Chapter Fourteen

   CHRIS sat up in bed and looked at the blanketed form across the room. Manly Hooper lay inert. Rising, Chris walked to the window, with a rather stiff ankle. He squinted at the sunshine of a clear mountain morning and saw campers in bright jackets already lining up under the tin roof for their bacon and eggs and toast. Something in the distance caught his eye: a familiar black Chevelle parked by a cabin. Sure enough, there was Ernie Van Gelst walking toward the mess hall, chatting with Carol and David. Pulling on a pair of pants and a jacket and jamming his feet into his shoes, Chris ran a hand through his hair and stepped outside.

   "Ernie!" he called.

   Van Gelst came toward him, the young people following.

   "How are you getting on, Anders?" he asked, shaking hands.

   "Still operating, though I don't quite know how. Welcome to the Delectable Mountains."

   "Yes. And congratulations to you on getting through Pridesburg."

   "We lost a wonderful man there," said Chris, the tone of his voice changing.

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   "Let's get the priorities straight," replied Van Gelst evenly. "That was no loss, it was pure gain. A revival has broken out at the Fair since you left as a result of Ness's testimony."

   "It's very exciting," said Carol. "We heard it over the radio. I just pray that my mother and sister were reached."

   "What do you mean, revival?" asked Chris.

   ''Why, people have been going to church and interrupting the Black Mass by singing Gospel choruses they've learned over station WEAL. They've been standing outside the Temple of Lucifer, shouting 'Praise the Lord!' and passing out New Testaments and inviting people to receive Christ. It was so serious that martial law had to be declared."

   "I miss Rusty,'' said Chris simply.

   "You're going to miss some other friends, too." Van Gelst turned to the young people. "You folks can take off after prayer if you like. I'll be dropping in on you farther along. Got plenty of fuel?"

   "These don't take much," said David, patting his Honda with a grin.

   "Where are you sending them?" Chris wanted to know.

   "To the transmitter," said Van Gelst briefly.

   "Without any breakfast?"

   "We're all fed and filled and ready to go, sir," reported David, testing the lashing of his gear. "I've been there once," explained Carol, "but I'm going back with Dave."

   By now Carol's father had emerged from the cabin

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and there was a half-hour of prayers and farewells all around. As the Hondas buzzed off, Van Gelst left to see some other converts of the night before, and Chris and Manly retired to the cabin to shave. Later on as they were enjoying their coffee under the tin roof, their friend rejoined them and they began raising questions.

   "It's all good road," Van Gelst assured them, ''but you will still have problems. Basically it's the same thing you have had to contend with along the line. It's the problem that tied up Hooper in Pridesburg for two years."

   "What's that?" asked Manly.

   "Your heart. Yourself." A New Testament came out of the breast pocket. "I'm going to give you a verse to help you. It's in Romans, chapter 9, verse 16: 'So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy.' ''

   "Now you've given it to us," said Chris, "tells us what it means."

   "It means you can't make it on your own." Van Gelst rose. "Sorry, gentlemen, I just spotted another candidate for the transmitter." He reached in his pocket for two verse cards and handed one to Chris and the other to Manly. "Use these when you go through the gate at Life City. God in your heart!"

   Within a short while the Mustang was back on the road with Hooper at the wheel and Chris sitting alongside, munching a pear and studying the cross-references in his Bible. They came to a turning just as Chris looked up.

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   "What did the sign say?" he asked.

   "I noticed it just as we passed," Manly replied. "Guess I was thinking about Mary Anne. I believe it said DETOUR, meaning to bear right, but I'm not sure. Shall I go back and look?"

   'OK, but we can't turn around here," said Chris. "Keep right and we'll go on to the next fly-over." The road continued to unroll before them, and Chris went back for the moment to his studying. "Willeth. . . . runneth. . . . sheweth mercy,'' he muttered. "I hope I can figure out something about that before we run into trouble."

   ''Think fast," said Hooper, swinging over to the shoulder. "We're in trouble now."

   A siren uttered a low growl behind them as Chris turned around to discover bright red lights flashing at him. His heart leaped to his larynx. "What did we do?" he wondered.

   "Nothing," said Manly. "Don't move. Make him come to us."

   A husky, uniformed officer got out of the patrol car and walked over. "May I see your licence, please?" he asked Hooper. He examined the document and handed it back. "Pridesburg police, eh? I'll ask you to follow me into the township. We turn off at the next turning."

   "You've written no ticket," Manly pointed out. "There has been no traffic violation."

   "This is the township of DeSpare," said the officer sternly. "All roads here are private roads. You are trespassing. Follow me."

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   They trailed the police car to the turning and then to a small settlement where they drew up before a one floor civic building marked TOWN HALL. Here they were ushered into a courtroom where a uniformed bailiff bade them be seated. The policeman took up guard duty at the floor. After a few minutes an old man entered the room through a door at the front. He carried a large, thick book and a gavel, and used the latter to pound the table three times. Chris and Manly and the bailiff stood up.

   "This honourable court of the township of DeSpare," intoned the clerk, "is now in session. Justice Korah T. Failing, presiding."

   At this point the front door opened again, and a small, youngish blackhaired man with a shoebrush moustache entered the room. He wore his robes loosely, and upon assuming his seat at the bench he began lighting a pipe. "What's the charge?" he asked.

   "Usual," replied the clerk, reading a note the patrolman had handed him. "Driving through the township of DeSpare without authorization."

   Judge Failing smiled what seemed to Chris a villainous smile. "Anywhere else, gentlemen," he said, "this would be a trivial matter, but the township of DeSpare operates under its own unique legal code. Grave crimes here are lightly considered, while small infractions receive heavy penalties." He puffed a while. "You could draw a life sentence for this offence. How do you plead?"

   "Not guilty," Chris and Manly both answered.

   "It doesn't matter. We are going to hold you without

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bail for a while, not to investigate but to assist in your mental conditioning. Next week we'll see how you are coming. Court is adjourned."

   The jail turned out to be a cell block in the basement. The bailiff escorted them down and delivered them to a massive, dull-looking young man who informed them that there would be no food or water till next day, so there was no point in asking for it. The heavy door at the foot of the stairs clanged shut, and they were left to grope in the near-blackness. Eventually they found two beds slung from the wall, and sat down for a conference.

   "Well, here we are, Paul and Silas," said Manly.

   "But just five hours ago I was feeling so good," complained Chris. "I was full of toast and coffee, and thought everything was going the way the Lord wanted it."

   At ten o'clock next morning the dull young man opened the door to the cell block. "My orders are," he said, "not to feed you but to beat you up." There followed a frightful half-hour in which the huge jailer, armed with a rubber hose, belted both men into senselessness despite their valiant efforts to defend themselves. The fact that visibility was so poor made the nightmare even worse. At last the jailer withdrew, leaving them broken and prostrate on the floor, and locked the door behind him.

   On Monday morning, two days later, the prisoners were brought upstairs to the courtroom. Having received no nourishment since their incarceration, both men felt faint and weak. They were also blinded

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by the light in the room. After Judge Failing entered and court was convened, chairs were provided and they were permitted to sit down. The magistrate puffed his pipe and studied them, the same smile on his face.

   "How are you coming in your thinking?" he asked.

   "Sir," whispered Hooper, "whatever the offence was that we committed, we believe we have served our sentence. We would ask to be released."

   Judge Failing shook his head. "You don't get the message," he said. "This is not really a jail, it is a school. You are going through a learning experience. What I am interested in is, have you been absorbing it?"

   "We have had no food or water," said Chris hoarsely. "We have been horribly beaten, but no one has looked after our injuries. We have been subjected to treatment far worse than animals. Is that what you are trying to teach us?"

   "Precisely," said the smiling judge. "If you are as comfortable as possible I will now discuss your case with you. We are quite aware, you see, that you two are pilgrims on your way to Life City. You thought in fact that you had just about arrived. Now if we seem to be using relatively harsh measures during your sojourn in DeSpare, let me assure you our basic purpose is altruistic. We wish to make clear that you are not angels, but animals—or let us say, natural creatures. You are, as the Bible says, born of the flesh, and the gulf between spirit and flesh is so vast that none of us will ever cross it.

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   "You have entertained high hopes of getting to Heaven, gentlemen, but they are earthly hopes. They were fabricated out of the molecular action of your brains. You imagined that you could drive your little yellow car right through the gates of St. Peter, with children strewing flowers in your path. Now the aim of this court is to bring you back to reality by demonstrating that the flesh is totally inadequate to make it into the Kingdom of God; that it has always been so and always will be. Even while you turn your mind to thoughts about the Kingdom, you see, your real nature is lusting for satisfaction and enjoyment. We do not consider this bad, nor it is good; it is simply a fact of life.

   'Let's take the defendant Anders here as an illustration. I know sir, that, you are rather confused by the things that have been happening to you on this journey. You are like a rudderless wreck on the high seas. You don't know what's going on or where you stand. If I were to ask you point-black, 'Are you a Christian?' you would probably answer, 'I think so,' or, 'I hope so.' Wouldn't you, now?"

   "I—'' began Chris.

   "Of course you would. But if I were to ask you, 'Do you drink water through your mouth?' (assuming we give you some water), or if I should ask you, 'Do you hear through your ears?' there would be no hesitation in your answer. That is because you are by nature not spiritual at all, but biological. Millions upon millions of years ago your ancestors were crawling through the primeval slime along the equator, looking

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for unicellular life to feed upon. And that, essentially, is all you are. Now tell me, Mr. Anders, how can an organism that has emerged out of such an environment—a blob, if you please—aspire to a spiritual level of existence? It simply doesn't make sense. If I may quote the Bible, the leopard cannot change its spots.

   "It's easy to pretend you are a spiritual type, Mr. Anders, and I believe you have been doing a lot of pretending on this journey. You have taken on the protective colouration of those around you. That, too, is a biological behaviour pattern. But now the string has run out; you have landed in the township of DeSpare, and it is our job to establish the triumph of the flesh—"

   "We are nothing like what you say," interrupted Manly Hooper. ''We are children of God."

   "Silence in the court!" roared the bailiff.

   Judge Failing shrugged his shoulders. "Who isn't? You are a part of the natural order. Dogs, elephants, mosquitos, the fish in the sea, all are children of God. When you forget this you are in trouble, as you are now. Why is it that one of man's oldest yearnings is to want to be immortal? He invents his gods and his messiahs and his heavenly palaces because he cannot endure to be locked into the prison of his flesh. He thinks he is terribly important, therefore he decides to be a child of God, so he can live for ever. But I am here to teach you the truth of the matter. Do you know what the secret of life is?" He got up from his bench and walked around to where the prisoners were seated.

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   "Hold out your hand," he said quietly to Chris.

   Chris looked dubiously at Manly, whereupon the bailiff bellowed at him. "Hold out yer hand like his honour said!" Chris obliged; and the judge promptly knocked the hot ashes from his pipe into the prisoner's openpalm. Chris gasped and pulled back, shaking his hand.

   "You see," said the judge, going back to his bench and taking out his tobacco pouch, "that is the real answer. The secret of life is death. We all die, for we are all mortal. Now the question is, how do we get the mastery over death? By letting it creep up on us and choke us with a wasting disease, or by going forth boldly to meet it?" He reached into a drawer of his bench and took out two small vials. "I want you gentlemen to face the issue squarely. You are not going to make it to Life City because you do not have the qualifications or credentials. As your apostle put it, "They that are in the flesh cannot please God." We have made you painfully aware that you are in your bodies, and you are not about to climb out of them into some ectoplasmic existence.

   "You can try, and try, and try to make it into Life City; you can think all the holy thoughts you want; you can memorize your Bible and spend every waking moment praying; you can be baptized the whole length of the Jordan River, but it will do no good. You simply do not have what it takes. Tell me, gentlemen, what could God do with you in Life City, with all your selfish, lustful and vindictive ideas? With all your pride and vanity? You would be the blind trying to lead the blind.

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   "But," Judge Failing smiled again, "we are going to give you a way out. Inside each of these vials is a small needle. We are going to send you back to your cell and invite you, sometime between now and tomorrow morning, to break the seal and to prick your skin. That's all you need to do; just prick yourself anywhere with that needle. In twenty seconds it will be all over. In that way you will make yourself a conqueror of the natural order. You will achieve your mastery over life. Believe me, gentlemen, it is the only way for you."

   The bailiff stepped over, picked up the vials and held them out to Chris and Manly. "Take them," he said menacingly. They did.

   "Now before court is adjourned," said the justice, "let me add one more warning. Your young friend Mr. Doubts, who worked you over the other day, will be back down to see you bright and early tomorrow. If I were you I'd give him the slip before then. You now have the means to do so." He rose and left the room, and the prisoners were returned to their cell block, where they fell into an exhausted sleep.

   "Well," said Chris several hours later, as they sat in the darkness, "it looks as if he's right. The string has run out. I don't think I can take another beating."

   "Before I forget it," said Manly, "give me your vial."

   "Why?"

   "Because the Bible says, 'Thou shalt not kill,' and that means we're not to take our own lives either."

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   Chris slowly handed over the vial, and Manly smashed them both against the wall of the cell.

   "Got your all-prayer button?" asked Manly.

   "Nope," said Chris. "I must have lost it in that fight. You know"—he cleared his throat—"if we don't get some water by tomorrow, I won't be able to talk."

   "I've been thinking about that verse," said Manly.

   "What verse?"

   "Ernie's verse. 'Not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy.' "

   "Have you figured out what it means?"

   "Well, it kept coming to me while that bird was lecturing us in court. It says the same thing he was saying, in a way. We can't make it on our own strength. If we get there, it will be by the grace of God. I think Paul was talking about the cross —something done for us that we couldn't do for ourselves."

   "So all our good intentions end in disaster. Like when the transmission goes out in the Mustang."

   "Or the universal joint," nodded Manly.

   "But it doesn't matter, because it's God who brings us to Himself. He provides the transportation. That it?"

   "That's it," said Manly.

   Chris stood up and began to pace back and forth in the cell. "This whole thing is ridiculous, being in here," he said.

   "How do you mean?"

   "I mean we had no business on earth letting ourselves get drawn into a deal like this. What's the name

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of this judge? Failing! What's the name of this place? DeSpare! What's the name of this jailer? Doubts! You and I are not working for these clowns. We belong to the Lord! The only reason they've got us stuck away is that we let ourselves be put here. Isn't that right?"

   "I don't know about that," said Manly. "Last time I tried that cell door it was pretty solid metal."

   "Think, man, think! cried Chris. "We've got to use our skulls. Doesn't the New Testament say something about God making a way to escape?"

   "Yes, but I've forgotten the verse."

   "All right, let's go over some of the Psalms. There's one, I think, that says, 'In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.' "

   "That's not the Psalms, that's Proverbs," said Manly. "But there is a Psalm that says, 'I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.' ''

   "That's the idea. We're just not going to stay here, that's all. We're moving out. Keep coming now. Let's have another."

   " 'Teach me Thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies.' ''

   "What's that in?"

   "The Twenty-seventh Psalm. It was always my favourite, even in Pridesburg. Listen to this: 'The Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?' "

   "Man, that's all we need. Now look, you've got some keys in your pocket, haven't you?"

   "Not for that lock."

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   "How do you know? Have you tried them?"

   Manly rose slowly and went over to the door. "Try these, too," said Chris, holding out a set. "They took my car keys, but I always carry a spare."

   The barred jail door was secured by a small lock that operated from the outside. By reaching through the grillwork, Hooper could insert a key, but in each case it failed even to penetrate the lock.

   ''I noticed this lock when we first came in," he said. "It's a Yale. Nothing else will work."

   "Let's not quit," Chris insisted. "What other keys do you have?"

   "None."

   "All right, let's just double-check. Let's empty everything we've got right out here." The blackness was almost a total, so that they could only feel what they placed on one of the beds, but they went about it thoroughly. "Take everything out of your wallet," said Chris.

   "Why?"

   "We're looking for a miracle, aren't we? How can we—wait! Here's something." Chris pulled out an identification card from his own wallet. "I think I remember them making up this plastic card at the transmitter. Major Putter gave it to me. Feel it. Doesn't it seem thick to you?"

   Manly ran his fingers over it. "Could be something inside," he said.

   Chris scraped the edge of the card against the wall until the plastic opened. Then with Hooper cupping his hands, Chris shook out a slim steel key. "This is

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the God who shows mercy," he said. "I just know it's a Yale."

   The key fitted snugly into the lock, and the cell door creaked ajar. Within thirty seconds the two prisoners had collected their things and were tip-toeing up the stairway. They found the building dark and empty, it being past midnight. The front door of the town hall was secured, but Major Putter's pass key fitted this lock too.

   "Hold it!'' Whispered Chris. ''Before you turn that lock, here's a drinking fountain!''

   Given a new burst of life by the water, they pushed out the door, touching off a burglar alarm. They raced to the rear of the building, where they located the Mustang in a parking lot. Within minutes they were back on the road heading out of the township as fast as rubber would take them.

   ''Do you see that patrol car?'' asked Chris.

   ''I see some lights flashing back there,'' said Manly.

   ''Good-bye, DeSpare,'' murmured Chris, opening the throttle a bit more. ''Give me another Psalm. ''

   ''How about this? 'The Lord preserveth the simple: I was brought low, and He helped me.' ''

   "Excellent. More!"

   " 'I will walk before the Lord in the land of the living. . . . for Thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.' "

   "Did you say falling or failing?"

   "Well, I guess you could say both!"

   "Amen! See if there's anything to eat in the car."

Chapter Fifteen  ||  Table of Contents