Part 30 (1/2)

”You still haven't answered my question,” B.T. said. ”What are you doing here?”

”I have to go get my suitcase,” Mel said, and walked past him and out to the parking lot and his car. He opened the trunk.

B.T. reached past him and picked up Mel's suitcase, as if taking it into custody.

”How did you know I was missing?” Mel asked, but he already knew the answer to that. ”Mrs. Bilderbeck sent you.”

B.T. nodded. ”She said she was worried about you, that you'd called and something was seriously wrong. She said she knew because you hadn't tried to get out of the ec.u.menical meeting on Thursday. She said you always tried to get out of it.”

They say it's the little mistakes that trip criminals up, Mel thought.

”She said she thought you were sick and were going to see a specialist,” B.T. said, his black face gray with worry. ”Out of town, so n.o.body in the congregation would find out about it. A brain tumor, she said.” He s.h.i.+fted the suitcase to his other hand. ”Do you have a brain tumor?”

A brain tumor. That would be a nice, convenient explanation. When Ivor Sorenson had had a brain tumor, he had stood up during the offertory, convinced there was an ostrich sitting in the pew next to him.

”Are you sick?” B.T. said.

”No.”

”But it is something serious.”

”It's freezing out here,” Mel said. ”Let's discuss this inside.”

B.T. didn't move. ”Whatever it is, no matter how bad it is, you can tell me.”

”All right. Fine. 'For ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of Man cometh.' Matthew 25:13,” Mel said. ”I had a revelation. About the Second Coming. I think He's here already, that the Second Coming's already happened.”

Whatever B.T. had imagined-terminal illness or embezzlement or some other, worse crime-it obviously wasn't as bad as this. His face went even grayer. ”The Second Coming,” he said. ”Of Christ?”

”Yes,” Mel said. He told him what had happened during the sermon Sunday. ”I scared the choir half out of their wits,” he said.

B.T. nodded. ”Mrs. Bilderbeck told me. She said you stopped in the middle of a sentence and just stood there, staring into s.p.a.ce with your hand up to your forehead. That's why she thought you had a brain tumor.

How long did this . . . vision last?”

”It wasn't a vision,” Mel said. ”It was a revelation, a conviction ... an epiphany.”

”An epiphany,” B.T. said in a flat, expressionless voice. ”And it told you He was here? In Zion Center?”

”No,” Mel said. ”I don't know where He is.”

”You don't know where He is,” B.T. repeated. ”You just got in your car and started driving?”

”West,” Mel said. ”I knew He was somewhere west.”

”Somewhere west,” B.T. said softly. He rubbed his hand over his mouth.

”Why don't you say it?” Mel said. He slammed the trunk shut. ”You think I'm crazy.”

”I think we're both crazy,” he said, ”standing out here in the snow, fighting. Have you had supper?”

”No,” Mel said.

”Neither have I,” B.T. said. He took Mel's arm. ”Let's go get some dinner.”

”And a dose of antidepressants? A nice straitjacket?”

”I was thinking steak,” B.T. said, and tried to smile. ”Isn't that what they eat here in Iowa?”

”Corn,” Mel said.”And when I looked, behold . . . the appearance of the wheels was as the colour of a beryl stone and . . .

as if a wheel had been in the midst of a wheel.”

- JEREMIAH 10:9-10.

Neither corn nor steak was on the menu, which had the Holiday Inn star on the front, and they were out of nearly everything else. ”Because of the interstate being closed,” the waitress said. ”We've got chicken teriyaki and beef chow mein.”

They ordered the chow mein and coffee, and the waitress left. Mel braced himself for more questions, but B.T. only asked, ”How were the roads today?” and told him about the problems he'd had getting a flight and a rental car. ”Chicago O'Hare was shut down because of a winter storm,” he said, ”and Denver and Kansas City. I had to fly into Albuquerque and then up to Omaha.”

”I'm sorry you had to go to all that trouble,” Mel said.

”I was worried about you.”

The waitress arrived with their chow mein, which came with mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans.

”Interesting,” B.T. said, poking at the gravy. He made a halfhearted attempt at the chow mein, and then pushed the plate away.

”There's something I don't understand,” he said. ”The Second Coming is when Christ returns, right? I thought He was supposed to appear in the clouds in a blaze of glory, complete with trumpets and angel choirs.”

Mel nodded.

”Then how can He already be here without anybody knowing?”

”I don't know,” Mel said. ”I don't understand any of this any more than you do. I just know He's here.”

”But you don't know where.”

”No. I thought when I got out here there would be a sign.”

”A sign,” B.T. said.

”Yes,” Mel said, getting angry all over again. ”You know. A burning bush, a pillar of fire, a star. A sign.”

He must have been shouting. The waitress came scurrying over with the check. ”Are you through with this?”

she said, looking at the plates of half-eaten food.

”Yes,” Mel said. ”We're through.”

”You can pay at the register,” the waitress said, and scurried away with their plates.