Buy A Cord of Seven
Strands!
"Boo!" Sarah, who had been moving silently, pounced on Jaben, and wrapped her arms around him.
"Hi, Sarah. Just a second." He typed in a few more lines of code, saved his work, and ran make. As the computer began chugging away, Jaben reached down and pinched Sarah's knee. She jumped, and squeaked."Aren't you ever surprised?"
"By some things, yes. But I have a preconscious awareness of when you're trying to sneak up on me."
"Even when you're deep in concentration, programming your whatever-it-is on the computer?"
"Even when I'm deep in concentration, programming my whatever-it-is on the computer."
Sarah paused, and looked around. They were in the place where their circle of friends met -- a big, old house which an elderly couple in the church was allowing them to use. It had many niches and personal touches, nooks and crannies, and was home to a few mice, especially in the winter. (There was a general agreement not to get a cat or mousetraps, but simply to minimize the amount of food left about.) The house even had a not-so-secret secret passage, a perennial favorite of the children who came to visit. This room had deep blue, textured wallpaper, with a painting hanging on the wall: an earth tone watercolor of the sinful woman kissing Jesus's feet. There were bits and pieces of computers lying about, and a few computer books, some of which were falling apart. That room -- and the whole house -- was a place that bore someone's fingerprints, that said, "I have a story to tell."
"I was listening to the radio," Sarah said, "and the fire danger has gotten even worse. Things have gone from parched to beyond parched. It wouldn't take much to start a blaze."
"I know," Jaben said. "We can only be careful and pray."
Thaddeus drove up to the rifle range. He reached into the back seat, and pulled out a blue .22 competition rifle, a box of rounds, some nails, a small hammer, some targets... He sat down on a bench, and slowly cleaned his gun. There was a funny smell, he thought, but he did not pay it much attention.
He went over and nailed a target to a stump, then moved everything in front of him and to the left, lay prone, and slowly waited for target and sight to align, and fired. Nine points. Good, but he could do better. He reloaded, and this time went more slowly. He drew a deep breath, grew still, waited even more slowly for the sight and target to line up, and fired. Ten points, dead center. The same for the third round, and the fourth. "Good." Confident, Thaddeus fired a fifth shot, and frowned. He had only gotten seven points.
He started to go up to replace the target -- "This time if I slow down and really concentrate, I think I can get 50 points." -- and unwittingly kicked over a small plastic bottle. Then he turned around, and said to himself, "I think I'm going to try to shoot the nail." He lay down, loaded another round, and fired. Lead splattered at the top of the target face, and the target fell. He relaxed, and let his gun down.
"Boy, the sun is blistering hot today." Thaddeus blinked; the air seemed to shimmer as if it were a mirage. Then he looked around a bit. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.
There, in the dry grass before him, were dancing flames.
Thaddeus groaned; he immediately recognized the funny smell he'd ignored. He hadn't exactly grabbed the right fluid to clean his gun...
He threw his apple juice on the fire, which hissed and sizzled, but did not diminish much. Then he grabbed his gun and ran to his car.
As he drove away, Thaddeus heard the report as the unused rounds exploded.
Thaddeus ran through the living room, upsetting a game of Mao that was being played. He dialed 911. "There's a fire! Rifle range near this house." After a few questions, he called a phone tree and hurried those present into the cars. Sarah and Jaben joined Thad in his car -- a rusty, ten year old black Cadillac with the driver's side window broken and deep blue pictures painted on the side -- and the other four got into an equally rusty trade van, a nondescript brown with a ladder, some rope, some tools, several rolls of duct tape, some paint cans, some tents, inside. They locked up, and began to bounce up and down some primitive roads.
As they passed, the spreading wall of fire loomed ahead of them.
"What do we do now?" Sarah said.
"Floor it!" Thad said.
Jaben did. He jounced through the straight stretch of road by the rifle range, where everything on the ground was glowing ashes; the heat, coming through the broken window, was incredible, and singed Jaben's hair. "We're coming through the other side of the fire!" They did, and flew out. Behind them, they could see a falling sapling land on the van. A quarter of a second earlier, and it would have shattered their windshield.
Jaben breathed a little easier as cool air blew in through the window. "Woo-hoo!" shouted Thaddeus. They slowed down, and drove.
They continued several miles, and then Jaben pulled into a gas station, low on fuel. As he fueled up, Amos stepped out of the van and walked over.
"What do we do now?"
"Well, I think we're far enough away, and we're near Frank's Inn. It might be nice to sit and collect our thoughts there."
"Jaben, I like a good drink as much as you do--"
"--Miller Genuine Draft does not constitute a good drink--"
"--but do you really want the smell of a smoky tavern?"
"That's actually why I thought of Frank's. The new proprietor is allergic to cigarette smoke, and thought it would be nice to have one place in this county where people can have a good drink with their friends without having to breathe that stuff. I like the atmosphere there. People predicted that it would die out, but it's flourished."
"Frank's it is."
There was a moment's silence, as Jaben waited for the tank to fill up. He started to turn away to put the pump up, and Amos said, "You look like you have something to say."
"I know, but I can't think of what." He put the pump up. "It's one of those annoying times when you can't put your finger on what you want to say. I'll think of it later, as soon as you're not accessible."
Amos laughed a deep laugh.
Jaben walked in, paid, and drove to Frank's Inn.
As they walked in the door, Désirée breathed a sigh of relief. A large "Out of order" sign was on the television. There was some rock music playing, but even with the music the din was not too bad. They sat down around a table, and Jaben waved to the bartender.
A bartender walked over, and said, "Hi, my name's John. Will you be wanting something to eat?"
"Please," seven voices said in unison.
"I'll be back with menus in just a second. What can I get you to drink?"
"I'll have a cherry Coke," Thaddeus said.
"Sprite," Sarah said.
"A pint of Guinness," said Jaben, and winked at the bartender.
"MGD Lite," said Amos.
"I'm sorry," the bartender said, "We don't carry Miller. Can I get you something else?"
"Just give me the closest thing you have to a Miller."
"Ok."
"Strawberry daquiri," said Désirée.
"I'll have a glass of the house white," said Lilianne.
"A strawberry kir," said Ellamae.
"Oh, come, Belladonna, are you sure you wouldn't rather have a strawberry shake? It looks much more you," said Jaben.
Ellamae, who had somehow grown to womanhood without losing the beautiful visage of a little child, gave him a look you could have poured on a waffle.
"Could I see some ID, please?"
Ellamae, doing her best to keep a straight face, fished in her purse and procured a driver's license.
The bartender looked hard at the license, then at her, and said, "Thank you," returning the license, and walked off.
"Too bad he left," said Jaben. "He seemed to raise his eyebrows at hearing that name."
"Who asked you?" said Ellamae, trying to look cross while suppressing a laugh.
"Jaben, would you tell us--" said Amos.
"Shut up," laughed Ellamae.
Jaben continued. "Belladonna, n. In Italian, a beautiful lady. In English, a deadly poison. A striking example of the essential identity of the two tongues."
Ellamae, laughing, said, "Die, Jaben, die!"
Some more people walked in the door, and the bartender came back, set seven menus on the table, and began to distribute drinks. "A strawberry daquiri for you, a glass of the house white for you, a strawberry kir for you, a cherry Coke, a Sprite, a pint of Guinness, and -- aah, yes, the closest thing we have to a Miller." He set down a pint of ice-cold water.
Amos looked at his drink a second, and then burst into a deep laugh, shaking his head.
"Jaben, if you ever..." his voice trailed off.
The menus were passed around, and after a little discussion they decided to eat family style. They ordered a meat lover's pizza, a salad, and some French onion soup.
As the circle of friends sat and waited for the food, the song on the radio ended, and a news report came on. "The forest fire that we have all been worrying about is now burning. Starting somewhere near the campgrounds, it has been the subject of an evacuation effort. The rangers had a helicopter with a scoop at the lake for training exercises, and so the blaze should be put out speedily. Authorities are currently investigating the cause of the fire. Details coming up."
Thad sunk into his chair.
Lilianne caught his eyes. After looking for a second, she said, "Want to talk about it?"
"Not here."
"Want to take a walk outside, after dinner?"
Thaddeus nodded.
He really needs to talk -- thought Jaben -- but he's not in any hurry. Living in Malaysia for a couple of years has that effect. It changes your sense of time. It changes a lot of things.
Jaben longed to be back in France, longed for the wines, longed for the architecture, longed for the sophistication and the philosophical dinner discussions, longed for the language most of all.
"Tu as amis içi," Lilianne said in broken French. "You still have friends here."
Yes -- Jaben mused -- that was true. The friendships in this circle of friends are more friendships in French (or Malaysian) fashion than in the American sense, which is really closer to acquaintanceship than friendship. Here are friendships to grow deeper in, to last for lifetime instead of for a couple of years until someone moves. Here are kything friendships. That is something. And my friends know what is close to my heart, and give me things that mean a lot to me. Désirée, Lilianne, Ellamae, and Sarah each give me kisses when they see me, and Lilianne is taking the time to learn a little French. She doesn't believe me when I tell her, but she has the gift of languages. J'ai encore des amis içi. And God is the same God in France and America; from him come the best of both. Perhaps it would be fitting to give him thanks now.
Jaben brought his hands up to the table. "Shall we pray?"
The others joined hands. Amos said, "Lord, you are faithful, as you were faithful to Israel."
Désirée said, "Lord, you are vast enough to care for our smallest details."
Lilianne said, "Lord, you have the imagination to create all the wonders about us."
Ellamae said, "You are he who searches hearts and minds, and perceives our thoughts."
Thaddeus said, "You are the fount of all wisdom."
Sarah said, "You are the Artist."
Jaben said, "You are the worthy recipient of all our worship."
Then Amos said, "Lord, I confess to you that I have harbored wrath against my white brothers and sisters, and seen them first through the label of 'racist'."
There was a silence. Not a silence at Amos confessing a sin -- that was appropriate at that point of this form of prayer -- nor that he would be guilty of that particular sin. It was rather that he had the courage to admit it, even to himself. Ellamae was reminded of a time she had spoken with a Canadian and, after a long discussion, watched him finally admit that he was anti-American. Jaben squeezed Amos's hand, and said, "I love you, brother."
Finally Désirée said, "Lord, I have coveted the time of others."
Lilianne said, "Lord, I have been vain, and not always relied on your help."
Ellamae said, "Lord, I have held pride in my heart."
Thaddeus said, "Lord, I have ignored the prompting of your Spirit."
Sarah said, "I have been quick in temper, and impatient."
Jaben said, "I have also been proud, and been unwilling to embrace America as I have embraced France."
Amos said, "Thank you for the many friends and family" -- here he squeezed Désirée's hand -- " that I have."
Désirée said, "Thank you for the butterfly I saw today."
Lilianne said, "Thank you for washing us clean from sin."
Ellamae said, "Thank you for drawing us into the great Dance."
Thaddeus said, "Thank you for the helicopter."
Sarah said, "Thank you for letting me paint."
Jaben said, "Thank you for my time in France."
Amos said, "Please allow the fire to be extinguished quickly, and not to do damage to our meeting place."
Désirée said, "Please help me to know the hearts of my friends better."
Lilianne said, "Please draw my heart -- all our hearts -- ever closer to you."
Ellamae said, "Please bless my music."
Thaddeus said, "Hold me in your heart, and keep my steps safe."
Sarah said, "Bless my touch."
Jaben said, "Bless my wonderful friends."
There was a moment of silence, and then they raised their voices.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him all creatures here below.
Praise him above, ye heav'nly host.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Amen.
The place grew a little more silent as their harmony filled the room. The stillness was finally broken by Amos saying, "I'm ready for some good food."
Sarah heard some noise behind her, and turned and looked -- there was a waiter bringing the food. As it was set on the table, she waited, and Thaddeus scooped some of the soup into her bowl. She took a sip, and said, "This is certainly turning out to be an interesting day."
Jaben reached his arm over her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "I don't know if I'm going to sleep like a rock tonight, or not be able to sleep at all."
Ellamae said, "Whenever you say that, you sleep like a rock."
Jaben mumbled, "I suppose."
Lilianne took a hearty scoop of salad. "What were we talking about earlier?"
Ellamae said, "Moral theology. Good and evil. Except that I don't think Jaben really wanted to talk about good and evil. I think he wanted to talk about something different."
"But he still wanted to talk about moral theology, like the rest of us," Désirée said.
"How was that again?" said Amos.
Jaben said, "One way to put it would be like this: if goodness is likened to health, and evil to disease and death, then most of the discipline of moral theology may be likened to a debate about the boundary that separates health from disease, life from death. That is certainly a legitimate area of study, but I think it is overemphasized. I would like to see a moral theology that is concerned with the nature of life itself, abundant life. I would like a moral theology that studies people as they dance rather than debate over the boundary line between a dying man and a fresh corpse."
"Aah, yes," Amos said.
Thaddeus said, "Western culture has a very disease-centered view of medicine. The point of medicine is to keep a person out of disease."
"What else would medicine be about?" said Sarah.
"Instead of trying to keep a person out of disease, keeping a person in health. We have some elements of this concept. Preventative medicine kind of makes this step, and gradeschool schedules have physical education. It is picked up by," Thaddeus shrunk back into his chair slightly, and mumbled the words, "New Age--"
He turned to Jaben, waiting for a wisecrack. When none came, he cleared his throat and said, "New Age is half-baked and goofy, and if you talk with a New Ager about medicine, you'll get some garbled version of an Eastern religion's balancing energies or whatnot, but at the heart of that goofiness lies a real idea of cultivating health, a health that is a positive concept rather than a negative concept. That is worth paying attention to."
Désirée said, "That's deep."
Thaddeus paused a second, chasing after a thought. The others read the expression on his face, and patiently waited. Ellamae took a piece of pizza.
"In China, people do -- or at least did -- pay doctors, not when they got sick, but when they were well. If you think about it, that difference in custom reflects a profound difference in conceptions of medicine."
Lilianne turned to Amos. "Amos, can you think of a difference in black custom that reflects your ways of thinking?"
Amos paused, looked like he was about to speak, and said, "Could I have a minute to think about that?"
Lilianne nodded.
Sarah said, "Today I had the idea for the coolest painting, and I started sketching it. It's in my studio -- a big watercolor, with all of the colors of the rainbow swirling together. The real essence of the picture, though, will take a lot of looking to see. In the boundaries between color and color lie the outlines of figures -- horses, unicorns, men fighting with swords, radiant angels."
Jaben said, "Interesting. Where did you get the idea to do that?"
Sarah said, "I don't know where I get my ideas from. I like color, moreso than shape even. I like Impressionist paintings. I guess I was just daydreaming, watching the colors swirl, and I had this idea." She smiled.
Thaddeus smiled, waited a moment, and then poked her in the side. Sarah squeaked loudly.
Jaben said, "Blessed are the ticklish--" and stopped, as Sarah's hands were covering his mouth.
"For the touch of a friend shall fill them with laughter," Amos said through a mouthful of pizza." Thaddeus poked Sarah again. She moved her hands to cover her side and her knee.
Jaben poked her in the other side. In her laughter, she began to turn slightly red.
"Ok, I thought of an answer to your question," Amos said to Lilianne. "Our family structures are different. Where you usually have a nuclear family living together and nobody else, we will often have not just a nuclear family but cousins, aunts, great-aunts, uncles... The extended family lives together, tightly knit. The difference has to do with how white culture is about individualism, and black culture is about community, in a sense. Three of the seven principles of Kwaanza -- Unity, Collective Work and Responsibility, and Cooperative Economics -- are explicitly community oriented, and all seven of them say 'we' and 'our' instead of 'I' and 'my'. We have all sorts of stories, but you'll have to look pretty hard to find a black Western."
"Was it hard way back when," Ellamae said, "hanging out with a group of otherwise white friends? Is it hard now?"
Amos said, "I'm not sure if you noticed then, but I didn't say 'Hi' to you when you walked by when I was with a group of black friends. It's just one of those things a black man doesn't do. It would be a lot harder if I didn't have some black friends and my family to be around. There are still some people who think I'm trying to act white by hanging around with you."
"And when you liked Country and Western," Désirée said.
"We all have our problems," muttered Thaddeus.
"And when I liked Country and Western, yeah. People say that if you don't like rap, you ain't black. Well, I like rap, but liking Country and Western is even worse in some folks' eyes than not liking rap."
Lilianne frowned. "Nobody thinks that a white man who listens to rap is trying to act black. I suppose that if I made heroic exertions to be like a member of some other race, people might think I was weird, but I can't imagine having to cut back on some part of being myself for fear of someone thinking I was trying to act Chinese."
Désirée nodded. "You got it, honey. It's hard for us."
Lilianne squeezed her hand.
Jaben turned to Amos and said, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you. Why did your parents name you 'Amos'? What with Amos and Andy and all, it seems a rather cruel name to give a little black boy."
Amos said, "I did get teased, and I ran home crying a couple of times. I asked them why. They explained to me what the name means -- 'strong', 'bearer of burdens', that it was the name of a prophet. Then, when I was older, they explained to me something else." Here his voice rose. "My parents were determined that Amos and Andy should not have the last word about what it means for a black man to be named Amos."
Ellamae nodded. "Your parents named you well. They are strong people. So are you."
"Thank you," Amos said.
"Who are Amos and Andy?" Sarah asked.
"Amos and Andy were a couple of black comedians who acted the perfect stereotype of black men before their audiences."
"Ok," Sarah said. "Kind of like Eddie Murphy?"
Désirée giggled.
"Uh..." Amos's voice trailed off. After a second, he said, "Jaben, help me out here."
"Eddie Murphy's humor is coarse, vulgar, and entirely without class. That stated, he invites his audience to laugh with him, and there is a glow of camaraderie about even Raw. Amos and Andy invited their audiences to laugh at them, to laugh at the stupid blacks. Eddie Murphy is the sort of comedian who would strengthen a racist impression of blacks, but the whole point of Amos and Andy is to pander to racism."
By this time, the food was mostly finished, and the bartender had brought the bill. They fished in their wallets for cash, paid the bill, bagged the remaining food (none of the pizza or soup was left, but there was still some salad), and got up and walked out. Ellamae caught Thad's eyes, and the two of them walked off.
Thad and Lilianne stepped out into the privacy of the street. A car passed by; it was twilight, hot but not humid.
"Riflery is one of the times I can most grow still," he said. "I never touched a gun in Malaysia -- was never interested in one, for that matter -- and the concentration of riflery is different from the laid-back attitude Malaysians hold. All the same, the slowing down of riflery is a special treat, the one thing you don't have to fight against hurry to do at its own, unhurried pace."
Lilianne walked in silence.
"I must have grabbed the wrong bottle. I remember something smelling funny. I ignored that funny smell, all through cleaning my gun, and with it ignored a gut feeling. I didn't want to know where that gut feeling led; I wanted to clean my gun, and then I wanted to shoot. I fired five rounds -- forty-six points -- and then shot the nail off the target. And when I looked, a fire had started."
Lilianne said, "You feel awfully guilty."
"Shouldn't I feel guilty? After starting a forest fire?"
"If I had done something like that, would you love me any less?"
They walked in silence past a couple on the street.
Lilianne wanted to speak, but knew the futility of winning an argument. "Amos loves you. Désirée loves you. Ellamae loves you. Jaben loves you. Sarah loves you. I love you."
The two walked on in silence, turned a corner.
"I'm also scared," Thaddeus said. "Will I get in trouble? Will I go to jail?"
"You are in God's hands," Lilianne said.
"I know, but it doesn't make me feel any better," Thad said.
Lilianne stopped walking, turned, and gave him a long, slow hug. "You are in God's hands," she said.
"Thanks, I needed that."
They turned, and walked back in silence. For Thad, it was a silence that was wounded, but also a healing silence, the silence of healing washing over a wound. For Lilianne, it was a praying silence, a listening silence, a present silence. They walked slowly, but the time passed quickly, and they were soon back at the cars, and met the others.
Désirée stepped away from the tents and walked down the trail. It had been an exciting day, and she needed some time to quiet down.
She moved down the trail noiselessly. Up above was a starlit sky with a crescent moon, and around her were tall, dark pines. Below was a thick carpet of rusty pine needles. As she walked along, her heart grew still.
Thoughts moved through her mind, in images, sensations, and moments more than in words. She smiled as she recalled Sarah asking, "Kind of like Eddie Murphy?" She also cherished the expression on her husband's face, the look he had when a question arose, and he knew the answer perfectly, but didn't know where to begin to explaining. That look on his face bore the same beauty as it often did when she teased him.
She saw a glint out of the corner of her eye, and looked. For a second, Désirée couldn't make out what it was, and then she recognized it as a monarch butterfly, illuminated by a single shaft of moonlight. Désirée prayed, and slowly reached out her hand; the butterfly came to her finger, rested for just a second, and then flew off into the night.
Désirée sat down on a rock in silence. She heard the footfall of a small animal -- a rabbit, perhaps. The sounds of insects rang faintly about her; she slapped a mosquito. To her, it was music, music and a kind of dance. She drank it in, praying as she breathed. Standing up, she walked further along the path, as it passed by the lapping shore of a lake. An abandoned canoe lay along the shore.
O-oh God,
she sang.
O-oh God,
Build up your house.
O-oh God,
Build up your house.
Your Kingdom in Heaven,
Your Kingdom on earth.O-oh God,
O-o-o-o-oh.A-a-a-a-men.
Stopping in the stillness, she heard a twig snap behind her, a heavier footfall than that of a small animal. Quickly but yet unhurriedly, she melted into the blackness. She looked out, and saw Lilianne's silhouette against the moonlit ripples dancing on the water.
"Désirée?"
Désirée stepped out of the shadows. "How are you, sister?"
"I wanted to talk."
"Something troubling you?"
"No, I just wanted to talk."
"Need to talk, or just be quiet together?"
They walked along the shore together. The path on the shore widened into a clearing filled with tall grass. Désirée took Lilianne's hand, and they spun around, dancing under the starlight.
After a time, they sat down, and Désirée said, "You know, I just realized something."
"What?"
"In parts of Africa, one of the biggest compliments paid for dancing is, 'You dance as if you have no bones.' Dancing is one of the things that couldn't be completely taken away in slavery, and... white folk in general would do better to learn to dance. I mean, really dance. There are so many good things about it, and the people who would benefit the most are the last people you'd find dancing. But what I realized is this, maybe something I saw but didn't believe: you dance as if you have bones, but your dance is no less beautiful for it. It is graceful, and has a different spirit."
Lilianne's blush was concealed by the moonlight and starlight.
"Ever sit and cloudwatch?" Désirée said.
"It's been a while," Lilianne said.
"What about with stars?"
Lilianne shook her head, her fair skin looking almost radiant in the moonlight.
Désirée and Lilianne lay down on their backs next to each other, looking up into the sky.
Lilianne said, "All I see are isolated stars. It's not like clouds, where there are clusters."
"Hush," Désirée said. "Look."
"That bright cluster over there looks like a blob, except a sparse and prickly blob."
"Just relax. Don't rush it."
Lilianne lay on her back. The stars just looked like stars. Then she saw how much brighter some were than others. Her mind began to enter a trance, and she almost thought she heard faint, crystalline singing. Then--
"There!" she pointed to the crescent moon. "There, a Phoenecian trading ship, laden with goods, with the moon as its sail."
Désirée blinked, and said, "That's it. The biggest jewel in the sky. I hadn't thought to look for a picture that would include the moon."
Lilianne sat for a few minutes, breathing in and out, and said, "Let's not look for any more patterns tonight." Thoughts moved in her mind about moderation and enjoyment and "A person who is full doesn't ask for more." She didn't want to see any other patterns. She was content looking on that one.
They lay in stillness for -- how long? Neither one of them took any notice of time.
"When you were a little girl," Désirée said, "what did you most like to do?"
Lilianne paused, pondered the question for a few moments, and then said, "I liked to read, or have stories read to me, and imagine -- imagine being long ago, and far away. Maybe it would be imagine. I still daydream a lot."
"I'm not sure why I had such difficulty with the stars tonight -- or did I?" she continued. "My daydreaming is somewhere faroff, and seeing things in clouds at least requires that you be right there. Somehow I was able to look at the ship, though my mind wandered. Am I making sense?" She saw the two of them, as little girls, laughing and running, hand in hand, through a field in the summer's sun.
"Perfect sense, dear. Don't worry about making sense when you're telling the truth, my mother always says."
"What about you, Désirée? What did you like to do as a little girl?"
"Ask questions of the grown-ups, and listen. I would ask questions most of all of my elder relatives. I can still remember asking a question of my grandfather, in his old, careworn rocking chair, and listening to all the stories he'd tell. He'd sit there with his corncob pipe, smelling of smoke and the sweat of hard labor, and speak in this deep, deep bullfrog voice. Listening to him always made me feel like I was curled up in his arms and falling asleep. I liked the new stories he told, but the old ones best of all."
"What were some of the stories he told you?"
"Let me see... there's one... wait, I shouldn't tell you that one."
"Why not? You can tell me anything, Désirée."
"Um... You won't get mad at me if you don't like it?"
"Désirée, you know me."
"Ok. Once there was an unusually kind master, Jim, who would talk with his slaves, especially a witty one named Ike. He would tell him his dreams, except, well, they were made more to impress than dreams. And Ike would tell good dreams, too, but they weren't usually quite as good as Jim's.
"One morning, Jim said, 'I had this dream, that I went to Negro Heaven. In there, everything was broken; the houses had holes in the walls and broken windows, and there was refuse in the streets, and the place was full of dirty Negroes.'
"Then Ike said, 'Wow, master, I had the same dream as you. I dreamed that I went to White Heaven. There, everything was silver and gold; there were great, spotless marble mansion, and the streets sparkled. But there wasn't a soul in the place!'"
Lilianne laughed. "That's very funny. It reminds me of Jewish humor."
Désirée said, "I don't know much Jewish humor."
Lilianne said, "Too bad. I'll tell you a couple of their jokes if I can remember them. Jaben commented that Jewish humor is subtle, clever, and extremely funny." She cleared her throat, and said, "Tell me another story."
"Grandpa was always telling stories about the animals, stories that he learned sitting on his grandfather's knee. Let me see... Aah.
"Brer rabbit saw Sis Cow with an udder full of milk, and it was a hot day, and he hadn't had anything to drink for a long time. He knew it was useless to ask her for milk, because last year she refused him once, and when his wife was sick, at that.
"Brer Rabbit started to think very hard. Sis Cow was grazing under a persimmon tree, and the persimmons were turned yellow, but they weren't ripe enough to fall down yet.
"So Brer Rabbit said, 'Good morning, Sis Cow.'
"'Good morning, Brer Rabbit.'
"'How're you feeling this morning, Sis Cow?'
"'I ain't doing so well, Brer Rabbit.'
"Brer Rabbit expressed his sympathy and then he said, 'Sis Cow, would you do me the favor of hitting this persimmon tree with your head and shake down a few persimmons?'
"Sis Cow said 'Sure' and hit the tree, but no persimmons came down. They weren't ripe enough yet.
"So then Sis Cow got mad, and went to the top of the hill, and she lifted her tail over her back and came running. She hit the tree so hard that her horns lodged in the wood.
"'Brer rabbit,' said Sis Cow, 'I implore you to help me get loose.' But Brer Rabbit said, 'No, Sis Cow, I can't get you loose. I'm a very weak man, Sis Cow. But I can assuage your bag, Sis Cow, and I'm going to do it for you.
"Then Brer Rabbit went home for his wife and children, and they went back to the persimmon tree and milked Sis Cow and had a big feast."
Désirée had been speaking with animation, and Lilianne said nothing for a while. Désirée broke the silence. "You don't like it?"
Lilianne paused, and said, "No, and I'm not sure why. Hmm... I've heard a few more of those stories, but I can't remember any off the top of my head. I have this impression of Brer Rabbit as the hero, a hero who is characterized by being--" here she paused, "'intelligent' is not exactly the right word, and 'clever' comes closer but isn't quite what I mean. 'Cunning'. Brer Rabbit manipulates and uses the cow, and it is cast in a good light. The cow is mean, so it's OK to do anything to her. Same logic as 'Take ten!'" Then she hastily added, "Same logic as a lot of things in white culture as well. Same logic as Home Alone -- the burglars are Bad Guys, therefore it's OK for Kevin to torture them."
She looked at Désirée, forgetting that the faint light would not permit her to read Désirée's expression. She paused, prayed a moment, and said, "Did you like that story?"
"My favorite."
Lilianne shuddered. "It's a terrible thing to bruise a childhood dream. I'm sorry."
They lay in silence for a minute.
Désirée said, "I was hurt, but I'm not sure you did anything wrong. When you're a child, you like things simply because they are, and because they're yours; everything lies under a cloak of wonder. Those stories were time with my grandpa, and they taught me that there is justice and injustice; they taught me that it is good to use my mind; they taught me that there is a time to trust and a time to be wary. Have you seen those I Learned it All in Kindergarden posters?"
"Yes."
"I learned it all from Brer Rabbit. I see the problem you point out, but those stories will always be to me the starting-place of wisdom, and a point where I can remember my grandfather's love."
Lilianne lay in silence, pondering what Désirée said. Then she slowly reached through the grass, fumbled, squeezed Désirée's hand, and said, "You ready to go back now?"
Désirée wiped a tear away. "Yes."
"Let's go."
Jaben asked, "Could I have the canteen?" As Sarah handed it to him, he took a swig of stale water, and rubbed his eyes. The harsh sun blazed in his eyes. "Why don't we do Bible study now, and then worry about what else to do today? I'm sure we'll be able to find something," he said, then muttered under his breath, "though I'd much rather be programming," and continued, "and, with something to eat, we'll have the day before us."
The others yawned their assent, and went back to the tents to get their Bibles.
"Whose turn was it to read? Lilianne's?" said Sarah.
Lilianne said, "No, I think it was Amos's."
Amos said, "Yeah, that's it." He paused a moment, and said, "Shall we pray?"
They joined hands, and bowed their heads in prayer. Jaben squeezed Lilianne's hand.
Lilianne prayed, "Father, we come before you a little excited, a little nervous. We don't know what the course of the fire will be, or how long it will burn, or why this is happening. We ask that you preserve our meeting place and the property around it, and most of all human life. We thank you that we were able to escape the fire, and we meet to give you glory. Amen."
They were sitting in a circle, on some logs, around a fire pit. Amos said, "I'll be reading from I Kings 18, verses 41-46. Elijah has been chastising king Ahab, there is a drought, and Elijah has at the end of chapter 17 been staying with the widow. Earlier in the chapter, he has his famous contest with the prophets of Baal, where he called fire from Heaven down on the bull." He cleared his throat.
"And Elijah said unto Ahab, 'Get thee up, eat and drink; for there is a sound of abundance of rain.' So Ahab went up to eat and to drink. And Elijah went up to the top of Carmel; and he cast himself down upon the earth, and put his face between his knees, and said to his servant, Go up now, look toward the sea. And he went up, and looked, and said, 'There is nothing.' And he said, 'Go again,' seven times.
"And it came to pass at the seventh time, that he said, 'Behold, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand.' And he said, 'Go up, say unto Ahab, "Prepare thy chariot, and get thee down, that the rain stop thee not."'
"And it came to pass in the mean while, that the heaven was black with clouds and wind, and there was a great rain. And Ahab rode, and went to Jezreel.
"And the hand of the LORD was on Elijah; and he girded up his loins, and ran before Ahab to the entrance of Jezreel."
Amos had been bending over the Bible, looking intently; now, he rested and sat up.
Jaben said, "Thoughts? Observations?"
Désirée said, "This story is one of my favorites, with the one before it. I like the Elijah stories."
A minute passed, in which they looked at each other. "Lilianne?" Jaben said.
Lilianne stared off in space.
"Lilianne?" he said a bit louder.
"Huh? Oh, I was having a daydream about three mermaids swimming in a moonlit pool, and chasing the fish around, and petting them..." She paused in thought a moment and said, "I think I got into that daydream by thinking about the water in the story."
"Sarah?"
"It's a good story."
Amos said, "What about you, Jaben? You've got to have something to say."
Jaben said, "I always have something to say when I've had my morning bowl of coffee. Ugh, not even an espresso machine. Let me get back to you."
Ellamae said, "Why don't we get some more sleep, then go into town and get something to eat, maybe some coffee, and then maybe, maybe, try this again."
The others nodded their groggy assent and padded off back to the three tents: one for the unmarried men, one for the unmarried women, and one for the married couple.
Jaben woke up, feeling delightfully refreshed. He felt sweaty, and the air was oppressively hot. The air felt slightly humid to him. He sat up, and looked around. Thaddeus was still sleeping, breathing deep breaths. Jaben slid out of his sleeping bag and stepped out of the tent.
The sun was high in the sky, and the sky was clear. He walked around on the pine needles, and lazily yawned. He walked over to a log, sat on a low part, and began to think.
That was a magnificent passage of Scripture, he thought, and the climax to a larger story. I've always taken away from it something about the wind of the Spirit. In a land dessicated by drought, the servant is told again and again to go back to look for signs of rain, going back even though he has seen nothing. On the seventh time, the servant sees a cloud the size of a man's hand. And then, "Gird up your loins and run, lest the rain overtake you!" That's how the wind of the Spirit blows -- nothing for the longest time, and then a faint, imperceptible breeze, and then a storm.
His knee felt funny, as if there were pressure inside.
Now feels like the eye of the storm. Before was the fire, and now a moment of calm, and then there will be cleaning up. But this is a different kind of storm. Or is it?
He felt a soft arm over his shoulders, and turned and looked. Sarah kissed his cheek, and sat next to him.
"Hi, Sarah," Jaben said, and gave her a hug and a kiss. "Are any of the other women up?"
"Yes, we've been up for about an hour. Talking."
"'Bout what?"
"Nothing."
"What kind of nothing?"
"Silly stuff. Girl stuff. You wouldn't be interested."
Jaben reached behind her, and touched the back of her neck very, very lightly with the tip of his finger. She curled up.
Jaben looked at Sarah, as she sat back and relaxed. She had straight red hair cascading over her shoulders, and a round, freckled, face, with fair skin and a ribbon of deep red lips. Her body was -- 'fat' would be the wrong word; 'plump', perhaps, or 'rounded'. Gironde. She was attractive. He looked at her, and felt glad that there are some women who do not feel the need to be twenty pounds underweight. Jaben smiled. Sarah plays the perfect ditz, he thought, and getting her into a deep conversation is usually impossible, but there's more to her than meets the eye.
"Did you go and see the lake?" Sarah said. "It's still, still, and every now and then a fish breaks the surface, and then ripples spread."
"I just got up. I paced around, and sat down, and thought. Then you came."
"Whatch'ya think about?"
"The Bible passage. I was thinking through. I feel that there's another thought coalescing, coming together, but I can't put my finger on it."
A faint rumbling came from faroff.
Sarah looked thoughtful for a moment, and said, "Think it'll rain?"
"I don't think so. It could, but... Looking for a prediction of the day's events in the Bible has the same aura as using it as a tool for divination. The fact that we read that passage today just means that this particular passage is what came up on the schedule."
"So you don't believe the Bible applies to our lives?"
"I do, it's just -- not that way. I wouldn't have been thinking about it if I didn't believe it applied."
The land around them darkened, and they looked up. A cloud was between them and the sun.
"Hi, guys. May I join the conversation?" Lilianne was behind them.
Jaben's hand shot out, and poked Sarah in the side.
"Eep!" Sarah jumped.
Sarah's face turned slightly red, and she turned to face Jaben. "Do you never tire of tickling me?"
Jaben grinned, and winked. "Never."
"Oh, well." Sarah said, in mock resignation. "I suppose it can't be helped." She looked at Lilianne. "Do you think it's time to wake everyone up?"
"Yes, let's go."
A few minutes later, they were all out sitting on the logs. Ellamae said, "I think we've all had some rest now; food wouldn't hurt, but it's nice to be here, and we should be able to pick up that Bible study. What do you think?" Désirée said, "Um..."
"Yes, Désirée?"
"Well," she said.
There was a rumble of rolling thunder.
"Never mind. Let's go on with the Bible study."
Amos opened the Bible. "I liked the part where Elijah said--"
Splat! A fat raindrop splattered across the page.
Amos's jaw dropped. He wiped the page off, closed the Bible, and looked up.
Another raindrop hit him in the eye.
Soon rain was falling all around them -- sprinkles at first, then rain in earnest, then torrents. It was a warm, wet, heavy rain, with the sky dark as midnight, and the scene suddenly illuminated by flashes of stark, blue lightning. The wind blew about them; trees swayed rhythmically back and forth in the rain. Everything about them was filled with dark, rich, full colors, and was covered with the lifegiving waters.
The seven friends joined hands and danced in the rain.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in today!" said the waitress. The friends had burst in the door, laughing, and soaked to the skin. "I wish I had some towels to give you."
"That won't be necessary," Jaben said, looking around the diner. It was a small, cheery place, with a friendly noise about it. "Seven, nonsmoking."
The waitress counted out seven menus, and said, "Walk this way, please."
Sarah said, "Did you see the look on those people's faces when we walked in?"
Thaddeus said, "Yep."
They sat down around the table, and began to look through the menus. But not for long.
"Hey, Désirée. Tell us that joke you told me," said Lilianne.
"Ok," Désirée said. "There was once an unusually liberal and generous slave owner named Jim, who had a witty slave named Ike. Each morning they would tell each other their dreams (or so they said), and the one with the better dream won. Usually it was the master, Jim.
"One morning, Jim said, 'I dreamed that I went to Negro Heaven, and in there everything was broken and dirty. The houses had holes in the walls, the windows were broken, and there was mud in the streets, and there were dirty Negroes all over the place.'
"Ike said, 'Wow, master. We must have dreamed the same thing. I dreamed I went to White Heaven, and everything was spotless and immaculate -- gold and ivory -- and there were mansions and silver streets, but there wasn't a soul in the place!'"
Lilianne said, "I remembered the joke I mentioned to you last night, Désirée, but couldn't remember. There was a Jew named Jacob, who was financially in a bad way. He went to the synagogue, and prayed, 'God, my bank account is low, and business is bad. Please let me win the lottery.'
"Some time passed, and he didn't win the lottery. He ran out of money, and was in danger of being evicted. So Jacob went to the synagogue and prayed more fervently, 'God, I've worked for you so hard, and I ask for so little. Please let me, just this once, win the lottery.'
"More time passed, and Jacob lost his house, his car. His family was out on the street. He came to the synagogue, and prayed, 'Why, God, why? Why won't you let me win the lottery?'
"The voice of God boomed forth, and said, 'Jacob! Meet me half-way on this one. Buy a stupid ticket!'"
There was silence, and then one laugh, and then another. The waitress came back, and asked, "Are you ready to order yet?"
"Um, uh, order. We were telling jokes. Could you give us a few more minutes?" asked Thaddeus.
"Certainly," the waitress said, walking off.
This time, they made use of their menus, and thought of what to eat. The waitress came at the end, and they ordered -- a few sandwiches, some soups, some fish...
"What do you call someone who speaks three languages?" asked Jaben.
"Uh, trilingual?" said Désirée.
"Good. What do you call someone who speaks two languages?"
"Bilingual!" said Sarah, smiling.
"And what do you call someone who speaks only one language?"
There was silence.
"American," Jaben said.
Lilianne, smiling, said, "Here's one. An English politician was speaking in a town near the Scottish border. In his speech, he slowly and emphatically said, 'I was born an Englishman, I was raised an Englishman, and I will die an Englishman.'
"A Scottish voice from the back asked, 'Ach, man. Have you no ambition?'"
After the chuckles died down, Thad said to Ellamae, "You look like you have something to say."
Ellamae nodded, and said, "I do, but it's a story I'm thinking of, not a joke."
"Go ahead and tell it," Désirée said.
"My mother has a harelip, as you know; that is a bit difficult for her now, but it was devastating to her as a little girl. She was teased quite a bit, and she would tell people that she had cut her lip on a shard of glass -- somehow that was easier to admit than a physical deformity from birth. She was always unsure of herself, embarrassed, feeling less than her peers.
"One of the teachers was a kindly, plump little woman, Mrs. Codman, who had a sunny soul and was the delight of the children. Children would clamor about her, and her heart was big enough for all of them.
"The day came for the annual hearing test, when the children would cup their hands to their ears, and Mrs. Codman would whisper a sentence into their ears -- something like 'The moon is blue,' or 'I have new shoes,' and the children would say what they heard.
"My mother's turn came, and Mrs. Codman whispered into her ear," -- and then Ellamae spoke very slowly, and her voice dropped to a whisper -- "'I wish you were my little girl.'"
There was silence. Ellamae sat with a kind of quiet dignity; she glowed.
She continued. "Those seven words changed her life. She became able to trust people, to venture forth, to have courage and see her own beauty. I think those words have changed my life, too. Now that I think of it, the unspoken message she gave me throughout my childhood was, 'I'm glad you're my little girl.'"
She smiled, in a subtle, subdued manner, her elfin features bore a look that was regal, majestic, aristocratic.
"Wow," Thaddeus said. "I never knew that about you or your mother." He paused, closed his eyes in thought a moment, and said, "And I can see how it has shaped you."
Ellamae's eyes teared. "Terima kasih."
Thaddeus's eyes lit up. "Sama sama."
They sat in blissful silence, a silence that spoke more powerfully than words.
Words were not needed.
The food arrived, piping hot; they joined hands and sat together in silence, their wet clothes beginning to dry. Finally, Amos said, "Amen," and they began to eat without breaking the quiet.
Or at least they did not use their voices; I cannot tell you in full truth that they did not talk. They looked at each other, smiled, squeezed hands, let a tear slide, prayed. No words were exchanged, but a great deal was communicated.
When they finished, the waitress came with the check, and tarried a second.
"Ma'am?" Thaddeus said.
"Yes?" she said, slightly surprised.
"There is something you want to say to us, or ask us. What is it?"
She looked startled, and hesitated.
"You won't offend us. Promise," he said.
"Well, uh... You seem a little odd, not talking a whole meal long."
"That's not really what's on your mind."
"Ok, honey. Why are y'all telling racist jokes?"
Thaddeus said, "Thank you for being honest. To tell you the truth, we were a bit giddy. We probably shouldn't have told those jokes in a restaurant."
"No, I mean, why y'all telling racist jokes in the first place? You guys don't seem the type that needs to tell those jokes. You look me in the eye, for one thing. You confuse me."
"Do you ever tease your friends? Or do your friends ever tease you?"
"All the time."
"Do you ever insult your friends? Or do your friends ever insult you? A real insult, I mean?"
"Never."
"You see these jokes as being insults. Which racist humor may be. But this is not racist humor. It's racial humor. It's really much more like teasing."
"That joke about the Jew was just plain mean."
"That joke," Lilianne said, "is a Jewish joke, and was told to me by a Jewish friend. It is quite typical of Jewish humor."
The waitress hesitated. "But why do you need it in the first place? Don't race relations matter to you? I would hope so, seeing as how you have a group of friends with both black and white."
"They matter to us a great deal. What would your friendships be like if there was no room for teasing's rowdy energy, if you always had to always walk on eggshells? Wouldn't a friendship be better if it could absorb the energy of teasing and laugh a big belly laugh?"
"Could I have some time to think about it?"
"Take as much time as you want. We come by this town every now and then; we might stop in, and maybe we'll be able to see you. And at any rate, I think you grasp our point, whether or not you agree with it."
The waitress said, "Thank you." She turned, started to walk away, and said, "And thank you for explaining. By the way, I was listening to the radio, and the fire is put out. The helicopter plus that tremendous rainstorm did it, not to mention flooded a few basements."
"Woo-hoo!" shouted Sarah.
They paid the bill, leaving a generous tip, and headed out the door.
The vehicles drove slowly along the winding roads, and as they came closer, each heart prayed that the meetingplace would be OK. As they cleared the last turn, they parked the car and the van, and got out in silence.
The meetingplace was reduced to cinders.
"My computer!" Jaben said.
"My paintings!" Sarah said.
As they stood, speechless, memories flashed through each mind, of moments spent there, treasures that were no more.
"I heard a story," Sarah said through tears, "in which a man was fond of books, and had a massive library. One night, his angel appeared to him in a dream, and said, 'Your time is near. Do you have any questions about the next world?'
"'Will I have at least some of my books?'
"'Probably.'
"'Which ones? There are some that I really want to keep.'
"'The ones you gave away.'"
Jaben completed the thought. "And now the only paintings of yours that you can still see are the ones you gave away." He prayed a moment, and said, "You gave away some paintings that were very close to your heart. Now you can still see them."
"What shall we do? What shall we do?" said Désirée.
Silence.
Then Ellamae, in her high, pure, clear voice, sang the first notes of a song.
Silence.
She sang the notes again, and reached out her hands.
The friends formed a circle, and joined hands.
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him all creatures here below.
Praise him above ye heav'nly host.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Amen.
"Well," Amos said, "we should probably go and talk with the Weatherbys about the house.
Sarah slumped. "I don't wanna talk to them about it."
Amos said, "Neither do I, but we still should, and they are kind people. This is the first time I've thought about visiting them and not wanted to do it."
"What'll we say?" said Sarah.
"I don't know," said Ellamae, "but that is not reason not to go."
"Let's go," said Jaben.
They slowly got into the van.
The drive to the Weatherbys' dilapidated mansion seemed unusually long and slow, and Jaben carefully parked the van in the driveway. The friends got up, and walked up the gnarled path to the front door. Ellamae rang the doorbell, and listened to its echo.
"Well, at least the fire didn't get their home."
"Some of the plants are starting to bloom. The water was invigorating to them."
Silence.
Ellamae rang the doorbell again.
Silence.
"Maybe they're not home," Sarah said.
"That may be," said Ellamae. "We should probably leave them a note, and stop back. She fished in her purse for a pen and a notepad.
They talked a bit about what to say, and then wrote down:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weatherby;
As you know, there has been a fire; it was started by a riflery accident with Thaddeus. None of us were hurt (we do not yet know if others were hurt), but the house you allowed us to use is in ashes.
We do not know what to say. We are very grateful to you for the use of that house, and we know it was a special place to others -- children most of all. It was a place of memories for us, and we are the richer for it. We regret both to inform you that that wonderful house of yours is gone, and that you were out when we came, and so have to leave a note.
Thank you for the use of your house. We hope to be able to connect with you in person to speak about this.
The Kythers
Amos, Désirée, Jaben, Thaddeus, Sarah, Ellamae, Lilianne
The friends walked back, and got back into the van. "Where do we go now?" said Sarah.
"There's the cave where we used to meet before the Weatherbys let us use the house," said Lilianne. "Why don't we go over there?"
"I want to give a gift to the Weatherbys," Sarah said.
"What do you have in mind?" said Jaben.
"I don't know, something special. Maybe something we could make."
Jaben turned the keys, and they drove off.
The cavern was refreshingly cool, with air slowly passing through, sounding like a faint breathing. Amos's flashlight swept over a few small crates that served as chairs and larger ones that functioned as tables, candles, matches, some flashlights, papers, some blankets, some sweaters, a sleeping bag, a pillow, a few other odds and ends, and a toolbox. Jaben struck a match, and lit the three wicks of a large candle. Amos turned the flashlight off.
Sarah picked up a moist flashlight, and pressed the switch.
Nothing happened.
She opened it, and dumped out two corroded D cells.
"Why do we store all of our bad batteries in our flashlights?"
Ellamae, shivering slightly, put on a sweater. It was loose around her elfin frame.
Sarah snuggled up against Thaddeus, and put an arm over Lilianne's shoulder. "You know, it's been a long time since we've role played."
"Where were we?" Thaddeus said, interested.
"You were in the village, outside the castle. Looking for something -- I don't remember what."
"And something happened when we drank from the spring," said Lilianne. "It was a cold spring, like the one running through this cave."
Sarah said, "Remember the time we went deep into this cavern, and found that pool this stream empties into, and petted the blind, eyeless fish?"
Lilianne nodded. Sarah had enjoyed that a great deal, and would have waded in had the others not stopped her.
Jaben closed his eyes, and appeared to be concentrating. "You are under a tree outside a chicken coop in the Urvanovestilli city Candlomita. There are children running around. About a hundred feet away, you see a troupe of performing Janra. One is juggling daggers and singing, one is playing a flute, three are doing acrobatics, and two are talking."
Lilianne said, "'Janra always make a day more interesting. Let's go over.'"
Sarah said, "'Yes, let's.'"
Amos said, "'Janra always make a day a little too interesting, if you ask me.'"
Sarah said, "'Spoilsport!' I take Rhoz by the hand and start walking over."
Jaben said, "A little Janra girl comes running, with brightly colored ribbons streaming from her wrists and ankles, and says, 'Spin me! Spin me!'"
Sarah said, "I take her to a clear spot and spin her."
Jaben said, "The path is narrow, and there are people passing through. There aren't any good places to spin her."
Sarah said, "I pick her up, give her a hug and a kiss, and say, 'What's your name?'"
Jaben said, "She says, 'Ank. What's yours?' and, before giving you time to answer, grabs your nose and says, 'Honk!'"
Sarah said, "I'm going to set her down."
Jaben said, "She runs over to Rhoz and says, 'Hey, Mr. Tuz-man! Throw me!'"
Amos said, "I'm going to pick her up and toss her about, while walking to the other Janra."
Jaben said, "A young Janra in a shimmering midnight blue robe approaches you, holding a small knife and a thick, sculpted white candle. He says, 'Greetings, fellow adventurers. May I introduce myself? My name is Nimbus, and I would like to offer you a greeting-gift. This is a candle which I carved. Perhaps, when you light it, it will remind you of the hour of our meeting."
Amos said, "I'm going to take it and look at it."
Jaben said, "Wrapped around the candle is a bas-relief sculpture of a maiden touching a unicorn, next to a pool and a forest grove. The detail is exquisite."
Amos said, "I'm going to hand it to Cilana for safe keeping and say, 'Thank you, Nimbus. I hope to be able to get to know you.
"'Do you know anything about the crystalline chalice?'"
Jaben said, "'The crystalline chalice? Yes, have heard of it. I used to own it, actually. The last I heard of it, were rumors that it was either in the towers of the castle, or possibly in the depths of Mistrelli's labyrinth. But those are only rumors, and they are old rumors at that.'"
Sarah said, "What time is it?"
Jaben looked at his watch, and said, "7:58."
Sarah gave him a dirty look, and said, "You know what I mean."
Jaben grinned and slowly said, "Oooh! In the game!"
Sarah continued to give him a dirty look, and said, "Yeeees."
Jaben said, "It is now dusk; you have been on your feet all day, and feel tired, dirty, hungry, and thirsty."
Sarah said, "'Nimbus, would you like to join us for dinner?'"
Jaben said, "'I would love to, but I told a group of friends that I'd meet them for some strategy games and discussion. If you're looking for a good bite to eat, I would recommend The Boar's Head;' and here he turns to Rhoz, 'it's the one place in this whole area where you can get a good beer. You know the saying, "Never drink Tuz wine or Urvanovestilli beer!" Well, they don't serve any Urvanovestilli beers. Plenty of Urvanovestilli wines -- they even have Mistrelli green."
Ellamae's eyes widened.
"'But for beers, they have a couple of Yedidia and Jec lagers, and then a Tuz stout, and then a Tuz extra stout, and then a Tuz smoked!'"
Amos looked up. "'Thank you, Nimbus.'"
Jaben said, "Nimbus bows deeply, and then walks away at a pace that manages to somehow be both slow and relaxed, and move faster than you could run. After he leaves, a small, multicolored ball rolls between your feet."
Amos, Désirée, Ellamae, Thaddeus, Sarah, and Lilianne said, in unison, "We run, post haste!"
Jaben said, "You move along, and manage to clear the game, although you hear its sounds behind you. When you slow down, you come to an intersection of three streets; there is a beggar here."
Ellamae said, "I'm going to give him a silver crown, and say, 'Hi, there! Could you tell us where The Boar's Head is?'"
Jaben said, "The beggar points along one of the streets, and says, 'Two streets down, on the corner.' You reach the inn without event, and a pretty waitress leads you to a table. She recommends boar in wine sauce, and the chicken broth soup."
Amos said, "'If there are no objections, I think we'll go with that. I'd like a double of the Tuz smoked.'"
Ellamae said, "I'm going to set the candle Nimbus gave us in the middle of the table, and light it."
Jaben said, "The wick does not burn like most wicks; it sparkles brightly."
Ellamae said, "Interesting. I'm going to watch it."
Jaben said, "The wick burns down to the bottom, and then appears to go out. A thin column of white smoke rises."
Ellamae said, "That's odd."
Thaddeus said, "'I'd like a glass of mild cider.'"
Jaben said, "She turns to you and nods, and then something odd happens. The candle begins to shoot brightly colored balls of fire. One of them lands in a nearby patron's drink, and another in some mashed potatoes. Most of them bounce down and roll around on the tablecloth, which catches fire. The waitress pours a pitcher of cider from a nearby table over the burning tablecloth, and turns to you, puts her hands on her hips, and says, 'Guests will kindly refrain from the use of pyrotechnic devices while inside the restaurant!'"
Amos buried his face in his hands, and then said, "'He gave us a Roman candle!'"
Jaben said, "'Well of course it's a Roman candle! What did you think it was?'"
Amos said, "'No, you don't understand. A Janra named Nimbus met us and gave us what looked like a perfectly ordinarily candle.'"
Jaben said, "She rolls her eyes, and says, 'Oooh, Nimbus! Please excuse me one moment.' She walks away, and in a moment returns with something in her hand. 'Please give this to Nimbus for me.' She heavily places a large lump of coal on the table."
Amos said, "I'm going to take it, and say, 'Thank you. And who should I say that this lump of coal is from?'"
Jaben said, "'Oh, he knows perfectly well who I am. We're good friends, even if he is always trying to tickle me.'"
Thaddeus and Lilianne both poked Sarah in the side.
Amos waited until the others had finished ordering, and said, "'Well, Nimbus was right about at least one thing.'"
"'Ooh?'" Lilianne said.
"'When we lit the candle, we remembered the hour of our meeting with him.'"
She stepped onto the construction site, and looked. The building's frame was almost complete, and workers were beginning to lay conduit and 4x8" sheets for the floors.
A young man -- short, pale, wiry, and with sweaty black hair showing from under his headgear -- walked over. "This site is dangerous. You need to wear a bump cap."
"A what?"
"A hard hat. Like I'm wearing. C'mon, I'll take you to get one."
They walked along in silence. "Penny for your thoughts," he said.
"Oh, I was just thinking about a book I'm reading."
"What's the title?"
"I'm not sure it's something a construction worker would recognize, let alone read," she said.
"Try me," he said.
"Addicted to Mediocrity: 20th Century Christians and the Arts, by Franky Schaeffer."
"Aah, yes. Like Why Catholics Can't Sing, only better. I liked, and wholly agree with, the part about the deleterious effects of pragmatism. Franky's father wrote some pretty good books as well; have you read How Shall We Then Live: The Rise and Decline of Western Thought and Culture? The history of art is summarily traced there. Modern Art and the Death of a Culture is another good title on that topic."
Her jaw dropped. "How long have you been a construction worker?"
"Only a few months. I've worked in a number of other professions -- truck driver, child care worker, and firefighter, to name a few, and enjoyed them all. Why do you ask?"
She did not answer the question, but said, "Forgive me for asking this, and I know I'm breaking all sorts of social rules, but why on earth are you working as a construction worker? Why aren't you working as a software engineer for instance?"
He smiled and said, "Well, I do program in my spare time; I've written a couple of applications in Java. But that's not answering your question."
He stopped walking and closed his eyes in thought for a moment, and then said, "I suppose there are a two reasons, a lesser and a greater. For the lesser -- have you read Miyamoto Musashi's A Book of Five Rings?"
"No; I don't think I've heard of it."
"A Book of Five Rings is considered by many to be the canonical book on martial arts strategy. It--"
"You're a martial artist, too?" she said, her jaw dropping further.
"No, but martial arts embody a way of thinking, and that way of thinking is beneficial to learn. A Book of Five Rings was written by Miyamoto Musashi, the greatest swordsman in Japanese history, perhaps the greatest swordsman in world history. The book itself is cryptic and deep, and is used as a guidebook by some businessmen and some computer techs, though I came to know about it by a different route. After a certain point, Musashi would enter duels armed with only wooden swords, and defeat master swordsmen armed with the Japanese longsword and shortsword.
"One of the pivotal statements is, 'You must study the ways of all professions.' And Musashi did. In the book, he likened swordsmanship to building a house, and he was an accomplished artist; he left behind some of Japan's greatest swords, paintings, and calligraphy. Not to mention a lot of good stories. Anyway, his legendary stature as a swordsman came in large part through his extensive study of disciplines that are on the surface completely unrelated to swordplay.
"I had not encountered that book yet in college, but (though my degree is in physics) I studied in subjects all across the sciences and the humanities. And I learned more outside the classroom than inside."
The woman closed her mouth.
"Now I am, in a sense, moving to another phase of my education, learning things I couldn't learn in an academic context."
By this point, they had reached a van.
"And your other reason?" she said.
"My other reason? It's work. Honest, productive, valuable work. It may be less valued in terms of money, and I may eventually settle down as a software engineer -- I've gotten a few offers, by the way. But I am right now building a building that will house books, for people to read and children to dream by. It will give me pleasure to walk in these doors, check out a book, walk by a little girl, watch her smile at the pictures in a picture book, and know that I helped make it possible. Surely that smile is worth my time." He reached into the van, and pulled out a bump cap. "Here's how you adjust the strap to fit your head. The cap should rest above your head, like so, rather than being right on it. That gives the straps some room to absorb the shock if something falls on you from above."
The woman, looking slightly dazed, extended her hand and said, "We've talked, but I don't think I've introduced myself properly. My name is Deborah."
The man shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Deborah. My name is Jaben."
Ellamae heard a soft knocking on the door. "Come in, Sunny. I've been waiting for you."
A little girl with long blonde hair walked in, and held up her mouth for a kiss. Ellamae gave her a peck, and then helped her up on the piano bench. "What are you today?"
"I'm a flower. A daisy."
Ellamae thought for a second, and then said, "The petals on a daisy go around; if you move your finger along, you come back to the same one. With music, it's the same, but there's a twist. If you trace along the notes, you come back to the same one." She played a few notes, and then closed her eyes and said, "To you, are the notes a circle, like the petals of the daisy, or a line, like the piano keyboard is laid out?"
"A circle! A circle!" Sunny said enthusiastically.
"Ok. I want you to improvise something for me that sounds like a circle. It's interesting to me that you hear it that way."
"Why?" the little girl asked.
"Why do I want you to play a circle, or why is it interesting?"
"Why is it interesting?"
"Because you hear things in ways that I don't, and sometimes I learn something new from you."
"Even if I'm a little girl?"
"Especially if you are a little girl. To me, the notes sound like a line, and so I want to hear you play. I want to hear the circle through your ears. Besides, it will help me teach you."
"What keys can I use? The big ones, or the little ones, or both?"
"Right now I want you to stay with just the big keys, although you can feel the tips of the little keys to help you keep your place. And remember that, when you are not talking with me or your parents, you need to call them the white keys and the black keys."
"Why?"
Ellamae closed her eyes in thought. "A smooth surface and a rough surface feel different, right?"
"Yes."
"And loud and quiet sound different, right?"
"Yes."
"There is a difference between the white keys and the black keys that is like those differences to a sighted person."
"On some pianos, the big keys and the little keys feel different. The big keys feel smooth, like hard plastic or glass. The little keys felt smooth, but a different kind of smooth, like bare wood. And on Gramp-Grampa's piano, the big keys feel like that funny stone in Polly's cage. I don't like pianos where the big keys and the little keys feel the same. Is that what you mean?"
Ellamae played a few notes, a musical question. Sunny played a startlingly simple answer.
"You hear and you touch, but they are different, right?"
"Yes, they are different."
"Well, seeing is different from hearing and touch, in the same way. It's hard to describe. Describing seeing to you is kind of like describing music to a man who doesn't hear."
"But music is like dancing! And swimming! And skipping!"
"Well, ok, I guess you're right." Ellamae's eyes lit up. "Imagine that you took off your shirt, and wherever you went, everything became really small and pressed up against your chest and your tummy."
"That would be fun! And confusing."
"But do you see how that would help you know where things are around you?"
Sunny frowned for a second, and said, "I think so."
"That is what seeing is like."
"I wish I could see!"
"I do, too. But you know what? You see a lot of things that other people don't. Your sense of touch picks up on things that most people don't -- like one of my friends, Sarah."
"I want to meet her!"
"That can probably be arranged. Anyway, you hear things that other people don't hear. When we improvise together, you do things that I wouldn't imagine, and in a way I can hear them through your ears. When you play music, you let other people hear the things you imagine, and that is a great gift."
Ellamae placed the child's hands on the keyboard, her left pinky on middle C. "Now, I want you to play music in a circle."
Sunny struck middle C, then the C an octave above, then the C an octave below. She played these three notes, venturing an octave further. Then she added D, F, and G, almost never striking two consecutive notes in the same octave. Then she added E, first playing fragmented arpeggios, and then all five notes, and then the whole scale, ranging all across the keyboard -- quite a reach for her little body! Ellamae didn't like it at first; it sounded jumpy and disjointed. Then something clicked within her, and she no longer heard the octaves at all, but the notes, the pure colors of the notes, arranged in a circle. This must be what it is like to have perfect pitch, she thought. Sunny wound the music down.
"That's very good, Sunny. Sometimes I think I learn as much from you as you are learning from me. Did you practice 'By the Water' this week?"
The little girl placed her finger on her lip.
"Do you still remember how it goes?"
Smiling, the child started to plink the tune away, in a light, merry, happy-go-lucky way. Ellamae said, "That's how we play 'At the Circus.' 'By the Water' is slow and restful, like Mommy reading you a story at bedtime. Think about drinking hot cocoa when you are sleepy. Can you play it again?"
Sunny played the song again, but this time at a placid adagio place. Her touch was still light, but it was light in a soft way.
"That's good, Sunny. Now, would you scoot over a little, to the right? Let's play Question and Answer."
Sunny moved, and Ellamae sat down on the bench next to her. Ellamae played a phrase, and the little girl responded. Then she played something slightly different, and the child varied her response. Ellamae played a slightly longer question, and Sunny played a much longer, merrier, dancelike answer.
"That's good, Sunny. Keep your hands dancing on the keyboard."
Ellamae started to play a complex tune, and at the very climax stopped playing. Sunny, without missing a beat, picked it up and completed it. Then Ellamae joined in, and the two began to improvise a duet, a musical dialogue -- sometimes with two voices, sometimes with one, sometimes silent. Many threads developed, were integrated, and then wound down to a soft finish.
They sat in silence for a while, breathless, and then Ellamae reached atop the piano.
"I have something for you, Sunny."
"A CD!" the girl said, with excitement.
"Yes, this is a Bach CD. For practice this week, I want you to spend a half hour listening to the Little Fugue in G minor. Have the CD player repeat on track seven. Then I want you to spend half an hour improvising with the theme. Stay on the big keys; it'll sound a little different, but stick with it. Next time, I'll show you a way to use some of the big keys and some of the little keys."
"Cool!"
A knock sounded from the door. "Is Sunny ready to go yet?"
Sunny gave Ellamae a hug, and turned away. "Mommy! Mommy! Look what Teacher gave me!"
With that, she was off, leaving Ellamae in silent contemplation.
Thaddeus marched down the steps, into the unfinished basement. He ducked under low hanging pipes and air ducts, not bothering to turn on the lights because he knew its nooks and crannies so well. He stepped onto a screw, yelped, and then ducked into a place called "the corner."
There was an armchair among the various odds and ends -- old, tattered, and very comfortable. He wrapped a blanket around himself in the cool air, and sunk in.
He closed his eyes, and began to pray:
"Our Father,
who art in Heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
Forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who have trespassed against us.
Lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom,
and the power,
and the glory forever.
Amen."
He began to grow still, grow still.
As he became quiet, he examined himself, confessed his sins. He began to sink deep into the heart of God, and there he rested and loved. Words were not needed.
Thaddeus held his spirit stiller than his body, in a listening silence.
"Yes, God?" he asked without words.
He sat, still, in wordless communion, feeling with his intuition, with the depths of his being. And waited.
Gradually, a message formed in his heart. A message of task, of needed and even urgent action, of responsibility.
What kind of assignment, what kind of need? he thought.
Silence. A dark cloud of unknowing. Darkness and obscurity.
What do I do? he wondered.
Wait, child. Wait.
Thaddeus had a timeless spirit; he knew not and cared not whether three minutes had passed, or three hours. He let himself feel the notes of the timeless hymn and Christmas carol, "Let all mortal flesh keep silence." If he rested in God, he could wait.
Thaddeus slowly returned to consciousness, and left, his heart both peaceful and troubled.
RING! Sarah picked up the phone.
A businesslike and official voice said, "Hello. May I please speak with the Squeaky-Toy of the house?"
"Oh, hi, Jaben. What's up?"
"Amos said he was going to meet me for dinner to talk about some stuff, and he hasn't shown up. I called Désirée, and she said he's not in any of his usual haunts. It's not like him to break an appointment, and I was wondering if you would happen to know anything about it."
"Wow, no I don't. The last time I saw him was in the cave. By the way, do you know where my red bouncy ball is?"
"No idea."
Six friends stood in the cave in the early, early morning; none of them had slept well, and Jaben hadn't bothered to have his morning bowl of coffee.
"I called the police," Désirée said, "and they said that he can't be officially treated as a missing person until he's been gone for twenty-four hours. They asked me a number of questions -- his height, weight, physical appearance, when he'd last been seen, and so on -- and then left."
"I was praying yesterday," Thaddeus said. "I was praying, and I had a feeling of -- urgency, but even more strongly of waiting. I'm confused. Usually, when God tells me to wait, it is for a long period of time. This was an eyeblink. Does this mean that the waiting is over, or that I -- we? -- should still wait?"
No one answered.
"What do we do now?" Sarah asked.
"We can sing," Ellamae said. "Sing and pray."
"Sing?" Désirée asked incredulously. "At a time like this?"
"How can you not sing at a time like this? If you can't sing at a time like this, when can you sing?" Ellamae replied.
Désirée nodded.
Ellamae's high, pure voice began, and was joined by other voices, deeper voices.
"O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!
Rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all about me, is the current of Thy love
Leading onward, leading homeward to Thy glorious rest above!"O the deep, deep love of Jesus, spread His praise from shore to shore!
How he loveth, ever loveth, changeth never, nevermore!
How he watches o'er his loved ones, died to call them all his own;
How for them he intercedeth, watcheth o'er them from the throne!"O the deep, deep love of Jesus, love of every love the best!
'Tis an ocean vast of blessing, 'tis a haven sweet of rest!
O the deep, deep love of Jesus, 'tis a heaven of heavens to me;
And it lifts me up to glory, for it lifts me up to Thee!
Désirée's heart had calmed considerably during the singing. "Let's sing it again," she said. And they did. Then her voice led a song:
"My life flows on in endless song above earth's lamentation.
I hear the sweet though far-off hymn that hails a new creation:
Through all the tumult and the strife I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul-- how can I keep from singing?"What though my joys and comforts die? The Lord my Savior liveth;
What though the darkness gather round! Songs in the night He giveth:
No storm can shake my inmost calm while to that refuge clinging;
Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?"I lift mine eyes; the cloud grows thin; I see the blue above it;
And day by day this pathway smooths since first I learned to love it:
The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart, a fountain ever springing:
All things are mine since I am his-- How can I keep from singing?"
"Can we pray now?" There was considerable concern in Ellamae's questioning.
Désirée hesitated, and then said, "Yes. I am calm now."
They joined hands and closed their eyes. For a while, there was silence, finally broken by Désirée's tear-choked voice. "Lord, keep my husband safe."
The songs held new meaning to her.
Jaben said, "I think of myself as a theologian, but I do not know the answers to the questions on our hearts. Lord, hold us in your heart."
The faint echo of a gust of wind was heard in the cave.
Sarah began to hum, "I love you, Lord," and the others joined in.
"Why?" asked Désirée.
Silence.
As the time passed, the silence changed in character. It became deeper, a present silence. The faint sounds -- of air passing through the cavern, of people breathing, of cloth rubbing against cloth as people moved -- seemed louder, more audible, and yet part of the silence.
"Lord, we come to you with so many things on our hearts," Ellamae said. "In the midst of all this, I wish to thank you for the many blessings we have enjoyed. I thank you for my music, and for all my students, especially Sunny. She is such a delight, and I look forward to seeing her abilities mature. I thank you especially for Amos, for the delight he is to us, his patience, his deep laughter." Voices had been saying "Amen," and Jaben added, "for his taking teasing so well." "If this is the last we have seen of him, we thank you for allowing us to pass these brief moments with such a friend," Ellamae finished.
"Your will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven," Lilianne joined. "Lord, we come before you in confidence that you have adopted us as your children, and whatever we ask will be done. May our request be your will, drawing on your willingness, as we ask that our fellowship be restored, and our friend and brother be found." They sat for a time, continuing to hold each other's hands, crying, listening to the silence. Then a squeeze went around, and with one voice they said, "Amen."
It had been an hour. The hugs were long and lingering, and Jaben felt the kisses a little more. The six friends out of the cave and into their days' activities, their hearts deeply troubled and even more deeply at peace.
Ellamae had come over to Désirée's and Amos's little white house, ostensibly to help with the housework. They were washing and drying dishes and chattering when the doorbell rang.
Désirée, in the middle of scouring out a dirty pot, said, "Could you get that, honey? My hands are kind of full."
Ellamae set down the dish she was drying, and the towel. She walked over to the front door.
There was a police officer there, and something about his demeanor said that he did not bear good news.
"Mrs. Godfrey?"
"She's in the kitchen, washing dishes. Come on in."
Désirée had rinsed and dried her hands, and came into the living room. She shook the officer's hand. "Hi, I'm Désirée."
"Officer Rick. Would you be willing to sit down for a second?"
With trepidation, Désirée sat down in the armchair. Ellamae perched on the edge of the couch.
"Following up on a call, we found your husband's car in a ditch by the roadside. The windows were broken, and the n-word was spray painted all over the sides."
Désirée brought her hand to her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. She suddenly looked like a very small woman in a very big chair.
Ellamae closed her eyes in pain. The officer continued. "We are presently fingerprinting the car, and beginning a search of the area. We will call you if we find out anything definite. I'm sorry to bear this news."
Ellamae walked over, and wrapped her arms around Désirée. "Thank you, officer." She paused a moment, and said, "I think we need to be alone now. Sorry you had to bear this news."
The policeman said, "Yes, Ma'am," and stepped out the door.
Désirée and Ellamae stood, held each other, and wept.
Jaben walked up the steps of the sanctuary slowly. Sarah was standing next to him, and squeezed his hand; he touched her, but did not feel her. The friends walked into the church quietly; the other members of the congregation gave them a little more space, and a hush fell. Désirée held on tightly to Ellamae's arm.
"Blessed be God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit," the celebrant said.
"And blessed be his kingdom, now and for ever. Amen," the congregation answered.
"Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen," the celebrant prayed.
The processional hymn was Amazing Grace, words and notes that flowed automatically, thoughtlessly, until the fourth verse:
"The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures."
Jaben had been thinking, a lot, and he held onto those words as a lifeline. With them came a little glimmer of hope that his beloved friend might be OK.
"Glory to God, glory in the highest and peace to His people on earth.
"We worship You, we give You thanks, we praise You for Your glory.
Lord God, heavenly King. Almighty God and Father,"Glory to God in the highest and peace to His people on earth.
Lord Jesus Christ, only Son of the Father, Lord God, Lamb of God,
"You take away the sin of the world, have mercy on us.
You are seated at the right hand of the Father, receive our pray'r.
For You alone are the Holy One, for you alone are the Lord.
For You alone are the most high, Jesus Christ, with the Holy Spirit, in the glory of God, the Father."Glory to God in the highest and peace to his people on earth.
Amen. Give glory to God.
Amen. Give glory to God."Amen. Give glory to God."
In the music, Jaben felt lifted up into the divine glory -- a taste of Heaven cut through his pain.
The celebrant said, "The Lord be with you."
The congregation echoed, "And also with you."
The celebrant bowed his head and said, "Let us pray.
"Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ came to seek out and save the lost: grant that we, looking in the divine Light you give us, and thinking in the holy wisdom you bestow on us, may succeed in the endeavors you set before us, through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen."
A reader stepped up and said, "A reading from Ruth.
"But Ruth replied, 'Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the LORD deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me.'
"The Word of the Lord."
"Thanks be to God," the congregation answered.
The celebrant said, "We will read the Psalm together in unison."
The whole congregation read aloud, "O LORD, you have searched me and you know
me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my
ways.
Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.
You hem me in--behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you
are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around
me,'
even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.'"
Two tears slid down Lilianne's and Désirée's cheeks.
"The word of the Lord," the celebrant said.
"Thanks be to God," the congregation answered.
"A reading from Paul's first epistle to the Corinthians," another reader announced.
"For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written: 'I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.' Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe.
"Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.
"For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength. Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things--and the things that are not--to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God--that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: 'Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.'
"The Word of the Lord," concluded the reader.
"Thanks be to God," answered the congregation.
Jaben mulled over the texts.
The congregation rose, singing, "Alleluia! Alleluia! Opening our hearts to
Him.
Singing Alleluia! Alleluia! Jesus is our King."
"A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Luke," said the celebrant.
"Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Does she not light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.'
"The Gospel of the Lord."
"Praise to you, Lord Christ," answered the congregation, and sat down.
The celebrant walked behind the pulpit, and said, "There was a Baptist minister who would every Sunday stand behind the pulpit and say, 'The Lord be with you!' And every Sunday, the congregation would answer, 'And also with you.'
"One Sunday, he said 'The Lord be with you!' as usual, but the microphone was turned off, and his voice did not carry very well in the large sanctuary. The congregation did not respond.
"He tapped the microphone, and saw that there was no sound, and so he said in a loud voice, 'I think there's a problem with the mike!'
"The congregation answered, 'And also with you.'"
There was a chuckle throughout the congregation. Jaben's nose wrinkled in distaste. Jaben objected strongly to Kant's idea of Religion Within the Bounds of Reason. He was quite fond of Chesterton's statement that, among intellectuals, there are two types of people: those that worship the intellect, and those that use it. He objected even more strongly to America's idea of Religion Within the Bounds of Amusement. It wasn't that he didn't like a good joke, or having a bit of fun. It was just that he didn't confuse those things with edifying instruction in the Word of God. When his irritation wore off, he began to sink into thought.
Jaben slowly turned the Scripture passages over in his mind. Each one seemed to say something about Amos.
It was then and there that Jaben Onslow Pfau decided that he would do everything he could, whatever the cost, come Hell or high water, to rescue Amos Regem Godfrey, his dear and beloved friend and brother.
There was a clamor of people around the friends. A black man, standing 6'8" at just under 300 pounds, built like a brick wall, and bearing a gentle radiance, approached them, along with his little mother. The woman said, "I remember when Amos and my son were wee little boys, and there was rain after a heavy truck drove through the street. They both played in the mud, happy as pigs in a blanket!"
The man said, "If there's anything we can do to help, just tell us."
Jaben said, "As a matter of fact, Bear, yes, there is."
"Yes?" the man said eagerly.
"Could we join you for dinner? I need to think, and having more company and less work to do would help me."
"Certainly," Bear said. "It would be a pleasure," his mother added.
"What are we having?" Thaddeus said eagerly.
"Rice and gravy, fried chicken, and peach cobbler."
"Mmm, soul food," Thaddeus said, smiling. "I'll try not to drool on the way over."
"Ok," Bear said, his deep voice rumbling into an even deeper laughter.
Different people were in and out of the kitchen at different times, although Grace, Bear's mother, and Lilianne were always in. A pleasing aroma filled the house; Thad wasn't the only one who found it hard not to drool.
Bear picked Jaben up and squeezed him in a big Bear hug. Then he set him down, and, placing his arm over Jaben's shoulder, asked, "So, whatchya thinkin' about, Bro?"
Jaben closed his eyes. "I want to find Amos, if he's dead or alive. I know you're supposed to leave this to the authorities, but it is on my heart to do so. I want to do whatever it takes, whatever the cost, to find him."
Sarah walked out of the kitchen, her ears cocked. "I'm in."
"Me, too," said Lilianne's voice.
"How're you going to do that?" Bear asked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"Don't bother me with details."
"I'm going with you, too," said Ellamae, and squeezed his hand.
"Do you want to use my gun?" Bear asked. His gun was legendary in the town as an elephant gun with a laser sight.
"Bear, you know I can't hit the broad side of a barn with a sniper rifle."
"I'm in," said Thaddeus, his eyes wide with interest. "Could we go out in the forest and shoot a few crabapples?"
"Just a second while I go get it." Bear disappeared up some stairs.
"Honey, you know I'm in," said Désirée.
Bear returned, carrying a very large rifle. He held it out to Thaddeus.
Thaddeus hefted it, and said, "Let's go."
As the two walked out the door, Thaddeus asked, "Why do you use such a massive gun, Bear? Nothing you hunt needs that kind of firepower."
A stick snapped under Bear's weight. "I don't know. It's me, I guess. Same reason I use a sixteen pound sledgehammer, or thirty-two when they'll let me bring one. Part of it is toy and... you know the saying, 'The only difference between a man and a boy is the size of the toy.'"
"How do you turn the laser sight on?" Thaddeus asked. "I've never used one."
"Here," Bear said. "Like this."
Thaddeus lowered himself to the ground, and said, "See that crabapple tree out at battlesight zero? See that crabapple that sticks out to the far left?"
"Battlesight zero for this gun is about three times what you're used to."
"Oh, yeah. Thanks. I'll adjust accordingly. Anyway, see that crabapple?" "The really little one?" Bear asked. "Uh-huh." Thaddeus grew still, his body's tiny swaying decreasing and decreasing. The tiny crababble glowed red. Then it stopped glowing, and Thaddeus closed his eyes.
Boom! A resounding, thunderous gunshot echoed all around.
The crabapple was no longer there.
Thaddeus rubbed his shoulder, and handed the gun to Bear.
"I'm sorry, Bear, but I can't use that gun. It's much too heavy for me, and the kick from that one shot is going to give me bruises. I can feel it now. I really appreciate the offer; I have for a long time longed to fire Bear's gun. But I can't use it. I need to stick with my .22."
"You are a true marksman, Thaddeus, and a good man. I hope that you don't meet anything that requires the firepower to take down a grizzly."
"Oh, that reminds me," Thaddeus said. "I heard this from Jaben. Which is better to have if you're attacked by a grizzly: a 10-gauge, or a hollow-nosed .45?"
"Ummm..." Bear hesitated.
"The shotgun, because you can use it as a club when it runs out of ammo."
Bear laughed a deep, mighty laugh, and then they walked back. That man, Bear thought, was not entirely telling an innocent joke.
Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring. "We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is an imaginary number. Please hang up, rotate the phone clockwise by ninety degrees, and dial again. Beep!"
"C'mon, Jaben. Pick up the phone." The voice paused, and reiterated, "Pick up the phone."
Jaben picked up the phone. "Leave me alone, Thad! I've talked with Bear, and he's given me time off. I need to do some thinking."
"Amos is in Mexico."
"What?!?"
"Amos is in Mexico."
"How do you know that? Did he call you? Is he OK?"
"No, he didn't call me. I was just... praying, and Amos is in Mexico."
"Ok. That changes my plans."
"Mine, too."
"Let's meet at the cave tonight. Could you call the others? I still need to do some processing."
"I already have called the others."
"Ok, see you there."
"See ya! Wouldn't want to be ya!"
Only one candle flickered, but the cave did not seem dark. The air was cool, but the Kythers were much too excited to feel cold. They were there with a mission, with a purpose.
Jaben said, "I think we should take a day to prepare, and then leave for Mexico. In a way, a day is not nearly enough time, but in another way a day may be more than we can afford. We need to use the time wisely. What will you do? I will work on securing material provisions."
Lilianne said, "I will pray. Pray and fast."
Thaddeus said, "I will talk with God."
Désirée said, "I will talk with my kin for support."
Sarah said, "I don't know what I'll do. Maybe tell loved ones goodbye for a while, I'm going on an adventure."
Ellamae said, "Plant a tree."
"What?" Sarah asked.
"Martin Luther was asked what he would do if he knew what the Lord were coming the next day. His answer was very simple: plant a tree. It was the ultimate scatological response. Instead of nonstop singing, prayer, fasting, and wailing about 'I am a worm!' he reasoned that he had been planning to plant a tree, and if that was worth doing at all, it would be worth doing when the Lord returned. So he said he would plant a tree. Apart from packing, I'm just going to spend my day normally, and then go."
"I'm with you," said Sarah.
Ellamae smiled at the familiar knock on the door. "Come in, Sunny," she said.
Sunny bounced in. "Teacher, teacher, I've been waiting to play for you." She jumped up on the piano bench.
"Go ahead and play," Ellamae said, looking with wonder on this little child.
Sunny began to play, and Ellamae listened with a shock. She had not taught the girl about different keys yet -- other than C and the pentatonic key of the black keys, which were plenty to start with -- and the child was confidently playing music in G minor. It sounded vaguely like Bach, at very least a set of variations on the theme of his little fugue -- and then Ellamae realized what she was listening to. Ellamae was listening to a fugue in one voice.
She realized with a start that the music had shifted to the key of E minor, and was growing fuller, richer, deeper. Many different threads were introduced, developed, and then integrated. The music rose to a crescendo and then came to a sudden and startling conclusion. There was silence.
"Do you like it?" Sunny said, a bashful smile on her face.
"Yes, I like it very much. Did it take you all week to compose?"
"I didn't compose it, Ellamae. I improvised it."
"Sunny, how would you like to take a walk?"
"A walk? Where?"
"To go visit my friend Sarah. I'll leave your mother a note, and not charge for this lesson. I'm going to look for my friend Amos, and I may not be back for a while. I love the keyboard, but I'd like to spend these last moments doing something else. Will you come with me?"
"I would love to!"
Ellamae wrote out a note, and taped it to the door of the lesson room, and then said, "C'mon, Sunny. Take my hand."
As they walked out, Sunny turned her face up to the light, and said, "The sunlight is warm today!"
Ellamae said, "It is. Perhaps feeling sunlight is better than looking at sunlight. What did you do this past week?"
Sunny said, "I don't know."
"Yes, you do," replied Ellamae.
"I got to ride a horse bareback with my Mom. That was fun. The horse was hot, and I could feel him breathing in and out, and I could feel the wind kissing my face."
"Is wind a mystery to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Sighted people find wind to be confusing; we can see what it does, like blow leaves around, but we can't see the wind itself. Jesus said that the Holy Spirit is like wind that way."
"I don't find wind confusing. I feel it, and hear it, and hear what it does. It's like a friend, moving around me and hugging me. Is that like the Spirit? I don't find God to be confusing; he's like a friend, or a warm bowl of soup, or... I don't know what else to say, but he isn't confusing."
Ellamae pondered these words. Perhaps later the child would know the side of God that is wild and mysterious -- or was everything so wild and mysterious to her that she made her peace with them, and was not frightened at the wild mystery of God? This was a voice that could call God 'Daddy', and be completely unafraid.
"Is that like the Spirit?" Sunny repeated. "Is that like the Spirit, Teacher?"
"I don't know. I'm not a theologian. I think it is, but in a different way than Jesus meant. Maybe wind is different to blind people and sighted people. I wonder what else is--"
"What's a theo-lo-, a the-, a the-o-loge-yun?" Sunny interrupted.
"A theologian is someone who devotes his life to studying the nature of God, and faith, and hope, and love. A theologian is somebody who reads the Bible and learns deep lessons from it."
"Why aren't you a theo-logian? I think you're a theologian. I'm a theologian. Today I learned that God loves me. That's a deep lesson. I think everybody should be a theologian."
"Yes, but a theologian is somebody who does that in a special way, and is more qualified--wait, that isn't right, a theologian is--" Ellamae paused, and closed her eyes. "I don't know. I don't know what makes a theologian. Maybe you and I are theologians. I don't know."
"But I thought grown-ups knew everything!"
"Nononononononononono!" Ellamae said. "Grown-ups don't know everything. Here's a story I was told when I was a little girl like you in Sunday school.
"An Indian and a white man were standing together on a beach. The white man took a stick, and made a small circle in the sand. He said, 'This is what the Indian knows.'
"Then he made a big circle around the small circle, and said, 'This is what the white man knows.'
"The Indian took the stick, and made a really, really, really big circle around both of the other two circles, and said, 'This is what neither the Indian nor the white man knows.'"
They were walking along a primitive road, and Ellamae bent over, saying, "Give me your finger. Point with it." She drew a small circle along the dirt, and said, "This is what children know."
Then she drew a larger circle, overlapping with the former circle, but not engulfing it. "This is what grown-ups know. Grown-ups know more than children know, but we also forget a lot of things as we grow up, and some of them are important. So grown-ups know more than children, but children still know some pretty big things that grown-ups don't."
Then she walked around in an immense circle, dragging Sunny's fingertip through the sandy dirt. "This is what neither children nor grown-ups know, but only God knows. Do you see?"
Sunny's face wrinkled in concentration. "Yes. So you want to tell me the things I ask, but you don't know them."
"Yes," Ellamae said, continuing to walk along.
"What do children know that grown-ups don't?" asked Sunny.
Ellamae took a long time to answer. "You know how sometimes I say something, and you ask me a question, and I change what I said? That's because you brought up something I forgot, like singing being like dancing. There are other things. Jesus said to become like a little child to enter; children know how to believe, and how -- 'honest' is close, but not quite the right word. When a little boy says, 'I love you,' he means it. Children know how to imagine and make-believe, and how to play. Most adults have forgotten how to play, though a few remember (maybe by taking time to play, maybe by making work into play). That is sad most of all. This life is preparing us for Heaven, and what we do in Heaven will not be work or rest, but play. You live more in Heaven than most grown-ups."
Sunny listened eagerly. "But you remembered."
"Yes, but not easily. And not all of it. I am lucky to have friends who know how to play."
By this time they had reached Sarah's house, and Sarah saw them and came out to greet them. They sat down on a log, with Sunny in the middle.
"Teacher tells me that you're tickulish," Sunny said.
"Maybe I am and maybe I'm not," Sarah said.
Sunny poked Sarah in the side. Sarah squeaked.
"Sarah is not a Squeaky-Toy," Sarah said, sitting up and looking very dignified (and forgetting that Sunny was blind).
Sunny poked Sarah in the side. Sarah squeaked.
"Sarah is not a Squeaky-Toy," Sarah reiterated.
Sunny poked Sarah in the side. Sarah squeaked.
Sarah grabbed Sunny's hands. "I hear you like music."
"Yes, I like it a lot. I especially like to play piano. What's your name?"
"Sarah."
"I love you, Sarah-Squeak."
"Thank you, Sunny." She paused, debated whether or not to say "It's 'Sarah', not 'Sarah-Squeak'," and continued, "What do you think of when you play music?"
"Music stuff. Do you play music?"
"No, but I paint. Painting is kind of like music."
"What do you do when you paint?"
"Well, I take all sorts of different colors, and I use differing amounts to make different forms and shapes, and when I am done people can see through my painting what I was thinking of, if I do it well."
"I take different notes, and I use differing amounts to make different melodies, and when I am done people can hear through my music what I was thinking of, if I do it well. Yep, painting is like music."
Sarah pondered the painting of rainbow colors she had been working on. "You know, I'd like for you to do something with me sometime. I'd like for you to improvise a song for me, maybe record it so I can hear it a few times, and I'll see if I can translate it into a painting."
"What about words? Can you translate it into words?"
"I can't translate music into words. I don't know if anyone can. But maybe, if I tried hard enough and had God's blessing, I could translate it into a painting of color. Hmm, that gives me an idea of music for the deaf." She turned to Ellamae. "What about a video where each instrument or voice was a region of the screen, and the color went around the color wheel circle as the notes go around, and the light became more intense as you went up an octave? And they became bigger and smaller as the notes became louder and softer?"
"I'd like to see that. Music for the deaf," Ellamae said.
"Miss Sarah, please hold your arm out and pull up your shirt sleeve," Sunny said."
Sarah, curious, did as the child asked.
Sunny placed her fingers on Sarah's bare arm, and started to play it as if it were a piano keyboard. "That is music for people who can't hear," she said.
Sarah and Ellamae nodded.
Thaddeus slowly got out materials -- the right materials -- and started cleaning his gun. Ellamae ducked in the doorway, and said, "What's up?"
Thaddeus said, "Cleaning my gun. Taking care of details." He looked at a small box of ammunition, and said, "And you?"
"I don't think we'll be needing that," Ellamae said. "No good will come of it."
"There's more than people in Mexico. There are animals. I'd prefer to be prepared," Thaddeus said.
"No good will come of it," Ellamae said.
Jaben thought about his visit with the Weatherbys. He called to apologize and explain why they wouldn't all be able to come then to talk in person, and they gave him -- unasked-for, undeserved -- a thousand dollars in traveller's cheques. He was very happy for the money. The friends had plenty of equipment from their other adventures, but money was tight, and he hadn't known where it was going to come from. Perhaps Bear.
When he finished packing the van, it contained:
Jaben packed it in as best he could; the equipment was smaller than it sounded, and they had a big van. He arranged it like furniture, and then called the others to come in. They joined hands in prayer, and hit the road at sundown.
"Hello, and thank you for choosing Kything Airlines, where we not only get you there, but teach you how to pray. We will be cruising at an altitude of about fifteen to thirty-five hundred feet after hills, railroad crossings, and speed bumps, and zero feet otherwise. Our destination is Mexico City, Mexico, with an estimated time of arrival in thirty minutes. This is your copilot Jaben speaking, and our captain for this flight is Thaddeus."
"Dude," Thad said, "this van does like zero to sixty in fifteen minutes when it's loaded like this. But your point is well taken. I'll try not to speed."
"Yeah, I know. If this van were a computer, it would be running Windows now. Anyways, I'd like to take this time for a debriefing on Mexican culture," Jaben said.
"Don't we usually pray when we start off on a trip?" asked Sarah.
"Yes, but I would like to use the time to talk about Mexican culture when it will make a clear impression on people's minds," Jaben answered.
"But prayer is more important!" Sarah insisted.
"Yes, it's more important, but the more important things do not always take place first. Important and urgent are two separate things. You put your clothes on before you visit your friend, even though visiting your friend is more important," Jaben explained, although he was not satisfied with his example.
"I still think prayer is more important," Sarah said.
I'm not going to get into an argument, Jaben thought. An argument is definitely not the right way to start off this trip. "Very well, then, Sarah," he said. "Why don't you pray?"
"Me?" Sarah said with the earnest pleasure of a child. "I would love to.
"Dear Father, thank you for this trip, for all the good times we've had with Amos, even the time he named me Squeaky-Toy (even though I only let Jaben use that name). Father, I pray that you would help us find Amos, and Father, help us bring him back safely. And, oh, Father, please let him be all right. Amen."
Jaben took a couple seconds' more prayer to cool down, and let go of his angry thoughts about Sarah. Then he said, "Ok, for a primer on Mexican culture... let's see. Touch. When you enter or leave a room, you give everyone a firm handshake; if you don't, everyone will think you're rude. Kissing cheeks is OK among girls, and side hugs are OK on special occasions. In general, we'll have to back off on touch in public, and particularly avoid what would look like couples' PDA. This means both you and me, Sarah. We should talk less, and particularly avoid extended public conversations between the sexes. In general, avoid real, deep kything except when we're alone and away from eyes. Wait, that's not exactly right. Etiquette is very important, and chivalry and 'ladies first', and you stand when an elder enters. Address people by honorifics. Be formal; to quote Worf, 'Good manners are not a waste of time.' Mexican culture is much more community oriented than but our peculiarities in community that can be misunderstood in the United States, will be misunderstood in Mexico."
"Is Mexican culture higher-context than American culture?" Ellamae asked.
"Mmm, good question. Most cultures are less low-context than American culture; some Native American cultures are as high-context as the Japanese, and I think the Romance cultures are high-context. So by general guesswork and geneology, I would expect Mexican culture to be higher in context level. Except I don't know much about what that context is. There are some superstitious remnants of Roman Catholicism, but Rome is more a behind-the-scenes, unseen force than it is the pulsating life in the Catholics we know, especially Emerant. Like the grandmother in Household Saints. Um, what else... aah, yes, time. You'll fit in perfectly, Thaddeus. The rest of us, particularly me, will have to work on it. When you agree to meet someone at noon, that's noon, give or take two or three hours. Mexicans will wonder what the hurry is all about. Try not to fidget."
"How does Hispanic culture compare to black culture?" asked Désirée.
"Very similar; the two are probably closer than either is to white American culture. On, and girls, avoid eye contact with men; everybody, avoid flirting," Jaben stated.
Sarah said, "I can't wait to get to Mexico. Seeing another country will be so much fun!"
Jaben said, "Sarah, as I remember, you haven't been out of the country, right?"
"No," she said.
"Ok. A couple of tips on crossing cultures: prepare to have expectations violated that you didn't even know you had. Crossing cultures is both wonderful and terrible, and it's particularly rough the first time. Or at least I've heard it is for most people; I don't experience culture shock the same way. It will look to you like people are doing all sorts of things the wrong way, and some of them will indeed be wrong, but a great many are just different, and some of them better," Jaben said. "Try not to complain, or at least not to take a complaining attitude."
"Oh, dear!" Sarah said. "That sounds frightful."
"It is, and it isn't," Jaben said. "You'll love Mexico, and, knowing you, you'll walk away with at least twenty different paintings in your head, and be able to execute all of them perfectly. Which reminds me, did anyone bring a camera?"
There was no response.
"Good. We are not coming as shutterbug tourists, and taking a bunch of pictures wouldn't be proper. Let's see... what else... Aah. Does anyone know the Hacker's Drinking Song?"
"Nope," said Lilianne.
"Ok, let me sing the first two verses.
"Ninety-nine blocks of crud on the disk,
Ninety-nine blocks of crud,
Patch a bug and dump it again,
One hundred blocks of crud on the disk."One hundred blocks of crud on the disk,
One hundred blocks of crud,
Patch a bug and dump it again,
One hundred and one blocks of crud on the disk."
The others joined in with a thunderous noise:
"One hundred and one blocks of crud on the disk,
One hundred and one blocks of crud,
Patch a bug and dump it again,
One hundred and two blocks of crud on the disk..."
They continued singing noisily until the wee hours of the morning.
"Wake up," a voice said. "Wake up; the sun is high in the sky."
"Oh, hi, Lilianne, can't I sleep more?" Thaddeus said.
"No, we should get moving."
"I like to be well-rested when I drive. My reflexes are faster."
"Speaking of faster, I'd like to congratulate you on the stop you made when you decided you were too tired to drive. I didn't know this van could stop that fast," Lilianne said.
"Could I have just a half-hour more sleep?"
"I'm setting my watch."
After another half-hour of sleep, Thaddeus was indeed alert; they drove along, stopping at an IHOP for breakfast. The conversation consisted mostly of how to rearrange the equipment to be more comfortable, and breakfast was followed by about half an hour of rearrangement. The friends got in, their stiffness reduced, and felt better about sitting down. This time, Ellamae rode shotgun.
"I'm bored," Sarah said as they hit the road.
"How would you like to play riddles?" Jaben asked.
"I would love to!" said Sarah.
Jaben said,
"A man without eyes,
saw plums in a tree.
He neither ate them nor left them.
Now how could this be?"
"That's impossible!" Sarah said. "A cabin on a mountain--"
Sarah paused. "Are the eyes he doesn't have literal eyes, like you and I have?"
"Literal eyes."
"Not like the eye of a storm?"
"Not like the eye of a storm."
"And he literally saw? Did he see in a dream?"
"He literally saw, as I literally see you now."
"Exactly the same?"
Jaben closed his eyes. "There is a slight difference, that is understandable if you know a bit of biology or psychology."
"That's not a fair riddle!" Sarah said. "You know that only Ellamae knows psychology. Don't give me a riddle I can't answer!"
"You do not need to know of biology or psychology to solve this riddle. In fact, I never thought of connecting this riddle with biology or psychology until now."
"I know wh