The Front Porch Prophet

A.J.’s mind traipsed back to the day after Thanksgiving, when he had brought a movable feast to the woebegone boys in the clearing-turkey and ham, dressing, boiled carrots, green beans, ajar of gravy, two pies, the remainder of the lime Jell-O for color, some Swedish meatballs, and one of Eugene’s absolute favorites, deviled eggs. Eugene was sitting in the clearing in the La-Z-Boy warming his toes at the fire when A.J. arrived. He looked rough.

“If that’s food, I don’t want any,” he said, gesturing at the plate. A.J. removed the foil wrapper and carefully selected a deviled egg. He popped it whole into his mouth and savored the morsel before speaking.

“I brought the dinner for Wormy,” he said as he placed the plate of eggs in Eugene’s lap. “I brought these for you.” Eugene hesitated a moment before choosing one of his own.

“This doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with you,” he mumbled around a mouthful of egg.

“Well, then, give it back,” A.J. said, reaching for the plate. Eugene shifted sideways to protect his treasure. His left hand came out from under the blanket with a.45 caliber automatic pistol, which he rested lightly on his lap next to the eggs.

“Expecting an attack?” A.J. asked.

“I just want to be ready in case the South rises again.”

They fell silent, and after a few minutes, Eugene fell asleep. A.J.

slipped the tray of eggs from his grasp and relocated all of the food to the kitchen. He wondered why Wormy and Rufus hadn’t been standing their watch when he arrived. He walked back to the middle of the clearing and chunked up the fire, then sat next to his sleeping brother. Suddenly, Eugene startled awake. His eyes were wild, and he looked pale and afraid.

“Easy,” A.J. said. The dramatic awakening had caught him by surprise.

“Shit,” Eugene said, voice quavering. He fumbled for the ever present bottle of bourbon and took an extended drink, then another. After a moment, he calmed.

“Bad dream?” A.J. asked, giving voice to the obvious.

“Real bad dream,” Eugene replied. He pulled back the slide on the.45 and checked his load. Satisfied, he placed the pistol back in his lap. “I’ve been dreaming about being dead. I don’t like it.”

A.J. nodded, granting the point of view. He wondered about the pistol, though. It was as if Eugene were awaiting an adversary, a physical entity he could fight. A.J. had no doubt that if the Grim Reaper walked into the clearing right now, Eugene would blow off both of his kneecaps before sending Rufus in to finish the job. Under those conditions the odds would be in Eugene’s favor, but it wasn’t going to work like that. Death would steal in like a mist on a moonless night. There was no defense. The fix was in, and no one got out alive.

“Do you think there’s a heaven?” Eugene asked. A.J. was unsure how to respond. He didn’t anticipate streets paved with gold, but he did believe in a reality after this one where the life force gathered. His grandmother was there now, and his mother. So he knew what he believed, but he didn’t know if it was what Eugene needed to hear.

“I think we go somewhere else when we finish here,” he said. “I’m not so sure it’s like the Bible says.”

“So you don’t think the Bible is right?” Eugene asked. “You don’t think God judges us, punishes and rewards us?” He seemed extremely interested, no doubt due to the fact that he would very soon be finding out for himself the true nature of the greater mysteries. A.J. groaned inwardly. Why in hell was Eugene consulting him on these matters? He ought to be talking to the Reverend Doctor Jensen McCarthy or someone else of like mind. Even Hoghead would be a better source of information on the mystic realms, once the menu was weeded out.

“I don’t know, Eugene,” he said, floundering. “I think that if there is a God like the one in the Bible, then there are too many things I can’t explain. How can He let a tornado wipe out a church full on Easter morning? How can He let a shit head like Hitler annihilate His chosen people? How can He allow a drunk driver to kill a baby?” These were the questions of the ages, and A.J. couldn’t answer them.

“You’re a lot of damn help,” Eugene noted.

“You’re asking the wrong guy,” he said lamely. “Do you want me to get a preacher up here?” It was a sincere offer. He was willing to go and bring one back by force, if necessary. Surely he could find a man of the cloth. If nothing else, he could hide at a church and grab the first one that came up.

“No.” Eugene looked at him. “I think it’s kind of like you think it is. There’s something after here, but I don’t know what. As for the Bible, there are a lot of things in there I can’t buy either. I guess everyone takes it as true because it’s so old. Hell, I bet if you buried a Penthouse for two thousand years, someone would think it was sacred when you dug it up.”