“I am the vine and you are the branches,” he whispered to his fingernails. Each one was immaculate and painted a different color.
The bus jerked to a complete stop and Saint Perdus carefully took the sidewalk, as not to damage the fresh flowers that were woven into the frayed laces of his mold-covered boots. His matted hair and crusty jacket were unmoved by the breeze.
He looked around for a while, trying to remember exactly why he’d been sent downtown. Why do I never remember? The Lord had spoken to him just after sunrise this morning and, in all His wisdom, told Saint Perdus that he must be downtown today. Perhaps he’d said more, but Perdus couldn’t remember yet. Not without his holy water.
It was the same holy water his father drank: Stolichnaya, blue label.
“Never a day should pass when you do not feel this holy water within, burning the evil out of you!” Saint Perdus declared aloud as he uncapped the bottle and swallowed a quarter of its contents. Hadn’t the Lord told me something more?
A single fly buzzed at his neck, his beard, distracting his thoughts. He walked away from it and it followed. Flies or not, today would be his day.
Saint Perdus had waited, faithfully and without question for months, years maybe, for another sign. Will I see the Woman Clothed with the Sun today as I had in 1992? Will I hear the trumpets sounding again? He wandered the streets for some time, his eyes darting from everything around him to everyone he passed, looking for His beacon.
And behold, there was at last a great sign from Heaven: a neon light. The sign, Saint Perdus knew, should have read PARK. Yet, God had willed the P to show no light so that his disciple may see another word. Was it not God who allowed electricity to be? With the ARK glowing above, the saint remembered his purpose. God had sent him here to—another fly, joining the first in its persistent irritation, circled the saint, derailing his memory. He swatted at the pair of them, trying to keep them away long enough to remember. Oblivious to the discomfort of his witnesses, he screamed, “Flies be damned!”
He forced his mind back to the ARK. Did God mean for another flood? With so many sinners, this seemed the most obvious solution. He ran for the building but stopped before he entered.
“Saint Perdus,” he scolded himself, “God in Heaven has prepared for you a safe haven and you have forgotten to bring His animals!” This would be a long process, gathering the animals of the earth. When will the waters rise? Would I even have time? But as he turned, he saw that he’d brought them after all: monkeys of all colors and builds, some lanky, others stout; bears, polar and grizzly; elephants with polished ivory; toy poodles and chocolate Labradors; even dolphins dragging themselves along the cracked, dry pavement to be in the safety of this new ARK. All and more were there, all in pairs. The sight was beautiful. Saint Perdus raised a hand to wipe away a tear.
He led them into the blessed parking structure, toward the top where the floodwater wouldn’t reach. The Lord had made it so the animals caused no harm to the cars or landscape and likewise, the cars passed through them without harm, the drivers unaware of the great many beasts in the busy street. Even the tall giraffes ascended the structure without so much as a scratch on their heads. Atop the ARK, Saint Perdus looked to the blue sky and cried out, “O Lord! I have brought Your creatures to the safe haven You chose for us! We are safe! The rain may come!”
No rain came.
The sun continued its assault, burning away the last vapors of cloud. The sky was brighter and more vacant than when the saint had stepped off the bus.
He waited and no rain fell.
The flies buzzed again, this time in his ear. Saint Perdus threw his hands out in rage, slapping and clutching at the insects. There were more now, at least six that he could count. In frustration, he threw the almost empty bottle of holy water to the street below where it shattered beside a delivery truck.
He took a deep breath and turned to calm the animals, who were undoubtedly frightened by his outburst. The saint stood aghast: they were gone. The beasts left no marks, as if they’d never been waiting for God with him. As though they hadn’t been there.
The din of the flies grew in his head. Was the Great Deceiver not also known as the Lord of Flies? He looked back to the spot where his bottle had burst open as the little, winged demons danced about his skull. The wet shards glittered in the sunlight. So did Saint Perdus’ tears.
The day faded and he stood weeping, unsure if he’d been fooled by the Devil or abandoned by God.
The bus jerked to a complete stop and Saint Perdus carefully took the sidewalk, as not to damage the fresh flowers that were woven into the frayed laces of his mold-covered boots. His matted hair and crusty jacket were unmoved by the breeze.
He looked around for a while, trying to remember exactly why he’d been sent downtown. Why do I never remember? The Lord had spoken to him just after sunrise this morning and, in all His wisdom, told Saint Perdus that he must be downtown today. Perhaps he’d said more, but Perdus couldn’t remember yet. Not without his holy water.
It was the same holy water his father drank: Stolichnaya, blue label.
“Never a day should pass when you do not feel this holy water within, burning the evil out of you!” Saint Perdus declared aloud as he uncapped the bottle and swallowed a quarter of its contents. Hadn’t the Lord told me something more?
A single fly buzzed at his neck, his beard, distracting his thoughts. He walked away from it and it followed. Flies or not, today would be his day.
Saint Perdus had waited, faithfully and without question for months, years maybe, for another sign. Will I see the Woman Clothed with the Sun today as I had in 1992? Will I hear the trumpets sounding again? He wandered the streets for some time, his eyes darting from everything around him to everyone he passed, looking for His beacon.
And behold, there was at last a great sign from Heaven: a neon light. The sign, Saint Perdus knew, should have read PARK. Yet, God had willed the P to show no light so that his disciple may see another word. Was it not God who allowed electricity to be? With the ARK glowing above, the saint remembered his purpose. God had sent him here to—another fly, joining the first in its persistent irritation, circled the saint, derailing his memory. He swatted at the pair of them, trying to keep them away long enough to remember. Oblivious to the discomfort of his witnesses, he screamed, “Flies be damned!”
He forced his mind back to the ARK. Did God mean for another flood? With so many sinners, this seemed the most obvious solution. He ran for the building but stopped before he entered.
“Saint Perdus,” he scolded himself, “God in Heaven has prepared for you a safe haven and you have forgotten to bring His animals!” This would be a long process, gathering the animals of the earth. When will the waters rise? Would I even have time? But as he turned, he saw that he’d brought them after all: monkeys of all colors and builds, some lanky, others stout; bears, polar and grizzly; elephants with polished ivory; toy poodles and chocolate Labradors; even dolphins dragging themselves along the cracked, dry pavement to be in the safety of this new ARK. All and more were there, all in pairs. The sight was beautiful. Saint Perdus raised a hand to wipe away a tear.
He led them into the blessed parking structure, toward the top where the floodwater wouldn’t reach. The Lord had made it so the animals caused no harm to the cars or landscape and likewise, the cars passed through them without harm, the drivers unaware of the great many beasts in the busy street. Even the tall giraffes ascended the structure without so much as a scratch on their heads. Atop the ARK, Saint Perdus looked to the blue sky and cried out, “O Lord! I have brought Your creatures to the safe haven You chose for us! We are safe! The rain may come!”
No rain came.
The sun continued its assault, burning away the last vapors of cloud. The sky was brighter and more vacant than when the saint had stepped off the bus.
He waited and no rain fell.
The flies buzzed again, this time in his ear. Saint Perdus threw his hands out in rage, slapping and clutching at the insects. There were more now, at least six that he could count. In frustration, he threw the almost empty bottle of holy water to the street below where it shattered beside a delivery truck.
He took a deep breath and turned to calm the animals, who were undoubtedly frightened by his outburst. The saint stood aghast: they were gone. The beasts left no marks, as if they’d never been waiting for God with him. As though they hadn’t been there.
The din of the flies grew in his head. Was the Great Deceiver not also known as the Lord of Flies? He looked back to the spot where his bottle had burst open as the little, winged demons danced about his skull. The wet shards glittered in the sunlight. So did Saint Perdus’ tears.
The day faded and he stood weeping, unsure if he’d been fooled by the Devil or abandoned by God.
