“I mean, don’t all the Jews have to die before the second coming?” The agent asked, with the violent excitement of having found a winning argument.
“Yes, but we’re not going to–”
“Kill them? What are they gonna just leave, go to Florida maybe? What the hell did they teach you at that Christian School–”
“Liberty Univer…” Mark stopped. It was the first time either of them had said that, the word “kill”. Madison Square was completely dark now except for a few people at the enclosed dog-run. The young man listened to the fierce words of his “handler” while he watched a tiny child chase a dog, twice his size, around the enclosure. The agent kept his face almost completely hidden away by standing in front of the Madison Square War Memorial, the monument to New York City’s war-dead, which blocked the beams of the street lights.
“And why do the Jews have to die?” The Agent kept going, not caring about what school Mark went to or what his theology was, “because they’re non-believers, and heretics, and infidels, and bad…right?”
Mark was still stuck on the word “kill”, he nodded gently.
“We don’t complain about that, right? Kill a few thousand Jews! If it
saves
the souls
of billions, then
what’s the
problem, right? Right!”If it saves the souls of billions, then what’s the problem, right? Right!”
“Wait, wait,” Mark snapped out of it. “I’m not sure that’s exactly what the bible says–”
“Whatever. It’s just an example. It’s just a fucking example. These are different times, much, much worse times in fact, right?”
“Yes,” Mark answered resoundingly, as the child continued chasing that dog. “Much worse.”
“We’re weak. And decadent. And careless. ‘Home of the free’ has become: ‘If it feels good, do it.’ Whatever happen to these guys?” The Agent knocked on the memorial like it was a door, “Where are they now? Where are the brave and the just?”
“
Right, I agree. Completely.” Mark said (and he did).
“You agree? You Agree! You agree….I don…we don’t need your agreement we need your action! You either want this to be a god-fearing righteous nation or you don’t! You either want bravery and a purpose or you want decadence and decay. You choose, but either way: Don’t fucking tell me it’s not worth killing over!”
There was that word again. The child had fallen over and the giant dog was now licking his face, to the delight of both.
“Or, hey, fine, just go ahead and keep carrying petitions,” The Agent continued. “Put on your bow tie and blazer, quote the bible from your homeschooling, quote the constitution from your Christian college, and run for treasurer of the Young Republicans. That’s fine–then sit there and watch the country turn into a cess-pit of relativism and perversion; we’re going to elect a black guy–if you think that’s historic–wait until there’s a transsexual up there, or a pedophile, or–”
“Look, you know I support you guys,” Mark interrupted, getting angry. “But…bombing? Manufacturing a disaster–”
“Listen!!” Now it was the Agent who got disturbed from the blunt use of words. “We’re not creating a terrorist act–how could we, we didn’t invent terrorism–we’re simply preempting one. You think an attack isn’t coming? You think we ain’t gonna get hit soon, again? And why? Because we’re weak! But what if a small event could knock this country back into consciousness, back to the way it was after 9/11. Back to defensiveness; could make us know that righteous fear again. Such a small “event” could stop a much larger one from happening. What if–how many people ride the subway? Fifty or so–What if fifty or so people had to die to save the lives of thousands. Like Jesus and the Jews, or, fuck it, like Jesus himself.”
Mark’s eyes drifted back to the dog run. The child and his companion were now gone, as was everyone else. There was no noise but the sound of crickets and faint street-traffic. He heard the agent laugh and knock on the memorial once more.
“Here, ask these guys if sometimes you have to take lives to save lives; to save principals.”
Somehow Mark had lost his ability to speak and his silence was the one thing that was able to unsettle the confident, meticulous agent.
“Hey,” the Agent said, exasperated. “Tomorrow around dusk they’ll be a, uh, package in the bathroom at Union Square Station. If later that night it’s gone, we’ll know we have a new patriot on our hands; if it’s still there, we’ll alert the police to it and they’ll blame it on some Arabs somewhere and talk about what a great job the city did. And then you can go back to protesting abortion clinics and volunteering for your local congressperson and, well, doing nothing.”
The Agent disappeared as quickly as he had come and left Mark standing, alone next to the war memorial.
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