The Testimony. James Smythe

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СКАЧАТЬ here among us, he said, even though it was patently clear that she didn’t understand what he was saying. Then he said something about eternal rest, about sending us all to eternal rest and I thought, What if he’s got a knife? What will I do? I was ready to, I don’t know, throw myself at him or something, at least try to wrestle him to the ground, but he stopped, turned back towards the door. Soon, we will all be dead, he said, and he opened the door again and stepped out, and to one side between the carriages. I screamed, I’m sure, and so did the girl, and we heard his body as it smacked against the glass windows, pinballing between the carriage and the wall.

      We pulled into the station and the girl threw herself through the doors onto the platform. I followed her out, checked she was okay, but she suddenly seemed terrified of me, as if I was going to turn on her, as if we hadn’t both been in the same predicament. Clearly, I was the crazy man’s accomplice. I was home half an hour later, and I spent the day watching the news wondering if they would mention him, but they didn’t. Of course they didn’t; he was just another one of the many. A week previous and I wouldn’t have been able to escape hearing about him, at least for the first couple of hours after he died.

       Hameed Yusuf Ahmed, imam, Leeds

      I kept thinking about the boy – he didn’t even tell me his name, in case I went back to his imam in Birmingham (or wherever) and told them about him, I suspect – all through the day, the night. Samia had prepared dinner for us, as always, and we spoke about our day. We didn’t have any children. I told her about the boy, and she made noises. He should have known better, she said. I know, I know, I told her. But he didn’t. He came to me, and we should be glad of that. He really thought that he made The Broadcast happen? Yes, I said, he was convinced.

      When we were both sitting down, Samia asked me what I thought it was. Really, what did you think? What do you think it was? By that point I had seen a newspaper on the way home, seen the theories, but I didn’t know what it was. I told Samia that, and she seemed disappointed. I thought you might have had an idea. I have ideas, I said, I have ideas that it was satellites, or something wrong with the radio, like the scientists are all saying. You don’t think it could be God, then? No, I said, and nobody in their right mind would. We ate in silence, and I worried that she wanted more from me, an answer. To what? I don’t know. We went to bed, and I slept, and I had the most vivid dream.

      In my dream, God – my God, Allah, the sustainer, the one who guides – was real, tangible, a person. I cannot remember what He looked like; I forgot that as soon as I woke, but I knew that I had seen Him. The rest of the dream … I couldn’t remember the rest. I remembered seeing God, and that was enough. I woke up before Samia, made my way downstairs in the darkness, put the television on. I had almost forgotten that we were all in this together; the newsreaders reminded me. I sat at the kitchen table and read my book. Samia appeared after a while, told me that I was running late. You need to get dressed, she said. I didn’t tell her about the dream, because of what it could mean, seeing God like that. I couldn’t tell her that I had put a form to Him, or that I had had the dream at all. She would have asked what it meant, if it came from prophecy or the devil, and I did not know. I said the prayers with the rest of the believers – we were less than half our usual number, though I can’t now say for sure that it was because of The Broadcast, and not just me miscounting, or worrying too much – and then went to go back home, to eat, to ready myself for the rest of the day. The people didn’t leave; they waited outside the library-office for me, suddenly full of questions, so I went straight to them. That was my role; that was why God chose me. I was of those who knew that praying to Him came above all else.

       Phil Gossard, sales executive, London

      We were just about to leave the house when somebody rang about Jess’ school, on a round robin, saying that they were shut for the day. The school was attached to a convent, and the nuns were too preoccupied to even think about teaching. Jess was chuffed. I think my prayer worked, she said, and I told her that it was a distinct possibility, even though I was sure that it wasn’t. I’ll definitely pray for a dog tonight, she said. Fine, I told her, you do that. My offices were shut for the day as well – a personal day for all, the email from head office said – so Jess begged Karen to take the day off so that we could all do something. I can’t, she said, because hospitals don’t shut down just because everybody suddenly thinks they’ve got religion. Jess and I spent the morning on the sofa watching terrible daytime TV; one of those talk shows was asking if people’s relationships had changed because of The Broadcast. It was – and this isn’t surprising, I suppose, but – it was everywhere.

       Dafni Haza, political speechwriter, Tel Aviv

      I didn’t sleep; none of us did. And I wish that I could have said I spent some time deliberating over what it was, but I didn’t do that, either. We had a constant stream of telephone calls from all sides, and I had to have conversations with people at every stage of government to get the message in our first governmental address correct. They hired me for my ability to write the words that they would want to be heard saying, but even then they had their own ideas to the point where I discovered I was nothing more than a transcriber, tidying their phrases into slightly tidier ones. Nobody in the office had any time for thinking for themselves, because it was all so frantic. Then I had a call from the Prime Minister.

      The Prime Minister was a terrifying woman, but strong, and you had to respect her for that. When she was chosen to lead it was under this veil of friendliness and light, because that’s the image the Knesset gave out; but in international waters she was terrifying. It’s what the country needed, apparently. She will sort out the problems in the West Bank, we were told, and she’ll stabilize international relations. Those were the promises, and whether she kept them or not, she was who the Knesset elected, and we chose who was in control of the Knesset, so we were … I don’t want to say, to blame, because that sounds negative, but we made a choice, as a people; we were responsible. She was known as a leader who didn’t take chances, and who was opinionated and strong in discussion, and who was not swayed by the thought of war. And her office called me, and told me that we needed to have a meeting. This was to be one of the first tasks of my new role; my predecessor had told me that he hadn’t had cause to meet with the Prime Minister once in his two years in this role.

      I was taken by car to her offices, even though they were only ten streets away and I could have walked it – I was used to walking everywhere, that was how I stayed fit – and then scanned through security, made to take off my shoes, empty my pockets and my handbag. They made me turn my telephone on, to prove that it was real, and I saw that I had seven messages when I did, which meant Lev was getting impatient with me. I would have hell when I got home, I knew that, but some things were more important. The Prime Minster’s office was painted entirely white, with a wooden desk, pictures – both of family, and religious – on the wall behind her, but nothing else. She wore her hair not unlike mine, though she was blonde, dyed but perfectly so, so that you couldn’t tell, even from her eyebrows. So, you’re the writer? she asked. She smoked a cigarette, and indoors, no less, even though her party reinforced the smoking ban in Israel. I am, I told her, and I was going to say something else – something kind and respectful, regardless of whether I felt that respect for her – but she interrupted me. Here’s a telephone number, she said, straight to me. I want to be able to get you directly, none of this going through middlemen and assistants, okay? There’s going to need to be a connection between us, a dialogue, so the message doesn’t get diluted. Are you okay with that?

      That sounds fine, I said, so I just call you directly? Any time; you need to know the message, you talk to me, and we’ll put it out there. She gave me a telephone, a mobile, government issue. Only I have that number, she said, so that I can always reach you. For now, just tell the people that we’re working on it, that we’ll have СКАЧАТЬ