The Dead Peasants File

by L. Craig Harris

  Jason and Stephen mounted their bikes and were soon following behind him. The wind felt good on Christopher's face. He could feel the air getting cooler as they descended the hill into the valley below. It was, after all, still winter. Winter has a beauty all its own he thought. In the winter, there are no leaves to block the view into the forest or toward the distant horizon. Soon, they slowed to a crawl as they huffed up another hill. Christopher's muscles protested every push on the pedal.

  Christopher was hot and out of breath when they got back home, but he felt good. He had bonded with his boys and shared his faith with them. He knew that having fun with them was how he earned the right to share his beliefs. He was just thankful neither had asked him where God came from. He didn't have any “logs in the forest” illustrations to try to explain that. Some things they would just have to accept by faith.

  Christopher worked part of the mountain-top conversation with his sons into his sermon Sunday. He was careful not to embarrass his family, but he knew it was okay to use pleasant moments.

  Tuesday afternoon, he was sitting in his office when Rachel called him. “Something's wrong with Jason,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He's burning up with fever and says his right side is killing him. He's doubled up on the couch. I think it's an appendix attack.”

  Christopher took a deep breath. “Okay, take him to the hospital. I'll meet you there.” He clicked on his computer to save the prospect list he was working on, then shut down his computer. He turned off the lights in his office and locked the front door to the church. He was half-way to the hospital when he the thought hit him that they had lost their insurance. Oh no! He prayed it wasn't as serious as Rachel thought.

  Jason was already on a bed in the emergency room when Christopher got there. He pulled back the curtain and stood by his son's side. He could tell he was in intense pain. “Hurts pretty bad, huh?” He wiped the sweat from Jason's forehead with a small, white towel that was on a table beside the bed.

  A nurse came in and inserted a hollow needle into the back of Jason's hand. She started a saline solution and added a pain-killer to it. She placed electrodes on Jason's chest then took his temperature and blood pressure without speaking. “A doctor will be in in a minute,” she said as she left.

  Another woman came in behind the nurse. This one had a metal clipboard in her left hand. She looked right at Christopher. “Do you have insurance?”

  “Well, I did a couple of months ago, but I lost it.”

  She continued to look at him without changing her expression. “How will you be paying for this, then?”

  “Well, I work and we have money. I'll just have to pay it out.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sir, you understand we cannot offer our services without pay.”

  “Nobody's asking you to.” Christopher could feel his face turning red.

  “Sign here please.”

  Christopher scanned down the paper on the clipboard. It asked for his contact information and Jason's health history. Rachel took it from him and began to fill it out. The receptionist stood and watched without speaking. Then Rachel handed it back to Christopher and he signed two pages at the bottom. He handed it to the woman. “I'm a pastor. I know my church will help me all they can.”

  “I hope so.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  Christopher turned and looked at Rachel and shrugged. He was angry with the church, but was angry with himself too for allowing the church to decline. Surely he could have done more. He walked closer to the monitor and studied it for a moment. He could tell by the numbers that his son was in pain. Rachel kept a damp cloth on Jason's forehead and Stephen sat in the one chair in the partitioned room. It seemed like hours to him before a doctor came in, but it was only about thirty agonizing minutes.

  Finally, a doctor came in. It was a young woman of Asian descent. She spoke with a thick accent. She put her hand right on top of Jason's appendix. “It hurts right here?”

  Jason winced at her touch. He nodded and licked his lips.

  She took him by the hand and smiled at him. She turned and looked at Christopher and Rachel. “You know what we've got to do, yes?”

  “I think so,” Christopher said.

  “We'll take good care of him. He'll feel better in no time.”

  Rachel spoke. “Are you going to do it?” She looked embarrassed after she asked.

  “The surgery?” the doctor said. “Oh yes, I do many surgeries. Many just like this. He'll be fine.” She smiled and it actually made Christopher feel better. She looked like a child, but she was obviously confident in what she was doing.

  “What has he eaten today?”

  “He ate a hot dog for lunch, but he started getting sick and hasn't had anything else, except for a diet soda.”

  She looked at her watch. “So he ate about five hours ago?”

  “Yes.”

  The doctor nodded. “Okay. We'll come get him. We've got to get that appendix out. I don't think it likes hot dogs.” Again she smiled.

  Christopher figured she was trying for a laugh, but he wasn't in the mood for humor so he just smiled back.

  The doctor continued to hold Jason's hand. She looked him in the eyes. “You're going to feel better in just a few minutes. Okay?”

  He nodded at her.

  She let go of his hand and stroked his hair, then she hurried out of the room. Rachel took Jason's hand and looked down at him. Christopher felt relief that his son would soon be out of pain. This was all happening so fast, he didn't have time to panic or fear. He stepped up to the side of Jason's bed. “Can I say a prayer for you, Sport?”

  Jason nodded. “Okay.”

  Christopher prayed for the surgeon and the nurses and the anesthesiologist and the operating room technicians. “Thank you, Father, for loving us and for watching over us. We are fearfully and wonderfully made and we trust in you to take care of us and to walk with us in times like this. We know this day is not a surprise to you and you are control of all things. Amen.”

  It was only a few more minutes when a technician came and wheeled Jason out of the room. Rachel followed him down the hall, until they stopped her at the double doors. When she turned, Christopher was standing behind her with Stephen not far behind. The three found the room that had been assigned to them and waited. The TV was on, and Stephen was watching it, but Christopher had trouble paying attention. He tried to read a magazine that was on the bed-side table, but it was hard for him to concentrate. Finally, after a couple of hours of uncomfortable waiting, a technician wheeled Jason into the room. He was awake, but groggy.

  The young doctor came in behind him. “He did fine,” she said, pulling on the mask that was hanging below her face. “We got that bad ole' appendix out of there.”

  Christopher reached out to shake her hand. “Thank you doctor.”

  “You're welcome.” She shook his hand, then turned and brushed Jason's hair from his forehead. “He'll need to take it easy for a couple of days, but I think he'll be good as new by this weekend.”

  Rachel spoke up. “So his appendix was inflamed?”

  “Oh yes. Red hot. You were right to get him down here.”

  “When can we go home?” Christopher said.

  The doctor glanced at her watch. “Let's keep him here tonight to make sure the anesthesia wears off okay and everything wakes up. You can take him home after lunch tomorrow if he doesn't have fever.”

  Rachel hugged the doctor and walked her out of the room. Christopher stood above Jason and watched him for a moment. “You okay?”

  Jason nodded.

  Rachel told Christopher she would stay with Jason for the night. She eyed the reclining chair next to his bed and told him to take Stephen, who was asleep on it at the moment, and go home for a night's rest. Christopher hesitated for a moment, but he watched Jason sleeping soundly for a few minutes and knew she was right. He gathered Stephen in his arms, leaned over and kissed Jason on the forehead
and headed home.

  He woke up early the next morning, woke Stephen and fed him some cereal, then headed back to the hospital. By nine, church members began to get word and appear in the room. At noon, the room was getting crowded and a nurse began to run people off. Christopher put a sign on the door asking people to sign it and not come in, but most of them ignored it and went in anyway.

  The doctor came by around two and looked at Jason's chart. “Everything looks good. You can go home as soon as they sign you out.” Christopher and Rachel thanked her again.

  Christopher was itching to get out of there, but had to wait until someone released them. Finally, a receptionist came in with another metal clip board. This had the bill on it. She handed it to Christopher and he read what it said. It was an itemized bill for the hospital stay, emergency room visit and surgery. room/board pediatrics/emergency: $5,758.05

  pharmacy: $2,565.82

  drugs incident to radiology: $268.25

  IV solutions : $182.36

  medical surgical supplies: $83.30

  non sterile supplies: $10.55

  sterile supplies: $231.15

  laboratory: $1,090.05

  CT scan: $1,601.50

  operating room services: $3,978.27

  anesthesia: $484.47

  emergency room: $1082.05

  recovery room: $957.60

  Total Charges: $18,293.42

  The bill didn't mention the surgeon's bill, the radiologist's bill, or the anesthesiologist's bill. Christopher figured those would be ten thousand more. He looked up at the receptionist for a moment, not sure what to say. She pointed at the bottom line where he had to sign. He wasn't getting out of there until he signed it. He took the pen from her and signed his name at the bottom, promising to pay four hundred and fifty dollars per month until the bill was paid in full. That wasn't in their budget, even in the rent-free house, and it was going to take years to pay this.

  A nurse let Christopher wheel Jason down the hall to the elevator and out to the waiting car. It felt good to get him in the car and whisk him away from the hospital. Christopher looked back at his sons. “You guys up for some ice cream before we go home?”

  “Yeah!” they answered in unison. It was the first really big smile Christopher had seen on Jason since they brought him in.

  Chapter Eight

  Christopher unlocked the front door to the house and walked into the living room a week from the day Jason had his surgery. He was coming home for lunch just like he did every day now that they lived close enough to make it worth it. He walked into the kitchen and was met by Rachel, who was holding a plate. On it was a turkey sandwich, pickle spear, and some potato chips. “Oh thank you,” he said.

  “Hello, Sweetie.”

  He hugged her with his free hand, set the plate on the table, and kept walking down the hall. “I'll be right back.” He went down and looked in on Jason, who was sitting in front of a small TV in his room, playing a video game. “How you feeling, Sport?”

  “Hey Dad. Pretty good.”

  Christopher went to the restroom and made his way into the kitchen. He sat at his favorite place at the table where Rachel had already placed his plate and a glass of iced tea. He liked the chair that faced the window so he could see out into the backyard. “Jason seems to be coming right along.”

  Rachel took a sip from her drink. She was sitting at her place across from him. “He's wanting to go out in the back yard, but I don't know.”

  “I think it would be okay for him to go out and walk around, just as long as he doesn't get on the skateboard or something like that.” He cocked his head. “Don't you think?”

  “I guess.” She turned and looked outside and watched Stephen swing by himself for a moment. “He's getting tired of sitting all day. He's ready to get out there with his brother.”

  “Can't blame him.” Christopher took a bite of his sandwich.

  Rachel watched him eat for a moment. “I want to show you something.” She opened the newspaper that was folded on the table between them. “Look at this.”

  Christopher tilted his head slightly as he read the want-ad under her pointing finger. It was an immediate opening for an accountant at the Morgan Warehouse. Competitive salary, full benefits. He looked up at her. “Baby, you know how I feel about Morgan.”

  “But this is perfect. It's what we've been looking for for more than a year. We could have insurance and I'd make a good salary.”

  “No.” He shook his head and pressed his lips together. “I don't trust that company.”

  “That's not a legitimate reason to say no. You can't just say you don't trust the whole company.”

  “They put a mark on your forehead. You think I'm going to let you get a mark like that?”

  “It's not the mark. You said so in the pulpit. You don't think that's the mark of the beast and you know it.”

  He hated when she used his words against him. “No, you're right. I doubt that's what it is.” He paused. “But what if I'm wrong? What if it really is the devil's mark? They put a permanent tattoo on your forehead, and you use it to shop in the store. I just don't like that one bit.”

  She raised her voice. “Oh come on. I need a job. What if we get kicked out of here? What if one of the boys gets sick again? Besides, how are we ever going to pay the hospital bill on your salary?”

  He could feel his cheeks burning. He stood up. “No, I'm not going to have this argument. No one is going to put a mark on my wife.”

  “Well, how are you planning on paying that four-hundred-and-fifty-dollar bill every month? We don't have it!”

  “We haven't even asked the church for help yet. I know they'll help us some.”

  “I’m sure they will. They'll have a bake sale and maybe a car wash. But that's not going to pay the whole bill and you know it.”

  “No, we don't know it. We don't know.”

  “I need a job.” She softened her voice some. “This is my degree.”

  “What about Ron Eastland? Phyllis thinks they murdered him – do you really want to go to work for a company that murders you?”

  She stood to her feet and threw the paper on the table. “Listen to you. You're talking like a madman. Phyllis has always been a little paranoid. You said so yourself.”

  Christopher turned and walked out of the room. “I said I'm not having this conversation. Let's just keep waiting. The Lord will provide the right job.”

  She followed behind him. “I think he already did. It's not fair for us to throw it back in his face.”

  Christopher brushed past her and picked up his sandwich from the table. He took a bite from it and marched out of the house without saying goodbye to Rachel or the boys.

  That afternoon he sat at his desk, unable to concentrate on any of the work he needed to do. He was too angry to minister to anyone else, but he had to. He had to counsel a couple who had scheduled to come in. He had to make a couple of phone calls. He left to go to the hospital to visit one of his widow ladies. Then he sat. What if Rachel is right? What if this job opening is an answer to prayer?

  He opened his study Bible to Revelation thirteen and read it again. “Then I saw another beast, coming out of the earth. He had two horns like a lamb, but he spoke like a dragon. He exercised all the authority of the first beast on his behalf, and made the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast, whose fatal wound had been healed. And he performed great and miraculous signs, even causing fire to come down from heaven to earth in full view of men. Because of the signs he was given power to do on behalf of the first beast, he deceived the inhabitants of the earth. He ordered them to set up an image in honor of the beast who was wounded by the sword and yet lived. He was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast, so that it could speak and cause all who refused to worship the image to be killed. He also forced everyone, small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on his right hand or on his forehead, so that no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark, whi
ch is the name of the beast or the number of his name. This calls for wisdom. If anyone has insight, let him calculate the number of the beast, for it is man's number. His number is 666.”

  He read the liner notes in his Bible. He had read this many times before. After all, he had several members of his congregation who worked at Morgan. He had just buried one of them back in the fall. He was angry that Morgan did that to its people. Didn't anyone at that company read the Bible? Didn't they know what this meant? But he was even more angry with Rachel for wanting to work there. How could she agree to a tattoo on her forehead? He knew they desperately needed for her to work. And this was a great job opportunity. But why did she have to take a mark from them?

  He couldn't stand the idea. That evening, he barely spoke at dinner. He didn't want the boys to know that he was upset, but it was impossible to hide. He knew they knew. At bedtime, Rachel threw his pillow and a blanket on the couch. He knew what that meant. In all of the years they had been married, he had never slept apart from her, unless he was at camp with the boys or on a mission trip without her. He had never slept on the couch. Sleeping was not a good word for it. He tossed and turned until after midnight, never getting comfortable. And when he did sleep, he kept waking up, never getting the rest he needed. It was a miserable day the next day. But Rachel wouldn't give in. He was assigned to the couch until something broke the impasse.

  But he wouldn't budge.

  Sunday he preached on trusting God in all circumstances. It was a recurring theme in his sermons and he was never sure if it was meant for him or his congregation. He figured both.

  Monday, when he got home from work, Rachel met him in the living room. She wasn't smiling, but he could tell they needed to talk. “How was your day?” She said. It was the first words she had spoken to him all day. Usually, they texted and instant messaged and called and emailed throughout the day. But not anymore.