Part 36
Much Too Early the Next Morning.
I’m walking out of my apartment building, determined stride, headed somewhere important, doing something vital. Another man walks out of the next building. I can’t figure out from where I know him. He once had a reason to stand proud, but not now. We both struggle to avoid eye-contact, but his is an act to lower my defenses. “How are you?” he asks, waving over his shoulder.
“Fine,” I answer, reaching the sidewalk and slowing down a fraction.
“It’s a nice day.” He slows to compensate. We lock in a melee of restricted steps shorter and shorter until he overtakes me, lock step, a little too close for my liking.
“Yeah,” I acknowledge bitterly. “Nice day.”
“It’s the day the Lord has wrought, so we need to give proper respect.” He flashes a wide, broken-toothed smile. Humans are the only animal that display their teeth as a sign of friendship.
Jesus.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“At least your lungs are breathing and your heart is beating.”
“Mmm Hmm.”
“So how are you doing?”
“My lungs are breathing and my heart is beating.”
“And what more can you ask? Me? I’m just a wandering missionary enjoying life.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“I also enjoy some kind of secular acts as well. Writing, painting and rock sculpture.”
“Rock sculpture?”
He does not catch the question. “Poems to my f’yoncee, and other women I’ve loved.” He nods in thought. “Most are about being a bride to Christ.”
“That sounds fascinating,” I say.
“Yes. Did I mention that I’m Judeo-Christian?” He stresses the Judeo.
“Nope.”
“I only mention it because you appear of Jewish stock yourself.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“I would stake my kingdom on it,” he says, scratching his chin, stopping mid-stride and even though I feel it’s best to keep walking, I stop anyway to listen, enraptured. “It’s a vast web with no borders, a kingdom you can’t see, but one that is soon to be born.”
I scoff and cross my arms on my chest. “Are you supposed to be, Jesus?” I ask with a snicker into the palm of my hand.
“My name is Merovee.”
With his words, a great swarm of bees rises from the long weeds and brushes around us, hiding even in the cracks in the sidewalk. The swarm encapsulates us, so close and thick that four inches in front of me, all I can see is a solid, writhing wall of bees. I reach out to grab any of the surrounding features, nothing but the agonizing hum of bees. The wall lingers only a few seconds, and retreats, leaving me on a barren desert wasteland. Merovee is now draped in the purple cape and crown of a king. The breast of his coat has an embroidered fleur de lis. In his left hand, he holds a hewn reed as a scepter. As far as I can see around us, there is nothing but whipping sand dunes and scorching heat.
“Notice the bees,” Merovee snarls. “They know my secret.”
I awake with a start, my sheets clinging with icy sweat.
My face is smashed, knocking me into the mattress. I try to get some kind of grip on what happens but another lands on my gut, throwing me to the side and doubling me over.
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