Father Aquila is a happy man. He is well known and well respected—and only thirty-three. He caught his first glimpse of fame after he legally changed his first name to Father and opened the First Nondenominational, Multireligious, and Universal Cyber Church in 1994, when the World Wide Web was still unknown to millions. The page was simple then—a white background with the church’s name in green, its mission statement (which was “creating peace in cyberspace”) under this in a smaller black font, and finally a bold blue hyperlink that said “enter.” In these early days, Aquila posted sermons, reflections, poems, pictures, and drawings on the website weekly. It attracted almost 25,000 registered members during its first year—including the Fortran’s. The simple page for online seekers has grown more advanced in the years that have followed. The church has gotten more elaborate, with media broadcast and corporate banners, as technologies and marketing demands grow, but its mission statement, “creating peace in cyberspace” still shows on the title page. Its popularity has increased since Tobit announced the funeral would take place at the church, and in one year it has gained nearly one million members. Father Aquila calls Tobit a patron of the church and encourages members to be disciples of his faithful way.
Aquila is a reserved and private man. He is rarely seen in the presence of other people; only monks who have taken his Web class and been certified by Aquila (promising never to speak in a chat room) can worship in sanctuary on the days of Web broadcast cyber services (though his church is capable of seating 106). Message boards are flooded with rumors about his offline testiness. “I’m just not a people person,” is his reply to members begging him to visit hospitals, perform wedding ceremonies, or do funeral services. But our hero and Aphrodite will get to see Father Aquila in the flesh. Tobit’s charm and his publicity make him special, and Aquila insisted after the first email that they meet in person. Today, after sleeping off jet lag, Tobit is ready to begin last of his life with a visit with Father Aquila that he and Aphrodite have been looking forward to for some time. Tobit reasoned that today would be the best day to meet because it is always good to get churchy stuff out of the way.
The church’s physical address is a closely guarded secret. Many have made pilgrimages to the city where it stands, but they have all come away with their time wasted and hope lost, recovering their peace only when they voyage online again. The church is located outside Stockholm in a giant warehouse that bears no name and is surrounded by tree stumps. The closest building to the church, a small business that specializes in the installation of wide area networks, is two miles away. An unpaved road leads to the church.
The first thing our hero sees when he parks the car in front of the warehouse is a small Web camera pointed at them from the top of the building. Tobit begins to point it out to Aphrodite, who is adjusting her blouse to show her left bra strap, when the warehouse door opens and Father Aquila appears. He uses his right hand to block the sun from his eyes and greets each of them warmly.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Father Aquila,” Tobit says, walking carefully towards him. “Aphrodite and I have watched your Web cast since the beginning.” Our hero does not make eye contact with Father Aquila out of respect. He notices immediately that Aquila is paler in person and that his hair is very thin. His appearance lacks the authority of his Web cast.
Father Aquila blushes. “Thank you—and I must say, you look different from your emails.”
“Email does add twenty pounds!”
“Ha, ha, ha! Indeed it does.” Aquila looks uncomfortably at the road. “Well, do you want the grand tour?”
Tobit’s eyes brighten. “Would we ever,” he replies for both of them, then laughs boyishly. He looks at Aphrodite, who is smiling shyly and adjusting her blouse to hide her bra strap.
Father Aquila leads them through the cheap particleboard front door of the warehouse while casually talking about a new Web browser he just installed on his computer.
The walls are colorful and the light dim in the first room. Heavy-metal music plays softly through small ceiling speakers. A maple syrup aroma fills the air. And a large man with a goatee, wearing boxers and a dirty white shirt, is sitting in a green beanbag chair pecking away on his laptop.
“This is Guy ‘Big’ Titty—he’s our receptionist. Whenever someone sends an email that needs special attention, Big Titty’s the one who answers it. He’s also the guy who post messages and appears in chat rooms under my name.”
“Pleased to meet you,” our hero says. Tobit is always friendly when meeting new people, unlike Aphrodite who seems uneasy and greets Big Titty with a nod and a weak smile.
Big Titty smiles and says, “I’d get up, but that’s not the way I work.”
“Big Titty used to write emails for supermodels,” Aquila explains. “Then I hired him.”
“Tell him the funny story behind that,” Big Titty bellows out while continuing to write on his laptop without looking up. He is able to type at remarkable speed with just one hand.
Father Aquila laughs. “Before I hired Big Titty, this guy said to me that I should write to him and pose as a horny old man wanting to cyber with the supermodel that Big Titty was the email guy for. So that’s what I did. Well, Big Titty wrote this sexy, well polished letter back, and I knew then I had to have him.”
Everyone laughs, including Big Titty, who quickly glances at Aquila, winks, then starts typing again. Tobit wonders briefly why this story has not been made into an inspirational spam mail.
Father Aquila nods to the curtained door behind Big Titty and says, “Come on—you’re going to like this next part.” He pushes back the curtain that divides the two rooms, revealing the control room.
Five men drinking Java Jolt laugh loudly while talking about the newest Danielle Hash Web nudes. They are all wearing matching red T-shirts that say, “Cyber Geeks For Spirit,” and they sit in slobbish fashion. Aquila nods at the equipment and announces, “This is where it all goes down. I put this room in the front so I’d have to pass it every day and be reminded that my life survives by the Web.” He slaps Tobit on the back and concludes with a laugh, “My life is controlled by this room.”
Father Aquila introduces the men, explaining how they were all were drunks on the verge of suicide until he found them, saved them, and got them addicted to Java Jolt. “And now here they are,” he finishes, looking at each of them proudly. “One is even taking my online class to be a monk.”
“Father Aquila is a saint,” one of the men says, and all the others agree, clinking their Java Jolt cans together in a toast to Aquila.
Father Aquila smiles and thanks them graciously, then takes Tobit and Aphrodite out of the room and into a long narrow hall with chipped paint and a flickering fluorescent light. Thick cables run across the floor and ceiling at web-like angles that lead into each of the rooms off the hall, which has a very modern architectural style to it.
“Let’s go to the Reflection Garden next,” Aquila says in a joyful pitch, then adds after seeing a network cable, “Watch your step.” He quickly moves to the third curtained door on the right and into the Reflection Garden.
Aquila opened the garden on the second anniversary of the church after being inspired by a digitally altered photograph a member emailed him of a South American jungle. He uses it during summer Web broadcasts. It contains many exotic plants with roots that are electronically stimulated each morning, and twenty-seven Web cameras, each hidden in the buds of artificial flowers.
“I call it the Second Eden,” Father Aquila says, as our hero and Aphrodite join him in the garden. “But honestly, I don’t think even Eden could have possibly looked this good.”
“It’s very lovely,” Aphrodite says quietly. She stares at the ivy growing down the wall and choking the vine of a white rose.
Father Aquila nods, admiring his creation.
“I always thought it was outside,” Tobit says foolishly. He looks at the ceiling where black pipes and vents are visible.
“The Web can easily make that manipulation.”
They sit in the garden for several minutes until Aquila gets bored and says, “Are you ready to see the main attraction?”
They both excitedly say yes.
Father Aquila walks with a skip as he takes them across the hall to the main sanctuary. “I give you the sanctuary,” he says at the door.
Our hero trips on one of the half dozen cables in the hall and falls into the sanctuary. Aquila helps him to his feet, but he almost loses his balance again when he sees the sanctuary for the first time.
“I know—you thought it would be bigger.”
“No—it’s just so beautiful,” Tobit says slowly, deeply moved. “The Web could never capture its full beauty.”
Betcha want to know what this place that deeply moves our hero looks like. Well, don’t you? Don’t you, don’t you, don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you. Along the sides are stained glass windows that tell a story—saints fighting demons, gods fighting demons, saints fighting gods, then, finally, saints and gods holding hands. Father Aquila calls it “The History of Mankind.” On the ceiling is a fresco of Buddha, Moses, Newton, Mohammad, Jesus, Marx, Confucius, and Zeus living together in harmony in a garden that resembles closely the church’s Second Eden garden, with a computer in the center.
“The artwork was created by my graphics team,” Aquila explains, “the same guys who designed my Web site.”
Our hero nods, though he is too amazed to understand what Aquila has just said. His eyes follow the thick row of cables that leads to the front of the sanctuary. Their alignment in the sanctuary is perfectly symmetrical. They double, then triple, then split apart and mutated, going up walls, under pews, over and under carpet, and hooking into Web cameras, microphones and speakers until they finally reach the front of the sanctuary—the holiest place—where they seem to join, becoming one, and obediently resting in a large tangled pile that is never shown in Web broadcast.
There are two aisles in the sanctuary with ten rows of pews, twenty pews in all. In front of the pews are the kneeling pads where monks pray during the worship service. At the front is the center piece of the sanctuary, the “Holy of Holies.” Only Aquila and other trained priests can enter the area. In it is a fire pit bordered by candlesticks; this is where the priest offers the monthly sacrifice of unwanted spam mail. Directly behind this is a cross, and on both sides of it is a mural of thousands of gods—some popping out of the wall, becoming statues. On the left side is the podium from which Father Aquila gives his Web cast each week.
Our hero takes Aphrodite’s hand, and they sit in the third pew. Palmtops have replaced the traditional prayer and hymnbooks, and Tobit picks one up and tries to turn it on.
“They don’t have batteries in them,” Aquila admits, embarrassed. “No one is ever in here that needs to use them.”
All three are silent, adoring the element of peace that the sanctuary supports.
“I’ll let you two be alone for a few minutes,” Aquila says, and leaves.
A skinny monk wearing faded denim jeans, headphones, and a sweatshirt that says “MONK” in bold black letters enters. He walks quickly to the front of the sanctuary, pushes two buttons, which ignites two candles, then looks up and prays, “Connect—let the community of Web surfers grow and let everyone who surfs the net experience the same peace that you taught me—disconnect.” He then walks to Tobit and Aphrodite and kneels. With his headsets touching the ground, he says, “My warmest is extended to you. Please have a good day.”
“Thank you,” our hero says.
The monk stands, nods, and walks away.
“Look at how far we’ve come,” our hero says, looking at Aphrodite adoringly.
She smiles, puts her arm around his shoulder, and cuddles his head against her breast.
“It looks just like the Web cast, only with a cleaner feed,” Aphrodite says.
“I feel like I’m in the Web.”
They meditate on the mural for several minutes. In a relaxed tone, Aphrodite asks, “Do you remember the first time we cybered?”
Tobit blushes. “I was at work. I had my assistant doing all the typing.”
Aphrodite laughs. “Your assistant? You never told me that.”
Tobit nods, embarrassed. “He typed faster and made fewer errors.”
Aphrodite giggles and playfully pokes his arm. “You’re so silly sometimes.”
They are both silent for several minutes until Aphrodite finally sighs loudly.
“What?” Tobit asks.
“Why won’t you tell me if you’re scared to know.”
Tobit folds his arms. “Why’s it so important to you? What difference does it make.”
“I just have to know.”
“Well I’m not going to tell you.”
Aphrodite leans over and rest her head onto Tobit’s shoulder. “Don’t be like this, Tobit. We’ve talked about coming to the church for so long. Don’t ruin the moment.”
“Then let’s talk about something else.”
Aphrodite kisses Tobit’s ear and says, “I just want to know.”
“And I just want to enjoy this moment.”
“Fine,” Aphrodite says folding her arms, sat upright, and scoots away from our hero. “But let me just say that if you don’t tell me soon then you’ll regret it.”
“Is that a threat?”
“I’m just saying.”
Tobit rolled his eyes and turned away from her. They both sat in silence.
Father Aquila is sweating heavily and has changed into a suit when he returns twenty-three minutes later. “Time to talk business,” he announces abruptly. “Let’s go to my office.” Tobit sighs, softly taking in as many memories of the sanctuary as he can, then dutifully stands and follows Aquila.
The office is cold. It has no windows and the cement floor is spotted in several places with lime green paint. A kit-built radio is the only object on Father Aquila’s metal desk. Behind the desk is a bookshelf that contains only Aquila-authored works (which include, among others, the best-selling Portable Handbook of the First Nondenominational, Multireligious, and Universal Cyber Church Rules, Doctrine, and Essays on Mind, an 800-page manual written in iambic pentameter). It is the only part of the warehouse that has no cables or computers, and it seems surprisingly bare to our hero.
“This place reminds me of a simpler time,” Father Aquila explains, pulling out rainbow beanbag chairs for each of them. “It reminds me of how bad those times really were. I wanted an office that created an energy that would make my reflections and sermons more passionate—and I always seem to find it when I think back on how bad times were.”
“Incredible,” our hero says.
Aquila nods. He pulls out two funeral itineraries from his back pocket, unwrinkled them, and hands one to each of them. He then puts on a pair of glasses, and they go over the itineraries together. If all goes as planned, the funeral will run exactly one hour and will be translated into over fifty languages. First the coffin enters with “Sounds of the Web” (the CD our hero created two years ago, which is a collection of sounds that he found online) playing in the background. Then Father Aquila will greet and thank everyone in cyberspace for coming, make up a funny story about Tobit, announce the sponsors, and pray. Then The Guggles will play Internet Killed the Video Star (they will change the title to Internet Killed the Webmaster for the special occasion). Next, survivors will tell scripted stories. One or two will speak from the chat room. Then the monks will do a special chant and everyone will sing a few universal hymns. Father Aquila will give a short message and pray, and the final three minutes will be devoted to showing a special preview of the new Mike Burnet-produced reality Web show that is coming soon. A link to the cyber gravesite (which will essentially become an online Mecca for Tobit’s followers, offering a lengthy biography, Tobit’s written and oral works, pictures, chat rooms, message boards, games, and downloads) will be shown at the end of the credits. Tobit has of course already approved all of these things, but this is the first time he has seen the finalized version.
“Sound like a game plan?”
Our hero nods, then shifts uncomfortably and asks, “What do you think of life after death?”
“Where’d that come from?” Father Aquila laughs, then shrugs.
Aphrodite rubs our hero’s back and says apologetically, “Tobit’s been acting very morbid these past few days.”
“You’re the one who wants to talk about me being afraid to die.”
Embarrassed Aphrodite says, “I wanted to talk to you about it. Not the minister. He’s a busy man.”
Aquila laughs, “It’s alright. I have time. But to tell you the truth, I don’t know too much about life after death. I read a few books about it in college some years ago—certainly it’s an interesting idea. I actually just wrote a book called Death that’s going to be published in two months. It has two or three paragraphs on an afterlife. I can sell you an advance review copy if you like. Maybe there’s something in it that will help.”
“That would be great. Do you think an afterlife exists?”
Aquila laughs. “You’re like a six-year-old boy asking where his dead grandma is! I don’t really think about it myself.”
“Oh.”
Father Aquila smiles and nods understandingly, “You’re not the only one stressed out.” He pats Tobit’s hand. “But don’t you worry, sport—it’ll all be okay. You’ll see.”
“Thanks,” he replies, not satisfied.
Aquila smiles and yawns. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to have to ask you both to leave. I need to be by myself for awhile—I go crazy if I’m around people for too long.”
As Aquila shows them out the door, Tobit pauses, having thought suddenly of a great idea. “Would you be interested in being a husband to Aphrodite and a father to my little guy, Pascal?”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Yeah.” Aphrodite says.
“Really?” Tobit says, suddenly excited once more. “I don’t want to sound frank, but can I feel your frank?”
Let’s see how this conversation would look on the Web:
AQUILA123: i don’t have one.
AQUILA123: i cut it off as a sign of loyalty to an unknown authority.
TOBIT_THE_HERO: that’s quite commendable. but you need a penis if you’re going to be Aphrodite’s new husband. i wouldn’t have it any other way.
AQUILA123: i understand.
TOBIT_THE_HERO: but maybe you’d like to do my wife’s wedding when we finally
find her a husband?
AFUILA123: that would be super.
That was fun, wasn’t it? Maybe I’ll start doing dialog like James Joyce later. Would you like that?
Father Aquila hugs Tobit and kisses Aphrodite, then, as they begin to leave, sings a favorite First Nondenominational, Multireligious, and Universal Cyber Church praise song, which has no name and was found as a message board entry:
Mouse’s clicking, modems buzzing
We can hear the sound increasingly rising
Pleasing tunes, they arouse our behavior
Laugh and cheer, we can see the browser
Web come to me, Web come to me
Sing out your praise
It’s time for surfing
Download faster! Download faster!
The graphics are loaded!
Hurray! Hurray! The Web is here.
Father Aquila really does have a lovely voice that I wish you all could hear. I will leave you for now an enchanting description of with how it sounds—it’s like Richard Nixon (if Nixon could have sung) mixed with Elvis Presley impersonating Buddy Holly doing yodeling—only Aquila’s notes are four keys higher. Let’s just say it is yodelishious…
Yours truly,
The Narrator