The Void (10 page)

"A listening ear."

"There are many listening ears in the world who do not follow only
the will of our Father. I believe you are seeking more than
compassion. You are seeking faith. You wish to believe, and you wish
to surrender. You know the Lord is out there, waiting for you, and
you wish to find him."

"No-"

"My child-"

"No!" I shout, more fervently than deserved. I cup my hands over
my mouth, to restrain myself. "No," I repeat, more softly,
firmly, honestly.

"Then tell me, why do you seek compassion here, in the house of
the Lord?"

"Because it's what I know."

"It's what you know?"

"I came here, as a boy. With my father and my mother. I sat in the
third row, every Sunday, and said my prayers and took communion. I
listened to the hymns and listened to the sermons, and while not a
word of it made any sense to me... I felt..."

"Compassion?" He offers.

"Peace."

"Peace?"

"I felt peace. Everyone was... nice. They said hello to me, shook
my hand, told me how handsome I was and how proud my father must have
been. I felt like... like... I belonged. It was peaceful."

"And you wish to remember that peace?"

"Yes," and the voice breaks, no longer am I able to control it.
My eyes leak further, salty water streaming down my cheek and
dripping off my chin and into my lap. "I want to remember that
peace."

"You believe it will take away your nightmares and help you regain
your desire to live, to be alive, to be the man you should be?"

"Yes," and squeak out, "I need it."

"You need the Lord, my son."

"There is no God!"

"Forgive me for being obvious, my child," he begins with a
gentle chuckle, "but I disagree. And I believe, whether you wish to
acknowledge it or not, that you came in here this evening to find the
truth, that there is a God, that he cares for you, and that he wants
to help you find your peace."

"No, I do not-"

"My child-"

"No! There is
no God!
" I shout, furious, bitter, angry.
"I can't believe there can be a God, a benevolent protector that
lets men be slaughtered for no reason other than an accident of where
they were born and what men they've never met did to people they
never knew! A god who cared for the world, who wanted his children to
prosper, would not let hate be bred so deep and thorough that even a
child can be used as a weapon; that even good men with good
intentions can be warped so thoroughly that they see no wrong in
shooting that same child right between the eyes as his sister and
mother and father watch, helplessly, crying furiously." I slam my
fists on the wall, once, twice, three times, the priest visibly
backing away from the screen that separates us. "No god would allow
a world like ours exist. He would have wiped us away long ago, or
changed us utterly."

"My child," he began, very soft, gentle, careful, obviously
trying to avoid provoking me further. "There is evil in the world,
that much is certain. But where there is evil, there is a battle
being waged. The Lord wishes the best for his children, and nothing
but the best, but he cannot and will not affect their free will."

"Free will?" I ask incredulously.

"We are all free to decide our fate, to choose our path, and while
God may guide us and hopes for us to choose righteousness, he cannot
force our hand."

"And where is God when a child is born in poverty and is forced to
see his parents waste away from famine and disease, then his siblings
be forced into being warriors against an enemy he doesn't know or
understand, brainwashed into believing they are evil and worthy of
death? What choice did God give that child? What would God have that
boy do?"

I was fuming, ranting, angry at the world, angry at God, both for
failing to help and failing to exist, a dichotomy I had no will to
reconcile.

The priest, showing astonishing patience, takes a deep breath and
softly, gently, "my son, I do not claim to know what God intends
for all men. His ways are mysterious and hidden from even those who
seek most fervently to understand. As the deepest mysteries of the
universe are locked behind science not yet found, there is a purpose
to all that God has brought, even if we cannot see it or understand
it."

"But why-"

"We cannot know!" His voice is anxious now, hoping, dearly, that
he can make me comprehend. I almost feel bad for him; I don't know
anymore what I expected from coming here. I don't know what I'm
doing, I don't know why I'm doing this...

What am I doing?

Why am I here?

"My child, we can only-"

"Father!" I interrupt, my voice failing.

"Yes, my son?"

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "I don't know why I'm saying the things
I'm saying, I don't believe them," I lie. "I'm just angry... So
very angry... And all I want is peace and happiness, and I am willing
to do anything to find it. Even come here, to my childhood church,
and yell at a priest who has been nothing but kind to me." And I
chuckle slightly, baffled at my lunacy.

"You are always welcome in God's house, my child." He leans to
the mesh between us. "Always."

"Thank you, Father," I cry.

"I will pray for you, my child."

"I appreciate that, Father."

He takes a deep, slow, long breath and then he presses his fists
against the mesh. "Is there anything else I can do for you, my
child?"

"No, Father. Thank you."

Outside the confessional, I stop and look up at the back of the
church. Moonlight is pouring in through stained glass windows that
are resting majestically atop a massive column of concrete. It
softens the Gothic look of the almost entirely gray structure and
gives it a life and breath, a glorious shadow of red, blue and yellow
across rows of mahogany pews.

I cough, ruining the experience.

Before departing, I head to the votive display, grab a match from a
community bowl and light three candles in succession, one for Frank,
one for Jason and one for the boy I never named and never knew.

I'm crying as I walk outside, for home...

"Good morning, Max!" The voice of my doctor, back in the void; a
voice I hear so rarely first, and even less often alone.

Where is Jenny?

"How are we this morning?"

Famished.

My stomach is in agony...

"Looks like it's just you and me this morning."

Why?

Where is my wife? My son?

"Your vitals are actually pretty strong for a man who hasn't had
any nourishment in a couple weeks."

I'd kill for a hamburger...

"I'm gonna miss seeing you every morning."

Really?

"I'd never admit it to anyone that can hear me, but I like seeing
you each morning." I hear a beep, a dial being turned; he's doing
something to my life sustaining machinery. "As a doctor, you get a
little attached to your patients. You're not supposed to, of course,
but we all do. You want to see them get better, get healthy and go
home."

I wish I could go home...

"I hate that I couldn't help you, Max."

I know you did what you could.

"Of course, you don't care. It must be quite a way to live without
beta waves." He chuckles softly. I don't understand why. "To
exist, but not have a care in the world. Not even the ability to know
what a care is, what's around you, what you're missing. I can't even
imagine it." And then another chuckle. "Of course, I suppose
that's the point, you couldn't imagine."

If only he knew...

"If I thought you could feel, I would never be okay with what
we're doing to you. I know what dying of starvation does to a person,
and it is incredibly unpleasant." Oh, don't tell me that... "Even
as you are, I wish I could legally just send you on your way."

Kill me?

"I wonder if you'd want me to do that for you. I wonder if you'd
want to be allowed to die."

I don't want to die!

"You didn't leave a living will, so your wife is just doing what
she thinks is best for you, but frankly I think she's just been
worried about herself all these years." Herself? "I mean, it is
her money and she can spend it however she pleases, but I know how
expensive hospitalizations such as this can be. She must be broke by
now."

Broke? You think she's broke?

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to leave her like that, with nothing.
Hopefully your boy can help her out if things get tough, especially
with the funeral."

Funeral?

I don't know why, but I hadn't considered that I would be the main
showcase in a funeral soon. Even believing that death is final, I
imagine how odd it would be to watch (or listen?) to those I love,
those I like, and those I care nothing for but feel obligated, croon
over my lifeless pile of meat.

I hope the flowers are beautiful.

"I hope she doesn't watch you die, Max."

Watch me die?

"Even unable to move or squirm or appear in pain, it won't be fun
to watch that monitor go flat, knowing your body was, finally,
shutting down. No wife should have to see that. That's for the
doctor, the one who shouldn't care, overseeing an operating table,
trying to keep the heart beating."

I don't want her to watch me die...

I don't want to hear her cry...

"You know, the first time I ever had to inform a family that a
loved one had died was only a few weeks after I first started working
here."

What happened?

"I was assisting Dr. Osman remove a nickel sized tumor that was
resting on the brain stem of this surprisingly fit middle aged man. I
don't know why, I shouldn't be, but I'm always surprised when I see a
healthy man battling cancer. It just doesn't seem right."

I suppose everyone is susceptible...

"Anyway, the procedure was risky. I knew going into the operating
room that there was a chance I would be leaving it one man short. But
I didn't focus on that. It was only my sixteenth surgery and I wanted
to be the hero, to save the man's life."

I wish you had.

"But I didn't. He went into cardiac arrest and died on the table.
I remember standing there, looking down at a man that I had spoken
with just a few hours before- I actually
talked
with him, told
him what we were going to be doing, the risks, the potential
benefits. He looked so terrified, but at the same time reassured by
what I was saying. Everyone always seems reassured by what I say..."
He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly and loudly. "And now he
was on my table,
not
talking, never to talk again."

Never talk again...

"I walked out into the waiting room, and his whole family- wife,
two daughters, a son, and his mother- I think his father was passed-
they were looking at me with this... hope... this impenetrable aura
of hope, like they were so certain that I could only give them good
news. The mother, I remember, was furiously rubbing a crucifix."

God never saves the most deserving...

"And I stood there, struck by complete silence. I had... no words.
I had no preparation, nothing to say to them, and no way to ease the
inevitable pain, a pain that I was going to be supplying."

Must not have been fun.

"The mother was the first to guess. I saw her face go from hope,
to terror, to pain and acceptance. And then she just... let go..."

Let go?

"No inhibitions. Not a care in her whole world for what might be
prim and proper. Not knowing who was watching her, seeing her
breakdown. She just... fell apart. Fell to her knees, wailing into
her hands."

Poor woman...

"The rest of the family just stood there, with hope still in their
eyes. I think they believed their mother was... overreacting. Jumping
to conclusions. After all, I hadn't spoken yet. Who knew what I was
going to say to them?"

No one likes to deliver bad news.

"But I never said anything. I just sighed and put my hands on my
hips, and when I looked down at the floor, everyone understood. I
never had to speak; my body told the story, and they knew."

Must have been awful...

"The wife collapsed, just as the mother. That was what I expected,
so I was braced for it, the two of them, on the floor. But the
kids... I was completely unprepared for the kids. The image of those
kids... it stays with me, even today."

What happened?

"They just... stood there. Looking at me. Saying nothing...
Just... looking."

They were in shock.

"The oldest, the son, he had this... look. Total and absolute
disbelief, like he was certain that I was lying. Then he got angry.
Not at me, of course, he didn't threaten me or anything, but still
angry. Angry at the world, at his father, at his hysterical mother
and grandmother... Even angry at nothing. I'd never seen that kind of
anger before."

I have...

"The youngest, little brunette girl, was the worst of it. She
never moved, just stood there, almost motionless, very softly crying.
Not sobbing, no despair, just a quiet cry, as though she knew what
had happened but wasn't about to really internalize it, make it
real."

Sounds horrible...

"I never said anything to them. I just turned and walked away, to
clean up and head home. It was the only surgery I had scheduled that
day. When I got home, I cried all evening, like a little baby." He
chuckles, ever so softly. "I never cried like that before, and I
haven't since. I guess the first time is always the hardest." And
he laughs again.

I can imagine it is...

"I will be sad when you go, Max."

I never knew...

"Good morning!"

Jenny! Good morning!

"Good morning, Mrs. Aaron."

"How is he today?"

"His vitals are surprisingly strong, although his pulse is
weakening. We have a while longer to go."