petermaize

The Jubilee Machine Part X

 

 

Benton was enjoying being a guest at Bartholomew’s home. For the past year or so he had either been a prisoner or a slave. He slept where he was told to sleep, did what he was ordered to do, and went where he was required to go. At Bartholomew’s home he could relax, lie in bed, listen to the birds and enjoy the cool January air as it wafted in through the open window.

He would stay with Bartholomew a few more days perhaps. He didn’t want to wear out his welcome with this benevolent new friend. But more importantly, Benton felt he needed to move on, to accomplish his mission.

He rolled out of bed and stepped into the main room. Bartholomew was talking quietly with another man whom Benton had never met. When the man looked up, he reacted with surprise and perhaps a little fear to see Benton standing before him. Bartholomew calmed the man in a language that Benton didn’t know. Benton bowed his head, then walked back into his room, unsure what to do. A moment later, Bartholomew entered the room, smiling as always.

“My apologies. My friend is a little nervous these days, and anything out of the ordinary is likely to make him jump.”

“Why is he nervous?”

Bartholomew sighed and folded his arms. “Oh, the authorities are applying pressure. There are rumors about Christians again—the usual, that we kill children and eat their flesh. That sort of thing.”

“So why do the Romans hate you so much?”

“Me? I don’t know that they hate me in particular. But they think my religion is an annoying threat. They accuse us of all sorts of things: orgies, cannibalism.

“As you know,” he said, poking the fire with a stick, “the Romans have a policy of toleration for most religions in their empire. It’s a pragmatic approach that has worked well for them for many years. They allow local people to worship their own gods, as long as they don’t challenge Roman authority.”

“But you’re not challenging Roman authority.”

Bartholomew considered that for a moment

“They can rule successfully by allowing each conquered nation to worship its own gods. They believe this is very open-minded, and in a way, it is. It removes conflict. As long as the people pay their taxes and pledge fealty to Rome, who cares who they make sacrificial offerings to?

“The Jews have always frustrated them because the Jews refused to put any Roman above the Almighty God. Now the Christians come along with a religion that is open to all people—it is not based on national identity or culture. Every person in the world is loved equally by a single God. That is a dangerous creed.”

Benton smiled.

“Well, Bartholomew, I can say with confidence that some day even a Roman emperor will become a Christian, and your religion will be the official religion of the empire.”

Bartholomew laughed outright.

“I am not sure that is an outcome I would hope for. Our Lord tells us to give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and give to God the things that are God’s. It is not wise or necessary to combine the two. If all seek God’s will, then God’s will can de done by kings and cart-drivers, with both men being equal in God’s sight.”

Benton sighed and leaned against the wall.

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful,” he said.

“Yes, Nahon, it would. God asks each of us merely to seek him. His hand is always outstretched, and his love is constantly available.”

“Sorry, my friend. Even God would not take me as I am: filled with rage, consumed with revenge, and I am alone—more alone than you can imagine.”

Bartholomew came and sat by Benton.

“There is no pain so great that God cannot take it away. But you must offer it to him. Even asking him to take a severe hurt away is not sufficient. You must willingly give it up. Then it will be gone, and it won’t trouble you again.”

He shifted and drew his cloak tighter around him.

“Yet few of us do this. We cling to the pain, the anger and the resentment. We cannot forgive someone who hurts us, or accept the fact that a loved one has died. We dwell in the pain, wishing only that circumstances could be different—never accepting that this is God’s plan and therefore that the world is the way it should be.”

Benton was looking at the floor. Bartholomew continued.

“Nahon, you will grow bitter if you think of what your enemy has done to you, and how much you have suffered. Although I am not saying that you enjoy your suffering, I am accusing you of the very human decision to hold onto the pain, refusing to lose it because it becomes something you can use. Letting it go forever doesn’t seem right. We deserve to be forever angry or offended, don’t we?”

He tried to see into Benton’s eyes, but the shadows hid them.

“Our God will bear all your burdens. He has done so before, and will gladly do it again. You need not suffer. You can be free. But you must be willing to let go of the pain. You use it to sustain yourself, but it is a bitter medicine that cannot make you well. Still, you refuse to throw it away, thinking it is medicine, so you must take it. Nahon, give it to God.”

Benton turned to Bartholomew. The shadows made his scars and battered skull more obvious and frightening.

“If I had your faith, Bartholomew, I think I could do that. Perhaps one day I will. I understand the concept you are explaining, and I agree that what you describe can be true.”

He stretched a crippled leg.

“But it also requires a level of faith that I don’t have, and may never have. Yes, it is true that I don’t have to be bitter and angry. Philosophically I understand. But I don’t have it in me, Bartholomew. I see how your faith influences your life, and I admire you and your people. Right now, though, I don’t have that faith, so I cannot let go of my pain and anger.”

Benton stood up slowly, leaning on his staff, as his legs began to ache.

“Or perhaps because of my pain and anger I cannot acquire enough faith. We shall see if that changes. Pray for me, brother.”

Bartholomew also stood up. “I will go to share the Lord’s Supper with my friends now.”

“Take me with you.”

Benton had no idea why he made that request.

Bartholomew looked at him a long time, then smiled.

“I would be very pleased to have you come with me. Let’s go now!”

Bartholomew led Benton down a narrow alleyway, then another, finally stopping before a nondescript door. He rapped on the weather-beaten wood, and the door quickly opened. A man was standing there, short and bearded and smiling.

“Bartholomew! You made it, brother!”

The men embraced in the doorway. They seemed completely at ease. Benton had assumed there would be much more cloak-and-dagger secrecy, special codes and whispers. But here the makeshift church door was opened wide and no one seemed concerned. Bartholomew introduced Benton and he stepped forward.

“I am Nahon.”

The man gave him a big hug, squeezing tightly. Benton was pinned with his arms at his sides, waiting for the man to let go. Bartholomew had already stepped across the threshold and was greeting others in the large, crowded room.

Both men and women were present, but they did not sit together. More than twenty people filled the small room. They sang several hymns, without instruments. Benton felt he was witnessing the primordial essence of religion embodied in ancient songs.

After that, the man who had welcomed Bartholomew prayed over a plate of unleavened bread and blessed the wine. Both were passed around the room, with men feeding each other bits of bread.

Benton took the piece of bread, popped it in his mouth and silently chewed. The body of Christ, indeed, he thought. He reached for the cup as it was offered to him. Just as he took hold of hit, a thunderous noise came from behind him. Benton sloshed the wine over the table, hunching his shoulders in automatic reflex. The door to the house came crashing open, and several Roman soldiers rushed in, swords drawn.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

 

Ellen and Badri walked together to the Electromagnetic Research center.

All the lights were off in the main building, where busy graduate students spent the weekday working on useless elements of time displacement, discussing theories and playing with protons.  Ellen and Badri walked around the back of the building, and in through the fire exit. Badri still had a key. As the door shut behind them, Ellen turned toward the control center. Antoine was standing there.

“Antoine!” Badri shouted, fearing the worst. “What are you doing here?”

Antoine’s face was pale

“He’s gone now, and he said he doesn’t need to come back anymore.”

Ellen took a step toward Antoine.

“You mean James?”

He nodded.

“What did he tell you, Antoine?” Badri’s voice emanated softly from behind Ellen.

“And where did you send him?”

Antoine shook his head, then lowered it.

“Jerusalem, 33 AD. And he said he’s not coming back, and that he’s pinning everything on you. Badri.”

He looked frightened. “Benton’s gone. Jeremy’s gone, and I think James killed him. And I don’t know where Ken is, I really don’t.”

Antoine was almost crying.

“So when they start checking tomorrow, you’ll be the one they ask. And you won’t be able to say what happened to all those people.”

Badri nodded. “Yes, I know what’s coming, Antoine.”

Ellen turned to Antoine. “I suggest you also disappear. Don’t come back here ever again. You just aided a murderer in his escape.”

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Bartholomew was taken by the Romans and beaten, refusing to say the simple words “Caesar is Lord.” Benton escaped punishment, because he didn’t live in the village, and was just a traveler. When asked, Benton could say truthfully that he was not a Christian. This did not comfort him. Benton wished he could have taken a stand against the persecution. But he did not.

Bartholomew was eventually dumped back on his doorstep a few hours later. Benton gingerly carried the broken body into the house. He knew about torture.

Bartholomew smiled, as well as he could. Benton’s memory was catapulted back to his own dark days in a Persian dungeon. Cracked lips, flayed skin, broken bones. Bartholomew spoke in a hoarse whisper.

“It is God’s will Nahon. No one can divert God’s will—nor should they try. His perfect will has brought me to this point. I will accept my fate. I will die as a martyr.”

“You will not die!” Benton shouted, but he was raging against the inevitable. It was obvious that Bartholomew had internal injuries. Blood continued to trickle from his mouth. In the 3rd century, people did not recover from these things. If he had believed in God, Benton might have prayed for a miracle. But he couldn’t. And Bartholomew seemed content for his life to pass.

 

Over the next hour, Bartholomew slipped in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he murmured, eyes closed. Most of the time he was quiet, occasionally grimacing in pain. Benton gave him water when he asked for it.

Just before dawn, as Benton leaned dozing against the wall, he heard Bartholomew murmur his name.

“What is it?” Benton said, immediately rousing himself and going to his friend’s side. Bartholomew was pale, his skin clammy.

“I have thought of something, Nahon. I think the Spirit gave it to me.”

Benton didn’t reply, waiting for the dying man to say whatever he wanted to. Bartholomew coughed, then struggled to catch his breath. It was nearly a minute before he could continue.

“In the Torah, the book that the Jews use, there is the law of Jubilee. Do you know what that is?”

Benton shook his head.

“The Jews were told to let the land lie fallow every seven years, and then every 49 years there was a year of Jubilee, in which debts would be forgiven, land would be returned to its original owner and slaves would be released. This Jubilee is no longer practiced in Israel. I think it stopped at the time of the Captivity, when most of the Jews were taken away to Babylon. By the time Israel was restored, no one calculated the years of Jubilee.”

“Oh.”

Bartholomew reached out for Benton’s arm. Benton had to move closer so that Bartholomew could feebly grasp his hand.

“This idea is a good one for you. Think of this as a year of Jubilee. The time has come for you to be released, for debts to be forgiven, for old harms to pass. Let this be a year of Jubilee for you, Nahon.”

Benton didn’t know how to respond. This meant nothing to him, and it was certainly not the revelation that Bartholomew hoped it would be. But he didn’t want his friend to die disappointed.

“I will do so, Bartholomew. This will be my year of Jubilee.”

Bartholomew smiled, and closed his eyes.

“And then you can start over again, my friend. All things will be new.”

He did not speak again.

Finally, just before sunrise, he grew still. Brian knew immediately that his friend was gone.

Once again, Benton was alone in an alien world. He went to find Bartholomew’ friends at the house where they had celebrated the Lord’s Supper—the meal that led to Bartholomew’s death. The owner of the home had still not been released and his wife was stricken with fear and anguish. When she heard of Bartholomew’s death she broke into sobs and put her head in her hands. Neighbors gathered at the door. Some of the men agreed to take Bartholomew’s body and bury it. Benton helped them, saying nothing as they dug the grave, washed the body and wrapped it in linen. He said nothing as Bartholomew was lowered into the earth and dirt was thrown back into the hole. He said nothing as the men dispersed back to their homes.

Benton was thinking. And as he went back to Bartholomew’s tiny room to collect his only possession, he continued to think. By the time he stepped onto the highway for Jerusalem, he was certain.

He knew how to get back to his own time. Bartholomew had given him the clue.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

“How do you think he does it?”

“Does what?”

Badri was standing at the control panel, trying to figure out who had jumped, how many times and when. Ellen was leaning against the console, trying to keep from fidgeting, trying to remain calm and not burst apart with anger and fear.

“Communicates with himself,” she said.

Badri didn’t look up.

“You mean James. It’s not certain, of course, that there is more than one version of James, you know. We suspect that, based on the data from the jumps. There are times where his mass has left the decelerator twice but returned only once, or I guess you could say the total number of return jumps doesn’t match the number of departures.  That would lead one to believe that there is more than one version of James. But of course,” he said, looking up, “this raises theoretical issues that we have never examined.”

Ellen bowed her head. Badri remained a scientist to the end, she thought.

“Sometimes I don’t know what universe I’m in these days,” she sighed.

Badri shook his head. “As you know, quantum theory describes entanglement, but that relates to particles interacting with each other. Einstein called it ‘spooky action at a distance,’ and physicists have only experimented with subatomic particles to prove entanglement. What James is doing gives all the appearance of being entanglement on a grand scale—that he has the same properties as entangled particles, being able to interact regardless of distance. And if so, this then proves the quantum physicist’s theories that entanglement even exists between universes. It really helps provide the Grand Theory of Everything, ironically. Through his deception and evil, James is providing evidence for the solution to the ultimate puzzle. It’s hard to say how entanglement works on this level, except it seems that there really are two or more versions of James that can interact with each other. And most importantly—or most sinister, you could say—is that he is completely identical: same past experiences, same psychology. And same motivation. To be master of his own universes. Multiple universes that he controls by his actions, even if no one else knows it.

“Some of his traveling is merely part of his efforts to construct the necessary circumstances for him to perpetuate his game, I imagine. He sends himself back to the past, which creates a new version of the universe. That person then goes forward into the future of THAT universe, and takes an action. That action is designed to affect the outcome of later history. And some of the jumps would merely be to make arrangements for himself in other time periods. For example, James might go back to 12th century France and kill someone and take their money. Then he goes to 15^th century France and spends it. He needs money, he needs the means to be the ruler of his own universe. I suspect that the majority of James’s jumps have been of this foundational variety.”

 

Badri had finished with the coordinates. He looked at Ellen. She was stunned, and slightly unsettled, that Badri could so dispassionately assess the actions of a man who was busy killing and playing God in any century he chose, while simultaneously framing Badri for everything.

“I think I know what James is up to, Badri,” Ellen said.

“I don’t think you do, Ellen.” Badri smiled. This angered Ellen.

“You don’t understand. He’s going to kill Jesus.”

Singh was unfazed by the assertion. He stood, arms folded, leaning against the control panel. Ellen stopped talking. Singh’s unresponsiveness shut her up for a moment. She took a deep breath. Singh spoke.

“James wouldn’t bother. Jesus is not of major significance to him”

He looked Ellen with somber eyes, waiting for a reaction. She didn’t respond.

“Seriously,” Singh continued, walking away from the panel. “A man like James is not the sort of person who cares about the Ultimate Reality or his mortal soul. He just wants to see how far he can go, regardless of the consequences.”

Badri looked at Ellen. He couldn’t tell how mentally stable she was.

“I had a conversation with James yesterday. We discussed this issue.”

Badri smiled. “You’ll be pleased to know he is not going to try to kill Jesus. He will, however, try to kill the apostles. He wants to…what did he say? Mess with God’s plan.

Just for the fun of it. Of course, murder, sabotage, and changing the future of entire universes is also involved.”

“I had a conversation with my friend, Wyatt,” Ellen said. “I asked him to come with me when I visited Benton again yesterday. I wasn’t sure who to believe, or trust. And I wanted to make sure that Benton is sane. Wyatt mentioned something that I’d completely forgotten about, Badri. He reminded me that God knows the future—he lives in the future as much as he does the present—he can know all possible outcomes and actions in any universe.

“God allows free will, which allows James to create alternate universes. But of course, those universes are not outside the effective domain of God. So God already knows what James will do, and the outcome. The unanswered question for me is whether God aligns all universes to his intent—if he is overseeing each one that James creates. James is assuming that when he creates a new version of the universe, he has control over it. He gets to act as God. For me, I want to know that God has as much control over that universe as he does the one you and I were born into.”

Badri scowled, started to speak, paused and then forged ahead.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, Ellen, if I don’t share your viewpoint that an omnipotent deity will solve our problems for us in his good time.”

Ellen clenched her jaw as Badri glared at her.

“The only way to stop him is to kill him,” Badri said. “Does it matter which version we are we killing—can he continue his agenda if multiple versions of James exist? I don’t know, but I do know that he’s run out of confederates to operate the controls. Perhaps his plans are far enough advanced that he no longer needs assistance back here. Maybe.”

Badri looked at Ellen, gauging her emotional state. She was looking into his eyes, shaking her head.

“I want to go back to Jerusalem,” she said, “find out what he’s up to. Stop him, kill him if need be.”

Badri shook his head. No.

Ellen continued to fix her gaze on him. Finally, softly, in a voice barely more than a whisper she said, “Benton told me that James has already killed me, back in the past. Benton said he saw my body. Maybe one reason I want to make the jump is to rewrite the past—to prevent that murder from happening. My own murder.”

Her face was pained, but not fearful.

Badri waited for her to continue.

“Tell me if I go back to Jerusalem that I won’t become James’ next victim. Tell me that I’m not just going on a suicide mission.”

Badri started to speak but his voice caught. He cleared his throat.

“I can’t let you go, Ellen. I can’t.”

She breathed out slowly, head down. Badri watched her. So young, so pure and untainted. Suddenly Ellen looked up, and she no longer resembled the idealized image Badri had been musing over, of the high-minded ivory tower dweller. Her eyes were burning and her face was set like granite.

“I believe that Benton finds my body. Why should I not believe it? I don’t think he’s lying about that, or mistaken. And if it’s true, then I have no right to mess with God’s plan.”

“What?” Badri was aghast. “God’s plan. What are you talking about!”

Ellen paused before responding. She had always admired Badri, and she still admired him for his intellect, his determination. But he was missing something.

“I believe in God, Badri. You know that.”

“Yes, I know that. But…”

She talked right over him.

“I can’t leave that out of the equation. I think I’ve set God aside for too long while we all pursued our selfish dreams. But God is part of this.”

“Maybe so. But you can’t predict what God will do, can you? He doesn’t reveal his plans to you, I assume, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. So you must act based on your own assessment of the situation.”

“I believe God will guide me, if I commit myself to him” Ellen said softly.

Badri exploded.

“Guide you to your death!”

“Possibly, if that is his will.”   Ellen felt surprisingly calm. Badri was almost speechless with disbelief.

“Good God, how did we get a Jesus freak in our midst? This is ridiculous! We are scientists and we deal with reality, facts and observable phenomena. Not supernatural whims.”

Ellen said nothing, and Badri wearily hoisted his body out of the chair, his anger quickly dissipating as he walked toward her.

“Overall, it probably doesn’t matter. I’m calculating probabilities and trying to outguess James. You’re trusting in God. Either way, our results are likely to be similar, and remarkably crude: you want to go back to the first century and kill James.”

“Yep.”

Badri paused, looking at the floor for quite some time. Then he turned and strode toward the door.

“Then I guess I’d better give you my pistol. You’ll be needing it in Jerusalem.”