“I remember."
“Do you remember what happened next?"
“How could I forget?"
“Shall we?” He held out his arms to dance as they had first done that very night. Except this time, Tanya was far more willing.
They began dancing a slow simple box step to the rhythm of the trombonist's melodic tune.
“You know this was the moment that I fell madly in love with you, and I've always kept it tucked away in my memories. Many are the times that I've returned to the memory, especially when things were at their worst. I was never a spontaneous man, but this was that one moment in my life when it just seemed to be the right thing to do. You cannot imagine how glad I am that I followed my instincts that night."
“I've missed you so much. You can't imagine."
“I know."
“Henry, if this is what heaven is really like, I'm not sure I want to go back."
“It's not your time, Kitten. Your destiny now is to save billions of lives. What could be more important than that?"
“But I'm going to lose you again."
“You never lost me, Kitten. You never will. But now, I sense that Anthony's strength is waning. We must take the final step now, but before we do, could you promise me something?"
“Anything."
“A man will come to Anthony with a bargain. He and Anthony share a common bone through Anthony's son, and he is to be trusted. When the time comes, please help Anthony to understand this."
“He can be pretty stubborn, but I'll do my best."
“I want you to know that I'm happy to see you two together. He is an exceptional man, and he will love you every bit as much as I."
“Yes I love him, but I'm also having such a hard time letting go of you."
“Our memories of being together will last for eternity, Kitten. But today, there is your life, and I'm glad you found each other."
“But aren't you just a little bit jealous?"
He laughed. “I was never jealous when I was alive. Why would I be jealous now?” She also laughed, remembering how Ramona Baker had once told her the same thing.
“And now, my darling, we will take the last step together."
“What will happen to you?"
“Nothing really. In a manner of speaking you could say that I'll sleep for a while and then I'll be my usual perky self again.” With that, he placed an arm between her shoulder blades and leaned her backwards. “One last kiss before I go, my dear."
As he slowly leaned forward to kiss her she said, “I've always loved you Henry and I always will.” Their lips met and suddenly Tanya was surrounded by a brilliant white light that glowed with a sense of love that was powerful beyond all words. It flowed through her like a river of life, overwhelming her completely.
From beside her bed, Anthony saw her head fall limply to one side. It was done. Now, would come the waiting.
* * *
Destined for Greatness
THE PREVIOUS EVENING had been draining for Anthony. Tanya was in a deep, coma-like slumber, but by midnight, her vital signs began showing a marked improvement, and Ramona finally managed to talk him into going to bed. Exhausted, he stopped by the kitchen. One of the cooks got up out of bed to make him a generous sandwich and a bowl of soup, which he wolfed down with great appetite. After a short shower, he collapsed in his bed till it was time for him to resume his usual routine the next day.
While the center was abuzz with the events of the night before and speculating that Tanya would survive, it remained an especially draining day for Anthony. Between his duties as an ELMO and checking on Tanya whenever he could, it had been a taxing day. While each improvement in Tanya's health sent another encouraging round of hope through the center, he reserved both his hope and judgment. On top of this, he also fought the distracting thoughts of what to do about his son, Russell, doing all he could to push his thoughts of both Russell and Tanya to the back of his mind.
As he walked with Charlie towards the two remaining patients kneeling at the edge of the trench, he felt grateful that this especially long and difficult day of uncertainty would end momentarily.
Anthony stood behind the second to last client, a middle-aged man suffering from the 3G flu and Charlie handed him a freshly loaded pistol. Checking to see the safety was on, he placed his left hand on the man's left shoulder. For some, this last moment at the trench was difficult and for others a welcome release best done sooner than later. Without saying a word or hesitating, the man lowered his head.
Anthony could see the spirit of his deceased wife waiting for him and helped him to release himself from his own body. Had there not been someone waiting for him on the other side, Anthony would have backed away, but that seldom happened any more.
He slowed the man's vibratory rate to a point where his spirit could free itself. Without turning back, the man's spirit went happily to that of his waiting wife. He turned to face Anthony with a smile and with a gesture of his hand caused his head to lower. Anthony nodded knowingly and with surgical precision, placed the muzzle of the pistol near the base of the man's skull. After sensing the trajectory path needed to pierce the base of his brain stem, he pulled the trigger. The body jerked from the impact of the bullet as it found its mark. Releasing his grip, the man's body fell forward limply upon the lime-covered bodies below.
Assisting the last client kneeling at the end of the trench to cross over would not be as simple. An eighteen-year-old girl with festering toxic poisoning sores, she glanced nervously to one side as Anthony approached. “I'm afraid,” she said meekly as he stood behind her.
Anthony handed his pistol back to Charlie and knelt next to her, facing the trench. No two people ever crossed over exactly the same way, but some, like this unfortunate girl who knew she faced an agonizing death, still would have last-minute bouts of doubt. He reached around her, lifted her arm and read her name from the identity strap. “Becky, this is your choice,” he said softly. “Perhaps this is not the right time for you."
She turned and looked into his face, “But I'm so tired of living with this horrible pain. I'm sorry; I just didn't think I'd choke like this at the last minute. It's just that I'm afraid of becoming nothing. Do you know what I mean?"
Anthony placed a hand on her shoulder. “Turn around, look ahead and tell me what you see,” he said with a compassionate yet weary voice.
She looked ahead past the other side of the trench. “Oh my God, I see my family. They're waiting for me and I feel their love. But..."
“But you think you're imagining it, Becky?"
“Yes,” she answered with a tinge of shame in her voice.
“You're not. They are there, and I see them too. Your father is a large man with strong arms and you mother is a petite woman wearing the same dress she wore to your grade school graduation."
Grateful tears began to well up in her eyes. “I feel that they're telling me it is OK to come. That this is my time."
“Still the same, Becky, this choice is yours to make and yours alone."
“What will it feel like?"
“When I see your spirit with those of your parents I will terminate your body functions so that you can cross completely over. You will already be out of your body when I pull the trigger, so you will feel no pain."
“Now that I see them waiting for me, I'm ready. Thank you Anthony.” With that, she lowered her chin to her chest and waited. Charlie handed the pistol back to Anthony as he positioned himself behind her.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and softly said, “It's all going to be OK now, Becky, but you must let go now.” Anthony could see her spirit leaving her dying, emaciated body. For a moment, she stood next to herself eyeing the surrounds with calm curiosity.
“Am I already dead?” she asked.
“No, Becky. You are at a point of decision: Whether to remain here or to cross over to your family. What happens next is entirely up to you."
“Can I see you on the other side sometime?"
>
“I'd like that,” he answered with a gentle smile.
She looked down at herself and made her head to fall forward. “Thank you, Anthony,” she said as she went towards her family.
Positioning the pistol, he instinctively searched for the right trajectory. Having found it, he pulled the trigger for the last time that day and watched her limp body fall forward down into the trench. Looking up, he could see her embracing her parents. He flipped the safety lever on the pistol and handed it back to Charlie, who was now standing next to the trench.
Charlie looked down at Becky's body, sprawled at the bottom of the trench. “You know, Captain, the ones my age are always the hardest for me. Even though I see her as she is now, I pretend that I've just seen her racing around some college campus on her very first day of class, meeting with her girlfriends afterwards at the college cafeteria to share her day with them."
“Yes, Charlie,” Anthony sighed. “But you can't let it get to you."
“It never does, boss,” Charlie, replied as he removed the clip from the pistol and ejected the remaining unfired cartridge from the chamber. “The funny thing is that lately, I've begun to see the spirits too. Not like you, I expect. For me, they're all kind of fuzzy, but I still see them occasionally, more clearly now, like Becky and her family."
It was the first time that Charlie had ever revealed his inner thoughts. Up till now, they had simply confined their conversations to the necessary tasks, by Anthony's own wish. Looking back on it in a moment of reflection, Anthony felt regret for that and vowed that he would spend more time with Charlie, especially now that he was becoming more sensitive.
As they walked away from the trench, Anthony put his arm around Charlie's shoulder for the first time. “Let's keep this between us, Charlie,” he cautioned. “Our patients and the people in this center will understand what you're saying and how you are now becoming more sensitive. However, if you speak of this with anyone and it is reported to a higher level, they'll say that you've lost your mind."
“But I haven't lost my mind, Captain. You see it, and now I see it!” He pointed at the mouth of the trench. “Heck, even they've seen it."
“You're right. The problem is this; the people who have the power to do with you as they wish have not seen the same things, nor do they wish to see the same things. Ergo, their own denial of reality can easily become your own sentence of psychological trauma. Or in other words, their power makes it easier for them to unfairly destroy your life so as to keep themselves from having to face their own mortality."
“It's just not right,” Charlie fumed.
Anthony patted his shoulder. “My dear Charlie, it is the way of things. Like I said, do not speak of this to anyone, but once things have settled down a bit, let's talk about this more. Privately, of course. I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and as your friend, I'm interested in knowing and understanding more about your feelings."
Anthony's words had been like honey in his ears. “Thanks, Captain; that really means a lot to me,” Charlie said as he felt his bond with Anthony grow closer.
They walked a little further and began to plan for the next day as Father Michael Bennett joined them. His face radiated joy, “Tanya hasn't woken up yet, Anthony, but Ramona just told me her heart is beating like a Kentucky Derby winner, and the blue is gone from her fingers. And get this; Dr. Boole is saying she'll make it and telling me to nominate you for sainthood."
Anthony grinned as he stripped off his surgical gloves and mask and put his hands to his forehead. His personal relief was speechless yet obvious. “I'm really glad for the news, but I'm no saint, Father. Heck, I'm not even Catholic."
“We can work that out,” Father Bennett replied with a broad smile.
Anthony held up his right index finger, and, waving it back and forth, said, “No, no, no, no, no! But maybe there is something else you can help me with."
Father Bennett laughed. “It would be my joy to help you in any way I can."
“I'll finish up here, boss,” Charlie said, seeing it was time for him to slip away from the conversation.
Anthony waved him off, “Thanks, Charlie, and remember what I said.” The young orderly nodded proudly and left.
“Well then,” Father Bennett began. Since we're both finished for the day, I could really use a few slugs of that marvelous Scotch whisky Vigo gave you."
“Scotch? And speaking of Vigo, where is he?"
“He left this afternoon. He said he was going to the Livermore Air Base to pick up a few things and that he'd be back in the morning. Before he left, he left two bottles of 12-year old Chivas Regal scotch in our dome and asked me to stay close to you. You know that he cares for you deeply, don't you?"
“Yes, I know” Anthony sighed. “Life has its funny twists and turns, and Vigo has more twists and turns than a donkey trail. I'm just glad he's on my side. Ah, heck, some whisky and a few off-key songs would be nice right now. Let's say we stop by the mess tent and see if we can't snag some ice for that whiskey."
“Off-key?” Father Bennett replied curiously. “I presume you're talking about yourself?"
Anthony chuckled. “Father, I have it on good authority you can't carry a tune without a few slugs of juice, but you do put your heart into it."
“Well then let's both give thanks to God that a good singing voice is not required to enter heaven."
“That works for me, Padre."
* * * *
ANTHONY PULLED HIS favorite chair and a small table next to his bed. As he sat a small plastic bucket of ice on the table, Father Bennett produced the two bottles of Scotch whisky from a cabinet under the bathroom sink. Anthony opened his wall locker to get his favorite drinking glasses and noticed the telescope eyepiece was missing. In its place was a note under a small stone. He picked up the note and the two glasses. He sat the glasses on the table, and, as Father Bennett began preparing their drinks, he read the note. It had a telephone number on it and the message, “Call this number, and just say yes or no. Your dome is clean.” The last part of the message was obvious. Vigo had swept his dome for electronic eavesdropping bugs.
“Your friend Vigo is a class act,” the Jesuit priest exclaimed as he hefted one of the bottles. “It is not that often a lowly priest, such as myself, can enjoy the good stuff."
“Well, then, have a seat, Padre, and let's get after it."
“And without further ado...” Father Bennett settled himself on the edge of the bed and hoisted his glass.
“A toast to the good sergeant, who will certainly be in my prayers for this bounty."
Anthony shook his head with disbelief, “You mean to tell me that God appreciates 12-year old Scotch, too?"
Father Bennett waited for Anthony to raise his own glass, “Just between us two, it would be a shame if he didn't. Wouldn't it?"
Anthony shook his head and clinked his glass, “Here, here.” They tossed back the first gulp and smiled with deep appreciation as the Scotch tumbled down their throats.
“Another toast,” Anthony exclaimed. “Here is to Vigo, for saving the linings of our stomachs tonight from the swill we've been brewing in our misbegotten design of a still."
“To a second chance at life for our stomach linings,” Father Bennett heartily agreed. They held their hands up in the in the direction of their still and drained the remaining contents of their glasses.
As the Scotch warmed his insides with a warm inner glow, Anthony refilled the glasses with more ice and Scotch. “You know why we nicknamed you the Spiritual Wombler, Padre?"
“Yes, because a wombler is an English term used to describe those who recycle their garbage, but in my case I recycle troubled souls."
“With that in mind, would you be up to a bit of private wombling with me this evening? In a way, let's just say you're hearing my confession."
“I understand your meaning, Anthony. Nothing we say here will leave this room. Of that, you have my solemn vow as a priest. But I need to know why you're asking me to h
ear your confession, if you do not mind?"
Anthony refilled his glass and said, “For the first time in more years than I can remember, I'm so torn up inside that I want to cry like a baby, but I can't. Not a drop.” He took another drink from his glass and continued.
“But Tanya is going to live. I believe it!"
“I feel there is a good possibility she will; that is, if she wakes up,” Anthony replied somberly. “However, that's not what is troubling me right now.
“Well then, out with it."
“My soul is tormented because I'm being forced to make a difficult decision and you're one of the very few people I can talk to about it. I guess that's why I asked you to take my confession."
Father Bennett sat his glass down on the table. “Anthony, from the very first day we became roommates, we've had a standing agreement that we'd never discuss religion, and we never have. So, rather than take your confession as a priest, I'd rather share your confidence as a friend and help you in any way I can."
“Why is that, padre?"
“It's because you have been a spiritual rock for me, Anthony, in a manner of speaking. Yes, I have my faith, but no matter how awful my days here are, I've always been able to come to this dome and share your company in pleasant conversation. This makes you and Major Boole very different to me from everyone else is this dreadful place. When I'm with you two and tinkering with that miserable contraption of a still we've been building, I'm not a priest to whom everyone brings his or her sorrow. I'm just one of the guys, and that helps me to deal with the horrible suffering of this place. There are times when after you're both asleep, or when I'm by myself, I go into the bathroom and cry in the shower for all the misery that surrounds us."
“I've heard you crying a few times Padre. I never said anything because I respect your privacy. After all, none of us is made of stone."
“You are indeed a good friend, Anthony. So, please let me be your friend now and not a priest. Please let me talk to you as a friend who deeply admires you. If you are troubled by something dark, share it with me as a loving friend."
Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru Page 44
