by Daniel Black
“But I like it. I sneak and listen to it sometimes. My uncle’s the best.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep!” She bounced with delight. “He took me to Disney World last year. And the year before that, we went to Niagara Falls, and the year before that, the Grand Canyon.”
“Well! He’s a mighty good uncle, I’ll say. You must love him, huh?”
“I do!” Her entire body trembled. “He’s my favorite. He does my hair, too.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ma’am. I like it when he does my hair. When Momma does it, I cry ’cause she hurts.”
“Oh no. You must be tender-headed. I was tender-headed as a little girl. I hated getting my hair combed.”
“Me, too. But not if Uncle Bert does it. He doesn’t hurt.”
“I see.”
The child radiated love—pure, unsolicited, unencumbered—and The Comforter received it. Together they exposed themselves, unashamed, the child and the elder, trusting their senses and enjoying an exchange that, by law, might’ve been found suspect.
The girl touched The Comforter’s hand and smiled. “You’re my friend now.”
The Comforter laughed. “Okay. I’m always glad to meet a friend.” She squeezed the child’s hand in return.
The little girl proceeded without segue, “You ever been to California?”
“Nope, never been to California.”
“I have. That’s where Uncle Bert lives.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. He lives right by the ocean.”
The Comforter closed her eyes momentarily and dreamed. She’d always wanted to see the sea, where land meets water, and now she found herself jealous of a child who’d already been there.
“You ever been to the ocean?”
“Nope. Haven’t been there, either.”
“Wow! You ain’t been nowhere!”
“I’m afraid you’re right. Perhaps I’ll get there one day.” Her eyes watered. “What’s it like?”
The girl bounced with glee. “It’s real big”—she stretched her arms—“and really, really really blue, and it has waves that crash into the shore.”
In her mind, The Comforter saw it perfectly, an endless sea of blue, stretching far as the eye could see, and whales or dolphin spewing up from the deep. She’d always said that when she died, if she died, she wanted to be buried in the water.
Once the child finished describing the ocean, she relaxed and asked, “Have you seen the snakes?”
“Yes, I’ve seen them. They’re beautiful.”
“Ugh! No, they’re not! I don’t like snakes. They’re scary!”
“Why are they scary? They’re God’s creatures, too.”
“I know, but they’re still scary. They bite and put poison in your body.”
“That’s what they’re supposed to do. That’s how they survive.”
“My uncle got bitten by a snake once. He almost died.”
The girl relayed the story, detail by precious detail, until her mother found her. The woman’s anger was painfully palpable.
“Megan! Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you! Didn’t I tell you not to wander off?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I didn’t wander off.” She pouted. “I was looking at the lions and—”
“I told you to stay close to me!” She jerked the child’s arm.
“She’s lovely, ma’am,” The Comforter volunteered. “You must be enormously proud.”
The woman scowled as if offended. She examined The Comforter’s clothes, and with unapologetic disgust shouted, “Mind your business!”
“But Mommy, she’s nice! I told her about Uncle Bert and the ocean!”
“Close your mouth and come on!”
The woman yanked the girl so hard she stumbled. The Comforter understood. The lady had been frightened and now spoke out of fear. The Comforter and the girl blinked their good-byes. Even as her mother dragged her away, the child turned and smiled. The Comforter waved, lulled in her spirit by the child’s description of the ocean’s song.
She spent the remainder of the day listening to beasts lament. Giraffes wanted more room, bears hated being on display, elephants sought privacy they could never have, kangaroos despised the food, rhinos decried a lack of it, otters bemoaned lukewarm water, and snakes longed for sufficient shade. Still, none had anything to offer concerning Lazarus. None but the lambs.
It was dusk when she finally saw them. They were quiet and still, huddled together like frightened children. She immediately allayed their fears: “Come, sweet lambs. Do not be afraid.” Slowly, in perfect unison, they inched forward, moving as one mass of whiteness. She noticed, the closer they came, that, like hers, their garments were soiled and ragged. Their lives had not been perfect, either. Even domesticated beasts have tribulations, she supposed. The lambs sensed her love, her respect, her humility, so they relaxed and gathered closer still, uninhibited this time by careless human presence. She breathed deeply, exhaling doubt and making space in her consciousness for new understanding. Her hope was to establish a rapport, a medium of exchange between life forces, that might encourage the lambs to trust her. As The Comforter, she’d been sent to nurture all life, she believed, not merely humans, and now, standing before the lambs, whispering affirmations beyond human understanding, she knew that the failure of humanity was its belief in its own superiority. Someone had concocted the irrational notion that, because humans speak, they are more intelligent, more sophisticated, than animals, but The Comforter didn’t believe this. She knew in her heart it wasn’t true. The lambs’ intelligence shone in their trust, in their willingness to love, in their ability to stand as one united community. The assumption of human superiority had created people so arrogant they failed to honor other life-forms, to recognize other manifestations of God. Humans have so much to learn, she thought.
Reaching over the fence, she rubbed the lambs’ wool and murmured, “Lambs of God, Who taketh away the sins of the world.” They yielded to her touch and enjoyed her caress. Her fingers vanished beneath thick, dirty clouds, and a few actually looked up and into her eyes. There she saw them anew, in coats of perfect white, dancing across verdant fields, unafraid for their lives. And she saw Lazarus, too, tending them softly, shepherding those whom Christ had chosen to accompany him into paradise. An aura of glory rested upon Lazarus, like one who’d seen the face of God, and The Comforter began to understand. She hummed the refrain of “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior,” and, one by one, the lambs began to bleat. It was barely audible at first, their cry, but then the volume rose slightly until, together, The Comforter and the lambs wept in the midst of their vulnerability. Still, she didn’t understand it all. Or even enough to leave. So she knelt before the fence and, with her face practically touching theirs, plunged deeper into their silent world. In her spirit, she saw the pastoral scene: Lazarus transfigured in white, walking easily among lambs scattered across an emerald pasture. Yes, he was the chosen shepherd tending the flock. But what did this mean? What was she missing?
She lingered until the sun began its descent. The zoo closed at 8:00, so she had to hurry. But she hadn’t gotten what she’d come for. Not yet. With the stealth of a thief, she’d found her way to the lambs, and now, because she’d loved and respected them, they trusted her. Her shawl lay draped across her shoulders, like an antebellum woman’s at a market, and she tried with all her might to know what the first Lazarus must’ve known. Then, out of nowhere, it came. Clear as the morning sun, loud as roaring thunder. She pieced together the lament of the lambs. It all made sense now. She rose to her feet. She had it. It wasn’t about the lambs. It was about the missing lamb, the one gone astray, the one not in the picture, the one the good shepherd should’ve gone after. That lamb wasn’t like the others. His coat was black—not stained or flawed, but intentionally black. Different on purpose. He wasn’t among the number when the sheep gathered. He was off in the valley, trying desperately to become what the shep
herd might adore. Shame hid the lamb away as others waited for his transformation. The Comforter shook her head. She saw it all now. Lazarus had been sent to save the lost black lamb. But she would have to save him first. And now she knew how she’d do it.
Chapter 14
The Family gathered in The Upper Room at dark. Each member approached from a different direction, as if representing the four corners of the universe, and, in distinctive ways, silently acknowledged the resplendence of the orange moon. They nodded to one another, as a gesture of kindness, but did not speak. Anxiety loomed in their eyes, announcing the uncertainty of their future. Yet they believed Lazarus had a place in it. Each had conceived a way to help him, and now they prayed it would work.
Elisha sat on the bed, next to Cinderella, while Legion and The Comforter rested upon the dusty earth. For a long while, they waited—for someone to speak, for God to confirm their plans, for the strength to announce their fears—and when nothing happened they reached simultaneously for one another’s hands, nudged by an instinct to touch and create harmony in a difficult, affective place. On spiritual cue, they bowed and mumbled inaudible prayers that their efforts might be rewarded. If not for them, then for him. When the hold released, Legion rose abruptly and paced back and forth in five-inch heels, singing in a minor key a dark melody that made Cinderella cry. She didn’t know the song, but it moved her, especially the part about trouble not lasting always. Tears streamed, but she emitted no sound. Silence ruled the moment and she obeyed. Her eyes returned to the dandelion, standing boldly between slabs of concrete, which, with the slightest movement, could crush it. Yet it bore no fear. The weed held its head high, sure of its achievement and grandeur, needing no confirmation of its right to live. And to live there. It swayed with the slightest breeze, a mere hazard of dwelling in a hostile, unwelcoming place, where no promises of life could be made. Cinderella thought of its vulnerability, its defenselessness, and wondered if it was guarded by invisible forces. Perhaps such life, bloomed against odds, begets angels of protection, she thought, in honor of its struggle to survive. Yes. Perhaps God places hedges of safety around those who dare to live where most cannot.
Legion’s song quieted to a hum. The pacing continued, though, as e searched es heart for a greater hope, a more sturdy conviction that Lazarus would survive. Legion wanted it more than anything, but e didn’t trust that es desire would be fulfilled since, in the past, es longings usually went unheeded. Yet now, on another’s behalf, Legion conjured a different faith, a more viable optimism, that Lazarus’s innocence would be discovered. Or that another’s guilt would be revealed. Either way, e wanted es father home and wouldn’t rest until it was so.
Only The Comforter appeared calm, staring into the night as if it were a mirror. At times she’d smile and nod, confirming something within, and other times she’d frown, clearly at odds with herself. No one inquired as to the nature of the exchange. They assumed it was far beyond them, in some otherworldly place, where only The Comforter could go. They were right. She’d just returned from the zoo, where, after giving her last, she’d stood before the sheep and lambs, seeking clarity and insight. And once it came, she understood what she needed to do.
For now, she broke silence with, “We can do this.”
“Can we?” Cinderella asked.
Legion’s humming penetrated all consciousness.
“We can indeed. Each of us has a part to play. It’ll work. We just have to believe. Strength ain’t money or power or even influence.” She nodded vigorously. “Strength is unity. And we have that.”
Elisha understood. He didn’t know what the outcome would be, but he knew they loved Lazarus. All of them. And, by extension, one another.
“Everyone has something to do, and it must be done. Nothing is insignificant. It will take all of us to save him.”
Cinderella and Elisha touched hands. They looked at each other, for the first time since the arrest, and blinked away doubt. In es own world, Legion listened and agreed. E knew what e needed to do; e just wasn’t sure e could do it. If e could, Lazarus might have a chance.
“This is why we met, why God put us together. God knew this was coming.” She shook her head. “I see it now. Each of us must do our part to bring Lazarus home.”
The Comforter waited for them to see the vision, to conceptualize their own collective strength. The notion was in their hearts, she knew, but as a fragile thought it would never survive. She needed them to believe in themselves, to see themselves in the unseen, to risk their very lives for a mere possibility, which, if achieved, carried the power to heal the world. So, one by one, she called roll, and each rose and made a report:
“I’m going to lead a protest,” Cinderella announced proudly, “With picket signs and everything.” She looked to see if anyone objected. “I’ll write slogans on them”—she grabbed a piece of cardboard—“just like they did during the Civil Rights Movement, and attach them to sticks, and we’ll march, bringing attention to Lazarus’s case. It’ll guarantee he receives fair treatment. At least I hope it will.”
“Who’s gonna march?” Legion asked.
Cinderella shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll find people. I know a few folks.”
“You gon’ march all over the city?”
“No,” Cinderella answered quickly, “Just in front of the precinct. Where he got arrested.”
Elisha smiled. “I think it’s a great idea. Certainly can’t hurt. Might even bring out news stations and reporters.”
“That’s the hope. Publicity always makes people more conscious of what they’re doing.”
Legion nodded. “That’s good, Cinderella. That’s real good.”
“Lazarus’s spirit thanks you,” The Comforter said. “So does his grandfather. We all do.”
Cinderella resumed her seat, happy that her idea had been well received. She wasn’t sure whom she’d ask to stand with her, but if she had to stand alone she’d do it. And the world would see her.
“Legion!” The Comforter called.
As if mid-soliloquy, with feet shoulder-width apart, e raised es hands and declared, “I got a lawyer.”
“What!” the others shouted in chorus.
“Yep. He said he’d do it. As a favor to me.”
“Who?” Cinderella asked with incredulity.
Legion almost said, Mind yo business, white woman!, but for the sake of familial harmony e yielded. “His name’s Aaron. He’s an old friend. I knew him back in the day.”
Back in what day? the others thought. How do you know him? With what money will you pay him?
“It’s a long story,” Legion admitted, “but he’s legit.” Everyone stared. “Trust me. He’s the best in the business.”
“Does he work for a law firm?” Cinderella asked.
“Yes.”
“What’s the name?”
Legion muted es agitation. “Lewandowski and Associates.”
“He’s Polish?”
“No! He’s black. Is that all right with you?”
“She’s just curious, Legion,” Elisha warned. “We’re all on the same team here.”
Legion closed es eyes and exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little overwhelmed right now. And I need y’all to trust me. Some stuff I can’t say.”
They nodded.
“But I wouldn’t do nothin’ to jeopardize Lazarus’s situation. I want him free, too.”
“We know, baby,” The Comforter said, “and we appreciate all you doin’. We ain’t got to know everything. God knows, and that’s enough.”
“Yeah, thanks. Really,” Cinderella said, nodding sincere gratitude. Legion received it, more in es head than es heart.
“Elisha, honey? What about you?”
He rose like one prepared to make a confession. “I went to my old neighborhood.”
They waited. He tried to discern which part to tell.
“I went looking for my mother.”
Heads dropped. They’d heard snippets of this
before, the void and emptiness she’d left in his heart, and now they wondered why he’d tortured himself again. Had she ever looked for him? No! Each family member, in his or her own way, wanted to say, Let it go, Elisha. Free yourself! But refusing to crush his feelings, they simply held their peace.
“Really, I was looking for the woman across the street who used to help us out. I thought she might be able to help me again.”
“Was she home?” Legion asked.
“No. But she still lives there. I know where she works. I’m going to see her Monday morning.”
“What does she do? Why do you think she can help?”
“She’s a social worker. She knows people. I’m not sure what she can do, but I get a feeling she can do something. She always did.”
Doubt lingered among the group. They looked everywhere except into Elisha’s sorrowful eyes.
“Just give me till Monday. Something’s gon’ happen. I know it will.”
“That’s fine,” The Comforter said. “See what she can do. We’ll take all the help we can get.”
The others waited to hear The Comforter. She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands like a magician. “There’s someone I need to find,” she began, “someone whom Lazarus must see.”
They didn’t understand.
“Lazarus’s karma is not right in the universe. He needs to fix it, to fix something very personal, before he can be set free.”
“What is it?” Cinderella asked.
“That’s not for me to say. It’s for me to help. We need the universe to bend in his favor, and it won’t budge until he repairs what’s broken.”
They mumbled with confusion and slight irritation until The Comforter added, “It’ll all make sense soon. And you’ll thank me. He will, too. For now, I have to find the lost lamb.”
Elisha nodded. He trusted her. Cinderella went along, for the sake of unity, but didn’t understand. Legion was the one who believed, who felt in es heart that The Comforter was on to something. E believed in the alignment of heaven and earth, in the balance of above and below, and if anyone could achieve such harmony it was The Comforter. E’d avoided spiritual places since being rejected by those who’d claimed to love them, and now the best e could do was trust one who dwelled there. She knew something. Legion saw it in her eyes. And without her help, e believed, all human effort would prove futile.