Ian Sansom - The Bad Book Affair

“Not often,” said Israel. “No.”

“And have you ever considered your future, Israel?”

“Well, again, no, alas, not often,” said Israel. He thought about that brownstone in New York, his true home and his future, which had maybe a little balustrade out front, and he thought about breakfast with Paul Auster, and lunch with Philip Roth, and cocktails with friends from the New Yorker, and returning home late at night to listen to the sound of John Coltrane playing A Love Supreme. The utterly complete, beautiful, urban bourgeois solidity of his unfulfillable fantasy life…

“You are aware we are living in the end-times?” Adam was saying.

“Are we?” said Israel.

“Look around you,” said Adam.

Israel glanced around the room.

“Erm…”

“Not just in Tumdrum. Around the world. Economic catastrophes. Natural disasters. Tsunamis,” said Adam. “Hurricane Katrina. Hurricane Wilma.”

“Ah, right, I see what you mean.”

“Disease,” continued Adam. “Famine. Strife. War.”

“Yes,” agreed Israel. But Adam wasn’t listening: he was preaching. He’d got into a rhythm. He was even rocking slightly on his seat.

“Just take the weather. Swollen rivers. Devastating floods. Southern China, northern India, Pakistan, Bangladesh. In Europe, Israel, last year people died from the extreme heat-and this was in Europe, mind.”

“Right.”

“Drought and wildfires.”

“Well, you’re certainly painting a picture of-”

“It’s not my picture I’m painting, Israel. It’s the Book of Revelation. The consequences of man’s rebellion against God.”

“Erm…”

“Look at the Middle East, Israel. Israel, Israel. The war against terror. Bird flu. SARS. Soaring crime. I believe we are witnessing the beginning of the outpouring of the bowls of wrath, Israel.”

“Doesn’t sound good, certainly,” said Israel.

“When you look in the papers, Israel, isn’t all you see photos of people drinking and cavorting and in states of undress? Celebrities? Lowlifes?”

“Erm. I’m not sure about the paper thing, actually. Doesn’t it depend rather which…”

“The angels are pouring out God’s wrath.”

“Uh-huh,” said Israel, nervously.

And then Adam Burns broke off suddenly from his litany of wrath and woes, as though awakening from a trance.

“You say you’re a librarian?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask, does the library stock the Left Behind series?”

“I don’t think so,” said Israel. “I can always run a check for you.”

“My sense is,” said Adam, “that the forces of the secular state don’t want that kind of literature in the libraries.”

“Well, I’d hardly regard myself as an agent of the secular state. We have a very open policy on what’s admitted,” said Israel.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm,” said Adam, unconvinced.

Israel felt that the conversation had perhaps drifted away from where he wanted it to be going. He shifted in his tiny seat.

“Sorry. Just to get back to Lyndsay Morris.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

“When was the last time she was at the club here?”

“It would be about a month or so ago, I think.”

“OK. And can you think of any reason why she hasn’t been back since?”

“I’m afraid I had to ask her to leave the Retreat.” Adam did his cough.

“Right. Why?”

“She was becoming rather…a problem.”

“Really?”

“It was a question of behavior.”

“Oh dear. What sort of behavior?”

“I’m afraid Lyndsay was self-harming,” said Adam Burns.

“What?”

“She was cutting her arms with razor blades.”

“Oh dear.”

“It’s not uncommon, actually, among the young people we work with, Israel. More girls than boys.”

“Why was she self-harming?”

“Personally, I think it was something to do with home.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I believe, Israel, that I have what the Bible calls the gift of knowledge.”

“The gift of knowledge?”

“Yes. One of the gifts of the spirit.”

“1 Corinthians 12?” said Israel.

“Yes,” agreed Adam Burns, rather surprised. “That’s right. And I felt I had to ask to her to leave.”

“Why? Shouldn’t you be-”

“It’s complicated, Israel. Lyndsay had become a part of our church group-”

“Kerugma?”

“That’s right. So she wasn’t just coming on Friday nights. She had become part of our fellowship. And when someone…breaks covenant with us within the fellowship we feel we have no choice but to defellowship them.”

“Defellowship?”

“That’s correct.”

“Sorry, I still don’t quite understand how a young girl who is self-harming would be breaking-”

“Let me put it this way, Israel. We believe that Jesus shed his blood in our place and that his was the perfect sacrifice. And so in self-harming we believe the young person is denying this once-only act of atonement. Do you see?”

Israel nodded skeptically.

“So,” continued Adam Burns, “persisting in this sort of behavior, we believe, is behaving in many ways like the priests of the Old Testament, who continually offered sacrifices that could in no way atone for their sins.”

“Right,” said Israel, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with Adam Burns’s logic.

“Which is wrong. It’s a sin.”

“OK.”

“Jesus wants to transform us, Israel. He wants to make us into his likeness. And if we resist that and continue to set our face against the Lord’s will for our lives, then I’m afraid it’s difficult for us to share fellowship with such a person.”

Israel smiled, falsely.

“The aim of Kerugma is not merely to proclaim the gospel but also to offer to one another mutual encouragement and edification in Christ. 2 Thessalonians 2:15.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where the churches are instructed to ‘stand firm and hold to the traditions which you were taught, whether by word of mouth or by letter from us.’”

“Yeah.”

“So, if we believers are part of the body of Christ, shouldn’t we be unified, as his one bride?”

“Erm…” said Israel, his voice strained and high. “So, basically, when you found out she was self-harming-”

“Persisting in self-harming.”

“Right. You then asked her to leave?”

“Yes.”

After thanking Adam Burns for his time, Israel left the community halls as quickly as possible. As he hurried down the street he remembered something his mother would sometimes say to him. “All Christians,” she would say, “are crazy.” He’d never quite understood what she meant.

He’d never been so glad to see teenagers hanging around on street corners drinking and smoking and shouting abuse.

Israel rang Veronica.

“Hi.”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Israel.

“Oh, right. So, shoot.”

“What?”

“How are you getting on, Israel?”

“Fine.”

“What have you got?”

“I went to the Venice Fish Bar.”

“And?”

“I spoke to some people there.”

“Yes. And?”

“They thought Lyndsay was close to the owner.”

“Gerry Blair?”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yeah.”

“He’s married.”

“I know.”

“So how close is she?”

“They didn’t say.”

“God, well. That’s brilliant. We’re talking tabloid there.”

“Are we?”

“Absolutely! And what else?”

“I also spoke to her ex-boyfriend.”

“Who?”

“He’s called Colin. He spends all his time editing Wikipedia and playing computer games.”