Wednesday, 24th, September
1:06 pm
1974
-
Whatever his misgivings, even after he helped to situated the box on the Lovich’s personal jet, Brother John
did his best not to step on the children’s joy. They’d spent a full day sightseeing and being allowed to purchase
two new outfits at an exclusive men’s shop where they were treated like adults, so they were worn pretty thin by the
time they claimed the air mattress and sleeping bags strewn about without any order but the one Rafael, as their leader, assigned
to them. Fighting his own exhaustion, he’d sat under one of the reading lights trying to make sense
of the fine print of his Bible while Dietz Schroeder kept a death grip on the arm of the flight chair next to his. He sensed
the odd glances from Loraine Devlon whenever her ex-husband wasn’t near, but the last thing he wanted to do was to pour
oil on the troubled water which had permitted Orin Devlon to kill seven people without punishment or rebuke,
including a cop and an either month pregnant girl simply to express his inner rage at having been born a man. Even Father
Andres was chilled and strained toward him by the end of the long and wearying flight, but as soon as they were taxied to
a special section for Lear Jets and non-commercial jets and the door was opened to the heat and the noise and the dust, it
was as though he’d never been away! He and his two companions spent most of the ride to the shoreline with their noses
pressed against the window of the air conditioned bus.
There were still large crowds and
a great deal of excitement from the High Holidays and as he watched patient gray donkeys bearing their larger riders or heavy
loads on their back that extended into the narrow streets, the years and the disappointments and sorrows fell off his shoulders!
He was home! Home at last!
Sam Lovich had rented a villa on the Mediterranean for the next six months, even though the cold and the winds would
increase near the end of his stay. Loraine was looking for a permanent home since she’d chosen to shrug off any possible
contact with her father William, leaving Sam the three houses and the remnant of the business left to them. He and Weak Willie
still had an excellent relationship and he’d once been engaged to Patty Trenton, but hadn’t been rich enough to
hold her, so he welcomed the opportunity to divest himself of the stain of their notoriety. Harold Devlon had been a wildcatter,
a hellion, and a cold blooded son-of-a-bitch, but he’d been cunning enough to do it all in private, and the weight of
opinion rested far more heavily on the side of misused and his grown son’s side than on the Twins, Loraine and Orin;
who’d very publicly dragged their family’s name in the mud, for all its showy attention and media glitz. With
her half a world away, he planned to take back everything she cost him, with interest!
Because of the heavy influx of Pilgrims for the recent High Holidays, their hotel rooms had been claimed by someone
else before their arrival, and the call to the secondary hotel where their reservations had been given was hardly appropriate
for active boys and their guardians, despite the happy echoes of ‘Chag Sameach’ ‘Happy
Holidays’ still ringing freely from the lips f the people on the streets. While the nuns found a small convent of the
Sisters of Charity to stay with in the largely Arab town of Nazareth where Jesus Christ was said to have been born, Father
Andres preferred to remain in Jerusalem in the Catholic Community of priests, while Brother John and Dietz followed their
host and the boys forty miles northwest, to a small, exclusive community on the edge of the Great Sea, just south of Tel Aviv
to remain on their estate between the tours to places across the small country in keeping with the purpose of their arrival.
Though he wouldn’t have made it his first choice, since he didn’t trust either of the suave, charming Lovichs’,
there were tamed ponies for the five boys to ride, native servants to follow after them and keep them from kidnapping or harm,
and a private bus to take them to as many sites in the Holy Land as were deemed safe for tourists that week, since caution
was to the extreme while citizens of the multi-cultural city went quietly about their daily lives. Three weeks passed with
the speed of a serpent’s tongue.
From the walls of the Holy City Jerusalem with
its eight gates, rebuilt by the Turks as they are seen today, under the rule of Suleiman the Magnificent in 1542 A.D. to the
paving stones where Jesus was forced to walk before Pilate, now in the Convent of the Sisters of Zion, to sharing a quiet
mass at the Church of Gethsemane where the five boys made no attempt to draw attention to themselves from the mixed multitude
worshiping a risen Savior, to following along the Via Dolorosa with a tour group whose native guide helped to make each brief
respite meaningful to them, as crowds pushed past them in keeping with the needs of their daily lives, and finally the lines
waiting their turn to visit the heavily guarded Tomb, the boys seemed to grow with each new site and Brother John found himself
able to relax and allow the awe he was feeling to begin to grow roots he had unequivocally denied. They rode the tram to the
top of the fortress Masada, where twelve year old Steve Ramsey celebrated his thirteenth birthday learning about the courage
and resistance of the Jewish survivors against the Roman army under Titus after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD, and that if
he were a Jewish boy he would be now be considered a man, capable of taking part in daily religious life as an adult. His
eyes grew so wide they dominated his face and he was silent, almost surly on the bus ride back to the Kibbutz where they were
to spend the night before returning to Tel Aviv. But when he dismounted from the steps of the bus, having to hold unto the
safety railing like a drunk man, he seized Brother John around the waist and hugged him for several moments, in tear stained
silence before he ran to catch up with his friends.
As Raphael approached, who’d
had a sharp argument with Dave Maddox and retreated to his former friend, he put his arms across Stevie’s shoulder like
before, but as Brother John and Father Carbasian watched in amazement, the blonde hair boy ducked down and side stepped, deliberately
taking up a place on the other side of the group. Raphael and Gary Fielding began to be each other’s best friend, shutting
out the other three boys.
They saw Rachael’s Tomb, the
vast Valley of Jezreel, and three other small cities where modern day commerce and the ancient history of the Jews existed
side by side on lands that seemed as old as they were foreign to city bred boys, including the unremarkable little town of
Naim where it was said that Jesus raised a widow’s son back to life because he had compassion on her grief. But it seemed
ordinary, the boys complained, missing their homes, and the television shows and the turkey being shared around a family table
while they sat and ate canned cranberries in a hotel dining room.
It
was nearing time to go home. As December First brought the approach of the rainy season and the end of the 50 days of counting
from the sacred holidays in Tishri to the celebration of the first barley harvest, the time at which observant Jews would
built roofless booths and take their meals or sleep outdoors when possible, there was still time enough left for them to them
to make the last long trip planned for their journey, where the Sea of Galilee had passed through the narrow strait called
the River Jordan, to empty out with the mud and minerals and other things leached from the highlands and the lowlands to pour
into the Dead Sea became more occupied with the awareness of how few days remained to them. They took a boat ride to Haifa
for lunch with friends of Loraine Lovich, who brought their own children to swim and play at the hotel pool while the adults
talked privately, then the next morning they returned to the yacht and sailed up the coast fourteen miles to the port city
of Acre, Israel major port city since ancient times, to view the ruins of the Crusader’s fort and visit in the thriving
city, making even little Stevie Ramsey aware of how many conquerors had crossed this narrow strip of vibrant, ferule land
and deserts and tried to claim it for their own.
At night Sara Awwad would
join him in his dreams and he was a young man again, newly married and deeply in love. With letters and photographs from Al
and Georgie showing Shiloh fully recovered and obviously content staying with them in their home, America seemed like a dream
to him. One he was not entirely sure he wasn’t to continue, though they were scheduled to leave in another nine days.
When Father Andres rejoined them on the next to the last tour they would take as a group, he was resplendent in black
robes and deep sash, the expensive crucifix of polished olive wood that hung from his neck, adorned by a thick silver chain
would have fed a family of four for a month, but he wore it and an enormous smile as he saw their approach, guarding the happy
nuns clustered around him like clacking hens as they reclaimed their favorite boys and breathlessly announced they would be
able to stay with them for the last week as Father Andres had used his considerable influence at the Vatican to secure them
adjoining suites in a hotel now emptied of its overflow. The sense of resentment that strong the lean, tall monk shocked him
speechless. Since there was so much conversation and sheer noise going on around them, he was allowed to fade to the edge
of the newly expanded group without anyone’s apparent notice.
He used the ease
and familiarity of the past to disguise the churning emotions and concerns that were broiling up in him as he realized how
temporary this stay would have to be. Sam Lovich had hired Dietz as a ‘bodyguard’, allowing them to come along
even though he wasn’t needed, and he couldn’t be allowed to stay, as excited as he seemed about that prospect
because Sam Lovich was what he was-whether the Law had been able to convict him or not. His choice to bring along a man suspected
of blacking out and attacking others during ‘flashbacks’ to his Vietnam days was as questionable as it was kind
to the weary ex-warrior who was visibly struggling to make the most of this ‘golden chance’. Lovich
didn’t ‘do’ kind, he did what suited his foul purposes to the best, but if they simply took Schroeder with
them, what harm could come of that?
The caution that had
kept him alive after his young wife’s murder now tingled an alarm with every jarring step he took behind the portly,
smiling man in black robes! But how? Why? There wasn’t anything but gut instinct to warn him that they had been removed
from Sam and Loraine for a purpose not immediately apparent to any of them!
Speaking briefly with Mother Mary Harriet, they missed the first elevator carrying the Papal Envoy and the children,
o holding their room keys, they stepped back to wait out a sudden flurry of postcard buying from a respectful street urchin
who kept a wary eye on the plainclothes security guarding their patron’s privacy.
When
Sister Mel mentioned an odd clicking sound, there was a scream and two burly men threw themselves over a high backed couch
to tackle the thin youngster! The tray with the postcards flew into the air, allowing two small knives to clatter to the marble
floor where one of the bodyguards kicked one away with his foot while striking the youth so hard with his fist they could
hear the bone crack. Despite the nun’s fevered objects the unconscious youth was simply dragged to a side entrance and
disappeared into the bowels of the underground parking lot, and the men in fine suits trying to calm them tried to pretend
he hadn’t even existed, it had been a mistake, a misinterpretation of what they’d seen, that he was taking photographs
of important people to be used as blackmail later to show their intended targets to muggers, they had done the nuns and monk
a favor, and Brother John had to pull Sister Mel off the back of one man as she pummeled his head futilely with her closed
fist.
“ You hit like a girl! “ He mocked in Aramaic, but seeing
the tall Lebanese man’s eyes as he came to her rescue, he stopped and managed to exit without seeming to flee from the
man’s rage as he was.
By the time they reached the top floor, there were already several local policemen approaching to question them
as suspects, and it took several calls between Father Andres and the unseen voice on the other end of the line before the
chief detective apologized profusely and motioned for his men to be removed from visible observation of the strange, arrogant
Americans.
That night he rented four video games for the boys to play in the main suite, motioning for the television sets to
be placed in opposite corners of the room, and they ate their dinner upstairs and seemed willing to accept the general verdict
that swimming in the hotel pool tonight ‘would be a bit much’ but promising that if they got up at seven the next
morning, they’d have two hours alone in the pool.
The boy’s whispered conversation
ceased abruptly anytime he or one of the nuns drew near and from time to time one boy from each group would ‘casually’
‘get bored’ with that game, sit down and share his news then another boy would join the next group round robin,
so clearly conspiratorial that Brother John excused himself during his usual prayer time apart, but he simply paced back and
forth in the chill, rain promised wind that blew across the outdoor balcony this high up.
In
the distance the shocking azure and grey of the surrounding olive grooves, whose leaves were being twisted on drying stems,
offered a soothing backdrop, but some innate memory of his war kept him from standing in the center of the window as a target
for a sniper, so he jumped visibly at the presumptive knock on the door of his small room. Fearing it was the police again,
he strode to the door and threw it open. Fining his heart leap into his throat as he recognized Sheik Al-Salim’s youngest
daughter Tasha!
She was dressed modestly in a dark dress, her head and hair covered with an expensive silk scarf that clearly had come
from a European boutique. Once she invited herself in and shed the heavy liner he wasn’t surprised to see her dressed
in a trim French suit that showed her hard won curves to best advantage. To shock him she asked for a drink, but since he
didn’t have any, she relaxed a little in her hostile examination of him, the bathroom and the closet, as if she feared
assassins were hiding there, waiting to seize her and sell her at the black market slave mart.
Arrogantly she whirled and turned her back on him, defying him to attempt to stab her and she threw open the door to
reveal four burly men and a small, bent woman who was pushed into the room. She would have fallen if he hadn’t instinctively
reached for her, shocked at how her bones pushed up through the wiry strands of sinew. But she jerked free of him as quickly
as possible and found a kind of shelter behind the heavy bureau, leaning against it in sheer exhaustion.
When Tasha saw she had the shocked giant’s attention she thrust a heavy envelope into his hands. It had her father’s
family crest but bore the name of her husband, a name he recognized instantly, when he thought himself too stunned to feel
any further deprivation of his senses. He sat down on the edge of the bed, not even knowing it was there.
“ This piece of Christian offal is your birthmother, and those are her papers! We are finished;
the blood debt between us is satisfied! Never again will I look on you but as a stranger! A crude, vulgar stranger deserving
of the death the Prophet calls to all unbelievers! “
The woman against the wall gave a small scream and then raised her hand to her mouth, emphasizing the shock and horror
in the sunken black orbs.
“ Are you serious? “
Brother
John demanded, trying to accept the theatrical gesture. Her mother Lydia Awwad was a refined English woman who fell in love
with the freedoms allowed her as an outsider, but her three daughters had been kept in even stricter regime by their Muslim
nannies after her death.
In answer, she slapped his face so hard that he was pushed halfway back on the expensive bedspread. Then she fled,
taking the scents and the sense of Arabian Nights with her.
It took him several minutes before he could focus his attention of the woman now slumped against the wall. She alternately
hid her head in her arms and raised her tear stained face to stare at him wordlessly. He leaned the rest of the way over the
bed to ring up the other room and ask for some cream and shampoo and one of Mother Mary Harriet’s spare habits to be
left at his door. Instead, the elderly little nun carried them in on her arm after a quiet knock, the joke on her tongue about
the heavy bodied and full skirted ‘uniform’ being too small for him for at the sound of her greeting, the frightened
women crept out on her hands and knees and looked at her in dismay.
“
Sister Mary Harriet? Is that you? “
The feisty little
nun screamed, throwing her burden at the seated man as she ran to the pitiful figure trying to crawl back behind the bureau
like a sick kitten prepared to die. Though she was shorted by two inches, she pulled the stick thin figure into her arms and
into the light. Brother John leaped up, to give them room and the old woman began to cry and wail in a death chant that brought
the floor porter to the door knocking loudly and demanding entry urgently or he would call hotel security.
“ Gabby? Gabby! They told us you were dead! Where have
you been? “
“ In hell! In Hell itself! He hates me! He hates me for what I’ve done, what I’ve
become! “
John pushed the man out the door, trying to force him to accept this wasn’t a beggar he wanted thrown out on
the street, and because the hotel Manager would surely intrude on them at any moment and possibly demand they leave, he walked
back slowly to the shivering woman and laid his hand on her knee. She pulled back instinctively, then as he lifted it to withdraw,
she reached out claw like fingers to impale it on her bony chest.
“
GOD told me so! He told me so! But I feared to believe it was His voice! It’s been so long! So long!
“
As they spoke quietly, trying to absorb the reality of this astonishing impossibility Harriet Bahraini dialed room
service and demanded a seamstress, having to stop and ask John the number of the room, and then she placed a quick call to
the larger suite down the hall. With her help, Gabriella Carbasian was able to hide in the bathroom, behind the shower curtain
before a strange man could enter the room, even though she vaguely remembered the name. Her own innate modesty coupled with
the years of enforced separation from men was simply too much for her to accept.
The manager asked to make copies of the papers but Father Andres insisted that Dietz Schroeder keep the papers in his
position at all times, and since he appeared to be the security for a papal envoy, there was no way to deny the request.
“ This isn’t good, my boy! “ He said
grim faced as he fled the room before the buffeting the elderly nun gave to his business suit.
Gabriella ate slowly from the plate of fruit and a single pita bread filled with marinated meat and crushed chick peas.
She kept shaking her head each time she looked up at the scowling man as he paced past her, dislodging tears that seemed to
have an inexhaustible source. Finally he sat on the floor by her chair, his arms wound around his knees.
“ I should have known! I should have kept looking for you, Mother! “
“ No, no, enough! There’s been enough bitterness and regret! We can’t change the
past! What are we going to do now? “
“
We’re going to pray to truly thank GOD for this miracle; then you’re going to come to our room where the
boys can’t see you, and you are going to rest. There’ll be time enough tomorrow to try on the new dresses Father
Andres bought you. “
“ I vaguely remember the name, I wish I could remember who he was…”
“ Good night, mother. God Bless you! “
She
reached up her arms, causing the shapeless back habit to fall back from her arms and shoulder.
Mary
Harriet Bahraini almost answered, and then she smiled, doing cartwheels in her spirit on the grassy lawn she pictured just
outside the gates of Heaven at this unexpected turn of events!
-
*
-
Saturday, 14th, December
1:06 pm
1974
-
Because it was the Jewish Sabbath, the streets around them were partially emptied and all of the shops owned
or operated by observant Jews had a peaceful stillness they lacked during the busy work week. Going to the deluxe hotel to
see the scale model of Solomon’s Temple at Jesus’ time was simply ax excuse to get away from their own hotel rooms
and to give the boys a chance to stretch their legs and make all the noise they wanted. As predicted by
Father Andres, a pick pocket stole the new, empty wallet and the envelope stuffed with strips cut from that week’s
Jerusalem Post after Sister Mel finished her lesson from it. She was walking on air because Father Andres had promised
to purchase a year’s subscription of the English language version and have it delivered to her in San Francisco. By
the time they found a quiet park and set up the picnic lunch, even Rafael had said ‘Allah’ often enough to be
satisfied and he accepted the round robin tournament of checkers which Sister Paula had brought along, hoping to bribe them
into letting her and her three companions have a moment’s peace to enjoy the surroundings since they were scheduled
to leave on Thursday.
Loraine Lovich sought them out, making sure they preferred to return by commercial flight before she gave up her rights
to the sleek Lear since she planned to remain in Tel Aviv and run the new electronics company while Sam
Lovich returned to California. She asked an abundance of questions about Al, but none about her son or Georgie, but sine his
mother seemed so taken by the generosity the younger American woman showed her, he kept his doubts hidden as much as possible.
He kept reaching out to touch her knee or arm, shocked anew each time by how thin and fragile she was, but he couldn’t
help himself. He feared she disappear the way Sara did each time he opened his eyes.
When she invited them to fly to her sea side estate by helicopter, Brother John didn’t have the heart to decline
at his mother’s eagerness to do something she’d never done. Riding in Loraine’s chauffeured
limousine was far more comfortable than wedging himself into the back of the private helicopter while his mother tried to
talk to him over the noisy throb of the powerful motor over their head that propelled them effortless over dried and caked
roads. It felt as if the Land was holding its breath, waiting for the first healing rains to come down, as promised in Scripture.
There were armed guards visible at the private airport where they landed as well as surrounding the car which Brother
John guessed was bullet proofed, but since his mother seemed to take these precautions as the norm, he tried to force down
the sense of unease growing in the center of his soul. That night as he lingered under the nighttime of
stars he noticed her wandering around in the garden, looking more and more confused as each turn in the formal design revealed
only a new and unfamiliar vistas.
“ Here, Mother, here! “
She
turned happily toward the sound of his voice, but her face remained pale, twisted with uncertainty.
“
Where are we, Johnny? “
“
At the house of a friend. “
“ Why
are we at home? “
“ Because
we’re visiting. For Christmas shopping. “ Did she remember the season?
The month?
“ Where’s the little boy? “ She asked, gripping
his arm and looked around at their feet and at the base of the bushes nearest to them.
He laughed, the sound of it drawing her eyes to his face and some of the wariness melted out of it.
" All the boys are asleep, Mother. But I can go and wake one of them, if you need me too?
“ He coaxed, thinking that she was remembering him as she saw him last and not wanting to force the reality of
it on her too quickly. Would she remain confused like this? Would that be easier for her mind to cope with the emptiness of
the lost years enduring the unspeakable horror of slavery? How could he make it up to her?
Her
smile deepened as she absorbed the face of her safety, and she nestled into the place on the cement bench that he made for
her, seeming to draw contentment from his size and the offer of his love.
“
No, if he’s sleeping, let him be. Little boys need their rest. But when we will be going home, son?
“ Her voice was etched with weariness rather than fear. And a quiet joy ran through
him as she looked up and stroked a bone tipped finger against the line of his chin, sighing thoughtfully as the new images
overlay on the older ones.
“ What year is it. Forty Three? Christmas of Forty Three, Johnny?
“
She winced when his laugh started, but he used both hands to hold her against his side, feeling the chill of her body.
“ It that’s what you want, Mother! He assured her, bending down to
kiss her hair. It was so thin he could see her scalp and mentally he asked her forgiveness as he checked quick for lice. “
Then right here, in my arms, where you and I sit, it’s 1943, no matter what it is outside the circle of our love.
“
A sigh trembled through her startling at her chest and then running down to her toes, which could no longer touch the
ground as she nestled beside him. She seemed to be silent for so long he was able to formulate the prayers of thanksgiving
and hope that had eluded him earlier in the evening.
“ What year
is it really. Johnny? “ She asked, pulling back from him just slightly. Her eyes
no longer held the mental confusion, but a deep set worry seemed to pool in depths he couldn’t even hope to imagine.
“ Seventy four. Nineteen Seventy four. “
“
As opposed to Eighteen Seventy-four. “ She teased? “
“ I was thinking more of the First Century. It seems so near when I get to a place where the
traffic and the people meld with my illusions and my expectations of the past. “
She dropped her head to where he couldn’t see her face as easily as she seemed to be repeating what he’d
just said, to translate it to the language she’d spoken exclusively for the last two and a half decades.
“ Then I wish it to Nineteen Forty-Seven! “ She
transposed, raising her face and her voice in sweetest happiness, recognizing the gentle and tender stranger fully in a moment’s
burst of insight. “ That we can we can make for the lost years more slowly…I was so afraid, so angry at GOD.
I couldn’t understand why he would allow those foul men to harm us. They even raped some of the children, just to torment
us with their cries, then they killed the men! They were going to kill Andres, because he was our village priest, and the
one responsible for converting so many of us they claimed. I thought they killed you too! I wanted to die! “
When he tried to pull her away from her terrible memories, she resisted, pushing back against his ribs painfully until
he had to let her go.
“ I escaped. “
“
But they harmed you! “
“ Yes. But
the faith I learned at your knee sustained me, Mother. And when I was in the desert like Ishmael and I thought I would die,
an Arab found me and took me into his family, for they were Christians too. He raised me as his son and in time allowed me
to marry his youngest daughter because we were close in age. “
“
Blessed be the name of the LORD! “ She exclaimed, sucking in the
damp mountain air as if greedy for breath after being too long under water.
He left everything
else unsaid and was grateful she hadn’t understood the pain his cryptic words implied. Then they
talked of milder things as she became slack against him. He wasn’t even sure how much of the latter she even heard when
he finally noticed that she’d gone to sleep against his side.
Sister
Paula Vargas ran out in the pale moonlight, her hair unbound, her feet barefoot despite the threat of stinging insects, and
she was almost wild with relief as she noticed the slight burden Brother John was bearing toward her in his arms.
“ I owe you an apology, Brother John! “ She admitted,
stiff with cold and anger in the night air.
Heaven seemed to press down like a velvet, spangled cloth as he tuned to her and paused, about to
suggest they do this another time since his mother looked slight but she was a dead weight! He was shocked into silence by
the tears he saw in the standing woman’s eyed and a deep regret shot through him like stepping on a sharp rock.
“ Father forgive me, for I have sinned. Against Heaven and you… “
She said in an almost inaudible whisper as she quickly made The Sign of the Cross and half ran to keep pace
with him. It didn’t seem the time to rebuke her, she knew he wasn’t a priest, but he’d made him so unapproachable
any other way, that he choose silence and listening, as the only gift he had to offer her.
-
*
-
Sunday, 15th, December
11:19 am
1974
Chislev
-
It
pleased him to see the smile that glistened with every tears on his mother’s face as she became comfortable with her
three new companions and the friend she remembered from a lifetime that seldom seemed real anymore. Although the younger nuns
shirts were shorter that she remembered nuns wearing, they were modest and took to keeping their head covered, as she did,
as a matter of course, sop she was completely at ease in their company. If she was concerned that this brave new world would
only last four more days, she gave no sight of it. And having completely won the heart of the boys, even ‘tough guy’
Raphael, she was as excited about their bus trip as any of them. Giving a slight jump on her tiny, narrow feet [he had been
bequeathed his father’s full foot!] and clapping her hands together with an “oh! Oh! Oh!” of joy that seemed
oddly appropriate for the season event though they were no formal decorations, no Christmas trees gleaming in the shop windows
to lure in last minute shoppers, nor plywood Nativity scenes. The donkey’s were too busy at work during the day!
Here the past was ever present in the rock under your feet, the dust in the air you breathed in, and the focus was
on the present, the ever necessary awareness of Israel’s vulnerability in a sea of enemies vastly outnumbering her and
the harsh excitement and reality of making a living with inflation snatching the bulk of your paycheck before it ever had
a chance to hit your wallet! And yet, there was an overlay of centuries and Countries far removed from here that wedged between
the spaces in his ribs, and inspite of all his misgivings, he was happy!
His
mother and all four of nuns and three of the boys were penned outside the massive bus by the three-way quarrel between the
driver, who was already seated behind the wheel, Father Andres’, whose choice of literal cassock and colors seemed to
infuriate the driver with every upward glance, and Raphael, whose arm the sweating, rotund form had a hold of, trying to force
him back down the dusty, silver colored steps ‘to wait his turn’! Since Raphael had already bullied his way past
the younger and smaller boys, it would be too humiliating to be forced to walk down past the eleven year Dave Maddox and be
sent to the end of the line like a baby!
A war of wills was raging and Father Andres was clearly outgunned and outmanned! Dietz Schroeder reached up over Stevie
Ramsey’s head to grasp the silver handlebar on the outside of the bus and swing himself inside when something stung
the heel of his combat boot painfully! As he ducked his head, a dark, strongly odored male figure rushed
out from the crowd but he was momentarily stunned to see blood dripping down over the thick heel of the boot, which had partially
absorbed some of the bullet’s impact.
Then all hell broke loose!
-
End Chapter 9
