Jesus Goes to Jail: Leap of Faith (Part 5/9)

Jesus is locked in a cell with an enormous cell mate, but he's a gentle giant and relays a story which seems too fantastical to be anything but fiction. But was it? I hope you enjoy chapter five, and Aloha from the Big Island of Hawaii.

And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.
--Acts 2:4

Part 5
Leap of Faith

So, there I sat on the bench, three days later, waiting for the next phase of retribution. Would it be the rack, or iron maiden, or had the system lost its touch, resorting to food poisoning? As several men in shackles filed out the door, I thought James and his steaks might not have been worth it. My stomach was a bubble of gas, and I wasn’t sure the lady at the counter could be relied on, should I need to be rushed to the bathroom. Those eggs were unhappy inside me. Then I was beckoned by a surly guard. Instead of being led out, I was brought back through the green bars and into the elevator. I thought they might be taking me back to my cell with Chris, but the guard pushed a button on the bottom row. We were going all the way up.

The hall of the penthouse floor was identical to the one on the fourth, except for the yellow paint. The cells were brighter and much more vibrant than the seasick green. Door after door, I was led all the way down the hall to the furthest cell on the left corner of the building.

There were staccato clicks, as the cuffs were removed, and then I was alone. Or so I presumed. Even after the guards had gone, I hadn’t noticed him in the room. I walked to the window, and just as I tried to see if there was a slit in the murky glass that I could peer through, my new roommate announced himself from behind me.

“Hello.”

“Whoa!” I bleated, spinning around. He was sitting cross legged, smiling down at me from the top bunk. Even sitting, I could tell that he was tall and lanky. He had the biggest beard I’d seen since leaving Hawaii; I wondered if he was a yogi. But he was obviously not from the far east. His beard was yellow, bushy, and completely concealed his mouth. Although a shadow obscured the rest of his face, I saw that his eyes were alight with something agreeably amused by the way I’d jumped.

“Oh, my bad,” he said, grinning.

“No, I needed that,” I replied, adrenaline junked.

“I’m Sven.”

“Jasper or Jesus, whichever you prefer.”

Sven’s humor faltered, and then he said, “Alright, Jasper. What brings you to county?”

As I explained the way I’d been tricked at the Caboose, he nodded, appearing thoughtful. He seemed to find my imagery of crackhead James amusing, but when I came to the part where I told the cop I was Jesus, Sven looked away and frowned.

“What, too much?”

“I believe in God, Jasper,” he said with conviction.

“So do I, Sven.”

“Well I believe in Jesus Christ, the lamb of God.”

“Me too.”

“No you don’t.” There was a firmness in the way he said it. His voice wasn’t biting or particularly hard, but it was reprimanding. Waiting for me to relinquish my claim on his faith, he wanted to hear that I was joking.

“Listen, I can tell that I’ve already offended you, so sorry.”

“What you said is blasphemy. Any Christian would know that much.”

After looking at him, his confidence in the assertion, I only frowned. Being as this was America, I wanted to tell Sven that I had a right to being Jesus as a matter of free speech or at least religious freedom. Some freedom or another, and I was about to say something to that end, when it dawned on me where I was. Freedom was not mine to enjoy. For all I knew, Sven could be psychotic. He didn’t sound like a psycho. Not yet, but then again, I’d been wrong about that in the past. Who was hiding under the beard? He looked about twice my size, and we were locked in here. Remembering Chris’s nightmare experience with the Nazi cellmate, I decided against asserting my right to be whoever I wanted to be. There was no need to see what would happen after yanking a mental wedgie between our paradigms. Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to be as loose lipped as I liked in these tight quarters. But at the same time, it would be good to lay the foundation for a discussion. It seemed that we’d dispensed with the pleasantries, and hit a wall prematurely. So, I tried to use a measured tone and diffuse the situation.

“Sven, let’s acknowledge our varying perspectives,” I said. “You and me. Well, we might have different takes on life. So let’s get that out of the way, and move on from there. Agreed?”

“Just don’t tell me that you’re a Christian. I’ll understand if you’re some atheist dickweed. You know, even better, let’s just drop it.”

“Alright, squashed,” I agreed, and then unsquashed it by adding, “I’m not trying to convince you I’m Jesus. But, if I think that I’m Jesus, and happen to understand Christianity differently than you, please try not to be offended.”

“St. Paul explained that no one should joke about God like that.”

“You mean Moses?” I offered. “I’ve read the New Testament several times, but it was Moses who said not to take the name of the lord in vain. That was before Jesus and Paul.”

“But you believe Jesus is the Son of God, who is part of God, if you’re Christian like you say you are.”

“Sure.”

“Then you’d know that joking about being Jesus is blasphemy. If you have Jedi mind tricks, cool, but don’t say you’re Jesus. That shits not funny. Not to me.”

“Hey, I’ll do you one better. I’ll avoid making that mouth noise. I won’t even say the name J-E-S-U-S. I’ll say Jacob, and we’ll both know who I’m talking about.”

Sven squinted, and said, “Just know that I don’t appreciate hearing the name of the lord in vain.”

“In vain?” I decided not to push it. “Okay, I won’t use the name in vain or any other way. Like I said, I’ll say Jacob. Every time I mean ‘you know who’, I’ll say Jacob. Cool beans?”

“Hmmm,” Sven almost growled, but it sounded closer to a moan of discontent.

“Or not? Were you raised in a church, or did you have a coming to Jacob moment on your own as an adult?”

“It’s getting late,” Sven said.

“Look, I just got here. You don’t have to tell me anything. If this is a sensitive subject, then we--”

“No, I mean, you’re right. I won’t talk about anything that I don’t want to, but look, man.” Sven uncrossed his legs and flopped his ankles over the side of the bunk. He hopped down, and I could see he was closer to seven than six feet.

“Jasper, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Sven; it’s nice to meet you.”

As we shook hands, his long fingers reminded me of an alien, completely encircling my palm. His eyes were the same color as his hair and beard, like hay bales. There was still a trace of mistrust, so I muttered a rhyme.

“Sven the Christian, I’m Jasper, and just to be clear, I’m cool with whatever you’re willing to talk about. We can skip it, or squash it right now, and that’s cool too. But, and just because I like to hear about why people are Christian… well Sven, you have me curious. I know you have a story.” His denim overalls said hill billy, but the vintage plaid shirt underneath made me think he was more of a hipster. Perhaps he was a couple years older than me, but with all the hair on his face, I couldn’t be sure.

“Long story, but the short of it is, yes, I’m Christian.”

“Okay,” I considered. “And the long of it?”

“Jasper, I don’t know if I want to get into that. My other cellmate talked nonstop about banging hookers until I was nauseated. I was kind of enjoying a moment of peace, you know?”

“I get it. Actually, I think I saw your cellmate ushered out the front door five minutes ago. Was he part of that chain gang? A bunch of guys, all shackled up together, were marched out downstairs.”

“Yeah, he’s on his way to Geiger.”

“Geiger?”

“The minimal correctional facility.”

“Oh,” I nodded. I didn’t know anything about Spokane’s penal system, but I thought Geiger must be much uglier than the waxy polished county jailhouse. I pictured an overcrowded sticky floored and festering place with big holding cells overstuffed with people awaiting trial. A place that smelled of sweat and shit more than bleach. Geiger. Even the name exuded radiation poisoning and cancer.

“Well, it’s nice to move on up in the building,” I said. “That other guy might have talked your ear off, and I totally understand if you want me to shut up.”

“You can’t see out,” Sven explained when I turned to try and look through the glass.

“Oh yeah? That’s a bummer,” I said. “The room on the fourth floor had a little slot we could see through.”

“You were on the fourth floor?”

“Yeah, this will be my third night in the fortress.”

“Oh. Did you have an issue with your cellmate?”

“We argued, but no. Nothing but verbal duels. He was a bit of a pessimist, but I suppose he had reason to be.”

“Nothing physical?”

“No fighting or anything,” I shrugged. “You could say that I was coerced into looking away when Chris wanted a sock bath.”

“A sock bath?”

“Yeah, a sock rub down with sink water.”

“What do you mean he coerced you into looking away?”

“Hmmm, I guess that didn’t come out right. I was trying to be funny, but I guess Chris didn’t coerce me. He was kind of insistent that I face the wall, but anyways. Yeah, I have no clue why they moved me up here. I have a couple of weeks left. I think. I haven’t seen anything in writing. No one tells me anything, and I don’t ask questions. I’m just on tour.”

“Yeah, they don’t let you know what’s going on in here. This place is the devil’s asshole.”

“What? No. I’m not complaining--well not yet. Those neon eggs are still doing something funky in my stomach, but the walk over settled it down a bit.”

“You too? I haven’t felt right since breakfast. I thought it might have been the sandwich the night before, but those eggs were suspect,” Sven concurred.

“They’re probably drugging us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they slipped in some experimental medication that isn’t quite approved by the FDA. Run some trials, you know? Like, why not experiment on prisoners? We’re in their system.”

“What kind of drug?”

“Maybe antipsychotic medication,” I suggested. “They have us on film, so they could slip us some new and improved thorazine concoction and review the footage later. We’re monkeys of the state, and they are watching.”

“Yeah, I know about the cameras, but I don’t know about your antipsychotic medication conspiracy theory. It sure doesn’t feel like any antipsychotic I know of. I was thinking more like some fake cheese. Probably something made of MSG and corn oil.”

“And additives, don’t forget the plethora of many lettered additives. I remember a time before trans fats. Back in the day, there was saturated, unsaturated and poly, and then came along trans fats. Maybe breakfast was trans fats, additives, and e coli with a sprinkling of salmonella. Call it eggs and watch what happens to the inmate monkeys.”

“Maybe,” Sven permitted. “I got some bad gutrot. But believe it or not, what you were saying kind of ties into why I got upset when you said you were Jesus.”

“Really? Some funky eggs tie into Jesus? I thought you were going to talk about bacteria in the food, but Jesus, alright.”

Sven told me about his bipolar trials and tribulations. He had been on and off psych medication up until the age of 15. That was when he’d been saved.

“Oh, so you know a thing or two about psych meds,” I commented.

“Lithium, depakote, risperdal,” Sven named. “I could go on, but then I was saved. I was healed.”

“Well, good to hear, but don’t hold out. Come on Sven, testify. How’d you get saved and healed?”

“Listen, if I’m going to continue, can you please drop the sarcasm?”

“Alright, I’ll just listen,” I acquiesced.

Walking around Capitol Hill in Seattle, he’d come across a midnight service. The congregation was still in, loud and lively. Up until then, Sven’s ruminations had been dark. He’d been so depressed that he was considering suicide. At first, the happy noises of the church had annoyed him, but deciding there was nothing better to do, (he hadn’t been going anywhere in the first place) he took a seat in the back. He had intended on observing the service as a fly on the wall, but what he saw made him worry that he was hallucinating.

“Golden dust?” I asked.

“I shit you not,” he assured me. “It was in the air, but I knew that only I could see it. Well, no, because they all could see it too, but it wasn’t something you could touch.”

“The congregation saw it too? I’m picturing holographic stuff, almost like cartoon particles of digital dust; is that right?”

“Something like that, yeah. Golden up and down the aisles. This little girl kept pointing at it. Her mom would look and nod, but everyone was praising God and caught up in the Holy Spirit. But to make a long story short, I was baptized by the Holy Spirit that night. That’s how I became a Christian.”

“A long story short? We’ve got nothing but time in here. Are you tired?”

“No, but you… nevermind.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure if any of it was… well no, I’m sure that it really happened, but apparently it sounds like a crock of shit to everyone else.” Sven laughed, but it rang out empty and defensive.

“Look man, you don’t need to worry about me being all judgmental. Whatever you saw, or whatever it is that turned you to Jesus, I bet my Jesus story is just as bonkers.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

Sven relented, telling me how he’d been brought up to the altar.

“I was embarrassed, a little,” he said. “I didn’t know what to make of any of it, but when Pastor Mike touched my head…” he paused, and I watched a grin raise the hair on his cheeks. “Jasper, have you ever felt the Holy Spirit?”

“Most definitely.”

“And so you’ve spoken in tongues?”

“What? No.”

He didn’t understand how I could have felt the Holy Spirit if I hadn’t ever spoken in tongues. I’d seen that stuff on TV, and it was hilarious.

Amused by his expression, I asked, “You mean the kind of gibberish in Pentecostal churches where they pass around snakes?”

“You see? That dismissive tone you used. If you want me to talk, then quit.”

“Sorry, I’ll stop. So you’re Pentecostal?”

“The church was Christian. I’m not sure about all the sect divisions, but we might have been Pentecostal. We didn’t pass around snakes.”

“Hmmm, maybe I’m confusing Pentecostal with Baptist. I’m not too sure who passes around snakes. But at any rate, you spoke in tongues?”

“When I was baptized by the Holy Spirit, yes. But you said you’ve felt the presence of the Holy Spirit?”

“Yes, the voices of the mushroom, but somehow, I don’t think that’s what you’re talking about.”

“Voices? So you did speak in tongues?”

“No, tongues spoke to me. Invisible ones.”

“What?”

“Maybe later. Time is on our side. Anyways, so you’re in that church in Seattle, and Pastor Mike touches you on the head, and then what happened?”

“Other than the most transformative moment of my entire life, I guess you could say I became happy. From then on, I was a different person. Of course, none of my friends wanted to hang out anymore. All I ever did was talk about Jesus, and I kept trying to bring them to church. We were goth, and they thought I was cooler when I was depressed.”

“The gold dust--did you tell them about it?”

“Huge mistake. This kid, that had been my friend, turned into a real dick and kept calling me Dusty. Of course, back then, all I did was pray for everyone.”

“Like ‘turn the other cheek’ instead of getting angry?”

“Right.”

“Hey, I’m gonna lay down, but could you tell me more?”

“Sure, I can keep going. It’s probably good for me. This feels therapeutic.”

“I’m all ears,” I said, and stretched out on the bottom bunk. The bed mat felt the same as on the fourth floor. In fact, the room itself--minus the missing transparent slit of glass--was a carbon copy. Sven wasn’t nearly as bitchy as Chris, but a bit touchier than most. I thought it might have been the county jail setting everyone’s teeth on edge. People locked into their thoughts without distractions could ball up inside. So far, both Chris and Sven seemed overly emotional when venting.

“School was pretty lonely,” Sven continued, as he crawled back on the top bunk. “But, I had the church. With the Holy Spirit, I didn’t need lithium anymore. My parents didn’t know that I’d stopped taking my meds, but I didn’t see a reason to tell them. They weren’t Christian, but they were relieved that I wasn’t depressed anymore. Of course, Judy thought that I might be heading into another manic episode again, but--”

“Who’s Judy?”

“Oh, that’s my step mom. Judy and Jack are the parentals. Before them, it was the foster system, but that’s not relevent.”

“Okay so, you’re not on psych meds anymore, and you’re part of the church, and nobody likes you in school. I think I get the picture. And then?”

“Let’s see. I spent a lot of time ministering to the homeless people, handing out food and blessing everyone. Even if I didn’t have any friends, everything in my life felt sanctified. It was the only time I ever brought home straight A's. That made Jack and Judy proud, but they still wouldn’t come to church with me.”

“So, you started flushing your meds, and didn’t have any come downs or side effects?”

“Exactly. I was healed.”

“Got it, no more bipolar, just checking.”

“And that was pretty much how the spring quarter of my sophomore year went. When school got out, Pastor Mike invited me to come along on a healing crusade in Africa.”

“A crusade? That doesn’t have a very good ring to it. When I hear ‘crusade’ I think of the inquisition and the dark ages.”

“No, they just called it that. My parents thought I was too young, but Pastor Mike said he’d pay for my ticket and make sure I got all the shots. In the end, they let me go, because he said he’d take personal responsibility for me. And my good grades, I guess that helped.”

“Wow, Africa!”

Sven let out a long sigh and said, “This is where no one believes me.”

“What? No one believes you went to Africa?”

“No, not that. Jasper, I’ve been called delusional so many times that I just don’t talk about what I saw, what I was witness to.”

“Hey, I might not believe you either, but so far I buy it all. Even the gold dust.”

“Thanks. So, in Africa we would go around to different villages and heal people. I saw limbs set in place and all sorts of wounds heal up.”

“So, you were working with a medical team?”

“Yes. Well, wait. What do you mean?”

“I’ve heard of churches working alongside Doctors Without Borders.”

“Oh, no. You don’t get it. There weren’t any doctors. It was just the church. No medicine, just our faith and Pastor Mike.

“In a big circus tent?”

“We had a tent, but most of the time we didn’t set it up. We would use the village square, or go out into a field and heal people.”

“You’re talking miracles.”

“Yes, miracles. By the power of the Holy Spirit. Pastor Mike would call everyone forward, heal them, and pretty soon people from all around heard about us. Some were hauled to us on stretchers, walking on crutches, or hobbling along to get to where we were. People came from huts in the jungle that were more than a week away, and they came on foot. The faith in Africa isn’t like it is here.”

“Wow.” I was glad Sven couldn’t see my dubious expression. “So, you actually saw some legit miracles. No hocus pocus--the real deal.”

“Saw them? I called upon the Holy Spirit to enact them in Jesus name! We all did. I remember this one old guy; his eyes were completely white from all kinds of cataracts, but after we prayed, and Pastor Mike laid hands on him, I watched his eyes clear up. You should have seen his face when he could see again.”

“That’s um. Yeah, that’s pretty unbelievable,” I said.

“So, you don’t believe me.”

“Well, it’s hard for me to believe anything outside of what I know to be true, which isn’t much. I just got conned, remember? I haven’t seen any miracles. Well, not like that. Not the healing kind. Or the tongues thing, for that matter.”

“You’ve never even heard people speaking in tongues?”

“Not first hand, no.”

“Well, that’s what I don’t understand. You said you felt the Holy Spirit, but it sounds like you might be confusing that with the grace of God.”

“Is there a difference?” I asked, never having heard of such.

“I should think so! The Holy Spirit gives the gift of tongues and the grace of God is… I don’t know. I guess more like the warm fuzzies? You know: love, joy, peace, patience and kindness.”

“Aren’t those the gifts of the Holy Spirit?”

“No. Those are the gifts of the spirit, meaning the human spirit. There’s the trinity, but there’s also the human spirit which can receive gifts.”

“Does each member of the trinity give different gifts? I’m not sure I follow.”

“The power of the Holy Spirit--well, it’s like trying to explain a new color that no one’s ever seen before.”

“Holy spirit versus human spirit--interesting distinction. Well, I still have yet to be slain in the spirit and speak in tongues, but I’d be down.”

“You can. If you can let someone with the gift of tongues lay their hands on you, it’s never too late. If you’re ready and willing to--”

“Could you do it?”

“Well I…” In the silence which ensued, I could tell that Sven was holding his breath. Then I realized I might not want him to lay his hands on me. I didn’t know him or what his trip was.

“Nevermind. So back to your story. What’s the craziest thing that happened, or was it the guy with the cataracts?”

“The most miraculous thing? Let me think. Alright, this is probably it. One night, we were camping on the side of a hill above of a creek. It had rained so much in the night that the road had been washed out, and the water was roaring. The day before we could have forded the little stream, but there was no way in the morning. Where once there was hardly more than a trickle of a stream, there was now a full on river, like a flash flood. You know, like all brown water rapids with trees floating in it. Then Pastor Mike said that with God, all things are possible.”

Sven took a moment to collect his thoughts before asking, “Do you know how internal combustion engines work?”

“You mean gasoline combustion and pistons doing the… not really. Why do you ask?”

“What happened next was physically impossible, but it did happen.” Sven jumped down from the top bunk, and squatted down next to me. I had been listening with my eyes closed, and when I opened them, there he was. Sven’s face was within my three foot bubble, and he looked manic, deranged.

“Um,” I muttered, my heart suddenly pounding.

“I don’t know,” he said, grinning at me with dark dilated pupils. Only the dim light above the door lit the cell, and it was hard to read his shadowed expression. “I’ve been getting stoked up just talking about this and wanted to read your face, you know?

“Um…”

“I mean, I’m not a pervert or creep, I just wanted to tell you the rest, face to face.”

“Oh thank God,” I exhaled. “It might just be the light, but you got up all close, looking demented--shit! You scared me. But to be clear, you’re not going to get all touchy feely with me?”

“What? You thought I was--” and Sven burst into laughter. “Oh, I’m sorry man, but that’s funny.”

“Well, this is jail, right? You’re a giant that could easily have his way with me, and just when you jumped down and looked at me… you know?”

“No, man. Too funny, but I’m not gay, and even if I was--wait, why would you think that?”

“We’re in jail. Maybe it’s from all the movies I’ve seen.”

“So when you saw me, you thought I was looking at you funny or something?”

“No, it wasn’t until you were in front of me that I had flashes of Shawshank Redemption. But picture you with your beard, all bug eyed and freakish looking, and then with the dim lights and all. The lights played into it, for sure, but you said you’re bipolar, off medication and--”

“Oh, so that’s what you’ve heard?”

“What?”

“I’m off my meds. That’s what you’ve heard so far?”

“Among other things, yes, that’s what you told me. But that’s not my point. My point was… damn, what was my point?”

“You think I’m crazy, and my story is bullshit because I’m bipolar and off my medication.”

“No, that wasn’t my point. Oh, it’s that I was scared when you jumped down because you’re friggin huge.”

“Okay, but I’m not gay and--”

“Cool bro. Got it.”

“Alright, I’m glad you can chill out about that little detail.”

“Huge detail,” I amended. “I’m not saying that if you were gay you’d find me attractive, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he said, looking more at ease. “Listen, I didn’t mean to come off antagonistic, but you seem to have found my two sore spots, and prod. Religion and bipolar disorder both get me riled up, and now I don’t even remember what we were talking about.”

“You were explaining that you weren’t gay, but that’s because you hopped out of bed to tell me about Africa. Face to face. You woke up to a river, and Pastor Mike said that in God all things are possible.”

“Oh, that’s right. Did you know, it’s been at least three years since I even thought about Africa? It’s something I’ve been blocking. So many people have told me that what I remember couldn’t have been the way it went down.”

“We’ve all got skeletons in our closets,” I said.

“Do you know where that idiom comes from?”

“Not really. I assume it means we have secrets.”

“Secrets are one thing, but skeletons? Like we’re all murderers with the bones of people we killed in our closets. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have skeletons in my closet.”

“Huh, I never thought of it. But speaking of skeletons, let’s rattle some bones, as it were.”

Sven's eyes took on a haunted look, and he sat back on the floor and crossed his legs.

“That flood water was no joke,” he continued. “It must have been dry for months, but we’d only arrived in Kenya a week earlier, so I don’t know. I’d already been witness to a host of miracles in other villages by then.”

“The healing kind. No one’s walked on water so far, right?”

“No, but two days earlier, a woman, with what looked like a spear, or some large knife wound, was so thankful. Everyone was crying when the wound closed up. Her eyes were full of light, and she understood that it wasn’t us, but the Holy Spirit, that healed her.”

“What, like a gash closed up?”

“Oh, much worse than that. I’m surprised she made it to us alive, but Pastor Mike and the Holy Spirit and the power… I’m sorry.” Sven’s voice had trembled.

“No, please. This is some powerful energy, just hearing you talk. Or testify, as you might call it. Notice, I said it without sarcasm?”

“We should have been swept away,” he said, sounding whimsical. “There were logs, whole trees uprooted and floating in the floodwater, but Pastor Mike says we can go through it without any problem because the Holy Spirit is calling us to the other side.”

“And there’s some plant debris floating past?”

“Trees! But it was only fifty feet across, and I figured we were going to use the winch on the front of the Land Cruiser. I didn’t know how Pastor Mike was planning to get across to hook the cable onto the opposite shore, but then he says we don’t have time for that. We’re going to drive.”

“Fifty feet is a long ways across,” I speculated.

“We should have floated away,” Sven said, and chuckled. “I don’t know what it was in Pastor Mike’s voice, but I had absolute confidence that the Holy Spirit was guiding us.”

“So how deep was it?”

“I’m getting to that. I just wanted to explain the change in me, or in us, I should say. I don’t know how it happened, but when Pastor Mike said we were going to drive, and I had faith…” Sven trailed off, and itched one of his feet. Then he looked up at me and asked, “How does the world work? Do you believe in physics?”

“Interesting tangent, but that’s a good question. As a rule, I’d say yes. But as a constant, definitely not. But then there’s quantum physics, which breaks all the rules, and it’s a part of physics, so I guess--”

“No, I mean Newtonian physics. For instance, if water goes up and over the top of a Land cruiser, even if it’s leaking, it should bob up, right? And that would be in still water, like a lake.”

“Up past the doors?” I asked, lifting my arm from my side, but unable to demonstrate the height from where I was laying.

“Yes,” Sven said, and stood up to indicate water at his shoulder level.

“That’s, well that's....” but I had no words that weren’t skeptical to choose from. I shrugged and said, “go on.”

“I’m trying to get you to feel how I should have felt, but I didn’t. I couldn’t feel afraid. There was a presence, and something much more powerful than golden dust. It was this pure white light, all around and coursing through us.”

“White light?”

“Yes. Well no, and it’s hard to explain.” He sat back down into an enormous pretzel and began pulling on his beard. “It wasn’t something we could see with our eyes, but the Holy Spirit was fully present with a white energy that could--”

“Are you sure the river was that deep?”

“Fuck man!” Sven looked betrayed, disgusted. “You think I haven’t heard that? I’ve been told that I’m exaggerating or must have remembered wrong. What are you going to say next? I must have drank the koolaid, right?”

“Hey now, hold up,” I said, as he scowled. He walked to the window, though we both knew there was no way to see through the glass. His explosion. It had been so Chris-like. Was I an asshole? It seemed like I was surrounded by whiners, or maybe I was just a button pusher. Once again, I had to consider the stress others might feel in here. Not everyone was as thrilled to be in jail as I was. Other than some indigestion, and a numb arm, I was pleased as punch.

“Hey Sven, I’m just trying to see it, but okay. I’ll save my questions till the end. You say that you should have been swept away, and how would I know? I wasn’t there. You saw it, and I mean no disrespect.”

Still looking at the window, Sven’s shoulders rose as he took a deep breath. The glass was faint pink, from the street lights ten stories below, and he was a silhouette with a halo.

“At the very least, the engine should have stalled,” he went on in soft voice. “The Land Cruiser didn’t have a custom built air intake, and even if it did, the water was completely up and over the side of Pastor Mike’s door. It was a little bit lower, as it swirled around my side, but definitely too deep for what we did.”

“Like splashing over the hood?”

“Over the hood? Over the top of the cab, at times, but the hood was completely submerged. The current was moving so fast and strong that there were trees--whole fucking uprooted trees, and not the small kind. Can you even understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I get you.”

“Okay, but do you believe me?” He had turned from the window to ask. There was a new vulnerability in his tone. In a way, I saw that he was putting himself out on a limb. The way looked reminded me of the pained expression of Jesus on the cross.

“I believe you,” I offered. “I don’t necessarily believe what I constructed in my head. What you were part of could be something different from what I see.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, for example, I see Pastor Mike as a Collin Feral type of a character with kind eyes and--”

“But the Land Cruiser!” Sven cut me off. “Forget about what Pastor Mike looks like. Forget all that! Just for a minute, think of this river, easily fifty feet across, maybe more.”

“More now? The river got bigger?”

“Forget it.” He gave a dramatic shrug of helplessness, letting his palms slap his thighs.

“Hey man! Why is it so important that I believe you?” I asked, sitting up.

“It’s not,” he said, and then pushed himself back up onto the top bunk. “Good night.”

The silence was deafening. I wanted to stamp out the malaise, so I explained, “Listen Sven, I’ve heard of quacks pulling off all kinds of hanky shit. I’m not saying that you’re a quack, or deluded, or anything like that. But I’ve never seen someone healed like you have. It’s hard for me to visualize the river, and yes, I’m guilty of leaning toward Newtonian physics more than what I picture in my head. Maybe I should tone it down, but from what you described, your Land Cruiser should have been washed away or flipped over and tumbled. It sounds like a tall tale, like a big fish story. Then, when you said the river might be bigger… well, I couldn’t make the leap. Quite a span for my faith to hurdle, you know?”

“That’s because you’re in America.”

“What do you mean?”

“Long story, aren’t you tired?”

“No, and stop saying ‘long story’ or are you just over it?”

“Yeah, at this point, I’m pretty much over it. I’ve been over it since getting back to the US.”

“Because no one believes you?”

“No. When I got back to the states, I joined Pastor Mike on a few other healing crusades, but it didn’t work. No one got healed. There may have been some people with small things, like headaches, but nothing like in Africa.”

“Not to be a dick, but you're Africa adventure sounds--well, like I said, I can’t bridge the gap. Me of little faith, I guess you could say.”

“You think I don’t know how I sound? I know the river--whatever you pictured--sounds wacky crackers. And you already heard I was bipolar, and probably don’t believe I was healed. A lot of people say it’s because I was off my meds. So yes. You could say, I’m over it.”

“Understandable, but if it really happened…”

“It’s just been so long. That was twelve years ago. I haven’t talked about it in forever, but when you came in and said to call you Jesus--”

“Jacob.”

“You see, right there. What you said right there,” Sven complained, and then fell silent.

“What, I can’t say Jacob now?”

“I know who you mean by Jacob, so it’s disrespectful to God, if not downright blasphemous.”

“Sven, for you, I’ll stick with Jasper.” As we fell silent, I could tell Sven was laying above me with his eyes open, remembering.

“Did you tell your step parents about Africa?

“Yeah, and Jack told me it was a collective hallucination, a mass hysteria, or something like that. He’s a psychiatrist. I told him all about the demons getting cast out of witch doctors, and all kinds of puss filled sores that I witnessed heal up in seconds. That’s when he didn’t want to hear anymore. Judy changes the subject, and says in this sing song voice, as if she’s Mary Poppins, ‘could we please talk about other things now?’”

“People don’t like what they don’t know. That’s why everyone talks about weather or sports. Small talk is easy, even though I think boring. People don’t want to be conned or get duped by any bullshit. Most try to find common ground, something safe. But Sven, I’m not your step mom. Spiritual quests, delusions and enlightened moments are the things I like best, so thanks.”

“I appreciate that, Jasper.”

“Cool, and I really appreciate you not raping me.”

He chuckled, and told me I had been way off with that.

“Well, you’re a giant,” I said.

“Your hair makes you look like a fraggle.”

“What’s a fraggle?”

“Fraggle Rock, the show? I thought you were in my generation.”

“I think I am. I’m rounding up the tail end of generation X with Duck Tales and Disney Afternoons.”

“Then I can’t believe you haven’t heard of Fraggle Rock. Anyways, I’m beat.”

“Yeah, it must be getting late.”

During the night, we both exploded, our bowels heaving. It was all we could do to wait for one another to finish before switching off on the toilet. The purging left us ragged, and went on for over an hour. Somehow, we were able catch a few hours of sleep before daylight.

The next morning, there were two more trays of fluorescent eggs slid through the slot in the bottom of the door.

“This isn’t right,” I said. “Two days in a row? What happened to the oatmeal? We’re sure it was the eggs that poisoned us, right?”

“Not sure. Maybe they cooked the eggs wrong yesterday. It could have been the sandwiches. I don’t trust their meat. I looked in the bread last night, and it was gray.”

“Hmmm,” I said, poking at the glowing rubbery stuff. “Eggs. We shouldn’t even assume this stuff has anything to do with eggs. Is it just me, or is it brighter than yesterday?”

“Looks about the same,” Sven said, ate a spoonful and shrugged. “Not too bad.”

“Well I’m completely empty,” I said. “Look, my hand is shaking. Last night was terrible.”

“Don’t remind me. Let’s hope it wasn’t the eggs.”

“Here’s to that,” I said, and we toasted spoonfuls.

“So you used to live in Hawaii?” Sven asked.

“Just this last winter.”

“Winter is probably still warm, right? I’d imagine that’s not a bad time to be in Hawaii. Are you ever going back?”

Sven and I talked about Hawaii, weather, and our future plans. Sticking to safe subjects of discussion, I decided to skirt around the topic of mushrooms. Instead, I told Sven about the clothing optional beach, and the lava tube I’d lived in.

“That sounds rad. I’ll have to check that out this winter.”

“When are you getting out?” I asked.

“Not sure, but I have court next week. They might sentence me for a couple months, but I should be out by winter.”

“What’d you do? Damn, I can’t believe I haven’t asked you that.”

“Do you know what DMT is?” Sven asked.

“DMT, as in the spirit molecule? As in the tryptamine produced in the pineal gland, the third eye, the seat of the soul?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard of it,” Sven smiled.

I took the final bite of my eggs, getting excited, and asked, “So if you know about DMT, then what do you think about psilocybin mushrooms?”

“I love shrooms,” James said. “They busted me extracting DMT. That’s what landed me in here.”

“Well, then I--” but I faltered. I wanted to get his take on psychedelics, but I didn’t want to get him ‘riled up’ as he put it. My theory of magic mushrooms and Jesus would definitely foul up the companionable atmosphere.

“Whoa, my stomach,” Sven groaned. “Is your stomach alright?”

“What, you feel sick? I’m okay.”

“Not me; I think I need to lay down.”

As Sven crawled onto his bunk, a guard opened the door.

“Jasper,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“It’s your lucky day. You’re on your way to Geiger, follow me.” The lurch in my stomach let me know that something wasn’t right--something other than the eggs. Now, Geiger was an electric chair, and I felt sick as I was cuffed up. No, this was not my lucky day, and I could see loathing on the guard’s face. I watched Sven curl into a fetal position before the door swung closed behind me.

The guards were vacant droids, and not at all interested in gracing me with any details of where I was headed. Down the waxy hall in silence, I was led through, and out of the building.

Standing handcuffed on the street outside the fortress, the morning air was cool. But I was hot, sweaty, and felt as if were on a heavy dose of cold medicine. My abdomen was swollen and tight, making my breathing shallow. I looked over at the stop sign across the street and wondered if Chris was looking through his slit of glass. Was he feeling this wretched after the second morning of whatever it was that looked like eggs? A moment later, I was ushered to a seat aboard a bus bound for some hell hole called Geiger. With my head against the window, I watched the city of Spokane smear across my field of vision. Hypnotic with its rumbling, the bus lulled me until I closed my eyes and observed pixilated caricatures swim upon the black backdrop of an eggy delirium.