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Far down the road, the Reverend Adam Leeds felt
temporarily freed. He was, for
those brief moments, unhampered by and uninvolved with an uncouth and
uncivilized wife. There were no
shadows at the corner of his eyes or suspicious sounds barely perceptible to
his ears. There was only the
predictable and sane flow of vehicles and people moving around him in the
outside world. There was just
himself and the open road ahead: a timeless corridor of humanity with no
apparent beginning and end. Since
all roads led in and out of the city, he could, with an inexhaustible gas supply
drive around forever, never stopping in one place for long. Light-headedly, he considered this
option. He dreaded returning home
and confronting his wife. Despite
the chance his meeting gave him to get away, he dreaded it too. He was tired of dealing with elders and
pleasing members of his church. He
was weary of the inner conflict caused by these factors, not yet suspecting the
prime cause. Thanks to Satan’s
success with Cora, a porthole of opportunity had been opened. As a result of the conflict, he
was spiritually exhausted and vulnerable.
He wanted out. He wanted
freedom. There would be no cares,
responsibilities or destination to reach, if he just kept driving.
The road behind, a symbol of his burden, fell away
like ballast from his soul. He
could, if nothing else, escape his past.
If only he could escape the future, without detouring completely from
God. God, he knew, was watching
him, expecting more from him than his present performance. Adam hoped, in spite of his troubles,
to return to what he once was: a dedicated minister working for the Lord,
instead of someone just going through the motions, trying to maintain his
sanity with a reprobate wife, while holding onto a checkered career.
******
Unfortunately,
Adam’s euphoria was short-lived as he drove across town. As he entered a freeway on ramp now, it
seemed as if every rusty part and clogged valve in his automobile engine
suddenly became terminal. His
vehicle emitted an ominous gasp, and there was an abrupt deceleration in his
engine’s speed. And yet, in spite
these obvious symptoms, he ignored his dying motor completely. He was too caught up in lofty
meditation to hear it sputter or feel it jerk. After it rumbled into silence, he merely gave it some gas
and turned his ignition key. When
this did not work, he prayed. As
he prayed, the precious lifeline beneath his foot remained silent and his
ignition groaned on impotently, growing fainter as the battery waned.
His first thought was to pull out his cell phone and
call for help. He couldn’t imagine
a worst place to be stalled. To
his horror, however, he found that his cell phone was dead. He had forgotten to charge up its
battery. After hammering it
ineffectively on the dashboard and trying to miraculously bring life back his
phone, the telltale darkness persisted.
It was, like his marriage and career, dead. Darkest gloom gripped him.
Adam now slid out of his automobile and looked back
at the traffic jam he had caused.
A long line of vehicles stretched from the on-ramp onto the boulevard in
town. Taking advantage of the
on-ramp’s downhill gradient, he angled his steering wheel to the right and,
after shoving his automobile forward vigorously, rolled it off the ramp. Not one of the motorists behind him
offered assistance as he struggled with his car. No sooner was he out of the way, than they began moving,
one-by-one, into traffic, without a second glance. He snarled with contempt at them as they passed. He remembered helping an old man push
his car to the side of the road.
Once he had even helped a young woman change her tire. But not one Good Samaritan had stepped
forward to help him this hour.
After trying one more time to start his engine, he climbed out of his
car and looked dejectedly up the ramp.
He stranded, with no phone.
Where was God now? He wondered as he began his trek. Conspicuously absent was the recurrent
breeze that had buoyed his spirit.
“Lord,” he uttered a wounded cry, “is this a
test?”
Somewhere soon, before darkness fell, he must find a
phone. In the twenty-first
century, this wasn’t easy to do.
Public phones were becoming relics of the past. When he reached the top of the slope,
he shielded his eyes against the evening sun. He could see below him a most unsavory part of town that bordered
skid row. All right Lord,
he thought, wiping his brow, where’s the phone? He could only stand there feeling his
heart beat sickly in his chest as he pondered his next move. His cell phone was dead. His automobile was dead. Now his faith in human nature seemed
dead too.
******
Because he had left home on such a negative note,
Adam expected the worst from his wife.
Slowly, as poison oozing out, a murky premonition of her began to
develop in his mind.
As
he exited the on-ramp, he paused in bewilderment at a traffic light, uttering a
feeble prayer that sounded very much like swearing under his breath. When the light changed, he crossed the
busy intersection and began looking for the nearest phone. The last time he had used a public pay
phone, he was in high school. The
old booths were practically antiques.
Everyone, rich and poor, had a cell phone. Unlike himself, though, most people kept them charged up and
ready. This last catastrophe
seemed to sum up his life.
Here he was on the stream of life without a compass or paddle. Blind fate or dark design carried him
now.
If he failed to find a public phone, he was
in serious trouble. He could see a
patchwork of garish storefronts and faded marquees. Evening shadows deepened quickly in this part of town. The more he moved down the sidewalk,
the drearier became the setting.
Darkened buildings loomed over him each side, the dim light of a
pawnshop, liquor store, and adult bookstore offering small comfort as he
passed. Finally, after reaching a
no man’s zone of boarded up, empty building in a depressed corner of town, he
spotted an ancient telephone both.
Though he remembered seeing them in operation in old movies, he had
never used such a facility, himself.
This one at least had push buttons on its box in place of the old
dialing system, but the booth was dilapidated, leaning slightly, its sign
burned out, and inside light flickering eerily, which gave the booth an ominous
look. When, he opened its door,
its hinges gave off an inner sanctum squeak and groan. The once shiny plate of the phone was
corroded with age, and a grimy telephone directory, miraculously still
attached, hung forlornly by its chain. With qualified relief, he was certain,
after listening to the receiver, that it was serviceable. After searching his pocket for change,
he was relieved to find a few quarters, nickels, and dimes from previous
shopping. His hand trembled as he
inserted the coins into the slot.
After dialing his number, the phone rang several times before the
answering machine broke in: “You’ve reached the Leeds’ Household. We’re unable to answer phone at this
time…” After this disheartening
discovery, he called Dwight Higgins, almost in rote now, leaving a message on
his answering machine that he would be late and that they might have to
reschedule the meeting at a later date.
Pulling his Triple A card out, he called for emergency roadside service,
the dispatch reassuring him that it shouldn’t take long for the tow truck to
reach his car. As an afterthought,
he called his wife again. Once
more the answering picked up the call, leaving him even more troubled than
before.
“Why
didn’t she answer the phone? “ He asked, looking up at the sky. “What’s she up
to now?”
These unanswered questions ripped open a wound in
his memory. Although he tried to
shut out the conclusion, the telephone call, innuendos, loose ends, and ominous
spots began stabbing at his mind.
He was now left with the unshakable conviction that his wife was whoring
while he was gone….Visions of Cora making love to strangers were now released
as poison into his brain. There
was little room for God in his thoughts now. He had given up the notion of being on time for his meeting,
so it made no difference any longer that the tow truck took an hour to pick him
up and then reach his broken down car.
As he sat next to a grimy looking mechanic, what still remained from the
point earlier when his spiritual bliss had shattered were only dull, fading fragments
as the slow moving truck hauling his automobile lumbered back to the mechanic’s
garage.
******
When
they arrived at Henny Lumpkin’s Garage, the same grimy mechanic who had driven
the tow truck, who turned out to be Henny Lumpkin, himself, surveyed Adam’s
automobile. Bending down into the
abyss housing the dead engine, he grinned with secret enjoyment as his eyes
traced the dark outline of a radiator honeycombed with grime tossed sloppily
out by a dying machine. From here
his dark, furtive little eyes studied numerous grime-caked wires and hoses, a
ragged fan belt, battery cables white with corrosion, and other wondrous uglies
that seemed to stir his imagination.
When he looked up to Adam, he shook his head in disbelief and stood
there laughing softly to himself.
There was not a trace of compassion on his greasy face for the
distraught young man. The glow in
his cold black eyes appeared to grow as he studied him.
Shutting
the hood was like closing a coffin.
As gently and ceremoniously he let it down and stood with his head bowed
in mock reverence. Suddenly, after
a moment of silence, Henny threw the hood back up and began giggling and
pointing to various points of interest.
“Looky
there,” he cried, “and looky there!
Jesus Christ mister, this is the worst V6 I’ve ever seen!”
Adam began feeling nauseated with the events of the
day, his unanswered phone, and the ugly culmination before him. Henny, with mock indignation, chided
him for not taking better care of his engine. The conviction that in some way this man could have saved
his automobile evaporated in the other man’s callous amusement. For a while Henny flicked and dabbed a
dirty rag at the motor as a mortician would when tidying up the deceased. While the mechanic played his strange
little game, Adam remembered, despite the official pronouncement of death and
ensuing postmortem, the car, as it was years ago when two beaming newly-weds
first brought it home. As it
rotted, he thought bitterly, so rotted his faithless wife.
Just
as the once lustrous automobile had become scratched and rusted over the years,
so had his wife been corroded from abuse.
For Cora, in place of rust and scratches, there were bags under her
eyes, splotches on her skin, and even varicose veins developing on her legs. A permanent hacking cough, so
reminiscent of the choking engine, belied damage to her lungs (a fiction Adam
had grown to believe). Her
dizzy spills and periods of alcoholic unconsciousness reminded him of his
automobiles unreliability on the road.
Yet Cora showed her greatest decay in her actions toward him, and it was
here that the analogy between his automobile and his wife was the greatest,
for, just as Cora, his automobile had let him down at the worst possible time.
The
grubby ghoul hovering under the hood of his car was a perfect ending to such an
imperfect day…. What further misfortune or calamity waited for him tonight?
“All
right,” Adam demanded irritably, “stop playing games with me! Can you or can’t you fix my engine?”
Henny
stopped chortling to himself and poking around. Slamming the hood shut this time, his devilish little eyes
narrowed to slits, and he began talking very strangely to Adam.
“You
expect miracles?” He asked, looking obliquely at the young man, his little eyes
rolling up to the darkening sky.
“No,”
Adam said, frowning dubiously at the mechanic. “What kind’ve question is that?”
Watching
the sun flash in what would later be reported on the evening news as a solar
flare, Adam felt shaken by the man’s question. The truth was, of course, he did, in fact, want a
miracle. Without looking back at
the mechanic, he wondered if the sun, itself, had given him a sign. A mixture of fear and hope joined the
emotions of irritation and disgust he felt for this man. He wanted to share this troubling
vision with someone, even with Henny Lumpkin.
“Did
you see that?” His voice trembled slightly. “Over there,” he pointed to the
horizon, “in the west. I’ve never
seen it do that before. It’s as if
the sun winked. There must have
been a great explosion on its surface!”
“I
see a hot, unfriendly sun,” Henny answered mysteriously, shielding his eyes
against the glare. “…. I prefer
nightfall, myself. Night has
always been my favorite time. It’s
cool and peaceful and when I do my best work. You’re night will begin soon Adam Leeds. You’re stranded here without me, aren’t
you? There’s no place for you to
go.”
Realizing
he had barely an hour of daylight left, Adam’s dread grew. “…. I must call my wife again,” he said
softly.
“What
about the car?” The mechanic tapped the hood. “Want me to junk it for you?”
“Junk
it?” Adam, wrapped up in mental imagery, did a double take. “What do you mean junk it? Can’t you salvage something
in my car?”
“Salvage
what,” the mechanic asked slyly, “it’s soul? You can’t raise the dead, my friend. She isn’t worth saving.”
“She?”
Adam looked at Henny in disbelief. “What do you mean she? Are you talking about my car? What are you driving at Mister
Lumpkin?”
“Driving,
ho-ho, a pun,” the man snickered. “No, no, you won’t be driving this piece of
shit anymore!”
In
spite of the gravity of the man’s words, it was the man, himself, whom Adam
found most disconcerting. Torn
between the mental imprint of the solar flash and the mechanic, he studied the
horizon again as the man droned on about his car. Sinking slowly in the west, the sun had returned to its
naturally radiating form.
Somewhere between the mechanic and the peculiar sunset there was a
harmony or disharmony. He wasn’t
certain which.
“….
Cars are extensions of people,” he heard him saying. “They take on the
personality of their owners.”
Adam
could barely hear this preposterous statement as he grappled with the
unknown. A sign, he believed, had
been given to him, and he sensed that it was no accident Henny Lumpkin had been
the one to pick up his disabled car.
Adam would never know that what he saw was a natural phenomenon, which
would be reported later on the news.
As he shook his head in wonder, it seemed as if he was disagreeing with
what Henny had just said. On the
rough, grimy surface, the mechanic seemed slightly indignant, but the crafty
gleam in his eyes was hard to read.
Adam wondered if he was simply toying with him as a sadist might
do. He appeared to be watching his
every action and listening for every sound he made. Seen in a different light, though, his apparent sadism
seemed to mask another, even more sinister purpose. Yes, Adam told himself, he’s studying me…. I’m his
captive audience!…. But why? What
does this degenerate man want?
He
felt cornered where he was. There
seemed to be nowhere to escape in this out-of-the-way cul de sac, except
through Henny Lumpkin’s Garage…. Where would he go even if he escaped?… Did he really want to abandon his car
to this man?… How would he get home?
….
Did he even want to go home? These questions remained unanswered as
he pondered his next move.
In
a toneless voice, revealing deep thought, he uttered “All right, tell me about
my car…. What personality does it have?”
“I
told you, but you weren’t listening.
It’s not an it;” the mechanic
answered, his awful presence moving into view “it’s a she…. Judging by the mauve seat covers and powder blue paint job,
this was your wife’s car. Am I
correct?”
“No,
Mister Lumpkin, you’re not correct,” Adam replied, looking back into darkness. “She
only picked it out for me; I do all the driving.”
“All
right, she didn’t drive it, but she
picked it out. It has her
personality. Don’t you see?” Henny
insisted slyly. “It has her
personality, not yours.”
As
sarcastically as he could, Adam replied, “I think you’ve got cars mixed up with
dogs. It’s dogs who look like
their owners, not cars.”
“Young
man, it’s not what I think,” Henny clarified. “It’s what you think. You equate
this car’s demise with your wife.
Am I correct?”
As
Adam thought about his words, he wanted to tell Henny how ridiculous his
analogy was, and yet he had the terrible feeling this time that Henny had read
his mind. He had, in fact,
mentally compared his wife with the car, and had earlier dreamed of murdering
her. The mechanic remained silent
now. Waiting for some sort of
response and staring, with unblinking dark coals, at him, his presence was
becoming unbearable for the younger man.
“What’s
your point? Why’re you playing
games with me? Adam asked,
clenching and unclenching his fists.
The
other man, who towered several inches over him, was not impressed with his
anger. Again, as he opened up the
hood and looked down at the engine, he spoke succinctly, completely captivating
Adam as both tutor and discomforter.
“Why
don’t you simply get rid of her?” he asked softly.
Kill
her? The question again flashed in Adam’s mind. Although the mechanic’s eyebrows had raised, his own lips
had not moved, leaving him with the feeling that the man had, in deed, read his
mind.
“You
can’t divorce her; it would ruin your career,” the mechanic remarked, removing
the oil filter and tossing it aside. “It seems, because of your faith, you
can’t even run away from her. That
might ruin you!”
“I
still love my wife,” Adam whispered.
“And
hate her,” the man jerked a handful of cables loose. “It’s the proverbial
love/hate relationship. But it’s
also much worse, because your wife has made you pity her and worry constantly
about her soul…. Tell me, do you love pain?”
“No,”
Adam murmured, wanting to flee but finding his legs numb and mind reeling from
the truth of his words. Who was
this creature—this spawn of Satan, who was trying to destroy the last shreds of
hope and sanity he had left?
“Be
honest,” the mechanic insisted, throwing the cables to the ground. “You’ve
thought about it several times.
She’s a drag and an emotional burden on you and, by her activities, a
threat to your profession and faith.
But you just can’t give up on her.
She’s your cross!”
Adam
agreed in his heart, though his face displayed great loathing for this
man. The mechanic smiled
knowingly. It was as if he knew
the young man’s innermost thoughts.
Popping
off battery caps and tugging on a grease-caked hose that caught his fancy, the
mechanic again declared, “You must get rid of her!” “…. Why right now,” he added as he disengaged the air filter
and tossed it aside, “she’s probably partying with one of your neighbors or
some stranger dragged off the street.”
“Shut
up! Shut up! God damn you, shut up!” Adam cried.
“What
is this—blasphemy?” The mechanic peeked mockingly up to the heavens. “Are you
calling your God to damn me? If
you think you’ve blasphemed God, you’re a fool, Adam. God is dead.
This is the New Age, in which reason rules.”
It
was an old refrain favored by atheists, existentialists, and New Age
philosophers. Coming from the
greasy mechanic, however, it sounded ludicrous. One of Adam’s elders had accused him of using New Age
philosophy in the church.
Inexplicably, the mechanic had attached atheism to this philosophy in an
apparent effort to undermine Adam’s faith, which was a blend of philosophy,
liberal Protestantism, and, lately, Norman Vincent Peale’s positive
thinking. Adam decided that it was
time to break free of Henny Lumpkin’s spell. Not knowing how to respond to Lumpkin’s statement, he
launched an angry complaint about the service at his garage.
“You’re
a poor excuse for a mechanic,” he erupted in rage. “You didn’t even try to fix
my car. I’ll not pay you a red
cent for what you put me through.
I should call the police after what you did to my car!”
“You
don’t owe me anything for my services,” Henny replied calmly. “My services are
free.”
Backing
away slowly, Adam began his exit from the garage.
“What
services?” he looked incredulously at the mechanic. “You’re not talking about
my car, are you? You’re talking
about my wife! Why’re you so interested in her?”
“….
I’m not interested in your wife, “ replied Henny, after a long pause, “I’m
interested in you!”
“Me?”
Adam’s head swam with the implications. “…. Why would you be interested in
me? What sort of sick game are you
playing Henny? Why is it that when
I used my Triple A card, they sent you?
You couldn’t be a reputable mechanic! You’re not even a reputable
human being!”
Satisfied
that he made his point, Henny tucked his dirty rag into his overalls and
relinquished his hold upon Adam as he retreated into the evening shadows. In the foreground the dark hulk of his
car was almost lost in this unlit portion of the garage.
“You’ve
been living your life in a dream,” he called back from the darkness. “It’s time
now to wake up and face reality: your wife, your failing career, and the only
option you have left.”
“Option? What option. My career isn’t failing! My wife’s just sick.
She’s an alcoholic. I’m
going to get her cured. I won’t
give up on her. There’s still hope
for us. Who in-the-hell do you think are you?” Adam was now shouting at
the top of his lungs.
Before
the mechanic could reply this time, however, he found himself running into the
hollows of the city, his aim to call his wife and somehow dispel his awful
conviction but his immediate desire to escape the conclusion now unfolding in
his mind.
******
Despite
his concern for his wife, Adam knew that a far more important issue was at
stake. He wanted to believe that
it was his concern for his sanity and not fear for his immortal soul that had
caused him to flee Henny Lumpkin’s Garage. Pushing the thought from his mind, he focused upon a more
immediate problem in his life: Cora, his wayward wife. At this point, as he detoured yet
further away from God, he remained in denial. He couldn’t bring himself to accept the appearance of Henny
Lumpkin as anything more than an ugly coincidence. Although he had been excited about the strange and timely
things happening to him throughout the past several days, he wanted to believe
in a rational God. Until this
week, he had never experienced supernatural phenomena or questioned his
logical, freethinking faith. Because
he was a liberal Christian, he couldn’t believe in predestination, natural sin
or any of the other doctrines of Christianity that would have prepared him for
what lie ahead or what was befalling him now. Mankind had free choice in his thinking and was too blame
for its destiny and sins. God,
though offering salvation or damnation, didn’t intervene regularly in human
lives. There was therefore no room
for miraculous events or the fulfillment of New and Old Testament prophecy in
his mind. If his wife was damned,
she had no one to blame but herself.
She couldn’t blame God or the medieval devil pandered by the Roman
Catholic Church and so many Protestant faiths…. This is what he told himself as he made his way into
the unknown.
******
Adam,
who had never felt the Lord’s Spirit or heard His knock, was spiritually
unarmed as he set out on foot through town. After walking through an unsavory district in Los Angeles to
find another telephone booth, one loomed suddenly out of the darkness as he
crossed the street. This one stood
between an old boarded-up corner liquor store and abandoned used car lot,
dilapidated, leaning slightly, but still empty, waiting, it seemed, just for
him.
With
mounting anxiety, he began trotting toward the booth, expecting to be its next
occupant. Half-heartedly thanking
God for his good fortune, he was not so sure he wanted to make his call now
that he was so close. He should
really be calling a taxi or be looking for a bus, should he not? Why not let sleeping dogs lie? He asked himself as he came closer and
closer to the ominous booth.
As
he came within a short distance of his destination, a monstrous dark shadow
staggered out from behind the building.
At first, fearful that it was the mechanic coming back with more taunts,
he froze in his tracks. But,
as the figure approached, a different specter—one that would prove to be more
terrible than the first—emerged in the dim light. A woman, who was a tower of undulating fat, promptly
occupied the empty booth. He watched
unhappily now as she opened her purse inside the booth, downed a mouthful of
something from a paper sack, and peeped around with two tiny black eyes. It appeared to him as if the stall had
suddenly become just a way station for the thirsty lady, a place to bide her
time until staggering off somewhere to sleep it off.
A
heavy wave of depression settled upon him, as his suspicions remained
unresolved. After several moments,
the lady was still biding her time, and it was apparent that this was, at least
temporarily, that somewhere she had
staggered off to. She appeared to
be falling asleep in a standing position, her blubbery face pressing comically
against the dirty glass as her tiny eyelids closed. Adam was not amused.
After several moments, in which her eyes opened as she took a snort and
then closed as she clutched the sack to herself, the woman was still biding her
time. The question in his
exhausted mind was ‘how long?’ Was
this booth the creature’s nest?
Perhaps there wasn’t even a phone in the dilapidated booth or, if one
existed, it might not even work, which would make his wait fruitless, perhaps
even dangerous considering the monstrous occupant inside.
While
he stood stewing in the silence, suspecting the worst about his wife, the woman
stirred, opened her pig-like eyes but remained inside the booth, chewing her
gum lazily, staring out at him vacantly, without a care in the world. Adam now rapped on the glass to get her
attention. Like a great obese, ice
age sloth she slowly turned toward the source of the noise. After watching her gaze stupidly out a
moment longer, he lost his patience entirely and beat on the door.
At
this point, she reacted to his commotion and began emerging from the
booth. Squeezing out of the
overstuffed enclosure, rocking its aluminum frame to and fro, she came at him,
arms outstretched and mouth agape.
He wondered fearfully if his agitation and facial expressions had given
her the notion that he was interested, and perhaps the dimwitted woman thought
he had a proposition in mind. A
hideous smile spread across her painted face exposing rotting teeth. Though he managed to dodge her embrace
and reach for the door, the lady grabbed his coattails, stopping him in his
tracks.
“Please,
you don’t understand,” he explained frantically, “I want to call my wife.”
“Why
honey? I’m available,” she
replied, almost tearing his coat. “You can have me, and it won’t cost you a
teensy-weensy dime!”
“I’m
warning you lady,” his voice shrilled, “I’ll call the police!”
As
she playfully grabbed the seat of his pants and cackled madly under her breath,
Adam panicked, screaming at the top of his lungs “Help police! Help police!” After pinching his buttocks and giving him a playful swat,
she let go of him, allowing him to finally take possession of the booth.
By now he was in the throes of hysteria. Feeling momentarily safe inside, he
shut his eyes and prayed for deliverance as the creature hovered outside. For the moment, his main concern was
his personal safety. His wife’s
behavior and the unanswered phone ranked second in his list of priorities now. If it was possible, he decided, he
would call himself a cab. As soon
as he spotted a bus he would, regardless of its destination, flag it down. When he finally opened his eyes,
however, the woman was turning slowly and blinking off into the horizon as
would any dim-witted brute who was tired, hungry, and looking for a place to
bed down for the night. As he
aimed a trembling hand at the coin slot, she was still moving slothfully away
and he was still praying. Finally,
as the change began tinkling through its rusty circuits, the woman had
disappeared completely into the shadows and his phone had begun to ring. When the answering machine picked up,
he shouted “Cora answer the goddamn phone!” After several more tries, in which he grew increasingly
hostile, the phone rang several times and his wife’s voice blurted finally into
his ear.
“Wha-what
do-o you wa-ant?” She asked irritably, suspiciously out of breath.
“Cora,
where have you been?” Adam
blasted back, the overwhelming thought of her betrayal reeling in his mind.
All
the air seemed to rush out of his lungs, and he gasped with shock as he
steadied himself inside the booth.
She didn’t answer his question, but it was evident that she had
company. In the background a man
was yelling “Come on, I don’t have all night!”
Upon
this thundering revelation, a buzzing filled his ears as Cora hung up and continued
her slimy business of pleasure.
Adam dropped the phone, staggered out of the booth, and found himself
bending over and purging himself on the pavement below. He wanted also to vomit out his sorrow
and begin his life anew but all he could manage was the evening’s dinner. A sensation of wretchedness had been
implanted in him when his ministry first began conflicting with his
marriage. It was always quelled
each time by a promise, seen in the Scriptures or in the faces of his
congregation, that things would get better. In childhood, thanks to his Scripture-quoting mother, he was
held together by such promises.
After his father died, he was coaxed out of sloth and caprice by the
promise of retribution if he sinned.
God, as the Father then, became law in his house. But when his mother died, he turned to
the Son and the promise of salvation.
In the seminary the relentless effort of the scholarly Adam was also counterbalanced
by the promise of the Spirit. He
could remember long ago feeling what had seemed to be the Holy Ghost or at
least a great inspiration to do God’s will. But this member of the Holy Trinity, in spite of God’s
presence, was to be challenged by Cora, his wayward wife. It had grown faint, almost
imperceptible after she entered his life, so Adam turned from the Holy Trinity
to humanism and philosophy to bolster his resolve. For reasons he would never fathom, Cora had decided a few
years into their marriage to become an opposing force in his life, distracting
him at every turn, threatening his career, and finally corrupting his faith.
After shattering their marriage and threatening the
last shreds of his faith, she was destroying his sanity too. It was all so nightmarishly clear to
him now. The worst sickness
possessed Cora’s mind, controlled her body and had eaten away in secrecy at
what was left of their marriage.
All the while he had tried to ignore the symptoms, looking beyond the
telltale signs and pathetic lies.
And, despite her lying, drinking, and continual hardship upon his
ministry, he still believed he could save her. Somewhere along the way, though, he should have thought
about saving himself. Now it was
too late. The evening and its
demons had moved him to know this ugly business of living, leaving him at the
end of a series of crashing events with no more faith and no more hope to draw
upon when he needed it most.
At
the center of the madness, the filthy core, lie Cora: Cora, the deceiver….
Cora, the liar…. Cora, the destroyer, adulteress, and fornicator.
As
he left the phone dangling in the booth and lurched into the night, the lonely
drone of the receiver followed him a ways. He thought then of her shortness of breath, the man’s voice
in the background, and the phone suddenly hanging up, signaling the end of this
chapter in his life. The pattern
he had blamed on spiritual malaise had finally led to a cesspool of physical
lust, beyond Christian charity or forgiveness. He thought instead about the mechanic’s solution to his
problem, the taint of horror still hanging in the man’s innuendo but sounding
so logical in his present state of mind…. Death!
Carrying this notion with him now, Adam walked
aimlessly up the street awhile, fleetingly searching the dark silhouettes of
buildings for more disaster to befall him, and, at the same time, wondering how it could be done.
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