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...
Please click the [ Next
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