Chapter Sixteen

   THE travellers were now free at last to complete the final few yards of their journey. A strange exhilaration swept over Chris as they strolled across the tiled plaza to the portal of the city, Bibles in hand. "I feel," he said, "as if I have never done a single worthwhile thing in my whole life, and yet here I am about to be honoured and treated like royalty."

   "The way you put it to them is true," said Manly. "It's God's grace. Grace got us out of DeSpare and grace brought us here, and when we go through it'll be just more grace."

   The treatment was indeed royal so far as courtesy and graciousness went, but the process at the gate was more complicated than they had expected. The first man on duty, whom Chris guessed to be a Mexican, sat behind a high desk and asked to see their Bibles. He examined them briefly, smiled and returned them. The next official had the blue eyes of an Icelander. He switched on an amber light that was beamed into their faces and scrutinized their foreheads as Captain Petrovich had done, explaining, "This is a routine check of the mark that was stamped on you back there on the hill."

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   "I remember it," said Chris, "but I thought it rubbed off long ago."

   "It never wears off," said the man, smiling and waving them on.

   At the next booth they were asked by a man with a Canadian maple leaf in his buttonhole if they had anything to declare. They took out the cards that had been given them by Van Gelst just before leaving the Delectable Mountains.

   "I declare," said Manly, reading his card, "the Gospel; that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures; that He was buried; and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures."

   "I declare," said Chris in turn, "that God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. If we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin."

   "Is this your sworn personal testimony, and do you have anything else to declare?" asked the Canadian.

   "That's it," they both replied.

   "Very well, gentlemen," he said cordially. "Proceed to the next booth where you will check in your wallets and watches. You won't be needing them while you are staying here."

   Farther along a young lady who said she was from Samoa fitted each of them with a special pair of sunglasses. "It takes a few days to get used to the lighting in our city," she explained, "but you'll learn to love it." Then an affable Dutchman provided them with

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gilt-dipped sandals, and they were issued complete linen outfits, including Bermuda shorts, by an Eskimo from St. Lawrence Island. Somewhere along the line a hymnbook was added to the pile.

   After they had finished the processing they came to a limousine awaiting them at the curb inside the gate. The words Paradise Inn were lettered on its door. "Your accommodations have all been arranged, and a special welcome is awaiting you," explained the young driver in a broad Australian accent. "Would you like to go to the inn now, or would you rather do a bit of sightseeing?"

   "I'd like a nice long nap," said Manly. "I believe I'll go to the inn."

   "So will I," said Chris. "but there's one place I'd like to visit first, if you don't mind."

   The driver motioned to another limousine parked behind him. "That will be no problem, gentlemen," he said. "This car will take Mr. Hooper to his lodgings, and I will drive Mr. Anders wherever he wishes to go."

   The friends parted and Chris got into the first limousine. "Would you please take me down to the bank of the river?" he asked.

   "With pleasure." They drove along a broad thoroughfare whose dazzling appearance was not clearly evident to Chris, due to the special glasses he was wearing. What he could make out of the scenery seemed to him a perfect harmonizing of natural landscape with planting and architecture. Memories of his arduous journey lingered in his mind, as aches

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and pains continued to rack his body, so that he felt himself in a kind of daze. Much as his body hurt from the jail beating, he knew it would soon be well. His ankle already felt a great deal better. But there were other hurts—spiritual failures and thoughts of his family—which he doubted would heal so easily. Still, through it all he felt himself enfolded by a strange peace.

   "Will we be given an audience before the King, do you suppose?" he asked the driver.

   The man turned and looked at him. "That's a hard one to answer mate," he responded. Then he added, "Don't you remember me?"

   "I'm terrible about faces,'' apologized Chris, "but you do look—you're not—"

   "Philip! I was at the transmitter. I helped you get started for Gordon's Calvary."

   "Of course. So now you're back here?"

   "Right. Wherever there's help needed, that's where I aim to be."

   "Is it nice here?" asked Chris timidly.

   "I love it. You will too. Here we are at the riverbank, sir. Watch your step." The limousine pulled into a lay-by from which a series of steps led down a grassy bank to the edge of the wide stream. It was a good half-mile across to the other side, as nearly as Chris could judge.

   "No bridges, I take it?"

   "No bridges, no pontoons, no hydrofoils, no ferry boats."

   "Could you wait here ten minutes for me?"

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   "Take your time."

   Chris walked slowly down the bank until he stood on its lip, looking into the limpid, gently flowing water. He took off his sunglasses and stared across the blue expanse, trying to make out some features on the other side. He thought he could see moving figures in white, but could not be sure. His eyes were not much good at distances. All at once he cocked an ear; faintly over the water came the sound of music. It seemed to be a hymn they were singing. He thought he recognized it, but couldn't tell which one it was. The words were indistinguishable, yet he remembered the line in the tune that went, "My chains fell off, my heart was free, I—something—went forth, and—something—Thee."

Well Rusty if that's you singing over there I just wish I were with you If only I had brought some field glasses I swear I see someone waving Oh God I feel sick I want to be with You I want to be with Rusty It's nice here but everything seems so flat and stale compared with joining You over there Why couldn't they have taken me in that helicopter too Why did they just take Rusty all I got by staying on this side was a clobbering within an inch of my life God I'm so homesick for Heaven I can't stand it I want to see Jesus I want to go home where I came from I want to be rid of my sins for ever and stand and gaze at Your glory Sorry if I'm moaning but God this is the closest I've ever been to the heavenlies and it's just so wonderful I don't ever want to leave here except to go over there Send that helicopter Lord tell the hikers I'm ready. . . .

   "I'm sorry, sir, but a radio call has come in for

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me," Philip said gently. "May I help you up? That does it. I'll take you right over to Paradise Inn now."

   Chris sat in the back seat wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. "Thanks for letting me have my way," he said. ''It was something I had looked forward to for a long time."

   "Good for you!" said Philip. "I've got a few pals over there myself. It's nice knowing they're so close by."

   "It really is the same city, isn't it?" asked Chris.

   "That's right. And we're all citizens and subjects of the same King. You might say it's the church militant on one side and the church triumphant on the other."

   "What do I do tomorrow, do you know?"

   "Yes, sir. Tomorrow is the Lord's Day. We praise God together and then we take it easy. Sound good?"

   "It certainly does. Do we all go to the same house of worship?"

   "It's this way, mate. We go to the place that's most congenial to us. Some of us like to stand, some to sit, and some to kneel. But it's all the same Gospel and the same Lord."

   "Then what do we do?"

   Philip pointed to a rounded structure of delicate design they were just passing. "There's your induction centre," he said. "You'll be starting a series of training programmes in there on Monday that'll fit you right for the King's service. It's a marvellous course, really."

   "How long does it last?"

   "We never finish—not until the Great Reassignment!

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They just keep sending us out in teams now and then on special missions. We go all over the world, you know. I wonder if you remember Colonel Goodall."

   "Yes, very well."

   "He'll be your instructor at the beginning."

   "I think I'm going to like it. Where do you suppose they'll send me first?"

   "You're married, aren't you, sir?"

   "I sure am. Four children, all boys, and a wife living in Doomsdale."

   "Ah, well, there's not much doubt about where you'll be sent."

   "You mean I'll be commissioned to get them and bring them to Life City?"

   Philip did not answer. Instead he drove into the very handsome grounds of a resort hotel modelled after a South Sea village. Coconut palms—were they coconut?—lined the driveway. Tiny cottages with rounded thatched roofs were attractively strung along the sandy shore of a lake. Tropical flowers bloomed in abundance, and birds of dazzling colour chattered from huge banyan trees. Green hills rose in the distance.

   Philip jumped out and opened the door for Chris. "Here you are, Mr. Anders," he said. "Paradise Inn, the best of both worlds. Some of your friends will be joining you this evening for dinner. It's been nice seeing you again, sir."

   Chris got out, looked around, blinked, swallowed, and held out his hand to the young Australian. "God in your heart, Philip," he said.

Chapter Seventeen  ||  Table of Contents