The Iscariot

By Bernace Charles

The Iscariot is a novel about Judas Iscariot and his effort at regaining
life. When he is successful and coming of age he faces the challenge
of fi nding a priest of the Roman Catholic faith who must offer him
absolution for his betrayal of Christ if he is to live past the age of 29. 29
is the age at which he supposedly took his own life.
So begins the seduction of Beth Lyles and the released anger of Judas
upon the woman Heather Cox. When a young girl she betrayed him
by having an abortion and fl eeing an old ranch house. She and 4 other
vagrant youths have been living in the abandoned home. She is currently
a televangelist with a vast TV audience out of Dallas, Texas.
The unsuspecting women must either bathe or drink from a water source
Judas has died in and into which his blood has run. Through the centuries
he has been able, on several occasions to gain a rebirth, but has not been able
to fi nd a priest who will give him absolution for his betrayal of Christ. Will
he be able to fi nd such a priest in Bodega Bay, California?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479782550

Bernace Charles

Bernace Charles is thankful to have had the English novelist Frank Baker encourage him to write. Charles is a retired middle school teacher who has worked at writing fiction through the past 30 years.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Bernace Charles.

ISBN:      Softcover   978-1-4797-8254-3

                Ebook         978-1-4797-8255-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

Luke, 8:30

   AND HE ASKED HIM, WHAT IS THY NAME?

      AND HE ANSWERED, SAYING, "MY NAME

         IS LEGION: FOR WE ARE MANY."

December 1602;—

Off the west coast of North America.

The Spanish flagship San Diego shuddered from a storm hammering it. It was the first storm to hit the future California coast in many long months. Below the top deck a crewmember pleaded to shipmates above the deafening roar of the squall-pitched, Pacific Ocean. Juan Surgeo wailed above the sound of the reverberating crack of the ship’s sails and rigging, No… the Friar lies! I’ve committed no sin to deserve such punishment! I’m worthy of life! Both the snap of the ship’s rigging and the darkness of their act sent fear scurrying deep in the minds of those men standing over Juan Surgeo.

With its masts straining from the press of the gale, and with an angry rain billowing its sails, the eminent flagship pushed its way through heavy weather. The San Diego sailed north off the future California Coast. And with the ship’s bow rising then plunging in a thunderous, splintering crash, the frightening plea of Juan Surgeo went the way of the wind.

Friar Asenscion, Captain Sebastian Vizcaino, and four crewmen stood over the seaman. Friar Asenscion held to the bars of the ship’s lockup. His face was chalk white and a wild look of terror was in his eyes. He answered the seaman’s words in an unforgiving rage, Silence… your truth seals your fate, Juan Surgeo! Come tomorrow you will be isolated within the world’s wilderness where you will die with your dreams! God willing, this voyage will continue without you.

While losing his struggle to prevent the binding of his hands and arms, Juan Surgeo wailed, I live to find forgiveness! You know this, Friar, yet— With the words a crewman grabbed the hair at the nap of Juan Surgeo’s neck, pulled his head back, and forced a gag into his mouth. In the light of a swaying lantern, the deep lines cutting across the doomed seaman’s forehead could be seen. Juan Surgeo’s face was a frightening portrait of tight dread and his eyes were blood red.

After binding Juan Surgeo’s hands and arms the four men pushed him back to the deck floor.

Friar Asenscion turned his frightened stare on Captain Vizcaino as he spoke in a roaring voice. Captain, the man must be put off this ship! The sealing of his fate is by the cross of our beloved savior. If he is not… we may all perish! With the words the bow crashed hard on a wave’s swell to send another shutter through the ship and men. And with the violent list of the ship riding down the back of the wave Juan Surgeo tumbled hard against the lockup’s iron bars. There, the four crewmen clamped him in leg-irons.

Holding to the open door of the lockup, Captain Vizcaino answered while looking hard on the puffed face of Friar Asenscion, And you, Friar, believe this man’s confession demands such an act? Will you accept responsibility for abandoning him?

Friar Asenscion continued in a hard voice, You must understand, Captain. It’s a truth of which I can only speak to the Holy Father. This man’s very existence is against the will of almighty God!

With the two men turning their worried study to the form lying at their feet the crewmen chosen to take Juan Surgeo ashore when the storm broke exited the cell. After passing through a dark passage, they ascended to the top deck. By the friar’s demand they scurried for safety. When on the main deck, they joined others to put their minds at ease. But with the storm swirling around them, they peered through lateral sheets of rain. Tired, and frightened eyes looked on the drought stricken coast the ship charted. As the ship pushed north off the coast of the uncivilized, the crewmembers remained quiet in thought and stared on a sullen and distant isolation.

Sebastian Vizcaino had witnessed the salvation of Mexico by men as the friar. But with his eyes gazing on the wretched man before him, Vizcaino knew the need for the friar’s influence if Spain had hope of discovering riches north of Mexico. The great Spanish Lake of the Pacific would soon be attracting other countries. Spain could ill-afford to lose to their ambitions.

As Sebastian Vizcaino looked on the crewmember, Friar Asenscion pressed his demand in a boosted voice, There can be no hesitation, Captain. Your duty is to this voyage and to the king. It isn’t to the words of this man! Friar Asenscion’s words fell upon Sebastian Vizcaino and deepening his sense of consternation. According to the friar, the crewmember before them had made a monstrous admission. Instead of absolution, Friar Asenscion insisted the man be taken ashore to be sealed to his death. The monstrosity of the demand was part of the devil’s handiwork and Sebastian Vizcaino held no stomach for it.

Vizcaino answered in heated words while looking on Juan Surgeo. What will you tell the viceroy on our return? Is he to take kindly to abandoning one of the crew? I don’t know what this man has confessed to you. Is it reasonable to entomb the man for a sin of which you cannot speak? Only at your insistence do I agree to take the man ashore… you will bear the responsibility. Turning to Friar Asenscion he continued, The viceroy may not be as kind as you hope on our return. Is this act worth the risk of offending him?

This man cannot receive God’s forgiveness, Friar Asenscion answered, He was condemned centuries before we came into the world. By the hand of God he will be stopped!

May God forgive you for what you put upon me. Vizcaino said the words before he turned to the passage taken by the four crewmen.

Friar Asenscion called after him, This man plans on using the forces of hell to destroy this voyage! He’ll not do it! It is a fight he has lost!

Along with Juan Surgeo, the friar demanded the barred door of the ship’s lockup be taken ashore when the storm broke. He had provided an ornate, gold cross to be secured to the bared door by the ship’s metalworker. Once on shore, a cave or recession in rock was to be found. There, and after driving the grate into it, Juan Surgeo would be sealed for eternity. Death would claim him within the great northwest of the new world; the natives would kill him if the want of food and water did not.

––

During the day the ship sailed between the Faralion Islands and the entrance into what would become San Francisco Bay. Near the end of the day the storm settled with the sun hanging in the far Pacific. Continuing north, the ship passed future Point Reyes. In evening light it anchored north off a jut of land extending offshore. The San Diego was now dead in the water with its crew taking in its sails. It was off the northern shore of a headland to be later known as Bodega Head. Rising in the east was the coast range, and extending several miles to the north was a lengthy expanse of beach. The beach ended when meeting precipitous cliffs. The morning of the next day the trimmed flagship would be under full sail and continue to explore north to Oregon’s Cape Blanco before returning to the village of Acapulco, Mexico.

When evening light came, four crewmembers made their descent into the ship to bring Juan Surgeo topside. After unlocking the barred door one kicked the prisoner in the side and said, You’ll pay for the deed you confessed to the priest. The men carried Surgeo to the upper deck to put him in a longboat. Following a second trip below the main deck, they returned with the grate of bars. A central bar had a gold cross fixed solid to it. The men then lowered the longboat and rowed toward the pounding surf.

And as the crewmembers worked the oars Friar Asenscion read from a prayer book. As each word was read it caused Juan Surgeo to grow fearful. He was being cast out of God’s world, and his eyes stared hard upon the face of Friar Asenscion. In a muffled voice coming through the gag he said, You Cannot deny the truth. You only set loose the truth for another day and time. It will come for the unborn. The truth can’t die until forgiven! You know this, yet you deny it! Surgeo’s words were a guttural sound as Friar Asenscion and the crewmembers feared the ordeal before them.

With the longboat ashore, Friar Asenscion said above the roar of the breakers as a stout wind whipped his vestment. Get him out! A suitable place must be found before darkness overcomes us! After lifting the struggling Surgeo over the side of the longboat, the men carried him up the beach. He was then dropped to lie in his chains. Soon, the grate lay beside him. After ascending dunes of wind swept sand, coastal grass, and pine, Sebastian Vizcaino took out his spyglass to study a rock formation rising out of the gentle slope of the nearest mountain. Turning to the north and south, he brought his study back to center. There, he said pointing to the east, It’s our best hope… bring the ropes.

The four crewmen followed their captain and the friar to climb the slope of the mountain and to the rock formation. Once there, one of the seamen was lowered into an 8-foot depth crevice. The split in the rock was 7 feet long and 4 feet wide. After descending within it, the man found a suitable place for Juan Surgeo and the grate. At the bottom of the fissure and angling to the north was a cave like niche. The split rock made a natural spring during a normal year’s rain, but during a year of drought, as the current year, the crevice was dry.

Less than an hour later, Juan Surgeo and the grate had been carried to the rock formation. From its height, Juan Surgeo saw the San Diego on the ocean. The ocean was a dark color in a setting sun. He gazed on the ship as Friar Asenscion commanded, Lower him. We must finish this before nightfall

Juan Surgeo managed to get the gag to fall from his mouth. He pleaded, I beg you. I’ve done nothing but seek forgiveness. Tell them, Friar! The far past condemns me. Friar Asenscion, if you love God, tell the truth!

Friar Asenscion’s voice was high pitched, Silence! Your lies fail you! Juan Surgeo, you’re to be sealed to your fate! The church has not forgotten your betrayal! Nether has almighty God! Here… you will spend eternity!

Twisting his head and neck, and avoiding the restraint as a crewmember attempted to place the gag back into his mouth, Surgeo continued, You cannot silence the truth. I’ll not— His mouth was again muffled. With tears filling Juan Surgeo’s eyes a crewmember tied the rope around Juan Surgeo’s chest and beneath his arms. Then and after lowering Surgeo into the split of the rock, the doomed seaman settled to the floor. Another of the crew scurried down the rope and drug Surgeo against a wall. Others lowered the iron grate then passed down a heavy hammer. A man struck a flintlock against dry straw taken from packing on board the San Diego. After tying it as a torch to light the passage a crewmen Pulled Surgeo into the recess of rock.

There, the seaman threw Surgeo to the floor. He then removed the leg-irons as others dragged the grate into the cavern.

But now and as he lay on the damp, cool rock Juan Surgeo struggled like an insect again attempting to remove the gag by rubbing a protruding mouth against the floor. As he did, he cut the waxy flesh of a cheek. When the restraint fell away, and with blood running from his mouth line, Surgeo pleaded for mercy, I’m a man! I’m not an animal to be left to such a death! I’ve sought forgiveness! I did nothing but speak the truth. It was his will! Lifting and pushing the grate the men positioned the bars against rock walls. One used the hammer to drive the bars tight, wedging them into a death chamber. A crewmember reached through the bars to untie Sergio’s hands.

As the crewmen scurried from the recess and climbed out of the fissure, Juan Surgeo’s words were frightful and imploring, It was his will! He repeated the words with only Friar Asenscion knowing their meaning.

When the last man came over the side, Friar Asenscion grabbed him by the shoulders and asked, Did you seal him?

The man backed away fearful of turning his face from the friar, Yes, he cannot escape. He will die here. The man then scrambled to the other crewmen who hurried down the incline of the mountain.

As Friar Asenscion and Captain Vizcaino left the formation Juan Surgeo’s pleas soon faded to the rush of the coastal wind. Beneath the men, and across a dark world, were the ocean and the San Diego. And as the men walked they felt their thanks in returning to the long boat. There was something forlorn about the place they were leaving. Only Captain Vizcaino spoke. He did so in a worried tone, May God forgive us for what we’ve done. When back on the San Diego Captain Vizcaino didn’t speak to another man the remainder of the night. He remained silent and sitting alone in his cabin.

In Friar Asenscion’s cabin, the friar gazed out on the coastline and his mind heard the cry of Juan Surgeo’s plea, It was his will! Friar Asenscion had heard the words during Surgeo’s confession. Now, they kept repeating themselves, carrying him to an inner darkness rejecting light. Friar Asenscion understood the words and they brought a cold chill to his heart. Looking into the dusk, Friar Asenscion knew Rome would be told. But now, and with darkness moving to cover his private hell, Friar Asenscion wondered if men in Rome would receive the truth.

ONE

Beth Lyles was dressed for a day of house hunting. She stood within an old ranch house built in the eighteen hundreds; the home less than 2 minutes north of Bodega Bay, California and off Highway One. Beth stood in London jeans, an oversized, wide rib Shetland wool sweater and suede flats. Her short, chestnut hair was tied back by a yellow scarf. A realtor had accompanied Beth and Robert Lyles to the long abandoned home. Beth said, It needs major work, but the location is perfect. How many years has the house been abandoned?

The tattered ranch house had the appearance it had half-heartedly survived vandals. What was once a living room of a 19th century home was now a scene of peeling wallpaper. Peace signs had been brushed across the walls in red paint. They were jagged as though some demon had made them to offer a warning no one understood. Beth turned her attention to flaking paint on the room’s ceiling.

Speaking in an assertion for expanding the living space of the old house Sherry Jones, the realtor, answered, It was last lived in in the 80s. Several young people were illegally living here then.

Robert Lyles’ words came in concern, I don’t know, Beth. It’s going to take a major effort to make it livable. Much of it will need to be torn down to expand it. Robert stepped through an open door, onto a porch and looked toward The Bodega Headland. The battered home sat on five acres off of highway One.

Beth recognized Robert’s words were for the woman showing the property. But with the price of three hundred thousand dollars Beth felt the property was worth every penny. She crossed a scared, wooden floor to a window with a frame of scaled paint and broken glass. From the window Beth’s emerald eyes gazed down the coast range. A half-mile away lay the rolling surf of the Pacific and the Bodega Dunes. To the southwest stretched Bodega Head and Bodega Bay. But much of the coastal town sat beyond a sheltering line of pine and eucalyptus trees.

From the property’s height, even the trees gave appearance of having a tenuous hold on the pitching, wind swept land of hills and shallow canyons running to the ocean’s edge. Beth said while gazing down the open carpet of coastal grass. Its view is excellent… near breath taking. The view of the coast gave Beth a sense of freedom. It was a freedom she hadn’t felt the last years.

The old ranch house was less than five hundred yards off Highway One. It sat on the gentle slope of a coastal mountain. Off a sharp curve of the highway to the south and Bay Hill Road stood a glistening white structure serving as a bed and breakfast. It was built in the style of a castle and complete with supplemental towers for viewing the distant ocean. Low in the slump of the mountain’s drop to the northwest was a riding stable serving the coastal weekenders with horses for rent.

There were only two other homes within sight of the old one: a new home sat to the south of a far transformer station; a smaller, shingled house looking as being no more than an old bunkhouse and painted a fading yellow sat at the access road to the property. Turning from the window, Beth added, It gives a person a sense of freedom and a new feeling for life. Robert stepped back into the old home.

Barbara and Jenny Lyles came into the room in a rush from outside and after running around to the back of the home. The girls were dressed in quilted coats, stretch pants, dresses and blue scarves tying back their hair. They entered the home after they had explored the base of a rock formation. At its base a concrete slab covered a natural cistern. The old cistern was ten feet off the home’s northwest corner. There, a giant boulder rose out of the land with a crevice covered by concrete. Jenny had been working the old pump handle on the cistern and her hands were covered with rust. She had gotten no water out of the pump due to it being a year of drought in California. Barbara Lyles asked in hurrying words full of the girl’s energy, Mom, Dad, can we live here, and get a pony? Barbara was two years older than Jenny who had celebrated her seventh birthday the past month. Both daughters held excitement in hope of living in the country and near the ocean. Beth had waited eight long years before becoming pregnant with Barbara. She wasn’t interested in a further wait before moving out of San Francisco.

Beth answered with, Barbara, I don’t want you getting dirty. Go to the car. Get a bottle of water and wash your hands. She then added with a note of uncertainty, I don’t know, sweetheart? We haven’t bought it yet. Sherry Jones looked pensive for the mother’s words. Beth noticed the woman’s worry. Is there a problem? Beth asked. We assume the owner is serious about selling. I hope the drive up here wasn’t a waste of time. The girls disappeared into the old home’s kitchen then out its door to return to the rock formation.

Sherry Jones offered a weak smile. The state’s disclosure laws may require she go back only three years in relating any tragedy connecting to the property, but her sense of ethics now took her eighteen years into the past. When first told the selling price, the couple from San Francisco hadn’t expressed concern. Apparently, money wasn’t a problem. As the husband had driven to the house, Sherry Jones had sat in the back seat and listening to the girls’ excitement. She was thankful it was still in them as she spoke with hesitation, I have to tell you. A group of young people came from the city and took over the house eighteen years ago. It was the last time anyone was staying in it. Five of them died here. If I remember right, the investigation by the county sheriff’s office speculated that they committed suicide.

Robert Lyles asked, No one knew why they died? What—

Beth interjected, I remember reading about it, Robert. It was when you were working in the Haigh-Ashbury clinic and near the time we got married.

Robert didn’t acknowledge Beth’s words and Sherry Jones’ eye muscles were grimacing in apprehension of losing the sale. She answered, I don’t believe they knew with certainty. She then added with a weak point to the peace signs, They left the peace signs on the wall. The current owner has an estate back east. The family doesn’t extend any interest in the house. The owners grandmother lived and died here.

Beth asked, No one knew why these people died?

Sherry Jones answered, Some people thought the kids were on an LSD high. Some suggested they were possessed.

Robert Asked, Why would they say that?

Sherry Jones’ face was now showing a lack of energy in anticipating the couple’s questions. She said, There was an earlier incident when the original owner’s wife either jumped or fell off a cliff to the north. I believe it happened in eighteensixty. The history of it claims she was pregnant at the time. A few people keep the story alive. Apart from its past, its location is perfect. From here you get a panoramic view of the bay and Bodega Head compared to other building sights.

Beth Lyles saw the concern in the woman’s face, as the three adults remained standing in the unheated room. Through the broken window she could hear the happy, venturing voices of Barbara and Jenny. Beth spoke in confident and determined words. She said while smiling a knowing smile, It all sounds attention-grabbing, but I’m interested in a place to paint and a safe place to raise my daughters. I’m sure the tragedy makes a good story. No doubt there are those hoping it will drive buyers away. Those living along the coast want to keep it to themselves. I’m surprised someone hasn’t bought it to turn it into a museum or something.

Sherry Jones attempted to ignore the truth of Beth’s statement. It would be a way to keep others out. She said, As it is, the house wouldn’t make a place to live; but the building codes are less intrusive while being close enough to reach the town’s water system. Gaining approval for major rebuilding would be a simple process if the buyer keeps the property as a fiveacre block. Actually, it can’t be subdivided. A pool can be built if you’re interested.

Beth asked, Would there be concern for possible earthquake damage?

Only because of the home’s position on the slope of the mountain. A geological report would need to be done; the property is the only one with the view it has; you’re not far from the beach. The Bodega Dunes Beach is a quick drive. You also have access to several beach areas a short drive to the north. Several have strong undertows. I wouldn’t recommend them for your daughters.

Another question came to Beth. She asked, The house at the entrance to the drive… who lives there? Barbara and Jenny would have to catch their school bus for Bodega Bay’s elementary school at the access drive’s entry.

Sherry Jones’ answer came knowing a mother’s apprehension, The yellow house belongs to a man once a priest and working with the merchant marines. I believe he was working here on the ranch the last year it was running cattle. He stays to himself. His name is Jim Smith. Beth Lyles felt a sense of ease for the words. She was Catholic and though she hadn’t been active in the church in the city it was reassuring in the nearest neighbor being a past priest. It seemed right for the girls. The yellow house was below the larger, at the highway, and at the beginning of the gentle uplift of the mountain. She then asked, He wasn’t a priest relieved of his duties was he?

No. What’s known is that he became a merchant marine to serve those so far away from their families. Several years ago his story was printed in the Santa Rosa paper.

Beth said a simple, We’ll take it. Robert Lyles turned his study from the paintings of the peace signs on the wall. His gaze met Beth’s. Whether the home was in need of being rebuilt was insignificant to its location and Beth’s desire to move out of the city.

Sherry Jones released a silent sigh with a smile. She said in warm words. It’ll take a major effort, but it’ll be worth it. I’m sure your daughters will love it here.

––

Through the passing of several months the renovating of the property neared its end. Robert and Beth Lyles saw to its realization of a dream home by weekend drives from San Francisco. And like all things newly cast, men discarded the old for suave construction. But as men were tearing at the home’s walls to shape them into contemporary charm there was a noiseless stream of silence running beneath their work. The disquieting sound was the shattering of the past into modern angles failing to lessen an unspoken echo in the ocean breeze as it swept up the coastal range. Only within the wind was there the faint hush of a warning.

For Robert and Beth Lyles the property was a purchase along the coast difficult to come by. With local residents working to preserve what pristine coast they could, the home was one of few properties available. And with the coastline being held to strict building codes, the new structure unified itself in coastal ambience. The remodeling was by the construction of massive concrete pillars anchored in the ground and supporting a new, upper story following the removal of the roof of the old house. The new and the old were then interconnected to form a unique contemporary structure of concrete pillars and massive redwood beams. An upper deck extended along the west of the new home from where one could overlook the coast. A pool and spa were the primary obstacles to be completed. The view from either story was magnificent and in the north corner of the second story was a studio with baywindow. The only interruption of the sweeping vista before the home was the small and weatherbeaten home setting five hundred yards down the mountain and at the end of the drive. Between the old home and the upper one sat a pump house for the upper home’s water supply. Robert Lyles had made certain a new water line and pump were installed for water furnished by a pipeline running north along the highway and from Bodega Bay’s water supply.

A week after completing the new home wooden fencing went up around the five acres and was painted white to give the property a bucolic look. In its way, the older home at the drive entrance brought a sense of charm to the scene. It offered a mix of both the historic and fashionable. South of the upper home a new barn housed the sole occupant of a Shetland pony.

––

Today, and on the southern porch of the smaller house, Jim Smith sat waiting to watch the morning activity. With weathered hands he poured tobacco from a tin into a pipe. Standing on its tripod next to him was a telescope used to sight the flags of ships passing off the coast. A smaller telescope lay on his lap. Jim Smith sat on the porch and wearing the cap of a man of the sea. He was one of the people able to speak to the possible truth of the upper home. But with him searching his memory, he couldn’t forward a possible warning when continuing to doubt his acceptance of another’s story. It was told eighteen years in the past, and Jim Smith was still finding himself pondering it.

But now, there was promise