Not so totally empty. Not this close to death.

"Paul!" he whispered. But Paul was gone too. Along with Poppa and all the rest of them. Paul had looked up to him. And this had made him a better person than he was.

Lieutenant Coombs and Sergeant Slovik of the SBI sat in Mrs. Holroyd's living room amid the overfurnished clutter of forty years of marriage and eight years of widowhood. The draperies were drawn to close out the heat and sunlight, and in the gloom a large ceiling fan turned slowly.

"I know what they're saying," she said, 'but they don't say it in front of me more than one time. Moses is a gentle person."

"But you said he has seemed different lately."