“Do good. As simple as that. That was the inspiration,” Jesus speaks behind the mic. His gaze then turns and meets the scorching glare of Father Kelly.
With his chest pumped up like the victorious winner that he is, Father Kelly stands next to Jesus on the podium. He has already warned Jesus that he will not hesitate to act if, when behind the mic, Jesus says anything but the agreed-upon speech: to retract all his previous words, and to renew his vows of remaining a faithful servant of the church.
“That was what I thought at the time,” Jesus says, intending to put Father at ease. “Was I inspired or hallucinating?” Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he turns back to the crowd seated on the event chairs, neatly arranged in rows at the zip line’s landing platform.
The large, diverse crowd is composed of followers of all major religions. Jesus has finally managed to unite them all—ironically against Jesus himself, their common enemy. Imam Zahid, Guru Saj, and Hakham Abba are sitting in the front row to rejoice in the dissolution of Jesus’ rebellion and his symbolic crucifixion in public as well as to celebrate their new partnership with Morgan.
Morgan has never looked more ecstatic. He must be on top of the world, excited about expanding the list of entertainment in his adventure park to include all major religions. With a permanent grin that doesn’t disappear from his face, he’s personally taken charge of running the show. Restlessly pacing from the front row to the back, he gives instructions to the assistants. The man who once took Jesus under his wing, not only has handed Jesus over to them but also oversees his crucifixion to be performed as spectacular and flawless as possible. What a faithless world we are living in! What’s the point of everything?
A muffled voice pleads with Jesus from within, urging him not to continue the apologetic speech. After all, he didn’t have to accept Father Kelly’s invitation to be the honored guest speaker at the inaugural ceremony of the new multicultural center. Nobody twisted his arm. Eden Adventure Park is still under the governance of freedom of choice—Morgan-style. And yet, Jesus was left with not many choices. It was either this or accepting a demotion to become a simple blue-collar operator again. A nobody with two spam followers on Twitter. People might say Jesus has sold his mission to Morgan and his soul to the devil, but the truth is that he just doesn’t care anymore. What is the point of fighting them anyway? They always win. They always have.
Jesus is a failure.
That is the inescapable fact that is before Jesus’ eyes wherever he turns. Jesus has failed, and so has his mission. After all, how can a leader make others believe in the ideals of his movement when even himself fails to uphold the said ideals? What did Jesus do wrong? He doesn’t know what, but he doesn’t care to figure it out either. He is just too tired to care about anything anymore. The hope that had inspired him to dream is all gone. It has turned out to be yet another deceitful mirage. Even Jesus himself no longer believes in the truth of his mission. A mission that doesn’t make anyone become a better person. A mission that yields nothing but hypocrites like Paul. If nothing else, that is the proof of Jesus’ failure. That is why he should give up.
“Do good. As simple as that. That was the inspiration,” Jesus’ voice says through the speaker installed at zip line’s launching platform.
That reminds Roma that after Crystal finishes her zip line ride, Roma should take the kids to meet Jesus, which is why they’ve come here in the first place. Crystal has been nagging to see Mr. Jesus again—as she calls him—ever since she recognized him on TV. Apparently, when he wasn’t yet popular, Mr. Jesus along with Brown Hulk—Crystal’s words—once saved her in this very park. She must’ve come here with Tyler, although Roma has no recollection of that.
Malcolm enjoys the half of the KitKats that Crystal shared with him, which means a lot, given how much Crystal loves her KitKats.
Roma never understood how come a few KitKat’s that she bought for Crystal last week never finished. She is just glad that Crystal gets along well with Malcolm these days. Crystal has started acting like a kind, big sister to her little brother. A kind, older sister. Something that Roma didn’t experience as a child. Time sure has changed for the better—God knows how.
Crystal is the next in line, thrilled to experience the zip line ride.
Roma, not as much. It just seems too dangerous for a five-year-old kid. If anything happens to my little baby, I’ll— Roma interrupts her thoughts and tries to distract herself by shifting her focus to the excited grin on Crystal’s face. Roma suggested the safer ride of Carousel, but when Crystal sets her heart on something, it is nearly impossible to talk her out of it. Besides, the operator girl at the Carousel said that the City Hall inspectors have approved the zip line safety standards. If the City Hall says it’s safe, then it must be.
“Next,” says the muscular, bearded operator. With his shaved head, he has the look of a UFC fighter. What would a UFC fighter know about zip line safety? Not that it matters, but he’s brown too. His skin might say that he’s Black but the big pointy nose and thin lips give it away that he’s just a brown guy with really really dark skin. That doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, Roma tells herself after a few seconds of pondering. Not all of them are bad, she thinks, proud of herself for growing to be so open-minded.
Loosely wearing the zip line harness, Crystal runs toward the brown guy. “Hello, Mister,” she says and waves as if she knows the guy.
“Hi,” the brown guy says, his blank voice not returning the enthusiasm in Crystal’s greeting. It is a bit rude. They should not let such people work with children—or near them for that matter. Kneeling before Crystal, he starts tightening the straps on her harness.
“Hey, is it safe for children to use this ride?” Roma asks the brown guy.
“Yeah,” he responds dismissively, without even bothering to look at Roma. This guy is testing Roma’s patience to its limits.
Not only does the curt response fail to put Roma at ease, but she also feels even more concerned now that her daughter’s safety is in the hands of a brown guy with no manners and probably no safety skills either.
Crystal, who has been staring at the brown guy’s long beard, finally dares to touch it.
The brown guy doesn’t react.
Holding his beard, Crystal gives it a tug.
“No, honey,” Roma warns her.
The brown guy scowls at Crystal.
Crystal giggles.
Roma steps forward in case the brown guy gets jihadi on her daughter.
With a suppressed smile barely cracking on his face, the brown guy tests the last strap, gives Crystal a boop on the nose, and then pushes her toward the Asian operator standing by the gate.
“Hi, sweetie,” the Asian girl says. “My name’s Bao. What’s yours?” The white, Asian girl is noticeably much nicer than the bearded, brown guy.
Roma approaches the nice girl. “Excuse me, Bow.”
“Bao,” she says, maintaining her kind smile. “How can I be of your assistance?” she asks with an approachable voice. What a polite girl! The park should hire more people like her—and less of browns.
“Could you please double-check the straps on my daughter’s harness?” Roma asks, gesturing toward Crystal.
“Oh, ah… It’s OK. My colleague has already done that,” Bao points to the brown guy.
With a deep frown, the brown guy shows his offense. He combs his fingers through his bushy beard.
With her smile growing wider, Bao continues, “Don’t worry about it. The park conforms to ISO 2000 and ISO 2001 Standards. It’s pretty safe.”
“Yeah, but you cannot be too careful, can you?” Roma crosses her arms. “It doesn’t hurt to check again, does it?”
Combing his fingers through his manly beard, Omar thinks, Yes, it does, but doesn’t say anything. He lets Bao tell the heavy woman that she’s only a trainee on her first week on the job; that she’s just an apprentice, her job being to watch and learn from Master Omar.
“Yeah, sure. No problem,” Bao says, still hanging on to her phony smile, and starts touching the straps. What does she know about fastening the safety straps? She might be even loosening them, for all Omar knows.
Omar should say something, but most words escape his head when he’s angry. The few that remain would get him in trouble once uttered. He’d speak more fluently through his punches, but that would get him in trouble too. Omar stays back and watches Bao closely to make sure that she doesn’t undo any of Omar’s work.
The little girl looks familiar, Omar thinks. Where do I know her from? She is much braver than her mother. It reminds Omar of himself when he was a child. Always a badass. Always tough.
Having finished her pretend safety check, Bao looks toward Omar, with her eyes asking for his permission.
Omar nods.
“Alright. All set. Ready, sweetie?” Bao asks the little girl and helps her get behind the gate.
The heavy mother still seems concerned. Screw her and her concerns. The ignorant cannot tell a master from an apprentice.
Bao opens the gate, and the little girl begins the ride with a gleeful scream.
Omar smiles, remembering himself when he was the age of the little girl. The brief smile wears off quickly when his gaze lands on the self-entitled face of the heavy woman. Such assholes are good for nothing but to be punched. The world would be a better place with them out of the way.
Omar cannot wait for this day to be over. He needs his night prayers at the grand mosque for recharging. He’d hang out with some righteous fellow Muslims, or perhaps even Frank if he’s managed to bail out of jail. Still irritated by the heavy woman’s lack of trust, Omar turns to help the next rider.
He freezes in place.
The next rider is a middle-aged orthodox Jew, wearing a Yarmulke and a beard as long as Omar’s. The stories that Frank has told Omar all flash before his eyes.
Omar blinks as his vision darkens, and he finds himself transported back to 2000 years ago, to the hill of Golgotha in Jerusalem.
Holding a whip, the Jewish guy slashes Jesus Christ. While blood drips from the whip, the guy bursts into devilish laughter. Jesus suffers and the Jewish guy laughs.
Omar blinks again and sees the torturer of Jesus Christ standing before him, right on the zip line platform. Squinting his eyes, Omar fixes his gaze on the agent of the devil, the one most deserving of Omar’s holy punches.
“Is there a problem?” the Jewish guy says while snapping his fingers before Omar’s face.
Omar comes back to attention. He shakes the disturbed images off his head. “No, no problem. Where’s your harness?”
The Jewish guy points down to the seven-ish-year-old boy standing before him. Similarly to his dad, the boy also wears a Yarmulke but no beard yet. Like father, like son. He might be innocent now, but he will surely grow to hold a whip one day, slashing saints and prophets.
“Alright, come over here,” Omar says, reluctantly beckoning the Jewish kid.
The kid takes a step forward, but his father holds him back by tightening his grip on the child’s shoulder. Confused, the kid turns and looks up at his father.
Squinting his eyes, the father is shooting glares of mistrust at Omar.
Omar glares right back at him. Nothing agitates Omar more than mistrust. And today he’ss been the subject of plenty. First, the heavy woman and now the Jewish guy. What’s wrong with people? Assholes.
The father clenches his teeth.
Omar clenches his fists.
The father scowls.
Omar growls.
“Perhaps,” Bao jumps in the middle of the standoff before a fight breaks out. “I could help you, sweetie.” Placing both of her hands on her knees, she leans toward the kid.
As if he was looking for an excuse to escape the battlefield, the kid breaks free from his father’s grip and runs towards Bao.
Although the tension is partly defused, the father maintains his menacing glares at Omar.
Bao in charge of safety! Are you freaking kidding me?! While still facing the father, Omar observes, out of the corner of his eye, Bao’s unsuccessful attempts to properly tighten the harness straps. Omar sighs! For a moment, he entirely forgets about the punchable Jewish father and impulsively goes to help the kid.
Letting out a breath of relief, Bao immediately moves aside when the master approaches.
“Step away from my child this instant!” the father commands from behind, almost shouting.
Omar stops and turns to the asshole who dared to raise his voice on Master Omar. Everybody on the platform does the same.
Dashing forward, the father stands between Omar and his son. Unbuttoning his blazer, he reveals the holstered pistol tucked inside. What kind of moron would pack a gun to an adventure park? Facing Omar, he leans in awfully close, his bushy beard almost touching Omar’s.
Standing his ground, Omar gives the retarded father a condescending look. The image of the holstered pistol flashes before his eyes, reminding him of the stories that Frank told him, and his blood runs hot again, reaching a boiling point. Enraged by flames of fury, Omar’s vision goes blurry again. He blinks.
Armed to the teeth, the Jewish man trains his Uzi at the Palestinian prayers in Jerusalem. When they bow to their waist to perform Ruku, the Jewish man opens fire at the defenseless prayers, unleashing devilish laughter. Innocent blood splatters on his face, and some also into Omar’s eyes, making his vision blurry again.
Omar blinks and finds himself back at the zip line platform, eye to eye with the Jewish father.
Likewise, the father also stares into Omar’s eyes. “I don’t want you anywhere near my child. Is that clear?” he growls at Omar.
Omar growls back, declaring the start of the holy standoff between good and evil, round two.
The father clenches his teeth.
Omar clenches his fists.
The father scowls.
Omar growls.
“Excuse me,” the Jewish kid says, holding out something pink-ish next to Omar’s fist. “You dropped this.”
While his eyes are still engaged in the staring contest with the father, Omar takes a glance at the kid’s hand. It is the tube of mineral pills that Sharon had left with Omar when she saved his life. Although he never took any more pills, he always carries the pink tube with him. He doesn’t know why.
Breaking his staring contest with the father, Omar takes a good look at the kid holding out the symbol of compassion.
Unlike his father, the kid’s gaze is blank, empty of hatred or prejudice. The only thing that can be found in those lively eyes is the excitement for life.
“Screw it,” Omar says, snatching the pink container. “Not…my problem anymore,” he says as he steps away to drink water from the glass cup on the shelf.
“Alright, sweetie,” Bao says from behind, probably with the disingenuous smile back onto her face. “Let’s get you ready for the fun.”
While drinking water from his glass cup, Omar casually turns back to them but only halfway so that they wouldn’t think that he cares; that he’s soft. Or weak. From the corner of his eye, he watches Bao tighten the straps.
Although the Jewish kid’s body is facing her, his head is turned to the right, staring at Omar.
Their gazes meet. Omar hastily turns back to avoid eye contact.
“Are you excited, sweetie?” Bao says.
“Yes. Is it scary?”
“A little at first, but once you get used to it, it’s all fun. You’ll see.”
“Everywhere I turned, I faced the same question, over and over,” Jesus says through the black, square speaker sitting on the shelf. “Was I inspired or hallucinating? Once, I had a friend, named Omar, who insisted on the latter.”
Hearing his name, Omar gets laser-focused on Jesus’ speech. He gets closer to the black speaker as if it were Jesus, eye to eye with Omar.
Whee! The zip line ride is super duper fun! Crystal feels like a flying eagle, but a little bit sideways. Weird! Her harness starts to loosen on one side, and she tilts gently as she goes down the zip line.
Is this supposed to happen? What if I fall? Crystal wonders but doesn’t worry. I guess I’d fly with angels, she thinks as she tilts further to her side.
As her ride approaches its end, she nears the landing platform where a large crowd of adults listens to Mr. Jesus. The concrete wall below the platform is scary. What if I hit the wall? Crystal wonders, and this time she does worry. Titled to her side, she squeezes her eyes shut.
“And someone close to me whom I presumed was a friend—” As his voice tightens, Jesus takes a sip from the water bottle sitting on the podium, next to the microphone. He clears his throat and continues, “whom I presumed was a friend—I don’t anymore—encouraged me to believe that I was inspired. A voice from within my heart told me that too, and still does, that compassion and good deed is the essence, the purpose. And the rest is just commentary. But I was struggling, getting torn apart actually, to reconcile between the contradictory voices.” Jesus makes eye contact with Father Kelly. “But I don’t anymore.”
Father Kelly nods and smiles. He’s about to get what he’s been longing for out of Jesus, the underdog of the Father’s holy crusade. Father has defeated Jesus, stripping him of his followers, his pride, and his faith; the faith that once inspired him to dream like a child.
With her eyes shut, Crystal can picture the concrete wall approaching really really fast. Angels, help me, she wishes and wonders if the angels are listening. Of course, they are. Angels are always listening. They never let—
BANG.
She screams.
Crystal is hit. Not in the face like she feared. Instead, something hits the thing from which she hangs. Crystal opens her eyes after coming to a complete stop. She has landed safely, thanks to her protective angels. It is a miracle! A true miracle that she witnessed with her own closed eyes.
“Was it fun?” a guy in a yellow vest asks as he comes over to help her off the zip line.
After momentarily getting distracted by the little girl’s scream of enthusiasm, Jesus carries on with his apologetic speech. “Doubt is an essential part of our nature. None of the math and logic in the world could help with figuring it out. What does help is…the failure,” he says under his breath as he shudders. He shuts his eyes on the audience, covering them further with his palm as if he’s afraid that people could still see his pitiable grief through his closed eyelids. If only Jesus could get through this unbearable day. He’d pray for strength, but he’s not entirely sure if anyone is listening at the other end of the line anymore. More than ever, Jesus feels on his own. Alone. Forlorn. And abandoned. Biting his lips, he takes a few deep breaths to regain his composure.
Omar feels pity for Jesus when he hears him speaking the word ‘Failure.’ Omar did want Jesus stopped, but not utterly crushed; not like this, disgraced in public. After all, Jesus did have good intentions. Omar can personally testify to the sincerity of his long-time friend. Everybody who knows Jesus would do the same. And not all that Jesus said was blasphemy either. He also talked about love.
Omar recalls the glittering of Sharon’s love necklace in the sun.
He holds out the pink container that Sharon left for him after saving his life. The kindest thing anyone has ever done for Omar. And not just anyone. Someone at whom Omar had thrown the cruelest insults. And yet, she responded with nothing but kindness and mercy. Jesus too talked about mercy and compassion, which made sense at the time, and it has been making more sense day after day. And what was the other thing? Forgiveness. That’s a tough one. Assholes are unforgivable, and Omar is surrounded by them. His mission has always been punching them out of the way so that the world becomes a better place.
“Send the next, Bao,” the voice says through the walkie-talkie.
The Jewish kid waits behind the launching gate, his feet pushing against it.
“Does it mean that my kid landed safely?” the heavy Black woman asks Bao—instead of Omar. Asshole.
“Yeah,” Bao says in her fake, giggly voice, like an asshole. “Safe and happy. I think she loved it.”
The heavy woman lets out a relaxed breath like an asshole would. “Oh, thank you, Boa, was it?”
“Bao. Yeah, of course,” Bao says the typical asshole line.
The heavy woman takes the hand of her little son and walks toward the parallel, less-adventurous cable car ride. It would take her 15-20 minutes to reunite with her daughter at the landing platform.
With his tiny hands, the little Black kid waves goodbye to Omar. He is not educated yet to hate Omar and the likes of him. The innocence in the kid’s eyes is a refreshing breeze in Omar’s battle against mistrust. The Black kid is certainly not an asshole.
“Ready, sweetie?” Bao asks the Jewish kid behind the gate. That kid is innocent too.
Omar interjects, “Perhaps—”
“Don’t,” yells the Jewish father, leaping in to block Omar’s way, “even…think about it.” With his right hand touching his holstered pistol, he forcefully thrusts Omar back against his chest. How dare he?! A perfect example of an unforgivable asshole.
Omar should communicate with him, Omar-style: punching his freaking teeth out of his big mouth. But no matter how strong it is, Omar’s fist still cannot match the power of a pistol. Guns. That’s a good idea. Omar too should get one to be on equal ground in his holy battle against evil.
“Yes,” the kid nods to Bao that he’s ready.
Avoiding eye contact with Omar, Bao hastily opens the gate and the frightening ride begins.
The kid doesn’t make any sound. He’s either very brave or too scared to even scream.
Omar sighs and hopes Bao has not messed it up. It’s too late to intervene anyway. With his fist still clenched, he turns away from the asshole father to prepare the next rider in line.
The guy standing on the stairs leading to the platform looks familiar. He wears a T-shirt and shorts, which show his big biceps and also thin thighs. He is the…the…the hiker boy. What was his name? Karl, Omar remembers Sharon’s husband. Sharon! The kindest woman in the world. The woman next to Karl is wearing a blue tank top, much like Sharon’s. Could she be her? Omar’s heart sinks to his stomach.
With his heart racing, Omar slowly sidesteps to get a better visual of Karl’s companion. He recognizes the brown hair tucked behind her left ear. He remembers the flushed cheekbone. The curled lips. And below them, her round chin. Her thin neck. And her gold necklace that says ‘Love.’ With his heart pounding, Omar looks up.
Sharon is looking right at him.
Gasping for air, Omar swiftly turns away before Sharon can see him, if it’s not too late already. Was she looking at me? Breathing rapidly, Omar remembers the look in her eyes. Yes, it is too late. She must’ve noticed Omar staring. Hopefully, she hasn’t remembered him, though. Why would she?
Omar opens the lid on the pink container of electrolytes that Sharon left for him out of mercy. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep sniff of it. As always, the scent soothes him at once like the sedative gas on dental patients. It might not smell like Sharon, but it smells like the moments she showed mercy on a man who had shown her hate. With his eyes closed, Omar can picture the moment she held his head in her arms and gave his thirsty lips revitalizing water. And that gold necklace swaying back and forth, catching the light and glinting in the sun. And the word ‘Love’ shining on it. And the doubt that has been growing in him ever since.
Jesus talks about his doubts. Omar never had any. He was always certain, his faith as impenetrable as a fortress made of steel. Until the moment Sharon forgave him. If Sharon is the good person in the story, then Omar must not be. If Sharon is the heroine, then is Omar the evil? Overwhelmed by shame, Omar bites his lips. All his life has been centered around becoming the fist of God and fighting the assholes. He looked for the bad guys and punched them out of his way one after another, until now that there is no one left but a mirror that reflects the monster inside him. The monster that he’s been escaping from, neglecting its reach, and even sometimes denying its existence. It is here, right before him, and it’s no one but Omar himself. But how can one ever punch himself out of his way?
“Failure is the ultimate cure for doubt,” Jesus says through the speaker.
For the first time in his life, Omar relates to Jesus. Feeling tense, he firmly squeezes the glass cup in his hand.
“When you put your faith into practice,” Jesus continues, “and it falls apart before your eyes, then you know for sure you were wrong.”
“Ahh… Is that normal?” the Jewish father asks Bao, his I’m-tough voice softened with fear. Going down the zip line, his kid seems to be bouncing left and right.
“Don’t worry about it. The park conforms to ISO 20000 and ISO 20001 Standards. It’s pretty safe, I think,” Bao says, her fake giggly quality tone fading.
“Who the hell was I,” Jesus continues, “to question two thousand years of tradition, culture, literature, and legacy.”
Father Kelly smiles while nodding his head.
“Where’s my proof? Where are the miracles?”
Father Kelly mouths Jesus’ words.
CRACK!
The glass cup on which Omar was squeezing shatters to pieces, leaving his palm with deep wounds and gushing blood.
“Hashe-e-e-e-e-e-em!” the Jewish father screams and cries, “yishmore.” (May God protect us in Hebrew.)
Omar peers at the Jewish kid on the zip line, oblivious to his own bleeding hand. “Allahu Akbar,” he mutters and fears.
Jesus’s attention is drawn back to the valley as a distant, muffled scream reaches his ears, sending a chill down his spine. Abandoning the speech, he swiftly sprints toward the cliff’s edge, his heart pounding in his chest.
Jesus joins Cheng, his fellow operator, who observes the troubled zip line rider through binoculars. Snatching them from Cheng, Jesus takes a closer look.
He sees the zipping pulley on the zip line, the harness with busted open straps, and the kid rider hanging from its bottom. The harness is slipping through the grip of his little hands
His fall is inevitable.
Oh, God! Not again, Jesus cries, remembering the Vincent’s horrifying death.
Confused by the scream, Sharon steps up on the launching platform, and Karl follows, as usual.
The bearded operator who was staring at Sharon is no longer there. With his hand still gripping the fence, a bearded Jewish man in Yarmulke bursts out in tears as he falls to his knees.
Sharon joins the Jewish man behind the fence overlooking the valley. “Oh, my goodness,” she says, catching up with the unbelievable horror before her eyes.
Jesus puts the binoculars away, turns to the sky, and opens his arms to pray for a miracle. “God, save him. God,” he prays loudly.
Although he can tell the crowd has now gathered behind him, he’s not afraid of them hearing his desperate prayers. He cannot care less about what they’d think. It’s no longer about people and followers. It’s about saving a kid’s life. And even if there is only a one-in-a-billion chance that Jesus’ prayer is going to make a difference, that is enough for him to risk public embarrassment.
A madman shoves Karl aside and jumps on the next pulley, wearing no safety harness whatsoever. The only thing he carries is the rope coiled around his arm. Sharon recognizes him now. He is that angry bearded guy that had leg cramps on the trails. He’s the bravest guy she’s ever seen. Or the craziest. Or both. Awestruck by the act of valor, Sharon holds her face in her hands.
“Look, look. Who’s that guy?” a woman standing next to Jesus yells.
“Omar!” Jesus mutters.
“It’s too late,” Father Kelly says from behind, his voice lacking hope and void of faith.
Save the innocent, is the only thought in the sinful mind of Omar. If he succeeds, he’ll be able to live with himself again. This amendment would mark the end of his regrettable past as the unwavering agent of God and the beginning of his proud future as a questioning believer. A believer who shows compassion as God does. A believer who forgives like God would.
Time’s running out. If Omar wants to catch the kid in time, he gotta ride faster. Hanging by one hand from the pulley, Omar holds his legs up to reduce the air friction to a minimum.
The harness of the Jewish kid slips further through the grip of his little hands.
Hooking the coiled rope around his arm in the pulley, Omar grips the other end tightly.
The Jewish kid falls.
“No-o-o-o-o,” his father cries.
Sharon gasps.
Bao averts his gaze.
“May his soul rest in peace.” Crossing himself, Father Kelly looks away.
While Jesus’ hands are still outstretched toward the sky for a divine intervention, his hopeful gaze fixates on the zip line.
In the middle of the air, a hand reaches down from the sky and catches the falling kid.
Father Kelly turns back to the zip line. “Holy Mother of God.”
“Seriously,” a man says from behind Jesus, “who’s that guy?”
Sharon tightly clutches the heart-shaped pendant of her love necklace.
Slipping in his own blood, Omar clings to one end of the long rope. With his other hand, he holds tightly onto the forearm of the Jewish kid. In this moment, he feels as if he has truly become the very hand of God.
With his face buried in his hands, Imam Zahid dares to peep through his fingers.
“He’s OK. Look. Look,” Bao excitedly tells the father who has fallen to his knees.
Lifting his hopeless gaze from the ground, the father asks, his voice feeble, “Is he saved?!”
“Almost,” Bao says, doubt creeping into her voice. “Now, Omar just needs to pull himself up before landing.”
Omar struggles to pull himself up, but it seems impossible with only one hand, especially since it is slippery with blood. He’s going too fast down the zip line, and there’s no way to control the speed.
The wind blows away the Yarmulke of the Jewish kid, and it vanishes into the seemingly bottomless abyss of the valley below.
“It’d take a miracle to save him,” Guru Saj says.
“Come on, brother,” Jesus mutters, “you can do it.”
Omar, as if he can hear Jesus, turns to him. Their gazes lock as though they’re face to face.
The concrete wall approaches fast. The rope is too long to pass above it. Omar could have pulled himself up if he were not holding the kid with his other hand. There isn’t much time left. Omar must hurry or in a few seconds, both will be dead.
Omar struggles a bit more but soon faces the reality that there is no way to save himself with only one hand. He has no choice but to say goodbye to the Jewish kid. After all, he did all he could. He has no regrets.
As Omar takes a deep breath, a sense of stillness and peace settles in his heart. A feeling of serenity that he never knew even existed on earth. “Hey, kid. What was your name?”
“Adam.”
“Adam. You’ll be good, OK?”
“Okay.”
Omar draws in a deep breath.
“Goddamn it,” Father Kelly says.
Hearing the man of cloth using the Lord’s name in vain, a middle-aged woman steps away from Father Kelly and backs into Morgan.
“Oh, f***ing God. I’m fucked,” Morgan says, plopping down onto his butt.
Contrary to the voices around him, Jesus is not worried at all. He is at peace as if he’s receiving divine inspiration.
The concrete platform is now only 20 yards away from Omar.
Hundreds of unique voices from behind reach Jesus’s ears, none of which are worth heeding. As they gradually blend into ambient murmur, Jesus listens to his heart instead and a vision of the child safe in his embrace appears to him. Gazing confidently toward the sky, he opens his arms once more, as if reaching out to make the impossible vision a reality.
Summoning his full strength, Omar launches Adam skyward.
The flying kid appears from the edge of the cliff and lands in Jesus’ arms.
As the blast of Omar crashing into the concrete wall reaches Jesus’ ears, he squeezes his eyes shut, startled by the absence of a scream. He pictures the explosion of the watermelon when a few weeks ago it hit the concrete platform. Cringing in pain, a tear escapes from his tightly shut eyes.
The murmur of the crowd standing behind Jesus fades away into absolute silence. Jesus cannot hear even the soft rustling of their breath. It’s as though they’ve vanished, leaving Jesus alone to grapple with his conscience; as if they don’t matter; as if their demeaning views no longer mean anything to Jesus.
With the kid safely resting in his arms, Jesus slowly turns back to the people who had come here to celebrate his public mortification. He opens his tear-filled eyes, but his vision remains distorted. Doesn’t matter. Holding the kid up, he screams at blurred figures before him, “You wanted a miracle? You are my miracle. You are my proof. Every single one of you, every single time you self-sacrifice to do good, you are making a miracle.”
Having his belief shaken, Father Kelly watches the miraculously-saved kid in the arms of faithless Jesus.