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CLARENCE THE MIGHTY MARTIAN SLAYER
By Kurt Saxon
Brother John's announcement of his telethon greatly excited Clarence. Clarence liked Brother John. The white shepherd of Harlem's Ebony Baptist Church looked and sounded like Pastor Fain, his spiritual mentor at the hospital.
Clarence and his guides agreed that Martians would try to sabotage the telethon. Helping would not only be a blow to the Martians but a good thing for Pastor Fain, who might really be Brother John.
While discussing with his guides how to foil any Martian attempt to sabotage the telethon, Clarence was reminded of Pastor Fain's young elder. James Blake had been chosen as elder and had been found wanting. He seemed of good character, had been a mainstay of the church since bringing his wife and two children from Iowa three years before.
But Pastor Fain had to be sure, especially since young Blake would handle the contributions. Following Mark 16:18 as the sign of a believer, "They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them;....", a test was decided on.
Pastor Fain had put three ounces of ethylene glycol (anti-freeze) in a tall glass of strong, iced grape Kool-Aid. Out on the porch on that warm afternoon he touched glasses with young Blake to toast his eldership. Blake followed Pastor Fain's example and drained the glass.
After a few minutes, Blake began to act intoxicated. Then he babbled about church business, repeating himself and forgetting things. Then he collapsed and a few hours later he died.
Pastor Fain was a man of deep and abiding faith. He showed no remorse and maintained the righteousness of his act. He was a model patient and ministered to the spiritual needs of the other patients. The only time he was a problem was when occasionally a patient would pass on. Then Pastor Fain would try to raise the dead, and failing, would have to be taken to the quiet room.
Clarence discussed Pastor Fain with his guides. He was advised to contribute the punch. This would not only be for the refreshment of Brother John and his genuine supporters, but would cause the destruction of any Martian wolves in the fold. Clarence was pleased at the idea of one act accomplishing both happiness and doom.
The next morning he went out and bought three gallons of Mountain Dew in several bottles. It had the same general color as anti-freeze but tasted like urine so Clarence poured it down the sink. He went back out and bought three gallons of anti-freeze and filled the Mountain Dew bottles with it.
Then he went to a liquor store and bought four fifths of Jack Daniels and five bottles of Ripple. Next he went to a department store and bought a huge five-gallon plastic punch bowl, a ladle and a hundred paper cups.
Loaded down, he struggled onto a bus and got off near Brother John's Ebony Baptist Church and TV station. When he got there he was met at the door by Brother John's deacon, who challenged him.
"What are you doing here and what have you got?"
"This is refreshment for the telethon", said Clarence.
"We didn't order any refreshments", said the deacon, suspiciously.
"These are from one of Brother John's supporters", said Clarence. "He'd be very upset if his contribution was refused. He told me some Ripple and Jack Daniels in the punch would loosen the wallets of Brother John's guests and make them more at ease before the TV cameras".
The deacon was still suspicious but he seemed to like the idea, or maybe he looked forward to drinking his fill. He helped Clarence with the load and they set up a table near the entrance.
Clarence looked around and was glad that there were no children present. Even though he realized that children could not be harmed by the poison of unbelief, he feared they might drink too much so there would not be enough to go around. Brother John did not want children underfoot anyway, so that was not a problem.
Clarence watched as the cameramen practiced focusing and checked the lighting. Brother John took some time rehearsing his sermon, perfecting his broad gestures. He worked at bringing his voice several octaves below normal so he could sound like a voice from the Mountain.
The choir did not need to rehearse since most of them were from rock bands. Clarence peeked around a corner and saw several of the choir using hypodermic needles in their arms and even legs. He was surprised that so many in a Gospel choir should be diabetics.
After assuring himself that the punch bowl was ready and seeing several of the politicians and storefront preachers drinking from it, he left. He wanted to rush home and watch the telethon on TV.
By the time he turned on his little set, the choir was well-oiled and swinging. But not to the rhythm of the orchestra. The camera crew was professional so had not tried the punch. Also, the head cameraman did a lot of freelance work for network news agencies. He saw a market for such footage with the tabloid news shows so hoped these lunatics would act up as he expected. He would film it all.
The choir gyrated only to music each member heard. Some sang Gospel and some sang rock, a caterwauling unnoticed by those who had sampled the punch.
Those who had not drunk, looked on, puzzled but believing there was a purpose behind it all. Brother John had been known to encourage freedom of expression in order to make a point in a sermon.
A young lady in the choir slowly stripped off her robe, then took it all off while singing, "We Shall Overcome". Another female gave a wild shriek and yelled, "They's a nailin' me up in a box and I'm a comin' out!". Then she gave another shriek and leaped onto the stage, falling and flopping about as some of the choir began to clap in unison.
The studio audience broke into applause, then clapped along with the choir. Ratings around the state grew by the minute as viewers called around for friends to watch. Brother John's telethon was going to be a hit.
The orchestra gradually shifted from Gospel to hard rock as those playing the slower music became more frenzied. A guitarist became so caught up he began bashing the other players, finally breaking his instrument across the back of the saxophonist.
Brother John had been too busy to drink as soon as the choir and the orchestra. He did imbibe quite a bracer and its effect had just grown to the point where he felt more aware. He knew something was wrong.
When he stepped before the cameras, he drew himself up and glowered. His regular congregation bent forward expectantly. They knew his angry face promised another real tongue-lashing at old Satan.
"I told you", he said. "I told you and I was right, as the Lord warned me. I told you the devil would send his darkest angels to ruin my telethon. It might be some in this very room who paid these poor, misled sinners to act up. But the Lord will strike them down! You hear me, Lord?"
Clarence nodded in agreement as the cameras panned to one of the politicians in the audience lying twitching his last in the aisle. Two store-front preachers, who had also drunk their fill before being seated, were obviously dead.
Brother John went on, "When a man tries to do right and tries to raise his little brothers up from the abyss, the devil tries to drag them back. You're seeing it. Watch it! Watch it! Praise God!
"Like so many of my little brothers out there. I was raised at the edge of the abyss. But I had a mother who'd do anything so as to raise her son right. Yes, my mother would do anything. Yes, she was in burlesque."
His words were beginning to slur and he sounded confused as he held tight to the microphone to keep from falling as his voice rose, "Yes, my mother was in burlesque, for me. I remember. I remember as a child watching her on that stage while those evil men lusted after her. She would prance out on that stage wearing nothing but two stars and a cork.
"Those evil men. Yes, they did lust after her. But she did it for me and she had Jesus in her heart!"
He rambled on awhile, uttering similar nonsense. Then he slumped to the floor. The head cameraman zeroed in and Brother John's deacon drunkenly ordered him to turn the cameras off. When the cameraman refused, the deacon drew a pistol and shot the cameraman in the face and then shot himself.
The second cameraman, having been ordered to catch any action, had turned his camera on the deacon when he began yelling. After the shooting, he feared someone else would shoot him so he fled the studio.
Clarence was shocked. He could not understand how Brother John could have preached without believing. And the others? Could they have been Martians? Could Brother John have been a Martian?
Then the Martians were infiltrating the churches. He would check the notices for church get-togethers. He would need disguises. He stayed up most of the night consulting with his guides between news broadcasts telling of the horror.
The TV announcer told him over forty people had died and several were critical. The punch had been poisoned and a young white male was suspect. Only a few had noticed him but they gave the police artist his description. Clarence marveled at the drawing. Even so, Clarence looked like ever so many young men. He had a forgettable face.
However, his psychiatrist knew that face well. Could that really be Clarence? Now fully recovered from his stroke, the good doctor next day contacted SSI and got Clarence's present address and the phone number of the building's manager.
Late that afternoon he called and persuaded the grudging manager to knock on Clarence's door and have him come to the phone. Clarence wondered at the request since he had never gotten a phone call. He went downstairs with the manager and picked up the phone.
When he said "hello", he immediately recognized his doctor's voice and was half-glad and half apprehensive. After a few pleasantries, the doctor said, "I want you to come back here. You're in danger."
"I live on danger, doctor", said Clarence. "Danger is my bread and meat". He could not remember the movie character he was quoting but he knew it fit. He was becoming addicted to the chase and the excitement. Might it not get the better of him and cause him to become lax, as he did when he let himself be seen by Brother John's people?
"Clarence", said the doctor, "you could use a little R and R. Come on back, we miss you".
Clarence thought a moment and it occurred to him that he should lie low for a while. "Well", he said, "I guess I could come back for a visit". Then he stopped. "No, doctor, I can't. I have a cat and pets aren't allowed".
"Clarence", said the doctor, "we'll make an exception. Forget the rules. Bring the cat. Bring the damned cat, only get back here".
That evening Clarence gathered up all his weapons and paraphernalia and threw them in the dumpster out back. He packed his airline bag and next morning went and bought a cat carrier.
He then took a taxi to the airport and booked the next flight home. When he arrived, he was joyously greeted by Pastor Fain, Josh, Dr. Blount, Milton and others on the ward.
His first duty was to check in to his psychiatrist for debriefing. The furloughed soldier in the army of the unseen just took it for granted that the psychiatrist was aware of his activities. But he would volunteer no admissions since the doctor had not believed in Martians during his last session.
As they talked, the psychiatrist made no mention of his suspicions. It might not have been Clarence after all. And even if it was, he was back where he would be had he indeed poisoned all those people. The only difference would be in the violent ward instead of the ward for the simply silly.
So Clarence stayed on the ward. His cat was spoiled to absurdity. Clarence was glad to be back among sane people for a change. He continued to watch TV. In time, maybe, a certain movie with a certain message for him would put him back in action again.
Onward to Clarence's next adventure...
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