Alex Scarrow - October skies

Shepherd shook his head. ‘The great big capitalist experiment, ’ he sighed, ‘went and broke our society big time. There’s no Thanks in Thanksgiving, no God left in Christmas. Those days are nothing more than carefully branded herding to drive the cattle into the mall twice a year. And hell, we do it all over again for Easter.’

‘The world has become too commercial,’ agreed Rose.

‘With no faith left in our lives, no meaning to our lives,’ Shepherd replied, ‘all that is left is’ — he shrugged — ‘buying things.’

Julian finished his stew and placed the bowl on the ground. ‘You know, what you’re saying sounds refreshingly left wing, for America at least. Don’t you worry you might sound too… I dunno… socialist for voters to accept?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘People know what’s right. In their hearts they do. Our broken country needs some kind of glue to put it back together. To reconnect kids with their parents and rebuild all those fragmented, dysfunctional families; to rebuild those isolated families into communities and those communities into a country that once more understands the notion of a common good.’

‘And that glue is faith?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘It’s all we have left. Let me ask you a question, Mr Cooke. Who would you prefer as your neighbour: Homer Simpson or Ned Flanders?’

Julian laughed and pushed his glasses up. ‘Seriously?’ Shepherd nodded.

‘Well, it’s got to be Homer, annoying though he is.’

‘Because?’

‘It’s the God thing, I’m afraid. Sorry. I struggle with the ridiculous beliefs most religions insist on slavishly subscribing to. You know, the world being created in seven days and being only six thousand years old, that kind of thing.’

‘If we’re talking about the other faiths too,’ Rose cut in, ‘how about the idea of women being the property of men? Or heaven being a place where a man can get satisfaction from seventy-two virgins? Or to take another faith, that any sin, no matter how awful, can be instantly written off by muttering a Hail Mary.’

To their surprise, Shepherd nodded. ‘You’re right, both of you.’

Julian looked up from the fire. ‘What?’

‘It’s all a load of crap.’

The crackle of burning firewood filled a long silence.

‘The world’s faiths are contaminated with age-old superstitions, most irrelevant and many very dangerous. After all, every one of them was formulated and prescribed at least a thousand years ago. How, in God’s name could any of them be relevant to our lives now? What we need-’ Shepherd stopped short and looked around at them. ‘I’m sorry. You got me whipped up into preacher mode.’

Julian sat back. ‘Uhh, I’m pretty sure you’ve never preached that kind of message on your TV station.’

Shepherd shifted uncomfortably. ‘No, you’re right, I haven’t. No one’s ready to hear that kind of thing. It would sink my campaign in a heartbeat if they knew how I felt.’

Julian shook his head. ‘What you say out here is off the record. I’m not interested in who becomes President eighteen months from now. It’s Preston’s story that I’m interested in.’

The kettle on the fire began whistling and bubbling. Grace leaned forward and carefully unhooked it from a small ‘A’ frame suspended over the fire.

‘Mr Shepherd?’ She topped up the stewing coffee with steaming hot water. ‘I believe you were going to tell us what we need. You know, before you stopped short there.’ She stared at him. ‘You were just beginning to make some sense to me.’

Rose nodded. ‘I’m intrigued too. I believe you just rubbished all the world’s major religions. And yet you are a man of faith, right?’

‘I am.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, uh… isn’t that a problem for you?’

He reached for the coffee pot and refilled the chipped enamel mug on the ground beside him in silence. He sipped the black brew hesitantly, his mind elsewhere for a moment.

He spoke quietly. ‘I’d like to see those old faiths swept aside. And all the malice, the hatred, the bigotry, the ignorance that goes with them. More than anything,’ he said, the slightest hint of passion stealing into the timbre of his measured voice, ‘more than anything.. this broken world needs to have a new conversation with God.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Julian.

Grace emptied the dregs from her mug. ‘You’re talkin’ about a new faith?’

Shepherd nodded.

‘And Mormonism is that faith?’

He shook his head. ‘I was brought up to believe that… and perhaps I once did. But not any longer. The Lord’s word was corrupted by ambitious men — not good men, not pure men. We’ve been living in a state of apostasy for too long.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I believe this tired, troubled world of ours needs to hear from God again in a language that makes sense of the twenty-first century.’

Rose stared at Shepherd, quiet now, lost in his thoughts, a detached, faraway look in his eyes. The silence continued long enough that Grace finally decided to cut in.

‘I’m beat. I’ll be turnin’ in. The fire needs to be completely dowsed before we sleep, and the pan properly covered. And if any of you need a pee before bed, be sure to do it well way from the tents.’

She stood up and gathered their empty bowls. ‘Mr Barns? Give me a hand?’

Agent Barns nodded. ‘Sure.’

They headed across the moonlit clearing, a flashlight lancing out into the darkness before them, with bowls and cutlery in hand, and Grace carrying a two-litre plastic jug of water. Rose watched them stop at the edge of the clearing. Grace began to rinse the bowls and spoons.

‘So, Mr Shepherd, do you mind if I ask something?’ Rose spoke quietly.

He looked up at her and smiled. ‘Of course.’

‘Would you consider yourself… pure enough?’

‘Pure enough to interpret the message of God? To listen to his quiet voice in the darkest hours of night and not twist it to suit my own ends?’

She nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose that’s what I’m asking.’

‘I’d like to think so,’ he laughed. ‘After all, I’m a very good listener.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, it’s late, I’ve had a long day… a hectic week in fact, and I’m bushed. I think I’ll turn in.’

‘We’ll see you in the morning,’ said Julian.

They watched him head over to his tent, unzip it and climb inside.

‘For a politician he does seem refreshingly honest,’ said Rose quietly. ‘Makes for a change, huh?’

Julian nodded. ‘He’s got it… whatever it is: charm, charisma

… he’s got it.’

‘He sure has,’ she replied, gazing back at the fire.

21 October, 1973

Haven Ridge, Utah

‘William, I’m glad we have this chance to talk alone.’ The old man spoke with a frail voice. ‘You know… I can see the burning light in you.’

‘Grandfather?’

The old man smiled. ‘You remind me of my own grandfather, ’ he added.

‘What do you mean, the burning light?’

‘The passion, William… the passion, the faith, that zeal. The knowledge that you’re special, that God has marked you out for great things.’

William looked out of the window of his grandfather’s study. ‘I do feel a calling,’ he admitted.

‘Yes, I see that in you. You have a talent for communicating the word of God. I’m sorry to say I never had that kind of strength of purpose or faith, and nor does your father. We’ve both been good businessmen, hard workers, and we’ve made plenty of money in Portland and here… but there’s something in you that I know will take you so much further.’

William felt it too, in a way.

‘I have something I wish to share with you,’ his grandfather uttered quietly, ‘something I never shared with your father.’