The Divide
Adapted from Michael’s Journal
For He shall give His angels charge over you,
to keep you in all your ways.
to keep you in all your ways.
In their hands, they shall bear you up, lest you dash your foot
against a stone.
~ Psalm 91:11-12 (NKJV)
e
Chapter 1
Angel enclave in Petra; half-past three in the afternoon.
 |
Gabriel had been keeping his eyes peeled on the visual display monitor from the time the Halfling, Mishael, was consigned to time in an infirmary. He was to be detained for an indefinite time. I had been keeping my mind occupied with administrative matters since my resolve to retain Mishael here, in the remotest reaches of Petra.
The city of Petra had been ceded to Israel with the dissolution of the Islamic caliphate led by the toxic Muslim Brotherhood, the dissolution of which saw the Jewish nation extend her national borders beyond her extant territories. It was a condition of the peace accord between Israel and the world, ratified by Antichrist after the Gog-Magog War. One of the Lord’s military outposts situated outside an expanded Jerusalem, Petra was a scenic mountain retreat, site of our Headquarters and army barracks, hospitals, library and archive, among others. A large chasm separated Mishael’s infirmary from the angels’ garrison where Gabriel and I had established our base.
“He’s stirring,” Gabriel informed me.
I avoided the monitor, thinking to myself, Of course, he would be stirring. He couldn’t be sleeping all his life.
I felt Gabriel’s hand on my forearm.
“Michael,” he said attentively, “do you hear me? He’s coming to himself – our child.”
“Yes, old friend,” I replied, reeling my chair toward the visual display unit. “I heard you the first time.”
Gabriel glared at me. “Did you think you could actually avoid him the entire time he was going to be there?” he asked.
I shook my head. “He’s my son, Riel,” I responded. “You’ve stated it many times: Mishael’s my pride and joy. And he is. He is my pride and joy. I don’t, for even a moment, take pleasure in being separated from him.”
“Well, Mika, that’s reassuring,” my colleague stated. “I was starting to have my reservations, considering the way you appeared to be avoiding the child since his internment in the infirmary.”
“I assure you, Riel, your doubts have been misplaced,” I replied. “I’m not avoiding the child. I’m aware that he needs my attention; I’m not turning my back on him. But it’s up to him to take the initiative to ask me for help. Until he does, I’m going to let him have the space he’s implicitly requested. The child’s facing a crisis of emotion. I don’t entirely understand it but he’s expressly stated that he doesn’t want to talk about it with me. I intend to give him the space he wants, as I just said. I’m still taking responsibility for him, of course; that’s not going to change. However, I’d like you to be the one to tend to his daily needs, if and when he has a need, at least for the time being.”
“Of course, old friend,” Gabriel nodded. “I told you I would. Just don’t drag out this disagreement you’re having with Mishael. Don’t forget: he’s a human being – a human being with angelic powers, but a human being nonetheless. He may not always say what he means. In his present state of confusion, he may not even realize it. What’s more, he has very little experience of the world. He may not always make the wisest of decisions. I mean, he may not always know what’s good for him.”
I nodded, appreciating my tender friend’s advice. We returned our attention to my son whose movements were being played out in the electronic images of the monitor screen before us. All at once, he sat up violently.
Patience, Little One, I advised.
Little One, Fledgling, Youngling, Boy, Child – this assortment of monikers was each one an unsettling misnomer, for Mishael had been created a fully mature being with the appearance of a twenty-four year-old man. Nevertheless, they were epithets that represented angeldom’s everlasting affection toward him. Like my peers, I had, lately, been gravitating toward adopting these epithets for him, often to his chagrin.
The Little One hearkened to my telepathic advice, taking his time to survey his chamber. This was a second-storey self-containing floor-through outfitted with a lounge suite, kitchenette, and bed and bathroom facilities – modest but hardly spartan by any standard. Mishael had been comfortably set up and had no reason to complain.
He next examined the security cameras around him. He counted three and, then, momentarily glared at the camera above him. In that brief moment, I felt my apprehension grow.
He scowled at me before turning his attention to the intravenous drip in his arm. He carefully removed it. As he did, something caught his eye. For a brief time afterward, he was inspecting his left wrist and right ankle: both had been fitted with radio frequency bracelets.
No, he whispered telepathically, with a sense of knowing.
He bounded from his bed, barely avoiding tripping over the wooden trunk at the end of it: “No, no, no, no, no.”
He floundered at the door, figured out the way to unlock it using his wrist bracelet, and tore recklessly through it.
“Here we go,” Gabriel said.
“Go after him,” I requested, “before he hurts himself.”
No sooner was my request given than I found Gabriel at the centre of the CCTV monitor, swooping up and down the tessellated runway after our child.
But Mish – for that was our soubriquet for him – would kill his impulsive dash at the last minute; he was inches shy of skidding off the runway and down the steep cliff. At least, if nothing else, his instincts for apprehending the presence of an impending danger, and removing himself from it, were still intact.
My fingers curled into a fist as I thought, at this juncture, that I was going to have to stop the madness and bust him out of this prison of my making. He had been that close to plunging three hundred metres into the rugged terrain below him.
Mish was looking in horror at the tiers of cirque under his feet.
“Banishment?” he cried, realizing where he was. Turning to the sky, he yelled at me: “Banishment? Seriously?”
He turned back and stormed off blindly, only to find himself scooped up and enveloped in Gabriel’s arms.
“Let go of me,” he shouted, rejecting the unappeasable embrace of his Commanding Officer, to whose unit he was attached as one of the Lord’s heavenly warriors.
“Stubborn child,” Gabriel admonished, prodding his underling into the living room. They had just landed outside Mish’s quarters after their short flight. “You could’ve been killed. Now settle down.”
The two warriors would be locked in a dour struggle of might and words after that, their arms wrestling each other, their wits engaged in a drawn-out shouting match.
Mish, inconsolable, howled furiously at the injustice; Gabriel, visibly straining to maintain his composure, repeatedly persuaded him with his carefully worded platitudes: it’s for your own good . . . you need this time to recuperate your strength . . . you’ve lost your bearings . . . get your thoughts and emotions straightened out . . . meditate on your past . . . contemplate your future . . . focus on the will of the Father . . .
I gripped the space between my eyes and squeezed it while I emitted a cheerless sigh. For the simple truth of the matter was that the dear heart had been brutalized and was now running scared. Of course, I loathed seeing any of my brothers in pain and confusion.
“How long?” Mish asked angrily. “How long have I been here? Tell me.”
“A week,” Gabriel replied.
“A we . . . are you both out of your minds?” Mish raged, his face red, his voice trembling. “Are you both out of your minds? You can’t take me as your prisoner. Don’t I get a say?”
In a battle between an angel and a human being, of course, the angel always won out. Mish, all human now, for I’d had his newly-restored wings clipped, soon tired and resigned himself to being in captivity. He withdrew from Gabriel to curl up on the couch.
“A week,” he whispered. “I lost another week.”
I thought again of his wings. Is there going to be another episode when he finds out that I’m the hardnosed overlord that has perpetrated all this injustice toward him? I wondered. I was, after all, his sworn protector.
He had graciously let me off the hook; there had been no episode, at least nothing of the kind of histrionic he had displayed moments ago.
“How much longer am I going to be confined here?” he asked Gabriel.
“That’s Michael’s call,” Gabriel replied. “You’ll be released when he’s sure you’re safe from all harm.”
The child crossed his arms over his eyes: “I want to be alone now. Please, Gabriel, let me be.”
Gabriel nodded. “I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning,” he stated, vanishing through one of the walls.
Gabriel was instantly at Headquarters, about eight kilometres across the gorge from our ancillary facilities where Mishael’s infirmary was housed.
“I’m sorry you had to be the one to inform the child of his time in solitude,” I informed my comrade-in-arms who was approaching me. “That wasn’t pleasant at all.”
“It wasn’t the homecoming I would’ve wanted for the child,” he replied.
The child mounted his lambaste all of a sudden. “Wait a minute,” he cried. “You’re apologizing to Gabriel? What about me?”
The child’s pleas had tugged at our heart strings, which, of course, occasioned our immediate return to the CCTV monitor.
“Don’t you think you should be apologizing to me, Michael?” Mish continued, rising from his couch. “This isn’t exactly pleasant for me either.”
“Mishael,” Gabriel rebuked. “You need to calm down.”
“No, Gabriel,” Mish retorted, glaring up at the camera above him. “I don’t need to calm down. I believe I’m already reasonably calm, under the circumstances. What I do need is for Michael to listen to me. I know he can see me. I know he can hear me. Just as clearly as I can hear both of your thoughts, even if I can’t see either of you. Why won’t you talk to me, Mika? Why won’t you listen to me?”
I am listening, Mishael, I interjected telepathically.
“Oh, finally,” the Little One said, his voice shaking but softening. “Please hear me out, all right? I’m asking you . . . no, I’m begging you, not to do this to me. I don’t belong here. You know I don’t. You can’t hole me up here with whackos and lunatics. And war criminals. It would be wrong to keep me here. And, there’s no one else here that I can talk with. I’ll lose my mind. I don’t do isolation. I’ll go mad. Say something, Michael. Why are you silent? And what did you do to my wings? Why can’t I transform? You’re punishing me. Why? What’s my infraction? What did I do? What did I do, Mika? Answer me, please. I don’t understand.”
“Mish,” Gabriel remarked, “will you stop and listen to your own rant? If this is what we’ve been training you to be about, then we’ve certainly failed. This is not like you at all.”
“What am I supposed to be like, then?” the child replied. “And what have you been training me for? I’m not a hero. I proved this two weeks ago. Why didn’t you warn me about Abaddon? Why did you tell me instead that I’d never encounter any of the Fallen Ones in battle?”
“All right, Mishael,” I interposed, cutting my son off. “You’ve had your say and now I want you to listen to me. I’ve paid attention to every word of your harangue, but you’ve given me no reason to believe you’ve retained a rational state of mind in order to engage in a discussion with either of us that isn’t dictated by subjective reasoning and emotions. Furthermore, nothing you’ve said has given me any reason to believe that, right now, you value your life and desire its preservation; for instance, you’ve mentioned nothing about retracting your avowal to self harm. Now, Gabriel’s already made it clear to you: you will be released when I’m certain you’re not going to harm yourself. And when you’re ready to be honest and talk about what it is that’s making you so afraid that you’d choose death over life – and I pray fervently that I never again have to hear you make anymore unqualified references to the ‘whackos, lunatics and war criminals’ here – when you’re ready to talk honestly about it, let me know.”
“No, no, wait,” he cried. “Please, wait. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to berate anyone here and I’m sorry. But you haven’t been listening. I can’t be here. You know of my history. You know of my past. You know I cannot be here. I don’t want to be here.”
“That’s not up to you,” I explained softly. “You gave up the right to decide what’s good for yourself when you made your pronouncement to end your life. As far as your life, and how long you get to live, it’s the Lord’s will and good pleasure to determine. And I shall abide by the Lord’s will all the time. The Lord has placed your welfare under my aegis – and apropos my responsibility for your welfare, it’s my decision that you remain here under our observation for an indefinite time. How long you remain here is going to be entirely up to you. That’s all.”
I walked away from the monitor. It was all I could do to avoid losing my resolve and my mind.
Gabriel caught me: “He made a valid appeal to his past. He’s every right to be fearful about being on his own.”
I nodded: “I’m aware of it. But he’s not really on his own. And the issue of his past may or may not resurface.”
“The infirmary is bordered by large crevasses,” he reminded me. “We’d be risking his safety should it resurface.”
 |
| "The infirmary is bordered by large crevasses." |
“It’s why he’s there,” I explained. “There are surveillance cameras around a four-mile radius of the infirmary. Our child’s being monitored every second and everywhere.”
My colleague shook his head at me. Then, with resignation, he sighed sorrowfully: “All right, then, Big Brother. I pray you know what you’re doing.”
He strode toward the monitor and kept his back to me for the rest of the day.
Night fell on Mishael’s first day of solitude. I returned to the monitor and watched him finally crawl dejectedly into bed. For a long time he couldn’t sleep. He kept his gaze fixed on the camera above him, watching me watching him.
A bit after midnight I heard his thoughts: Fine, Michael, you win. I hope you’re satisfied. I’m tired; I’m done begging. I’ve nothing more to say, not till you release me from this prison.
And there it was, dear reader – how the elders’ beloved son had come to erect this fortress of silence around him. And true to his word, he was not to utter another sentence to us again.
Dawn broke bringing with her the son of Sol. It was autumn but gloriously warm outside. My mood, however, was brought low upon inspecting the monitor screen just after noon.
The child’s bed had been slept in: the sheets were rumpled and the comforter and bedspread left in an untidy mound on the floor. Beside the bed, on the nightstand, were his dinner plate and this morning’s breakfast tray. Neither had been touched.
“How long is he planning to keep this up?” I asked Gabriel beside me.
Gabriel shrugged. “His refusal to eat and talk, you mean? It’s anyone’s guess. It’s been three days since he awoke from his induced coma but he’s not adjusting or coping well. You realize this is extremely infuriating for the angel, Shelumiel, and his team, don’t you? It’s a waste of our limited wherewithal to prepare three meals for him that all end up in the incinerator. You realize that it’s not a piece of cake weighing one resident’s economic needs against another’s, and getting it wrong?”
“What do you suggest?” I asked gravely. “That we enable his protests? Everyone here gets three meals. I’m not about to deprive him of his share.”
Mish was exiting from the shower. He’d been trying for the second time to transform himself.
“It’s not going to happen,” Gabriel chided. The child’s eyes funnelled on the camera above him.
Gabriel continued: “If you couldn’t change yesterday, you wouldn’t be able to change today or tomorrow or the next day. Not till Michael unclips your wings. Get used to it.”
“Try sugar coating it a little less,” I reproached my friend. “What’s the matter with you? What’s going on?”
Gabriel pointed at the monitor. “Look at him,” he urged.
I did. The laden one had withdrawn to his corner of the living room – jittery and crouching, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arm repeatedly tossing a tennis ball against the wall, like a mindless automaton.
“Do you see what he’s doing?” Gabriel asked. “He’s punishing us. That’s right. He’s hurt and he’s punishing us. We simply cannot do this to him – isolating him like he’s some common criminal. It scares him to be alone, to be made to feel as if he’s being punished for something he doesn’t understand. All this is backfiring on us, for in just a few days, we’ve reduced him to a nervous wreck. This is not panning out the way you’re hoping.”
I shook my head. “You don’t know any of that. Besides, it’s still early. In time, he’ll come to his senses. He’ll come to realize he’s nothing to be afraid of, and we’re always going to have his back. It’s as much for him as it is for me, this time-out. He’s right, you know – I did fail to prepare him for combat with the Fallen Ones. He’s in this place now because of my failure. I can’t fail him again.”
“Stop,” Gabriel reasoned. “We had legitimate reasons for not equipping anyone of our Halflings with the skills to confront the Fallen Ones. We had always believed the Halflings should be prevented from meeting Lucifer and his demons in battle. We had always believed that was the Lord’s will. You know that. What’s more, we did our best to find the child, from the very moment we lost communication with him. When are you going to accept this?”
I shut off the monitor. “When he’s safe from himself,” I answered.
“He’s a human being, Michael,” Gabriel continued, his tone insistent. “Let him be a human being. Let him . . .”
“What?” I asked, labouring to sustain my patience. “Let him loose? Let him proceed with his plans to take his own life. Is that what you’re suggesting? You know that’s what he intends to do, don’t you? He told me this himself. And he meant it. You might as well give me permission to kill him myself. Is this what you wanted to say?”
“No,” Gabriel replied, looking deflated. “I was going to say let him have his freedom. Let him find his own way back to himself.”
“I can’t do that, Riel,” I maintained. “You’re asking me to feed him to wolves. And where’s he going to go? Back to New Canaan, where all this first began. He’ll be eaten alive there. You know as much as I do: New Canaan is changing; the risks there are too great for Mish now. Besides, he’s still too frail to be thrust back into that bear pit so soon.”
Gabriel’s spirit slumped further. He turned away. I caught his arm and put my hand on his neck. “He’s just a child,” I reminded him.
My coeval shook his head. “If you think this is his difficult phase, wait till he grows an adolescent temperament. Mish is not going to stay innocent for long, Michael. He’s seeing things, experiencing things that we haven’t told him about . . . or trained him for. Of course, he’s going to have fears. Of course, he’s going to have questions.”
I nodded, understanding: “That’s precisely the point. He’s scared and he’s helpless to look after himself. It’s up to us, then, to look after him, ensure he’s safe – not just from the Fallen Ones but also from himself. He has to learn that he has no reason to fear Abaddon or any of the Fallen Ones. He’s already been harmed in the worst possible way, Riel. I won’t let him come to harm again. Not by demonic hands, and certainly, not by his own hands.”
“How did we descend to this place, to this state of being polarized where Mish is concerned?” Gabriel stated candidly, which staggered me. He rarely wore his emotions on his sleeves. He added: “It has to stop.”
I nodded, appreciating his concern: “I apologize, Riel. I sincerely apologize. I don’t like being at cross-purposes with you as well. As for Mish, we must commit him to the Lord’s will. We’re going to sort this out, dear friend; all of us. We’re going to restore things to the way they were before we had him posted to New Canaan, all right? I give you my word.”
He smiled sadly: “God willing it shall be so. I have an assessment class to proctor just before I depart for Qatar later this evening. I’ll be back shortly.”
I nodded but my mind was already wandering. I was being transported to a different time and atmosphere three years ago, indeed, to a different circumstance in my odyssey to earth that began fifty-four months ago. It was a happier circumstance – the day my life changed completely.
It was the day I adopted a human child.
The Divine Council assembly was adjourned. I returned to our garrison, my heart filled with an indescribable sense of pleasure.
“What induces you to such joy?” Gabriel asked. “Has the Lord given you good news concerning our growing family?”
I nodded toward the barracks. “Yes, it’s excellent news, in fact. The Lord’s newest creative work is now complete. The Halfling’s already waiting for us. We must make haste toward the barracks.”
Arriving at the barracks, Gabriel and I let ourselves into the Halfling’s quarters. This was the youngest and last of Jehovah’s creation, and he was perfect.
The Halfling’s eyes opened as he heard our arrival. He turned his head toward the door. Then, he sat up on his bunk bed.
I approached him and knelt down before him. I clutched his hands in mine.
“You’re Michael,” he said, with knowledge that was from the Lord. He was articulate, speaking with fluency our language, the language of heaven’s angels. “You’re an angel, the Lord’s chief minister.”
Turning next to Gabriel, he smiled again, his face imbued with the love of his Creator: “You’re the angel, Gabriel. You’re the Lord’s chief messenger.”
I clasped his face, proffering several kisses on his cheeks. “My child,” I stated. “Welcome to the family of the Lord, the Creator of heaven and earth.”
“Tell us what you know about yourself,” Gabriel requested, squatting down beside me.
“I’m a human being,” he replied. “But I don’t know my name.”
“Yes, you’re a human being; henceforth you shall be known as Mishka Benrubi,” I told him. “But you’re also an angel.”
I raised him up with me. I led him to the oval mirror in the corner of the room. “You’re an angel of the Lord,” I added.
“I’m an angel of the Lord,” he parroted tentatively, inspecting his reflection in the tortoise shell-sheathed mirror in front of him. I stood back to give him some room.
The newly-created Halfling looked back in the general direction. He scowled apprehensively. I nodded toward him, offering him my encouragement.
“Go on. You know who and what you are,” I told him.
He shut his eyes, turning back to the mirror. Gabriel and I stood in complete stillness, poised to witness our child’s angelic reveal.
The revelation commenced in the instant of his opening his eyes.
Reflected, first and foremost, in the full-length mirror were the copious feathers of his white wings. The wings extended upward and outward from his shoulder blades and back. They were immense, blowing a minuscule squall into the room as they expanded.
The upper coverts and linings of the wings assailed the mirror next, and these were the white of the callas lily. Inlays of a silver patina formed a network of interlacing patterns in the speculum and secondary linings, which appeared to twinkle when the reflection from the light of the fluorescent lamp above us would bounce off their smooth surfaces.
The trailing edges of his feathers were tints of platinum and the feathers skimmed the heels of his bare feet. In their full expression, the axillars of his wings ascended over the top of his head. I observed his chestnut-brown hair as well: this had lightened to a golden blond and lengthened to sit just above his shoulders.
The minutes-old fledgling turned toward us. He stood about thirteen inches taller than his human height.
“I’m an angel – an angel of the Lord,” he smiled, speaking with confidence this time, and with a voice that had been imbibed with a quality of sound that was both sonorous and ethereal.
I nodded: “You’re a Warrior Angel. In the coming weeks, you will learn to serve the Lord in His army. Henceforth you shall be called Mishael, for you shall grow to be like the Lord in character and conduct, and you shall be a man after my own heart.”
Gabriel handed him his surplice and taught him how to put it on. Then, gathering him into his arms, he kissed the latter on his cheeks.
“Welcome to the Lord’s family,” he said. “Come with me now. It’s time to present you to the elders and the rest of your family in the Lord.”
“I must first go to the holy sanctuary of God,” the fledgling demurred, delighting my heart.
“The holy sanctuary of God?” the elder asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “I must go to worship the Lord. I must speak with the Lord. There is a place of worship I can go to do this, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” I nodded, “of course, there is a place of worship here. And, of course, you must spend time with the Lord first.”
Michael.
A voice reached my ears, transporting me back to the present.
“Hmm,” I grunted.
I found Gabriel seated beside me, curiously observing me.
“Back already,” I said to him.
“Your mind was far away,” he commented.
I nodded. “I was reflecting on the day Mish joined our family.”
“Ah,” he sighed.
“He was perfect,” I ruminated, turning absent-mindedly on my swivel chair. “From that first day, from the time he was created. And now this. It’s like a blemish.”
“He’s a human being,” Gabriel demurred, rising from his chair. “Not a blemish. And he’s growing up. I must hasten to Qatar now. There’s a great harvest of souls there, in fact, in most of Asia Minor. Since the collapse of Islam, many have come to realize that they had embraced a false religion. There’s a hunger for the truth that’s written in Holy Scriptures. I’m bringing to them the truth of the Lord Jesus’ death on the cross for the forgiveness of their sins. My troops, Jerel and Jekuthiel, are on standby at Control Headquarters. I wanted to let you know.”
I acknowledged the Commanding General, speeding him on his way; but how uncharacteristic of him to miss my point like that. Indeed, there was a time – before the Halflings – when we agreed about everything. Nevertheless, I wasn’t going to pursue the matter further with him.
I tapped the end of my pen against my temple: there was something in the equation that we were missing. Certainly, the child had stared death in the face. That kind of encounter would change almost anyone. Anyone but Mishael, for he had been the bravest and, until now, the most tenacious of his generation. Something else had to have happened to him of which we were not aware, something more formidable than just his physical afflictions. That something was hidden, even from the child himself.
For the time being, however, I would have to keep my hunches to myself. I would have to observe the child more vigilantly.
Behind me, someone was clearing his throat, derailing my train of thoughts. I found him waiting by the door. He was the Halfling, Qael. Leader of the angelic chorus, Qael – Kaelan – was directing a special cantata to celebrate the kindred’s observance of the Feasts of Trumpets and Tabernacles all month. Mish had first chair in Kaelan’s choir. I spent the next hour in conversation with Kaelan concerning my child’s availability to perform in the cantata. At the end of the discussion, I had my son’s chair replaced by the half-angel, Eliel. Under the circumstances, I felt that it was the best decision for Qael’s choir. And Eliel was a suitable substitute for Mish since both played the violin and both were tenors.
That was only one of several changes which were going to be made that involved my son.
