Chapter One — The Interview
There are many ways for a young man to discover that the world is not arranged according to his expectations. Some learn it through war, some through marriage, and some—though it seems hardly fair—through a private interview with a man who speaks directly to God.
Jerry Wonder was nineteen years old when he was introduced to the last of these.
He had polished his shoes twice, said three prayers of increasing urgency, and made a quiet promise to the Almighty that whatever happened in that office, he would tell the truth.
He hoped the truth would be sufficient.
The hallway outside Apostle Hollar Nimbell’s office was narrow, dignified, and entirely unsympathetic to human anxiety.
A door opened.
“The Apostle will see you now.”
Jerry rose in a manner that suggested confidence, though he did not feel it, and entered.
Apostle Hollar Nimbell sat behind a desk large enough to suggest authority and old enough to prove it. He did not stand. He did not smile. He regarded Jerry as a man might regard a document he was about to approve, amend, or reject.
“Do you accept me,” the Apostle said, “as a prophet, seer, and revelator?”
Jerry had imagined a greeting. Perhaps even a handshake. What he received instead was a question that seemed to have only one correct answer and no room for hesitation.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
The Apostle nodded once, as if something invisible had been confirmed.
“Good.”
He selected a book from a neat stack, opened it, signed his name with practiced authority, and handed it across the desk.
Get Thee Behind Me, Satan!
“Sixth printing,” said the Apostle.
Jerry accepted it as though it were both a gift and a test, which it may well have been.
“Thank you, sir.”
They bowed their heads for a brief prayer. Jerry participated with sincerity and a certain caution, as one does when addressing a Being who may be listening more closely than usual.
When they raised their heads, the Apostle leaned forward.
“You’re from a farming community,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we must speak plainly.”
Now Jerry had been raised to expect plain speech in matters of consequence, but he had not expected it quite so soon.
“Have you,” said the Apostle, “ever engaged in sexual activity with barnyard animals?”
It is difficult to describe the precise effect of this question upon Jerry Wonder, though it may be said that it rearranged his understanding of the interview in a single instant.
“No, sir,” he said.
The Apostle studied him with interest.
“Not even a chicken?”
“No, sir.”
Jerry had never before considered the matter, and found it strange that he should now be required to deny it with such emphasis.
“I ask,” the Apostle continued, “because some young men—particularly those raised among livestock—have been known to experiment.”
“I have not experimented,” Jerry said.
This, he felt, was the safest possible position.
The Apostle seemed satisfied, or at least willing to proceed.
“What about personal conduct with young women?”
Jerry felt the ground shift again, though more gently this time.
“I have been careful,” he said.
“Careful,” repeated the Apostle. “That is a useful word. Define it.”
Jerry considered.
“Respectful,” he said.
The Apostle nodded slowly, as if the answer had merit but might yet be improved.
“Did you ever touch her breasts?”
Jerry had suspected that the interview might grow personal. He had not suspected it would do so with such efficiency.
“A little,” he said.
“And you felt?”
“Sorry,” said Jerry, selecting what he believed to be the correct emotion.
“Good,” said the Apostle. “That is the Devil leaving you.”
This was encouraging, as Jerry had not known the Devil had arrived.
They continued in this fashion for some time, advancing through matters that Jerry had previously considered private, but now understood to be—at least temporarily—shared.
At length, the Apostle leaned back.
“You are not to discuss this conversation,” he said. “It is not secret. It is sacred.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jerry made a note, mentally, that sacred and secret could sometimes resemble each other closely enough to cause confusion.
He left the office holding the signed book, which now seemed heavier than before.
Outside, the air felt different. Not fresher, exactly. But larger.
He walked slowly, considering what he had learned.
First, that the path to spiritual service might include questions he had never imagined.
Second, that the truth, while useful, required careful handling.
And third—though he would not have admitted it aloud—that whatever the future held, it was unlikely to be dull.