Luz: book i: comings and goings (Troubled Times 1) (20 page)

The Son of Man suddenly brought his invective to a halt, his emotive countenance flaring in visible anger as he looked down with contempt on the third planet from the sun and wished it would just detonate into trillions of subatomic particles.

“You know what, Father? I’ve just reconsidered, and I will definitely
not
be going back down—definitely not!”

“Son, Son, just calm down, will you! You need to
understand that man celebrates your birthday with acts of giving, with the gifts of sharing, that’s all. Believe it or not, those are the two main reasons I’ve decided to be a parent again—for your sake, for your own good.”

“Listen, Father, I’m in no mood for any more of your games tonight. I’ve got things to do and places to go, and I don’t feel like deciphering your riddles. What do you mean for my sake?”

“For your sake, Son, for your own good even. You see, you’ve been an only child for too long, and unfortunately, you’ve adopted many of the traits of an only child. Trust me, Son, you’re going to benefit greatly from having a sibling. Not only will you have someone to share things with, but someone to talk to and confide in as well.”

“Oh yes, Father, I’m really going to have a lot in common with someone two thousand years younger than I am, aren’t I?”

“Two thousand years is nothing and you know it, Son. Besides, your sister will catch up in no time; I’m making sure of it. I plan on making her extra smart.”

The Son of Man turned and looked straight at the Creator’s iridescent but inscrutable face, the only other being in the universe who could do so without being singed to a crisp.

“Smarter than I, Father?”

“Well, let’s just say she’ll have different talents, Son. I made your primary gift the gift of healing, the gift of touch. Your sister will have the gift of tongues.”

The Son of Man raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“Isn’t that a gift that girls
already
have, Father? You know it is. Besides, I wouldn’t exactly call it a gift. It’s more a curse.”

“Son, Son, there you go again. When did you become such a contrarian? You love to oppose me these days just for sport.”

“Honestly, Father, don’t you know when I’m joking? You don’t have a sense of humor anymore—if you ever did, that
is. Why ‘tongues’ of all things?”

“Why tongues? Very simple, Son. Have you seen what’s been happening down there lately? Technology is destroying man. It’s sucking all the humanity and soul from him. Technology is terrorizing man and he doesn’t even realize it. Man has got to get back to basics, Son: language, speaking, words.”

“And you are not the least bit biased, Father, are you? Considering you
are
the Word.”

“Well, I guess you could say just a little, Son.”

“A little, Father? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s a reason why that is happening, why words and language are things of the past and nobody cares about them. They’re boring, Father—boring!”

“And you’re not the least bit biased yourself, are you Son? You, who’ve had two thousand years to master all the languages in existence, but insist on speaking only Aramaic and that little smidgen of Hebrew you know.”

The Son of Man shrugged his shoulders casually, unaffectedly. “It’s like you said, Father. It’s not my gift. It’s not my bag.”

There he went again, those lowbrow expressions of his.

“Regardless, Son. That’s not why language is dying. It’s because of something else, something sinister that’s awakened man’s need for instant gratification, man’s built-in desire for pushing the limits and hoarding knowledge. It’s because of…of the
E
word.”

“The ‘
E
word,’ Father? Evolution?”

“Electronics, Son,
that
‘
E
word.’”

“What’s wrong with electronics, Father? First comes lightning, then electricity, then electronics. It’s just evolution, Father, and not even you can do anything about it.”

All at once, the Creator’s tone and expression and his very essence fashioned itself into a force of cosmic fury.

“Of course I can, Son! I can bring it all down if I want! Electronics is the new Tower of Babel, and remember what I did with that, Son—I brought it all down! The Tower of Babel had man thinking he could accomplish anything he wanted, that he could be just like me. Well, electronics has given man the same illusion: except, now he thinks he’s even
more
like me. Man needs to realize that anytime I want, I can flip the big switch off in the sky.”

“Do it, Father! Flip it off! Start with that satellite over there. Just wrap your hand around it and crunch it into dust, pulverize it!”

“No, Son. I won’t do it! Not until I’ve given man a chance to reconcile, to realize all the harm it creates and he turns away from it on his own. Not until man realizes where the
‘E
word’ comes from and who is behind it all.”

“Who is behind it all, Father? Who?”

“Who do you think, Son? The one and only enemy himself: Satan, the Great Tempter, the Great Defacer. He’s behind all this technology and man has absolutely no clue. That’s how great his final deception will be; that’s how skilled a con man he is.”

“Come now, Father, you can’t be serious. What technology are you talking about? The Internet? That infantile mode of communication that man has just barely gotten off the ground? Why, I find it one of the most laughable and primitive things he’s ever invented.”

“That’s because you’re witnessing it in its infancy, Son, in its genesis. Just you wait. You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait another fifteen years or so for YouTube, for Facebook and Twitter. Just wait for iPods and iPads and iPhones to rule and dominate every aspect of man’s life.”

“iPads, iPods, and iPhones? YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter? What language are you speaking, Father? What foreign words have you just uttered?”

“The language of technology, Son. A one-world language of terror that will connect man to his universal doom.”

Son looked at Father in disbelief, not knowing whether to regard this as some latent prophecy, or what it really sounded like: paranoia, some implausible conspiracy theory. He tried his best to decipher the Creator’s inscrutable countenance, but to no avail.

“See how you keep things from me, Father! See what I was saying earlier. What in the world are these ominous-sounding things?”

“Not
what
are they Son, but what will they be. They haven’t even been conceived yet, but I can assure you they will be, and that Satan will utilize them as his last tool against man. It will be Satan’s final way of tempting and distracting man. Most of the gadgets will even bear the mark of the beast: an apple, an apple with a bite in it, to commemorate man’s disobedience and fall from grace, when man first ate of the fruit.”

As much as the Son of Man hated to admit it, these sinister forebodings were arousing alarm and concern in him. The cold winds of the Heavens caused him to shiver and tingle as they moved through him and within him.

“I still don’t get it, Father, what all these things will actually do.”

“You’ll see, Son, you’ll see in due time, the way Satan will utilize graphics and visuals to bring about the destruction of Man. How these gadgets will employ images and sounds to defile the temple by actually rewiring man’s brain. It’s just Satan being true to himself. Isn’t that what he’s about, Son? The image? Especially when that image is a false one, when it deceives and misleads.”

“Come now, Father. This is all too much, even for you.”

“No, Son! Why do you think Satan has always steered clear of words and only utilized images? Why? There’s clearly no disputing the written word, but images can take whatever form one wants, especially for enacting misdeeds.”

As the Son of Man contemplated the Creator’s apocalyptic warnings, he took a moment to fixate on a quaint and quietly
shining quasar. Of all the heavenly bodies, quasars were his favorite: the most distant but luminous objects in the universe, the very last remnants of early existence. In some respects quasars seemed the outcasts of the universe, the dinosaurs of outer space. This one was particularly beautiful, a perfectly white sphere enshrouded in hazy mists of glowing energy and swirls of faint violet lights.

“Now, hold on a second, Father. There seems to be a slight contradiction going on here.”

“Don’t be silly, Son. There’s no contradiction in anything I say.”

“But there is, Father. On the one hand, you’re all about the word. And you’ve just finished condemning what will be man’s ultimate downfall: his obsession and worship of the image. Yet what did you do when you created man? You fashioned him in your own image!”

“Of course I did, Son. I had to fashion him from something, didn’t I? Don’t forget that man has never actually seen my image. Don’t forget that the images of spiritual beings cannot be captured. That’s because an image is not the least bit relevant when it comes to the essence of being. What does it matter what I look like? Of what possible importance are my looks? None! Man has yet to accept this, so I’m debating whether he’ll ever be allowed to see my image—ever!”

The Son of Man desperately needed a breather. This was way too much to handle, way too much information to digest all at once. He focused his attention back on the sheerness of that primal quasar, on all its pulsating force, trying to draw insight from it even as he suspected the Creator’s true motives in all this: simply trying to divert attention from the matter at hand.

“Listen, Father, I may have no clue as to what you’re talking about, but I’ll tell you this much: you need to stop pinning man’s flaws on someone other than man. Why can’t you accept that? Whether man decides to be ruled by false images or not, it’s all his own doing and nobody else’s. Man
loves temptation, Father. He loves giving into it. It’s just his nature, and he can’t escape it. I should know, Father. I lived among man, I was man.”

“No, Son! I won’t accept that line of thinking. It’s Satan. It’s that felonious fiend down there. It’s the Great Defacer himself! That’s what all these gadgets and technology will ultimately prove to be: Satan’s final way of enticing man, of entrapping man. You’ll see!”

The Son of Man attempted to stay respectful, but he rolled his eyes in an orbit of speculation.

“Well, Father, you obviously have your way of seeing things, but I will continue to disagree with you. Man was a mistake, an experiment gone terribly wrong. I have no idea what Facebook and Twitter and all these strange-sounding names mean, but the only reason you keep investing in man is to save face yourself.”

No mistaking or misreading the expression on the Creator’s usually inscrutable face this time, no diffusing the constellation of fury that flared across his outraged countenance.

“No, Son! I do not need to save face! And man is not an experiment gone wrong. He just strays off course; he just needs to be reeled back in.”

“Well, Father, you can be the one to reel him back in. And maybe you can get this new offspring of yours to assist you, but I’ll have no part of it. And good luck, by the way. You know how accepting man is of woman.”

“Son, I already told you. She’s not going to be part of any grand scheme. I just want to be a parent again. And I’ll remind you that this offspring of mine, as you refer to her, will be your sister soon enough, so please show some respect.”

“No grand scheme, huh? Why Cuba then, Father? If you have no ulterior motives, why Cuba of all places?”

“Why not Cuba, Son?”

“You said you wanted to relax, Father, that you wanted to
take it easy. Yet you know that Cuba is always a lightning rod of controversy, a hotbed of turmoil. Why Cuba if all you want is to take it easy?”

“I said I wanted to relax, Son. I didn’t say I wanted to be bored stiff.”

The Creator deflected this inquisition quite easily, but the Son of Man wasn’t buying it. Despite the insistent denials, this whole Cuba angle wasn’t adding up. The Son of Man employed his innate gifts of calculating and theorizing and computating when it finally occurred to him
why
Cuba.

“I know why Cuba, Father. I know why. Because Cubans have been praying to you for the last forty years to liberate them from Fidel, and you’ve ignored them.”

“No, Son, that’s not why.”

“Because their patron saint has been petitioning you for the last forty years and you’ve ignored her.”

“No, Son that’s not why either.”

“Because the exiles have been begging you for the last forty years to liberate their homeland from Communism, and you’ve ignored them.”

“No, Son, not at all.”

“Then why Cuba, Father? Tell me why.”

“All right, Son. I’ll tell you why Cuba. Isn’t it obvious? Just look at it down there. Cuba is wild and exciting. Cuba is bold and untamed. Surely you can feel its restless energy, all its raw exhilaration. It’s like that raggedy and tattered quasar over there that refuses to collapse, refuses to die. I mean, look at all those Cubans risking their lives by taking to the water. That’s what I like to see, Son, people willing to take risks.”

Father and Son looked down for a moment, taking note of the alligator island and how almost fragile it looked; how its patch-quilt of rolling greenness rose gently from a blanket of burning blue; how the soft sultry slopes of its tropical terrain peeked bashfully from behind a crown of shining clouds.

“They’re cutting their losses, Father, that’s all they’re
doing.”

“They’re fighting for their lives, Son, and that’s what I like to see: a good fight. Just look at all those homemade vessels and all the rickety contraptions. You have to admit that some of them are pretty ingenious Son, especially the water taxis. Cubans do have a knack for contrivances, don’t they?”

“It’s a mess, Father, that’s all it is—one enormous mess.”

“It reminds me of the Exodus, Son. It reminds me of the parting of the Red Sea. And you know how fond of the sea I am. It was the first thing I formed out of the great abyss.”

“Yes, Father, I know you love the sea. I love the sea too.”

“I know you do, Son, I know you do. Oh, how I miss the days you used to teach along the shores of Galilee. It was mesmerizing to watch you, intoxicating. Nobody’s ever held a crowd captive the way you have, Son.”