The Sea of Aaron (25 page)

His phone buzzed again and a clinical voice greeted him. “Mr. Weiss, are you still in the hospital?”

“Yes,” he said apprehensively.

“Please return to Obstetrics ASAP.”

His heart thudded. He recognized that urgent, pointed tone, and as he headed quickly for the elevator, he wished he were anywhere on earth except here. Even Yemen sounded like paradise.

Valerie had started hemorrhaging again and had been rushed into surgery. In the small room near the nurse's station, Aaron stared numbly at the papers he was being asked to sign granting permission to perform another procedure. What procedure? He could barely read the print, and even though it had been explained to him that his wife was extremely critical and they were doing all they could, he wanted to toss the forms into the trash and strangle the fool doctors who had encouraged her to have the baby. They had told her she would be okay, but he had known better. If only she had listened to his logic instead of trusting so blindly, so foolishly, in faith.

It was too late for rehashing what could have been, though. His worst fears were exploding in his face. Just like his own father, he'd lose his wife and be left with a helpless infant.

“Aaron.”

He started slightly, standing paralyzed and gripping the pen, as Noah entered the office to stand beside him. “The forms, man. You have to sign them.”

“For what? So they can finish killing her?”

“No.” Noah's voice sounded very calm. “They're trying to save her life.”

“Why bother? She's going to die.”

Noah seized him by the shoulder and shook him. “Stop saying that. You're not God. You don't know.”

Aaron scribbled his signature on the bottom line of the form and stalked out of the room as one of the office personnel claimed it. Immediately he found himself in the waiting room before the ashen faces of Jasmine and Valerie's aunt. Jasmine stood up and gave him a look that would have stopped Mt. Vesuvius from erupting.

“What happened?” Jasmine cried. “She was doing so well before you—”

“Jasmine,” Noah began sharply, bringing up the rear a few paces behind Aaron.

“What's wrong with you!” Jasmine shrieked. Her hand shot out and landed with a fierce resounding smack against the side of his face.

Aaron barely flinched. He had seen it coming and he could have easily deflected the blow, but he felt that he deserved it. He turned away from the hysterical woman, and out of the corner of his eye, saw a visibly rattled Noah trying to console his wife.

“I'm sorry, Noah…I'm so sorry,” she blubbered, “but all Valerie wanted was to love him and he's just so…so cold and stubborn.”

Aaron kept walking until he was near the large window at the end of the hall, where he stared bleakly out into a darkened courtyard that somehow reminded him that his life should have remained solitary. What a fool he had been to think it could be otherwise.

“Aaron, listen to me.” Noah joined him near the window. “I'm sorry about my wife. She was out of control and she had no right—”

“Do you think I care about that?” Aaron interrupted sharply. He wondered if Noah really had any clue just how lost he felt at this moment—how much he wished he could simply stop breathing, cease to exist.

“You've already given up, haven't you?” Noah sounded disgusted.

Aaron looked at him blankly. “What?”

“You've already accepted that Valerie's going to die.”

“I'm standing here helpless while those…those surgeons are in there. I know the odds. What the hell can I do?”

“Plenty. For one thing, you can go see your daughter, and even more importantly, you can do what we're all doing…praying to God. He's always listening. He always hears.”

Aaron had never come to grips with his best friend's spiritual side; he'd always mentally tuned out whenever Noah became even slightly preachy. However, at this moment, tuning out was impossible, and the prayer suggestion seemed so inane and simplistic that it angered him. He fought to resist the twisted rage, the powerful urge to slam Noah right through the window.

“I know you don't believe, but try Him anyway,” Noah continued, oblivious to the threat of physical harm. “Give God a chance. You have nothing to lose and a lot to gain.”

Aaron felt the rage dissipate, and he didn't even realize that he was shaking until he flinched when Noah placed his arm firmly around his shoulders. “If…,” he began haltingly. “If He really exists, why should this God of yours listen to me? I haven't done anything to please him.”

“You're saying that because you're thinking like a human. He's not just my God, or Valerie's…he's everyone's. God's thoughts are higher than human thoughts, and so is His mercy.”

Aaron said nothing. He continued to stare out into the blackness while Noah continued to talk.

“You say you haven't done nothing for God? Well, guess what? You're wrong. Jesus said if you do it to the least of them, you've done it to Him. In your way, you've spent most of your life trying to improve the lives of countless others…even if you claim you don't care about them. Actions speak louder than words. You're a gatekeeper, man. What kind of world would we be living in without heroes like you?”

“Are you through with your speech?”

“Not quite. There's a chapel on the first floor. Why don't you go down there now? Even if the worst-case scenario does unfold, God will give you the strength you need to deal with the outcome. And just remember that I'm still in your corner, no matter what anyone else—even my own wife—thinks. I'll try to help you in whatever way I can.”

“Thank you,” Aaron murmured, shocked by the tremor in his voice and ashamed that he could ever have imagined striking his best friend.

Slowly, he turned away from the window and began the long walk toward the elevator.

***

The empty Catholic-influenced chapel was a close facsimile to a small, silent church, complete with a double row of wooden pews. A large gold crucifix hung above the altar, and as Aaron glanced around, he noticed luminescent light radiating from the ornate stained glass windows and wondered if there was a confessional booth tucked away somewhere.
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

The common symbols of Christianity were not unfamiliar to him—he had been inside way too many churches, mosques, and synagogues while attending the funerals of fallen comrades. The alienation he'd always felt being in man-made temples was present now and stronger than ever.

A buzzing sound filled his head as he forced a step toward the altar, and he realized that the sound was the speaker-driven simulation of a tinkling waterfall. Piped in sound effects, meant to induce relaxation. He stared again at the heavy gold crucifix and imagined it crashing down on his head. Enough.

He fled the hospital and the night claimed him. Once in his car and on the open road, he crossed the George Washington Bridge, gliding seamlessly in and out of traffic that appeared to be standing still. Driven, focused, eyes straight ahead, he pressed forward until he found himself pulling into the private gate at the airport. He flashed his badge, and barely noticed the security guard's face as he was granted access.

He sped well off the beaten path and down a narrow service road that led to a small warehouse and a private hangar. Beyond that, there was nothing but a chain link fence separating civilization from an oasis of tangled weeds, marsh, saw grass, and peace.

Completely unmindful of the fact that he'd left his coat at the hospital, he parked the car near the fence and got out. The frigid air blasted him as he inhaled, his lungs filling with the brackish scent of mucky, decaying earth. He tilted his head up to the velvet universe and observed a blue-tinged half moon and a dizzying array of shimmering stars, their celestial glow undiminished by the artificial lights of the city. In the heavens, far from the crushing bonds of earth, everything appeared so structured and cohesive.

Seized by impulse, he scaled the fence and nearly tumbled to the ground on the opposite side. After regaining his balance, he ran madly down a slight hill through the tall grassy wetlands, all the while keeping his head tilted toward the universe, beholding the stars swirling around him. Oblivious to the cold, mucky ground saturating his feet and the cuffs of his pants, he continued to run.

Are you really up there, God? Allah? Yahweh?

That couldn't be right. He knew there had to be a reverence, a certain order in which to pray, but although fundamentals eluded him, he felt as if he really was being heard.

If You are up there, I know You don't have to listen to the likes of a fool like me, but please don't let my wife die. She trusted and believed that You would make things right. I don't know how she feels about me right now, but she wants to live for the baby. She went through this whole nightmare because she has such strong faith in You, and so do my friends. I want to have faith too, but it's hard because I've seen too much…too much death and misery and pain. And in trying to make things right, I've done some terrible things, too. Why am I trying to carry the weight of the world anyway? I'm only a man, less than a microscopic dot in Your universe. Please be merciful. The Bible says You are. Please give me a chance to appreciate the small things…the really important things, like my family and friends.

Family
.
He stood still, breathing hard, recognizing the significance behind his mental acceptance of family. He'd never truly embraced the concept before. He'd always kept a physical, emotional distance from everyone, but he really, truly did have a family. He had Andrew, Valerie, and now Aisha. Andrew seemed to accept him unconditionally. Maybe Aisha would, too. After all, she shared his blood as well.

The stars winked and signaled. He resumed running, luxuriating in his own madness until a root or stump sprang from the mire and sent him sprawling on his hands and knees in the sludge of the earth. He stood shakily and laughed, not even bothering to wipe the muck off his clothes and body, because he found the stench of decayed earth oddly pleasing. If only Valerie could see him now.

He stared at the sky again and remembered clearly being an inquisitive nine-year-old in an Israeli synagogue. An elderly rabbi, who had known about his love for astronomy, had pointed out a passage from Isaiah 40:26 written in the ancient Tanakh, which said something to the effect of raising one's eyes and acknowledging the energy and power of the One who created the heavens, the One bringing forth the army of stars, all of which He calls by name.

The child he was back then had considered it so awesome that the Creator could actually number and call all the stars by name. It was still awesome. When had he grown into a man so ignorant that he'd stopped seeing the surrounding magnificence for what it truly was?

A familiar roar rattled the silence and he looked to the right to see a 747 rising from the distant tarmac, slivered moonlight dancing on its wings. Passenger Flight 42, no doubt, headed for Rome. Aaron ran with it, mentally savoring the thrust of engine power and the lift off. He watched the plane climb higher and higher until it settled into proper altitude and became a blip of flashing red lights that paled before the stars.

By the time he returned to the car, his heart rate had slowed and he felt a relative peace. His cell phone was buzzing frantically, but he ignored it and drove back to his apartment, where he quickly showered and changed into a casual black sweater and gray slacks. He was about to leave the bedroom when his peripheral vision detected a small object gleaming on top of the dresser. Realizing what it was, he stepped back and picked up his wedding band—the one he had worn only once, the day they'd exchanged their vows. He fingered it for a few seconds, started to slip the ring on, but instead let it drop into his pocket.

His return drive to the hospital was disquieting but he was calm, accepting, and prepared to face whatever awaited him.

***

The attending nurse looked at him as if he had two heads when he requested entrance to the neonatal unit, but after he showed his ID and explained his urgency to see the baby, she relented. The hospital did allow 24/7 access exclusively to the parents of the infants, but most of them took advantage of the concession only if their newborns were critically ill.

“I just want to see her from the window,” Aaron told the nurse.

She shrugged as if trying to figure him out, and then she led him down the hall to a large open area where he could look into the room that housed at least twenty enclosed bassinettes that resembled clear plastic shipping containers with holes on the sides for attached gloves to reach in. Some of the fragile creatures, with toothpick limbs and diapers the size of handkerchiefs, were hooked up to oxygen and other devices larger than they were. Most of the infants were wailing.

The nurse assured him that despite the crying, they were all being attended to. He started to ask her which screamer was his, but another nurse summoned her with something urgent and she temporarily abandoned him, leaving him to rule out all the babies with blue blankets. Only six of them had pink blankets and two of those were dark chocolate colored. The remaining four were various shades of pale. Somehow, he doubted that either of the darker two could be his, since neither he nor Valerie had very dark skin. But it was possible. His mother had been ebony-complexioned. Squinting, he searched for any signs of familiar features, and then he remembered Valerie's telling him that Aisha had red hair. There was only one baby in the room with hair close to that color, and she was the one who wasn't screaming.

The wispy curls of hair were not bright red, more of a dark brown with reddish highlights. This baby was also one of the lucky ones not hooked up to any apparatus, although there was an oxygen line nearby. He watched her yawn and move her tiny hands. Suddenly, the baby's head turned in his direction and she looked right at him.

His heart skipped a beat.
Uh-oh. She's probably going to start screaming now.
He deliberately averted his eyes.
Wait a minute. Don't be ridiculous.
No way could that mere fledgling attach any significance to who or what she was looking at. She probably thought he was a big blob in the window. Regardless, she continued to study him contentedly and he made eye contact again.