El Televisor

“What I’m positing is that if blacks in America gave up God, groups of force, and the death code, everyone else would let them go, too. African-Americans are the coolest, most sophisticated, and adaptable species on the planet,” Roland Pelt declared.

“You’re crazy,” Robinette Gartinger replied with a scoff.

“I’m telling you. The country and the world adapts to our music, our dress, our way of talking, walking—everything. Whatever black people do is cool, and people follow it,” Pelt asserted.

“Oh like black on black crime?” Gartinger retorted.

“There’s white on white crime that far outweighs that kind of behavior in the US. And just think of all the countries with white people that go against the law. African-Americans have shaped the country and globe in a positive way.”

“Nigerians kill Nigerians. Jamaicans kill Jamaicans. I’d like to see your point about blacks being positive,” Gartinger mocked.

Pelt waved his arms around the room. He pointed at athletes, entertainers, thinkers and politicians.

“You’ve got them all over your walls. Now, you have to lock in on how the soul of this country can be altered by instituting thought, self-reverence, and the ability to meet each other not as sacrificial lambs but as traders.”

“That’s really what I wanted to show you,” Pelt said.

“What’s that?” Gartinger asked. Pelt arose and went to his closet. He pulled out a flat screen television box that had stickers and foreign writing all over it.

“I was watching this thing and I couldn’t tell what it was saying because it’s in Spanish. So, I used my phone to translate. I’m telling you, it can look into the future and even cast you in it. It’s only for an hour, but I’m learning how to stay in this world for longer.”

“Bullshit,” Gartinger said.

“Alright,” Pelt replied. He then plugged the television into the wall, and turned on the power.

“It’s just a blank screen,” Gartinger pointed with one hand. Then the picture showed a city street in Wilmington, Delaware populated by businessmen and women, artists, and other professionals.

“What the—” he muttered.

“I told you,” Pelt beamed.

“Where did you get this thing?” Gartinger’s eyes remained glued on the television.

“It’s called ‘El Televisor,’ that’s—”

“Spanish for TV. I know. I asked you where you found the thing.”

“Farmer’s market.”

The two looked at scenes from various churches, mosques, and synagogues transformed into financial firms, residential areas, and factories in Delaware.

“You said that this is a global thing,” Gartinger reminded Pelt.

“Here…I’ll speak into the remote. ‘Canal tres.’”

Images and sounds from all over America and the world showed people who once had faith engaged in teaching proper philosophies. A world seemingly in perfect harmony, trading and understanding each other illuminated on the screen.

“You said we can get sucked—” Gartinger started to mention but the two teens zapped into the set.

They wore business suits and carried satchels.

“What the hell?!” Gartinger said.

“Relax,” Pelt assured. “We’ll be able to meet any man or woman as equals before the law and without the crutch of religiosity to buoy our relationships.”

Pelt stopped a woman in her tracks along the pristine sidewalk. She had a friend with her as well. The two of them showed angular, profound bone structures. The lines of their faces looked like clean feminine cuts. One was light-skinned, the other was dark as a sunberry.

“Please tell me what time it is,” Pelt replied.

The woman who had a business-like demeanor spoke in Spanish and giggled. She extracted her smartphone. Her friend looked at Gartinger. The phone translated the words.

“It is three o’clock. Where are you headed? We’re about to go to business class. Would you like to come along?”

“Yes. What are your names?” Gartinger queried into the phone with a hand out to shake.

“I’m Lashunaqa. This lovely lady is my friend Arisa.”

The four of them exchanged pleasantries.

“We’ve got to go. Come with us,” Lashunaqa said.

The four of them entered into a hall with vaulted ceilings that looked like a cathedral, but bore none of the ancient features of such a structure. It looked advanced and like the architect had shaped it from her glowing soul. The speaker rose to the lectern. More Spanish.

“What’s she saying?” Gartinger asked Aris.

He held his phone to her mouth. She whispered.

“On this day, we recognize only reality, never a god or an irrational society. Atheists, individualists and capitalists will not force our convictions on anyone. If you want to be mired down in your own, mystical, collectivist, and altruistic hell, we’ve space for that away from us!” The phone echoed with clarity as the room exploded in applause and shouts.

The speaker started then, a bomb rocked outside of the building.

Some shrieks and moans rose up in the room. The smell of fertilizer and heavy oil also permeated the area but no one was harmed. Some dust floated from the ceiling.

Arisa continued to translate the words of the speaker.

“It’s alright. The Christians, Jews, Muslims, Communists, Nazis, Fascists, and all the other mongrel groups agreed to attack us. They may throw their bombs, but we have a mighty fortress—materially and spiritually.” The lights didn’t even flicker. But the sickly sweet smell of ammonia lingered.

Gartinger looked at Pelt.

“We’ve got to get the hell out of here man. I thought this was paradise!”

Pelt looked at the time on Lashunaqa’s wrist when she moved it. “We have three minutes to go. Let’s thank these ladies and make our way towards the exit. These people are unphased by barbarians. This is an odd future.”

The two friends jumped out of the screen. They looked at each other and dusted themselves off from any lingering effects from the blast. Gartinger hopped up to the Televisor and unplugged it.

“You’re returning this and getting your money back, man,” Gartinger breathed.

“Indeed.”