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The Hindenberg

from Kingdom of God

By Antonio JacobsPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
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For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 14:17)

The Hindenburg was neither crowded nor empty. Getting a seat at the Hindenburg required no prior reservation; you simply showed up. For the adventurous, there was a rope bridge connecting the floating restaurant to the ground. It was impossible to determine how high up the dirigible hovered. One could literally spend the day in travel getting there. The view was spectacular – you could see everything in all directions, which made the agoraholics mad with pleasure. If you were in a hurry, though, you took the balloon. This was a different pleasure, although a bit disconcerting at first, especially for those who perished under combustable circumstances.

Those who died on the Hindenburg, for example.

Many people took the bridge, while many others preferred the balloon. A matter of taste, really. And, after your meal, some diners capped the evening off with freefall. Parachute or no, the thrillseekers loved it to death.

The Menu was adjusted three times daily. Diners had such a variety, it was staggering in its scope, excessive in its exhaustiveness. And yet the Menu changed. You could say it changed by the meal; breakfast, lunch and dinner – save for the delicious Buttermilk Pancakes with brandied syrup and fresh berries, or chicken pot pie or Key Lime Pie. Those items were always available.

The Kitchen was a marvel of any time period, containing any and every modern and historical conveyance, and some items in particular designed personally by the head chef. Sub-Zeros and cold rooms, Viking stoves and brick ovens, huge butcher blocks made from cedar, ceramic and marble, countertops made from besalt and ten-inch thick glass. The pantry and meat lockers were so full, so much as to allow easy access without the concern of running low. This made menu adjustment a pleasure, as the kitchen staff of thirty-three culinary masters had every ingredient at their disposal.

The head chef hardly ever left the kitchen. Like some mad scientist recruited to be a field sargeant, the head chef barked out orders, sampled plates and tinkered with devices. The kitchen of the Hindenburg was hot, yet not uncomfortably so, even though the vehicle’s flames leaped above their heads like a storm. The head chef was everywhere watching everything. After all, rumor has it, there was another restaurant to beat. The head chef had never seen the kitchen on the Titanic, but it was legend. So, no rest for the weary, Chop! Chop! People are hungry!

The kitchen was so active, spoilage was never an issue. Plates at the warming stand were never there long because the waitstaff was exceptional. The maitre ‘d was a Frenchman adorned in bright red like a suicidal matador and his flair for the dramatic was evenly matched by a mercurial matter. His staff was in motion, taking orders, securing drinks and grabbing hot plates with controlled abandon, nearly before the command was made. If a restaurant was clockwork, the Hindenburg was a Tag Hauer.

And still the dirigible burned on.

A live band played in the background to an unoccupied dance floor. This was neither unusual or mundane; no one was dancing today.

“Have you ever been anywhere this fancy?” Mother Mary was placing her silky napkin in her lap, and reaching for hor d’oueves.

“Yeah. I was with my momma. We went to a wedding, and the reception was at this hotel in Central. That was nice, but this... is unbelievable.” For the first time in Tyrone Johnson’s adult life, the urge to light and smoke a cigarette was suppressed. It was a marvelous sensation.

Leroy was speechless.

“Who’s footing the bill for this shindig? Hey, garçon! I want shrimp cocktail, bruschetta and Moet to start. Be quick – there’s a tip on the line!” The Atheist waited for his answer.

“There is no bill. Heaven has no economic structure; people do what they want, when they want because the obstacles that curtail free will are gone. Everyone is equal here.”

“That’s a load, Charlie. Are you telling me that if I give the waiter here a one hundred dollar bill, he won’t care?”

“No. What I’m saying is, the waiter will accept the hundred, be pleased by it, and continue to do what makes him happy. Which, in this case, is be a waiter.”

“Yeah? Well, I like making money, and I like to spend it. I'm gonna get something good on this jukebox,” and the Atheist walks over to the band with a wad of cash in his hand and song requests in his head.

Jason stirred. “Why is he here?”

“For the same reason you’re here, my peer,” Charlie replied. “You’re needed.”

“But he’s oblivious!”

“No,” said Mary, “just because he doesn’t believe in God, doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe in anything. He probably has a stronger belief system than all of us combined.”

“Would he have wound up here on his own?”

“Well, Tyrone, he would have made it here eventually, but certainly not here with us. Heaven is a very big place, you know. Point out a member of the Hell’s Angels, and you’ll have it figured.”

“Charlie -” Jason began.

“Man!” the Atheist returned to his seat and was greeted by his starters, “those musicians are great! They knew the songs I wanted before I even called them! Better than Letterman’s! Lemme see that bottle – Holy Cow! Is that even possible?!? Oh well, I ‘m not paying for it, right?”

Leroy said nothing.

“Now,” Charlie began, “I know you all have your preconceived notions about all this. And I know that you may be a little disorientated by it all-“

Leroy stirred.

“But understand, I handpicked you for this. You were chosen. So, no matter what it is you think you know, your purpose is here. Jason understands, don’t you?

“No, but I’m beginning to.”

Charlie paused. “Mary? Will you participate?”

“Yes.”

Charlie blinked. He expected more resistance.

“Tyrone?”

“Yeah, man. Whatever. Me and ‘Roy are on board.”

“I dunno, man.”

Leroy looked up and stared at his lifelong friend.

“I mean, I really don’t know about this. Frankly, this is all some fucked-up shit in my opinion.”

“Dammit, Leroy,” Tyrone fumed, “The nun’s right there!”

“And that’s my point, yo!” Leroy placed his hands palm faced down on the table. “No lightning strikes, we’re trying to kill niggas with no consequence – “

“No, no, no,” Charlie interrupted. “There is indeed a consequence. But this consequence is a good one. And I only want you to kill one nigga, for the record.”

Leroy had run out of things to say.

“Look,” Charlie continued, “my job is not to convince you to do anything. I am to recruit you, I am to train you, and I am to deploy you. That’s it.”

“No, that’s not it. You’re invested in it.” The Atheist comment was offhand, between smacks of shrimp and cocktail sauce.

“You already told us who you are, remember? You are not removed from anything.” “What – you told me you and I are alike,” Jason said.

“My being Lucifer’s son has nothing to do with this,” Charlie replied. “And you and I are alike, Jason – our mothers are both human.”

Tyrone guffahed. “Man, I don’t believe. Baby mamma drama in heaven!”

Leroy was jumpstarted. “So are we special?”

Charlie smiled, and Leroy realized how much he hated that smile. “Of course you are, Leroy. That’s why you were chosen.”

“Cut the crap, Charlie,” said the Atheist. “Answer him the right way.”

Charlie sighed. “No. You are not special in the way that Jason is special. But you are just as important. In fact, I can’t do this without you.”

Leroy was uncomfortable. “What if I say no?”

Jason answered. “’No’ is not really an option here.”

“Sure it is,” said the Atheist. “I say NO all the time. Oh, yes, please.” The waiter freshened his glass.

“If you say no, then you are on your own. No help, no guidance. You’ll have to figure it out all by yourself. Now, if you were in Mother Mary’s shoes, you would be more capable. But as a Hard Boy with a red third eye? You would be hard pressed not to find yourself in the Asylum in the Extreme Ward with the nine elevens.”

“That sounds like a threat, boss.”

“It’s not. It’s only the facts, something I’m sure our resident Atheist can appreciate.” When the waiter returned, they ordered their entrees in silence.

When their entrees arrived they ate in silence as well.

religion
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About the Creator

Antonio Jacobs

A lifelong New Yorker, Antonio writes fiction and non-fiction and is a musicologist who believes that The Wizard of Oz is the template for all films ever made.

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