John Frum The Reluctant Messiah

The Quiz

It should have come as no surprise to John that traffic on Hamilton Street would be so unrelenting. But here he was, sitting on a borrowed ten-speed waiting for that never-to-come break in traffic. He was close enough to see the outline of Professor Wharton, pacing as he policed his class through the University's second-story windows. But he might as well have been a million miles away. It was test day and he was late...again.

"Come on, come on, come on!" he said in exasperation. Glancing at his watch, the second hand taunted him with each faint tick, tick, tick, tick...

With his gaze fixed upon its face, he lowered his head ever so slightly and exhaled in one long, single, solitary breath. The second hand slowed and then with one final tick...

Stopped.

In complete silence, he entered traffic and began weaving his way miraculously through. It was as if he had somehow mapped out the space between his own molecules and those of the speeding cars around him, and skillfully navigated his way through it, matter through matter. It was the stuff of a Hollywood movie scene filmed in slow motion. An overhead drones-eye view of blurred cars whizzing in opposite directions and the laser-focused clarity of John pedaling forward unscathed. But it wasn't. It was real.

Suddenly popping out the other side, the otherworldly silence was replaced by the chaotic sounds of heavy traffic slamming back in as he sped towards the brick-framed stairway. Dismounting with the skill of a rodeo performer, John leaped from his bike. It continued forward, banging into the bike rack and in one last mini- miracle, managed to somehow remain perfectly upright in its slot.

Peering down from the lecture hall, Professor Wharton had witnessed the entire event. His expression however, was curiously blasé, almost annoyed. Surely not what one would expect from someone who had just witnessed an event that was nothing short of supernatural.

John took the stairs two at a time. Carefully opening the door and hoping to go unnoticed, he attempted to quietly melt into his seat.

"Ahhh! Mr. Ferrum. Consistency! A most admirable trait was it not for the fact that yours is being consistently late. You have exactly..." Professor Wharton looked at his watch. "Two and a half minutes to complete your quiz." He smiled and motioned to the quiz on John's desk. "Mr. Ferrum?"

John raised a finger, as to ward him off, his eyes in half-shut concentration. He began slowly at first and then with an ever increasing cadence, checked off each multiple-choice answer. Professor Wharton rolled his eyes, turned, and retreated to his podium.

One quick glance at John, he sighed and called out, "Time ladies and gentlemen."

The once quiet room erupted in the sound of scuffing chairs and chatter as the students filed towards the professor's desk. Each handed in the completed quiz and returned to their seats. John was last. Professor Wharton leaned in and quietly asked,

"I watched you nearly kill yourself- for this?" motioning towards the quiz.

"I knew I'd be ok," John said.

"How? How'd you know?" The professor tried to pin him down.

John shrugged. "I just...knew."

After a momentary stare between them, Wharton adjusted his glasses and turned his attention to the class.

"Alright, settle please." Rolling up his sleeves, he ran his hand through his thick, white hair that was in perpetual need of a trim and began his lecture. "Picking up from where we left off yesterday."

He headed to the overhead projector, flipped on the light, and adjusted the focus. Old black and white photos of the Cargo Cult sitting, waiting on a makeshift dirt airstrip came into view.

"So, we were discussing the Cargo Cult mentality as it pertains to business. Just as primitive societies mistakenly mimic the actions of a civilized society in expectation and hope of reaping its benefits- i.e., its cargo- so do modern businesses mistakenly expect similar benefits even when entire marketing strategies are built on assumed and often, flawed premises."

The professor sucked in a huge gulp of air in preparation for his next run-on sentence.

"If you build entire hypotheses on assumption or unproven fact-"

"Like Darwinism," John muttered under his breath.

Professor Wharton abruptly stopped and turned.

"Care to add Mr. Ferrum?" he said. John motioned no. "I insist, please!" the professor said, mockingly.

Seated next to John was his roommate, Ethan. Ethan, who came from money and suffered from black envy while simultaneously being black, shifted uncomfortably in his seat while whispering through his clenched, brilliantly white teeth.

"Oh, dear God in heaven! Don't. No. Don't! Just don't!"

"Like Darwinism," John responded boldly. "Cargo Cult science. All the trappings of real science but a lack of basis in honest experimentation."

Collective moans could be heard from the class that knew all too well how this would play out. Professor Wharton had a reputation for derailing many a lecture when given the opportunity to espouse Darwinism at every possible chance he had. Those who were the least bit savvy knew to avoid the subject at all cost.

"Theory presented as fact, when in reality, each fact is predicated on what could easily be, and most likely IS....a flawed premise. Mimicking science."

"Sort of like the way you took your quiz?" queried the professor. John looked puzzled.

"Your quiz." Professor Wharton motioned towards the stack on his desk. "You know, you 'mimicked' your more advanced, civilized, fellow students by checking off your answers and are now expecting to reap the same results of those who actually studied."

The class, feeling John was about to be owned, let out a series of oohs and stifled chuckles.

"I believe I did, uh...." John stammered.

"Let's test your theory. Let's check the answers, shall we?" replied the professor.

Professor Wharton placed John's answer sheet on the overhead projector's table and married it with the pre-punched holes of the answer grid. Almost every answer was wrong. John's look of confusion and disbelief was quickly wiped away by the sudden ringing of the class bell.

"Have a good weekend everyone" the professor bellowed.

Professor Wharton turned, rocked on his heels and stared out the large windows, his hands clasped behind his back. The boisterous class began gathering their things and shuffled out of the room and into the crowded hallway. The sudden contrasting silence as the heavy wooden door shut behind the last student assured him he was now alone.

The professor ambled over to the overhead and stood staring, looking down with eyes of both curiosity and dread at the answer grid. With one last, reassuring glance towards the door, he nonchalantly placed a finger on the bottom of the grid. Hesitating, he pushed the answer grid up slowly so that now, both top edges were correctly aligned. His eyes narrowed as he peered at the bright image on the screen. Every single answer was right. Without so much as an ounce of astonishment, only the subtle raising of an eyebrow, the professor sighed and flipped the projector's light switch to black.