All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923) (2 page)

“Here, this will help,” Al said, tossing him the keys to his Chevy. Al wasn’t really concerned about the car. He had all the money he needed to replace it if anything happened. He was just pleased to put a smile of astonishment on Lester’s face. When Lester got home four days later, he had many stories to tell Al about his trip “out east.” They became close friends, and Al realized one day that he loved Lester like he had loved his own sons. Lester too had come to think of Al as a father figure, filling a void in his life he didn’t even know his heart was craving.

Over the years they spent many hours sitting on the porch sipping beer or iced tea, talking about current events. Lester had finally quit trying to get Al to talk about his past. Al was very tight-lipped when it came to giving any specifics. Sometimes he’d tell Lester small, vague details; things about being a ship’s captain or a lion hunter, but nothing specific. Ambiguous little shadows of stories that piqued Lester’s curiosity but were never fully revealed.

Their years of friendship went by quickly, and over the years, as they both matured, Lester accepted this taciturn idiosyncrasy, as well as others, about his friend and focused on the present and the future. But Al began to long more and more for the time when he could finally unburden himself from the secret that was his own life. He ached to tell Lester all about who he was and what he’d seen and been a part of. He had prayed for the chance to have just one friend to share it all with, all of it, before the time of the end. He had prayed, and then he had waited.

Al shook his head to clear the cobwebs of thirty-year-old memories. He looked at his watch again, almost eight at night. Where was Lester? He had called him two hours ago and asked him to meet. Their conversation had been brief.

The day had started like any other. He had woken up, said his prayers, and eaten breakfast. He had worked in the yard, written in his journal, and gone on some errands. When he got home he made a BLT and some lemonade, and sat down to read the paper. With his belly full, his eyes got heavy, so he had kicked off his shoes and lay back on the couch. He fell asleep and had the dream.

An old man gave a young man a glass of cool water, the last glass of water that could be found on the earth. They faded away and were replaced by an image of two clouds: one in the air and one on the ground. The one on the ground tried to give water to the ground, but the ground refused it. So the cloud on the ground asked the cloud in the air not to give the ungrateful ground any water for three and a half years. The ground became very dry, but it was not sorry. It would not accept any water from the cloud on the ground. Storms ravaged the earth and war came, and in the end, the cloud on the ground died, killed by the dust of the earth, until the cloud in the sky rolled back and revealed the light of a new day with water enough for everyone. The light caused water to fall on the earth, and the cloud on the ground rose up and joined the light.

He woke up. The light of the late afternoon beamed in through the leaded glass of the living room and shined on Al’s face. He opened his eyes and remembered his dream. He smiled. He sat up and knew that he’d been given permission to tell Lester his life’s story. He was the old man in the vision, and Lester the young. The water, he knew, was the story. His story, almost six thousand years worth, was nothing more than a glass of water. However, he was the cloud on the ground too, and the rain was the story that no one wanted to hear; a story of good news far older and far longer than six thousand years. But they would have to hear it. He knew it better than most, and the time for telling it was near, thus his upcoming trip to Jerusalem.

Al had quickly picked up the phone and arranged with Lester to meet that night at seven-thirty in a little out-of-the-way bar.

“Hello?”

“Lester, are you sitting down?” Al asked.

“You seem excited, Al, what’s up?”

“Today’s the day, Les. I’m going to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Everything! From the beginning to the end. Hurry, I’ve got so much to say I’m going to explode if I don’t. I’ve had an answered prayer. Hurry up. I’ll meet you at Moody’s.”

“Where?”

“The bar here by my house.”

“When?”

“Two hours. See you there.”

Al had hung up feeling tense with excitement; every muscle and nerve ending in his body was alive with crackling energy. He bounced around his house, doing nothing in particular. Doing everything. He could hardly stay focused. He spent those two hours in a daze, showering, dressing, eating a piece of left-over meatloaf. He made sure he had everything he would need to show to Lester and then left, walking the few blocks downtown.

Al came out of his reverie when he heard the sound of Lester’s voice holler out his name. He looked around and watched as Lester weaved his way between tables and chairs, then slid into the booth across from him. Lester smiled, and they shook hands.

“Good to see you, old buddy. Sorry I’m late. You haven’t changed a bit.” Lester made a habit of telling him he never looked a day older. Over the years they had known each other, Lester had gone from a freckle-faced teenager to a graying, slightly paunchy, wrinkled older man. Al, on the other hand, looked exactly the same as the day Lester had first seen him through the driver’s-side window at the carwash.

“It’s good to see you too, Les. What took you so long?”

“Easy there, old timer,” Lester joked, “you’ve been waiting this long to spill your beans. What’s another twenty-five minutes?”

Al frowned.

“I got stuck in traffic,” Lester said. “Literally, if you want to know the truth. I blew a tire on the bridge. Thing had a nail in it nearly six inches long. Spare was flat too. I had to walk to that service station over on Fourth. Fifty cents to fill it up with air. Fifty cents! Can you believe that? First they start selling water in those little non-biodegradable bottles, now air. What’s next, huh? They going to start taxing your heartbeats per minute? Charge you a dollar per thought you think? Hey, you want another one of those, what is that, rum and coke? I’m gonna get a beer.”

“No, I’m fine,” Al said as Lester waved for a waitress.

When his beer arrived, Al told the waitress just to put it on his tab. Lester shot him a smile and flashed one at the young girl who had brought his drink. “As long as they’re on his tab, just keep ‘em coming, dear. One about every half an hour until he’s done talking or I pass out.”

“Cute,” said Al as the waitress giggled and walked away.

Lester swung his legs back under the booth. “Okay, what’s this all about? I know you said you were going to tell me everything, but are you serious man? Everything? All the times I’ve asked you to explain how you know something and you just avoid the question or give me some trite answer about how the Lord reveals all things. Are you sure you even remember how to talk about yourself, pal?” Lester ribbed.

Al smiled. “I remember almost everything, Les, and yes, I need to tell it, and you’re my closest friend. But I have to tell you that I’m glad you’re sitting down, because almost all of what you hear you will find hard to believe.”

“Well, I find that hard to believe,” quipped Lester, pulling out a pack of Camels and putting one between his lips. From a pocket he pulled out a worn, silver Zippo and flipped open the lid.
Flick, flick.
Lester couldn’t get a flame out of his lighter, only sparks. “Ah, crap man,” Lester mumbled, “I’m out of fluid.”

Al had his eyes closed and was saying something under his breath.

“What are you doing, Al? I gotta go get a pack of matches. Be right back.” He rose to leave and Al put his hand on Lester’s arm.

“Sit down, Lester.”

“Yeah,
…
just a sec, I gotta bum a light from someone,” Lester said, looking around and sizing up the patrons in the dimly lit tavern.

“Lester, sit down,” Al’s grip on his arm tightened, and Lester plopped back into his seat.

“What the…”

“It’s already lit, my friend.”

“Huh,” Lester looked down at the cigarette he was holding between his fingers and watched as smoke curled up from the red-hot cherry on the end. “Whoa, what the…? How in the world?”

“It’s just a small miracle, Lester. Most of the things I’m going to tell you are going to sound very far-fetched to your fifty-year-old mind. I need you to believe what I’m telling you. I need you to believe in the truth.”

“So you’re telling me that God lit my cigarette so I’d believe your story?”

“After a fashion, yes.”

“Maybe a spark from my lighter flicked into the tobacco when we weren’t looking and took a while to smolder? Did you think of that?”

“That could have happened, but it didn’t. Trust me. Before the week’s out you’re going to see a few more miracles. Don’t be a doubting Thomas.”

They looked at each other for several seconds until Lester smiled. “Whatever you say, my kooky old friend. It sounds like we’re going to be here for a while. I think maybe you better get started.”

Al nodded, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

Al reached for the black, leather bag sitting beside him on the booth’s maroon cushion. He glanced around but none of the other patrons in the bar were paying them any attention. He unzipped the bag and pulled out an extremely worn copy of the King James Bible. He set it on the table facing Lester and nudged it toward him. With slow and careful reverence, Lester pulled it another inch or two toward himself and opened the cover.

“This looks old,” said Lester.

“First edition,” Al replied. “1611, I believe. I have one that is a bit older, but it’s written in Latin. Actually, I have some scrolls too, but I wrote them in Hebrew and Greek, and for our purpose here tonight that just wouldn’t do.”

Lester caressed the first page with his fingertips; his hanging jaw was evidence of his astonishment. “This thing’s like four hundred years old.

“Yep,” said Al, “now if you’ll just turn a couple more pages to Genesis I’ll start telling you my story.”

“Oh, come on, Al. I don’t need to be saved again. If this is just some ploy to get me to start going to church or something we’re both wasting my time.”

“Lester,” Al cut in. “Do you want to hear my life story or not?”

“Yeah, sure Al.”

“Then turn to Genesis. It’s important to start at the beginning,” Al added, still sensing Lester’s hesitation.

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,” Lester read aloud.

“That’s true, He did,” said Al, “but that’s a little too far back. Let me ask you this, Les. How old do you think I am, roughly?”

“Heck if I know, Al. I mean you’ve hardly changed in thirty years. You look the same as the day I met you. Are you going to finally tell me?” Lester asked before taking a drink from his beer.

“I am nearly six thousand years old,” Al said.

Lester snorted, nearly choking on his tongue and spitting out a mouthful of beer. “Six thousand years…?” he gasped, reaching for a napkin. “You don’t expect me to buy that, do you? I mean how could that even be possible? Gimme a break, man.” Lester kept on muttering and wiping while Al patiently waited.

“Look at me, Les. Look into my eyes the way you did that day at the car wash thirty years ago. Look at me, and try to remember what you saw way back then.”