THE GLOBAL MARK© Johny Noer - www.noer.info
Mr. Jones and his wife remained in hiding in Brussels. Their friends asked no questions; better that way! They met in what is called ‘salons’…
The ‘salons’ started 300 years before through a French woman, Marquise de Rambouillet. In 1618 she invited famous guests; she would preside from her bed (according to aristocratic fashion). From France, the ‘salons’ spread to Brussels. Educated women started to have a considerable influence on art, politics and religion.
The vigilant EU-eye knew about the ‘salons’, but saw in them only harmless locations for dialogue and debates; "freedom is granted by our democratic system", they would say.
The EU education system even praised the existence of the ‘salons’. After World War II people like Thomas Mann, Berthold Brecht, and Greta Garbo frequented them. Friedrich Hegel in Berlin, Oscar Wilde in London, Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse in Gertrude Stein’s salon in Paris.
Not many knew what the ‘salons’ did to the Jewish captain Alfred Dreyfuss. When he was betrayed, 3000 signatures were collected to petition for his release. Music by Bach was played there (to offset anti-Semitic music by Wagner).
So Mr. and Mrs. Jones were free to meet with the so-called ‘church rebels’ in the ‘salon’ in Brussels. Secret agents never entered. The ‘rebels’ met in Genevieve Strauss; salon on Rue Neuve in Drogenboss. A pretty red, brick building surrounded by a well-kept garden. Famous guests met at the swimming pool; drinks were served. Freddie, the donkey, in the animal enclosure amused the guests…
"Watch against being drawn into this system." Mr. Jones was speaking to a little crowd gathered around him. "There is a teaching going around: that …."all has been prophesied, antichrist will come anyway."
A young man drew closer, listening. "Remember the words of the New Testament: ‘the Lawless One, the son of perdition, will come, but someone resists him, and holds him back…"
"Holds him back? What does that mean?" asked the young man. His voice had a tinge of irony.
"A strong resistance opposing the Lawless One."
"An example!" urged the young man.
"Herod got his will only after he was presented with the head of John the Baptist."
"What do you mean?"
"Resistance to death!" answered Mr. Jones seriously."
Mrs. Jones arose to meet a guest.
"Right now," whispered Mr. Jones, "Three dates! On May 25th: The architectural designs for the tower in Babylon.
On September 11th: Construction begins.
On September 28th: The voting for the new constitution."
The men around the table nodded. The young blonde listener showed no reaction.
"A bitter battle is before us," ended Mr. Jones. "The Lawless One tries to grasp his reign before his time. If he succeeds, we’ll loose. If we can hold back these dates, we’ll win!"
After these words the group left. Only the blonde, young man remained, gazing into the flames in the fireplace. His face was melancholy, even worried...
John Edwards looked for a place of refuge. He was not only moved; he was shocked. The return of the president! He had counted on a murdered Mr. Clark. Instead the man would be in Babylon tomorrow! He was already in Baghdad! What next?
The unhappy vice president looked for a hiding place. Guests everywhere were congratulating. "The ‘miraculous rescue’ of Mr. Clark", they cheered. At last he fled behind the stage.
The room was dimly lit. Some furniture standing around. He took a folding chair and sat down, head in hands. He sat up again, looked at the wall and quickly closed his eyes! The words were still there: ‘MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UFARSIN.’ He opened one eye and looked. Shaking. He almost passed out. The wall started to turn. The words became alive. Burned into his soul and heart. He felt like dying. Like a movie, his life flashed before his eyes. ‘All his works too light on the scale. Nothing meaningful in his life? A vain search for career in a politic of lies? And nobody to speak in his defense?
John Edwards wanted to scream for help. A deep crevice down to the pit of hell. The outside voices turned into a choir of shipwrecked souls; an everlasting song of perdition.
Was he to be hurled into that deadly hole? He heard a soothing voice behind him. A voice, he didn’t want to hear again.
"Relax, Mr. Edwards, you are not dying! You won’t go to hell! There is no hell! I’ll take care of your soul! No, no," he heard the soothing voice, "don’t turn around! Let me finish…"
John Edwards listened in resignation.
"The words on the wall are not erasable! Laser beams burnt them! The wall must be torn down."
John read again to himself: ‘MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UFARSIN’
"That’s right", continued the voice behind him. "Too light! Your days are counted. I am not satisfied with your work. The EU president should be dead by now. I am not satisfied, Mr. Edwards!"
A moment of silence. John Edwards was like a man suffering from a deathblow.
"What shall I do?" he sighed.
"I will give you a last chance."
"What is that?" John Edwards raised his head.
"The three dates:
On May 25th all plans must be ready.
On September 11th construction must begin.
On September 28th the entire world must embrace my constitution!"
John Edwards sat straight up. "Your constitution?"
"Yes." The voice behind him was forbearing. "My constitution! I wrote every word of it. I was behind every sentence, every paragraph - all of it."
John Edwards wanted to turn around again.
"Stay seated, Mr. Edwards, don’t be smart! I erected my six pillars of the new world community."
John Edwards was indignant. That a borderless pride in the quiet attitude of the stranger..!
"The former French president, Giscard D’Estaing, laid the ground rules of the constitution!"!"
"He went down in history as the ‘Father of the constitution!"
"All my servants in the course of history wrote with my hand…"
"So, you led his hand?"
"I did. He wrote what I ordered. That’s why it’s my constitution. It’s my work! Giscard D’Estaing entered eternity. ‘Father of the constitution. What a lie! I am the father and source of the global constitution."
Through automatic writing? He wrote the paragraphs you dictated?"
"I don’t ask you to do anything automatic or forced! We’ll come to an agreement. In the end you’ll obey me with pleasure."
John Edwards felt the icy hand again. Like a touch from outer space. That quiet, forbearing voice – he was sure - would betray him in the end! That hand, laid on his shoulder, would push him into a deep night.
The stranger removed his hand and left. John Edwards turned. He saw an opened folding chair. He had opened one; now there were two ….
He turned to look at the wall. The Aramaic text shimmered in the dusk of back stage. Beyond the curtain he heard voices of mighty men invited to the feast of king Belshassar. He saw the king arise in terror. The queen trying to calm him. An old, white haired prophet, lifting his hand, -- and then the Median warriors swarmed into the palace. Swords and blood and screams…
"Excuse me, Mr. Edwards, I don’t mean to intrude." Ursula Clemens brought the vice president out of his fantasies.
"No, no, not at all." John Edwards seemed relieved to come back to reality. "I just retired a while; I’m meeting our beloved president tomorrow!"
"Exactly why I’m looking for you! Instead of all the well wishers, wouldn’t it be better with a pretty flower bouquet that will please him …"
"Great idea!" John Edwards sat down and wrote a few sentences. "Take this! Be sure to include my name. I can’t tell you his room number. This will open all doors …"
"Thank you," smiled Ursula. Turning to the wall, she said: "Those odd words are not yet removed."
"No. Nothing can be done!"
Can’t be erased; engraved into the wall!" John Edwards talked absent-minded.
"How engraved into the wall?"
"Exactly, through the wall into past history…. right into the throne room of the Babylonian king!"
John Edward’s eyes were wide open. Staring like in a fever. "Thousands of years back to the same hall, same people, same message!"
He arose and thrashed wildly with his arms. His voice got louder; his eyes now filled with fear…: "And tonight comes Darius –with 30,000 men – killers – blood everywhere – hear the women screaming!" The vice president pointed to the hall. He took Ursula by the hand…."I’m weighed and found wanting…he said so himself…the one with the icy hand!"
"Call a doctor!" Ursula ordered some security guards.
John Edwards continued: "See the folding chair, Mrs. Clemens?"
"Yes, Mr. Vice President, I see the folding chair. Ursula called through the curtain: "I need a doctor!"
"It’s open?" John Edwards circled the chair like an animal ready to pounce on its victim.
"Yes, Mr. Vice-President, the chair is open."
"So you can sit on it?"
"Yes, Mr. Vice President, so you can sit on it."
John Edwards rose up, somewhat composed, but pale. "That settles the question."
"Yes, Mr. Vice President, that settles the question."
"You are a witness?"
"Yes, I am witness."
Ursula turned to the doctor, who had entered. "The vice president seems to have had a breakdown."
John Edwards shouted: "The man with the icy hand sat on this chair…"
"You’re right, Madame." The doctor opened his bag, took out a syringe and prepared an ampoule.
Meanwhile John Edwards continued: "’Icy hand’ mentioned three dates!"
He took Ursula by the hand. "Nothing is for free! Those dates are important!"
"Those dates?" Ursula faked indifference, as she helped the doctor to free John Edwards’ arm.
"May 25th, September 11th and 28th"
The needle pierced his arm. John Edwards relaxed. "You’re a witness," he said with apathy. "These deadlines must be enforced, or all hell will break loose…. and the wall," he spoke weakly, trying to point to it, "I will order it torn down…."