The fresh paint reads ‘Messiah Show’ on a hand-written cardboard sign that points to the center of the adventure park. Cheng bangs the hammer on the second nail next to the word ‘Show’ and takes a step back. The cardboard looks a bit out of place next to the other aluminum signs on the post pointing in various directions. The carved words on them say: Carousel, Pendulum Ride, Pirate Ship, Roller Coaster, and Zip line. Although not yet operating at full capacity yet, they are all up and running thanks to the popularity of the Messiah Show. The carousel ride, almost filled with happy children, circles to the sound of inspiring music. The Pirate Ship, which Cheng used to operate up until last Tuesday, is still running at half capacity though, but there is now a line before the Roller Coaster.
The least busy line is for the zip line with only two people waiting in it. It takes time for people to forget the tragedy of Vincent’s death and trust the zip line again. Jesus and Paul are no longer in charge of the zip line. Morgan has reassigned them to run the Messiah Show instead. It is basically the same, old, informal preaching sessions that Jesus used to hold at the entrance of the park, but now on a much larger scale thanks to the capital investment by Morgan. The rumor has it that they got a handsome pay raise too. Cheng is not jealous. On the contrary, he is grateful to Jesus. If the audience of his Messiah Show did not spend their leisure time in the park, the other activities would have remained inactive, and then Cheng and other fellow operators of the park would have had to look for new jobs.
With the hammer in hand, Cheng returns to the Pendulum Ride. It is the best ride to operate in the park, except for a small catch. The upside is that it has the most spacious booth in the park, measuring 10 x 6 feet, which is like a castle as far as operator booths go. The catch is that Cheng has to share his castle with crazy Omar.
Omar is probably the only park operator that is unhappy with the recent developments. It is because he is jealous—everybody knows that. He cannot stand Jesus’ popularity. The more popular Jesus becomes, the weirder Omar gets; to the point that he recently has completely shaved his head. Along with the long beard, it gives him the crazy look of a professional wrestler. It is getting out of control and increasingly inappropriate. The other day, a tween refused to get on Pendulum Ride because she was scared of Omar—why wouldn’t she be? Somebody gotta have a little friendly chat with Omar and talk some sense to that pigheaded monster. Not Cheng, however. He doesn’t want to risk ending up on Omar’s blacklist. Not everyone has Jesus’ bravery—or recklessness, depending on how you look at it.
The line in front of Pendulum Ride has grown unusually long; much longer than a few minutes ago when Cheng went to take care of the Messiah Show sign and left Omar in charge. Sigh! What is that bonehead up to now?
“Hey, what’s going on here?” a frustrated visitor in the line yells at Cheng as he approaches. “The line’s not moving!”
“I don’t know,” Cheng says and keeps walking.
The visitor stretches out his hand and blocks Cheng’s way. “Don’t you work here?” He gestures to the official yellow vest that Cheng wears.
“Just calm down, okay?” Cheng raises his hand in surrender. “I’ll take care of it.”
The visitor, with an unexpected look of fear, says, “Sorry,” and takes a step back.
Cheng notices the hammer in his hand, realizing it may have given the visitor the wrong impression. Cheng lowers the hammer, and carrying the visitor’s frustration with him, he enters the operator’s booth. The moment Cheng opens the door, he is hit by Jesus’ voice performing the Messiah Show.
Omar sits on the wooden stool, his back to the window through which the anxious visitors are peering at him from outside. With his feet on the footrest, he has the pose of The Thinker—which is ironic. Having tuned Cheng’s AM/FM radio to the park’s internal channel that plays the Messiah Show, Omar holds it before his face. Grinding his teeth, he stares into the globe-shaped radio as if he is eye to eye with his archenemy.
“Are you alright, buddy?” Cheng asks with a friendly tone as he gently touches Omar on his muscular shoulder.
Omar slowly turns his hateful glare from the radio to Cheng. Growling like a hungry stray dog, his teeth are clenched so tight that they could break a bone in half.
Cheng gulps in fear.
Omar lowers his burning glare to the hammer in Cheng’s hand.
With his heart dropping into his stomach, Cheng hastily tosses the hammer on the desk and raises his hand in surrender. “All is cool, buddy. All is cool. Just, ah…I only, ah.” Cheng gulps again, but his throat stays dry, as if it doesn’t retain moisture. “Just wondering…ah…if you’re OK. Just that…buddy.”
Omar turns to the AM/FM radio playing Jesus’ voice. “No. No, I’m not.”
“Yeah. So…maybe…ah….how about turning that thing off, you know, chill a bit?”
Omar stands up.
Shit! Godzilla is awake. Cheng holds his breath and steps back to safety, his butt pressing against the desk. His heart beats so fast that it could break his ribs and spring out of his chest. “Easy, buddy,” he squeaks. “Take it easy, man.”
Omar steps forward, takes Cheng’s hand, lifts it, and slaps the globe-shaped radio onto Cheng’s palm. “You take it easy, sweetheart.” Omar smacks him on the cheek several times, not too hard to hurt, but enough to assert his dominance. “Omar doesn’t do easy.” He leaves the booth before saying another word.
Cheng draws in a deep breath as if an invisible claw lets go of his throat. The moment the door closes behind Omar, Cheng rushes to the door and locks it. He does not know why he did that. It’s not like a feeble lock can stop a beast from charging. Cheng’s gaze falls onto the desk. The hammer is no longer there. Oh, shit! Somebody is going to get hurt real bad.
While breathing forcefully through his nose, Omar stomps through the park.
“Suzy, Cheng here,” Omar hears through the walkie-talkie attached to his yellow vest. “Can you send someone to cover Omar? Over.”
“Why? What the hell did he do now? Over.”
The walkie-talkie is silent for a few moments. While clenching the hammer in his right hand, Omar uses his other hand to take his cell phone out of his pants pocket. He dials a number and holds the phone to his ear.
“Ah…,” Cheng says finally through the walkie-talkie. “He doesn’t feel well, I think? Over.”
“Thank you, Sir,” an upset visitor yells sarcastically after Omar shoves the man out of his way.
Omar snaps back to attention, noticing the flock of people who are walking in the opposite direction. Good! More stupid, gullible morons ready to be deceived by Jesus’ unstoppable trickery. Somebody has to put a stop to this mass madness. Someone who has the guts to stand up and do the right thing. “Frank,” Omar says on the phone, “I’m in. Call me when you get the message.”
Omar reaches the park’s gate and exits through the small door on the side that says ‘Staff Only’ on it. He heads towards the parking area adjacent to the entrance gate, which are exclusively reserved for staff members.
A young couple who should not have parked in the staff-reserved slots stand by their Toyota Prius that has a big Budget Rental sticker on it. The girl is dressed like a slut, wearing a sexy, blue tank top and light green hiking shorts. She is pretty. Like evil pretty. Like that stupid Latina girl exposing herself in public on the balcony of the strip club. Like sinful pretty. A golden, heart-shaped necklace that rests on her white chest glitters in the sun. Omar looks away from the sight of the devil before it is too late. Trying not to look in her direction, he approaches his Batcycle. The nickname given by the fellow park operators is well suited for that monstrous-looking motorcycle.
Using his peripheral vision, Omar notices that the sexy woman is walking his way. Damn! The devil is persistent today. He quickly glances to make sure. Yep, no doubt she is targeting Omar. The boy, who must be her husband, wears a T-shirt and shorts, which show his big biceps and also thin thighs. He must be one of those who only work out their dating muscles, leaving their core as floppy as a gelatin dessert.
“Excuse me,” the pretty girl says as she stops a few yards ahead of Omar.
Lowering his gaze to the ground, Omar walks faster. Why don’t they leave me alone?
“Sir, might you have a map of the trails?”
Omar doesn’t stop. Peering down at the asphalt, he uses all his strength not to look her way. “Not for whores,” he mutters while passing by.
“What?!” the girl shouts from behind.
Ignoring her provocation, Omar reaches his Batcycle, stows the hammer in the glove box, and starts freeing the bike from the thick chain that secures it. While unlocking the chain, he spies on the lousy couple through the side mirror of his bike.
The girl looks back at her man and taps him on the chest with the back of her hand.
“What?” the boy hisses.
She grabs his shirt and tugs him to her front.
The boy clears his throat, licks his thin lips, and makes a face by wrinkling his nose. Mimicking Sylvester Stallone, he thickens his voice and shouts: “Hey, what’s your problem?”
“Fix your woman, you pimp!” Omar responds right away without bothering to turn back to them. He puts the lock into the glove box and wraps the chain around his hand before stowing it too.
“Ah, well, ah… Fuck you,” the boy blurts.
Growling through his grinding teeth, Omar turns to the dead man who dared to speak filth at him. The heavy chain unwinds and drops, with one end hanging from his hand like a medieval weapon.
“Or… Or not,” the boy squeaks and takes a few steps back, almost hiding behind his woman like the wuss that he is.
Omar sneers and turns back to place the chain in the glove box.
“We’ll report you to your supervisor, you know,” the girl says in a quavering voice.
Omar notices that he still wears the park’s yellow vest. That explains why they thought they were entitled to seek help from him. He takes the vest off and flings it to the ground.
Exhaling thick smoke from its exhaust, his Batcycle roars like a monster when Omar ignites the engine.
Sharon watches the impudent park worker leave on his eco-unfriendly, ego-boosting bike. Struggling to process her emotions, she has not decided yet whether she should be upset or angry. But one thing is certain; she is in a state of shock. Having grown up in a small town where everybody knows each other, Sharon is not used to the norm of a big city and the range of disturbed people that it produces.
“He’s lucky I didn’t have my nunchaku with me,” Karl, her brave boyfriend, says from behind. With the aggressive park worker gone and far away, the braveheart gets closer and touches Sharon on the shoulder. “Are you OK, babe?”
Sharon cringes away and walks toward the entrance gate.
“You’re ignoring me again? What an adult thing to do! Sigh! You always do this,” Karl complains but follows her anyway—as usual. “She always does this. And then she tells me to grow up,” he nags on from behind. “Who’s being a baby now?”
The astonishing natural scenery surrounding the amusement park is a hiker’s heaven. Before the amusement park became popular, everybody knew Eden for its unforgettable hiking trails. That’s why Sharon and Karl have come all the way here. Given that hiking is the activity that truly amuses them—her, to be accurate as Karl just tags along—Sharon has little to no interest in the amusement park itself. Why would anyone find some man-made machines amusing when nature with her endless beauty is just a few steps away?
The trailhead must be somewhere around here. It would have been easier to find it with a hiking map, but given the bad experience with that impudent worker, Sharon has become somewhat conditional against anyone who wears a yellow vest, especially if they are bearded. That is stereotyping, of course. She knows that, and she is not proud of it. But she is still disturbed by that unpleasant encounter and thus not quite in the mood to be politically correct.
After roaming in the park for a while with no luck, Sharon is quite close to becoming officially agitated. She notices a somewhat large gathering on the grass field at the center of the park. That is unusual for an amusement park, she thinks. Out of curiosity, she approaches the crowd, and Karl follows her—naturally. As they get closer, Sharon can hear through the megaphone a passionate voice that speaks of love and compassion.
A young, blond man spreads fliers among people who join the gathering. The handsome man takes a good look at each person before handing them a flier. It is as if he cherry-picks the audience. When his gaze meets Sharon’s, he grins and walks directly toward her.
“Excuse me!” An old lady with thick sunglasses blocks the blond boy’s way. “Can you explain this quote?” She holds out the flier before him.
“Yeah, sure. No problem,” the blond boy responds without even looking at the old lady. With his gaze locked on Sharon, he hands another flier to the old lady. Maneuvering his way around her, the blond boy leaves the lady bewildered with two fliers in her hands.
“What’s happening?” the handsome boy says to Sharon, the grin still covering his face.
“We’re good, thank you,” Karl says from behind.
“It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?” the boy asks Sharon.
“Do you know what’s going on here?” Sharon asks.
“That, my fine lady, is the Messiah Show that you are witnessing.” He hands a flier to Sharon.
“Messiah Show?!”
“You probably know it from the Common Sense podcast. You wanna go on a private tour?” he asks, winking.
“Thank you.” Karl steps in and puts his palm against the blond boy’s chest. “You’ve been helpful, but, we’re good.”
“I don’t wanna trouble you,” Sharon says from behind Paul.
“No trouble at all, my fine lady. Anything you need, Paul is at your service.” He winks again and walks away.
“What an asshole!” Karl mutters and turns back to Sharon. “Can you believe that guy?”
“Come on. I wanna check it out,” Sharon says and walks toward the crowd.
“It’s like I’m not even here.” Karl nervously laughs from behind and begins his usual nagging. “She always does this to me. And I’m the one who still acts like a child.”
Holding a megaphone, a bearded young man stands on the wooden platform in the middle of the grass field. Circled around him, a large, enthusiastic crowd is sitting on the grass, attentively listening to his familiar, yet refreshing words.
“Exercise compassion and discover heaven on earth. The heaven to which you are the creator with your good deeds. Forgive and show clemency. Every time you do, a sense of peace grows in your heart. Do it and feel it. Call me a liar if you didn’t. Don’t forgive people because they deserve to be forgiven; forgive them because you deserve to be the forgiver. Your heart needs to offer forgiveness; don’t deny it from your heart. You are given the chance, take it. Take it for your heart.”
“Ah, this is boring. Do you wanna eat?” Karl asks Sharon but gets no response. Is she alright? He wonders and waves his hand to get her attention. Nothing.
With her mouth half open, Sharon’s eyes are fixed on the Black speaker with rapt attention, hanging on every word he says. The words seem to have cast a spell on Sharon. On Karl, not even a bit. They are nothing but the same old shit, spiced up and scrambled together.
A big chunk of fliers still in his hand, the douchebag flier guy is now sitting with another visitor, going through the details of the flier. She is a good-looking, twenty-ish-year-old girl with a white tank top and a short skirt. Good, Karl thinks. At least, the flier guy’s dick is now diverted away from Sharon.
The old lady with thick eyeglasses approaches and stands above the flier guy. Holding two fliers, she asks, “Excuse me, can you—”
“Yeah, sure. No problem,” he responds without even looking up at her. His gaze locked on the girl in the white tank top, he passes another flier to the old lady.