Messiah is late

L. Khachatrian

“You never said what made you become a Christian.” The cold smile stayed on his face. Arshak himself did not expect that he would get so much pleasure from throwing the reality into the priest’s face. “So, what made you do it?” “The longing,” the priest’s big eyes looked straight as if they stroke. The smile disappeared from Arshak’s face. He headed towards the door. The priest called after him. “When Christ comes the second time…” “No one will recognize him,” roared Arshak and left the church.

Messiah is late

L. Khachatrian

© L. Khachatrian, 2015

© Alla Aristakesyan, translation, 2015

Created with intellectual publishing system Ridero

Chapter 1

The Panther

The bare-skinned boy was running so fast that from the lashes of the wind his body had become bruised. The chest of the mount was rising up and down in parallel with the tranquil breath of the earth. He felt it throughout his body. In the far he could see the jagged cliffs bulged like an old man’s denture and could understand that it was time to be transformed.

There was a pit in front of him. The boy slowed down for a while, took a breath, and then ran so fast that his chest tore apart from the middle. He shoved himself onward. Jump. His muscles strained. An instant. His bones were clattering seethingly in his body. The fangs were lengthening with pain. Short fur was growing on his skin. Descent. He growled and already a panther he leaped ahead. The wounded wind like a lame dog was barely crawling after him.

On the Road

“Everything is more complicated,” the Teacher liked to repeat. And when he saw that the students were looking at each other confused, he added, “Don’t take to heart, we are all going to die one day.” He repeated this worn-out phrase in such a self-satisfactory way, as if he was to live forever. Arshak would believe it, if he was not present at the Teacher’s funeral. Even there, in the atmosphere of tears and sorrow, it seemed that the white-bearded Teacher, who was wearing black suit, would soon rise up and announce that the funeral is over; “It was just an experiment. Thanks to everyone, all are free now”.

When the body was buried, he remembered the Teacher’s mutter: “He exists; the old man definitely exists…” He was talking about God when he was drunk, as if he was trying to convince himself. “Now, you will surely know, which part of your lectures was true and which was not.”

The Teacher’s name was celebrated among the Faculties of Theology of all world-famous universities. Over thirty years he studied faith and world religions. He learnt a lot about men and nothing about God. And why did he die? The Teacher left this world all of a sudden, leaving incomplete the research works of his 12 students. Besides, he had promised to select three best students from the group after the holidays and take them to the Holy City, so they could see with their own eyes how the faithful performed pilgrimage, or, as he used to say, how religion deformed the brain. Nevertheless, Arshak did not expect to be in the selected trio. He never stood out during the classes.

It was no longer important. Under the balanced clatter of the train Arshak was burning his last cigarette. It was the last one, as he was returning home. Although it was already 2 years he was of legal age, he would not smoke in front of his family. His mother would not criticize, but would get upset if she learnt.

“Is there any extra seat?” a young man looked inside from the half open door of the wagon. For a moment Arshak got confused. He was deep in his thoughts and it felt like he was caught smoking. He looked at the intruded head and cooled off.

“Yes.” he answered with a formal smile.

The guest was one of the heroes of the Theological Faculty. It was his classmate-Gregory. Arshak knew that they both were from the same town, but they had never been friends. Gregory was a vigorous and energetic boy. He was also very smart. Arshak always wondered how he could manage everything. Undoubtedly, Gregory was closer with the Teacher. They had even written a scie