Jesus Invades George by Luke Rhinehart

Author:Luke Rhinehart [Luke Rhinehart]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Luke Rhinehart
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26. GEORGE HUGS SOME PALESTINIANS

The Israeli government was to have a long afternoon. And evening. And next day. Because George went directly from praying and crying in the Al-Aqsa Mosque north into the West Bank.

The West Bank is theoretically the homeland of Palestinians who have lived there for most of recorded history and of other Palestinians displaced by the various Arab-Israeli wars. However, the West Bank had also become in the last four decades the home of a lot of middle class Israelis. The two societies were separated by a wall that made a snake look as straight and rigid as a yardstick, a wall that darted this way and that like a crazed cat being attacked by fleas. It separated the Israeli settlements, modern white buildings often perched on hills, and the Palestinian lands still permitted to the Palestinians, generally rundown villages and towns still devastated by forty years of war and occupation. The wall served the invaluable service of protecting the Israelis from any armed resentment the Palestinians might feel for the Israelis having confiscated so much of their land. It also made getting from one end of the West Bank to the other like going through a maze, but a maze that had dozens of Israeli checkpoints and very little cheese.

George and Sufa began to navigate this maze. Since neither of their passports had been stamped by Israeli customs the soldiers at the very first Israeli checkpoint inside the West Bank immediately phoned headquarters to see what they were to do with a man named George W. Bush traveling with an Iranian translator whose passport was an obvious forgery. Headquarters ordered the checkpoint guards to hold the two men until they could get a platoon of specialists out there to see exactly what should be done. Unfortunately, when the guards returned to give George and Sufa the bad news, the two men had disappeared.

Where was Jesus taking them? George didn’t know and found he also didn’t care. He felt washed out, exhausted. It had been many years since he had last had a good cry—back in the days when an excess of alcohol occasionally made him first sentimental and then weepy. Weepy maybe, but never contrite. Except that one time when he had first accepted Jesus as his Personal Savior.

Accepting Jesus. If he knew as much about Jesus then as he knew now he might not have been so accepting.

But for now he was just tired, feeling his body a passive vessel through which Jesus poured whatever witch’s brew He felt like concocting.

The President of the United States and his able (if terrorist) translator were able to hitch a ride on an ancient pickup truck driven by an ancient Palestinian. The truck was already carrying a family of six (four children), five day laborers abandoning the day’s hope of finding a job, and an old woman who didn’t seem to know where she was going or why she wanted a ride. Sufa told George that he felt that she was a little crazy or senile.

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