The Second Coming

what?”
    â€œA religious retreat. It’s our regular yearly number. And our regular gang. Actually a wonderful bunch of guys. A weekend with God in a wonderful setting. It’s an ecumenical retreat. I’m double-teamed with a Roman Catholic priest from Brooklyn, a real character—he looks so much like Humphrey Bogart everybody calls him Bogey. What a card. They call me Hungry Jack. Hungry Jack and Bogey. Actually we’re not bad together. Incidentally, the food’s first-class. But the important thing’s it’s a weekend with God. That’s the bottom line.”
    â€œLeslie tells me I should do something else.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œHave a personal encounter. Leslie believes she has had a personal encounter with Jesus Christ and has been born again.”
    â€œThere you go.”
    â€œThere I go what?”
    â€œThere are many mansions and so forth. It’s not my gig but if it’s hers, more power to her.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œWhy don’t you come to the retreat and find out. We’ve got all kinds in our gang—Protestants, Catholics, Anglicans, unbelievers, Jews—all wonderful guys, the kind of guys you’d like to spend a weekend with or fishing or just shooting the breeze. We call ourselves the Montreat Mafia. They’re darn good guys and I promise you’d like—”
    â€œDid you say Jews?”
    â€œYes. Last year we had two Jews. One a judge, the other—”
    â€œWhat kind of Jews?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, what kind?”
    â€œI mean were they ethnic Jews or believing Jews?”
    â€œGod, I don’t know. I didn’t inquire.”
    â€œWhere are they from?”
    â€œWhere are they from? One’s from Florida, the other from New York, I think.”
    â€œYes, it must be.”
    â€œWhat must be?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œWill you join us?”
    â€œWill you tell me something, Jack?”
    â€œYou better believe it.”
    â€œDo you think the Jews are a sign?”
    â€œThe Jews?” Again the quick second look. He did say Jews. And he is smiling. Are we kidding?
    â€œMarion thought the Jews, the strange history of the Jews, was a sign of God’s existence. What do you think?”
    â€œOh wow. With all due respect to Marion, God rest her soul, hopefully we’ve gotten past the idea that God keeps the Jews around suffering to avenge Christ’s death.”
    â€œI didn’t mean that. I meant the return of the Jews to the Holy Land. The exodus from North Carolina.”
    Then it’s a joke, said the chaplain’s smile. But what’s the joke? Better take out insurance against it not being a joke.
    â€œWell, to tell you the truth, I’m less interested in signs of the apocalypse than in opening a serious dialogue with our Catholic and Jewish friends, and I can tell you we’ve gotten right down to some real boilerplate at Montreat—will you think about it?”
    â€œI just thought about it.”
    â€œWe’re leaving here next Thursday, by early afternoon hopefully.”
    â€œI would hope that you would go in hope.”
    â€œEh?” said the chaplain cocking an ear. “Right. Well, anyway—”
    â€œDo you believe in God?” Will Barrett asked with the same smile.
    â€œHow’s that?” asked Jack quickly.
    â€œYou know, God.”
    In the fading light the chaplain looked at him closely, smiling all the while and narrowing his eyes in an especially understanding way. But Jack Curl wished that Will Barrett would not smile. The chaplain’s main fear was not of being attacked or even martyred—he thought he could handle it—but of being made a fool of. It was one thing to be hauled up before the Grand Inquisitor, scorned, ridiculed, tortured. He could handle that, but suppose one is made the butt of a joke and doesn’t get the joke? He wished Will Barrett, who seldom smiled, would stop smiling.
    In the fading yellow light he could see the chaplain eyeing him uneasily to see if he was joking.
    â€œI’m trying to ask a serious question. That is difficult to do these days.”
    â€œYou can say that again. Fire away.”
    The Luger was hard under his thigh. Jack Curl’s face loomed pale in the darkness.
    â€œDo you believe in God, Jack?”
    In the fading light he could see the chaplain look at him swiftly as if there were a joke to