I was given a choice between imprisonment in a solitary confinement situation or what they called "work therapy." The work therapy consisted of joining a gang of other political prisoners to do manual labor. Our specific job lay in razing old buildings in the slums of Los Angeles. For this we were paid three cents a day. But at least we stayed out in the sun. I chose that; it was better than being cooped up like an animal.
As I worked clearing broken concrete away, I thought, Nicholas and Sadassa are dead and immortal; I am not dead and I would not be immortal. I am different from them. When I die or am killed, nothing eternal in me will live on. I was not granted the privilege of hearing the AI operator's voice, that voice Nicholas spoke of so often, which meant so much to him.
"Phil," a voice called to me suddenly, breaking my reverie. "Knock off work and have lunch; we got half an hour." It was Leon, my buddy who worked beside me, a former plumber who'd been arrested for passing out some kind of mimeographed handbills he had created himself, a sort of one-man rebellion. In my opinion he was braver than any of us, a plumber working by himself in his basement at a mimeograph machine, with no divine voices to instruct or guide him, only his human heart.
Seated together, we shared sandwiches provided for us. They were not bad.
"You used to be a writer," Leon said, his mouth full of bologna and bread and mustard.
"Yep," I said.
"Did you belong to Aramchek?" Leon asked, leaning close to me.
"No," I said.
"You know anything about it?"
Two friends of mine belonged to it."
"They're dead?"
"Yes," I said.
"What's Aramchek teach?"
"I don't know if it teaches," I said. "I know a little about what it believes."
"Tell me," Leon said, eating his sandwich.
"They believe," I said, "that we shouldn't give our loyalty to human rulers. That there is a supreme father in the sky, above the stars, who guides us. Our loyalty should be to him and him alone."
"That's not a political idea," Leon said with disgust. "I thought Aramchek was a political organization, subversive."
"It is."
"But that's a religious idea. That's the basis of religion. They been talking about that for five thousand years."
I had to admit he was right. "Well," I said, "that's Aramchek, an organization guided by the supreme heavenly father."
"You think it's true? You believe that?"
"Yes," I said.
"What church do you belong to?"
"None," I said.
"You're a strange guy," Leon said. "Do the Aramchek people hear this supreme father?"
They did," I said. They will again, someday."
"Did you ever hear him?"
"No," I said. "I wish I had."
"The man says they're subversive. They're trying to overthrow Fremont."
I nodded. That is true," I said.
"I wish them luck," Leon said. "I might even be willing to run off some mimeographed flyers for them." Speaking in a hoarse, confidential voice, he muttered in my ear, "I got some of my flyers hidden away in my backyard, where I lived. Under a big rhododendron plant, in a coffee can. I espoused justice, truth, and freedom." He eyed me. "You interested?"
"Very much," I said.
"Of course," Leon said, "we got to get out of here first. That's the hard part. But I'm working on that. I'll figure it out. You think Aramchek would take me?"
I said to him, "Yes. I think they have already."
"Because," Leon said, "I really can't get anywhere alone. I need help. You say you think they've taken me already? But I never heard any voice."
"Your own voice," I said, "is that voice. Which they have heard through the ages. And are waiting to hear again."
"Well," Leon said, pleased. "How about that. Nobody ever said that to me before. Thank you."
We ate together in silence for a time.
"Did believing that, about a heavenly father, get them anywhere?" Leon asked presently.
"Not in this world, maybe," I said.
"Then I'm going to tell you something you maybe don't want to hear. If your Aramchek friends were here I'd tell them too. It's not worth it, Phil. It has to be in this world." Leon nodded firmly, his lined face hard. Hard with experience.
"They gained immortality," I said. "It was conferred on them, for what they did or even for what they tried to do and failed to do. They exist now, my friends do. They always will."
"Even though you can't see them."
"Yes," I said. "Right."
Leon said, "There has to be something here first, Phil. The other world is not enough."
I could think of nothing to say; I felt broken and feeble, my arguments used up during all that had happened to me. I was unable to answer.
"Because," Leon continued, "this is where the suffering is. This is where the injustice and imprisonment is. Like us, the two of us. We need it here. Now."
I had no answer.
"It may be fine for them," Leon said, "but what about us?"
"I -" I began. He was right and I knew it.
"I'm sorry," Leon said. "I can see you loved your two friends and you miss them, and maybe they're flying around somewhere in the sky, zipping here and there and being spirits and happy. But you and I and three billion other people are not, and until it changes here it won't be enough, Phil; not enough. Despite the supreme heavenly father. He has to do something for us here, and that's the truth. If you believe in the truth - well, Phil, that's the truth. The harsh, unpleasant truth."
I sat staring down mutely. -
"What's this," Leon said, "about the Aramchek people having something resembling a beautiful silver egg placed with care very secretly in each of them? I can even tell you how it enters - along the optic conduit to the pineal body. By means of radiation, beamed down during the time of the vernal equinox." He chuckled. "The person feels as if he's pregnant, even if it's a man."
Surprised that he knew this, I said, "The egg hatches when they die. It opens and becomes a living plasmatic entity in the atmosphere that never -"
"I know all that," Leon broke in. "And I know it's not really an egg; that's a metaphor. I know more about Aramchek than I admitted. See, Phil, I used to be a preacher."
"Oh," I said..
"That about the beautiful silver egg that's put into each of them that grows and hatches and guarantees immortality - that's in the Bible, Phil. Jesus speaks about it several times in different ways. See, the Master was talking so as to bewilder the multitude; it was only supposed to make sense to his disciples. Or rather, it made sense to everyone, but the real meaning was known only to his disciples. They guarded the secret carefully because of the Romans. The Master himself feared and hated the Romans. Despite their efforts the Romans killed them all anyhow, and the real meaning was lost. In fact, they killed the Master... but you know that, I guess. The secret was lost for almost two thousand years. But now it's coming back. The young men now, see, are having visions, and the old men, Phil, are dreaming dreams."
"There's nothing about silver eggs in the New Testament," I said.
„The pearl," Leon said emphatically, "of great price. And the treasure which is buried in the field. The man sells everything he has to buy the field. Pearl, treasure, egg, the yeast that leavens the mass all through - code words for what happened to your two friends. And the mustard seed that's so tiny but it grows to become a great tree that birds land on - birds, Phil, in the sky. And in Matthew, the parable about the sower going out to sow... some seeds fell on the edge of the path, some fell on patches of rock, some on thorns, but listen to this: Some fell in rich soil and produced their crop. In every case the Master says that's how the kingdom is, the kingdom which is not of this world."