Chapter 23 – David Meets the Rabban
In last week’s episode, the Sanhedrin Council decided on a way forward. In this week’s episode, the lives of two men finally intersect…
What am I doing here? David wondered. When Abdiel told him to come down and ask for the Rabban it had seemed perfectly reasonable. But now that he was here, he marveled at the sheer audacity of the idea. It was like he had been pushed into this.
The leper’s cave was less of an underground tunnel and more of a broad amphitheater that had been gouged out of the steep side of the Tyropoeon Valley wall. Alongside the edge of the clearing, set far back out of view of the visiting guests, ran a series of low shabby-looking stone buildings. When David arrived, two men dressed in tattered clothes and bandages approached him. One held out his hand, indicating that David should stop, and said menacingly, “Unclean.”
David noticed that the man wore a pistol in a shoulder harness beneath the vest of his robe. “I was told to come down here and speak to the Rabban?” David used his voice inflection to turn the statement into a question.
“Who is it?” The gruff, querulous voice came from the old man slowly approaching from the direction of the village. The Rabban was making his way back from the Sanhedrin Council meeting.
“I’m David Wilson, sir. I was told to come down here to see you.”
“Let me see your ID.” This request came from the first ‘leper,’ the one with the gun.
David pulled his identification card out from where he wore it on a lanyard around his neck. He handed it over.
While the first guard inspected David’s ID, the second guard appeared to be talking into some hidden device on his wrist. After a few moments, the two guards nodded to each other, and the first one turned to the Rabban and reported, “He checks out, sir.”
“David Wilson…” The Rabban mused, “Aren’t you the drunk who got arrested with a hooker in his car the other night?”
“She wasn’t a…” David stammered.
“Don’t care!” the Rabban called indifferently as he passed by. “Follow me. You’ve got two minutes. Better not be wasting my time.”
It took a long time for David and the Rabban to get across the compound and enter the largest of the shabby stone huts. As they made their way through the small group of lepers in the compound, several made efforts to assist the Rabban, who limped and grimaced. He waved them all away and stubbornly persisted until he reached the door of the hut.
When David stepped inside, he was shocked to discover that the building’s interior in no way resembled the building’s exterior. The building was cut back into the cliff wall bank so that it was earth-bermed and larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. The vaulted entrance room was constructed with a series of interconnecting stone archways, with a round glass-domed ceiling that flooded the living area with light. The stone tile floor was accented elegantly with an expensive-looking Persian carpet, and there were several ornately carved wooden tables finished with matching etched glass tabletops. In the center-most table sat a vase with freshly cut lilies. Stainless steel light fixtures hung gracefully from the ceiling, and David assumed they would brightly light up the rooms at night. David could see a large, computerized workstation against the far wall.
The Rabban entered ahead of David, and a serving woman met them at the door. With just a sideways look at David, she took the Rabban’s staff and helped him to settle into one of the several heavily padded and very expensive-looking woven wicker chairs placed around the main room. When she went to prepare tea, the Rabban gestured to David to have a seat.
“You got two minutes,” he said.
“I was sent to see you…” David wasn’t sure where to begin.
“Who sent you?” The Rabban cut him off impatiently.
“Um…” David hesitated. He wasn’t really sure who the avatar was who told him to come down here. “He said his name was Abdiel.” David hoped to spark some sort of recognition in the Rabban. It failed. “He told me there was a plan for me?”
“Abdiel?” The Rabban’s blue eyes widened enough to be noticeable, even behind the bandages on his face. “Abdiel!” He exclaimed incredulously. “Kid, ‘Abdiel’ just means ‘servant of God.’ Around here, that could be anybody at all!”
Again David began to stammer, “He told me there was a plan. I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood… I shouldn’t be here...” He made to get up out of the chair and leave.
The Rabban furrowed his brow in concentration, and his face crinkled. “Hold on a sec.” He made a motion to David to remain seated.
“I’m guessing they just fired you, right?”
“Yes, sir. HR gave me my two weeks’ notice.” David was already dying of embarrassment. This admission just made his face flush more.
“Hmm… OK, so you are looking for a job, then.” It wasn’t a question. So David said nothing.
After a few moments, understanding seemed to flash in the leper’s eyes. He looked up brightly and asked, “Wait a minute, aren’t you the Pandeist, the one who wrote that little book?”
David swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, I get it now! This Abdiel thinks you may be the solution to my problem.” The Rabban looked up at the serving lady who brought him a cup of tea. There was only one cup. “Please bring our guest some tea too, Carol. We’ve got some business to discuss.”
“That’s right.” The Rabban was wrapping up his explanation to David about the developments from the Sanhedrin Council meeting. “So, I find myself running out of time and in need of a field correspondent. I’m willing to overlook your recent indiscretions because I have an urgent requirement that must be fulfilled. Without you, my plans don’t get launched.”
“Sir, I really don’t know anything about writing like that. I’m not sure what a field correspondent even does.”
“I’ve read your book, Wilson. We all did.” The Rabban made a flat statement as if that alone was explanation enough for David. It wasn’t.
“Do you want me to write about the Big Bang and stuff?” David asked, confused.
The Rabban sighed in exasperation. “Look, it’s simple; I need regular reports. If I don’t get reports, we don’t fly.”
“Reports about what?” Now David was growing exasperated too. “I can’t write about Christian stuff. I don’t know what you are looking for.”
“Ah…” The Rabban leaned back in his chair, trying to find a less painful position for his damaged limbs. “That’s the question, then, isn’t it?”
David waited.
“Let me be clear then. I am searching for evidence of God’s return to earth.”
“What?” David’s jaw hung open.
“Think of it this way, Wilson,” the Rabban continued. He seemed oblivious to David’s consternation and continued as if he was making the most reasonable request in the world. “I don’t need you to tell me about Jesus descending from the clouds on a white horse with a sword coming out of his mouth. When that day comes, I certainly won’t need you to be telling me about it. We’ll all know first-hand.”
The Rabban continued wryly, “I could be wrong, but I don’t think I’m going to make it that long anyway…” He looked down at himself and shook his head slightly. “What I really want to know is what happens to us after we die.”
David was aghast. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“You just ask people, Wilson! And then write down what they tell you.” He made it sound like it should be obvious. “I don’t need you to uncover some hidden universal truth; I just need you to talk to people wherever I send you and find out how they view their world.”
“Why?” David asked, “First you want to know if Jesus is coming back, then you want to know what happens after you die… which one is it?”
“It’s all connected. Think about it. You already did this in the book you wrote for yourself.” The Rabban leaned forward in his seat and stared into David’s eyes, saying, “Remember this, when you write a report, you are writing it directly for me. I’m going to take whatever you tell me and use it as a data point to make decisions about the plans I make. So, you’ve got to try to get to know me, what I’m looking for, what I’m all about, so that you can write for me.”
“What do I have to know?”
“Well, first of all, you should know that I would never wish being wealthy on my worst enemy.”
“What? Why not?” David was so off-balance by now that he was dizzy.
“Think about it.” The Rabban chuckled mirthlessly. “Ever since I became ‘successful,’ I’ve been living in a world of financial spreadsheets, four-dimensional logistical planning, strategic comparison among multiple plausible competing scenarios, international power politics, and now, all this.” He pulled at the hem of his robes. “Costumes, building facades, and virtual technology; I have a hard time determining what’s real lately, and what’s really real!”
“I don’t know if I can do it, sir.”
“Sure you can. You’ve already done it in that book of yours. You did a pretty good job with that. That’s all I’m looking for. Only this time, don’t write about yourself. Write about what other people are thinking; I’ve already got your beliefs mapped out.”
It dawned on David then that the reason the Sanhedrin Council had been so interested in his Pandeist ideas might be because this man sitting before him was a collector, of sorts, of different worldviews.
“Hallelujah! At last, I can see the glimmer of understanding dawning in your eyes!” The Rabban’s exclamation dripped with sarcasm. “You’re going to help me understand what it means to be human!”
To David, it sounded as if he had just been assigned to a job he hadn’t even accepted yet. Things were moving too fast. Then the Rabban used a voice command to activate the big screen on the nearby wall. “Get me the quartermaster for the St. Paul.”
After a few moments, the ringing stopped, and a clean-shaven, smiling face framed by a tussle of silver-gray hair appeared on the screen. “Hello, Rabban.” His greeting was familiar and friendly. “What can I do for you today?”
“Josef, I want you to meet David Wilson.” The Rabban waved towards David. “He’s going to be your new shipmate.”
As if long-accustomed to following unusual orders without question, the man on the screen turned a critical eye towards David and asked, “How much does he weigh?”
“Wilson,” the Rabban continued with, as if he hadn’t heard the question. “This is Dr. Josef Ranell; he’s the quartermaster on board the St. Paul. He’s en route here now… Well? Don’t just sit there; tell the man how much you weigh.”
David looked from the Rabban to the screen and then back to the Rabban. “Um… I don’t know, about 190, maybe 195…”
Ranell smirked. “I think I’ll use 210 for planning purposes. Speaking of which, what’s the purpose of this new shipmate of mine?”
“He is to be a field correspondent. Newsom really put the screws to me during the last Council meeting. We can’t fly the mission unless we get back regular mission reports that will be of some value to the work we’re doing here.”
“Hmm… I see. We’ll find room for him. Or would you prefer he forward deploy with the Response Team?”
“No, he’s got to stay with you. He doesn’t have the training to keep up with the Response Team; he would only get in their way. Plus, you’ve got to teach him about working for me. Baby steps.”
Ranell nodded his head sagely.
David sat, feeling somewhat like livestock at an auction.
“Shall I assign him a position as the St. Paul’s official journalist? Or maybe as the title of historian would be more appropriate?” Ranell suggested.
“No…” The Rabban considered. “There’s going to be a ton of press coming at you. I’m expecting very high visibility, and I don’t want anyone to mistake Wilson here for a public affairs officer. Keep him away from any cameras! Better to give him something useful to do to make up for the weight he costs us. Do you have a stewardess position or something?”
Ranell caught the hurt look in David’s expression and neatly interrupted the Rabban’s train of thought and interjected, “I’ll assign him as the St. Paul’s steward.”
“Excellent. When are you going to get here?”
“We’re right on schedule, Rabban; ETA in sixteen hours.”
The Rabban signed out of the call without any form of goodbye and then made another video call. This time it was to the Human Resources Department at Tyropoeon Valley. Patricia Craigen’s face came on the screen, and in her customarily professional tone, she answered, “Good afternoon, Rabban. How may I assist you today?”
“I’m putting Wilson here on board the St. Paul. We’re creating a position for him; the title will be ‘Steward.’ Put him at crew member pay step…” The Rabban eyed David for a moment, sizing him up. “Pay step five.”
Who does this guy think he is? Lieutenant Rodriguez snarled. Somewhere in the distance David thought he could hear the sound of the guns beginning to talk. You can’t even get a word in edgewise with him. He’s not listening to you! David smashed the lieutenant’s objections down with a savage intensity. He was broke and he needed the money. David was familiar with the pay steps. He started working for Tyropoeon Valley at pay step one as a new hire and subsequently earned pay step two. Pay step five wasn’t a lot of money, but it did represent a significant increase that just might turn things around for him.
“Right away, Rabban.” Craigen didn’t appear to be the least bit surprised that the man she had just fired was now being hired on with a significant salary increase.
The Rabban turned his attention back to David, inquiring, “Any questions, Wilson?”
David had a lot of questions; his mind was whirling with questions, but all that came out was, “What about my court date?”
“Don’t worry about that.” The Rabban said dismissively. “Ms. Craigen, if you would be so kind as to contact the Umatilla County Sherriff’s office, or whatever agency is involved, and make the arraignments?”
“Yes, Rabban.”
“Oh, and make sure he has a passport.”
“Already started on it, Rabban.”
He hung up on her then, just as abruptly as he had on Ranell, and said, “Don’t worry, Wilson; we’ll have you back from Tanzania in plenty of time for you to appear in court. Your two minutes are up. You may leave now.”
Tanzania? David was unaccustomed to operating at such a frantic pace. He found his way awkwardly out of the leper’s house and began to walk back to his room in a haze of confusion.
Ranell’s face appeared on the screen again. “Was there something else, Rabban?”
“Josef, you should know that your new shipmate just got busted for a DUI with a stripper in his car.”
A dark look clouded the quartermaster’s face, but he remained silent.
“If you have even a hint of trouble with this guy, you are to dump him off the St. Paul immediately. If he gets drunk or messes with any of the local girls, then I don’t care if you drop him in the Congo or even in the ocean. Let him swim home for all I care.”
“I understand, Rabban.”