TheBanyanTree: The Charismata

[RJ Fernalld]

THE CHARISMATA

Those that noticed say he seemed to appear in the water out of the 
heated haze that hung over the sea. The Brazilian summer drew throngs to 
the shore, I among them. This once in a lifetime vacation was my last 
hurrah. Decay was winning, and I was almost finished at twenty-eight. 
The trip had eaten away my savings, much like the cancer was eating away 
my brain. Death was coming like an evolving dream, where one knows the 
outcome, but not the expected path.

I saw him as he emerged from the water. The children playing soccer 
stopped to stare. The older couple wading halted near him, unmoving. 
Tall and bronze he stood calmly, like a classic statue, for a prolonged 
moment. Though he stood a good distance from me, I heard his words in my 
mind.

"Fearing me will not ease your pain."

Suddenly, he stood before me. The eyes that held mine were iced blue and 
bottomless. The air was sweet with a scent I knew from my youth. It was 
spring lilacs! But how could this be? My frantic breathing slowed. Was 
this death's angel come for me at long last? Was my time ended? What was 
going to happen?

"I am not death's angel. Come."

For ten days I followed him. The people of the resort towns, rural 
villages, and cities throughout the country paid him homage. They did 
not speak his name, as he told them nothing of himself. For reasons 
unknown the people came to him trustingly, though never before had they 
seen him. I do not believe he slept so much as one minute in those ten 
days, nor did I see him eat, though he arranged for my needs without 
hesitation. He spoke consolation to the people, invoking no religious or 
spiritual beings. They simply gave themselves over to his words that 
without exception eased their pain.

But to me he spoke nothing. I stopped asking questions after the first 
day. He had only looked at me and smiled when I begged him to tell 
me...so I stopped.

At dawn on the eleventh day, he spoke.

"We are leaving."

Suddenly my temples throbbed and the familiar stabbing pain behind my 
eyes grew sharper. Writhing on the floor with the force of it, I could 
not prevent the agonized scream from escaping.

With unhurried grace he knelt and brushed my cheek with his hand. The 
pain ceased. The void became filled with a calm unknown to me. Then came 
the scent of the lilacs, and the weightless peace from inside.

"Come." he whispered.

Somehow, we were on a flight to America. I recall nothing now of the 
arrangements, though he had no passport. He has only to ask and the 
people grant his wishes.

I seem to know that I am no longer dying. The diseased brain no longer 
rots. But I cannot say how this can be.

In the five months since we landed in DC, the world has become cleaner, 
newer, fresh again as when we believed. I am not aware of how, but 
leaders await his speaking, the people await his arrival in their 
communities and we all await his approval. Is he God? He says nothing. 
Is he the devil? No one thinks so.

They, and I, only know we cannot resist him.

copyright R J Fernalld 2003

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