By Rebecca Morn
1
“I don’t know how I can make it any plainer,” the angel
said. “You have to drink.”
He didn’t look at all like your ordinary Biblical
variety of angel. I mean for instance, the type in white robes which
sit around all day on fluffy clouds, playing ethereal accompaniment on harp,
and rustling its huge, snowy wings occasionally.
This one had the white robe all right, but that’s where
the similarity ended. He balanced an enormous double-edged sword in
one hand and clutched a jewel-encrusted goblet with the other. In
addition, he stood about six and a half feet tall and looked like he meant
business. His eyes were hot sparks gleaming from under a lowered brow.
Moreover, his grin looked... well, just plain evil.
I don't know how else to put it. I saw nothing but malice in that
smile.
I looked around some more, stalling for time and trying
without much success to get my bearings. For some vague reason, I knew I
didn’t want to drink from the water of the dark river flowing sluggishly
behind the angel. All around us, the land was barren. Really barren, which
was no help at all. Other than the river and what looked like a dim forest
on the flattened horizon behind me, I saw only the same orange-brown dirt
everywhere. Definitely not a very popular vacation spot, I decided.
I still had absolutely no idea how I’d gotten there.
Come to think of it, I couldn’t even remember where I had been before I woke
up, flat on my back in the hard clay, looking up at an ugly, featureless gray sky. This
being—I couldn't consider him a 'man' by any stretch of
the imagination—had been standing near the river, leaning on the hilt of his sword.
He told me to
have a drink when I finally saw him, offering the goblet. I’d refused at
first, not really knowing why, but positive I didn’t want any of that turgid
river water. Whatever it was.
“Look,” I said carefully, climbing to my feet. “I don’t
remember how I got here, and sure as hell don’t have any idea what’s going
on. Could I at least have a few explanations?”
“Ahh...This is easily summed up in one simple
assertion,” he chuckled in rumbling bass tones. “You are dead, Benjamin
Firth.”
“Right,” I decided to humor him. “Aren't dead
souls supposed to end up in Heaven or Hell. My parents sent me to Sunday
school for most of my childhood and I can’t recall anything about you or
this place.” I spread my arms, indicating the vast empty landscape.
“So you were a Catholic this time, Benjamin Firth?” he
smiled at me. “Very well, I will explain a bit further.”
He lowered the sword, wedging the point into the clay,
and leaned upon the hilt once more. I remained standing.
“Behind me flows the river Lethe,” he gestured with the
goblet, “the waters of forgetfulness, and I have been placed here to ensure
that you and everyone who comes here drinks of it. Then I send you back to
live again.”
“But what about Purgatory?” I asked.
“The Earth is sufficient, don’t you think?” he laughed
aloud.
“And Hell?”
“A soul makes its own Hell,” he said seriously. “As for
Heaven, to answer the next question on your mind, you are not going there,
so there isn’t any point in discussing it further.”
“Why not?” I decided to be obstinate; besides, he
wasn’t helping much.
“Because you’re not good enough. Now drink and forget,
so I can be done with this,” he rumbled, proffering the cup again.
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “How can anyone get
into Heaven if they can’t remember their past mistakes?”
“That’s your problem,” he said, the corners of his
mouth ticking up to an even more malevolent grin. “Although, you do have one option,
Benjamin. And you’ve taken it before. Nearly every time.”
“And what’s that?” I was getting perturbed.
“You can wrestle me,” the grin widened, and held no
kindness whatsoever.
“I’ve done this before you say. Have I ever won?”
“Of course not,” he laughed.
“Oh. What do I win if I beat you?” It must have been
something really worthwhile.
“Freedom of choice. Your memories if you choose to
keep them.” He gave another smirk. “I tell you, Benjamin Firth, you have
given me more trouble than just about any other soul I know. I’ve almost
begun to look forward to your deaths.”
The angel spoke again into the silence that followed.
“I am compelled to offer the cup three times and must be three times
refused: Will you not drink?” He held the goblet out at arm's length.
“No.”
He smiled, showing huge white teeth. Then he emptied
the water onto the dry clay and dropped the cup after. “So be it,” he said
solemnly, doing a lousy job of concealing rather obvious mirth.
He raised the sword and took a fighting stance. “Let
us begin.”
“Hey, hold on,” I protested. “It’ll hardly be a fair
fight, you with that sword and me completely unarmed.”
“Tough. I never said it was going to be easy,” he
chortled.
“Well, come on then,” I tried to rag him on. “Fight if
you can, you gutless eunuch.”
The taunt didn’t carry nearly as much bravado as I had
wanted, but it did have the desired effect. The angel growled, stomped
toward me and let loose a swing designed solely to remove a head from neck.
It must’ve been a mighty blow.
But I wasn’t there to meet it. I lunged forward, under his sword
arm, and took advantage of his momentum to turn the free wrist behind him.
A sharp kick in the shin and thrust soon had him face down in the dirt. The
sword flew away, flashing in the dim, diffuse light.
I forced the arm further up his supine back, hearing a
satisfying groan of pain. Damn! This was going to be easier than I
thought. Those self-defense classes Susan made me take with her had really
paid off. I gave the arm another shove, “Gonna give up?”
The angel groaned and suddenly I was somewhere else.
And I was someone else.
2
I stood in front of an office building, near the
entrance, with a plastic dish in my clammy hand. The few coins in it belied
the time I’d spent there all morning. I was hungry, cold, filthy, and
tired, so I leaned against the stiff brick wall, resting my leg. I only had
one. I’d left the other one in Iraq.
I closed my eyes and almost cried aloud. Why me? It
wasn’t fair! I’d fought for my country. Now, no home, no job, nothing. No
one would hire a filthy cripple.
I opened my eyes to see me coming down the sidewalk.
No, really. In a clean gray pin-stripe suit, Benjamin Firth walked briskly
in the weak afternoon sunlight, his eyes carefully avoiding me. And I was
so hungry. I reached out and clutched his sleeve and said in a hoarse
whisper, “Please sir, I need to eat.”
A look of surprise and then disgust crossed his lean,
clean-shaven face.
“Bums,” he muttered. “Get out of here before I call the
cops.”
“Please sir,” I pleaded. “If you won’t give me money,
then let me have a job. Let me prove myself.”
“We have nothing. You know how the times are,” he said
coldly, and tried to pull away. “Try the shelter.”
He wrenched his arm loose and hurried inside.
I slumped against the wall again and held out the bowl, trying not to give
up completely. Maybe by evening I’d have enough for a bowl of soup or
something.
3
I remembered all of this and suddenly the angel under
me erupted. He threw me off, and as I rolled clear, trying to regain my
bearings, he leapt after me.
I jumped to my feet, and beating his hands aside,
knocked him in the face with my forearm. Then, twisting behind I got the
crook of my elbow under his chin and pulled it tight into a headlock. I
yanked hard, bowing him back. The angel made a sound like, “Gurgle.”
And it happened again.
4
I trudged up the outside steps with two of the grocery
bags in my arms, twin hot wires of bursitis burning in my shoulders. Along
with my purse, I set the bags on the kitchen table once I got there. I
rubbed my neck slowly and called out, “Benny, could you help me carry the
rest of the groceries in from the car?”
“I’m busy Mom,” came the faint reply.
I sighed and went back outside.
Just as I picked up two more heavy sacks, the phone
rang.
Damn, I cursed silently.
But before I could put the groceries back down, I heard
movements inside and Benny yelled, “I got it.”
I sighed again, and started up the concrete steps,
looking at the old house. It needed painting. Ever since John died, a lot
of things went undone. Maybe once Benny got older, he’d help out a little
more.
Nearing the door, I could hear some of the
conversation.
“I’d love to go to the movies but I don’t have any…wait a minute.”
Then I heard a low thud and some rustling noises.
Mercy. I looked to heaven. He’s into my purse again.
How can he not realize that I know?
I walked into the kitchen as my thirteen year old son
picked up the phone once again and said, “Yeah, I can go,” then to me,
“Can’t I, Mom?”
He avoided my eyes. I pushed a stray hair back from my
face.
“Yes, Benny,” I said finally. I never could deny him anything,
probably because he was all I had left. “You can go.”
“Thanks…Yeah, I can go. See you.”
He hung up the phone and dashed out of the house.
I straightened my dress and started back out for the
rest of the groceries.
5
I couldn’t see for a moment; I hadn’t known. And in
that second, the angel jack-knifed forward and I pitched over his head to
land hard in the dirt. He jumped at me and ground a knee into my back. I
felt the vertebrae shifting. Then he yanked my head up by the hair and
applied the same headlock I’d used on him. Readying myself to twist around
and maybe get a shot at his groin, I levered my torso up off the ground and
lashed out.
6
And I was now Bill Schreiber. I sat in a wheel chair,
a nice warm, Tartan-wool blanket over my useless legs, just like the blanket
on my useless mind. Oh, I could think clearly enough, but there was no way
to express it. My tongue lay like a heavy piece of raw meat in my mouth,
and I could hardly feel my hands. It hurt, not being able to talk or
communicate in any useful way.
I sat in front of a worn, wooden table while my
daughter Susan and son-in-law Benjamin argued with each other, standing at the Admissions desk.
“But he’s my father!” she pleaded.
“Look Sue,” Ben said quietly. “He’s had a stroke. You
can see him. He’s practically a vegetable. We can’t take care of him.”
I am not a vegetable, I cried out silently.
Yes, you are. I knew I was.
Benjamin signed the forms the uniformed nurse at the
desk handed him, and pushed them back.
“There,” he said with a tone of finality, then softer,
“Sue, we can still visit as often as you like.”
“I know,” she sniffed. “ But there won’t be any Love
here.”
“Sure there will,” he said reassuringly, the nurse
nodding in support.
“He’ll have the best care in the world,” she insisted.
Benjamin remained at the desk while Susan came over to me. I wanted to hug
her so bad.
She did it for me.
Then Susan pulled back and promised with brimming eyes,
“We’ll be back every week, Dad.”
She began to compose herself, but saw the moisture on
my cheek. It completely shattered her.
Benjamin came over and put an arm around her, saying,
“Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”
He led her away. I heard her choke past her sobs, “But
Ben, he knows.”
Soon afterwards, another faceless nurse came and
wheeled me down an antiseptic corridor to a blank room. At least it had a
window.
7
The angel was now standing with my head under its arm.
He dragged me toward the river, chuckling slowly in that bass rumble of
his. I thrashed and struggled to free myself, and kicked at his shins.
“Sorry, Benjamin,” he laughed heartily. “Looks like you
lose again. Better luck next time.”
I bit him hard and he punched me in the face for my
trouble.
8
And it was black outside. I pulled the shawl tighter around my bare
shoulders as a stiff, icy breeze tugged at my dress. Fine night to decide
to go without stockings, I chided myself. And this skimpy silk dress.
Damn, should’ve worn the red cotton one, with the long sleeves. Oh well, useless to worry about it
now.
Ben came out after having paid the dinner bill. He
looked a little unsteady, and after watching him struggle with outside door,
I knew that the two cocktails, white wine, and after-dinner drinks had taken
their toll.
He draped his arm heavily over my shoulders and
breathed port at me, “Let’s go home, Sue.”
“Ah, Ben…” I tried to put this just right. “I think it’d be a
good idea if I drove, O.K.?”
“Nonsense,” he attempted to say, and nearly managed not
to slur the word. Nearly, but not quite. “I’m fine. You’ll see.”
“It couldn’t hurt." Come on Sue, you can do it. “I know
you can drive, dear, but if we were to get pulled over, you’d lose your
license. I only had two glasses of wine.”
“I said I’ll drive," he said through gritted teeth.
“Leave
it at that!”
“All right, Ben,” I said quietly, and pulled him closer. We started across
the parking lot.
At the door of our red Chrysler, I waited patiently as
he fumbled with the keys. Eventually, he found the right one, and I climbed
in. I leaned over and unlocked his door to save him the trouble.
But before he could get in, I fastened my seat belt and
draped my shawl across my lap, crossing my legs just as he opened the door.
He smiled at me and I smiled back.
Much later, driving down the dark, deserted roads to
our house, Ben put a hand on my knee. I took it up and held it close,
even though I really would much rather he would keep both hands on the
wheel.
Ben saw swerving and overcorrecting, and I was all but
positive he had no idea he was doing it. Then came a flash of motion
off to one side, a deer about to cross the road. My husband jerked the
wheel unconsciously to the right.
As near as I could tell, he never saw the huge oak tree rushing at us at forty
miles an hour. The impact threw me against the seat belt, crushing my
stomach, stealing my breath. I saw Ben go right through the windshield
before I blacked out.
9
The angel had me face down before the river and was
shoving my head toward the murky water. I had to do something.
“Wait a second,” I stammered, thinking frantically. “At
least tell me how I died.”
The pressure eased the slightest bit.
“You fool,” the angel sneered. “You just witnessed your
own death. Does it satisfy you?” A pause. “Drink!”
“Did Susan live?” I implored.
“Yes,” the voice said distantly, then more directly, “but
she’ll never walk again.”
Oh, shit. I wanted the angel to finish his job. I was
filthy. Evil.
Yet, I knew I was genuinely sorry for all of those
things. Honest. How could I avoid doing them again if I couldn’t remember?
The tiny protest grew, as I pushed my arms under me and
twisted my head to the left. Then I saw the sword, driven deep into the
clay near the river-bank. And an idea occurred to me.
10
I ambled slowly across an autumn field in Buck's
County, Pennsylvania, the trees blazing with color. All around us,
pumpkins on vines were nearly ripe and ready for the picking. Sue walked as
my side, holding my hand and generally being
incredibly beautiful. I was the luckiest person I knew.
A pair of robins swooped by above us in the clear,
azure sky. Off to one side, near an old decrepit farm house, I could
see a group of older children gathered around what looked like a well. The
were laughing and I glimpsed one of the larger of the group hold up
something that squirmed. Then he dropped it into the well. They
laughed again, a raucous, cruel sound this time.
The mood was ruined.
I dropped Sue’s hand and started towards the group.
“Ben, what are—“ Susan asked behind me, worried.
The kids caught sight of me and took off.
I immediately broke into a run.
“Ben!” Sue cried.
I didn’t stop until I arrived at the piled stone wall
of the well. About twenty-five feet down, a small brown puppy pawed at the
dark water, yipping helplessly. Bastards, I cursed, immediately pulling off
my jacket.
I climbed over the rim and swung my feet down into the
well. I saw Susan nearly a hundred yards away, panting, “Ben why?”
“I’ve got to save it!” I shouted back and began the descent.
“Wait!” she called again.
“No time!”
I spread my legs against the walls, pressing outward,
and alternately using feet and hands, worked my way down.
And after about ten feet, I lost my grip on the slick, mossy walls and
dropped. I tried to catch hold of the sides, uselessly scraping my palms
until they bled. Near the bottom, a protruding metal rod gouged into my
left arm, ripping the flannel sleeve, tearing flesh.
I plunged deep into the water and touched bottom. In a
second, I pushed off to the surface. As I emerged, spitting water, the
drenched puppy squealed and paddled toward me. It looked like a golden
retriever, no more than ten or twelve weeks old. I grabbed the rusted metal
rod with one hand and the puppy with the other, setting him on my shoulder.
He dug in with his tiny claws and licked my ear.
I managed a laugh, despite the insistent, jabbing pain
from all my injuries. Just then, Susan leaned over the edge. “Ben, are you
okay?” she asked, concerned.
“Just fine,” I tried to reassure her, “Banged my arm a
bit, though. Think you could get a rope somewhere?”
“Oh, Ben!” she cried. “You are hurt. I’ll be
right back.”
She disappeared from view, leaving the clear blue sky
above us. I looked down at the thick red swirling in the water. The puppy
gave a little yip. “Don’t worry,” I laughed, “We’ll be all right.”
He licked my ear again.
I hoped that Rufus, who was still with us when I'd
died, although full-grown, would help keep Sue company for a good long while.
11
I felt water on my face. I shoved up and away
with renewed strength. The angel turned on me, surprised as I grappled
with him. I swung around, and with a savage kick at his legs, reversed
positions. I thrust his head into the river, bracing my knee against his back.
I held him under for a long time, even after his violent thrashing stopped.
Eventually, I pulled his head up from the river, and
satisfied with his condition, shoved his entire body into the dark waters.
Kneeling, I watched the angel float away, belly-down, for a few minutes.
Finally, I got to my feet and picked up the cup,
regarding it for a little while longer. And the sword, after removing it
from its clay scabbard, I threw into the river after the angel. I had no
need for weapons.
The sword dropped into the depths without a trace,
while the huge, white-robed angel drifted slowly along the current, bound
for somewhere.
And with that final glance at the river Lethe, I turned
and started toward the dim forest on the horizon.
(Copyright 2004, all rights reserved. Duplication, retransmission, or
alteration without permission is prohibited.)
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