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Tis Saturday night, the night before Mother’s Day, Park Place Café was open for business.
Having suffered no damage from the day’s bombings, Pam, the owner of Park Place, was indecisive about opening, just out of respect for all the American citizens, and non-citizens, that had been murdered today, the day before Mother’s Day. Pam MacLott was angry. She wondered if these guys started bombing school at birth, were they just born and programmed from the get-go to hate? What kind of religion was Islam? Didn’t seem so peaceful to her.
“Pam, if we close tonight, the terrorists win. That is their plan, to disrupt things. Also, we will be packed because of all the news coverage.”
Pam conceded, knowing that Abe was right, and she realized he was right a lot. Outside Park Place Shopping Plaza there were many protesters, some carrying signs: The End is Near, God is Coming and She’s Mad as Hell! Pam thought it seemed like the protesters were coming out of the woodwork, whatever that meant.
Jeff stopped by early, hoping to see Abe the Bartender and also catch the Aljazeera news channel. Aljazeera provided news, in English, from the Arab perspective which was much different than the perspective of the United States and the West in general.
“Hey Jeff,” Abe said as he sat a glass of Duckhorn on the bar. The bar seemed a little darker than usual; and Abe attributed the darkness to the general mood of the day, also dark.
Jeff had frequented Park Place Café since his divorce of some three years, and still counting. Not really a heavy drinker, Abe knew the routine and had a glass of Duckhorn merlot, expensive but Jeff’s choice from NAPA Valley, sitting on the counter before Jeff sat on the heavily padded, leather-clad bar stool. Jeff knew Dan Duckhorn personally and insisted on wine from the United States and had done so since September 11, another day of infamy in American history.
“What’s with all the protesters, and what’s with the signs saying God’s a woman? I've seen those a lot lately.” Jeff had seen the God’s a Woman signs for the past month or so, seeming to be on every street corner in Atlanta. One had been directed at him that day in the men’s room at Georgia State, the day after blip’s first appearance, or at least to Jeff somebody.
“It’s a wiccan group,” Abe responded, as though he was asked the question on a regular basis.
“And that is?” Jeff asked. “Does it have anything to do with Islam?”
“No, no. Nothing to do with Islam. Wicca is a relatively new pagan religion with heavy witchcraft overtones. Be careful, or they’ll put a spell on you.” Abe laughed. “You do understand what pagan means, right?”
“Sorta, any religion that’s not Jewish or Christian?”
Abe was surprised that Jeff was unsure, having such a high IQ. Surely he could define paganism.
“That’s mostly correct Jeff, totally correct by most definitions. Paganism pertains primarily to people of Far Eastern religions, like Buddhism and Hinduism, people whose gods are made of concrete or rocks, or wood. The gods they worship are formed by man, carved from stone or whatever. They are visible, but of course, don’t move. They don’t really do anything but have a tremendous psychological effect on the adherents of those faiths.
“Are you really interested in this Jeff?” Abe knew that most of the Park Place regulars probably had some kind of belief system, maybe spiritual but not religious, but none had discussed their beliefs with him.
“Yes, I guess I am. Religion is the only subject I don’t know everything about.” Jeff winked and smiled. “Just kidding.”
Jeff noticed there were only five TVs on, one tuned to FOX, one to CNN and another to Aljazeera. The rest offered business and local news.
“By the way, why only five TVs?” Jeff asked.
“Fried. Several were fried when the electrical grids powered up, or maybe down. So did the three microwaves.”
“Before we get back to Wiccan or whatever, turn up Aljazeera. I want to hear what the Arabs are saying about today’s attacks.”
Abe found it interesting that Jeff thought all Middle Eastern men must be Arab and wondered if he knew that Jews were Semites.
“You know, the Iranians are insulted when they are defined as Arabs. Iranian heritage is Persian, Nebuchadnezzar their greatest leader. They take great pride in that and consider themselves superior to all other Muslims.”
Abe grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Park Place wasn’t as busy as Abe thought it should be. Maybe the protesters were keeping the crowds away, or maybe everyone decided to stay home, glued to the tube. Paranoia was setting in.
The Aljazeera reporter continued:
“From reports in Palestine, it appears that Hamas has banned all cell phones and video equipment, under penalty of death, at least so I was told.
“Some video coverage did escape however, Hamas a victim of today’s technology; and we have the following clip. I must preface this video by saying, it is disturbing and unbecoming of Islam. Islam is peaceful and does not condone violence.”
As the video continued in the background, the clip overlaid by the reporter’s voice, the Aljazeeran continued:
“It appears that the bombings of the Lincoln and Holland tunnels in New York City have resulted in the deaths of at least 314 by the blasts, and many others who are unaccounted for from the resultant flooding of the Lincoln Tunnel.”
In the background, hundreds, maybe thousands by some reports, of Palestinians danced in the streets of Gaza, firing AK- 47’s and other weapons in the air in celebration.
“It appears that most of the jubilance is a result of the damage in the United States and not so much from the damage in Europe. There have so far been more reports of death in New York City and Atlanta, Georgia, than in all of Europe,” the reporter continued.
A beer mug crashed through the flatscreen and put Aljazeera to rest, at least from that TV, the F-word prevalent in the Park Place crowd this evening. The beer mug thrower was escorted out of Park Place but received a standing ovation from the crowd.
“I knew they would be doing that? Do you remember 9/11 when the same thing happened? Not many TV stations carried it, but a few did, including FOX and CNN. Most ignored the Palestinians celebrating in the streets, and it wasn’t just the Palestinians. There were celebrations in Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan and Lebanon, as well as Iraq.” Jeff’s voice rose in frustration and anger.
Abe set another Duckhorn on the bar, and he urged Jeff to calm down. Jeff usually didn’t get overly excited.
“I’m ticked, big time!” He took a swig, not a sip, of the merlot. “We have to get some damn leadership in this country or we’re going to end up being Palestine, like France and England have become. Here in America is where the new Palestinian state will be, they’re so peaceful, if we aren’t careful.”
“Let’s get back to the wiccans, ok?” Abe suggested and did not tune another working TV to Aljazeera.
“Right.” Jeff was still steaming; and his brain was at work, making plans.
“Wiccans believe there is a god, several actually; but the primary god is of the female variety. Of course, they hate men too and believe that the men who wrote the Bible were mistaken, writing only what men wanted to hear. They are for the most part, non-violent. They don’t cut one’s head off for not believing their way.”
Jeff thought about that momentarily, thinking that the world was in a tailspin; and he remembered telling his mother the same thing, that the Bible was written for men, by men.
The crowd, though slight, was early tonight at Park Place; and Abe knew the news channels brought them in. As early as it was, people were gathered around the four operating flatscreens, absorbing every word of the world-wide carnage that had taken place today. The fifth flatscreen was in shambles, a victim of a beer mugging.
“What do you think’s going on Abe? For Pete’s sake, it seems like the world’s going to hell in a hand basket.” Jeff thought a minute about sayings, coming out of the woodwork, going to hell in a hand basket, and briefly wondered who came up with these sayings. He would have to Google it later.
“It’s the end of the world man, one of the signs. Terror will be in men’s hearts. It’s in the Bible.” Jeff thought Abe seemed almost serious.
“Why do the Muslims want to kill us Abe? Why can’t they just live and let live?” Another saying.
“They don’t all want to kill us dude, just the bad ones. Christians had the Ku Klux Klan, remember? The Jews had the Gush Emunim, active in the early eighties. All religions have a fringe element.”
Jeff wondered how Abe knew all this stuff.
“Seems to me like the Muslims have a lot more fringe elements than the other religions, Abe. If only ten percent of the world’s Muslims are terrorists, do the math. There are about 1.8 billion Muslims, so that means only 180 million Muslims want to kill us,” Jeff replied. “That’s not very comforting. So why do they want to kill us?”
“They are just misguided, and they have been for 1400 years. Plus, they believe that Christians worship three gods, and they are a jealous people. Jealous of the Jews, jealous of the Christians, jealous of anything not Muslim. Don’t you remember that Jesus spoke of false prophets that would come after his death who would lead even the most elect astray. That’s what happened with Muhammad. Most Muslims are very dedicated to their belief but have been fooled, like Jesus said would happen. Another prophecy fulfilled. They believe that Muhammad was the Last Prophet, but he wasn’t.”
“Yeah, try to explain that to a Muslim and you will lose your head, literally.” And Jeff knew that was true.
Abe grabbed two martini glasses from the rack above the bar, backlit in a white light, the glasses resembling a cocktail-glass chandelier.
“Abe, you seem to know a lot about the subject of the day. Do you believe in God?”
Jeff asked the question, knowing that that subject always seemed to open a can of worms, strong debate and sometimes swords and guns and bombs. He thought he must already know Abe’s answer, considering what he seemed to know about Islam, and Wicca.
Prior to 9/11, no one considered the possibility that the United States would fall more than Osama bin Laden, the perpetrator of that tragic disaster, and many others. He also knew that the European governments would fall. Just like the Towers fell, so the West would fall.
Osama believed the Twelfth Imam had arrived, not like Jesus who came in love and tolerance and the raising of the dead, but with a wrath only a mother could love. The death of innocent people was Osama’s goal; because there were no innocent people except fellow Muslims, fellow Sunni Muslims that is. It didn’t seem to matter to Osama that the Twelfth Imam, the coming Islamic Messiah, would be a Shiite and not Sunni. Shia was the predominant sect of Islam in Iran, a point of conflict with the Sunni population; and Osama seriously doubted that Mahdi, the Twelfth Imam, would be anything but Sunni. It was Muhammad’s will. Still, he wondered. Many Sunnis didn’t even believe in the Mahdi.
“Which God are you talking about?” Abe asked, after a brief hesitation, part in jest and part in curiosity. Jeff had never brought up the subject in the three years since they met, on a night that was unusually dark and stormy, similar to this night. He recalled the hail that had come later in that evening three years earlier. The hailstorms of late were much worse than the storm that night.
“Well, that’s exactly the question! Do you believe in God and is it the God or a god that starts with a little g. It seems to me there are a lot of gods out there floating around. Is it Hindi, Buddha, Molech?” Jeff sounded particularly anxious, but of course, who wasn’t.
“Actually it’s none of the above.” Abe noted Jeff’s inexplicable dress today, navy Prada slacks and chartreuse sweater. Not that Jeff couldn’t afford the $ 600 price tag. It just wasn’t Jeff. He was almost always decked out in the latest jeans and T-shirt, and they weren’t usually of the Prada variety.
“Why do you ask?” Abe answered, his curiosity just a little piqued. “In all my years of bartending, no one has asked me that specific question. Don’t get me wrong. There have been plenty of guys, and gals, who have used the God-word a few times; but it usually was not in good terms and came after a few shooters or Cosmos.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Abe.” Jeff insisted, almost impatient. “I’m serious as a heart-attack here.”
“Of course I believe in God. My name’s Abe, as in Abraham? I’m Jewish.”
“I didn’t know you were Jewish? In three years I never knew that. You don’t act Jewish!”
Abe thought about the act Jewish comment but decided to go there at a later time.
“I believe in the God, the one in the Bible, father of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. That one, the same God that two billion other people in the world believe in. That would be Billion, with a ‘B’. And if you throw in the Muslims, who think they believe in the God, you have almost four billion. That’s two-thirds of the people on the planet.” Taking a breath, Abe realized he was being a little zealous; but this was a subject he was passionate about. “Can four billion people be wrong? Think about it.”
Jeff didn’t answer, waiting and thinking as Abe concocted another adult beverage for an on-the-way-to-inebriated adult, young adult, realizing that as he got older, and more-and-more people seemed to become young adults. Grandpa used to tell him the years would fly by, Jeff remembered; and he was right. Grandparents, in retrospect, seemed to be right a lot, like Abe the Bartender.
The statuesque brunette took a seat, in the most feminine way, four seats down from Jeff.
“Hey Abe,” the lady greeted, familiar with the bartender. “Think I’ll have a dirty martini. What happened to the TV?” The damage from the flying mug was hard to miss.
Abe grabbed the small jar of olive juice, the vermouth and the gin. Like an artist, he began the task of martini construction.
Judi, the brunette, noticed Jeff briefly, fiddling around in her purse for something; and Jeff noticed her too. How could one not? At about 5’9” with the heels, molded in black sweater and skirt, he only really noticed the black sweater, and how well it was… well… formed. She looked very familiar, but he couldn’t place her. His mind wasn’t functioning properly today. Probably shell-shock.
“Ever notice how there just aren’t any flat chested women anymore? Shoulda been a boob doctor!” Jeff made sure he didn’t say that loud enough for the young lady to hear.
“Her name is Judi Ellis, and that’s what she does. She’s a cosmetic surgeon at Emory, among many other things. She’s close friends with Joseph Rosenberg.”
“Who is Joseph Rosenberg?” That name was also familiar to Jeff. Then he remembered, the speaker at the lecture he was going to attend with Samarra the day she became ill. He made a mental note to call Jack Russell to see how Samarra was doing.
Abe placed another glass of Duckhorn in front of Jeff, removing the empty glass and wiping the counter, as if by instinct rather than training. “Want me to introduce you?”
“Not really, not right now. She looks familiar though. I am more interested in the God-thing. Is that ok? Since you believe all that stuff, maybe you can help me. I’ve never really believed those stories. It caused a lot of grief when I was married to Melissa.”
“So why are you all-of-a-sudden interested?” asked Abe the Bartender-turned-preacher, or rabbi.
Abraham was a slender but muscular bartender, a man about forty-something, and had been born in Tel Aviv where he lived for twelve years. His father had been killed when the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) was attacked, again, by the terrorist group Hezbollah. One night on a routine patrol near the Golan Heights, five IDF soldiers were kidnapped; and three were killed and set on fire. Actually, they weren’t killed first but thrown live into a burning trash pile. Abe’s father had been one of the chargrilled, burned and left hanging on a tree like Judas of Jesus’ day.
A year later, his mother Naomi packed Abraham and his sister, Rebecca, onto a plane to New York to live with Naomi’s sister and her husband. At least the kids would have cousins to play with and no bombs to avoid, she thought, trying to allay her sadness. It’s not easy to lose your husband and then give the kids up, she thought to herself, trying to hide the tears that were trying to burst from her misting eyes but hidden by Naomi’s strength. There had been many tears shed in Naomi’s life. Except for her strength and fortitude, there would have been many more.
“So why all of the sudden interest about God, Mr. Ross?” Abe repeated the question. Judi glanced at Abe and then Jeff, her interest piqued. Judi was a big time believer.
“I’m not sure. You know my interest in astronomy, and a couple of weeks ago I saw something in the sky. It was awesome. Really, really awesome.”
“What was it?” Abe asked.
“I have no idea, and no one else seems to have seen it! That’s the really strange thing.” Jeff paused. “I wonder how all the astronomers and night-sky gazers in the whole world just happened to miss what I saw. It was extremely bright. It’s been weeks, and no reports have been filed at this point.”
Jeff made a casual look-see to his right, still trying to figure out where he had seen the brunette. Then it hit him.
“Versace Lady!” He smiled and offered to buy her martini.
She accepted.
“What do you mean exactly, kind sir?” “I could be wrong, but...”
“He’s never wrong! Just ask him.” Abe winked at Judi. “I think I’ve seen you before.”
“You have to do better than that kind sir. That line’s older than dirt.” She gave him a smile that could have melted iron.
“No, really. It was you or your twin sister this morning about ten o’clock. You were walking past Starbucks, just up the street, in a red Versace dress.” Jeff didn’t mention his run-in with the Starbucks doorframe; his head still a little sore from the encounter.
“Oh no. You were there? You heard the bomb?” Judi had been calm and collected, but now she was Miss Jibber Jabber. “By the way, it was a fake Versace dress.”
“Heard it, felt it and smelled it. My ears are still ringing.” Jeff’s head was still ringing actually.
“Did you hear about Scottish Rite Children’s Hospital?”
“No I didn’t.” Neither Jeff nor Abe had heard anything about the Children’s Hospital. “What happened?”
“They blew it up! An ambulance full of explosives pulled up to the emergency room entrance, according to the news. The driver left the ambulance with the motor running, and just walked away. A minute later, the whole side of the building disappeared. Said more than a hundred were killed, mostly children.” Judi was on the verge of tears, her heart still aching.
Jeff consoled her, moving to an adjacent seat. They embraced as though they were long, lost friends, one comforting the other. Abe tried to make small talk, but it was not a day for small talk.
Abe changed the subject, an intuition of a good bartender.
“OK, I will ask you one more time. What was it?”
“What?” Jeff asked
“Whatever you saw in the sky?”
Jeff noted the perspiration on Abe’s forehead.
“Well, I had my brand new fourteen-inch Celestron telescope programmed to look for errant asteroids. I am always watching for something headed our way. It happens more than you think.” “You’re kidding!” Abe hadn’t heard that one. “You mean there are asteroids headed our way?”
“Yes Goofy! Around midnight, I was adjusting the camera, hoping to discover a new asteroid or comet to name after myself, when I saw a flash of light. I was looking down toward the ground, and the light lit up everything. It was like someone took my picture. When I looked up at the sky, there was nothing abnormal to see. No flashes, no bright lights. But it came from the sky.”
Abe, not one to drink, poured himself a scotch. “I saw the same thing, Jeff. It looked like the Star of Bethlehem, just a bright, narrow cone of light shining down from the sky, maybe a few miles in front of me. I was headed west on I-20, just east of Villa Rica.”
“That was it!” Jeff almost shouted, relieved that someone else finally acknowledged seeing this phenomenon. He was beginning to think he hadn’t seen anything at all.
Outside Park Place Café, a car backfired and everyone inside ducked, by instinct, expecting another bombing. Several protesters ran into the bar, thinking the worst, protest signs in hand.
There were no more bombings that night though, at least not in Atlanta.
One of the TVs was tuned to FOX News, Greta and Gretchen on extra duty, another news alert highlighted the screen.
“Greta, the New York subway has flooded, another victim of the Lincoln Tunnel roof collapse. Have you heard casualty rates? According to the Associated Press, the toll is climbing by the minute. A high level of drowning deaths is expected from the subway system. The toll at the moment stands at 715 but is sure to rise.
“Here is what we know so far: The FBI has discovered the bodies of four UPS employees at a warehouse in Newark, N.J., apparently drivers.
“The trucks were dispatched to the warehouse under the pretext of a massive shipment of charitable goods and food for the people of Montserrat. Montserrat, as you know Gretchen, is the Caribbean island location of the recent Souffriére Hills volcanic eruption. This same volcano has erupted many times over the last decade, most recently causing the crash of a missionary plane off the coast of Vieques within the last two weeks.
“The four UPS drivers were found in the warehouse, bound, gagged and shot in the head execution style. It is believed that the terrorists, their nationality unknown, loaded the trucks with high volumes of explosives.”
“What do you mean nationality unknown? I think we probably know the nationality, or at least the religion.” Gretchen had never been one to mince words, even while reporting; and she believed in the merits of profiling, thought it stupid that others did not. Greta continued.
“At this time, there has been no indication of who the terrorists were. Of course, most suspect Islamic terrorists, based on the past history; but the present administration, like most others in the past, really frowns on profiling. There was some fertilizer residue in the warehouse, and the floor was stained with diesel fuel. That speaks for itself, and the investigation is just beginning.
“Bombings were experienced in many states, but not all the states we initially reported. More than five hundred are dead in Paris from the Eiffel Tower collapse, hundreds more reported in London. It’s a real mess Gretchen, and it’s just the beginning. We should have a better handle on it tomorrow.”
“Thanks Greta. Now let’s go to Emory Hospital where Nancy Harrison is giving a statement.”
Jeff recognized the name of his personal physician. She had given him a clean bill of health after his exam and assured him he had no exotic diseases.
“There is no further news of Samarra Russell’s condition. Both she and Russ Ivies remain in critical condition, in isolation with internal bleeding and breathing difficulties. While the illness is still unknown, the symptoms are flu-like in nature: high fever, muscle cramps. The bleeding is unusual and not normally a flu symptom. However, in some specific cases of past flu viruses, there has been bleeding from the eyes, nose, mouths, ears and anus. Specifically in the case of the Spanish Flu of 1918-1919.
“It is known that Samarra Russell is an exotic disease specialist, and Spanish Flu is one of her areas of research.”
“Is this a Spanish Flu outbreak? If so, what was the mortality rate for the Spanish Flu, and is there a vaccine?”
The reporters were shouting questions, one trying to out- shout the other.
Jeff excused himself, explaining to Judi and Abe that he needed to get back to Duluth. He asked for Judi’s business card and told her he would like to take her to lunch or dinner. He got up to leave.
“Jeff, buy a Bible and read it. An NIV.” Abe insisted.
“And an NIV is?”
“Just go to the nearest Barnes & Noble, and ask for an NIV Prophecy Study Bible.”
“How about the next time I come in, you just give me the Cliffsnotes version, Abe?” It was more a request than a question. Walking out the front door, FOX was now reporting that more than 80,000 people, world-wide, had disappeared; and the number continued to increase.