The Last Day

understanding of the complex scriptures than the common man!”

Jeza did not seem offput by the man's tenacity. She turned to the general audience and, in a slightly elevated voice, imparted to them a metaphor that would later come to be known as:

THE PARABLE OF THE CHEF AND THE APPRENTICES

“Behold there was a chef who was master of a kitchen. One day he called to his apprentice cooks and gathered them about him saying: ‘For this evening's meal, I shall prepare a special banquet. Go to the well and collect a measure of water.’

“Now the youngest of the apprentices hastened to the well and soon returned with a large pail filled with clean, clear water, which he placed before the elder apprentices.

“Upon seeing the pail of water, one of the elders said to the youngest apprentice, ‘This pail is not large enough. We will need more water to prepare such a banquet. You must return again to the well!’

“Another said, ‘The water from the stream is fresher, and will improve the flavor of the foods. You should draw the water from the stream!’

“And yet another said, ‘You have spilled water upon the floor and we cannot prepare the meal until you remove it.’

“At this time the master chef returned to the kitchen, and hearing this, he took the pail of water and poured it out upon the floor, saying: ‘Before a banquet can be prepared the kitchen must first be cleaned.’ And to the youngest apprentice he said, ‘Come while they do this work and I will share with you the arrangements for the feast.’

“Amen, Amen I say to you: go forth and fill your pail knowing that the Lord God cares not about the volume nor the content, but will judge you by your intent. And none may judge but the Father Himself. “ (Apotheosis 23:4-11)

Concluding her discourse, the Messiah blessed her audience and stepped back from the podium, accepting the outstretched hand of the professor as a fusillade of flashbulbs and applause erupted. The audience pressed toward the stage, and Jeza was quickly ushered out a back way, disappearing from view.

58

Na-Juli apartments, Cairo, Egypt 1:30 A.M., Tuesday, February 15, 2000

Feldman was jolted awake by a slamming palm against his apartment door. He grabbed up his alarm clock, noted the very late hour, retrieved his glasses from the night-stand and stumbled down the hallway, slipping his arms into his robe.

Peering through the peephole, Feldman spied a disheveled Hunter leaning his head against a porch post, his face buried in his wadded-up jacket, his arms akimbo.

“Breck!” Feldman unlatched the door and swung it open. “Where have you been all day? I've been trying to reach you!”

“I've been on a binge, ol’ buddy,” he drawled, peeping out from his jacket with a dull grin on his face. “Am I intruding?”

Feldman squinted beneath the porch light, scratched his cheek and stepped aside for his friend to enter.

“I guess I'm a shithead, huh?” Hunter presumed.

“Well hell, Breck, you didn't exactly handle things, now did you?”

“No sir, I did not!” he admitted as he ambled in and flopped in a chair. “Have you seen Ms. Cissy? Is she okay?’

“Good of you to ask. Yeah. I called her tonight and she's all right now. She's coming into work tomorrow. Are you?”

“Uh, yeah, but I may be a tad late.”

Feldman sighed.

“I feel real bad about things, Jon,” Hunter confessed, dropping his flippant veneer. “I didn't mean to hurt Ciss. Honest.”

“I know you didn't, Breck, And quite frankly, I don't really blame you for what's happened.”

Hunter arched his brows at the unexpected absolution. “You don't?”

“Okay, you used to flirt with Cissy a lot. But it's not like you don't flirt with most of the women at the office. You never really took it very far with any of them, at least that I know of.”

Hunter was nodding his head encouragingly.

“But then you and Cissy started spending more and more time together, and people just naturally began seeing you two as a couple. I guess Cissy started seeing it that way, too. And then the night of the earthquake was just such an emotional experience, I think that's what sealed it for Cissy. You took care of her, watched over her. You know-”

“Jon, I did not spend the night with her then, or ever! For chrissakes, I mean nothin’ ever happened!”

“Not physically, maybe. But she's in love with you, Breck.”

“Hell, I love her, too, Jon, it's just that my libido is like, temporarily occupied, you know? Dammit, I don't owe Cissy my affection.”

“It's more than that” Feldman debated whether or not to launch into this now, but given Hunter's condition, maybe the timing was right.

“You know Cissy and Erin don't get along. It's a double slight to Cissy that you're seeing someone she doesn't like. And it's all happening right in her face, every day.”

“Catty female jealousies.” Hunter passed this off with a wry grin.

Feldman wasn't letting him off that easy. “Breck, there are certain little, uh, idiosyncrasies about Erin that really gripe Cissy. Erin is, well, you know, different” He touched on this gingerly. “The way she dresses. The way she flaunts herself, so to speak.”

Hunter wrestled with this observation for a minute, avoiding Feldman's accusatory stare. “You don't understand, man,” he finally answered. The glaze left his eyes and he chewed on his lower lip as if uncertain about proceeding. “I don't know all the particulars, Jon, ‘cause she doesn't like to talk about it much, but Erin had a lot of problems growin’ up. A lot of shit that wasn't her fault, you know?”

Feldman screwed up his face, not certain he wanted to hear this.

“She was an only child. Product of a broken home. Her mom remarried when Erin was six. Some rich scumbag. Used to mistreat Erin real bad when her mom wasn't around. To make up to Erin and keep her quiet, he'd buy her all these fancy little outfits and jewelry-princess costumes, ballerina tutus, glamorous gowns, crap like that. That's how she'd forget her problems. She'd dress up in pretty clothes and escape to some fantasy world where things were all better.”

Feldman knitted his brow in sympathy. “You'd think she'd hate the clothes horse routine now, that she'd associate it with the bad experiences she had.”

“Just the opposite.” Hunter shrugged. “She's got a clothes fetish. I mean, big time! You wouldn't believe all the shit she has. Roomsful. She picks stuff out of catalogues like a binger at a smorgasbord. Has it shipped to her from all over the world. Bills it all to her stepfather, carte blanche. You oughta go shoppin’ with her sometime, man. She's a kid in a candy store. Like she doesn't know who she wants to be today, so she just keeps trying on somebody else. Hell, she even bought herself one of those damned Jeza costumes all the street vendors are hawking now, complete with luminescent paint. Couldn't resist it.”

Feldman nodded with a better than average degree of understanding. Everyone had a special mechanism for coping with their dark problems. For Feldman, it was to erect interpersonal walls. For Erin, it would appear that she was perpetually seeking to escape herself. It was a sad awareness that would make it easier for Feldman to accept