Bicycles of the Gods: A Divine Comedy

By Michael Simms

In Bicycles of the Gods, the main character, Jesse, presents an earthly incarnation of Jesus Christ come to earth in the body of a 12-year-old boy in the company of Xavi, who is the earthly incarnation of Shiva, Destroyer of Worlds, also a 12-year-old boy. The pair stand on a hilltop above the city of Los Angeles contemplating how best to destroy it as a precursor to destroying the entire world to rid it of humanity so it can refresh and rebuild. Xavi is ready to get on with the task The Big Guy, God, has assigned them, but Jesse has a problem. He isn’t sure that everyone deserves to be destroyed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Madville Publishing
• Release date: Aug 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781956440058

Michael Simms

Born and raised in Texas, Michael Simms has worked as a squire and armorer to a Hungarian fencing master, stable hand, gardener, forager, estate agent, college teacher, editor, publisher, technical writer, lexicographer, political organizer, and literary impresario. He is the author of seven collections of poetry and a textbook about poetry. In 2011 Simms was recognized by the Pennsylvania State Legislature for his contribution to the arts. Simms and his wife Eva live in the Pittsburgh neighborhood of Mount Washington overlooking the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers.

Book preview

Chapter One

So it came to pass that on a Saturday in July, two boys rode their bicycles up a dirt road through the dry hills above the city.

And now they’re wiping out the honeybees, Jesse was saying, shaking his head in disbelief. Of all the creatures I invented, the honeybee is the coolest. The apple, the almond, the orange, even the lilies of the field depend on the honeybee to pollinate their flowers. Do you know how bees communicate?

They dance, Xavi said, looking at the ocotillo and desert grasses that grew beside the road. It had been quite a while since these hills had seen rain. A small spark could start a conflagration. And wasn’t it your dad, not you, who invented the honeybee?

That’s right, they dance, Jesse said. And if you threaten their queen, the workers will die to defend her. And best of all, they make honey, the sweetest and most succulent of foods, Jesse said, his eyes growing vacant. Why would anyone want to destroy honeybees?

Careful, Xavi said. There’s a car coming.

The driver went by barely noticing them, and why would he? Jesse and Xavi looked like a couple of twelve-year-old boys, dark-skinned and wiry, one taller than the other, riding their bicycles through the national forest.

Of all the creatures I invented… Jesse began again, but this time Xavi interrupted him.

Didn’t your dad invent the honeybee, as well as all the other creatures? Xavi asked again.

Potato, po-tah-to, Jesse said. He’d been watching Fred Astaire movies lately and was trying to master old American slang.

As I’ve said many times, Xavi said, beginning to feel his legs tire as they pumped the pedals. The world needs to be destroyed again. These humans are ruining everything. I know you’re fond of them, but I’m afraid they’ve got serious design flaws. Why would the rulers of the world be descended from apes? Why not dolphins or hummingbirds?

Don’t blame me, Jesse said. The humans were Dad’s idea. He wanted somebody to talk to, and he feels a strong desire to be worshipped. He’s kind of insecure and needs to be praised all the time.

What’s this place called, anyway? Xavi asked, changing the subject and looking down at the lacustrine civilization below them.

"They call it The City of Angels, Jesse said. I’m not sure why. From what I’ve heard, only a couple of angels are living there now. Jesse looked down at the blue and gold spires of the city, sunlight shining down on the backyard swimming pools shimmering like sapphires. It’s kind of pretty, isn’t it? The world the humans have created?"

Well, Xavi snorted. If you like gaudy artificial things, then I suppose you could say that the cities of men have their appeal. Personally, though, I think most architecture nowadays is kind of tacky. The Taj Mahal, on the other hand, now there’s a beautiful building. Some of the cathedrals in France are impressive as well if you don’t mind the tourists.

Maybe so, but I hate destroying the world, Jesse said. It makes such a mess, and then we have to start all over again.

I thought we were just burning down this one city, Xavi said, puzzled.

We’re destroying this city now, then next year another city and so on. Jesse said. Dad is hoping that humans will get the message eventually.

I think we should just go ahead and destroy the whole world now, Xavi replied. This piecemeal approach never works.

"I’m not cut out for the Avenging Angel role," Jesse said. Xavi could hear the sadness in his friend’s voice. Jesse was right. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of work. Xavi, on the other hand, loved destroying worlds, and he was getting better and better at it.

Do we really have a choice? Xavi said. Already half of creation is gone. Great clouds of passenger pigeons used to fly over the land, and now not even one is left. Where are the endless herds of bison? The sea cows? The pocket gophers? The kit foxes? Every day another species disappears. And the rain forests are burning as we speak. Have you looked at the ocean lately? Huge islands of plastic. Who’s going to clean up that mess? Humans don’t care that they’re destroying creation. We have to put a stop to this.

I really don’t want to be a punishing god like my father, Jesse said, his shoulders starting to sag.

Don’t think of it as punishment, Xavi said. Think of it as housekeeping. What the world needs is a good cleansing.

We’ve already sent hundreds of floods as a warning to them. Remember when we put Sin City completely under water? And we’ve burned huge sections of this continent. Somehow, humans just don’t get the message, Jesse said.

Oh, you can’t teach humans anything, Xavi said. Believe me, my family and I have tried many times. What the world needs now is a good cleansing fire, and not just wilderness fires either. We need to burn the cities down and start over. I’d like to start with a small fire up here in the hills and let the wind carry the fire down to the city. Make it look like an accident. Something tells me that these people don’t believe in Divine Retribution.

They paused for a moment beside the road, catching their breath. In front of them was a large pile of dead wood. The sharp dry needles looked inviting. Xavi pulled out a box of matches, struck one against the surface and gazed into the flame. In the flickering image, he could see a world on fire, cities crumbling to ash, whole civilizations reduced to smoke and ruin. Charred bodies, orphaned babies, people fighting over scraps of food. This was the future Xavi yearned for. He looked up at Jesse, waiting for the final approval, but he could see that Jesse was having second thoughts. He walked to the edge of the woods and looked down at the city, white clouds moving slowly overhead.

"I wonder whether there’s a Manu down there," he mused.

Manu? Xavi asked. You mean Noah?

Potato, po-tah-to, Jesse said.

Should we do this thing or not? Xavi asked, blowing out the match before it burned his fingers. If you don’t want to do it this way, there’s always nuclear war.

Let’s hold off for a while, okay, Xavi? There’s something I need to do first.

And Jesse got back on his bicycle and rode toward the city.

Chapter Two

Stefan liked to wake early while it was still dark in the cave. Dharma lay beside him, her face close, her breath mixing with his. Stefan thought about going back to sleep, then changed his mind, rolled up his sleeping bag and put it on the cement shelf at the back of the cave. He grabbed his backpack, making sure it held his notebook, pen, and water jug, and after making sure no one would see him crawling out of the cave under the bridge, scrambled up the steep slope of the concrete channel, and walked out into the cool of the morning with Dharma close on his heels. He liked it that he could hear the ocean, but only in the hours before dawn when there were few trucks in the industrial neighborhood. Stefan and Dharma headed toward the shore half a mile away, staying alert, the air cool on his face. Dharma began her sniffing, making a small circle in the dry grass, squatted and peed. The relief on her face made him laugh. This, he had finally realized through years of living on the street, was the secret of life, to take each moment as it came, enjoying the small pleasures and not worrying about what may come. But today was different. Today the world was ending.

At the beach, he took off his boots, a scuffed pair he’d had since bootcamp seven years ago, and his green wool socks, too warm for summer, but the only pair he had. He took off his shirt and his tee, but kept his cut-off jeans, and walked into the shallows where the waves washed over his feet. He bent down and splashed salt water on his face, neck and chest, washing his beard and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked around, made sure no one was near, unzipped and peed in the ocean. Dharma was playing chase with the waves nearby.

Stefan turned and looked at the line of prosperous-looking shops that lined the boulevard and thought of the continent behind the shops, the rugged mountains, the golden deserts, the wide plains, the towering cities. Oxnard, he said to himself. Ventura. Saticoy. The sound of the names gave him pleasure. Then he felt a moment of grief, shook it off, and realized that it was all for the best. Yes, he could barely believe it. Today the world was ending, or at least the world that he and billions of others knew. Today the fires would begin, and they would not stop until everything was gone.

He sat in the sand, dried his feet and face with his socks, laced up his boots and hung the socks over his shoulders. The socks would dry quickly in the summer heat. The sky was already turning red in the east. He loved to watch how the levels of dawn rose through the sky, a dark spectrum that put the stars out, one by one. Who should he warn? He decided that those who needed to know had already been told. Like him, they would have to accept the inevitable facts. Hadn’t there already been enough warnings? The scriptures, the satellite photos, the scientific studies and conferences, the tedious documentaries, the ominous editorials, the long droughts, the terrible floods and the out-of-control fires. Everyone had been warned, but few had listened.

He felt a rumble in his stomach, and he started walking toward the McDoodle’s down the boulevard, Dharma following along, stopping to sniff each post and boulder. Stefan sometimes wished he were as alert to scent as she was. The landscape had a different shape for her, he realized. A stone without scent didn’t exist for her; whereas a patch of dirt where a dead fish had lain was huge, a presence that couldn’t be ignored. Stefan walked steadily down the sidewalk with Dharma zigzagging behind him, sniffing each interesting thing. He knew she could no more stop sniffing than he could stop looking. Each being had its own nature and its own fate. Whatever happened today, he hoped Dharma would survive and continue as his companion, but that decision was not his to make.

They stopped across the street from the McDoodle’s. Stefan sat down on a bench and Dharma sat beside him. The restaurant had just opened. A line of cars waited in line, each driver speaking into the box, placing an order, then moving forward to the window, paying for the order. A bag of food was handed over, and the car drove away. Stefan always admired the efficiency of the system. Eventually, one of the cars didn’t drive away, but turned into a parking space. About ten minutes later, the driver got out of the car and threw a white bag with the remains of his breakfast into the garbage can, returned to his car and drove away.

Stefan said, Let’s go girl! and he and Dharma hurried across the street. Stefan reached into the garbage and fished out the white bag, crumpled, with a spot of grease above the hamburger logo. They ran a few blocks before Stefan opened the bag. He pulled out the napkins, the yellow breakfast burrito wrapper, an empty Styrofoam cup that smelled of coffee, and a shallow French fries box. In the bottom of the bag, Stefan found half a dozen fries which he shared with Dharma. Then they went back to watching the McDoodle’s parking lot across the street. Each time a bag of garbage went into the bin, Stefan fished it out. In the next half hour, he and Dharma had shared part of an egg sandwich, a few swallows of Sprite, a few tater tots, a whole cup of chili and most of a hamburger. When they both had had their fill, they started walking in the direction of the church. Along the way, Stefan harvested a handful of purslane and dandelion leaves growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. He chewed the leaves slowly, letting the light oil of the purslane coat the inside of his mouth, offsetting the slight bitterness of the dandelion.

Father Jack McGinnis was sitting at his desk in the rectory office when Stefan tapped on the window. Jack beckoned him, and Stefan went to the side door with Dharma at his heels. The priest smiled and shook the indigent man’s hand. Stefan liked the fact that the priest never wiped off his hand on his pants leg, the way some people did after touching him.

How you been, Stefan? the priest asked, gesturing toward a chair in front of the desk. Stefan sat down and Dharma made herself comfortable under his chair.

I been okay, I guess, Stefan said, looking around the office. It always seemed strange to him that Father Jack’s office looked so business-like with file cabinets, a coffee mug full of pens and pencils, and a desktop computer with a screen saver that hypnotically repeated geometric patterns again and again. Stefan thought that if this were his office, he would never get anything done, but just sit at the desk watching the screen saver repeating itself all day like some post-modern version of purgatory.

Just okay? Jack asked, his boyish face peering at Stefan in a concerned way. Stefan liked the way that Jack, who was probably in his seventies, still had a boyishness about him, always seeming a little surprised at life.

Well, Stefan said, Today is the day, you know.

Today? Jack asked, not comprehending. Then a light came on in his eyes. Oh, you mean today is…

Yeah, today is the day that… Stefan gestured around the room and at the world outside the window.

The world ends, Jack said, finishing Stefan’s thought. The priest leaned back in his desk chair and looked at his friend without expression. You’ve told me before, Stefan, but tell me again how you know that today is the day.

I just know, Stefan said, shifting uncomfortably.

You told me that an angel came to you?

Stefan looked out the window. A song sparrow was sitting on an oleander bush. Stefan wondered whether the sparrow knew that every part of an oleander is highly poisonous. The whole plant, even the delicate pink blossoms, contains toxins that stop the heart immediately. Then he wondered whether it even mattered today of all days that the bird was in danger of being poisoned.

Have you been writing poems about this dream? Jack asked, nodding toward Stephan’s backpack.

Yes, but it wasn’t a dream, Stefan said. Do you want to hear a poem?

Jack nodded and smiled, and Stefan pulled out his notebook, flipped to a recent page full of his handwriting and said, It’s called ‘Nightjar.’

God who once loved us

no longer requires our praise,

delighting Himself alone

with the meadowlark.

A crow lifts an unseemly voice to heaven,

and a nightjar flies over the ruined houses

carrying a soul, passing it

from one bird to the next,

never content with its song.

Jack looked at Stefan with concern, Do you think that God no longer loves us?

Stefan shifted uncomfortably. Well, if God is planning to destroy the world soon, then he has certainly lost patience with us. I think that maybe he wants to wipe out everything and start over like he’s done before.

You’re referring to the story of Noah in the Book of Genesis?

Yes, but if you look at the archaeological evidence, the world is almost totally destroyed every ten thousand years or so, then it’s restored over time.

The angel told you this?

Stefan shrugged, I guess. I don’t really remember. It’s like I know things, but I don’t know how I know them.

They sat quietly together for a while, then the priest gently asked his friend, What did the angel look like?

Stefan reluctantly pointed at the wall behind the priest where a framed image of an angel flying through the clouds above a city had been hanging as long as Stefan had been coming here. In the distance two more angels could be seen. Below the image were the words Three angels give the last warning.

Jack turned and looked at the framed reproduction which had been hanging in that spot since before he started as parish priest here. He hadn’t looked closely at it in a long time and had no idea who’d painted the original. So, the angel looked like this one?

Sort of, Stefan said. But his wings were a little smaller, and he wasn’t wearing white robes. Also, he was Black… or maybe Middle Eastern.

How tall was he?

About average height.

But you’ve told me that your cave has a low ceiling. You can’t stand up in your cave, so how could he?

Stefan thought for a moment. I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe his body was non-corporeal?

What was he wearing? Jack asked, not knowing what else to say. He was remembering one of his professors at the seminary who’d written a book about people who’d seen angels. The professor’s argument, as best as Jack could remember, was that these visions were the result of schizophrenia and should be dealt with as symptoms rather than as revelations. Now Jack wished he’d read the book, or at least listened better to his professor. He thought that maybe if he showed Stefan the illogic of his claims, then he’d realize they were hallucinations, but Stefan always fell back on a supernatural logic that explained everything. Not for the first time, Jack was worried about his young friend. Would Stefan harm himself if he believed that Armageddon had arrived?

He was wearing, you know, regular clothes, Stefan answered. He could see that Jack didn’t believe him. Look, I know you think I’m crazy, and maybe I am, but what if I’m right? Shouldn’t we be doing something to get ready?

What do you think we should be doing?

I don’t know, maybe pray? Or go to confession? Or get baptized? Or do something else religious? Stefan said, growing irritated. Here he was telling this priest, a good man, that it’s time to be religious. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t the priest be telling him to find religion?

I agree, Stefan, let’s do something religious, the priest said. Would you like to say confession?

Okay, Stefan conceded. He didn’t have much to confess, but if it made his friend happy for the two of them to do something Catholic, he was glad to cooperate.

The two men went into the chapel. Against the far wall were two confessional booths. Stefan settled himself into one and saw his friend’s face darkly through the screen in front of him. Stefan confessed to abusing himself often, maybe three times a week, and he confessed to failing to share his food with Dharma sometimes because he was hungry, and he confessed to getting angry at someone.

Why were you angry, my son? the priest asked in his most resonant voice which kind of irritated Stefan. He liked Jack better when he wasn’t trying to act like a priest.

I don’t know. I just didn’t like her. She and her husband were walking past me, and she was berating him for something, and with each thing she said, he seemed to be shrinking, and as they walked past me and went down the street, I saw him getting smaller and smaller until he was just barely there.

What did you do about it? Did you say anything?

No, what could I say? I guess she kind of reminded me of one of my foster mothers.

When Stefan ran out of things to confess, Father Jack assigned him to recite three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys which Stefan dutifully completed while kneeling in the pew. But Stefan thought, as he had before, that none of these rituals meant much. Yes, of course it’s a good idea to confess your sins, repent and start over with a clean slate, but do these things bring us closer to God? He had his doubts, but he didn’t want to disappoint Jack, so he completed the ritual and followed the priest into the rectory kitchen.

Jack laid two large wooden bowls in front of him and started filling them with fresh greens, tomatoes, sliced radishes, pickles, olives, and bits of bacon. He dropped a slice of crispy bacon on the floor as if by accident, and Dharma swallowed it in one bite, then made herself comfortable under the table next to Stefan’s feet. Stefan appreciated Jack feeding him a salad a couple of times a week. A while back, Stefan had discovered that it was easy to find food on the street. Dumpsters and garbage cans overflowed with edibles that would go to waste if he didn’t claim them. There were plenty of calories to be found, the problem lay in finding healthy food. He’d studied nutrition when he was being trained as a medic in the Army, so he knew what happened to you if you lived on the standard American diet. It was ironic, he thought, that you could starve to death and be dying of obesity at the same time, as most Americans were. He figured that his own diet, which was made up of dumpster cuisine supplemented by edible weeds and green salads supplied by Jack was healthier than what most Americans ate. Moreover, he walked about ten miles a day, so he was in good shape. Also, most Americans were very lonely, but Stefan had Dharma to keep him company.

Stefan was aware of what people saw when they looked at him. Most people walking or driving by as he sat on the sidewalk didn’t see him at all, but when they did, he was surprised at the pity in their eyes. He wanted to explain to them that he was probably healthier and happier than they were, but he knew they’d never believe him. He knew that people saw what they needed to see, not what was actually in front of them, and what they needed to see was someone who was homeless, friendless, hopeless, starving, drug-addicted, and mentally ill. He was none of these things, but he’d stopped trying to explain himself to others.

Is it okay if I let Dharma graze in the yard?

Sure, the old priest said.

Stefan opened the back door of the rectory and let Dharma into the fenced backyard. She sniffed the corner fence post which was a favorite place for neighborhood dogs to leave their signature scents, and then went into a shady spot next to the wall of the church where the grass was not scorched by the sun. She began nibbling on the crabgrass which grew thick next to the wall. Stefan knew she needed to eat the grass for the same reason he needed to eat salads. Man and dog cannot live on fast food alone. The grass in the courtyard was like a salad bar for her. Sometimes he felt guilty for having her spayed when she was eleven months old, but what else could he do? They barely had enough food for the two of them, so when the SPCA advertised free spaying and neutering, he took advantage of the offer though he often thought she would have been a good mother to a litter of pups.

Stefan went back into the kitchen. Jack was looking at him with concern in his eyes. Jack pushed a business card across the table toward him. Stefan picked up the card and read Christina O’Malley, MSW. At the bottom of the card was an address and the logo of Catholic Charities.

Who’s she? Stefan asked.

She’s a therapist, and I think she can help you, Stefan, Jack said.

You mean she’s a shrink.

Not exactly. She’s a social worker trained as a therapist, and she works with a psychiatrist. There’s a new grant-funded program intended to give indigent people psychological help. Counseling. Meds. Whatever they need. I’d like for you to go talk to Christina. You’ll like her. She’s a smart pretty lady and she knows a lot about… Jack hesitated, worried that he was about to say too much.

She knows a lot about crazy people who live on the street?

I didn’t say that, Stefan.

You were thinking it. Stefan took a deep breath. He could see why Jack thought he needed psychiatric help. I’m not crazy, Jack.

I didn’t say you’re crazy. I just think that talking to a professional counselor would be helpful to you. What I should have said is that she knows a lot about poetry.

Thanks, Jack, Stefan said, sliding the business card into his shirt pocket. I’ll think about it. He went to the backdoor and let Dharma in. We gotta go. Thanks for the salad and… he started to say We’ll see you later, but he actually didn’t think they would. Stefan went to Jack and hugged him tightly, something he rarely did with people because he knew that they were offended by his smell, but this was, he believed, the last time he would see Father Jack in this life, and who knew what the next one was like?

As Stefan and Dharma walked down Harrison Avenue toward the beach, they