I, Saul (15 page)

Augie's body seemed to pulsate and he was unable to sit. He bent at the waist, palms flat on the table, squinting at the truths that screamed from the pages. “Oh God,” he prayed. “Oh God, oh God, oh God ….”

It turned out that his father's mother had remarried when his father had just turned eight. That man, according to the torrid articles, was convicted of aggravated child abuse and sentenced to fifteen years in prison. While in a county holding cell awaiting transfer to the Florida State Prison, he took his own life.

Augie finally sat, overwhelmed with pity for the child his father had been. To lose your father as a toddler, then endure the intrusion of a replacement and then the abuse …

What other kind of a man could have grown from such a wounded child? And how in the name of heaven had he become a theologian and seminary prof?

Augie awoke eight and a half hours later, locked his mother's storage box in the trunk of his car, then took off for a brisk run. He assumed he felt out of sorts because of the revelations that had assaulted him, but after about a mile it came to him. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had forgotten to start his day with prayer. But he had awakened with such dread, so many emotions, he was eager to get on with his day and get to his mother.

As he ran, he called her, telling her to skip breakfast so they could go together when he picked her up. Forty minutes later Augie drove her to her favorite restaurant on the way to the hospital.

“August, don't punish me for fulfilling my vow. Your father was livid that his aunt had told me anything, and he still doesn't know I've seen the newspapers. But she felt I needed to know.”

“Why?”

Marie put down her fork, avoiding Augie's gaze. “Your father and I actually separated for a few weeks during the first year of our marriage.”

“Are you serious?”

“I couldn't make him happy. We'd actually had fun when we were engaged, but as soon as we were married, he withdrew emotionally. I know you grew up with that, August, and I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do to snap him out of it. I suggested counseling, talking with our pastor, getting out and doing things, changing our routine. He wouldn't hear any of it, so I left him a note that I would be at my parents'. Would you believe that for the first week I didn't hear a word from him?”

“Somehow I do, yes.”

“I was humiliated. I couldn't imagine living with him the way he was, yet I would never break my wedding vows. So what was I to do? I called his mother, whom I had met at the wedding, where it was obvious something was really wrong between them. She said, ‘Welcome to my world,' and hung up on me. The only other person I could think to call was his Aunt Gladys. That woman traveled hundreds of miles to see me. I'll always be grateful for that.”

“And she told you the story.”

“She also told me she felt inadequate to help Edsel, so she just raised him as a Christian, kept him going to church, and discovered he was very bright and inquisitive.”

“But always sad.”

“And angry. I made up my mind I would not stay away from him any longer. He was surprised to see me. Said he was glad he didn't have to tell his superiors at the seminary that his wife had left him. I held him and told him he could trust me, that I would always love him and be there for him.” She sighed. “He said, ‘I hope so. We'll see.'

“He also said he would never speak to his aunt again. I scolded him,
told him she loved him and had rescued him and made him the man I'd fallen in love with. That was the first and last time I ever saw him break down. I thought I had reached him, August, and that he suddenly realized what an angel Gladys had been. But no. He could only sob and rage that every time his stepdad took him to the basement or the attic, he prayed God would rescue him. He said he prayed for hours every night, crying himself to sleep, but God never listened to him.”

“He must hate God to this day,” Augie said. “How did the guy finally get caught?”

“Gladys saw welts on Edsel's back and demanded to know what was going on. It was torture for him to finally spill the full story, because his stepdad had threatened to kill him and his mother if he ever told. Your father made me swear I wouldn't tell you. But it seemed time.”

“I wish I could talk to him,” Augie said.

“I pray he regains consciousness,” she said. “I'd like to tell him one more time I love him. And I'd like to say good-bye.”

Marie couldn't go on, and when Augie covered her hand with his, she wept. When she was able to speak, she said, “I tried now and then to suggest that God
had
answered his prayers by sending Aunt Gladys. But he said it was too late. Too much had happened. In my naïveté I actually expected him to be a good father, the opposite of what he experienced. But he was simply incapable.”

Augie shook his head. “He should have gotten help and been a better dad. But I can forgive him. I want to.Yet none of this explains why he always blamed you for not being able to have children.”

“Imagine his shame, his horrible self-image.”

“But blaming you, that was wrong, plain and simple.”

“August, your father may be a senior citizen, but to me he's a stunted, wounded nine-year-old boy. I wish I could have gotten through
to him, seen him grow up, mature, reclaim some joy in his faith. But if people seeing me as too fragile to bear a child somehow deflected further humiliation from him, I was willing.”

“Some would call that misplaced loyalty, Mom, even enabling.”

“I call it love. He chose me to be his wife, and God called me to it too. It's been an honor to serve them both for all these years.”

“You're a giant, Mom.”

“I wish.”

Augie had planned to walk his mother to the elevator and be on his way, but now he felt a need to see his father—especially before leaving the country. A different Edsel Knox lay tethered to the machines and pumps and IVs. His hair looked thinner, wispier, his face gray and gaunt, his body bonier. But for the whirring and clicking, and a readout showing his pulse, BP, and respiration, the man could have been dead.

Marie held one of Edsel's hands in both of hers and whispered, “Good morning, sweetheart. August and I are here.”

Augie placed a hand atop his dad's head and tried to look him full in the face, despite that Edsel's eyes were closed and an oxygen mask covered his mouth. Augie leaned in and laid his ear on his father's chest, strangely comforted by the strong, regular rhythm of his heart.

“Stay with us a while, Dad,” he said.

Over the next several weeks, Luke spent his days caring for victims of the fire. As the rubble was hauled off and the healing centers released more and more patients back to their homes, the great city slowly came back to life. In some quarters, the emperor began to rebuild.

Luke hoped that as reconstruction began and the masses of the dead were finally buried, his volunteer work would abate. But no. After his initial excitement ebbed, he felt every one of his years.

By the time he visited Paul each evening, his legs felt heavy and his breathing shallow. It encouraged him to know that when he couldn't be there, Panthera often visited his prisoner. Still, Paul sat alone in the darkness most of the time when Luke was not there. And except for the infrequent occasions when other guards might briefly light a lamp in the dungeon while they doused him with two buckets of water, or came to
retrieve and empty the waste bucket, all Paul could do was sit or stand or pace as far as his bulky chain would allow.

According to Paul, his bowls of cold gruel—one delivered early in the morning and the other in the middle of the afternoon—tasted as bad as they smelled. “Primus has begun slipping me an apple now and then, which tides me over until your visit. He seems needy, Luke, and yet he is a proud man and will not be pushed. All I can do is to explain the gospel and tell him what Christ has done for me. He worries about his family and their future, but he admits that he can no longer bring himself to pray to the Roman gods. But neither is he convinced that the one true God exists and that Jesus is His Son. It might take something dramatic to persuade him.You know what I am referring to.”

Luke harrumphed and sat heavily on the stone bench as Paul stood shifting from foot to foot. “You think he'll attend your execution?”

“I intend to invite him.”

“I can't imagine even a prison guard would want to see your head severed by some gigantic executioner.” “Fetch him for me, would you?”

“You want to talk to Primus right now, tonight, with me here?”

“Especially with you here. You should hear how he talks about you, Luke. He admires how kind you were to his mother and now to his wife and children. And in your faithfulness to me, he's seeing what true friendship, real loyalty, is all about.”

Luke sighed and moved beneath the hole in the ceiling, then laboriously hoisted himself through the opening and hurried through the smelly corridor, ignoring the cries and moans and outstretched hands.

When Luke told him Paul wanted to see him, Primus whispered, “I was with him earlier. The others are suspicious.”

“If you don't think it's a good idea—.”

“No, if he needs me ….”

He summoned a young guard. “Man my post until I return.”

Once in the dungeon, Primus said, “I mustn't stay long. What is it?”

“I request the honor of your presence at my execution.”

“I've watched heads strike the ground. Such gruesome sights have lost their fascination.”

“I need to know that some in the audience will give me a fair hearing. You and Doctor Luke may be the only ones. Knowing you will be there would give me peace of mind, Primus. Please. As a friend.”

“I am your friend, Paul. That's one reason I would rather not witness your end.”

Luke nodded. “That is how I feel too.”

“The only two friends I have in Rome would both abandon me in the hour of my greatest need and not extend that small kindness?”

Luke tended the lamp. “To you it seems small. To me it is a great sacrifice. I could never abandon you. I just wish you could see what a horrible obligation it is.”

Paul moved slowly, carrying his chain, and sat next to Luke. “I'm not entirely insensitive,” he said, draping an arm around the physician's shoulder.

“Not entirely. But you must admit that your truth telling often gets in the way of your peacekeeping.”

“Do you still have need of me?” Primus said. “Entertaining as it is to see old friends squabble ….”

“Forgive us!” Paul said. “I just need the same commitment from you that I have from my colaborer here.”

Primus cleared his throat, clearly overcome. “I prefer not to see you die, but if you wish me there, I will be there.”

That night in his chamber, Luke returned to the parchments, the reading giving him an entirely new view of his old friend, revealing the history and perspectives of the man he thought he knew so well. Somehow they had never discussed much of this in all their years together, despite the miles they had walked, ridden, and sailed. A chunk of bread tucked in his cheek, Luke settled in to read again.