“I want you to come with me. I want you to see my world,” replied Ittura. “I want you to, ah, as the young ones say, ‘take a walk on the wild side,’” said Ittura with a low throat giggle. “Come with me, my boy. I want you to see the truth.”

I could feel the sweat starting to build on the palms of my hands. I could feel my heart pounding. I didn’t know what to do, so I said, “Listen, Ittura, I don’t know what’s happening right now, but this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to walk back to my house, and if you show up there, well, then I’ll take that walk with you.” I was trying to buy some time. I was hoping that it was just another one of the weird things that happen to people who live in isolation. A hallucination. God would never allow an experience like this to occur, not this thing that was happening right now. God would not be a part of it.

“’Fraid not, priest. It’s now or never. That’s the deal I’m giving out today. Don’t be scared. You must see what we believe. You must understand that heaven isn’t about peace, love, dove. Come along.” Ittura held out his weathered brown hand. “Just touch my fingertips and I’ll take you somewhere you’d never dream of.”

I touched his hand and here we were in the city.

It was loud. There were cars zipping past us, fire trucks screaming, police cars chasing the fire trucks. There were people from the South dressed in jeans and short dresses, and girls whose breasts bobbed past us.

“Nice,” says Ittura as his head watches a budding cleavage pass by. “Very nice.”

“Where are we?” I ask him. “What’s the name of this place? I thought we were going to Eskimo Heaven.” I couldn’t understand any of it. A city with cars and people and plenty of noise. The constant, constant noise.

“That’s where we’re going.” Ittura points to a building with golden arches beside it. “That’s Eskimo Heaven, Father.”

“A McDonald’s! Are you out of your head? A McDonald’s is Eskimo Heaven?” I’m furious. Why did I get suckered into an old man’s game? “Get me out of here, Ittura. Now! Get me out of here!” I reach for his old tanned hands and grab them tight. Nothing happens. Not one thing. We are still standing in the parking lot of a McDonald’s.

“Let’s go have a Filet-O-Fish!” Ittura is happy. He’s so excited to go through the doors. He strolls up to the counter, his ecstatic eyes slanted almost shut. I stand by the inside doors and watch. I wonder if the other people in here can see us. What do they see? We aren’t real! Are we?