With a passion that reminds Father Kelly of his early days as a priest, Black Jesus runs his Messiah Show at the center of the park. The great con artist that he has become, Black Jesus has herded by far the largest congregation that Father has ever seen. No room to swing a cat, Father Kelly thinks, surveying the degenerate fools gathered like mindless cattle. It is saddening that so many people waste their time and money fooling around in an adventure park rather than worshiping God in His church.
But times have changed. This is the new reality of the world, where the third millennium marks the end of the golden age of religion. To survive the new era, one must adapt and evolve. Compromise is an act of strong leadership, Father Kelly thinks and reassures himself about the plan.
Sitting at the edge of the cafeteria’s balcony on the 3rd floor, which overlooks the entire park, Father Kelly turns his gaze back to the black coffee before him, and then across the table to the cup of hot chocolate before Morgan. Morgan’s drumming fingers go back and forth between his hot chocolate cup and the walkie-talkie sitting next to it, but he doesn’t take a drink. Nor does Father Kelly. It is like a gun duel in the wild west except that each of the cowboys is waiting to see who reaches for his drink first.
With knitted brows and squinted eyes, Morgan’s gaze is glued to Father Kelly as if he is studying every single move of an archenemy. Although his lips are sealed, the bulges on the sides of his jaws betray his clenching teeth. Negotiating the new world order with Stalin after WWII must have been easier than having this mute dialogue with Morgan. Sigh! This is going to be a long day.
With his eyes returning Morgan’s glares, Father Kelly makes a slight move and raises the demitasse spoon on the saucer.
The moment Father’s fingers touch the spoon, Morgan picks up his cup of once-hot chocolate, and while his gaze is still on Father Kelly, chugs the whole cup in one gulp. He hits the cup on the saucer and lets out a loud ahh like a satisfied child. At the very least, the ice is broken now.
Father Kelly smiles and mixes the nonexistent sugar in his black coffee. “So, Mr. Morgan, how’s business?”
“Good. How’s yours?” Morgan responds, wrinkling his nose.
Father Kelly lets out a nervous chuckle. He takes out the white pocket square poking out of his breast pocket, leans in, and offers it to Morgan. “You got a bit of cream around…ah,” he says, gesturing to his lips.
Without taking his menacing glare off Father Kelly, Morgan sticks out his tongue and licks his lips. Gross!
Father leans back, facing the reality that Morgan has no intention of becoming friendly. “You know, Mr. Morgan,” he cuts to the chase, “there are some serious concerns around some particular…gatherings—”
“Yeah, yeah. You told the mayor, and the mayor told me, and I told him already to tell you what he must’ve told you,” Morgan says in one breath, showing no sign of leniency. “Listen to me, priest, and listen carefully. Anyone who tries to drive my customers away from the park,” he continues, showing his teeth, “they have to first kiss my—”
“Hey, hey. Relax, man. Relax,” Father says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No one is touching your beloved customers.” He shows his empty palms. “In fact, I’ve come here with a proposal to bring in more of them to this fine place of yours. I must admit”—he forces a chuckle—“the space you have here is—”
“How many?”
“How many what?”
“How many more customers?”
“As many as all the followers of all religions, combined.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I…shit you not. Our mutual friend, Mayor Hansen, would personally guarantee that the contract is executed down to the very last detail.”
Moving the empty cup aside, Morgan leans in on the table and says, “I’m listening.”
Father Kelly leans in too, his head just inches away from Morgan. He whispers, “What do you say if we make Eden Adventure Park the place of worship and fun? What if, and hear me out, what if our people came here, to this very park, to attend the weekly mass? That is conditioned upon your consent to—”
“The Sunday mass?”
“Sundays, Saturdays, and Fridays.”
“Fridays too?!”
“Imam Zahid has personally committed to that if you agree to—”
“We can build a multi-cultural center right at the zip line’s landing platform,” Morgan says, his wide eyes sparkling with excitement, “with a restaurant, and…and an education center next to it, with a…with a…with an amphitheater.”
“But without the Messiah Show,” Father lays it bare before Morgan and studies his reaction.
Morgan clenches his lips, audibly inhaling through his nose.
Anticipating another potential outburst from Morgan, Father presses his palms against the table, poised for a quick withdrawal if needed.
Morgan sneers, “Messiah, Peshiah. Who cares?” With his hand gesture, he throws away a piece of invisible garbage. It is unbelievable how quickly Morgan’s demeanor has turned around in just a few minutes. Such miraculous transformations can only be attributed to the Lord’s gracious favor, showering blessings upon this covenant.
Father Kelly smiles, stands up, and with his hand stretched out, goes around the table to Morgan. “Can I presume we have a deal then?”
Morgan springs off his chair and pulls Father Kelly into a tight hug.
While his arms wrap around Morgan, Father gazes down at Black Jesus in the center of the park. The Messiah Show is finished, its dispersing attendees leaving Jesus to be alone and soon forlorn. “Bye-bye, Jesus,” he mutters and tightens his embrace around Morgan.