by Matthew Buza
There was a silence as the disciples all bowed their heads to pray. Strangers slowed and took notice of the conversation. They saw the woman's face, her anger mixed with fear.
Jesus stepped forward. “Martha, do you believe this?”
His closeness weakened her. She felt a presence in her soul that chilled her fear. Her anger washed away leaving only the pain of losing her brother. Tears collected in her eyes and she gave in. “Yes, Lord. I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who has come into this world. I believe this and Lazarus believed this. This is why we called for you. Called to bring you to save your friend, my brother.”
“Martha, go get Mary.”
She relented and then opened the door to the house. Her voice carried through the house and over the street corner for all to hear. “Mary. Come. The Teacher is here and he is asking for you.”
Mary rose quickly in the house and the guests followed her out to see Jesus. She broke through the entryway and was covered in the morning light. Her eyes were blood-red and the sight of Jesus only plunged her into despair. Her mind thought of Lazarus and what would have happened had Jesus come earlier. She staggered and Martha caught her by the shoulder. The guests helped and lifted Mary up to meet Jesus. Her weight was heavy in their arms. She took a step forward and collapsed at his feet. Her tears and spittle flowed off her face in long lines towards the dusty ground. She choked and coughed as her emotions poured out to the Savior.
Martha and the guests watched as Jesus lowered himself and touched her.
“Mary… Mary…” His voice echoed.
She choked back and lifted her head. “Lord…if you had been here, my brother…would not have died. He would’ve been there for you.”
Jesus kneeled down and allowed the woman's emotions to meld with his. His spirit touched hers and peeled back the pain. It flooded his body and he could see what she saw. His head dipped and wept slowly on her shoulder.
As the two bodies folded together, a voice sounded from the crowd. “See he loved him.”
A response came from another stranger. “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
The disciples turned to the voice but the face was lost in the growing crowd.
Jesus slowly stood, lifting Mary with him. “Where have you laid him?”
“Come and see, Lord.”
Jesus followed Martha as he held Mary close to his body, supporting her as they crossed through the crowd and down the path. They came to the tomb and the stone that laid across the entrance.
Jesus lifted his arm. The eyes of the crowd fixated on his hand watching his fingers curl and dance. His voice was clear and strong. “Take away the stone.”
Martha turned to Jesus. “But, Lord, by this time there is a bad odor. He has been here for days.”
His eyes focused on her and she felt the weight of the world upon her shoulders. “Did I not tell you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?”
She nodded and motioned to a group of men that ran to the stone and pushed it aside. Jesus looked up and left Mary. The crowd watched the Savior with his arms outstretched and gazing up at the sky. “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I know that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”
When he said this Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus! Lazarus! Come out!”
There was a pause and a silence as if the air had been pulled out of the crowd. They watched the black entrance for any movement. The buzz of the insects sounded from the bushes and trees. There was a shifting sound from the tomb and a wrapped foot emerged followed by a hand that gripped the stone's edge. The face of Lazarus appeared healthy. He scanned the crowd to find Martha and Mary in tears as they watched a ghost walk out of a tomb.
Mary mumbled, “Is this…is this real? Is he here? Am I seeing him?”
Jesus lowered his hands. “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”
Bend
Oregon
1978
The bus hissed as the doors opened to the asphalt platform. Isaac followed an old man off the bus and stepped down into the street. The bag dug into his shoulder and he let loose a long yawn. He finally drifted off to sleep when they passed through Centralia, the red mark still visible from his head jammed against the cold window. He slept for nearly eight hours straight. It was the longest stretch in nearly three weeks.
The Tumalo Station was nearly empty in the midday sun. It was a cold winter day, bright and frigid. Isaac wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck and shifted the bag over his shoulder. It was a two-mile walk from here and he knew his body temperature would drop precipitously over that period. It was best to start as warm as possible.
“Where are you going, young man?” a grizzled old man said, resting against a concrete piling.
The question caught Isaac off guard. “Oh…a… I'm just heading out to my grandparents’ house.”
“Well, I'm sure they will be happy to see you. You need a ride out there?”
“I wouldn't want to be a burden.”
“No burden at all. My truck is parked just down the way here.” The old man wore a brown coat that was worn through at the elbows and be pulled a red suitcase on tiny wheels. He had the look of an old cowboy that was struggling with the rural city life.
“Well, it is cold,” Isaac said, looking down at his shoes and letting loose a milky breath.
“That's the spirit boy.” He rolled away and Isaac walked after him.
“My name is Isaac.”
“And mine is Terrance. Who're your grandparents?”
“Annie and Joe Wilson.”
“You are related to the Wilsons, well, that is a good thing. I used to go to their church. Ain't much for me anymore, but they sure like it. So you are their grandson?”
They crossed the street and continued up the sidewalk.
“Yes, sir. I lived here off and on, but I spent all of the middle and high-school years with them. They took care of me for most of my life.”
Terrance sniffed hard and spat onto the street. “I know, it's important for youngins to have some good folks around them. Not all kids have that.”
Isaac nodded remembering his early childhood spent with his mother. “I know that.”
“So where you at now?”
“I'm going to school in Seattle.”
“Seattle, well that's a good university, but a goddamn hippie town. Fuckin nancies dancin’ around all day.”
Isaac smiled. “Some would say that. There are some characters up there.”
“What are you studying?”
“I'm a medical student.”
“A doctor?”
“Well, not yet.”
“Oh well, that is nice to hear. We always need more of those. Alright, here we are, my Sweet Hen, the C10.”
Along the side of the street was a faded green C10. Along the edge of the chrome trim, fresh rust cut into the chipped paint. Terrance reached under the wheel well and pulled out a small box; inside was the key.
“Get on in.”
If Isaac thought that the rear seat on the bus was loud, the truck had it beat hands down. He could barely hear Terrance railing on about the local factory closing and how it's part of some larger global conspiracy. He dropped creative names like Killer Kissinger and That Sack of Shit Carter. Isaac nodded and let the man have the floor; it was easier than walking the streets for an hour out to his grandparents’ house.
The truck pulled down the dirty road and turned slowly into the driveway. Isaac grabbed his bag and leaned over and offered his hand to Terrance.
“Thanks for the ride. It was better than walking.”
“Well, it is good to know that I'm just above freezing your ass off on the enjoyment level. Have a good time with your folks.”
The truck pulled away as Isaac walked up the steps to the front door. He pulled back the screen door and paused a mome
nt before knocking. He felt a twinge of apprehension, but thought nothing of it and knocked. He waited as the screen door squeaked quietly against his shoulder. He heard the thud of footsteps as a familiar tuft of white hair appeared in the door window.
He smiled and called out to the door, “What's taking so long old lady?”
From the other side of the door, “Are you kidding me?” The door flung open and a body flashed into his arms. He felt the warm tight grasp of his Nan.
She sniffed and looked up. “I didn't know you were coming!”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Jesus help your grandfather; he is going to be over the moon.”
“What's for dinner?”
“Well, whatever you want!”
He smiled as the woman refused to let him out of her grasp. She walked him into the house and yelled up to the ceiling. “Joseph, get down here, Isaac is home.”
The voice cried out from above, “What!”
There was a patter of feet as Isaac could see his grandfather walking down the stairs. He held a small book in his hand.
The woman released Isaac just in time to be tied up with Joseph. “Boy what are you doing here? School’s gotten too boring?”
Isaac smiled, keeping his arm around his grandfather's shoulder. “I just thought I could come home and get some good food.”
“Listen, that woman's cooking has gotten better.”
“Better?”
“I shit you not.”
She slapped Joseph on the shoulder and walked into the kitchen. “Put that bag down and get in here. How long was that ride?”
“I couldn't tell you, I slept most of the way.”
“Shit I would love to be able to do that, but I've got to pee so often now. Maybe two hours at the most,” his grandfather joked.
They walked into the kitchen and a small black cat jumped down from the counter and walked out of the room.
Nan spoke up. “How long are you staying?”
“Could I stay a couple of days? Maybe through Monday or Tuesday?”
“Heavens yes you can. You don't have to ask, I just wanted to know, my mind is already running through the food I'm going to make you. We've got steaks from down the street, they butchered that old cow and we got a few cuts. Had some the other night and it was just amazing.”
"That sounds great Nan.”
She shook her arms and walked over to Isaac and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, I am so happy you are home. I needed this. It's been so cold lately, you are like a warm fire to these old bones. You will be able to stay for church on Sunday?”
“Yes, ma'am I will. Do they still have those pancakes downstairs?”
“Of course, they wouldn't get half the men to show up on a Sunday if they didn't. Now listen, tell me how are things going up there? Class? Work?”
“Well, it's been an eventful few weeks. Classes are starting to really pick up here as the semester progresses and naturally my…internship…is demanding a lot of me.”
“I can imagine, I mean they have to cram a lot into those brains of yours before they let you out in the wild. How is James doing?”
“Well, great as ever. He's doing just fine.”
“Oh fantastic, I'll make sure to tell his mother, she will be happy to hear that.”
“Yeah, and it looks like James will be working closer with me on my new internship.”
“Is that the coroner one?”
“Yeah, that's the one.”
Joseph spoke up. “Well, I'm glad you aren't working at the crazy factory anymore. Man, I can't imagine working with those people. I'm happy you got through unscathed.”
“Me too.” He paused and suddenly felt the energy drain out of his body as if a plug had been pulled. He caught himself on the counter.
“Honey, you OK?”
“Yeah, I just…you know what, I must still be a little tired from the trip.”
She put her hand on his head. “Well no fever, that's good. Why don't you go upstairs and take a nap? I'll put dinner on for later and maybe tonight we can play cards like old times?”
“Nan, that sounds great. Just what I needed.”
“Well your room is still upstairs in the same place, same bunk and nothing’s changed.”
“You haven't taken down my posters or anything?”
“No, I haven't. It's been hard. You should be proud of me.”
“I am.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll take a nap and be down later.”
They waved and he rounded the corner towards the dark stairs. He paused at the foot of the steps and stared up at the shadows. It was always dark before he rounded the top step. The grainy wood walls always played with his mind. He took the first few steps and paused. He could feel a twinge of anxiety in his stomach as if he had eaten something rotten. He looked down and stopped, closing his eyes. He felt a draft against his back and he looked up. There was nothing but the shadows along the wall. He continued up the stairs but couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. He rubbed the back of his neck and he could still feel the scabs healing. He rounded the top stair and walked down the hallway to his old room.
Church
The solemn procession marched down the aisle, their heads bobbing as they clutched jeweled crosses and gilded books. The pews lined with the faithful eagerly waiting for the exit to clear. Their lives were locked behind the pageantry and between the walls covered in stained glass.
Isaac stood behind his grandparents and observed the commotion. He had a newfound respect for the church and felt compelled to take the Eucharist for the first time in nearly eight years. He didn't know why, but he thought that it would be good to show respect.
The action didn't go unnoticed by his Nan, but she would remain silent allowing him to find faith in whatever way he could. She never pushed him, but always brought him on Sunday hoping he would find his path. She couldn't help her emotions, she was flushed with pride seeing him take communion.
His grandfather leaned back and whispered, “So…slow.”
Isaac smiled. “I’m just waiting for those pancakes.”
“I knew that university would teach you something. I have been saying it for years, free food is a gift from God.”
They cleared the aisle and made their way down to the basement. It was bustling with activity. Women doted over decorations and refilled dwindling punch bowls. Young girls dressed in aprons that looked like picnic sheets ushered out fresh stacks of steaming pancakes. Isaac wasted no time filling a styrofoam plate to the brim. He sat at the cloth table and methodically moved his way through the tall stack.
“I'm just going to go and speak with some of my lady friends.” Nan touched his shoulder and walked away. His grandfather obediently followed behind and gave a playful roll of his eyes.
Isaac reapplied the syrup to the exposed pancakes and continued. It had been nearly two weeks since the incident in the warehouse and his appetite was insatiable. Luke and Lazarus had spoken with Jalon and Isaac was granted the trip home. He assumed it was an off-handed apology for abandoning him in the spell shop. He didn't question them letting him leave. In his mind he deserved it.
Isaac struck the bottom of the plate with his plastic fork and cut through the cheap styrofoam allowing the pooled syrup to flow onto the table. He quickly stood and grabbed a set of napkins from the serving table. He blotted the tabletop and mopped up the sticky mess.
His stomach was full and he leaned back in his chair and watched the old women move around the basement hall, some locked in conversation while others focused on the food. His wandering mind was unaware of the woman who slid into the chair opposite him.
“Hello, Isaac.” He didn't need to turn his head, he knew the voice.
He closed his eyes. “Hello Mom.”
"It's good to see you.”
“How long have you been around?”
“I've been in town for a few months. I said hello to Nan and Dad about a month ago. I hoped she migh
t have passed that onto you.”
“She did.”
“Oh, I'm glad.” She forced a smile.
He finally turned and saw her sunken face. “What do you need Mom?”
“Nothing, I was just around and I thought I would come by, and here you are.”
“Nan told you I was in town.”
“Don't get upset at her, please. I was happy to hear that you came in.”
“I came in last night. I had some time off from school and thought I would come home.”
“How is school going?”
“I don't think you really care about that.”
“Really, I do. I mean you are really doing it arentcha.”
“I am doing it. On my own.”
“I hear you. That's great. I'm here in town too, trying to get some work and maybe find an apartment to rent. Work’s a little thin, but I've been finding stuff here and there around town.”
All he could see was her stumbling down the streets late at night. “I'm sure. Where are you working?”
She paused. “Just around town. I picked up some odd jobs cleaning and what not.”
Isaac could feel the pain rushing back, the years of abuse and neglect he endured as she ran around town enjoying her life when he was young. The years of neglect that piled up formed deep scars. Deep enough for dark emotions to live and thrive. He avoided talking about her as it dragged those rancid memories back into his life.
“I'm sure they are happy with how you are doing your work.” She could almost see the venom dripping from his tongue.
Her lips curled and her cheeks flushed. “Well, you don't look that good either.”
Isaac's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well you got that wound on your neck and your eyes are shot.”
“I had a long bus ride down here.”
“Just looks like you’re tired, maybe school’s getting to you.”
The past month was getting to him, but he refused to let this woman take the advantage. “Why are you here? I don't see you in years and you fall down into a chair at church and start criticizing?”