The Angelic Conflict (Extended Published Version)

Untitled Part 15

THE GIRL reads the shiny black name plate on the front pocket of the employee's white polo. It says JANNA. The girl watches Janna even more as she puts the boy's order on their table.

"You mean to say," the girl asks, "we, humans— man— were created to resolve the trial of the angels? We are living evidence? That our very existence was caused by angels?"

Janna greets them a blessed day and leaves.

"You can say that in a way." The boy pouts as he pushes the plate of sushi before the girl, as well as her cup of hot coffee and slice of cake. Beside it he places a spoon, a fork, and a pair of chopsticks. "Let's pray?"

The girl squints her eyes and puckers her lips before finally nodding. She bows her head, even though she has tried to pray before and too bad all god had for her was silence. Like her father, she tells herself. Perhaps that is what fathers do best: pretend to care.

The boy bows his head and raises it again. "Since I can't ask for your name, what should I call you?"

"Call me," she drawls, but it is almost a whisper. She lifts her chin, the lids of her eyes falling half-way down. Smirking, she continues, "Random Wet Girl."

The boy blushes a bit. "'Random... Girl' would suffice." He clears his throat, folds his hands, and closes his eyes once more.

The girl watches the boy. He now dons a bulging, pulsing vein on his forehead, light blue green, streaking down from his right temple to the eyebrow— a lightning of concentration.

"Heavenly Father, Abba," the boy starts; "thank you for the grace you have showered upon me and Random— and, um, Random Girl today. May the meal before us be for our body's nourishment—"

The girl listens to his cheesy words, remembering some of those whom she knows who pray the same prayer over soft drinks and chips, or balot and beer.

"I pray for our safety for this day. May you deliver us both from the evil One. In the name of our—"

"—your—"

"—our savior, Jesus the Messiah. Amein." The boy opens his eyes and smiles at the girl.

"He's not my savior. Some dead man can't save me right now."

The boy's smile doesn't wither; surprisingly, not even a bit of waver. As if he did not hear what she has said. "Come on! Eat up! It's almost noon!"

The girl stares at the food before her. She sighs. "What you've told me is totally new to me. It isn't something I've ever heard before from anyone I'd ever known. And I swear I know a lot of major bible freaks."

The boy's grin shies away.

"It's actually kinda beautiful, and also freaky, in a way." The girl pauses and runs her right hand over her left arm, which has started to scale again. She picks up the pair of chopsticks, does not break it apart, thus, stabbing a sushi with both sticks. "Still isn't something I would believe, though." She puts the roll of rice in her mouth. She chews and immediately senses the tang of mango. She likes it.

The boy's cheeks flushes. "But you have to admit, it answers everything." He adds with a stutter, "I—I mean, almost at least."

The girl thinks of herself as someone who has grown calloused against people who act as if they knew everything; but sometimes, stumbling upon someone who shows off a know-it-all-ass attitude still catches her off-guard. Like now. She does not expect such a reaction from herself.

And he added "almost." Was he trying to play safe?

She swallows the sushi without enough mastication. "What do you mean everything?" She emphasizes the last word.

"The 'big' questions," the boy says. "Why humans and sin exist. Why, if there is a god, evil is permitted in this world. You know. Stuff like that."

"Oh, like why there are innocent people suffering and dying every day?"

The boy's lips purse. "Well, you could say that. Sam Harris and Richard Dawkins say that. In an unnecessary quantity, rest assured."

The girl sets aside her plate of sushi, rests her elbows on the table, puts her hands together, and cradles her chin within her palms. She breathes in before speaking, "So... why would god, if there is one, allow suffering?"

"Because he cannot violate the perfect volition he has created."

"Oh, volition? Didn't he create that, too?"

The boy nods, chewing.

"Then perhaps god himself created evil. Albeit indirectly."

"No. He created perfect free will, which opened the possibility of evil. If he did not do that, then volition would not be real. Volition would be a lie. All creatures would be following him like robots."

"That still doesn't answer why innocent people suffer. Why good people who have never done anything wrong are killed."

"I can write you a whole book about that, but I'm going to cut it short: babies and people with certain mental incapability since birth all go to heaven when they die."

"I'm not just talking about the babies, you know that."

"Well, all people who have reached the age of consciousness have sinned one way or another. All fall short of his glory."

The girl is snickering, shaking her head.

"Hey," the boy says. "Sin is not just something that we do. Sin is also something that we say, something that we think. Verbal sins, mental attitude sins... None of us is innocent."

"Isn't it graded?" The girl brushes him off. She stabs another sushi and eats it. "Oh, god, so annoying. This sushi tastes amazing but you're making it hard for me to enjoy it."

The boy raises a brow.

"What do Christian volunteer workers do when they see people suffering? 'Pray' for them? Feed them a book?"

"Hey, do you really think that's all missionaries do?" The boy's brows stitch together. When he does this he looks like a twelve-year-old. He lets his gaze fall from the girl to his untouched food. "Have you never seen Christian charities?" The boy scrapes the icing off his cake with his fork and licks it off the utensil, making sure he gets in between the tines. A blotch of red crawls on his nose. "Look at it this way: the core of Christianity teaches that the fight is not against flesh and blood but against principalities. The main goal is to share the gospel, because ultimately what matters is eternity in paradise. What is a brief lifetime of suffering compared to an eternity of bliss? But of course, that would make the least sense, if any to start with, for someone like you."

"Because it's insane..." but her tone has decreased in volume. The girl takes note of how the boy no longer smiles. She steals a look from her phone, and still doesn't find a message from Cruz.

The boy opens a sachet of sugar and pours its contents in his cup of coffee. He takes a teaspoon and stirs his drink. "It's difficult, if not impossible, to see things the way god does. He sees things from a holy perspective; we see things from a tarnished one. That's why ultimately, after you've exhausted all your logic and feelings, it's neither reason nor empiricism; it's faith."

The girl sighs. "God, you sure are one hell of a preachy creature." She feels even hotter now. She feels dizzy as well. Like the meal before her is caving upwards. Like the bits of nori and rice and mango are about to climb up her esophagus to spurt out like a fountain of reeking doom.

But she is conscious and the landslide of rocks in her stomach continues; so she brings up the sushi to her face to look at the bits of tobikko. Her vision, sharpening and blurring— back and forth, back and forth— like a camera lens set to multi-servo auto-focus as it records a shot through a throng of people. "You'll do well as a pastor."

The boy smiles. He must've not taken the clue that she has meant it as an insult.