Green Book Of Meditations Volume 6 The Books of Songs - Student ...

not even see. I have been more of a father to her than you have,
and not you nor God can take that from me.”
“I will take her from you now,” he growled, advancing.
(Drop your weapon, Mister!) “The care of her soul is in my
hands, and takes precedent over any dreams of the flesh. God
condones all actions undertaken in the interest of the soul. I will
have her from you before she ends up –just –like –her –mother!”
He spat these last words with a roiling hiss and raised the cross on
high.
I do not often read peoples minds. Sometimes I wish I
never did at all.
“You bastard,” I breathed. “What that you’ve done would
your God condone?”
Russell Raskin halted mid stride. His eyes bulged. His
throat gurgled something that would never be a word. His left
side spasmed violently, and the force of it spun him twitching to
the ground. The crucifix leapt from his hand, hiding its face in
the carpet. Russell curled and splayed, and then lay still.
The policeman came forward, gun drawn.
“I would have shot him. Really, I would have.”
Shut up, I willed him.
“What did you do to him?” He asked in awe.
“Nothing. Call an ambulance.”
Chapter Fifteen
The beeps and muted bustle of the world’s worst waiting
room fought the smell of antiseptic for possession of the air, as I
sat down to wait beside Juliana Spring. The slump of her
tempered shoulders informed me she had no emotions left. Sam
was sleeping down the hall, six stitches, no fracture, and an egg
on his crown fit to hatch the Christmas turkey we had not had
time to eat.
“Is he awake?” I offered, by way of conversation.
“What did you do to him?”
My eyes winced shut.
“I did nothing…”
Nothing.
“How is he?”
“Doctor Sato says his mind is clear, but his body is
completely wrecked. She says it was either a stroke or a heart
attack, or possibly both at once. She says it’s hard to tell because
we don’t have any medical records…”
She trailed off, gazing through the tiles. Her hands tore at a
Styrofoam cup.
“The police searched his house for paperwork, but they
couldn’t find anything useful. Just junk and religious tracts… No
records… No will…”
“They found…” Her voice died. She tried again.
“They found…”
I put my arm around her, but she was done with tears.
“They found my mother’s teeth in the basement.”
“I know.”
“You know? Why do you always know?”
I shook my head.
“What will you do?” Said I, when the silence became too
painful.
“He’s dying, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I responded, knowing it was true.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to forgive him.”
427
“That is up to you.”
She sniffed.
Nurses flitted past, pale as ghosts, busy as angels, each
sacrificing their Christmas day to make the world a touch less
painful. After a timeless tedium Juliana squeezed my hand.
“Thanks.” Only a whisper, but sincere.
I smiled thinly.
“He wants to see you, you know,” said Juliana suddenly.
“What?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say. He just asked me to send in the damned
Druid if he came around.”
I contemplated the machines, the smells of death and
healing.
“Then I will go and see him.”
Chapter Sixteen
Russell Raskin lay like a skull on a pillow, his hands
gnarled and nearly lifeless on the sheet that pinned him down.
Wires trailed beneath the cloth. A tube bled oxygen into the air
beneath his nose. His eyes followed me as I entered the room.
There was a chair by the window. I sat.
“You knew.” His voice was quiet.
I nodded.
“How?”
“I looked into your eyes and saw the truth that lived there.”
“God told you,” muttered Russell. “He told you, so that
you would tell me, that I might see my life for what it was. The
bastard. You are no better than I was. Why should He let you
win?”
I said nothing.
“He did not lie, you know.”
“I do not think the gods can lie. It seems a purely human
art.”
“He told me no human hand would stop me, too. I did not
realize that meant He would.”
“Perhaps he was giving you the chance to stop yourself.”
“Shut up with the righteousness, will you?”
I studied the wires and tubes, the machines that stretched his
life.
“Look at me- a dying preacher discussing God with a Druid.
I must be mad.”
“I once read that the important religious distinction was not
between those who believed and those who did not, but between
those who loved and those who did not. What you or I believe
may not matter so long as we act with love.”
“That does not leave me any better off,” growled Russell.
I looked away.
“You loved them both, Russell. You could not have hated
so powerfully else.”
“Do you believe that?”
I shrugged carefully.
His eyes blazed.
“Answer me, damn you! Do you believe that? Or are you
feeding me lies so I’ll die content?”