Chapter 18
During the time Dr. Sloan lived in Germany, a time annoyingly referred to as ‘The Lost Years’ by friends and family, she had fallen into German Habits and required frequent intravenous injections of fatty acids and cholesterol. Consequently:
“I’m feeling peckish,” she said. ‘It is past noon and I would enjoy a bit of strudel and an espresso. How about it?”
John nodded.
The chance of finding ‘a bit of strudel and an espresso’ in Blue Eye was as likely as finding purity of heart at Goldman Sachs, or functional brain cells in the Arkansas State Legislature. Never the less:
“How about the State Line Café?” he suggested. “We’re within eleven seconds of arrival.”
Dr. Sloan nodded.
Over chicken fried steak and lukewarm Dr. Pepper, Dr. Sloan queried John about his fitness for the task ahead. As a Social Scientist—not a real doctor—Dr. Sloan was at least as interested in the theoretical and artistic dimensions—the Gestalt, if you will—of the matters before hand, as she was in the mere application of the theory. Fandangoing was all well and good, but she required that the fandango function as a far-reaching Statement, and not simply result in denting Little Jakess balding pate.
In la’ Affaire Cooker, the Statement must serve not only the punkstering interests of Dr. Sloan herself, but the fiduciary interests of the American Taxpayer as well. In a nutshell—and what other hackneyed, over-used cliché serves so well?—the statement had to be worth $6,000,000, plus the nearly $1,200,000 it had cost taxpayers to try, imprison, and parole Pastor Cooker.
Sloan was no stranger to Statements, and spectacular ones at that. During the Lost Years she had, in typical Germanic fashion, acquired a taste not only for strudel, but also for the finely honed turn of phrase, the well-turned ankle of language gloriously fitted into explication both neat and crafted. Imagine then, her distress at appearing in this book (of all books!), and at reading the sentence just before this one. Yes, John is certainly a weak vessel and, very likely, a poor source for the manufacture of spectacular Statements.
Among the Statements kicking around in her head just now—kapow!—are Descartes’ ‘Cogito ergo sum’ and Niccolo Machiavelli’s, ‘I desire to go to Hell and not Heaven. In Hell I will enjoy the company of popes, kings and princes. Heaven is full of poor people and boring beggars, monks, and Apostles.' And let's not forget Yippie Abbie Hoffman’s “Never Trust anyone over thirty!” Kapow!
Would a Strong Statement, a Memorable Phrase, emerge from her encounter with Cooker and his Eveningside Minions? Could the retired bookseller John Heartbreak be relied upon to foster the making of such a Statement?
Looking at him now, stuffing gravy into his slowly masticating mouth, Sharon was not sure. There was nothing about his placid, elderly face that inspired confidence; he shuffled when he walked, talked to himself, and bumped into things. Was there a clumsier man in all of Arkansas? And the deafness! Talking to him was like conversing with a lilac bush…
…and the fact that he habitually discussed the ins and outs of his day with dead people, among them purported time travelers, was disconcerting to say the least. And what was she to make of this Fiacre Business, and the whole, warped ‘saving Normal Christianity’ agenda? If the Strong Statement emerging from the upcoming confrontation was simply a headline in the Carroll County News, ‘Local Social Scientist Poor Guardian of Vulnerable Adult’, she would become a laughingstock among friends and family; the Lost Years in Germany would certainly be forgotten and subsumed by The Nutty Years in Berryville. She could hear Talia laughing now.
“John,” she began, tentatively. “We haven’t exactly worked out the details of our little expedition. I’m wondering if you have a plan in mind. So far we’ve identified mutual interests; you want to save Normal Christianity and I want to locate my $6,000,000—and counting. But how, exactly, are we going to do those things?”
John nodded.
So like a Ph.D., he thought. Good with Grand Visions and Noble Thoughts but, when it came down to the nitty gritty, the actual in-the-trenches ‘Fire when ready, Gridley’ stuff, then by golly it was ‘Oh by the WAY, John, WHAT did YOU have in mind?’ time. He smiled a generous smile and patted her hand.
So like a D.o.R.K., she thought. What a condescending, middleclass twit. Good with bromides and platitudes but, when it came down to the hard work of thinking, then by golly it was ‘Oh by the WAY, Sharon, let’s SAVE Normal Christianity while YOU punk Little Jimmy for spare change’, time. She smiled and pulled her hand away.
“Let’s play it by ear,” he said. “We’ve got Mrs. Heartbreak’s White Chevy Van, and we’re on a Mission from God. All we need is half a pack of Chesterfields. We’ve got nothing to worry about.”
That sounded oddly familiar to her. And not particularly comforting. “So, no. You don’t have a plan.”
“Let’s say that I’ve got the idea of a plan,” he said, confidently. Why not speak to Sharon in the language of an Academic, he thought? Mollify her a bit? Say, here’s an idea:
“Perhaps we should develop a preparatory Strong Statement as a guiding principle?” he said. “Something along the lines of ‘Kill a Commie for Christ’ which, while not particularly edifying, was effective enough to secure billions of Military Industrial Complex Cold War Moolah—and keep the John Birch Society in business for decades.”
Dr. Sloan nodded thoughtfully. Perhaps the Boy Dunder was on to something? “Hmmn,” she mused. “It is possible that a Strong Statement could attract reinforcements. Say like, some of your church buddies?”
“Church buddies?”
“Yeah. Surely, they’re interested in saving Normal Christianity, aren’t they? I mean, how about that old Nazi, Ratzinger? Could we count on him?”
“Are you referring to His Holiness, Pope Benedict XVI? I hardly think referring to him as ‘an old Nazi,’ is much of an invitation.”
“That’s the guy! How about him?”
“I’m afraid the Vatican is otherwise occupied these days.”
No kidding. Sigh.
“How about the Episcopalians or the Presbyterians? Methodists?” Congregationalists? Any of the Mainline folks?”
John shook his head. He looked dubious.
“I guess we could ask them,” he said. “Although, I have to admit that it is a mystery to me why Mainline denominations have abandoned Evangelism, and allowed themselves to be co-opted by the Jake Cookers’ of the world, and Shake Rattle & Roll denominations.
“The absence of the Mainline on every important issue today—the Gulf War, the widening income gap between social classes, immigration—is shocking. Almost incomprehensible, really. It feels like they’ve forgotten Christ and are afraid to live and preach His message.”
“I suppose then that that means, no, you can’t rely on them to help us save Normal Christianity, and I can’t rely on them to help me get my dough?”
John smiled.
“No, oh Noble Warrior Queen. We can’t rely on them. We’ll have to rely on ourselves.”
“Gotcha.”
