Read Online Cross Roads by William P. Young - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William P. Young
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moment for the answer to register, and Tony took a step back. “Jesus? You? Are you
the
Jesus?”
The man said nothing, only returning his gaze until Tony looked down at the dirt in order to focus, and then suddenly it made sense. Of course it was Jesus! He had written his name on the list. Who better to conjure up in a drug-induced comatose state than Jesus, the archetype of all archetypes, an imagination buried in the deepest recesses of his neural network? And here he stood, a neurological projection that had no actual existence and no real substance.
He looked up just as the stranger cracked him across the face with an open hand, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to leave a mark. Tony was stunned and instantly felt anger surface.
“Just helping you perceive how active your imagination really is.” The man laughed, his eyes still kind and gentle.“It is amazing how a projection with no actual existence or real substance can pack a wallop, eh?”
If anyone else had been present, Tony would have been embarrassed and furious. But he was more startled and surprised than anything. “Perfect!” he announced after collecting his thoughts. “See, that’s proof right there! The real Jesus would never slap anyone,” he claimed.
“And you know this how, exactly? From personal experience?” The Jesus person was grinning, enjoying himself. “Keep in mind, Tony, you have convinced yourself that I am a Jesus generated by a drug-addled subconscious. You yourself introduced this dilemma. Either I am who I say I am, or you believe deep down inside in a Jesus who would slap a person across the face. Which is it?”
He stood there, this Jesus guy, arms folded, watching Tony struggle with the logic. Finally, Tony looked up again, and answered, “Then I guess I must actually believe that Jesus is a person who would slap me across the face.”
“Ha! Good for you! Dead people
do
bleed!” Jesus laughed and put his arm around Tony’s shoulder. “At least you try and remain consistent with your assumptions, even when they aren’t true and regardless of the difficulty they add to your life. Hard way to live, but understandable.”
Tony shrugged and laughed along, thoroughly mystified by the reference to bleeding dead people. As if they both knew their destination, they together descended the steps and began walking up a hill toward a distant grove of trees. From below, these appeared to be congregated at the highest point of the property, nestled into the gray stone wall somewhere near but above where he had first encountered Jack. From that vantage point it was likely that one could see the entire enclosure and perhaps even over the far wallsand into the valley beyond. As they walked Tony continued to ask questions, the businessman in him puzzled.
“Forty-some years and this place looks pretty tired and broken. No offense, but is this all you’ve managed in all that time?” If he had intended to mask his insinuation, he was unsuccessful. Instead of reacting, the Jesus-man absorbed the implication.
“You might be right. Guess I’m not too good at this. This place is only a shadow now of what it once was in its beginning. At one time it was all a wild and magnificent garden, open, lovely, and free.”
“I didn’t mean to sound…,” Tony began apologetically, but Jesus waved it off with a grin. “It just doesn’t look much like a garden,” Tony offered.
“Yeah, work in progress,” Jesus sighed, a sound both resigned and determined.
“Looks to me like an uphill battle,” Tony added, trying not to be too negative. He couldn’t help himself; it was an old habit, finding a way to gain the superior position in conversations.
“It might take some time, but I don’t lose,” came the unruffled reply.
“I certainly don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you think this project is taking way too long? There’s a lot you could do to clear the land, plant it, fertilize it, see it grow. I think it has
the
Jesus?”
The man said nothing, only returning his gaze until Tony looked down at the dirt in order to focus, and then suddenly it made sense. Of course it was Jesus! He had written his name on the list. Who better to conjure up in a drug-induced comatose state than Jesus, the archetype of all archetypes, an imagination buried in the deepest recesses of his neural network? And here he stood, a neurological projection that had no actual existence and no real substance.
He looked up just as the stranger cracked him across the face with an open hand, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to leave a mark. Tony was stunned and instantly felt anger surface.
“Just helping you perceive how active your imagination really is.” The man laughed, his eyes still kind and gentle.“It is amazing how a projection with no actual existence or real substance can pack a wallop, eh?”
If anyone else had been present, Tony would have been embarrassed and furious. But he was more startled and surprised than anything. “Perfect!” he announced after collecting his thoughts. “See, that’s proof right there! The real Jesus would never slap anyone,” he claimed.
“And you know this how, exactly? From personal experience?” The Jesus person was grinning, enjoying himself. “Keep in mind, Tony, you have convinced yourself that I am a Jesus generated by a drug-addled subconscious. You yourself introduced this dilemma. Either I am who I say I am, or you believe deep down inside in a Jesus who would slap a person across the face. Which is it?”
He stood there, this Jesus guy, arms folded, watching Tony struggle with the logic. Finally, Tony looked up again, and answered, “Then I guess I must actually believe that Jesus is a person who would slap me across the face.”
“Ha! Good for you! Dead people
do
bleed!” Jesus laughed and put his arm around Tony’s shoulder. “At least you try and remain consistent with your assumptions, even when they aren’t true and regardless of the difficulty they add to your life. Hard way to live, but understandable.”
Tony shrugged and laughed along, thoroughly mystified by the reference to bleeding dead people. As if they both knew their destination, they together descended the steps and began walking up a hill toward a distant grove of trees. From below, these appeared to be congregated at the highest point of the property, nestled into the gray stone wall somewhere near but above where he had first encountered Jack. From that vantage point it was likely that one could see the entire enclosure and perhaps even over the far wallsand into the valley beyond. As they walked Tony continued to ask questions, the businessman in him puzzled.
“Forty-some years and this place looks pretty tired and broken. No offense, but is this all you’ve managed in all that time?” If he had intended to mask his insinuation, he was unsuccessful. Instead of reacting, the Jesus-man absorbed the implication.
“You might be right. Guess I’m not too good at this. This place is only a shadow now of what it once was in its beginning. At one time it was all a wild and magnificent garden, open, lovely, and free.”
“I didn’t mean to sound…,” Tony began apologetically, but Jesus waved it off with a grin. “It just doesn’t look much like a garden,” Tony offered.
“Yeah, work in progress,” Jesus sighed, a sound both resigned and determined.
“Looks to me like an uphill battle,” Tony added, trying not to be too negative. He couldn’t help himself; it was an old habit, finding a way to gain the superior position in conversations.
“It might take some time, but I don’t lose,” came the unruffled reply.
“I certainly don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you think this project is taking way too long? There’s a lot you could do to clear the land, plant it, fertilize it, see it grow. I think it has
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