Cosmic Entwinings

By Roger W. Gruen

Brilliant, young scientists are drawn together by a Nobel Laureate who has "proved" that space is not empty; it is a continuous fabric made of tiny, entwined "strings". His team is to devise experiments that show his acclaimed equations are true.

The professor draws criticism from some faculty for his profound, Christian views. He displays Christian art in his office and teaches a popular Sunday School class across the street from the University.

A deadly love triangle erupts among the researchers. A lovely girl is wooed by two very different men: one a devout young Christian, the other a demon-possessed, suave, rich and handsome young man. The rivalry is resolved in a bizarre sequence of events.

The tale progresses through a verbal tapestry of intriguing scenarios, filled with emotion, surprises and fascinating facts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781633155817

Book preview

Glory

Chapter 1. Victor

Shha—Vic-ha—tur, Vic-tor-r-r.

Yes, Grandma, Victor responded, recoiling from the onerous chore he had come to do. He half-filled a teaspoon with some mashed potatoes and raised it to her mouth. After tickling her lips with the tip of the spoon, he got her to open enough to let him instill the first bite of her evening meal.

This is going to take too long, he grumbled to himself. He had far better things to do.

Her skin was wrinkled, thin, and ghostly pale. He reviewed the blue veins near her temples with revulsion. She was splotched with light-brown age spots.

How’s co-o-ollege?, she asked, lifting her left eyebrow a little.

I’m through with my Master’s, he replied, and about to start on my Doctorate, working on a project called ‘Strings’.

She won’t understand, he mused, but the words filled the silence, as he pushed bite after bite into her light-purple lips.

How many days can this go on? he wondered. Usually, Vic’s Mom handled this effort twice a day, but sometimes, he had to take her place, while she attended to other matters.

Remember, Mom had often reminded him, Grandma Berkmann has made you the beneficiary of a large insurance policy. She has been so generous to us through the years. She’s paid all your educational expenses, and that insurance money will be a blessing to you, someday.

Strr-ings? Grandma queried in a whisper.

Yes, Vic disclosed, we’re going to try to do something useful with the very tiny strings that are the building blocks of the Universe.

The squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the tile floor announced the entrance of Nurse Edith Kilmaury. She swept into the room, saying, Well, I see, Sonja’s good looks got handed down to you! You always rev-up the female staff, when you come to visit us. Come on, now. Don’t look so glum. Give me your fabulous grin.

Vic was handsome, Hollywood Handsome, the girls on staff said. Tall and tan, he walked in a majestic manner and spoke in mellow tones. His loosely curled, dark-brown hair, chestnut eyes, and full lips, framing a perfect smile, all combined to elicit the attention of the feminine gender.

Vic offered a slight smile. But, he wasn’t in the mood for pointless small-talk. This feeding routine was crimping his plans. Edith and the girls on her staff were not the hotties he was eager to woo.

Nevertheless, Edith was drawn to him. She placed her hand on his shoulder, gazed into his eyes, and asked, Need some help?

Vic ignored the advance and said, No, in a definite manner.

Edith shrugged. Let me know when you’re done. I’ll clean up, she droned as she left the room.

Vic persisted with the feeding. He wanted to get to Club Palladium. There’ll be drinking, dancing and dames there! he shouted to himself, repeating a favorite line his Dad had often broadcast to his pals. That declaration always embarrassed his Mom.

But, Vic wasn’t his Dad. He was a brilliant, Chemistry student, a polished young man, a great dancer, the life of every party he graced with his presence. He wasn’t a plumber, like his old man.

Finally, Vic finished his chore. He perfunctorily kissed his Grandma’s forehead, said a goodbye, and raced through the door. God! I hate this nursing home, he thought as he trotted to his car. The smells ... the wrecked bodies I pass in the halls ... the moans and screams I hear bouncing through the corridors ... They’re all sickening. Is Grandma really alive inside that bag of bones? She’s such an inconvenience.

...

The action at the Club was lame. so Vic was out of sorts. He had missed most of Happy Hour. And, he wondered, where’s Shelly?

As he downed a drink, sitting alone, several girls threw a flirty smile at him. He was thinking of dancing with one of them when his smartphone trilled. He glanced at the screen. It advised, Material should be in your email, Sanji.

Vic changed course. He headed for his apartment and hurried to his computer. He had been expecting the transmission from Sanji. He had requested, from an Indian university, digitized images of some recently discovered, Sanskrit writings. They were documents concerning pharmacology. Vic had become proficient in Sanskrit while pursuing his interest in the methods used by sophisticated men of medicine in ancient times. His remarkable intelligence had allowed him to become one of the few who could read the oldest Sanskrit dialects. These texts were written using the Brāhmīlipi alphabet. They opened a whole new world to him. Especially, he loved the thought that he might be the only scholar on Earth who could read these words.

Vic checked his emails. There it is! he exclaimed. This should be intriguing. These writings were the most interesting he had seen. They had been found hidden in an alcove of a remote, Hindu temple.

Vic dug in. He snacked and read into the evening.

Suddenly, he found himself in the middle of a murder mystery. In it, a prince posed a question to a trusted Hindu physician, Is there a potion that will slay a traitorous acquaintance seven days after he has dined in my palace? The victim must remain unharmed for seven days and, then, die quietly. His death must look natural and not arouse a suspicion of poisoning. No one should suspect that the victim was harmed in my court.

The wise man replied, Yes, lord, I can prepare a kind of sugar from five forest plants. It may work in five days, but not sooner. Also, the recipient will seem to be getting healthier before he dies. His skin will take on a beautiful glow. Now, you must be very careful with the substance. If you touch it and then use your hands to raise food to your lips, you will incur the same fate as that of the traitor.

There followed a recipe for making the sugar. Vic’s encyclopedic mind recognized the names of the plants involved. In fact, they were plants undergoing study on campus. He had seen them in the campus Plant Repository, which housed an Herbarium and an adjacent Greenhouse. His passion for ancient pharmacology had caused him to spend many hours there, fraternizing with the staff.

Vic leaned back in his chair. He munched some chips and swigged some cola. An evil spirit, deep within him, promulgated a suggestion, What if Grandma swallowed some of this sugar? She would pass quietly ... You would never need to return to that nasty, nursing home ... And, you would be rich.

What a liberating thought! Vic mused.

The phone rang. It was Shelly. Vic said, Sure, come on over. I’m in a wonderful mood. We’ll taste of loves till morning!

Chapter 2. Chalk-Talk

Dan gazed out the shop window, as he nursed his French-vanilla coffee, sip by sip. He rehearsed the day’s schedule in his mind, The Installation Ceremony at 10 o’clock ... the Reception following ... shopping for some comfortable school clothes ... then home.

He wondered, Who is this Dr. Angelo? What will he be like? He has such a grand reputation. How did Transcendental University get him to come here? What is this ‘Strings Project’?

Dan was so stirred by the prospects of the day that he had awakened early. He had dressed as well as he could for the occasion, leisurely, and taken his time getting into the city. Even so, he was quite early. He finished his cinnamon roll and downed the last of his coffee, rose, and ambled through the exit. He stepped into a busy world. Pedestrians loped by, hurrying to work. A bus belched smothering, diesel fumes as it pulled away from the loading zone to his right. A frenetic panorama of cars of every shape and color oscillated on the wide thoroughfare before him.

But, Dan’s attention was drawn to a ruckus in the park on the far side of the street. There, in a grove of oaks, he saw a flock of crows in frenzied activity, mobbing a red-tailed hawk on the ground. He hurried to the corner and crossed the avenue to get a closer look.

A crowd was gathering as Dan approached the squabble. An elderly gentleman, out for a morning stroll, leaned on his ornate cane, watching in awe. What’s going on? he asked, looking at Dan.

Well, crows and red-tailed hawks are mortal enemies, Dan explained. This hawk invaded crow territory and killed that small bird he is eating. The crows are furious and determined to chase him away.

The crowd was hanging on Dan’s words. He was dressed in a nice, light-brown, business suit, looking like an expert, and he was speaking with authority. His broad, cheerful face projected a friendly air, and his discourse reflected his intelligence.

My Mom calls a crow flock a ‘murder of crows’. Technically, she’s right. There are herds of buffalo, flocks of sheep, gaggles of geese, and murders of crows. For sure, this fight looks murderous enough.

The crows attacked in pairs and threes. One would peck the hawk on his back, while another danced in front of him, at a safe distance. The hawk lunged for the one out front as another shoved him from the side with its claws. The hawk was bewildered. With desperate resolve, he raced forward and leapt into the air. As he flew to safety, several crows chased him and buffeted him from above and with broadsides. Clumsily, he got away.

The crows re-congregated in their oaks. They loudly discussed the invasion, screaming back and forth for many minutes. Gradually, the crowd of onlookers dissipated.

The spry, old fellow shifted his cane to his left hand and offered his right hand to Dan. I’m Casey Bullock, he said. How do you know all that?

Dan Diederman, Dan responded. Oh, I was raised in the county, on some wooded acreage. My Dad and I hunted a lot. I got to know the woods and the wildlife.

You sure aren’t dressed like a backwoods boy, today! in that nice summer suit and light-green tie, Casey blurted. Are you headed to a fancy job at some bank?

No, Dan chuckled, his sandy-colored hair fluttering in the morning breeze. I’m still a student at the University. I’m headed for an installation ceremony for my new boss, Dr. C. J. Angelo.

Yes, Casey drawled. I read about that in the newspaper ... some Nobel Prize winner ... Was it in Physics?

Yep, Dan affirmed. He is known for his mathematical proof that there is some kind of invisible, cosmic fabric that fills what we have been calling ‘empty space’. I’m going to be on his research team, trying to prove the reality of his mathematical theories. He calls the tiny components of his fabric ‘strings’. We’re going to try to make those ‘stings’ do something useful.

Moving his cane back to his right hand, Casey adjusted his posture. Well, he said, thanks for explaining the crows. I think I understand their battle now, but I don’t think you could ever explain those ‘strings’ to me. Good luck with your project, he said, as he shuffled away.

Dan had, modestly, left some salient facts out of his conversation with Casey. He was more than an average, weekend hunter. His fascination with all things mechanical had drawn him into the world of shotguns and rifles at an early age. He wanted to know every aspect of his hunting tools. He and his Dad had accumulated an impressive set of machines for servicing armaments. And, he was blessed with exceptional vision. These factors had led him into the world of competitive rifle matches. There, he had won many awards during his high school years. His favorite shootouts were those involving the prone firing of small-bore rifles with metallic sights. In that niche, he was exceptional.

And, Dan loved the woods. He could see things there that others missed. He had spent many hours observing squirrels, snakes, fox, birds, lizards, deer, and armadillos.

The crows were back to their normal, bickering behavior. The onlookers were gone. So, Dan strolled on toward the University. Up ahead, he spotted another gathering, near a large, white van sitting in a street-side corner of the parking lot at the park’s entrance. As he approached, Dan could see a burly fellow, standing on a wooden pallet, drawing a picture with colored chalks. His canvas was a large sheet of heavy paper, mounted on an easel, strapped to the van.

Dan sauntered into the audience. He noted the ornate lettering on the van’s door. It revealed the identity of the artist. It read, Beauregarde ‘Bo’ Rouseau, Heavenly Chalk-Talks.

Bo was a large man with a radiant, dark-brown complexion. His voice boomed with enthusiasm. He was delivering a Gospel sermon as he added features to his mural. The sonorous tones emanating from his broad, friendly smile, disclosed a slight French-West-Indies accent. His features were reminiscent of his African, Caribbean, and French heritage. He was an impressive, rugged man, topped off with an unruly shock of coal-black hair.

Off to the right of the platform was an energetic band of singers. They were a cosmopolitan bunch: a petite, oriental, teenage girl nearly hidden by her jumbo guitar; a rotund, Latino guitarist in his thirties; a tall, slender, black lady, about forty, with a bright, yellow tambourine; and two white fellows with jingle-sticks ... a wispy, white-bearded man and a buff, blond teenager. When Bo turned to add to his depiction, the musicians would sing a happy hymn. When he turned back to the gathering to continue his message, they would give him rapt attention. Bo and the singers wore faded, blue jeans and matching, white, short-sleeved sweat-shirts, embossed with the slogan, We’re Marching Upward to Zion.

The ambiance was electric. Bo was dynamic. The singers were winsome. The park was alive with the blooms and fragrances of late May. Everyone is focused on the message. It feels like we’re standing on holy ground, Dan mused.

Dan was an ardent Christian. He regularly attended Church services. He studied the Scriptures daily. Some of his college professors had tried to dissuade him from his superstitious faith, but he had retained it. He found Bo refreshing. It was stirring to hear the Gospel proclaimed boldly and publicly.

Bo turned from his artwork and faced the assembly. In a somber tone, he said, Your life is under examination. Earth is your proving ground. The question is, ‘Are you on the path to Heaven or Hell?’ Gesturing toward his drawing, he said, "See this man? He’s standing at a fork in the road. He represents you. Ladies, forgive me, I can only draw one scene at a time, and today, I chose to make the subject of my painting a man. But, you get the idea. See, there’s two ways our leading man can go. There’s this broad, easy road that leads to a wide gate at the entrance to Hell and this winding, steep path that leads to a narrow gate at the entrance to Heaven. Now, remember, you are the leading man!

"I’ve placed a Cross, here, in the crux of the fork where you might expect to see a street sign. If Jesus were still hanging there, you’d see, His right hand pointing to the narrow way and His left hand pointing to Hell.

"The Cross is the central issue. What do you think of the Cross? The folks on the narrow path believe that Jesus died on that Cross to pay the penalty for their sins. He took the punishment they deserved. Do you agree with them? Now, these people on the super-highway to Hell do not think the Cross has anything to do with them. They live as if the Crucifixion never happened.

"Jesus said, in the NIV, the New International Version of Matthew 7, verses 13 and 14, ‘Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.’

Do you know what that means? If this audience is a representative sample of the human race, most of you are on the highway to Hell. A few of you are on the narrow way to Heaven. I hope everyone here is on the right path. But, please, ask yourself, ‘Am I saved?’

Bo turned back to his artwork and the band sang,

¹ The way of the Cross leads home.

The way of the Cross leads home.

It is sweet to know, as I onward go,

The way of the Cross leads home.

I must needs go home by the way of the Cross.

There’s no other way but this.

I shall ne’er get sight of the Gates of Light,

If the way of the Cross I miss.

The way of the Cross leads home.

The way of the Cross leads home.

It is sweet to know, as I onward go,

The way of the Cross leads home.

Dan was dazzled by Bo’s artistry. Bo worked quickly and deftly. The scenery in his work was lovely. The individuals on the two roads were vivid and life-like.

Brother Bo returned to his address, There are many reasons to join the crowd on the popular path. This pretty girl is dressed in a provocative way, making alluring gestures to you. This fellow with the cards and dice wants you to gamble. This man with a plastic baggie full of white powder? Well, you know what he wants to sell you. The broad road is the easy way. Satan, his minions, and all the men and women he dominates urge you to choose the profane way.

As Bo completed his depiction of the crowd rushing down the broad path to Hell and added some

believers on the narrow, upward path, the band sang:

² I have found a friend in Jesus,

He’s everything to me.

He’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul.

The Lily of the Valley, in Him alone I see

All I need to cleanse and make me fully whole.

In sorrow He’s my comfort.

In trouble He’s my stay.

He tells me every care on Him to roll.

He’s the Lily of the Valley,

the Bright and Morning Star,

He’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul.

He all my grief has taken

and all my sorrows borne.

In temptation He’s my strong and mighty

tow’r.

I have all for Him forsaken

and all my idols torn

From my heart and now He keeps me by His

pow’r.

Though all the world forsake me

and Satan tempt me sore,

Through Jesus I shall safely reach the goal.

He’s the Lily of the Valley,

the Bright and Morning Star.

He’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul.

He will never, never leave me,

nor yet forsake me here,

While I live by faith and do His blessed will.

A wall of fire about me,

I’ve nothing now to fear.

From His manna He my hungry soul shall fill.

Then sweeping up to Glory

to see His blessed face,

Where rivers of delight shall ever roll.

He’s the Lily of the Valley,

the Bright and Morning Star.

He’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul.

Bo faced the audience and rejoined his theme, "There’s a lady over here, too, on the narrow path. But, you see, she is dressed modestly. She’s calling out to you, ‘Come, follow Jesus, and you will have a wonderful life. You’ll get to enter Heaven, too.’ This man, here, with the open Bible, says, ‘Listen to this verse from First John, chapter 1:

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

Confess your sins to Jesus. He’ll erase all of them, and, friend, once you are sin-free, you can make it through Heaven’s narrow gate.’

"Beloved, it’s time for you to choose! Will it be Jesus’ way or the highway to Hell. Any one of these lost souls on the broad way, can walk back to the Cross, get forgiveness, and start to climb the narrow way to Glory. Is that you? Think about it.

Now, I’m going to spray some chemicals on this chalk sketch to fix the colors to the paper. Then, we are going to give this drawing to one of you in the audience. While I’m doing this, does anyone here feel led to give us a word of testimony from his or her experiences? ... Anyone?

A well-dressed gentleman stepped forward. He appeared to be in his fifties. His rusty-brown hair was graying. His face showed some wrinkles. But, he looked very dignified. He seemed a bit reluctant, but he proceeded forward. Bo extended his hand and guided him into position behind the microphone as he said, Well, brother, tell us your story.

The volunteer began, Hi, I’m Chuck, and I feel I must say something. First, Bo, that’s a wonderful piece of art, and your message was very well delivered. You truly inspired me. Thank you.

The congregation clapped.

Chuck continued, When I was a young man, I got sucked into the counter-culture at my university. I was on my way to a useless life, when a fellow student told me about her faith in Jesus. To get on her ‘good side’, I listened. You see, she was very beautiful.

The folks laughed.

Chuck resumed, "Well, I followed her to some Christian meetings, and I got hooked ... on her and on the Gospel. I guess you could say she was acting as ‘a fisher of men’. Anyway, I became a Christian and I married that girl. We walked the narrow way side by side for 27 years. Then, she was whisked away and disappeared through Heaven’s gate. She got there before me, but I plan to join her when my time comes. Someday, I’ll see her again, in her glorified, heavenly body. Hey, even I’ll look good by then. That will be a great reunion.

Now, here’s the thing. You see that girl on the narrow path calling, ‘Come, follow Jesus and you will have a wonderful life!’ I’m telling you, she looks exactly like the girl who brought me to Christ. Exactly! It’s eerie. I had to say something.

Tears glistened in Chuck’s eyes. He continued,

What I must say is this. Listen to Bo. He’s telling the truth. Get on the path to Heaven. It’s been good for me.

Bo gave Chuck a manly hug, wiped tears from his own eyes, and said, "Isn’t it great to look forward to seeing our departed loved ones in Heaven?

Folks, normally we decide who gets the painting by playing ‘Guess-the-right-number’. But, I’ve been so touched by Chuck’s testimony that I have decided to give it to him. He raised his hands above his head and slapped them together in applause and the crowd joined in.

Now, Bo said, "let’s get to the most important thing. Chuck’s wife got him into Christ. That changed his life for the better and positioned him for that reunion with her. Listen to these words penned by the Apostle Paul in his second letter to the Church in Corinth, ‘If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. and all things are of God.’ So, if you have felt the urging of the Spirit here today to give your life to Jesus and get on the road to Heaven, we want you to linger for a while and discuss this with one of our choir members or me. Don’t leave without settling things between you and the Lord.

Thanks for listening. There’s a stack of schedules of our future chalk-talks on that table in front of the van. We hope to see you again.

Dan was uplifted by the meeting. The crowd slowly dispersed. A few did seek counseling from Bo’s