THE SEX REBEL OF JESUSLAND, mini-chapter 54

54. A BIZARRO VIDEO

How about Jeremiah Luther? Adam wondered. What were his views on Creationism? Where did he stand on the continuum?

Jeremiah Luther had never been in a discussion forum on television. There was one interview that he had cut short, and the many recordings of his sermons, and the bloody processions, and the mega-church gatherings, but no sustained up-close encounter. If he could get Jeremiah, it would certainly be a coup.

How about Thomas, the kid in his class who was such a passionate advocate for Young Age Creationism?

Two generations. Young Thomas and older Jeremiah.

He wanted four guests. Enough to create interruption, confusion and conflict, but also manageable. That was his job, to play them like a fractious rock band. A rock band -- not a bad analogy. He would use it when he saw Ezra again. Funny that Ezra and Eve were once married. They must have been quite something as a young couple. Soon he would know Eve well enough to ask her what happened. Then he would ask Ezra. Then he would compare notes.

He had big plans for the weekend. Eve had no idea what she was in for. He was going to take her away to his special place. The place he had visited with the love of his life. He was going to introduce Eve to his earlier love and ask for her blessing on his new love.

He turned on the TV. He wanted to look at the screen and imagine himself there, among all those TV people, a host of his own program.

Oh no. The ubiquitous Golden Child again, testifying in his sweet, innocent voice.

“Were you afraid of the principal?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He hurt us.”

“How did he hurt you?”

“He had a big trunk like an elephant.”

“What did he do with his trunk?’

“He wriggled it inside my bottie. It got very hard and it hurt. He took me in the bathroom and I got wet.”

Adam saw a shot of the courtroom, everyone leaning in to listen with shining eyes. Suddenly the picture jumped and an announcer came on. He looked very serious. “We apologize for interrupting the court case with an important announcement.”

Then a badly shot piece of video came on. There was a headline across it.

“Videotape from Brotherhood Website.”

On the video Adam saw four men dressed in black with masks over their faces. They were reading something in Arabic. He followed the rough translation, but couldn’t really concentrate. Some drivel about Islam and war and revenge. He wanted to reach into the TV and strangle them, and save the man they had kidnapped. Here was a focus for his unfulfilled rage. Fiends. Transgressors. Terrorists. He hissed at the screen, defending himself against their evil, and baring his teeth in a snarl of atavistic fury, like a tiger defending its young, a Cyclops awakened, his monstrous traits coming together in a pinpoint of serrated hate, the Id glowering in predator-form, ready to kill and tear apart and wipe its nose in warm, flowing blood.

In front of them, on his knees and with a blindfold across his eyes, was the figure of Joshua Grant, now a captive of the Brotherhood.

The announcer went on to say that the kidnappers had made demands. The Brotherhood wanted the Muslim women in the huge American-Arab detention camp in the Nevada Desert, where all the Arab-Americans and Muslims had been sent after the last attack, to be allowed to wear headscarves or veils. A spokesman for the Men of the Gospel replied curtly that they would make no deals with terrorists, much as they felt great sympathy for Joshua Grant and his family. The Brotherhood said that if their Muslim women weren’t allowed to wear headscarves or veils, they would behead Joshua.