“I love you, Paul. You must understand that, or you’ll never really hear what I need to say to you. Actually, it’s because I love you that I must say these things. I know you. I believe that I know you better than anyone else. I know that you pride yourself in making life give you exactly what you want. I know that those who oppose you always lose, but what if things just didn’t work out that way? What if you were at a dead end street and had no direction to turn? Could you acknowledge that you had gotten yourself into a bad place? Could you feel sorry enough to admit that? – sorry enough to ask for help?”
Paul was on the verge of losing his composure. “You are talking nonsense!”
“I’m not talking nonsense; I’m talking about where we are, you and I, right now. I have trusted you more than any other person in my life. I’ve relied upon you as if you had some superhuman strength. For me, it’s been far more than simple love. I believed everything you said when you spoke of our future together. I felt certain that it would be a wonderful life. I also believed you when you told me I had let you down, that I was a failure as a wife. I believed you when you told me that I was not psychologically whole. I believed you so much that I began to feel worthless.”
Paul listened with an expressionless face, trapped by obligation, as Cathy continued, seemingly driven to give vent to things that had crystallized in her mind.
“It was because I trusted you so completely that I allowed your words to hurt me so deeply. You made me feel so worthless at times that I wondered if there was any reason to go on living. You were my hope and strength in life until I couldn’t trust you any longer. Then it dawned on me that you were wrong – completely wrong. I’m not saying all of this out of spite. I’m saying it because we both have the same problem. I trusted you and I nearly lost everything. You trust only in yourself, Paul, and I’m afraid you will lose everything unless …”
Paul’s anger spilled over, and leaning on the foot of Cathy’s bed with both hands he glared at her. “Stop it! Stop this drivel!” he said slowly with biting intensity. “I’ll not hear another word of it. What gives you the right to be my judge? Whatever gave you the idea that I’m accountable to you?”
Typically, Cathy would have wilted under the force of Paul’s personality, but still she continued. “Hear me out, Paul. I’m not finished.” Despite the emotionally charged feeling Paul had engendered, Cathy was unruffled and spoke calmly. There was composure and directness in what she had to say that set this exchange apart from any that had previously occurred in their marriage. “I’m not asking you to account to me; I’m warning you because I care so deeply about you. Your strength is your weakness, Paul. You’re not infallible, even though you cannot allow yourself to be wrong. Unless you learn to bend when life or God demands it, to seek counsel outside yourself, there may be a great storm that will break you. It’s possible that the storm has already commenced.”
Paul stood erect. In these few minutes Cathy had suddenly become a different person in his eyes, unpredictable and hard to read. He let her continue, sensing that she was carrying out what she perceived to be some sort of mission in his behalf. His anger gave way to curiosity and he wondered where Cathy was leading him with her twisted thoughts.
But there was no confusion in Cathy’s mind. What she was saying had been in her thoughts for many hours, a product of her early-morning sojourn into that place where the power and will of the Divine is discerned. “Perhaps this is a time for both of us to make room for God in our lives. Until now it has been you that has been of greatest importance to me. I think I loved you from the day we first met in San Diego. I came to adore you. I put my complete faith in you. I still love you, Paul, but I can no longer place unquestioning confidence in you. I am certain of that. I am also certain that you will be your own worst enemy if you don’t begin to believe in something that’s greater than yourself. If you insist on being the sole judge of what is right or wrong, you will hurt yourself sooner or later. Or, if you always expect other people to follow your rules, you will end up hurting them, even if you love them.
“My question is this, Paul. If you were certain that there was a God who knew what was best for you, would you be able to bend yourself to his will, even though it required you to do things you didn’t want to do? Could you pay that price? Would you be willing to go to him for help? Once your answer to that question is yes, I’ll be willing to trust you once again. But more importantly, there will be no bounds or limits to my love for you.”
There, it was said, and she had fulfilled her errand, at least in part. From the troubled expression on Paul’s face she knew that he understood the full meaning of her words, but she also knew that he was unable to respond to her – not here, not now. With determination she seized this moment that temporarily held him in her power and pressed forward with a matter that would require an immediate response. What she now said constituted a final appeal to this man who possessed such enormous strength as well as debilitating weakness. “I’m going to ask something of you that is of great importance to me,” she said.
“Last night as I lay awake, realizing how temporary my life might be, I knew I had to talk to you about Michael.” She paused briefly before continuing, and then spoke with pleading in her voice. “Paul, If I don’t get through today’s surgery successfully – if I’m not able to be a mother to Michael – if I should die – there is something you must do, and you must promise me that you will do it. No matter how you feel about what I’ve said this morning, you can’t deny me this one thing. You must see to it that Michael has something more than either of us have had. I want him to know that there is a God who loves him. I want him to know how to pray and to believe that God will hear his prayers. I want him to believe that God has the power to answer his prayers. I don’t want him to feel alone or forgotten. I don’t want him to feel the way I have felt for so much of my life.”
Cathy waited, as Paul stood motionless and silent at the foot of her bed, then she reached for the flower box beside her and handed it to him. With curiosity he opened the box and laid back the tissue paper lining. There was bewilderment in his expression as he looked at the long golden braid.
“Please don’t think I’m being overly sentimental but, Paul, no matter what happens to me, whatever the outcome of the surgery is I want you to remember me as I once was. Don’t ever forget those days and nights on the beach in San Diego. Don’t ever forget that night on Mt. Helix when you ran your fingers through my hair and told me you loved me. Remember that I have loved you; that I have given as much of myself to you as I could.” There were tears in Cathy’s eyes, but not from the emotional terror that had been with her for months; these tender feelings came of pure love.
Paul felt as if he were standing on some emotional precipice. He felt threatened by overwhelming inner turmoil. There, in that unnatural setting, wearing a hospital gown and an unflattering scarf, Cathy seemed unusually beautiful – more radiant than he ever remembered. But her words filled him with dread. For him, there was a confluence of feelings that could not be harmonized, and despite the love he felt for Cathy at this moment he could not silence other impulses that vied for ascendancy – fear, pride, resentment, and anger. These enveloped him, yet he denied them utterance. As this battle raged within, he cast his eyes down to the golden braid in the flower box. He could not stand the sight of it and dropped the box with its contents on the bed. For him the beautiful braid was not so much a token of love’s remembrances as it was a harbinger of Cathy’s probable death. The braid fell from the box onto the bed, and he stared at it. Without explanation or so much as eye contact with Cathy, Paul turned and walked towards the door of the hospital room. “I’ll be back,” he said almost inaudibly as he left.
Things were a blur about him as he moved down the hospital corridor, distancing himself from Cathy and her words. Nevertheless, these words continued to hammer away at him, demanding more and more access to his mind and dominion over his feelings. He would not allow it! Leaving
the hospital parking lot, he drove aimlessly in a westerly direction, still in flight.
Before long the city of Ann Arbor gave way to the beautiful greenery of the surrounding countryside. Gradually, the road narrowed, becoming more of a country highway. Grass grew on either side of the road, forming a lush, green carpet, ending only at the very edge of the black asphalt. The branches of the trees lining the road arched overhead. Fall had not yet stripped all the leaves away and, at times, the branches overhead almost seemed to form a canopy. The air was brisk, but the sky was crystal blue. This placid setting was in stark contrast to the pensive, agitated feelings that gripped Paul.
He allowed the speed of the car to taper off until he was slowly driving through the countryside. Then to his right, a small Protestant church house came into view. A weathered sandstone exterior evidenced its age, but the building and the grounds had been cared for meticulously. Paul caught sight of the small cemetery adjoining the churchyard and he shuddered. Following an impulse, he applied his brakes and pulled off the road into the grassy parking area next to the church. Here he sat for some time, trying to get his bearings, but there was no clarity. Continuing to follow this impulse that had taken charge of his actions, he opened the car door and slowly walked up the path leading to the little church. He ascended the stone steps, then stopping, glanced again at the nearby cemetery. A slight feeling of nausea came over him and he took hold of the handrail to steady himself.
He was six years old again, tightly clinging to his mother’s hand as they ascended the steps to the church and passed through its doors. There was a stifling, sweet scent of flowers in the air, and people were speaking in hushed tones. The doleful sound of organ music in the adjoining chapel droned on as Paul and Andrea joined other mourners in the area set aside for the viewing of the deceased. This had been Paul’s first exposure to death. For him, the day was shrouded with mystery and foreboding. The aunt he so dearly loved, more than his own mother, had died a week ago. And now, with little explanation or comfort from his parents, Paul had been brought to the viewing and funeral services.
Stanley had traveled to the church earlier that morning with his brother and his sister-in-law to join family members prior to his sister’s viewing. Andrea, who had distanced herself from Stanley’s family, remained at home with Paul until shortly before the funeral. She justified her late arrival on the pretext of wanting to keep Paul from the maudlin emotionalism of such gatherings. In truth, she would have preferred to avoid the funeral services altogether.
Andrea regarded the Kirkhams as “common” people – simple-minded and unrefined. Over the years she had frequently ridiculed them for their lack of that aspiration which drives people who are more “class conscious.” These perceptions had become sharply focused in her relationship with the deceased woman. Louise, a widow, had lived in Chula Vista, located at the southern end of San Diego County. Years earlier there had been a falling out between her and Andrea. The issue had been Andrea’s dissatisfaction with Stanley’s “dead-end career,” as she termed it. Stanley was content with his low-profile role at San Diego’s Naval Electronics Laboratories, but Andrea continued to press him to continue his schooling in pursuit of the prestigious PhD that would open new career doors for him.
At one point the matter generated sharp conflict in their marriage and Stanley confided his troubled feelings in Louise, who not only commiserated with him but also confronted Andrea in Stanley’s defense. The heated exchange became bitter, accentuating two vastly different sets of life values. Little was accomplished in the altercation save it was the widening of the breach between the two women.
Louise took a liking to Paul during his early childhood and, sensing his alienation from his mother, tried to compensate for it. Frequently during the summer months she begged Stanley for the chance to bring Paul into her home for extended stays. Carefree visits resulted, in which Paul became the center of his aunt’s attention, providing some of the happiest memories of his childhood. The shock of his aunt’s death destroyed a significant emotional connection in his young life and, on that day as he and his mother worked their way through the crowd at the viewing, he was both heartbroken and bewildered. Little minds are ill equipped to comprehend the bleakness of death without someone to lovingly explain things that are not naturally understandable.
Paul’s troubled frame of mind escalated into uncontrolled emotion that day as Andrea lifted him up over the side of the casket, that he might have a clear view of his Aunt Louise. It was something Paul had wanted as Andrea had spoken with him about the services earlier that morning. In fact he had repeatedly asked if he might see his beloved aunt. Reluctantly Andrea relented. “Yes, you may see her,” she had said, “if you really want to.”
The memory was still alive in Paul’s mind, and whenever it pushed through into his consciousness it evoked the same terror he had felt at that horrible moment. A long illness had left his aunt emaciated and, despite the mortician’s efforts to prepare the body for a public viewing, her withered face, her sunken features, and the sallow color of her skin were all a shock to Paul. This was the face of death that would haunt him for years to come. He screamed in fright. Terrified by his own fright as much as the surreal image before his eyes, his body began to convulse in full-blown hysteria. The more Andrea tried to restrain him, the more he fought her. As soon as his feet touched the floor he began to run aimlessly, emitting screams that could be heard throughout the building. It was some time later that Stanley found him crouched in the corner of a restroom in a nearby park. Andrea immediately took Paul home, more concerned about the embarrassing circumstances than the distraught condition of her son. Paul did not utter a word for several days, and each night he slept with his bedroom light on. The trauma of the incident had taken an enormous emotional toll.
One Sunday afternoon, some weeks later, Paul asked the question that had troubled him since the day of the funeral. It was during an afternoon drive with Paul sitting by himself in the back seat – one of those infrequent times when the family was together. “What happens to people after they die?” came his question.
At length, Stanley made a halting attempt at an answer. “No one really knows for sure,” he said, “but some people believe in a life after death where the spirits of those whose lives were good live with God.”
Andrea’s dissatisfaction with Stanley’s explanation was immediately apparent. “The boy’s too old for fairy tales, Stanley. Just tell him the truth.”
Wounded, as he always was when Andrea belittled him, Stanley merely said, “Then you answer the boy’s question.”
“People always want to make hard things easy,” she had said. “That’s where religion comes from. It’s something people have made up because they think it makes hard things easier. It’s easier to talk about dying if you believe that it isn’t really death and that people go on living a different kind of life. But if you want to know what really happens, it is just this. The only part of a person that keeps living after death is what they did while they were alive. That’s why it’s important to do something with your life that really matters. Those are the things other people remember. Those are the things that continue to have an effect on the world after you have stopped living.”
Having relived these memories in a mere moment or two, Paul opened the wooden church door and entered. Inside, he found himself in a vestibule and, looking about, noted evidences that a meeting was in progress. There were shawls and sweaters hanging in a cloakroom, all belonging to women. To his right there was a small hallway where a door stood ajar. From it came a muffled voice suggesting that a presentation was in progress. It was likely some kind of women’s auxiliary meeting. Before him was a large set of doors leading to the church sanctuary. Paul walked to these doors and slowly opened them. Discovering the chapel to be empty he stepped inside. After standing in the aisle for a few moments he took a seat in one of the pews to his side. The only illumination within the chapel was that which spilled through the
stained-glass windows, casting colored patterns of light and shadows upon the empty pews, as well as the alter and the pulpit.
Paul sat there with his thoughts for a long time. At one point he felt an impulse to pray – to pray for Cathy – to pray for himself. Was this not the real reason he had parked his car and come inside? Nevertheless, the inner resources failed him, and gradually his thoughts worked their way back in time to a seminar he had attended as a student at San Diego State. The lecture was one of three successive presentations on the psychology of religion. The instructor and his general topic were equally presumptuous: “The Enduring Power of Religion – A Product of the Parishioner’s Irrational Fears and the Cleric’s Questionable Motives.”
“Let us never underestimate man’s need for security and meaning as he faces the inscrutable mysteries of life,” said the erudite professor. “The unpredictability and injustice of everyday hazards always bring fear to the faint-hearted. This, against the backdrop of inevitable death with those torments so well publicized by the superstitious, cause mankind to clamor for something more comforting. Ah, yes, man’s fear and uncertainty provide religion with its magnetic appeal. The grand triumvirate – fear, superstition, and tradition – establish its enduring place in all levels of society, both primitive and sophisticated.
“And then come pastor and priest marketing their answers to life’s questions in exchange for positions of unimpeachable importance in the social hierarchy. Theirs is a legitimized forum where they might speak with authoritative voices. How willing these societal parasites have been to pander to men’s fears and prejudices – to dispense religion’s super tonic – to placate them in their weaknesses. How skillfully these purveyors of religion have addressed human needs with a spiritual panacea men continue to embrace with mindless and ‘God-fearing’ zeal.”
Braided Gold Page 23
