Journey's End

JOURNEY’S END

By Janet Lorimer

    The tale is told of a poor shoemaker, a bitter man, who plied his trade in a small shop on a narrow street in Jerusalem. One day his work was interrupted by a great commotion outside.  Curious, the shoemaker went to the doorway in time to see a man, covered in blood and sweat and dragging a great wooden cross, stumble and fall against the outer wall. Angry, the shoemaker berated him. “You’re bad for business. Get away from my shop.”

    The injured man turned his head slightly, regarded the shoemaker, his eyes filled with pain and sorrow. And so began the shoemaker’s journey.     

 #

Calvin Simms entered the coffee shop a few minutes after nine. It was busy with the breakfast crowd, but Calvin spotted the man he sought in a booth at the back, hunched over a cup of coffee. Calvin paused, staring, bewildered by what he saw. This couldn’t be the man McInerney had told him about. This man was ancient, bone-thin and ash-pale; he looked as if he’d been swallowed alive by his faded army fatigue jacket. Could he even hold a gun, let alone do the job?

    As Calvin approached, the old man looked up at him, his dark eyes filled with a soul-dissecting weariness. Despite the room’s steamy warmth, Calvin shivered as he slid into the booth.

    “I’m Simms,” Calvin said. “What do I call you?”

    “Smith works.”

    Calvin nodded. Smith. Either the man had no imagination, or he was so tired of aliases he didn’t care.

    Calvin waited until the waitress brought his coffee. As she walked away, he took an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. “Here’s the first half. You get the rest after the job is done.”

    Smith glanced at the envelope, but didn’t touch it.

    Calvin lowered his voice. “As you’ve been told, there’s a certain woman we want….” He paused, searching for the right word. Smith did nothing to help him. “…eliminated.”

    Silence. Smith had the steadiest gaze Calvin had ever seen. Whatever else the old guy lacked, it wasn’t patience.  Calvin handed Smith a photograph. The man glanced at it and passed it back. 

    “Her name is Theodora Hernandez,” Calvin said. “Her followers call her Taya.  She claims—.”

    “I know who she is. I’ve heard her preach.”

    “How? She just arrived in the United States.”

    Smith nodded, smiled a thread-thin smile. “I’ve heard her preach everywhere she goes. In every country around the world.”

    Calvin’s jaw dropped. He saw Smith watching him with something like humor. “Well, then, you know why we need her – uh, removed,” Calvin said.

    “She preaches love and peace, an end to conflict between nations, better care of the planet, equality for all people. Why don’t you rejoice at her presence?”

    “A woman with brown skin who thinks she’s the Anointed One come to save the world?” Calvin jeered.   

 Smith studied Calvin in silence. “And if she is?” Smith asked.

“What?”

“What if Taya really is—?”

    “She’s crazy, a political trouble-maker,” Calvin shot back.   Smith shook his head sadly. “Those in power fear her. Religious leaders are horrified by her.  Your people despise her. To top it off, world peace isn’t cost effective.” He ticked off the strikes against Taya with stick-thin fingers. “Two thousand years ago a simple man preached the same sort of message. The establishment didn’t much care for him either.”

    That left Calvin speechless. McInerney had made a huge mistake choosing this man, and there was no time to make new arrangements. Still, there was always the second phase of the plan, something Smith knew nothing about. 

    “Tomorrow at noon she’s going to speak at the amphitheater in the park,” Calvin said. Smith nodded. “There’s a small bridge over the main path. That’s where you’ll do it. There’ll be a lot of people around her, but from the top of the bridge you’ll have a clear view of the path, and in the ensuing confusion a good chance to get away. I suggest—.”

    “I’ll make my own arrangements.” Smith slid out of the booth, scooping up the envelope as he stood. “Goodbye, Mr. Simms. We won’t meet again.”

    Calvin watched Smith limp away, noting how stooped the old man was, a kind of world weariness draped like a prayer shawl over his thin shoulders. As he watched, Calvin struggled with fresh misgivings.  If Smith admired Taya so damn much, why had he agreed to off her? It made no sense, unless the old man had a different agenda, one that depended on him gaining access to her. The park would be teeming with security. McInerney’s people would be there as well; they would help Smith get within range. But if the old man failed—.    

#

Calvin drove across town to a shopping mall.  McInerney was sitting on a bench eating popcorn from a red and white striped paper bag, watching the shoppers as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Calvin dropped onto the bench. 

    “How did it go?” McInerney asked.

    “Where the hell did you find this guy?”

    McInerney’s gray eyes narrowed. He ruminated. “It was quite odd. He found me, not the other way around. He had no references, no résumé. And yet I felt compelled to take him on.”  

    Calvin shivered. Then he blurted out his qualms, ending with, “What if he doesn’t do it?”

    McInerney shrugged. “If nothing else, Smith will be a diversion. We have a back-up plan, remember? There will be no failure.”

     “I don’t know, Mac. This doesn’t feel right. Smith doesn’t feel right.”

    The older man stuffed popcorn into his mouth. Chewed, swallowed, and laughed, but the humor failed to reach his eyes.  “Cal, Smith is only a cog in a wheel. He does what we pay him to do and in turn he will be done to. You know, do unto others what is done to you.”

    “You’re a cynic, Mac.”  

    His employer smiled. “I’m a realist. Taya has almost as many enemies as followers. You wouldn’t think her message of peace and love could inspire so much hate and fear.” 

    Calvin remembered Smith’s remarks about Jesus. And look what happened to him!

    “Taya will be taken out one way or another. The world will be shocked by her death, but not surprised,” McInerney went on. “Religious groups will be ecstatic because this so-called messiah is not around to muddy the spiritual waters.  Mark my words, in a few days the headlines will feature some fresh horror: riots in Angola or an air disaster in Turkey. Taya’s death will go to the back pages of the papers and disappear completely from CNN and Fox News. No one will give a damn that her assassin was in turn assassinated. We live in a violent world where people take the law into their own hands every day.” He looked at his watch. “Time for me to go. I’m taking my grandchildren to the zoo this afternoon.”

    “Wait. What if Taya really is—?”

    “Is what?”

    Calvin shifted uncomfortably. “You know. The—.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but McInerney understood.  He glowered. “Oh, for God’s sake, Cal, who cares?” 

    “But—.” Calvin was stunned by the other man’s callousness. And yet—. Before he’d met Smith, he had been so certain of Taya’s insanity. So why was he now beginning to have doubts about that, too?  

    “Let it go,” McInerney snapped. “This is just a job.”

    Calvin sighed, nodded. “Will you be in the park tomorrow?”

    McInerney grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

#

    The next morning Calvin entered the park at twenty minutes to twelve. The air was heavy with heat and humidity. Thunder rumbled on the horizon. He glanced up at the dark sky and shuddered.

People streamed into the park. He blended easily into the crowd as he worked his way toward the main path to pick a spot where he had the best view.

    Suddenly a joyful cry of welcome heralded Taya’s appearance.

    She was in her early thirties, a small, thin woman, not particularly pretty nor especially plain. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a plaid cotton work shirt, her long dark hair tied back with a red bandana. Her face was devoid of make-up; she wore no jewelry. He knew that her greatest appeal was her simple, basic honesty, a creed she preached and lived. That’s what frightened the power mongers in their expensive suits and well-appointed office suites. 

    She paused for a moment, smiling, greeting the people who crowded around her, people who begged to touch her, to be touched by her. Taya went everywhere with a handful of devoted followers. She never referred to them as her disciples. She had never performed an actual miracle, at least not one reported by the media. There was nothing to distinguish her from any other false messiah. And yet…. Calvin had to admit that she radiated a kind of quiet charisma.

    He moved closer, slowly pushing his way through the mass of people until he was just a few yards from her. The sky was growing darker. 

    Suddenly her head turned; she regarded Calvin with eyes so filled with pain and sorrow that he winced. It was as if she already knew what awaited her.  

    Then she turned back to the people who surrounded her. She smiled, and began again to make her way toward the amphitheater. The crowd moved with her, people exhorting her for spiritual help. 

Calvin craned his neck, trying to see over the heads in front of him.  Was Smith positioned on the bridge? Damn, he was nowhere in sight. Calvin struggled to look in other directions as the crowd kept pushing him forward.  He caught sight of McInerney’s halo of white hair on a knoll nearby. Where the hell was Smith? And where was the back-up? Calvin hoped he was in place. 

    Abruptly, the crowd stopped, grew utterly silent, and parted. Calvin spotted a man limping toward Taya. An old man dressed in a faded fatigue jacket. Calvin sucked in his breath. Smith. At last! But walking right up to her? What was he thinking? The crowd would tear him apart the moment he—. 

    Taya watched the old man approach, her expression calm. Smith halted directly in front of her, his arms outstretched, hands open as if beseeching her.  He leaned forward, spoke softly, then dropped to his knees in front of her, his head bowed.

Calvin gritted his teeth. What in God’s name was Smith doing? Where was his weapon? Taya rested her hand on his head and replied—

--̱just as gunshots from a distance cracked open the silence. 

    Screams beat the air like the wings of startled birds. Calvin was knocked to the ground. Instinct made him curl into a fetal position; his arms covering his head to protect himself from the blind terror of the stampede. 

As suddenly as the rampage had started, it was over, the people scattered.  Calvin got slowly to his feet. He was cut and bruised, but nothing seemed broken.

Overhead thunder growled. Calvin looked up. The sky had turned a menacing black.     

He glanced back at the path.

    Taya lay unmoving on the ground, her face a mass of blood. Her weeping followers knelt around her, one of them cradling the woman’s head in her lap.  Calvin thought Taya was probably dead.

He remembered the question Smith had put to him, that he himself had put to McInerney: What if Taya really is—?  His own certainty of her madness wavered again, and a great wave of despair washed over him. Have we just crucified another savior, he wondered, this time with bullets? 

    As for Smith, it appeared he, too, had been mortally wounded. Calvin recognized the faded army jacket. But as he drew near, he saw only a pile of clothes. Going down on one knee, he gingerly lifted the faded jacket.  The rest of the man’s ragged clothing and scuffed shoes lay beneath. There was nothing else, unless you counted the handful of paper currency that, caught by a breeze, scattered in every direction. Or the heap of fine dust that eddied upward on a current of air to vanish against the blackened sky. 

    Calvin stared at the heap of rags for a long moment. Then he turned to the mourners. He shook one by the shoulder. She turned, looked at him, her eyes streaming tears.

    “What happened?” he asked. “Did you hear what he said to her?”

    “He—he asked for forgiveness. He begged for an end to his suffering. Then she said, ‘The lesson is learned. The transgression forgiven. Your journey is ended, shoemaker. Rest peacefully.’”

The End