A Future History of the United States

It was almost dark when Mark arrived at the pub. A sign prominently displayed out front had a picture of a horse’s head with an oversize mug tipped to its mouth. Beneath the picture the sign read, “The Horse’s Ale Pub.”

He entered to be greeted by the odor of stale beer and unwashed humanity. A sizable crowd was inside, but this was not unusual. This pub, as so many others, served free snacks to anyone purchasing a drink. Of course these snacks were quite salty. Mark knew this was to make the patrons thirstier so they would drink more beer.

Spotting an empty stool, Mark hesitantly walked over and sat down at the bar. The bartender, noticing he had a new customer, walked over, “Name your poison.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth his expression changed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t recognize you at first. I guess you’ll have your special.”

“That’s right, and make it a double; I’m going to be here a while,” Mark replied as he picked up a chicken wing. He was well aware that many people frequented the pubs to supplement their meager diets. He wasn’t sure how they did it, but every pub always had an ample supply of chicken wings, peanuts, popcorn, and small slices of pizza. These things were always in short supply for purchase by the general public.

Turning sideways on the stool and placing an elbow on the bar, he surveyed the crowd. He could tell that most of them came from the lower rungs of society’s ladder. Through the hubbub of conversation he could occasionally pick out a phrase or two.

“I tell you, he was a magician.”

“He spoke like someone with real authority.”

“No priest would ever talk that way.”

“I wasn’t there but my cousin said…”

“Did you hear about the way a flame settled on his hood?”

“I never heard the Bible explained that way.”

When the bartender returned with his drink, Mark queried him, “What’s all the excitement about? The few times I’ve been here before, people were too busy drinking and eating to say much.”

“Seems some bishop had a special service over at the Northside church yesterday. Whole town been talking ‘bout nothin’ else all day.I can’t make much sense of it. Not many people from up that way make it in here, so all I get is what someone told someone, who told someone, who told someone. You know how it is with these rumors. Once somethin’ gets started the story gets better `n better ’til you don’t know what’s real and what’s malarkey.”

“Oops, I see Jim over there wavin’ his mug at me. Gotta go get him a refill. Be back when I get a chance.” With that he rushed off.

Spotting a table with an empty chair, Mark grabbed his glass and wandered over. “You gents mind if I join you?” Without waiting for an answer he pulled out the chair and sat down.

One of the men spoke up, “The more the merrier,” he said. “With what we’re hearin’, the world is about to come to an end. Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die.” He had obviously already had an excess of whatever he was drinking.

The man to Mark’s right spoke up, “Don’t pay no attention to Willie. He’s drunk. Come to think of it, so am I. My name’s John. What can we call you?”

“I’m Mark. What’s all the fuss about?”

John replied, “You mean you ain’t heard? The whole damn town’s talking `bout it. Jesus Christ himself showed up at St. Francis Church yesterday. Told the people there he was gonna take a few of ’em back to heaven with him but the rest of us were outa luck. That bein’ so, we figured we might as well get soused.”

“Is St. Francis Church the one out west of town?” asked Mark, knowing quite well it was not.

“Naw, it’s the one right in the one up north,” John replied.

Mark was beginning to get a little concerned. If many of those present got in the condition of those at this table, things could get nasty in a hurry. Trying to humor them he asked, “What else did Jesus have to say?”

“Well,” the man directly across from Mark replied, “He said the whole damn world’s in the worst shape He’s ever seen it. Said He was tired of puttin’ up with all the shit goin’ on down here, and He was gonna wipe us all out.”

Trying to keep the shock out of his voice Mark responded, “Surely Jesus didn’t say it that way.”

“Naw, He used some high soundin’ talk, but that’s what he meant!” one of the others interjected.

“Were any of you in church to hear this yourself?” Mark asked. “You know how things sometimes get twisted up.”

All five men at the table looked at each other. One by one they each slowly shook their heads to indicate, “No.”

“Well, maybe it didn’t happen the way you heard.” With that he stood up. “If you gentlemen will excuse me I’ll see if I can find out what some others are saying.”

As he walked away from the table he heard one of the men say, “He don’t know from nuthin’. Let him keep his head buried in the sand.”

He spotted another empty stool near the far end of the bar. Walking slowly the length of the room he could tell that everyone in the room was talking about the same thing. Even after being seated at the bar he could still overhear many of the conversations.

Many of the comments he overheard were contradictory. Some said a bishop had conducted the service. Others claimed it was the Archbishop. Yet another claimed it was just some one from the congregation. He had already heard the claim that it was Jesus.

As he listened, he heard the event attributed to virtually every church in the city. He could make no sense of what he was hearing, but it was clear something out of the ordinary had taken place. Glad he was not responsible for deciding what needed to be done; he felt he had heard enough. Let the Archbishop make the decisions.

It was after midnight by the time Mark returned to the Archbishop’s mansion. The Archbishop had made it clear that he wanted a report as soon as Mark returned. Remembering this, he made his way to the office. Upon entering, he found Archbishop Rand standing in front of the window. It looked as if he had not moved in the several hours Mark had been gone.

Almost afraid to disturb him, Mark tapped gently on the open door. “Pardon me, Your Excellency…”

The Archbishop slowly turned. Mark was shocked by the appearance of his face. A look of utter anguish and despair had replaced what was normally a look of serene contentment. “Before you give me your report, I have some additional news for you.” It was obvious he was trying to control his emotions.

“While you were gone, I was visited by two of my priests. They reported that the people seem close to a revolt. They were together in approaching a man they were sure was ready to report a friend as a heretic. When they asked him if he was ready to make his statement, he asked them to accompany him to one of the local pubs.

“They reported that when they entered the pub, the man turned to the crowd and called, ‘These priests want me to condemn Charles as a heretic! What shall I tell them?’

“They said the entire crowd shouted, ‘Tell `em to GO TO HELL!’ and that he then turned to them and said, ‘You can go to hell. Tell the Archbishop he can go to hell, too.’

“The priests were fearful for their lives. They could see some of the men present had clubs. Some of them had even picked up some of the chairs as if ready to use them as weapons. The priests backed out of the pub and made their way here to report to me as fast as they could.”

Looking at Mark he said, “Now tell me what you learned?”

As Mark reported, Archbishop Rand interrupted him repeatedly with questions. The sun was coming through the eastern windows by the time Mark finished all he had to report.

Drooping with fatigue Archbishop Rand said, “No one seems to know just where this all started. From what you tell me, every church has been named. They can’t all have had this happen at the same time. It had to start someplace.

“If only the gatekeeper had let those men in to see me Sunday evening. From what he reports they said they seemed to have first hand knowledge. Everything else we are hearing is just hearsay.

“Try to get some rest. I’ll have some instructions for you later.”

Realizing he had been dismissed, Mark made his way to his private suite. Once there he showered, shaved, and fell into bed. He knew that as exhausted as he was, Archbishop Rand must be feeling even worse. As he slept, visions of the city in flames intruded on his dreams.

After Mark departed, Archbishop Rand sat down at his desk to consider his options. It was clear that something unexpected and disturbing had occurred at one of the churches Sunday morning. First of all he needed to determine just which church had been involved.

He had hoped Mark’s visit to the pub would solve that problem, but the story had changed as it passed from person to person. By Monday evening it had become so garbled it was impossible to discern the truth behind the rumors without finding an actual eyewitness. Since several hundred people attended each of the churches every Sunday morning, there should be that many people who saw and heard what had happened.

As the story spread, more and more people were claiming to have been present. He knew this was a common phenomenon. Pick any major event in the past fifty years. If the event took place in a location that could hold two hundred people, you could find 2,000 who claimed they had been present. Many of these would also insist the event occurred at a different place than the real location.

He knew that he had to take action as soon as possible. He also realized that in his exhausted state he was not thinking clearly. Weighing these conflicting needs, he laid his head on his desk and fell asleep almost at once.