The Road to Grace (The Walk) (16 page)

Then I remembered that Leszek had said I should first go to God. Surprisingly, calling out to God was harder to me than calling Kyle. What would I say to God? Of course, if God was God, then whatever I said was moot, as he already knew what I would say. I couldn’t plan what I was going to say like some kind of presentation, every word carefully scripted, timed for impact. Speaking to God was not about show.

I had once been present at a fund-raising dinner for a Washington State congressional candidate. A minister had gotten up to say a prayer but instead had read a poem. I remember thinking it was a nice presentation, but that it was no more sincere than my last advertising jingle. Maybe it was my father’s utter lack of pretense, but I had been taught to say what I meant and get to the point. It made sense to me that I should speak to God in the same way. Keep it simple. I looked up at the ceiling, then said aloud, “God, I forgive Kyle.”

Nothing. I felt nothing. I felt worse than nothing, I felt like a liar. I still wanted to beat Kyle to a pulp. I wanted to beat him and leave him on the side of the road like the gang in Spokane had done to me.

That’s when I found the truth about prayer. Like Mark Twain wrote, “You can’t pray a lie.”

I continued my prayer. “God. I want to beat Kyle Craig to a pulp. What he did was despicable. It was vicious and cruel and he is a bad, evil person.” Oddly, I felt at peace saying this. Now I was getting somewhere. “I want him to suffer, even as I have suffered.” I let the words ring. Powerful feelings began coming to me. “I don’t know why he’s that way. But I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want him to be a part of my life. I want to be free of him. I want to be free of this burden. I don’t want hate. I don’t want
this
.”

I stopped and sat in silence. Then I felt a remarkable thing. A warm feeling of peace came over me. “I
want
to forgive him.”

That was the answer. Desire. It is not the ability to walk that pleases God, it is the
desire
to walk. The desire to do the right thing. The truest measure of a man is what he desires. The measure of that desire is seen in the actions that follow. “I want to forgive Kyle Craig,” I said aloud. This time I meant it.

I picked up the phone and dialed Kyle’s phone number. His number had been disconnected. From what Falene had told me back in Spokane, I should not have been surprised.

I put the phone down and thought about what time it was on the West Coast. I had crossed into Central time, so it was only a little after eight. I dialed Falene’s number. She didn’t answer. I had forgotten that she never answered calls from numbers she didn’t recognize. I hung up and
tried again, thinking to leave a message. To my surprise, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Falene, it’s Alan.”

There was a momentary pause. “Alan, where are you?”

“I’m in South Dakota. How are you?”

She paused. “I’m fine,” she said unconvincingly.

“How are you really?”

“I’ve been better,” she said softly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you remember me telling you about my little brother?”

“Didn’t he just get out of rehab?”

She sniffed. “Yes. But he’s gone back to using. I haven’t seen him for eleven days.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m really worried,” she said.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again. I didn’t know what else to say.

After a moment she sighed. “But that’s not why you called. What can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to reach Kyle.”

“Kyle Craig?”

I knew this would surprise her. “Yes. I tried to call him but his number’s been disconnected.”

“That’s because there’s a long list of people who would like to lynch him. Why do you want to talk to
him
?”

“Part of my healing, I guess. Can you help me find his number?”

“It might take me a while.”

“That’s okay. You can reach me here.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll call you back.”

“Thank you, Falene. Now what can I do for you?”

She sighed. “I wish there were something. But thank you anyway.” We were both silent for a moment. Then she said, “It’s so good hearing your voice.”

“Yours too,” I said.

“I’ll call when I find Kyle’s number.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

We hung up. Then I lay back in my bed and looked up at the ceiling.

I missed Falene. After all she’d done for me I wished I could somehow comfort her. She was my truest friend, and without her I doubted that I would still be alive.

I lay in bed for a few more minutes, then stood without any difficulty. I was no longer dizzy.
Time to leave
, I thought. I put on some sweatpants and walked out to the kitchen. Leszek was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, a newspaper spread out in front of him. He looked up as I entered.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.”

“I am doing a crossword puzzle,” he said. “I am not much good at these puzzles. Do you know a five-letter word for worship?”

I walked over and looked at the paper.

“The second letter is a
d
,” he said.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I was never very good at those things either.”

“Maybe if it was in Polish,” he said, smiling. “But in English, too many words I do not know.”

“Adore,” I said.

He looked at the word. “Yes. Adore. That is very good.” He penciled in the word. “How do you feel today, Alan?”

“Good. I feel good.”

“Good is good,” he said standing. “I will make you some breakfast.”

“No hurry,” I said. “Finish your puzzle.”

“You will starve first,” he said. “I will never finish this puzzle.” He walked over to the kitchen. “I never finish the puzzles.” He turned on the electric stove beneath a frying pan. “I went to the market this morning. I bought some delicious syrup to go with our pancakes. I like the American pancakes. You say pancakes or hotcakes?”

“Both,” I said. “Usually pancakes. But a flapjack by any other name is just as satisfying.”

“Ah yes, Shakespeare,” Leszek said as he dropped batter
onto a skillet. “You are clever.” He ran a spatula under the cake, then flipped it over.

“I thought a lot about what you told me last night. Have you written your story down?”

“I am writing it now,” he said. “For my children and grandchildren. I do not think my son will read it though.”

“Why?”

“I think maybe he does not want to think of such things.”

“He will want to read it someday,” I said.

“Yes. Perhaps after I am dead. People are always more interesting after they are dead. Especially parents, I think.”

I thought of my own father. What questions would I want to ask him once it was no longer possible?

“One of my father’s favorite books was written by a survivor of a concentration camp,” I said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it,
Man’s Search for Meaning
by…”

“Viktor E. Frankl,” Leszek said.

“Yes. Then you’ve read it?”

He smiled. “Yes, I have read it. I know the writer.”

“You’ve met Viktor E. Frankl?”

He smiled. “Viktor was a friend of mine. We wrote letters.”

“That is very cool,” I said. “Very cool.”

A few moments later Leszek brought the pancakes over to the table. He gave me the top two cakes, leaving a bottom one for himself.

“I have Aunt Jemima syrup,” he said.

“Thank you.” I poured syrup on my pancakes, spreading it out with my fork. I took a bite. “You make good pancakes.”

“Ha!” he said. “As good as my soup?”

I laughed. After we both had eaten a little, I said, “I want to thank you for what you said last night.”

“I said too much. Did it help?”

“It did. I tried to call Kyle Craig this morning.”

His heavy brow fell. “Who?”

“Kyle. My former business partner. The one who stole from me.”

“Oh yes. You called him?”

“I tried. But his phone has been disconnected. But I’ll find him.”

“Good. Good,” he said, nodding approvingly.

“I think it was actually more difficult telling God that I forgave Kyle.”

“Perhaps you have not yet forgiven God.”

“Perhaps,” I said. I knew there was truth in what he said.

“I understand,” Leszek said. “When Ania died I was very, very angry at God. I even shouted at him. This to me is most strange, because I did not shout at God when I learned the soldiers had killed my mother and brother and sister, or later when they killed my father. But I shouted at him when my wife died. I think because I could not blame her death on anyone but God.” He looked at me sadly. “I think God understands such things.”

“You think so?”

Leszek nodded. “I will tell you a story. When my son was very young he found a little knife. I took it away from him so he would not hurt himself. He got very angry and yelled at me. But I was not angry at him.” His expression lightened. “I am not saying my Ania was like a knife.” He leaned forward and grinned as if he were going to tell me a secret. “Even though sometimes her tongue was very sharp.”

I laughed.

“I am just saying that I am older and wiser than my little boy and I understand why he was much upset, so I did not take it so serious. God is older and wiser too. I think he understands too.”

This made sense to me. “I hope you’re right,” I said.

He grinned again. “So do I. Or I am in much trouble!”

I laughed again. As I looked at this grinning old man my heart was full of gratitude. The thought of leaving him filled me with sadness. We ate awhile in silence before I finally spoke. “I’m going to be leaving today.”

He nodded. “Yes, I thought you might.”

“I would like to shower first if that’s okay.”

“Yes, of course.” He looked sad. “Is there anything you will need before you go?”

“No. You’ve done more than enough.”

“I can drive you back to the freeway.”

Even though I had normally refused rides I could not refuse him. “Thank you. I would like that.” I took my plate over to the sink and turned on the water to wash it.

“No, no. Just leave it. Please. I will do dishes later. You go shower.”

“Are you sure?”

He waved his hands, as if brushing me away. “Yes. Go.”

At his dismissal I went to my room, retrieved clothes and a razor, then went into the bathroom. I shaved first then turned on the water and stepped into the tub. There were small slivers of soap in a plastic dish. Leszek was a man who had little and wasted less. I didn’t shower very long as I was conscious of using his hot water. I washed my hair twice, still amazed at how long it was. I could almost pull it back in a ponytail.

As I got out of the shower I could hear Leszek playing the piano again. I toweled off, dressed, then went to my
room and finished putting my things back into my pack. I made the bed, then carried my pack out to the front room where Leszek was waiting for me. He looked very sad.

“You are ready to leave,” he said.

“I’m afraid so,” I replied.

“Okay, okay. We go.”