Beauty Rising (7 page)

Reverend Fox had tears streaming down his face.

“That night changed me forever. The power of that prayer, the power of love, the power of forgiveness overwhelmed me. I was no longer the same. He told me to go home and read the Prodigal Son and then come back in the morning, so we could talk about the next step. I went home and read the Prodigal Son about five times. No matter how I tried to think about it, I could do nothing except receive God’s forgiveness. Every time I read the story, the father welcomed home the wayward son with open arms. I finally began to understand God’s love. The next morning, I met with Reverend Coonsley and we talked through the entire story. I knew for myself, for your mother, for your father, and for your grandmother that our relationship was wrong and that I needed to break it off. Later that day, I brought Jane back to Reverend Coonsley, and we went through everything. We all agreed that the relationship would end, and I told them that I would leave the church. But in the meantime, the church elders had met to discuss discipline. They recommended that I be put on a two year probation period and had direct supervision into my relationships and interactions with people. I grew tremendously in my faith over those next two years, and I learned that I couldn’t let my mistakes keep me from doing what God had purposed for my life. We all make mistakes. Some bigger than others, but we still must move on.”

“How did my Mom deal with the break-up?”

“Not so well. She stopped going to church, and I didn’t see her at all for a number of months. Once I ran into her over at Rexall Drugs, but it was one of those awkward-don’t say anything kind of moments. I didn’t really understand what I did to her until more than a year later when your dad returned from Vietnam. One day I heard that Martin had just returned home. I really wanted to go see him, but of course part of me was very reluctant. But I had to, so I went over to your house there on Home Avenue and Martin was on the front porch. He looked completely changed. He had his tattoos on his arms, he was smoking a cigarette, and his eyes just floated around like he wasn’t completely coherent. We chatted briefly about different things, and I remember before I left that I told him I hoped to see him in church; he just smiled and went into the house. About four days later, it happened. I was at home in my little apartment above the garage of the parsonage. I heard a car pull up out front and a car door slam. Then I heard the heavy pounding of footsteps up the wooden staircase, and a loud thud of a knock on my door. I opened it up and there was your dad. He was very drunk, and he had hate written all over him. He immediately started yelling at me about how I had slept with his girl, and he threatened me. Finally, he punched me in the face, and I fell backwards onto the floor. He lunged at me and pinned me down while beating me with both fists. I finally broke away from him, but he, in his drunken rage, relentlessly went after me. He turned over my coffee table, and threw two lamps onto the floor, the whole time yelling curses and threats at the top of his lungs. I truly was frightened. The whole neighborhood lit up. The Perkins were standing on their front porch across the street. Reverend Coonsley showed up, and when he couldn’t get your dad to settle down, finally yelled to the Perkins to call the police. Your dad kept up his tantrum for another five minutes and then finally went back down the stairs and got into his car. Just as he backed out, the squad car pulled up and your dad had another incident, this time with the police. They arrested him for disorderly conduct and let him sleep it off in jail overnight. Of course, I never pressed charges, but they warned Martin to stay away from me. Your dad never came back to church. Maggie was right. The war changed him tremendously, and of course my actions toward his girl just reinforced his doubts about life, faith, and God. Your grandmother Maggie stopped going to our church after that as well. She started attending one over on Main Street in Butler. I believe she did it out of respect for her son, who struggled to come to grips with what I had done. Your dad never did start going to church again anywhere. About two months after that, I saw in the Butler Eagle that your mom and dad had eloped. I never talked with them again –– ever. When I spoke to your mother at the funeral, it was the first time in nearly thirty years. I would run into Maggie from time to time and we would chat about how they were doing. She always seemed very concerned for them. Maggie passed away in ’73 when you were only…”

“A year old,” I said.

Reverend Fox nodded.

“Maggie was quick to show me a picture of her grandson that’s for sure. So, Martin, I can’t speak for your parents or for the type of upbringing you experienced. I can only relay to you of what I knew of them. Your dad walked away from his faith because of Vietnam and because of me, and I don’t know what else. Your mother and I experienced a very painful relationship which put a tremendous strain on her relationship with your dad. And then, of course, she had to cope with being with a person who had changed greatly due to the scars of war. No doubt, the foundation they built their marriage on was rocky at best. But I guess they stuck with it, and stuck together with each other all these years.”

I certainly didn’t want to speculate with the Reverend about why my parent’s marriage did last all those years. I couldn’t even begin to guess why.

“Martin, I don’t know if that long rambling story will help you or not, but I felt it important for you to know the truth. I’m sorry if I caused your family undue pain and suffering. It was never my intent. And I truly meant what I said about your father at the funeral. He will always be a hero to me.”

“Thank you, Reverend Fox. Your story means a lot to me. I’m really glad you were willing to be part of my dad’s funeral.”

I stood up, shook his hand, and left the parsonage. As I got to the front sidewalk, I glanced over my right shoulder and saw the garage and the apartment with its white rising wooden staircase. It was all too easy to imagine my dad making a scene, yelling, cursing, and getting arrested. That part seemed normal. What I couldn’t imagine was my mother as a young woman sneaking into that apartment to spend the night with Reverend Fox.

The brisk air sent a shiver up my spine.
Very appropriate
, I thought.

On My Way

My mother was never much of a drinker. But for the two days immediately following the disastrous funeral, she kept a bottle of bourbon within arm’s reach. I stayed out of her way, and we exchanged very little except glances over those next forty eight hours. They say that when a person is missing that the first forty eight hours is the most crucial. I know this wasn’t the same situation, but I wondered if I should have tried to talk with her. I wondered if I should try and step in to make sure she wasn’t disappearing; however, every time I thought about her or dad or Reverend Fox or their relationship, my mind went blank and my body went numb.

After the funeral when I brought the urn home, she looked at me with daggers in her eyes.

“Get that thing out of my house. Why did you think I wanted him buried? I wanted him out of this house for good.”

I didn’t say anything about the cremation or Vietnam or my intended trip. I just took the urn into my room and hid it out of sight.

Three days after the funeral I went to AAA to look into flights to Vietnam. I told the travel agent I needed to go to ‘Tie Win’ and after she looked up a few things told me I needed to fly into the capital. I told her I wanted to go as soon as possible but that I only wanted to stay for no more than two days.

“Are you sure? That’s a long and expensive way to go for only two days,” she asked with a look of uncertainty on her face.

“Well, how far is Tie Win from the capital?”

“Well, see here. It is spelled T-H-A-I-N-G-U-Y-E-N,” she said pointing on the map of Southeast Asia. “It’s right here. So using the scale, it can’t be more than fifty miles outside the capital.”

“Then two days is all I need.”

I had no intention of sightseeing. I had only one mission in mind and that was to fulfill dad’s wish. Besides, I knew absolutely nothing of Vietnam. I’d never met a Vietnamese person in my life, and I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t want to eat their food.

“There is a flight this Friday. You’d arrive in Hanoi on Sunday morning, fly back out on Tuesday night and so you’d arrive back in Pittsburgh on Wednesday morning. It’s $2200.”

“It’s perfect.”

“Now, I can work on getting you an expedited visa on arrival. And, of course, you do have your passport already, right?”

“Yes.”

I actually did have a passport. In July 2001, one of my buddies from work got this bright idea to fly to Puerto Rico for a vacation. He was really into classic drag racing at that time, and he heard on TV that the world championship was being held in September at the Salinas Speedway in Puerto Rico. After much pleading, he convinced me to go with him. So we both sent away for our passports only to find out later that Puerto Rico was a part of the United States and that we didn’t even need them. To further rub salt in the wounds, we never got to go because our September 15
th
flight was cancelled because of the attacks on the World Trade Center days earlier. My timing was always impeccable and my knowledge always overflowing.

I had $3000 in my savings account which had taken me about ten years to accumulate, but I intended to spend it all on dad. I plopped down the cash which I had withdrawn earlier in the morning, and ten minutes later I walked out to my car holding in my hands the itinerary to Vietnam.

I felt nervous and worked up. I couldn’t believe I was actually going through with this; now all I had to do was break the news to Mom.

I bottled up the explosive news for two more days, but on Wednesday morning I sat down beside her as she ate her breakfast of cereal and toast.

“Mom, I have to talk to you about something.”

She looked up at me for a moment and then continued eating.

“Dad asked me,” I stopped and stumbled over my words. “Dad…”

“Martin, just say it,” she snapped in her snarky way.

“Before Dad died, he asked me to do something for him.”

“Martin, what foolishness are you talking about? If I could just get you to shut up about your father.”

“Mom, listen. Dad told me he wanted to be cremated, and that he wanted his ashes to be dumped out in Vietnam.”

“Martin, what are you talking about? Vietnam? Vietnam? That place destroyed him. That place destroyed his life. He came back from Vietnam, and I didn’t recognize him.”

“Mom, but that was his wish.”

“Why, Martin? Why? Why would he have said such a foolish thing as that? You never could understand anything we told you. Why are you so stupid? Stop talking about Vietnam.”

Browbeaten, yes. But not knocked down. I knew resolve previously unknown.

“No, I won’t,” I barked in a forceful tone. I had bought my ticket, and I was going no matter what. Her words couldn’t stop me now. “He told me a story, and…”

“Oh no,” my Mom interrupted. “Not the girl? The girl story? Really? Is that what this is about?”

“Well…”

“Well, is it or not? The girl story. The beautiful girl in the white flowing dress that unrobed for him under the banana trees?”

She knew the girl story. I couldn’t believe it.

“Well, yeah, he did tell me a story about a girl.”