The Fourth Arm of God

Joel sat rigidly straight, his mouth a tight, thin line, and stared at the speaker. He was lean with a narrow hatchet face. He looked like a predator – tense and ready to spring. The analogy was apt. He was intelligent and demanding, quick to see through a problem and arrive at a solution. He had little patience with those who were slower or became mired in the bureaucracy of the corporation. Traits which the speaker, Hansen, possessed.

“Now, I want to talk about the Engleman contract.” Hansen was a short, heavyset man with small blue eyes that blinked rapidly when he was nervous. They were fluttering wildly as he looked at Joel.

Joel frowned. The Engleman contract was the most important prospect they had had in years. It was critical to the corporation’s expansion plans. Joel had been infuriated when upper management had placed it in Hansen’s organization rather than his own.

“I’ve made my recommendations and sent them -

“Sent them!” Joel interrupted him. “Where have you sent them?”

“Up the line.” Hansen smiled nervously. “It’s standard policy -”

“Who cares about policy! You have the authority to make the offer on your own. Why waste time?”

“It’s a big contract, Joel. We’ve got to be careful.” Hansen was sweating profusely.

“You’re wasting time. You’ll lose the whole thing if you wait for the idiots upstairs to pat you on the bottom. Move on it, man! Move!”

“Let me get on with my presentation, Joel, and then we’ll talk about it.”

“Okay. Okay.” Joel was clearly not pleased.

Suddenly the room and Hansen faded into an amorphous mist. Joel blinked in surprise. Everything was a uniform gray. Under similar circumstances, terror would have gripped most men. Joel, however, felt only anger. Whatever was happening prevented him from hearing Hansen. He might miss a vital opportunity to get his points across. He was on the verge of cursing violently when he saw a vague shape in the mist. He frowned in concentration, focusing on it.

As the image became sharper, his anger drained and something akin to fear began to stir within him. Whatever was in front of him was definitely not Hansen. It was far too large and had a metallic luster. Although there was no direct light, it glowed as though from an internal fire. Joel leaned forward and squinted. He could make out the figure of a man sitting cross-legged on a raised dais. He inhaled sharply and held his breath.

“Hello.” The voice was pleasant.

Joel did not reply.

“Hello.”

“H-hello.” Joel’s voice and hands were shaking.

“I thought it time we have a little chat.”

“Who or what are you?” The image, whatever it was, was apparently benign, and Joel felt no imminent danger. His self-confidence reasserted itself. “And where am I?”

“Who I am, where you are, or even how you got here are of no particular importance. What is of importance is why you are here.”

“Okay.” Irritation returned to Joel’s voice. “You obviously hold the cards. Why am I here?”

“To learn a lesson.”

“A lesson?”

“Yes.”

Joel thought he detected a smile on the image’s face.

“Don’t worry. I’m not laughing at you.”

Joel started in surprise. “Either you’re uncommonly good at reading body language or something funny is going on.”

This time the image laughed heartily. “Cover your ears.”

Joel did.

“You can still hear me, can’t you?”

Joel swallowed nervously. The image’s voice was just as loud. He realized the image was communication by a means other than voice. “Yeah.” He lowered his hands slowly. “Yeah. I could still hear you.”

“Very good. Now that I have your attention, let’s get down to business.”

Joel shifted nervously.

“I’m concerned about your behavior. It leaves much to be desired.”

Joel stared at the image, waiting for it to continue.

“You must search for equanimity. No matter what the circumstances you must remain calm. Accept blame and praise in the same even manner. Banish anger. Treat all with -”

“What is this?” Joel exploded. “Some sort of Sunday school lesson? Look. I don’t know what sort of weird prank someone’s playing on me, but quite frankly I don’t have time for it. So why don’t we just skip the kindergarten stuff and get on with it.”

“You will soon learn this is not a prank. You must do one simple thing – learn how to behave. If you don’t, you will be brought back permanently.”

“My behavior is suitable for the sea of sharks in which I swim.”

“The criteria on which you will be judged are different.” Despite the vituperation in Joel’s voice, that of the image remained calm.

Joel laughed. “So I’m supposed to walk around being sweet to the jerks and kowtowing to the idiots.”

” ‘Even tempered’ would be a better term. Presently you strew hate wherever you go. Those who work for you and your family live in fear of your wrath. You must temper your rage, and above all, you must be sincere.”

Joel snorted in contempt. “Why should I bother? Anger is the only way I can results out the morons.”

“Look at my arms.”

Joel did and was surprised to see there were four.

“In this,” the image moved its lower left arm, “I hold a jar of holy water. In the arm above it, prayer beads. On the other side, I have pages of the scripture in my lower hand. In the fourth, I hold a sword.” The image paused. “Do you see the sword?” The imaged moved its upper right arm.

“Yes. I see it.”

“Your actions will govern the arm that holds it. If you react inappropriately, the arm will rise.” The image raised its arm. “If, on the other hand, you behave, it will lower.” It lowered the sword.

“So?”

“So if you raise it so that the hilt is above my head, you will die.”

Joel laughed. “Sure!”

The image lifted its sword arm. As the tip rose above its head, the ground began to shake and a crackling sound filled the air. Joel sucked in his breath and held it. “I’m warning you. Your fate is in your hands.” The image faded into the mist.

Joel blinked and Hansen came into focus.

“Thank you. You’ve been a good audience. Much friendlier than I had anticipated.” He looked at Joel and grinned. The rest of the audience laughed. Joel shifted uncomfortably.

On his way out of the room, Hansen slapped Joel on the back. “You let me off easy this time.” He laughed. “What’s wrong? You sick or something?”

“Frankly I don’t feel that well,” Joel was still shaken from his experience, “and my mind was wandering.”

“Be careful. Word’ll get out that you’re getting soft.”

Joel managed a weak smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you off the hook on the Engleman contract.”

“I’m sure. One can’t expect miracles, after all!” Hansen waved and lumbered down the hall.

By the time Joel returned to his office, he was feeling better. The dream – he had decided the experience was a dream – must have been some sort of subconscious expression of his dissatisfaction with Hansen. He passed his secretary without a word, strode into his office, and halted in shock. Sitting on the table behind his desk was a bronze, four-armed statue. In the upper right hand it held a sword.

“Doris!”

His secretary, a mousy, middle-aged woman, hurried into his office. “What is it, Mr. Oliver?”

“What’s that?” He pointed at the statue.

“I-I don’t know. I saw it when I put the mail on your desk a few minutes ago. I just assumed you had brought it in.”

“Me! What in the world would I want with something like that? I’ve never seen it before.”

His secretary shook her head slowly.

“What are you doing, letting people into my office when I’m not here?”

“I-I didn’t see anyone. I can’t imagine anyone went in. I was here -”

“Then how do you explain that!” Joel pointed at the statue again.

The secretary looked deploringly at the statue as if seeking aid. “I-I -” She halted suddenly.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“It moved.”

“What do you mean, it moved?”

“The statue. One of its arms moved.”

“One of the arms?” Joel frowned, turning his attention to the statue.

“Yes, the one with the sword. It moved up. Not much but I’m sure I saw it move.”

“That will be all, Doris,” Joel said, still staring at the statue.

The secretary quickly left, relieved to escape his wrath.

Without taking his eyes off the statue, Joel sat down slowly in his chair. The statue was, he was sure, a miniature of the image he had seen during the meeting – four arms, the blunted, cone-shaped hat. Even the metallic sheen was the same. He looked at the sword in the upper right hand. It was held upright with the tip just level with the statue’s chin.

“What is this, some weird religion?”

Joel turned to see his boss, Barclay, standing in front of his desk and grinning broadly.

Joel reddened. “No. It’s . . .it’s one of those things. Some friends gave it to us. My wife couldn’t stand it in the house, but we couldn’t just throw it out without hurting feelings. You know how that goes.”

“Yeah.”

Joel smiled, pleased with his story.

“What did you think of Hansen’s talk?”

Joel shook his head. “The idiot’s going to lose the contract if he keeps fooling around like this.”

Barclay rubbed his chin. “You might be right. I’ve got the papers in my office. Let’s get Hansen and review them.”

“Right.” The two men strode out of the office.

When Joel returned, he had forgotten about the statue and he started in surprise when he saw it. He stood in the middle of the office for a moment, frowning. There was the same slight smile on the face that he remembered from the image. It was as though it were mocking him. More importantly the arm with the sword was higher. He had lost his temper at Hansen during the review.

Enough of this, he thought. I’m going to get rid of it.

He grabbed the statue. It did not move. He stopped in surprise and then tried to lift it again. It clung to the table as though glued. He swore and tried a third time. Not only could he not lift the statue, but the table was also immovable. Joel sat down heavily in his chair. He was sweating freely.

“Damn you!” The sword jerked upwards until the tip was even with the statue’s head. Joel’s eyes expanded and his face paled.

This is a trick of some kind, he thought. There must be a motor inside.

He leaned over the statue and looked at the back. There was no obvious latch. He ran his hand over it. The metal was smooth and seamless. He tried to unscrew the head and the arms. Nothing moved. As far as he could tell, the statue was an integral, solid piece of metal. Joel purposely spent the remainder of the workday engrossed in paperwork in order to avoid people and any possibility of conflict. He could, however, feel the ominous presence of the statue behind him. When he finally left the office, his shoulders ached from tension and his shirt was soaked with sweat. His only consolation was the sword had not risen again.

His wife and two children paid the price for the pressure of the day. Joel was irritable, demanding, and unfeeling. His children sulked in front of the TV, and his wife cried.

When he entered the office the next morning, he immediately looked at the statue. The tip of the sword was a good inch above the head and the hilt was at chest level. Joel stared at the statue for a moment and then sat down and drummed his fingers on the desk. The movement of the arm was due, he assumed, to his actions of the night before. He recalled the warning of the image and the ominous events when it had raised its sword. Apparently it was not an idle threat. His phone rang. It was Barclay, calling him to a meeting. Joel sighed, stood up, and with a final glance at the statue, walked out of his office.

Once again the Engleman contract came up. As usual the timid counseled a wait-and-see approach, and the less intelligent had no idea what to do. With great effort, Joel did not lose his temper. For the remainder of the day, he managed to remain outwardly calm. It was the same at home.

Despite the emotions that seethed within, he was polite to his wife and tolerant of his children. Once in bed, he could not sleep. He lay awake, staring into the darkness. Shortly after midnight when his family was asleep, he crept downstairs into the basemen. He grabbed a hammer and placed a block of wood on the workbench. For half an hour he pounded the block of wood with the hammer, crying and screaming at the top of his voice.

When he arrived at the office later that morning, he stared at the statue. He was appalled to see the sword was higher. Although the change was not great, it was perceptible. Throughout the week, Joel fought to retain an even disposition – placid on the outside as he fumed on the inside. He demolished, in the process, a substantial amount of lumber. Still the sword crept steadily upward.

His co-workers and family knew nothing of his inner turmoil. They did, however, notice the abrupt change in his behavior. Office gossip ranged from a serious medical problem to an improved sex life. Those that thought him ill, adduced his worn and haggard appearance. The other faction pointed out that too much sex and the resultant lack of sleep would produce the same result. At home his kids thought he had lost his mind, and his wife wondered if he were having an affair.

Monday of the second week was agony for Joel. Two rounds of golf, alone, on the weekend had sublimated a certain amount of aggravation. It only served, however, to cast the frustrations of the office into sharper relief. Somehow he managed to make it through the day and the evening at home.

On Tuesday morning his secretary brought him a paper for his signature. As he signed, she squinted at the statue. “Is it my imagination or is that sword higher than it was?”

Joel felt a chill creep up his spine and spread through his mind. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure it’s higher.” She stepped to the statue. “The arms must be movable.” She reached for the arm with the sword.

“Leave it alone!” Joel sprang to his feet, knocking over his chair.

Doris jumped and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t -”

“You’re always meddling! Can’t you keep your hands where they belong?” He threw the letter at her. “Get out of here!”

The secretary picked up the letter and hurried out the door. Joel followed and slammed the door behind her. He leaned against the door, shaking. He was afraid to look at the statue. The hilt, he knew, would be close to the forbidden point. He felt a sharp pain in his chest. He pushed himself away from the door and turned slowly around. His desk was hidden in a veil of mist. Joel inhaled sharply and reached for the wall for support. It wasn’t there.

For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Joel held his breath as the dark form condensed from the mist. Soon the image came sharply into focus. Joel fell to his knees, trembling, and waited for the image to speak; instead, it merely smiled placidly at him.

“I’m at my wit’s end.” Joel was sobbing. “I’ve done everything I can. I’ve been polite. I’ve held my temper until this last slip. What more do you want?”

The arm with the sword extended forward until the tip was only inches from Joel’s chest. He could feel a vibration emanating from the blade, as though it were energizing the air itself.

“Sincerity.” The calm voice of the image echoed through Joel’s mind. “Sincerity. Just as my words penetrate your mind, so my eyes see deeper than the surface. You have little time left in which to change. The choice is yours.”

Joel stared at the tip of the sword. Although it did not move, the high frequency hum continued to pour from the gleaming metal. The sound mesmerized him. Slowly the image faded until his office came into focus. Joel became aware of a sound. He frowned in confusion for a moment, unable to recognize it. At first he thought it was the residual of the humming from the sword, but then realized someone was knocking at the door. He scrambled to his feet and opened it. Doris, her face pale, stood in the doorway.

“We’ve lost it.” Her voice was barely recognizable.

“Lost it?”

Doris nodded. “The contract.”

“The Engleman contract?”

She nodded again. “Barclay wants you in his office right away.”

Joel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

She stepped aside. Joel left his office, purposely not looking at the statue. He did notice the pain in his chest was gone and in its place was a peculiar coolness. Hansen, his eyes blinking furiously, was already in Barclay’s office.

“Sit down.” Barclay said. “Did Doris tell you?”

Joel nodded as he took a seat.

“I-I’m sorry.” Hansen’s voice barely audible, and his gaze was glued to the floor. “I . . . I guess you were right, Joel. I . . . .” He trailed off into inaudibility.

Joel stared at the man for a moment. Hansen reminded Joel of himself as he had knelt, shaking, in front of the image with the point of the sword inches from his chest. Suddenly he felt a flood of sympathy.

“Jim.” It was the first time Joel remembered using Hansen’s first name. Hansen looked up in surprise. “Things like this happen. It’s past. The only thing we can do is learn from it. Let’s go over what happened and see how both of us could have done better.”

Half an hour later, Hansen and Joel left Barclay’s office. Both men were laughing. Joel’s secretary looked up in surprise as Joel entered the office, still laughing.

“Any calls?”

“No. Nothing, Mr. Oliver.”

“Call me Joel, Doris. ” He stepped into his office. For the first time since his second session with the image, he looked at the statue. The table on which it had been sitting was bare. “Doris.”

“Yes, Mr. Oliver?” She hurried to the door. “Er . . . Joel.”

“Doris, I’d like some flowers.”

“Flowers?” She frowned slightly.

“Yes. You see that table.” He pointed to where the statue had been. “I want a vase of cut flowers there.”

“What happened to the statue?”

“Oh . . . I . . . uh . . . decided to put is someplace else. But I miss having something there and flowers would cheer the room up a bit, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, they would.”

“Good. Keep fresh-cut flowers there. Take it out of petty cash, keep track of it, and I’ll pay the kitty back at the end of each month. Okay?”

“Right away, Joel.”

Joel nodded and sat down, smiling, at his desk.

© 2008