Absence of Faith

by Anthony S. Policastro

  "Damn," he said staring at the broken grinder. He stared at it for several minutes. Wait. It shouldn't have broken, he thought, the dirt is soft. He moved the broken grinder and pushed some dirt aside. It was hard underneath. He got a small broom, brushed a small area, and found a wooden plank. He brushed more dirt away and another plank appeared. Slowly, as he brushed more and more dirt aside, other planks appeared. The wood was placed together vertically with a single small hole in the left side. Carson placed two fingers in the hole and lifted. The stubborn hinges creaked, but Carson was able to pull the door open. The door revealed five wooden steps that went down into nothing. He went back to the stairway and took a rechargeable flashlight from its charging base. As he descended the steps into the subbasement, a cool, damp, musty smell flowed past him. The subbasement was only four feet high forcing him to crouch down. When he threw the light on the walls, the light reflected back silvery light and colorful hues. Further in the walls were lined with shelves holding hundreds of Mason jars filled with preserves. All had crudely made hand-written yellowed labels taped to the jars identifying their contents.

  "Linda! Linda! Come here! Quick!" he yelled and raced back up the stairs towards the entrance of the basement.

  "Linda! Linda!"

  "What is it? Where are you?" she said in a far away voice.

  She came to the stairway and looked down into the ancient basement.

  "Over here. Look, the rest of Mrs. Hibbin's preserves," Carson explained. "This reminds me of my grandmother. She had a canning cellar and we used to love to go down there and pick out our favorite jam when we were kids. This is great!"

  Linda reluctantly entered the canning cellar brushing cobwebs out of her way as she navigated into the dark hole.

  "Wow! Look at all these jars! They're the same as the ones we found in the kitchen cabinet," she said. "Are they any good?"

  "I don't know. The ones upstairs were good, maybe these are too," Carson said. "There's only one way to find out."

  He took one off the shelf labeled "Blueberry Jam" and twisted the top. The jar hissed slightly as he opened it. He moved the flashlight beam into the jam.

  "Looks okay and smells okay," Carson said. "But I would feel better if they were checked before we eat this stuff.”

  "Yeah, that's for sure," she said. "What's over there in that corner?"

  Carson moved the light.

  "Looks like a few blew up, and recently, too. Look the stuff is still wet," Carson said.

  "No not that. Shine the light over there again. Look the wall is darker," Linda said.

  "Looks like water leakage. Look the floor is green. There's mold all over the place. The water must be leaking in for that much mold to survive here," Carson said. "Look, there’s more broken jars. They must have blown up months or even years ago. You know, I had a feeling something was here. I smelled something funny down here a couple of months ago. It was right after it rained. Now I know what it was."

  "Do you think the ocean is leaking in?" Linda asked.

  "I don't know. We'll have to check it at high tide. It would be a big problem if it did."

  "Why? Couldn't you just cement it up like the other wall?"

  "I don't know. I don't know if it would hold. The lower you go underground the closer you get to the water table."

  "The what?"

  "The water table. The ground level where there is water. Coastal areas have low water tables. You don't have to dig too deep to strike water and higher areas have high ones."

  "Oh I'm getting out of here. This place gives me the creeps," Linda said.

  They ascended the narrow steps into the regular basement.

  "By the way, what are we going to do with all this junk down here? Maybe, we should get rid of it. I'd like to have the space for our stuff," Linda said.

  Carson looked around thoughtfully.

  "Why don't we sell it," he said.

  "Who would buy this old junk?" Linda asked.

  "Lots of people. We can sell it at the auction. People buy anything there," he explained.

  "Yeah, they do. That's a great idea. We can borrow my brother's truck and cart a load down there every Saturday until it's gone. If you're working, I’ll get him to help me," she said. "I can even sell these preserves at the Village Fair next week."

  "Great. Here. Take these jars upstairs and I’ll get some more," Carson said.

  "Okay."

  Carson went back down the steps and took several sealed jars off the shelves and headed up the stairs. When he emerged he noticed a green and white mold on the surface of the jars. He took them to the kitchen sink washed them, while Linda cut the fatty edges off four chicken breasts on the cutting board.

  "You know what I think. She really died and then came back because it wasn't her time," Linda said.

  "What? Who?"

  "Mrs. Whitehead."

  "What are you talking about?" he said.

  "Haven't you heard about people who have had near death experiences?" Linda explained.

  "Yes, I have. But if Mrs. Whitehead had a near death experience, it was a negative one. Besides, there’s no scientific evidence proving that what these people saw is real or just a figment of their imaginations," Carson said.

  "How do you explain all these people from different parts of the world having the same experience - leaving their bodies, floating up, entering a great tunnel of light, going up to this great, bright light, and then having feelings of ultimate happiness - free from pain, sickness, worry, and everything that afflicts us here on earth!" Linda explained.

  "There's been research on this, and they believe that it's the birth experience - these people are reliving their birth experience - being in darkness, then going through a tunnel to a great light," Carson explained. "It's just a theory, but it has more credence than these people who claim they went to heaven and came back."

  "What about my father when he got hit by a car. He was pronounced dead just like you were, and then he said he was sitting on the lap of this giant man who told him that it was not his time, and that he had to go back. As soon as the man told him that he woke up in the hospital," Linda explained.

  "Maybe, it was a bad dream. There's no proof of what happened one way or the other," Carson added. "Besides, there are other studies that show the brain becomes very excited near death and that there is a lot of electrical activity just before death."

  "And there's no proof that he didn't either. I believe that we go somewhere. I read an article about several people who died, and one boy said he traveled to the light and saw golden roads. Relatives and friends he knew had died met him and, and they all communicated telepathically. They took him down one of the roads and he just glided along. Everyone just floated along. His feet never touched the road. Then they told him it wasn't his time, and he woke up in the hospital," Linda said. "And what about your nightmare with the dog? What do you call that?"

  "Okay, I believe in heaven and hell, but I also believe there is a medical explanation for people who seem to be dead and then come back to life. I think they never died, and maybe our instruments didn't detect their life force, and they appeared dead. Then, there is a new burst of life and they come back to life. There has to be a medical explanation. I believe when you're dead, you're dead, and then you go to heaven or hell," he said.

  "You just see things one way and that's it."

  The phone rang.

  Linda picked up the white receiver off the wall unit and said hello.

  "It's for you, a Doctor Hansen? Who's that?"

  "I don't know," Carson whispered.

  "Hello."

  "Hello, Doctor Hyll. My name is Doctor Albert Hansen and I'm head of pathology at the hospital. I've been meaning to meet you, but you know how our schedules are. What I'd like to do is invite you for lunch tomorrow. I'd like to discuss a business opportunity with you. I've been looking for a person with your credentials..."

  "What kind of business opportunity?" Carson cut in.

&nb
sp; "A partial partnership in a medical laboratory outside of the hospital. I'd like you to come on board with us."

  "Why me? I just finished my residency."

  "Because you're exactly what we need - someone young and ambitious to help us succeed."

  "How many are there?"

  "Eleven. You would be the twelfth partner."

  "But, I just bought a house and I have loans..."

  "Don't worry about that now. Meet me in the hospital cafeteria at one. Just ask a few of the nurses - they'll point me out to you."

  Carson was silent for several seconds.

  "Okay, I'll be there," Carson said. "I know what you look like."

  "Good. I'll see you tomorrow, and thank you."

  "Bye."

  "Bye."

  "Who was that?" Linda asked.

  "You won't believe this. Hansen is head of pathology at the hospital and he wants me to be a partner with him and some other doctors in a medical lab. I'm meeting him for lunch tomorrow."

  "That's wonderful!" Linda said.

  "Everything sounds wonderful until you find out what it's really all about," Carson replied. "It sounds too good to be true, that's all."

  "What will it cost?"

  "I don't know. He said not to worry about it right now. What can I lose except that I have to subject myself to that wonderful stuff the cafeteria serves as food."

  The Offer - Chapter 6

  Carson ran out of the ER room and took an elevator to the first floor. It was one o’clock and he wasn't looking forward to the meeting - he really didn't want to become a partner in a lab - he wanted to practice neurology and treat patients with nerve disorders, not be an entrepreneur in his own hospital. The cafeteria was crowded with noise and people. He picked the shortest line, grabbed a plastic tray and waited for the line to move.

  "Hi, Doctor Carson. Come to fill that bony frame of yours with some fat today," a rather plump, large woman yelled over the glass counters that contained the heated food.

  "How are the meatballs, Marsha?"

  "Lousy. Want some?"

  "Sure. Put them on a wheat roll," Carson said smiling.

  The large woman seemed to float behind the counter moving from one section to the next to make the meatball sandwich.

  "How's that?" she said holding the sandwich up for Carson to see.

  "Looks good."

  "And make sure you eat all of it!" she scolded. "You're too skinny."

  "I will, I will," Carson replied.

  He carried his tray to the center of a large room filled with rows of brown Formica-topped tables and metal folding chairs. Carson looked around the large room until he spotted a small man with graying hair and a wrinkled, drooping face sitting at a corner table. He walked past a maze of tables and chairs.

  "Hello, Dr. Hansen?" The man looked up. "We spoke last night."

  "Yes. Hello! Hello! Glad to meet you finally. I've seen you around from time to time," Dr. Hansen said rising and extending his hand. "Sit down, sit down."

  Carson grabbed his hand - it was smooth, but firm.

  "What do you think of Ocean Village?" Dr. Hansen asked tucking a paper napkin into his collar just above his blue bow tie.

  "My wife and I love it here. The hospital could use some improvement, but its ok," Carson said.

  "Well, that's how a lot of us feel, and that's why we'd like you to be on our team. Many doctors feel that the lab is grossly inadequate and poorly staffed for what we need to get done. Many are using outside labs, but these labs aren't quick enough, and have no loyalty to us, and they are expensive. If we need something done very quickly, they don't come through because they're swamped with work and they really don't care because they have plenty of business - pretty much the way our own lab works here. It's poorly understaffed and it has much too much work to do. We feel that the work is less than acceptable..."

  "I haven't been here that long, but I got that impression, too," Carson said. "Have you tried going to the trustees to put more money into it?"

  "Plenty of times. They really don't have the resources and they need to turn a profit this year. That's why we need our own lab and we would like you to be part of it," Hansen explained in a meek, tiny voice that did not fit his forthright manner.

  "We've purchased the old lab building across the street and we already have the necessary permits to expand it to three times the size using the parking lot behind it and that abandoned house next door."

  "What about the hospital? What do they think of all this? Won't they be against it?" Carson asked.

  "Not at all. They're one of the co-signers on the loan. They can't afford to expand their own lab beyond what it is now, but they can afford to contribute some of the costs, and give us all the support we need to make it happen. It also works to their benefit in showing the state that the hospital needs more funding. Besides, they're looking to make a profit on this just like the rest of us."

  "But I don't have any money to invest. I've got my med school loans, my house needs work, and we want to start a family..."

  "We know that, Carson," Hansen interrupted. "That's why we want to make you a partner in exchange for your time. We want you to manage the lab. Instead of investing money, you would invest your time."

  "How would I do that? I barely have enough time now!" Carson said.

  "I've talked to Doctor Stokes and he said he'd allow you to work at the lab one day a week, maybe two. I'm not saying it will be easy, but you stand to make a lot of money once it takes off. I know the day we open, eighty percent of the doctors here will use us because of our credibility," Hansen said. "I need you to complete our team. I don't expect you to make a decision right now. Think about it. Talk it over with your wife. As a partner, you would be entitled to one twelfth of the profits after the first year. Our plan is to promote it as a private lab and not part of the hospital. We want to attract other doctors in the area in addition to those 24-hour medical centers," Hansen explained lifting a spoon full of red vegetable soup to his lips.

  "It's still unclear to me how I will ever find the time to do it," Carson said.

  "Look. You don't have to do it. If you feel it will be too much for you, don't do it, but I believe it's a great opportunity for someone young like yourself. I wish I had such an opportunity when I was your age," Hansen added. "I'd probably be retired by now."

  Hansen continued to deliver spoonfuls of soup to his mouth. Some of the soup soaked the gray hairs of his mustache. He quickly wiped it away with a paper napkin.

  "I've got copies of our business plan, projections, and promotional strategies. There's also a copy of your contract, and your duties and responsibilities, and your compensation plan." Hansen handed him a thick folder with Carson's name handwritten on the top.

  "You mean I get paid in addition to sharing the profits?" Carson asked.

  Hansen took a bite out of his tuna fish sandwich. Some of the tuna fish dripped out and fell on to the plate.

  "Ha ha, of course, but after the first year. Your first year will be a token salary - small. That will be your investment. We don't expect you to work for free after that. You can negotiate a real salary after the first year. If you don't want to work in the lab, you will still own a part of it as a full-fledged stockholder. If you don't join us now, we still have to hire a manager to run the lab. It's part of the business plan, just like we had to budget for telephones and a receptionist. With your salary, you will be one of the highest paid partners after the first year!"

  "Okay, I'll take a look," Carson said.

  "Of course, take your time but we hope to open by September fifth, right after Labor Day. I need to know your decision two weeks before that," Hansen said.

  "You'll know long before that, one way or the other," Carson said. He looked down at the thick folder for several moments. "But, why me?"

  "You come from a top notch school, you're a neurologist, and you're young. We need someone with a lot of energy, a lot of ambition, and your credentials if we want
to make this thing a success," Hansen explained. "If it works out, we foresee this as a win-win situation for all of us. And most importantly, you are committed to Ocean Village and its residents. In the past few years our town is more like a retirement community with many of the young people moving out and no fresh blood coming in."