CASE NUMBER TWELVE

The Case of the Sage of Mt. Capair

CHAPTER ONE

It had been one of the worst dust storms I had ever experienced. I had been lost for what seemed like a week when the wind finally stopped blowing and the dust settled to the ground. When I looked around I discovered I was still in the desert but the terrain had subtly changed and what appeared to be at a not too far distance were the outlines of some hills. I decided to head toward them hoping I could find some fresh water and a place to rest.

Someone upstairs must have been looking out for me because after a few hours of steady but sometimes shaky ambling I made it to the edge of the hills. There were actually some scrawny trees alongside a creek and I made camp in the paltry shade. After drinking my full of the clear, cool water I washed myself and my clothes as best I could leaving me feeling almost dust-free for the first time in days. MIT (See CASE NUMBER ELEVEN: THE CASE OF DESERT COUNTRY) had put some grub in my knapsack and when night fell my stomach was contented enough to allow me to fall asleep almost instantly.

I had a dream that night. Or was it a vision? I was in the Third Heaven cafeteria eating and talking with fellow TPEs and sundry Associates. We were enjoying out of this world cuisine: beef stew imported from the Vega System and corn bread from Antares. The earth was at peace and we were planning a golf trip to a planet with sandy beaches and amusement parks. The wives and kids would be coming along and there would be no meetings to attend and no cases to solve. Then an Associate named Abbakromby walked in and ordered us back on duty. We complained we had earned our vacation and besides, evil was in abeyance. He replied that the price of liberty is eternal vigilance. We refused to obey his orders and he attacked us with Sub-Associate Subs. A food fight ensued and we were banned forever from the Third Heaven cafeteria. I woke up in a cold sweat.

CHAPTER TWO

I met Sage Brush exactly at noon. He invited me into his cave which contained the barest of personal necessities. Sage had been a stock broker in a previous life (where he went by the name of Archie Brush) but had given that all up to move to the desert and contemplate God. On average, he saw about three human beings a year. One such person, his ex-wife, visited every September to bring what few supplies he needed to make it through another year. Sage told me, “Sally is a good old girl but she has had no spiritual amplification in her life. She still enjoys a penthouse view.”

I had heard about Sage back at MIT’s place. Some members of NADA (Normex Annex Discovery Agency) had discovered Sage while searching for Normex Annex. But it was just a fluke that I had run into him; a chance meeting; a wholly unplanned event. A simple change in wind direction could have prevented the meeting from ever happening.

But it had happened and since I needed some real rest for my weary legs before re-commencing my search for Lance, I thought why not spend it in a cool cave listening to a former stockbroker now hermit expound on his accumulated wisdom of the past fifteen years.

CHAPTER THREE

“What do Creators do?” Sage asked.

“Uh, create?” I replied.

“Yes! Very good, Nick. Have you ever thought about becoming a hermit?”

“Only during Christmas. Too many parties and socializing going on. Ugh.”

“I know what you mean. Now, is God a creator?”

“Of course.” Had Sage tossed me a trick question?

“Can you be a creator if you create one thing then never create anything again?”

“Only in the past sense.”

“In other words, you mean inactive.”

“That’s right.”

“So is God an active or inactive Creator?”

A good question, I thought to myself. I know there are places where God is likened to an architect or a master planner. But is he so good at creating and planning and carrying out his plans that he never has to make an adjustment? For example, did God billions of years in the past plan for me to be here today at this moment in a cave talking to a hermit and so order every event leading up to and necessary for this moment also be meticulously planned and caused to happen by him? Something in my mind told me probably not.

“I would say he is an active Creator.”

“And I would agree with you Nick. Anyone with a creative mind would want to continue creating and the one with the greatest creative mind of all would be no different. Now what are some other characteristics of a creative mind, especially one in a being who’s actively involved in his creation?”

“You mean if everything isn’t meticulously planned out ahead of time?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Let me think for a moment.” My legs may be resting but ole Sage wasn’t about to let my brain do so.

“Well, an active Creator of the supra-human sort would, in dealing with a non-deterministic universe, need to be able to anticipate problems before they arose.”

“And?”

“Predict how those problems might play out?”

“And?”

“Make adjustments?”

“And?”

“Intervene when the time is right?”

“And finally?”

“Resolution, perhaps?”

 “Great job, Nick. You have the makings of a first-rate theoretical theologist.”

“Thanks.”

“Now let’s cut to the chase and review. God

Creates…

Anticipates…

Predicts…

Adjusts…

Intervenes…

Resolves.

Note to Reader: The answer and question session as described above was a condensed version of what actually took place. What I described in a few sentences actually took place over many hours over several days. It is what theoretical theologians at the Pond of Fire Academy call a super-imposed reality.


CHAPTER FOUR

It was obvious I had taken up too much of Sage Brush’s time. He was polite about it, of course, but how can one be an authentic hermit if one is not alone? So I said goodbye to Sage and proceeded to leave his presence via the cave’s entrance. My eyes, now use to the semi-darkness of the cave, received quite a shock when I stepped out into the blinding glare of the desert sun. After a short, painful interval my eyesight adjusted to the brightness. Or had it? For not more than one hundred feet from me there was a red, double-decker bus, the kind you might see on a busy London avenue. In an attempt to shake off what I thought was an hallucination I closed my eyes and ran desert images through my mind.  When I opened them again the bus was still there and standing in front of the bus was a tall, burly man wearing a red cap.

“Howdy, Nick. Are you up for a tour of Normex Annex?”

I was naturally wary of the question and even more wary of the person asking it.

“Do you mind me telling me who you are?”

“Duke Santa-Anta, at your service.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“Don Sage Brush told me.”

“What?”

Just then, Sage stuck his out his head out of one of the bus’ windows: “Come on, Nick! Let’s get going!”


CHAPTER FIVE


At this point in the narrative, I had nothing to lose by getting on the bus. There was a good chance I had nothing to gain either.


So I got on the bus. Since Sage was the only passenger there were plenty of seats to choose from. I chose one near the front and by a window. I wanted to get to know this Don Santa-Anta a little bit better. Was he friend or foe? I asked him, “Why is this bus called the Karl Barth Express?” Santa-Anna did not answer but he did push a button on the dashboard. Immediately, a voice came over the speakers: “Karl Barth Quotes:”


Conscience is the perfect interpreter of life.


Faith in God's revelation has nothing to do with an ideology which glorifies the status quo. 


It may be that when the angels go about their task praising God, they play only Bach. I am sure, however, that when they are together as a family they play Mozart.


Joy is the simplest form of gratitude.


Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God. 


Man can certainly flee from God... but he cannot escape him. He can certainly hate God and be hateful to God, but he cannot change into its opposite the eternal love of God which triumphs even in his hate. 


The best theology would need no advocates; it would prove itself. 


At that point, the music of Bach began playing


I turned to Sage: “I’m somewhat surprised you’re here.”

“Why, my boy?”

“Well, riding in a bus with other people would not seem to be a quintessentially hermetic activity.”

“I ride the big red bus twice a month come shine or shine. Even hermits need some time among the living.”

“Are you good friends with Santa-Anta?”

“We tolerate each other quite well.”

“Where are we going?”

“I can’t tell you that. It always changes.”


CHAPTER SIX

The bus left with a lurch. Santa-Anta was the driver as well as our tour guide, as well as, it turned out , an economic philosopher. He quoted Frederic Bastiat:

In the department of economy, an act, a habit, an institution, a law, gives birth not only to an effect, but to a series of effects. Of these effects, the first only is immediate; it manifests itself simultaneously with its cause - it is seen. The others unfold in succession - they are not seen: it is well for us, if they are foreseen. Between a good and a bad economist this constitutes the whole difference - the one takes account of the visible effect; the other takes account both of the effects which are seen, and also of those which it is necessary to foresee. Now this difference is enormous, for it almost always happens that when the immediate consequence is favourable, the ultimate consequences are fatal, and the converse. Hence it follows that the bad economist pursues a small present good, which will be followed by a great evil to come, while the true economist pursues a great good to come, - at the risk of a small present evil.

Hmm, I thought to myself. Was this a clue to what had happened to San Manse’? I asked Santa-Anta: “Is one of our stops San Manse’?”

Santa-Anta flashed his big, white teeth before replying: “And why do you ask, Senor?”

“I’m looking for a friend of mine and I have reason to believe he may be in San Manse’.”

“If he is, you will see him.”

I sensed it was best to drop the subject; for a while, anyway. “Where are we now?”

“I cannot tell you. You must trust your senses.”

My senses were in disarray. Nothing new there.


CHAPTER SEVEN

The bus kept rolling along and the monotony of the landscape along with the monotony of the conversation began making me sleepy. Sleep had been a precious commodity the past week or so. I drifted off, dreamlessly dreaming in the hazy heat. Time passed. How much I don’t know but I awoke to the voices of Sage and Santa-Anta.

“There it is.”

“You mean there it was.”

I interjected. “What are you talking about it?”

“San Manse’”

I quickly looked out the bus window. All I saw was desert in every direction.

“There’s nothing there.”

“You’re right, Senor. But there once was and it was San Manse’.”

“What happened?”

Sage answered, “Funiversalism.”

Funiversalism? What the heck was that?

“Please explain.”

“Funiversalism is the theological concept that God has already saved everybody. It’s like you have a ticket to the Super Bowl. You’re going to the game. The ticket just hasn’t been punched yet. It’s just a matter of time.”

“But why would an idea like that destroy San Manse’?”

“I wasn’t finished with my definition. Since God has already saved everybody and nothing can be done to change that fact, then why not just have fun? Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you do not die!”

“So the San Manseans partied themselves to death?”

“Not all of them. Some of us got out in time.”


CHAPTER EIGHT


I asked Santa-Anta to stop the bus. I got out and walked to where San Manse' used to be. I tried to imagine the look of the buildings, if the streets had been paved with gold, and where fountains with cool, cascading water might have been. But nothing came to mind and all I saw were desert sands.


I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Sage. "Don't feel too bad, my boy. The existence of San Manse' was always tenuous at best. Those of us who actually lived there lived day by day, appreciating each day as if it was the last."


"It's time for a cold one!" Santa-Anta walked up with three cans in his hand. "Here, take one. Nothing like a Shagah No Pesada when the heat is on."

We gratefully took the SNPs from S-A. As I sipped on mine, I remembered a few lines from a Robert Frost poem:

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces/ Between stars--on stars where no human race is /I have it in me so much nearer home/To scare myself with my own desert places

The desert was swallowing up all my leads. It had swallowed up Lance and taken away my celestial cell phone and Flying Belt. I was growing weary of what seemed to be an eternal search.

“Another SNP, Senor?”

I took the can, said thanks, and continued walking over what used to be San Manse’.

Where do I go from here?

Dreams are like streams,

They run dry this time of year.

‘Ok, Senor, it’s time we move on. Though it hurts me to say it, San Manse’ may be gone forever.”

They say the truth can hurt. But so can a lie.


CHAPTER NINE

Another couple of hours on the bus and then we slowly came to a halt. We were at an entrance gate but it was a naked gate. There was no fence attached to it. Above the gate was a sign that read FEURACASA & OASIS.

I asked Santa-Anta, “Where are we now?”

“This, Senor, is the Pearl of Normex Annex. This is the place where you can rest your weary bones and find true relaxation and peace of mind.”

“I could use some of that.” I noticed some men and women milling around the oasis. “Who are they?”

“They’re refugee Funies.”

“I’m guessing Funies is a nickname for the Funiversalists. So there are more survivors than just you and Sage.”

“That is correct, Senor. They had the good sense to not to look back when they were told to flee.”

That sounded strangely familiar.

“Why was not looking back a good idea?”

“When we look back we think we understand the past. But the past is always open to misinterpretation. The Funies that looked back thought they saw a city that was secure and safe from all alarms. But it was a mirage and when they returned they fell into the bottomless pit.”

“But I saw no pit, bottomless or otherwise, when we were walking among the invisible ruins of San Manse’”

“I assure you, Senor, the pit is there. Its existence doesn’t depend on you seeing it.”

There were several park benches in the oasis and I sat down on one. It was by a small pool of water and the air was almost cool. As I saw my reflection in the water I reflected on what Santa-Anta had just said. While I was doing so, Sage came over and sat down beside me.

“You’re must not be too troubled, Nick. Reality is elusive in this part of the world.”

“What happened to the Funiversalists?”

“It was a situation that literally got out of control. A split mentality arose among the Funies. Now all Funies just want to have fun but some think their fun is controlled by God and others think they control their own fun.”

“Why would God either control fun or not control fun? The Boss is a pretty serious guy.”

“It all has to do with the defeat of sin. Once sin was conquered there was no need to fear it or try to avoid it. It couldn’t hurt you anymore. But if that was the case, did God still need to be in control? One side said yes. One side said no.”

“And so a war broke out between the two groups?”

“Exactly.”

“And neither side won?”

“We all lost.”


CHAPTER TEN

Before eating supper, I utilized the fueracasa. It was about fifteen feet behind the Memory of San Manse’ Royal Café. Decent enough for a fueracasa.

For supper, we had cheese enchiladas along with several bottles of Old Miguel. We tried to keep the conversation pleasant, which after what we had seen that afternoon, was not that easy to do.

I asked Santa-Anta, “Where are we headed next on our tour?”

“We drive all night in circles and end up where we started.”

“That sounds like a metaphor for life.”

‘Si’, Senor. It’s called the Circle of Life Tour. It’s our most popular tour.”

And so, after supper, and after a brief walk to enhance enchilada digestion, we boarded the Karl Barth Express and began circling in the desert beneath a canopy of shining stars.

I noticed that a star was missing in the southern portion of the sky. Had an Associate been called to duty in a far away galaxy? If only I had my celestial! I hated missing the Third Heaven Evening News. It had been one of my favorite shows, along with Celestial Non-Idol and The O’Badiah Report. Needless to say, there were no heavenly connections in Normex Annex. If there were, I hadn’t found them yet.

Since Normex Annex was only one square mile in size, the circling of it was a relatively fast enterprise, and so that night we must have accomplished several hundred ‘tours’. And though the stars were bright, the moon was dark, and everything that I saw was ghostly in appearance, and I decided after two or three laps, why not sleep. Before nodding off, I noticed that Sage had come up with the same idea and already put the idea into action. I wasn’t worried that Santa-Anta might do the same because he was singing acapulco and drinking coffee from a huge thermos jug.

I drifted off listening to Santa-Anta sing:

EPILOG

The sunset blazes and the rocks come alive

And when the night falls the heat subsides

Eternity has no fear for the man who is strong

Relics of humanity, a monastery’s song

Ghostly sermons at a midnight mass

Martyrs return from a pagan past

Ancient nomads with no place to belong

Relics of humanity, a monastery’s song

Out in the desert you can feel the wind

Blowing hard, then soft, then hard again

Footprints appear and then they’re gone

Relics of Humanity, a monastery’s song

A few traces remain of Coronado’s trail

Their search for gold was likely to fail

Standing on the mesa it feels all wrong

Relics of Humanity, a monastery’s song

THE END