I stepped onto dry land with a flourish, and greeted my young friend with a jaunty wave.

"Hello, Jonah!" I said. I was grinning from ear to ear. I'm sorry; I just couldn't help it.

Jonah didn't say a word. He just sat there with his mouth hanging open, and I almost burst out laughing, because he looked quite a bit like the entrance to the Hillbrook Aquarium. But I kept my cool. I don't blame him for not saying anything. It's hard to think of anything to say when you've just seen someone walk across a lake.

So I just stood there for a while, letting him size me up. I have to admit, I didn't quite look the part. Sure, I had the long hair; I had the beard. But I was wearing my usual Dockers and a tee-shirt, and a perfectly ordinary pair of canvas high-tops that had no business walking across any lake.

Jonah didn't speak for a long time. Eventually he cleared his throat, almost said something, then stopped. He paused, then cleared his throat again. Finally he spoke.

"I'm probably crazy, of course..." he said.

"Of course."

"But... did I just see you...?"

"...walking...?"

"...across...?"

"...the lake?" I grinned and took two steps backward, then did a little soft-shoe on the surface of the lake. Actually, I don't know how to soft-shoe, but whatever I did had the desired effect. He went white and bulged his eyes at me. I stepped gingerly back to the island and waited quietly.

This time the pause was even longer, and he ended it by asking the obvious question.

"Who, exactly, are you?"

At this I grew serious, drawing myself up to my full height.

"I am the Author of Your Being," I said solemnly, and waited for that one to sink in.

Jonah's initial fear had gradually been giving way to a wary skepticism, and at this point he became positively angry.

"Bullshit," he said.

With frightening suddenness, a clap of thunder shook the heavens, and streaks of lightning rent the sky asunder. The ground trembled beneath us in violent rage.

"You dare...!" I roared, but that's as far as I got before I started laughing. I just couldn't hold it anymore. I'm sorry, really. You should have seen his face!

"Jonah," I said between gasps, "didn't they teach you in church not to talk back to your Creator?"

Jonah was white as a sheet, but he plunged ahead anyway. "Bullshit again. Prove it."

I got ahold of myself. "It is written," I intoned, "'You shall not put the Lord God to the test.' Matthew, chapter four."

"'Test the spirits'," he retorted. "first John, chapter four. You could be the devil for all I know."

I sprouted a pair of horns through my hat and grinned wickedly at him, watching his eyes bulge. Then I sighed and waved them away with a careless gesture.

"Ok, Jonah. No more games. You need proof, eh?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm... well, I guess that's fair. How about your name?"

"What?"

"Your name. I knew your name, didn't I?"

Jonah snorted in disgust. "That's it? That's your argument? Anyone could have known my name."

"Of course, of course. Just warming up. Do you forget my blatant disregard for the laws of gravity not two minutes ago?"

Jonah shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "Some kind of trick..." he mumbled.

"Oh, a trick? And the lightning and the earthquake bit, that was just a trick also, I suppose? I hope you're just warming up."

"Ok, ok," he said, irritably. "But it still doesn't prove you're God. Not by a long shot. You still might be the devil."

"Hmmm.... so the devil can walk on water, too, eh?"

"Yes. Maybe. At least, he can make me think that's what I saw."

"Ah... so he can affect your mind, too."

Jonah hesitated. "Within limits," he said carefully.

"Within limits. Hmmm. So he can make you see things."

"Well... like?"

"Like me walking on water."

"Yes."

"And he can make you hear things. Like thunder."

"Yes."

"And he can make you feel things. Earthquakes, for instance."

"Ok, yes."

"How about thoughts? Can he make you think thoughts?"

Jonah frowned. "Yes. Well, no. I mean, he can put thoughts into your head. You can mistake them for your own, I guess."

"Pretty easy mistake to make, I would think. Now what about dreams? Could the devil give you a dream? Could the devil reach down some night and give you a dream full of angels and light and music, and could he say 'Arise Jonah Freeman and go forth to Nineveh the Great Park'? Could he do that?"

Jonah had turned bright red, and he clenched his jaw tightly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Yes. I think the devil could probably do that."

I stood back and began staring up at the sky in mock contemplation, stroking my moustache thoughtfully. "Well, Jonah," I said at last. "We've reached something of an impasse, have we not?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's look at it for a second. You want proof that I am in fact the Author of Your Being, as I so claim. Yet you believe in a devil who can walk on water and make the mountains tremble. Or no, even worse! You believe in a devil who can give the illusion of walking on water and making the mountains tremble, or anything else, I imagine. Not only that, but he can actually get inside your head, muck around with your thoughts, make you think they're your own. Not only that, but he can actually give you a dream full of angels and light and music, and call himself God. And you want proof that I am who I say I am? I ask you one simple question: what could I possibly do that couldn't be explained by calling me a devil? What?"

Jonah sat in silence. I was really getting to him now.

"Just as I thought," I continued. "Nothing. There's not a damn thing I could do."

Jonah glanced up sharply, as I knew he would do, and his anger finally exploded, like a cork from a bottle.

"Nothing?" he yelled. "Nothing? That's a fucking joke, and you know it."

I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise.

"If you're God," he went on, "if you're really God, you could make me believe. If you're really God, then this whole conversation is a joke, because you've made me say every word of it. If you're really God then you've made me say every damn word I've ever said."

"Jonah..."

"If you're God," he yelled, unheeding, "then you're worse than the devil, you know why? Because you've made me see everything I see, and you've made me feel everything I feel. And every thought I've ever had, you've made me think, and coming down here to argue with me is just a fucking joke on poor little Jonah, because I'm just the mouse in your stupid game."

"Jonah, listen..."

"No, I don't have to listen, you know why? Because if you wanted me to listen, you'd make me listen, and if you didn't want me to say any of this, you wouldn't have let me start. And I think you're a bastard, and I'm not afraid to say it, you know why? Because if you're God you've made me say it, and if you throw me in hell for it then you're a bastard and an idiot, too, and is there anything else you want me to say, oh Author of My Being?"

I waited. He was really upset by now, close to tears, I think. He pressed his cheek against his shoulder and refused to look at me.

"Jonah," I said softly.

He said nothing.

"Jonah," I repeated. "Why do you rebel?"

He scowled at the ground. "You make me rebel."

"Jonah."

He stared out over the lake and said nothing. I waited. Finally he spoke.

"I want to be free," he said simply.

I nodded once. Then I reached beneath the folds of my old overcoat and removed a thin manuscript of typed pages, stapled in one corner. I handed it to Jonah, solemnly, and stood back.

He stared at it there in his lap for a few seconds. Then he began to read.

Here's what it said:

The Gospel According to Jonah