Eli (35 page)

“. . . to choose my way over your way, to choose my wisdom over the world’s wisdom, to choose my Spirit over your
flesh.”

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Choices . . . that had been it since the beginning. And hadn’t he, step-by-step, excruciating decision after excruciating decision, made the choice to follow Eli? It wasn’t easy—

I no sooner get a handle on one of those principles than you
turn around and raise the stakes—
but isn’t that exactly what he’d been doing? Following? Changing?

Still, there was another truth that surpassed all the others. One that he saw in Eli every time their eyes connected.

His love. Regardless of the disagreements, regardless of the struggles, he knew Eli loved him. Eli would always love him.

And he—he would always love Eli.

Before he had a chance to change his mind, Conrad quickly, almost impetuously, tore off a piece of the bread. He put it into his mouth and began to chew deliberately, thoughtfully. He had made his choice.

Still standing, Eli reached to an empty water glass on his table. Beside it was a freshly opened bottle of wine. The group watched in silence as he picked up the bottle and poured it into the glass. When it was full, he held it before them.

“This wine is my blood,” he said. “It is a new agreement between God and man. And it is about to be poured out for the forgiveness of your sins.”

He lowered the cup to Trevor, who took it in both hands.

“Each of you must drink it,” Eli softly ordered.

Trevor looked back up questioningly. Eli gave him a quiet nod. Finally the young man raised the glass to his lips and took a small, hesitant sip. When he finished he looked back to Eli, who smiled and motioned for Jake to take it and do the same. Jake obeyed, scowling hard as he drank and then passed it on to Leon.

As with the bread, Conrad watched the cup slowly make its rounds.

“I won’t be drinking from this glass,” Eli said, “until you and I drink it together in the Kingdom of God.”

At last the cup arrived and Conrad took it.
“. . . my blood

. . . a new agreement . . .”
He stared down at the crimson liquid, its thin patina clinging to the inside of the glass.
“My
blood . . . poured out for the forgiveness of your sins.”

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Forgiveness of sins . . .

Was it really that easy? No matter what he’d done, no matter whom he’d hurt? He stole a look over at Suzanne. No matter how many times he’d hurt them? The concept was staggering . . . incomprehensible. As staggering and incomprehensible as everything else Eli had ever said and done. For him, for Conrad Davis to actually be forgiven, to be cleansed.

But of everything?

Even his betrayal of Eli?

The thought made his heart stop. It was too late, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he already taken the money? He looked back at Eli, who was again searching him with those deep, probing eyes.

He felt his own eyes begin to burn with moisture. How much did Eli know? About the meeting? About the thirty thousand?

“Connie?” Suzanne whispered. “Are you all right?”

He barely heard. All he could do was stare at those eyes, those sad, loving eyes. And then, so slightly Conrad wasn’t even sure he saw it, Eli nodded. He knew. Despite all that Conrad had done, it was okay. The blood still applied. Conrad had made his choice about following, and regardless of what he’d set into motion, despite the fact that he may have become his betrayer, Eli still forgave him. Tears spilled onto Conrad’s cheeks. He had made his decision with the bread.

And now, whether he had been the one to help shed it or not, he would drink Eli’s blood.

With trembling hands, he raised the glass to his lips, all the time keeping his eyes locked onto Eli’s—until finally, after so many years, after so many failures, Conrad Davis drank. He drank deeply, knowing if anyone needed forgiveness, he did. He took a breath and then he drank again, not one swallow but another, then another . . . until Suzanne reached out and gently touched his arm indicating he should stop. Finally, almost reluctantly, he lowered the glass. A moment later he passed it on to her, his hands shaking with emotion. He knew she didn’t understand. Not yet. Neither did he. Not entirely. But he had eaten the bread and he had drunk the cup.

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How long the glass continued making the rounds, he wasn’t sure. But the next time he heard Eli’s voice he was startled by its grief.

“And now.” Eli stopped and took a deep, heavy breath.

“And now it begins. The time has come for one of you to betray me.”

The room froze. Conrad’s eyes darted to Eli, but Eli did not look at him. Instead, he sadly surveyed the group, letting the words sink in.

“What?” someone finally said.

“What did you say?” Keith asked.

“Who is it, Eli?” Jake called.

“You talking about one of us?” Leon asked.

“Eli? Mr. Shepherd.” It was a new voice. The restaurant owner, a thin middle-aged Italian. He had just entered the room from his adjoining office. “You’re on the news!”

“Again?” Jake sighed.

“No, this is different. Please, you must see this.” The owner motioned for Eli to come. “Please, you must see this at once.”

Slowly, almost woodenly, Eli started from his table and walked toward the office. Others followed. In moments the tiny room, which smelled of cheap aftershave and stale cigars, was crammed with people. Some stood inside, others at the door, straining to hear as the local news cast continued.

“. . . fifteen confirmed dead, at least twice that many injured.”

At first Conrad thought he was looking at pictures of an earthquake—fallen walls, broken concrete, heaps of rubble with people digging . . . until the reporter continued:

“Authorities are now certain it was a bomb. A large bomb placed right here in the baby stroller rental area of the City of God.”

More images appeared—the shattered wall of the worship center, other people staring, standing in shock, some crying.

“Although the sheriff’s office says there are no official suspects, authorities are currently looking for Mr. Eli Shepherd.”

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Eli’s photo appeared on the screen.

“Less than twenty-four hours ago, near this very location, Mr. Shepherd was arrested for destruction of private property inside the worship center . . .”

The screen showed a video surveillance tape of Eli pulling down the displays and driving away panicked employees.

“And earlier, outside the center, he was reported as saying, and I quote: ‘All of this will be destroyed. It will be completely and utterly destroyed.’”

The protests inside the office drowned out the rest of the report as Eli’s photo reappeared on the screen along with a phone number for anyone to call having information.

“Mr. Shepherd . . .” It was the owner. “Mr. Shepherd, I am sorry, but I am afraid I must ask you to leave. You must not stay here. I am sorry.”

Eli nodded. “I understand.”

“Please understand—it is for your own good. I am sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Mondovi, I understand. It’s all right.” Then, obviously numb from the report, Eli turned and made his way out of the office.

“What do we do now?” Scott asked.

“Where do we go?” Brent said.

But Eli gave no answer. Instead, he quietly started toward the tables. When he arrived, he turned to face the group. “Mr.

Mondovi has been an excellent host, and I’m grateful he has opened this banquet room up to us.”

“No, no, please, there is no need,” the owner protested.

“But he’s right, we need to move on. There’s much more I want to tell you, so much more I have to say. And time is running out.”

“If we go back to the motel they’ll be waiting for you,”

Leon said.

“The same goes for our campers or cars,” Hector added.

“What about that park down by the river?” Suzanne asked.

“Out in the open?” Brent said. “I don’t think so.”

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“Why not?” his brother argued. “It’s out of the way. I doubt many will see us.”

A brief discussion followed, some of the group liking the idea, some of them not. But it seemed good enough for Eli.

“The park will be fine,” he said.

“Then we better go out by ones and twos,” Leon suggested, “so we don’t draw attention.”

The group agreed. Moments later, Brent and Will were the first to head out the back door. Maggie and Trevor followed.

It was only then that Conrad noticed that someone was missing. He’d not seen him since they’d risen from the table and headed to the owner’s office. He looked over the group again.

No, he wasn’t there. Keith Anderson was gone. Instantly, Conrad’s eyes shot to the suitcase under the table.

It, too, was missing.

v

“Honey, you’ve got to eat something.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.”

“If you want, I’ll go down to the cafeteria and bring up something.”

“Mom, I’m fine.” Julia’s voice was sharper than she’d intended. She knew her mother was only trying to help, to do her “mom thing,” but still—

“You can’t just sit here forever. You’ve got to take some breaks. What if he doesn’t pass on until tonight?” she asked.

“Or tomorrow? Are you going to just sit there until—”

“I’ll stay here until it’s over, Mom.” This time she did intend the sharpness. “That’s what I have to do. That’s my . . .

responsibility.”

Her mother said nothing, the silence broken only by the rasping, almost choking sounds of her father struggling to breathe. Over the hours his breathing had grown more labored, and louder.

The ICU nurse had called it a “death rattle,” and assured them it was all part of the dying process. “About half the hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 276

276 patients develop it,” she had said. “But don’t worry, he’s not feeling a thing. He’s not even aware he’s doing it. It’s just the muscles around his throat starting to relax.”

“Are you sure?” her mother had asked skeptically. “It sounds like he’s suffocating. Are you sure he doesn’t feel it?”

“Absolutely,” the nurse had insisted. “It’s just his body shutting down.”

And it was those words—“his body shutting down”—that had kept Julia at her father’s side throughout the late morning and on into the afternoon. It was those words that, despite her mother’s silent and sometimes not-so-silent concerns, would keep her at his side until the very end.

Another moment passed before her mother softly spoke.

“You’re so like your father.” She shook her head. “So much like him.”

Julia turned to her, knowing there was more. She was not disappointed.

“You two . . . always with your code of honor, always this sense of responsibility.”

“Is that so wrong?” Julia asked.

Her mother looked at her sadly. “No, Sweetheart, it’s not wrong, not wrong at all. Except . . .” She hesitated.

“Except what?”

Her mother shook her head. “No, it’s not my place to—”

“Tell me,” Julia insisted. “Except for what?”

Her mother took a deep breath and continued. “Except for when it makes you so . . . demanding. Of yourself and others.”

“That was the way I was brought up, Mom. That’s what he expected. ‘You’re only as good as—’”

“—your word,” her mother finished the sentence. “I know, I’ve heard it a thousand times.”

“It doesn’t make it any less true,” Julia insisted. Her mother did not respond, and Julia continued. “Look, just because he was a hypocrite and couldn’t live by those standards doesn’t mean I can’t.” Once again the outburst was hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 277

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louder than she’d intended. No doubt about it, her nerves were definitely frayed.

More silence followed, interrupted by another series of chokings and gaspings. Mother and daughter turned to watch with concern. Nearly a half minute passed before he started settling down and breathing easier.

“You’ve never forgiven him, have you?” her mother finally asked.

Julia turned to her. “Why should I? He destroyed our lives.”

“No, Sweetheart, he didn’t destroy our lives, at least not mine. I forgave him a long, long time ago.”

“Well, maybe I don’t think he should be let off that easily.”

“Is that why you keep hating him?” her mother asked a little softer. “Is that why you keep letting him make you the victim—over and over again?”

Julia opened her mouth then closed it, setting her jaw. She would not be drawn into an argument. Not now, not when she didn’t trust her emotions.

“Sweetheart,” her mother continued, “everyone makes mistakes.”

“Mistakes?
Mistakes?
The man cheated on you for years.

He destroyed our family! Everything that was good and won-derful he threw away for his own selfish pleasures. Those weren’t mistakes, Mother, those were betrayals!”

“And you’ll never forgive him,” her mother answered quietly.

Julia bit her lip, returning to her silence.

“What an awful world it would be if people weren’t allowed to make mistakes. If they could never be forgiven.”

She reached out and set her hand on Julia’s arm. “You’ve got to let go, Sweetheart. You’ve got to let go and move on.”

Julia closed her eyes, fighting back the emotion.

“People can never be as good as they want. They need . . .

we all
need the grace to make mistakes. We all need to be forgiven.”

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Julia’s own breathing grew heavier; she felt her body tighten. The words went against everything she’d been taught, everything she’d lived by.

“You’ve got to forgive him, Sweetheart. You’ve got to let go.”

v

“There’s so much to tell you folks, and so little time.”

Even though the night was warm, Eli appeared cold as he sat huddled on the picnic table addressing the group. Some stood, others sat in front of him on the soft carpet of grass and pine needles. They’d selected a barbecue pit down by the river.