Anthill_a novel

34
WAIT WAS ALL they could do. Finally, two years, four months, and a day after that conversation at the Rebel Cafe and Deli, the news finally came from Atlanta. The Nokobee tract, all of it except for the land around Dead Owl Cove already owned by Sunderland Associates, had been put on the market.
The time leading up to this moment had not been wasted for Raff. In balance, the years spent at Sunderland had been good ones for him. He had expanded his circle of friends dramatically. The grind of Harvard Law School was well behind him, and the more painful part of it mercifully forgotten. He sometimes thought about JoLane Simpson and wondered where she was--but not keenly enough to call the Harvard Alumni Office to find out. His work continued to prove mostly routine, and he began to squeeze out longer stretches of leisure time.
At twenty-eight years, Raphael Semmes Cody had adapted to a very different world from that of his boyhood. Clayville was culturally farther from Mobile than Mobile was from Cleveland or Albany. And unlike his existence at Harvard, Raff now ate regularly at the best restaurants and attended first-run movies and both classical and rock concerts. To these he added Gulf and river fishing. He joined other naturalists in the area on field trips. He dated regularly, but never with serious intent. He dodged relationships with younger women that might, he feared, lead to marriage before he wished. He never dated Sarah Beth, despite the lilt he perceived in her laugh whenever he said anything even remotely funny, or anyone else in the Sunderland offices. Within a year, in any case, his secretary married a divorced bank manager in nearby Lucedale, Mississippi, and the giggles became slightly less pronounced. She still commuted in to Sunderland, however, and continued to fill Raff's office with nonstop sunshine chatter.
Within a year of his arrival at Mobile, Raff had become a respected figure in the local conservation community. He attended meetings of several organizations regularly and continued to give pro bono legal advice in those large majority of cases that had no possible connection with his obligation to Sunderland Associates. A few of his environmentalist associates wondered if his employment at Sunderland represented a conflict of interest, but his advice was consistently good and true, and no public mention was ever made of a possible inconsistency.
Raff no longer attended church, but as a secular substitute he accepted a leadership position in the Boy Scouts of America. He remained faithful to the organization to which he owed so much in his own education and character development. He became scoutmaster of Mobile's Troop 43, holding meetings every two weeks in an annex of the First Methodist Church at Broad and Dauphin Streets. He counseled boys when they needed it. He approved merit badge awards, and individual advancements in rank. Not least, he took groups with him on occasional field trips to the Nokobee tract, and held the boys spellbound with accounts of its natural history.
Raff stayed fit by working out two or three times a week at the Mobile Executive Center Gym. Occasionally, at noon on long days in his office, he went over to Henry's Guns and Shooting Gallery on Oak Street for target practice. His favorite weapon was a .22 single-shot rifle.
It puzzled some of his friends in the environmental movement that a rising star among them enjoyed gun practice. The explanation he gave Bill Robbins was simple and he hoped convincing.
"Look, I sure wish people would understand that I grew up in a gun culture. I've been a pretty good marksman since I was a kid. Trust me, slaughtering helpless birds and animals makes no sense to me. On the other hand, let's be frank about it. Once in a while you've got to kill wild deer, for example. We've wiped out all their natural predators, and so now we have deer populations exploding. People in the suburbs will put up with hunters, but they're not going to tolerate wolves and cougars. Not yet anyway."
"Okay, but what about quail and ducks and turkeys?" Robbins said.
"That's just rhetoric, Bill. You and I wouldn't go out and use quail for target practice, but you know as well as I do that legitimate hunters are the best friends we've got outside the conservation movement. They want habitats preserved as much as we do. So face it, they're conservationists of another kind, with a mission just like ours. I don't think there's a lot of difference between, say, a Cooper's hawk taking a quail out or a hunter shooting it out, so long as we save the woods the hawk and quail live in."
But there was another reason Raff went to Henry's Guns and Shooting Gallery that he never tried to explain to Robbins or anyone else. For him target practice, and especially with a rifle, the most physically compatible and precise weapon ever invented since the bow and arrow, was a form of Zen. He relaxed completely when he put on ear guards and began to fire at a fixed target. It brought him into a little world consisting solely of gun and target, with a meaning all unto itself and private to Raff. The line of sight, the black dead center of the bull's-eye, the stopping of one's breath, the gentle pull of the trigger, these became the whole world and the only reality when he lay prone to shoot. Every other thought was banished, and every other movement ceased except the microscopic involuntary tremble of arm and hand and the trigger pull. The only variable was the distance, twenty yards or fifty yards. The discharge of the .22 was barely detectable. The mental purpose was to travel with the projectile to the dead center of the bull's-eye and touch it, perfectly. Although that happened rarely, the cognitive purpose was different and the more important. It was to bring all the senses together to focus on an object of extreme simplicity, and to shut out the chaotic remainder of ordinary existence.
From that out-of-mind experience and to show his appreciation of the environmental role of hunters, Raff joined the National Rifle Association.
Bill Robbins was alarmed. "You're sending the wrong signal, Raff. Would you please at least take that NRA sticker off your rear bumper?"
"You don't understand, Bill. It's a matter of honesty and keeping a clear conscience. The only things I know that come anywhere close to target practice with a .22 rifle are a deep massage and sex."
One day, as he stood up, lay the rifle down, and took off his ear guards, a voice behind him said, "That's pretty good shooting. Were you in the army?"
Raff turned to find a man standing there, arms akimbo. He was about forty years old, thin, dressed in an ill-fitting dark blue business suit with an American-flag-design tie that forced his collar flaps slightly up and out. He wore a plain gold cross on his left lapel. He was well groomed and clean-shaven. His smile was broad and welcoming, yet was contradicted by the narrowing of his eyes and incongruous tilt of his head to one side, as though he were sizing Raff up.
Just to his rear stood a second man, about Raff's age, wearing blue jeans and a white sports shirt with three broad red vertical stripes running down the front. He had a three-day-old stubble and a bandito mustache. His long hair was combed straight back over his head and dangled loosely to touch his shirt collar behind. There was a teardrop tattoo below his right eye. He wore blue flame tattoos running up each side of his neck, looking as though they might be ready to grow out further and consume his face. He was chewing something continuously and slowly like a cow's cud--maybe tobacco, but more likely, Raff figured because he couldn't see any stain around the mouth, a large wad of gum.
"No, no, I've never been in the service," Raff said. "I've just enjoyed shooting since I was a kid."
"My name is Wayne LeBow," the first man said, "and this here's Bo Rainey."
Raff shook hands with both.
"He's Reverend Wayne LeBow," Rainey said.
"Yes, Reverend LeBow," the first man said. "But that's no big deal. I have a little congregation up near Monroeville, the Church of the Eternal Redeemer. Most likely you never heard of it." He chuckled and pulled down his coat to straighten it a bit, then added, "Only about fifty members or so. My day job is working at the Monroeville Correctional Facility."
He paused, and Raff said, "Well, Reverend LeBow, my name is Raphael Cody and I'm very pleased to meet you. What can I do for you?"
LeBow smiled and tilted his head again. "We're wondering if you might have a beer with us. There's something we were hoping to get your opinion on."
Raff smiled back. "Sure. I've only got a few minutes, though. I have an appointment back in my office in half an hour."
LeBow led the way to the bar, located in the rear of Henry's Guns and Shooting Gallery. Budweiser, Coors, Miller, and a few other real American, ordinary people's choices were available. No boutique or foreign brews were offered at Henry's patriotic establishment. Inside, a large, slow-turning ceiling fan stirred the thick warm air. An odor of turpentine and cigarette smoke enveloped them.
They sat on benches across from each other at a table beneath the flags of the United States and the State of Alabama hung side by side on the wall. A postcard photograph of the Confederate battle flag was stuck on the side of the cash register. It had been there a long time, and its edges had begun to peel.
LeBow said, "You learn a lot at Harvard?"
Raff hesitated, then replied, "You obviously know more about me than I do about you, Reverend. Sure, I learned some things at Harvard. It's no big deal. We have good universities down here too. I wouldn't want to make any invidious comparisons with Harvard. But--why do you ask?"
"You're getting to be an important figure around Mobile, is the reason, and some of our religious folk just wanted to know more about you."
Raff thought, All the way up in Monroeville?
Before he could respond, Bo Rainey cleared his throat and asked, "They teach evolution at Harvard?"
Raff thought, okay, I see where this is going. "Sure," he said, "they teach about evolution at Harvard. It's solid science. It's got a lot of evidence to support it. Of course, I know that a lot of good people around here and the rest of America don't believe in it." Principle Number One in Raff's Conflict Resolution Rule Book: Don't antagonize your opponent unnecessarily.
Reverend LeBow ignored the answer and asked, "They teach the Bible too?"
"Of course," Raff replied, relaxing a bit, beginning to get the drift. Do we have here a couple of the hard-right people Bill Robbins said stay away from? "They have a whole School of Divinity, Harvard's been turning out preachers for three hundred and seventy years."
He instantly regretted patronizing LeBow with this little expression of Harvard venerableness. Principle Number Two: Don't brag, don't in any way seem to look down on your adversary. Stay humble. And if that's not possible, at least stay noncommittal.
Before the interrogation could continue, they were interrupted by loud gunfire that reverberated all the way to the bar. Someone was touching off bursts from an automatic rifle. Raff flinched at the sound. He hated the weapon. It had the same function as the sawed-off shotguns infantry sometimes used in close combat. There wasn't a lot of finesse in either weapon. Or accuracy either. You just sprayed a lot of rounds with the hope that one or more would take the target down. As he waited, Raff thought, No time to aim, so shoot first, kill fast. Are these things legal? I thought not. Must be, though, or else Henry wouldn't allow them on the premises. If I'd been in the army, I'd prefer to be a sniper--use a telescopic sight and silencer, shoot, and slip away. The firing ceased after a minute or so, and LeBow picked up again. "Do you believe what you read in the Bible?"
Raff was beginning to get annoyed, and he thought about excusing himself and leaving. But that would certainly offend his hosts, and anyway it would be better to find out what LeBow wanted.
"Well, some things in the Bible are surely true," Raff said. "And some are just ways of saying things that might be true. It's certainly worth knowing about what's in the Bible."
"Let's talk about this in another way," LeBow continued, "and don't worry, I've got a point I'm going to come to. I think it's important for you personally, and that's why Bo and I are paying you this visit. Just be patient."
"Okay, go ahead."
"Thank you. First of all, let's you and me stop calling it the Bible. Let's call it what it is, the Word of our Lord God, and through him His Son Jesus Christ."
"Well, I don't object if you want to put it that way. How to interpret the Bible differs a lot among Jews and different Christian denominations. That's why we have freedom of religion, isn't it? Why should it matter a lot in a democracy?"
LeBow bore in: "I'll tell you why it matters a lot. Either you believe the Word of God is truth, or you think you can interpret it any old way you choose, any way that makes you feel better."
Raff didn't like theology and he didn't like LeBow's tone, but he stayed with it. "Okay, that's putting it in a pretty extreme form, but I suppose what you say is basically right. But, again, so what? Where does that get us?"
"Raphael--may I call you that?--may I ask you a personal question?"
"Well--" Raff started to say yes, he indeed minded, but LeBow went on too quickly.
"Raphael, have you been saved by Jesus Christ?"
"Well, I'm an Episcopalian, part-time anyway. Does that count?" Raff looked at his watch and frowned.
LeBow paid no attention to the gesture. "You may belong to that church, Raphael, but that does not mean that you have committed your soul to Jesus Christ, and it does not mean you will enter the Kingdom of Heaven when you die. Is that important to you?"
"I don't agree with you," Raff responded. "Or rather, I don't know what you're talking about. And I'm frankly not sure I care. With all due respect, are you going to tell me why we are having this conversation?"
"What I mean is you belong to a nice club, and you believe in God and maybe His Son Jesus, and you go to church, and pray, and all that, but you haven't been saved, my friend, you haven't given yourself to Jesus Christ."
Raff looked at his watch again, pointedly. "So what's that supposed to mean? And why are you telling me this? Why are we sitting here?"
"I'll explain this to you," LeBow said. "The world is divided into two kinds of people. There are those who believe the Word of God as it was given to us, and they have given their bodies and souls to Jesus Christ, His Son. And on the other side there are those who don't believe the Word, not entirely anyway. They haven't been saved, no matter what else they think or do. Do you want to appear before God on Judgment Day and say, Well, I only believed half of what you said? Real Christians are waiting for the Second Coming, and they believe every paragraph, every sentence, every word God has given us. They make it their business to get others to commit. They want as many people as possible to go with them and enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
"I guess you're saying we don't have a lot of time to do that either," Raff said. He knew LeBow was getting to the standard End-of-Time message but he still couldn't understand why he'd been singled out.
"You know we don't have a lot of time, Raphael. If you'd read your Bible, instead of that trash they fed you up at Harvard, you'd know we don't. All the signs that foretell the Second Coming of Jesus are now here. The Jews have come back home, chaos is spreading around the world, the environment is going down the toilet--get that, Raphael, the environment is just another sign. All that means one thing. Jesus is coming, boy. Not in a hundred years either. Real soon. Anytime now. Maybe tomorrow. And when Our Lord comes, those saved in His name will ascend bodily to heaven, and the rest are going to be left behind, and they are going to suffer terribly because of that. It will be so bad for them it'll be hell on earth. And when they die they will all go on down to the real hell, and they'll stay down there for eternity."
"With all due respect, Reverend, I can't see it that way. If the Second Coming is so obvious, why don't other people, and especially the large majority of Christians you say aren't truly saved, see it that way?"
"I am glad you asked me that question, Raphael. That's why I came personally to warn you, 'cause Satan is already here. The Antichrist, he's here. He's preparing in his own way for the battle to come with Jesus and God's holy angels too. He's assembling his forces. You don't know who he is, because he's one of those we least suspect, and he already has a huge army among us. And maybe you do know who he is. Most people haven't met him, but they're doing his cause. Satan, he doesn't think he's going to lose the Final Battle. He thinks he's going to win that battle, and take over God's throne. A lot of people are going to perish in the war between God and Satan."
"Pastor, I know a good many people believe what you're saying. And I haven't met the Antichrist, thank you, whatever that means. But tell me this: if God is all-powerful and if Jesus is God incarnate, and part of the Trinity, and Jesus is such a great force of love and mercy in our lives, why would God and Jesus allow war and misery?"
"I suggest, Harvard man, that you go right home and read the book of the Revelation to Saint John the Divine. It's the last book of the Bible, put there for all to read, and it contains the prophesy in Jesus's own words. His own words. You've probably been brainwashed to think the Lord is always kind and forgiving. Now, that's a lot of crap! Jesus came to John holding a sword. He said he hates those who deceive others and those who refuse to accept His rule. He said He will kill them. Yes, He will kill people in order to protect God's people, those who choose to believe His Word. That's the kind of war we're in, Raphael, and Satan can't be beaten any other way except by people giving their souls to Jesus Christ, and right now!"
At last Raff began to worry about what this strange man and his tattooed companion might do.
"Well, Pastor, I guess I understand what you're saying. Do you go around making this case to everyone who believes another way? For the last time, why me? What's this all about? Do you think I'm working for the devil and the Antichrist, whoever he is?"
"You listen to me, boy, in your heart, you know who you're working for. You're too smart and too educated not to know what's going on. Why'd you come back down here anyway?"
"How could I be on the devil's side? You know who I am? You seem to know I'm one of the ones around here working to save God's Creation!"
"I see you miss the point. Maybe you intended to do that. Maybe that's what you're up to. God didn't send His only Son to save bugs and snakes. He sent him to save souls. God doesn't give shit about the land and the creatures on them except how His people can use them. This is just a place on the way to heaven or hell. Anything that's against His will is the devil's work."
Raff stood up to leave, but LeBow couldn't be stopped. "You want an answer? You came from around here, but then you went on up to Harvard and now you're some kind of f*ckin' atheist. You're a big-time science lover, bragging on it all the time, they tell me. You're getting to be a big influence around here. And you are not a friend of God and His people."
Raff squeezed silently past LeBow and Rainey and walked toward the exit. The automatic rifle fire started up again.
LeBow shouted after him, "You're one of the deceivers! You're working for the Antichrist and maybe you're too stupid to know it. You're pulling people away from God's Will and God's Word!"
Raff reached the door to the outside, but LeBow caught up with him, and now said in a normal voice close to his ear, "You better listen to me, Raphael. You better change your ways while you still have time!"