Speaking In Tongues 

Chapter Three

Ken Preston

24 February 2024

A heavy metal rock star holding a mic and yelling into it.

Hoodakantashalamndsuwintakoolasamtannanwoodamulapantashimonosantkeeliotoomanshanta—

Kurtz clicked pause on the computer monitor and pulled the headphones off. The buzz in his ears was almost as deafening as the voice had been. He’d had the volume up painfully loud, listening to that singsong voice, on a loop.

There was a story about a roadie, got trapped under the stage at a Black Sabbath concert, spent the whole night under there. They found him after the show, and he was stone deaf for the rest of his life. That story probably wasn’t true, but Kurtz knew that post-concert sensation well, the buzz, the feeling that you were trapped in a bubble, the people outside sounding muffled and far away.

Kurtz stretched, loosening out his joints, stiffened up from all that sitting at the desk. There was a little crowd of empty beer bottles on the table, and he had a buzz going on, but it wasn’t enough. He slipped a hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag of white powder. Looked at it for a while.

Finally, he threw the packet on the desk and picked up a battered Bible, lying open at Psalms.

The voice of the LORD is upon the waters; The God of glory thunders. Psalm 29, verse 3.

Kurtz flipped through the pages until he got to the book of Job.

God thunders with His voice wondrously, doing great things which we cannot comprehend. Job 37, verse 5.

The voice of God thunders. Maybe it had been a stupid idea, but it had seemed reasonable at the time. Turn the volume up loud, like he was in the middle of a thunderstorm, right up in the clouds, clashing against each other.

Listening for the Lord’s voice.

Maybe drown out that other voice.

The one that sounded like Ratzo.

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