John Frum The Reluctant Messiah

One Fat Mystery Solved

There was an audible gasp from the group below when John's body left the top of the tower. With arms outstretched, the symbolism of a toppling cross was not lost on them. After all, for some, this was their Messiah. But halfway down his arms changed position. Unlike an Olympic diver whose hands would've been clasped above his head, they were pressed against his sides, rigid fingers pointing to his feet, literally diving headfirst into danger. 

For John it seemed like an eternity before he heard the thwack of the slack playing out as the vine reached its full length. He had underestimated just how jarring it would be to go from 143 miles an hour to a complete brick wall stop. It felt as if his entire skeletal structure was attempting to exit his body through his eyes. He hung there motionless, hands and arms still pressed to his sides with his eyes tightly shut. He feared that opening them would cause his eyeballs to fall out and roll away like two grapes on an uneven kitchen floor. 

Kwanteef placed his hands and the soles of his feet on the outside edge of the ladder and slid down its entire length at near free fall speed. He ran over to John, genuine concern on his face.

"How you, ful?"

A single leaf had stuck to John's nose. He opened his eyes and blew the leaf off. He managed a half smile.

"Alive," he groaned. "Get me down from here."

It was a success. In more ways than John knew. First, he survived...there's that. But the jump itself was unique to say the least. Most tribal members had witnessed hundreds of jumps over the years. The eerie silence of the dive itself followed by the sudden snap made when the vine reached its limit and then perhaps the most violent part, the erratic swinging of the body like a discarded rag doll until gravity slowed it to a stop. John's dive was no different except in its ending. There was the eerie silence, the snap of a taut vine but absolutely no recoil. None. Just a laws-of-physics-defying motionless end to his brief, fool-hardy journey leaving him completely still, as if suspended by a steel pole rather than a flexible jungle rope. The crowd was awestruck if not downright frightened at this miraculous sight. The moment of truth had arrived.

"Alright," he paused. "Who's with me!?" 

Dead silence. John looked about. Nothing but wide-eyed, gaped-mouthed dark faces.... blankly staring. 

"Well if this didn't do it," he thought, "then noth-"

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" 

The tribe erupted in a hellacious roar of approval, chanting, screaming, rushing towards him, raising John up above their shoulders like some high school quarterback who just threw an eighty-five yard game-winning touchdown. They ran with him atop their shoulders back into the village and were joined by hundreds of others. The sound was deafening. John had his defensive force. 

Professor Wharton came out to see what all the ruckus was about. The village immediately cleared the dusty center and began stacking wood in the huge fire pit. There was going to be a pep rally like no other. John dismounted his moving mosh pit and made his way through the throng to where the professor stood.

"Nice work," Professor Wharton said with a smile. "Even got Kwanteef to come along. Wow! Impressive! Used your persuasive personality I gather?"

"Uh...something like that... I know where my mother is," John said, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Professor Wharton eyed him intently and with a measure of uncertainty. That was the great thing about him. He never discounted or derided him out of hand. He almost always allowed him to speak out, to fully explain.  And then he discounted and derided him.

"How do you know?" he said.

"She gave me this." John reached into his shirt and pulled out the small satchel filled with tiny nautilus shells he had been wearing that hung from a leather strap around his neck "when I was...you know...in there."

Professor Wharton stifled a small gasp and reached out to touch them. The professor's eyes immediately welled up; his mouth partially open yet unable to speak.

"So, I'm gonna go get her. And I need you to be waiting for us."

Professor Wharton quickly gathered himself and asked, 

"But you don't know how long you'll be in there. This whole party is set to start pretty soon."

"You're right. But for you? It'll be pretty much right after I go in."

"True," conceded the Professor. "But things change in there. You could lose your way," he cautioned.

"You can lose your way in life too, but you know, eventually you find a way. Sometimes ya' just gotta risk it." John countered.

"Well, since we're talking about risking it...Before you go, why don't you tell Em how you feel?" 

John's face went white.

"Whadda you mean? How do I feel about what?" 

Professor Wharton scowled a bit. 

"I've seen how you look at her-how she looks at you."

John felt as if he had just been caught red handed doing...something. Something he shouldn't. Something seedy. Up until this point he genuinely believed his secret was safe and that he had done a remarkable job of masking any and all of his feelings, not only from her and the others, but from himself as well. And now it was like his subconscious had had one too many, and his inner voice was drunk texting his deepest, darkest thoughts to his entire contacts list for everyone to see. He was genuinely perplexed as to what to say or do next. 

"Look, I'm old but I'm not dead," Wharton assured him. "Tell her!" John was confused.

 "She's...my sister!" he said in hushed tones. "I think."

Professor Wharton laughed. Shaking his head, he laughed so hard he hung his head and reached out to support himself against a nearby tree.

"Not hardly! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"The picture, all that stuff you gave me... she had to be.... Not my sister?"

Professor Wharton was still laughing and shaking his head no.

"Not sister. No. Not...." he couldn't continue. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned and began walking away. 

"TELL HER!!" He yelled over his shoulder, still chuckling as he made his way towards the office.

Em had just finished up helping sort out a problem between a mother and a daughter, as she was known to do, had gathered up her stuff and began down the trail towards her hut. As she rounded the corner, John caught a glimpse of her long dark hair through the trees and went straight away to her. 

He caught up to her, grabbed her by the arm and spun her around, causing her backpack to fall to the ground. He looked deep into her eyes, lowered his head,

"You're not my sister."

He pulled her in by the small of her back, placed his hand gently on her cheek and deep kissed her. He held it until her body went limp, her arms fell to her sides and she was left quietly gasping for air. 

John turned and began to walk away, leaving her breathless. She shook her head.

"About damn time!" she said.

John turned back just in time to catch her as she jumped up to him, wrapped her tanned legs around his waist and planted a deep kiss of her own squarely on his mouth. It was a long held, passionate embrace of pent up chemistry. As they broke, her hand reached up and caressed his cheek. Staring into one another's eyes, they were breathing each other's breath, their lips barely touching.

"I... I gotta go," he said.

"Mmmm....me too."