CASE NUMBER NINE

THE CASE OF THE LOST CITY OF THE INKLINGS

CHAPTER ONE

I was into my third reading of Robert Pirsig’s ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ when the celestial started playing ‘A Mighty Fortress is Our God’.

“Nick here.”

“Hey, Nick, it’s Boss Jr. Lance is in trouble. Set your GPS (God Positioning System) for Normex Annex and get moving.”

“You won’t be sending the jet for me?”

“Earl decided he was due a vacation and took off for New Guinea. We’re still trying to find him. You’ll have to take the Flying Belt. I’m sure all sixteen motorcycles are still in the shop.”

BJ was right of course. “Yes sir. I’ll leave immediately. Any details I need to know about the case?”

“We’ll text you.”

CHAPTER TWO

I was feeling much better. TOMS (Time Out of Mind Syndrome) had run its usual course of a few days and I was no longer finding it necessary to attempt to sleep without dreaming. Funny thing though. I had lost my taste for chocolate milk.

The Flying Belt had been in storage for several months but no amount of idleness seemed to bother it. Whether idle or active, it retained its essential core personality; it reminded me of a donkey.

I cranked up the Belt and slowly pulled out of the driveway. I set the GPS for Normex Annex and turned onto the local farm highway. I was headed due west.

After a few hours, I stopped at the lovely suburban home of Alan and Gertrude Darley. We discussed the sometimes riveting topic of free will. Alan made quite a few trenchant remarks on the subject. They were as follows:

“There is no final conflict between God being sovereign and man being free. There is conflict - in fact a logical contradiction - between determinism and free will. By opting for determinism instead of free will you make God the author of evil (contrary to James 1) which is blasphemous.

“Only God has absolute freedom in the sense of not being externally determined; humans only have limited freedom as creatures. But as made in God's image there is significant freedom otherwise you are reducing God's image to a machine which is also blasphemous.

“The end does not justify the means. That is how terrorists justify atrocities. God did not create evil. Evil is a corruption of the Good and is caused by humans rebelling against God, resisting his good will. God works this for good (Romans 8:28) but he does not cause or will it. In the book of Job God was showing the devil that his kingdom is not based on brute force and expediency like Satan’s kingdom.

“Who then is making morally evil decisions - not human beings because they have no free will - they are externally controlled by God like puppets. Therefore the blame falls at the feet of God within determinism.

“Natural evil refers to events in nature which have bad consequences for those who experience them. It is 'evil' to have a tornado rip through your house. But this state of affairs would not have happened prior to the Fall because man had dominion over all these things. He lost it through freely choosing to rebel against God. (Genesis 3).

“God does not torture anyone. Man tortures himself. That is what the weeping and gnashing of teeth is.

“(Many) seem to have a faulty misunderstanding of the Fall. God subjecting creation to vanity (same word as in Ecclesiastes) refers to the futility that came about as a result of Adam's sin which 'cursed the ground' (Genesis 3:17). Adam was not created as a sinner. He was created 'very good.' He was innocent and had the potential to be perfect but he freely chose to rebel. This is how evil came into the world. Evil is a corruption of the Good. God is not evil. God is light and in him is no darkness at all. At the Fall man lost his dominion over creation and now suffers natural evil which is a judgment for sin. God is morally righteous in allowing this judgment. The created order did not willingly receive this but God subjected the world to this state in hope that he will deliver it. That is what is meant by the New Heaven and the New Earth.”

Alan gave me a lot to think about which is good because I had a long way to go with plenty of time to think.

Note to Neercassel fans: it’s important for TPEs to stay on top of the latest and hottest theological topics. You never know when such information may be important in solving a case.

CHAPTER THREE

The GPS was acting crazy. It couldn’t seem to make up its mind in which direction I should be going. At one point I seemed to be headed for Saskatchewan, the next for Washington, D.C., and the next for the Florida Keys. What was going on? I decided to call TPE Central.

“God afternoon. TPEC (TPE Central). May we help you?”

“I hope so. My GPS is not working properly.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“It keeps changing its mind.”

“Maybe it’s not malfunctioning.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means you might be trying to find a moving target.”

Jumping Jehosophat! I had never thought of that.

“Do you have any suggestions on what I can do about it?”

“You need a Moving Target Actuator added on to your GPS. The problem is we’re totally out of stock of MTAs and it’ll be at least a month before our supply is replenished. We do have a suggestion though.”

“And what might that be?”

“You should purchase a Moving Target Almost Actuator. We don’t carry them but we know someone who does.”

I knew too. I answered “Orson Xanadu.”

“How did you know that?”

CHAPTER FOUR

I knew the answer because I knew Xanadu. He would sell anything, even the kitchen sink. After all, back in THE CASE OF THE PREDESTINED SHEGAH RUNAWAY, he had gone all over the South selling something he called Shegah which was a cheap alternative for Shagah, the highly respected sex kit from Shagah Ink.

Xanadu was working in his garden when I pulled to a stop in his driveway. By the way of greeting, I asked what he was up to:

“I’m planting petunias. Would you like to buy some?”

“Not today, Orson. But do you have any MTAAs?”

“Are you chasing a moving target?”

“Seems so. Will your MTAA work as good as a MTA?”

“Yes, especially if the moving target isn’t moving too fast. By the way, I have a kitchen sink in the back yard. It’s for sale. Are you interested?”

“No thanks.” I handed Xanadu my TPE ID slash credit card and he processed the payment for the MTAA. It was rather easy to attach and soon I was headed in what I hoped to be a more sure direction.

Xanadu went back to planting his petunias.

CHAPTER FIVE

About forty-five minutes later I stopped at a fast food restaurant and purchased a large coffee. I sat down in a booth and read the text TPEC had sent:

TPE Lance Straightpoint was last seen by observers at a Raspberry Tart Cook-off which was being held in a remote location of the Magnificent North American Desert, approximately 22 miles southeast of Ciudad de Polvo Conejitos. He is reported to have departed from the Cook-Off with his donkey, Equus Asinus Ringmaster (Big Ears) on Tuesday morning at 9 am, Central Standard Time.  His donkey, Big Ears, was found the next day, Wednesday, in a state of advanced disorientation, two miles from the border. When asked if he knew the whereabouts of Lance, Big Ears would only reply with downcast eyes and ears.

It appeared I only had an inkling of where Lance might be.

But an inkling might be just enough. TPEs have had less to go on. Why, I remember in THE CASE OF THE CLUELESS CASE, I solved a case without clues of any kind; no hint of a clue; no intimation of one. How did I solve the case? Well, I solved it with superior brainpower, the kind that resides in the Congress of the United States or in members of a UN Weapons Inspection Team. Perhaps one day I’ll tell you more about that case but right now I need to be totally engaged in this one.

Which is why I visited Willie Nelson.

CHAPTER SIX

I stopped just north of Austin, Texas and met Willie in a MFZ (Marijuana Free Zone). Willie and I shared the same birthday (month and day anyway) and we met on a semi-regular basis to discuss the disappearance of April 31. My contention was that it had never existed in the first place but Willie, who tended to believe in conspiracy theories of all kinds (e.g., he was positive that George W. Bush was really the result of a illicit liaison between Barbara Bush and BB King – in Willie’s thinking BB stood for ‘Bush Be’ so BB and Barbara were angling for George W. Bush to be king of America one day. When I pointed out that GW Bush had peacefully stepped down as president back in January of 2009, Willie just said that was all a ploy and GW was planning to stage a coup d’état on December 21, 2012, the day when all hell broke loose because of the Mayan Calendar Catastrophe – another conspiracy Willie believed in -), one of which was that April 31 had been absconded by the Beatles the night of their famous appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. The Beatles, according to Willie, were secretly members of the Federal Reserve.

After our discussion, Willie and I played nine holes of golf.  We would have played eighteen but Willie suddenly felt the need to get back to a non-MF Zone. Before he parted, Willie did tell me he had visited Normex Annex once to do a concert. At the time it was located in Southern England.

Southern England? Inkling? Normex? Annex? Mystery? I had the words but I didn’t know the melody. And if I did discover the melody, could I sing it in tune?

CHAPTER SEVEN

That night I camped out in the hills just west of Austin. I made sure no man-made lights would obscure my view of the starry heavens. Fortunately, it was both a cloudless and moonless night and as I sat in a heavy duty lawn chair sipping a Shagah No Pesada, I thought back over the events of the day, attempting to rearrange the few clues I did have. I needed to find some symmetry in the asymmetry and some order in the confusion. Why not visit Southern England and see what I could find? I contacted TPEC via my celestial cell phone.

“God Evening. TPEC. May we help you?”

“How’s that VHRP coming along?”

“You mean the Virtual History Re-creater Programmer?”

“Yes.”

“It’s up and running and at your disposal.”

“Great. Send me virtually to 1935 Southern England and the pub where the Inklings met. Make sure C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Owen Barfield, etc. are in attendance. Place me in an adjoining booth where I can easily overhear their conservations.”

“What will you be drinking?”

“An Old Milton.”

It took about five minutes and I was there.  At the time I didn’t know which voice was which (TPEC later filled in that part for me) but the more salient (at least to me) bits of conversation went like this:

“Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.” C.S. Lewis.

“Still round the corner there may wait; a new road or a secret gate.” J.R.R. Tolkien.

““All conscious nature has experiences of pleasure and pain. Man alone can deliberately will the repetition of an experience. And repetition, experienced as such, is at the heart, for good and evil, of his faculty of reasoning, and thus makes possible his language, his art, his morality, and indeed his humanity. Yet it is the enemy of life, for repetition is itself the principle, not of life but of mechanism.”  Owen Barfield.

“Reason is the natural order of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning.” C.S. Lewis

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” J.R.R. Tolkien

“A contemplative life has more the appearance of a life of piety than any other; but it is the divine plan to bring faith into activity and exercise.” Lord David Cecil

“It's the job that's never started takes longest to finish. “  J.R.R. Tolkien

“We are what we believe we are”. CS Lewis

“Not all who wander are lost.”  .J.R.R. Tolkien

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gradually, but inexorably, the men shuffled out of the pub. I was on my third virtual Old Milton (which actually tasted better than a real Old Milwaukee) and pondering furiously on the following key words and phrases:

1.      “literature adds to reality”

2.      “irrigates the deserts”

3.      “repetition…the principle…of mechanism”

4.      “Imagination as organ of meaning”

5.      “value food and cheer…more than gold”

6.      “faith…should translate into…action”

7.      “job must be started”

8.      “we are what we believe we are”

9.      “not all who wander are lost”

Just what had these men of the mind wrought? Is it possible that the Inklings had decided to create a city of the mind, but their mind-power was such, that it became an actual city – an example of the literary becoming the literal?

Just then, while lost in thought, an emergency text came over the celestial:

“The donkey has spoken! Well, with his hoofs anyway. In the Northern Mexico sand he scratched out the following letters in the following order:”

S_A_N_M_A_N_S_E

I disregarded the first three letters, knowing instinctively that the word San was short for Sand and was often used to preface the names of towns in the Magnificent North American Desert. But the next five letters were much more intriguing. I ordered a fourth OM and diligently began working on unraveling the letters’ mysterious connotations.

M? A? N? S? E? The solutions for S & E popped into my head almost immediately: Southern England. N & A were almost as easy: Normex Annex. But what did the M stand for? I listed some possibilities:

1.      Man

2.      Mountain

3.      Messiah

4.      Moses

5.      Marmaduke

6.      Marmalade (very popular in England)

7.      Mercy

8.      Margaret (Thatcher? Did the Inklings anticipate her prime ministership?)

9.      Millennium

10.  Magical (Tolkien and Lewis, though Christians, were both into magic)

11.  Master

12.  Military

13.  Metaphysical

Bingo! San Manse’ (pronounced Mahn Zay according to Alfred, the pub owner; hence the accent on the last syllable) was a metaphysical city located in the Normex Annex and created via intellectual power in Southern England.

I finished my last OM and then told TPEC to send me back to real or non-virtual reality.

CHAPTER NINE

God is simple in the sense that he is one, but
complex in the sense that the one is many

The number of the many is the all. All is one,
one is all. One orange is still one orange no
matter how many slices can be derived from it.

The seeds would represent opportunities for new
life and continuation of the one. As the one
becomes more multi-varied, it becomes more life
affirming.

How would you know one was different from the
other if not by tasting each one? Life must be tasted
and comparisons must be made to draw conclusions.
A conclusion that is logically decided upon is a
triumph for God.

I was reading GOD IS AN ORANGE by Alex St. Taw. St. Taw had spent his youth in the orange groves of Southern California. He later served as a consultant for the Orange Growers of Central Florida. He was a man of vision, and if not always a vision of God, at least a vision of himself and what he could be. I liked reading his books at night; mostly for their soporific effect.

I awoke refreshed and with an idea. I rang TPEC.

“God morning. TPEC. May we help you?”

“Yes, can you tell me about Melba Toste? Is she still living, and if so, is she still near El Paso?”

“Melba just celebrated her 99^th birthday but she tells everyone she doesn’t feel a day over 85. Her address is as follows…”

I jotted down the address, thanked TPEC, and set out for Melba’s home. It took me about four hours to reach El Dorado, a small suburb of El Paso. I knocked on Melba’s door. When Melba opened it I flashed my TPE ID slash credit card. Melba, a retired (and legendary I might add) TPE let me in immediately. Even though she was pushing 100 her mind was still going strong.

“What’ll it be, Sonny?”

“Shagah No Pesada.”

“Coming right up.”

I looked around the living room. The walls were full of awards and celesticates of honor. One photo was of Melba and Boss Jr. at her retirement banquet. Melba later told me The Ghost was in the photo also, but since he was invisible, he couldn’t be seen.

Melba handed me a SNP and sat down in the rocking chair beside the front bay window.

“What’s on your mind, Sonny?”

“I’m trying to find a place called San Manse’. Have you ever heard of it?”

Melba took a big gulp from her SNP and thought for a moment. “It has a familiar ring to it. Is it supposed to be near here?”

“It’s in someplace called Normex Annex. NA is classified as a moving target but another TPE’s donkey is saying it’s just south of the border.”

“Who is this other TPE?”

“Lance Straightpoint. He’s been lost for several days. My assignment is to find him.”

Melba got up and walked to the kitchen and came back with two more SNPs. She sat back down. Rather gingerly but steadily. She picked up an IPad that was on the small table by her chair. She turned it on and started typing at a furious pace.  While she was doing so, I looked out the bay window at the barren South Texas landscape.

After a few minutes of intense activity, she handed me the IPad. On screen were the coordinates of San Manse’!

CHAPTER TEN

I thanked Melba profusely, promising to send her a case of Shumptuous chocolate milk. The old gal really did look and act like a spry 85.

I crossed the border thirty minutes later. I had put the coordinates Melba had given me in the GPS-MTAA and I was now heading confidently in the direction of Normex Annex.

That’s when I heard the rifle shot. Next thing I knew my left front tire was blown out and I was skidding across the desert sand toward a large concrete embankment. My brakes weren’t working (had they been tampered with while I was visiting with Melba?) and I decided my only course of action was to disembark from the Flying Belt. I pushed the SEB (Seat Ejection Button) and was immediately thrown upward at about fifty miles per hour. As I was hurtling upward, I watched with dismay as the Belt went crashing into the concrete wall. At the apogee of my jump I pulled the chord attached to the seat and a small parachute opened into the desert air. I floated down to within ten feet of my now immobilized and decimated SUV.

Just then I heard another rifle shot and a bullet flashed by within inches of my head. My
Wullet had been recently equipped with a bullet resistor transistor which tended to push bullets off of their intended trajectory. I immediately started running for the hills.

Things were getting complicated but they often do for a theological private eye. It comes with the territory. I was reduced now to traveling by my feet alone. I was in a hostile land searching for a fellow TPE who might be seriously injured or even dead.

But this was no time to become desperate. Above all else, I had to keep my wits about me. My life depended on it.

EPILOG

“What do you think of my shooting, Senor?”

“Not bad. I think Neercassel might just really believe someone was trying to kill him.”

“What do we do now, Senor?”

“We follow Neercassel, and if all goes well, he’ll lead us straight to San Manse’”

THE END