In the Blackness of Space

by Robert Kuntz

  Suddenly in the dream, I was a grown man. I climbed down from the tree. I swung my fist, nailed my father in the face and broke his nose. “You’re the useless moron,” I shouted. With every word, my father got smaller and smaller. “What kind of a father are you, always drunk, always high?” He kept shrinking. The words made me stronger and bigger. “You don’t protect me. You don’t provide for me. You don’t teach me. Fathers are supposed to take care of their kids.”

  He looked at me like I’m a brick. Not a word that I’ve said has registered. I clenched my fists and screamed in his face, “Don’t you understand how much you hurt me?”

  He shrank again, but nothing registered on his face. It was as if I wasn’t there.

  If I kept on shouting, he would shrink to the size of an ant and I could step on him. “I’m never going to have anything to do with you again. I’m not going to think of you. I’m not going to dream of you. I’m not going to live on the same planet as you. You’re nothing to me.”

  Suddenly, I didn’t want to step on him. It wasn’t worth the energy.

  He was tiny, a .0000001. He screwed up his mouth like he was going to spit on me. “You do,” I shouted, “and I’ll squash you like a bug.”

  He swallowed and looked away.

  I turned and climbed the tree. I climbed so high I couldn’t see that bug. I climbed so high I would never need to climb down again.

  ****

  18:00 GMT.

  Before they put Jepler and Dr. H on, I hear the president’s voice. “Dr. Chapman, you risked your life because there were dogs in the air lock?”

  Suddenly, I’m weary. I’d rather scream at Jepler than deal with the president.

  “What in the world were you thinking?”

  I really don’t need this. Suddenly, my anger flares and the dam breaks inside me.

  “Mr. President, Ginger and Mouser are Dr. Dremenev’s poodles. He was one of the Seven who kept me alive, resupplying my feeding tubes, monitoring drug levels, giving me physical therapy. Do you understand that? They kept me alive. Even when they knew they were going to die. I promised the Seven I would care for the Gal. I promised Dremenev I would take care of his dogs. And I will.”

  “Well, that’s noble, to be sure.”

  “With all due respect, sir, it’s not about being noble. It’s the debt we owe those whose courage and sacrifice kept us alive.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn’t get it. I hear a click and realize the president has signed off.

  Then I hear Jepler’s voice. “Grant, please go to the Beta Ring and read my letter before we talk.”

  “Jepler,” I shout, “I’m not your blasted puppet.” If expressing anger is good, I’m one of the healthiest men in the universe.

  “There are things you need to know.” Billy’s voice is calm.

  “I’m not falling for that. Tell me about the bassoon.”

  I hear the rapid clicking of his pen. “The president’s shutting down NASA. The mission isn’t good news right now. I talked to a dozen potential buyers, but no one wants to pay the full twenty-five million.

  “Here’s what I’m working on: selling food that you bring back: rice, sweet potatoes, peanuts, even herbs, cocoa, and coffee, stuff you could save during the return voyage. I could get millions for a new variety of apple developed in space. I have five lawyers preparing legal briefs giving you the right to sell food you’ve grown on the Galileo. It may not work, but I’m not giving up.”

  I don’t say anything.

  “I suppose,” he continues, “you want to see me eaten alive by gators.”

  “Too good for you.”

  “Torn apart by rabid wolves?”

  “Over too soon.”

  “You’re pretty steamed at me.”

  “Do ya think? Everything’s a bargaining chip to you. Apples, puppies, people, it makes no difference. I thought I was your friend, but I’m a chip you traded for the mission.”

  “You were never a chip!” Billy fires back. “I had two other options. I chose you because you were the overwhelming best choice. If you’d get off your high horse and read the letter I wrote you, maybe you’d understand.”

  I hear rapid ballpoint pen clicking. “Frankly, Grant, both other options would have been easier, if all I cared about was barely meeting NASA’s minimum standards.” Billy sounds calmer now. “But they weren’t best. You were the best. Not just because you’re the best at smoothing code. Not just because you got the two-hundred-pound packages for the others. But because…well…Dr. H, how can I get him to read the letter?”

  “I’m not reading your manipulative letter.”

  “Grant, how are you doing?” Dr. H asks.

  “I’ll make it.” One of those thoughts comes to me, that I’m not done changing. I have the unsettling warmth of God in me and it’s making a difference. I’m not sure what to make of that.

  “Does it matter that Billy chose you over others?”

  “Yeah, now I’m the person he’d most like to betray.”

  “But look how well you’re doing,” Billy shouts.

  “That’s not the point, you backstabbing beetle carcass. Friends don’t do that. You stuck me up here, just like my father…”

  “But, I wasn’t mad at you. I wasn’t punishing you. You believed in the mission and I believed in you.”

  I can’t get through to him; he’s dumber than hamster lint. “Jepler, you didn’t ask me, didn’t give me a choice. You abandoned me up here. You did this to me. Now, if I come back home, I’m a coward; I betray my friends. Carmen’s niece doesn’t get the bassoon money, and she dies. How can I do that?”

  “You can come back home. If you can’t bring me a poodle born in space, I’ll figure out something. Just come back. I promise you Ángela won’t die.”

  I erupt. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to come back home. I want to finish the mission. Now I’m just like my father, stranding myself up a tree. I’ll never get home. You did this to me.”

  “Grant if only you’d go to the Beta—”

  “Hold on, Billy,” Dr. H interrupts. “You’ve just given Grant the most helpful thing anyone’s ever given him. Quit now while you’re ahead.”

  I hear Billy’s ballpoint rapid firing. He says, “I don’t feel like I’m ahead.”

  I snarl at him. “He means, quit now while you’ve got a head. I’d like to tear it off you and shove it in the wastewater lagoon.”

  Dr H laughs. “You’re doing well with this anger stuff, Grant.”

  “Jepler brings out the worst in me. He’s turning me into my father.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m going to abandon myself up here…”

  “Then come home.”

  “I can’t. Even the poodles know that.”

  “Why can’t you come home?”

  “Because the crew stood by me. Because the mission’s worth it. Because the president wants to shut down NASA. I paused for a deep breath. “Dr. H, I don’t know what to do.”

  “So, you can’t come home because you’d be abandoning the mission, but if you stay in space you’re abandoning yourself like your father did.”

  “When you say it, it sounds crazy.”

  “Grant, we all have crazy things in us.”

  “Dr. H, I’m like him and I’m not like him.”

  “How?” I imagine Dr. H squinting his eye and bobbing his head forward.

  “I was furious with Mouser and Ginger. I lost it; I was out of control. My father was just like that. But I was upset about being angry. I felt horrible.”

  “How do you know he didn’t?”

  “He didn’t see how he’d hurt me. He didn’t notice me. He never apologized, never changed.”

  “He didn’t let it show, Grant. But somewhere, he knew he was hurting you. And, knowing that, he kept on hurting you.”

  I feel another jolt. It’s as if I’m somewhere else. There’s a Presence beside me, the vas
t God of the stars Who wears the painful crown. His warmth trembles in me, and I see what I’ve never seen before. “I’m not like my father. I’m not vicious and cruel.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Beside me, the bleeding King nods in agreement. And I know it’s true. “I’m really not like him.”

  “Go on.”

  “My dad was an addict. He was always drunk, high, and angry. He took things out on me. I’m furious at Billy, but I wouldn’t do to him what my father did to me. I’m not like my father.”

  “But you’re thinking about continuing the mission.” Dr. H’s voice is calm and assured. “You might abandon yourself in space.”

  The One with the thorn-covered crown looks at me. In His eyes, I see love that can never be shaken, that can come only from God. A great feeling of peace washes over me. And I know that whether I return to Earth or continue the mission, He will be with me and see me through.

  I pause. There are tears in my eyes. I’m feeling a great relief, as if tight bands have been cut away from my chest and I can breathe fully for the first time. “Why did Jepler do this? Why did he put me on this ship?”

  “Grant.” Dr. H’s voice is still calm. “If I could push the undo button and bring you back before this happened, would you want that?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Mouser barks. I look down. He and Ginger are studying me. I know what they’re asking. “It’s not that…it’s not fair. Blast it, Dr. H. No, I wouldn’t want that.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  My throat is tight, and I force myself to speak. “Because I met Him here.” The words come out like croaks. I don’t even know what they are until I hear them. “Because I fixed the plasma thrusters. Because I’m an adventurer. I walked in space with the stars.”

  It’s quiet for a moment. Then Jepler’s voice comes across the speakers. “Well, I disagree with Dr. H. You are like your father. You’re mad at me and you’re pushing me up a tree. You won’t go to the Beta Ring or read my letter. I’m trying to get you crucial information, things I can’t say in public, and you won’t listen. How different is that from shoving me up a tree?”

  I’m stunned. Billy’s right.

  “But here’s the difference between you and your dad. You’re not doing it because of drugs and addiction. You care about people, and even though you’re furious at me, someday, you’ll read my letter. It may be too late, but someday you’ll read it. That’s why I call you my friend.”

  I hear Billy take a deep breath. “Grant, I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

  “Forget it, you beetle pus.”

  “I mean it, Grant. I should have found another way.”

  “There wasn’t any other way. If you’d given me any kind of choice, I would have said no. If you hadn’t shanghaied me, I’d have fought you fang and claw.”

  “When you weren’t taking deep breaths and counting your pulse.” I hear Billy’s pen clicking. “Seriously Grant, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  It sinks in: Billy is telling the truth. Something dark and angry slips away from my soul. I feel lighter, more alive. Ginger jumps up and snuggles in my lap.

  Billy starts to speak, but I cut him off. “Wait. Don’t say anything.”

  In my mind, I’m seeing my father.

  I’m up in the tree. He’s below me, his face contorted with anger. He’s furious, screaming, “I’m leaving you in that tree, you rotten brat. I’ll never come back for you. You’ll never get down!”

  I climb up out of his reach. And I tell him, “I’ll stay up here. I don’t need you anymore.”

  He keeps on screaming, but his words don’t reach me. They have null capacity.

  Suddenly, the thought comes to me that my dad had a father. And I see my dad in a new way, burdened by a myriad of black 899s, heavy chains weighing him down.

  “I could beat you like my dad beat me,” he shouts, “leave you with bruises all over your face and blood running down your back. I could break your arm year after year, like he broke mine.” He rolls up his sleeves. His tattoos fade away and the needle marks disappear, leaving his arm covered with long, slicing scars. “You see what that animal did to me?”

  It stuns me. I want to turn away. He’s damaged goods, my father. I never knew.

  I feel Him with me, the One who’s a man and more than a man. His warmth surrounds me. He’s not angry. He’s concerned for me, and His care is like a calm, steady sea. “My dad doesn’t take care of me,” I tell Him. “I have to do it. It’s all up to me.”

  “Grant, you don’t have to carry this. Give Me that burden. I’ll give you rest.”

  In His presence, I see things differently. My dad was wrong. But I was, too. I thought I had to handle it by myself. I could have told a teacher at school. I could have told my best friend’s mom, or that policeman who helped us get on the bus after school every day. I didn’t have to believe my dad; I didn’t have to think that I was so bad and my problem was so impossible that no one in the world could understand or help.

  No wonder I blacked out. I was just a little kid. It was too heavy for me.

  Suddenly, I’m five years old, stranded up in a tree in the dark.

  My father’s cursing. “You ruined our lives, you worthless brat.” He stoops down, gathers a few rocks, and then stands and throws them with all his might, breaking the streetlight. I’m swallowed by darkness. I can’t see the ground, my dad, even the tree. I cling to the trunk, my ears alert for a sound. Screams of fear rise in my throat, but I force them down. If I scream, my father will leave me up here longer. I’m trapped in blackness. I can’t tell if my father is there or has slipped away.

  A burst of wind shoves the tree and the screams rise in me again. I clamp my mouth shut so I don’t make a sound. The tree sways. I hold to the trunk, terrified.

  Then I feel a Presence with me. It’s not my father. A shaft of warmth touches me and the screams fade from my throat. A ripple of warmth passes through me, faint shreds of warmth clinging to me, settling within. In the darkness, I see Him, the One who’s a man and more than man. He walks up to the tree. I see the concern in His eyes and know that He’s not going to yell at me. He presses a gentle hand against my back, holding me steady so I won’t fall. His other hand rests on my shoulder. The warmth of His hands soaks into me until I’m glowing with warmth.

  I start to cry. “Why did my dad do this? Why did he treat me like this? He hurt me. He abandoned me.”

  And this One who’s steady and patient answers. “He can’t love you.” He lifts me out of the tree and sets me on the ground. I look up at his face. His eyes are full of tenderness and warmth. “You are a precious, wonderful miracle. You are mine.”

  I nod.

  He smiles. “Now, about that badgering, bargaining Billy Jepler. You don’t have to fight him.”

  I’m not five anymore. I stand at eye level with the One who lifted me out. And I see Billy differently. He’s dishonest in his deals. He gets caught up in what he calls negotiation mania. He cons, barters, and trades, but he was never against me. I was the one who betrayed our friendship. I doubted and accused him.

  I feel ashamed and miserable. I don’t like seeing ugly things in me. The One who’s with me is going to hate me for this.

  He says, “Grant, nothing in My heart will ever change toward you.” His voice is not like my dad’s. There’s no anger, no frustration. All I hear in His voice is love.

  “Jesus,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

  Then I realize part of me is willing to forgive my father.

  After all he did to you? an inner voice cries out. I’m tired of that voice. I’m tired of carrying the hurt.

  I step around the One who’s claimed me. My father paces at the curb, muttering under his breath. I walk over and stand face to face with him. The pain of all that he’s done to me sends searing bolts of heat flashing through my chest.

  He opens his mouth to scream
at me.

  “Shut up.” My voice surprises me. It’s firm and steady, not angry or out of control.

  Then, another searing-hot bolt of anger flashes through me. I want to grab my father by the neck and choke the life out of him.

  I take a deep breath to steady myself. I’m not going to strangle him. I don’t want that.

  I feel Jesus standing beside me. His warmth eases me. My vision clears and I see my father. He’s a trembling number 1. His lines aren’t solid. They’re wavering, splintered, and bruised. He’s filled with gray 7s and twisted black 66s and blazing scars of 592s. I see his anger and cruelty weren’t ever about me.

  I don’t want his viciousness and hatred in me.

  “Dad,” I draw strength from the warmth and let the words come to my lips, “You’re an addict and a kid-beater. And…and…”

  Beside me, Jesus holds out His hands. I see the ragged, blood-streaked wounds. I know He’s asking me again. Will I give Him the twisted, scarred numbers in me? Will I release my nightmares to Him?

  Aunt Clara and Uncle Ralph said the Son of God went willingly to the cross, taking our place, being nailed to a tree. And it hits me that His Father put Him up a tree. He knows every time my father hurt me. He knows my anguish being left up there alone. He knows, and He’s come to take my place. If I give my broken painful mess to Him, He’ll smooth and straighten the code in me. He’ll bear my father’s hatred and give me His warmth.

  I take a deep breath. The thought comes to me that I can trust Him, that He’s the only one I can trust. Like seeing a pure strand of code, I know this is true. So I put the hurt and betrayal and rage I have from my father into His bleeding hands. And He takes them and they’re gone.

  I look at my father, at the weight of the jagged gray 7s and black 66s, at the pain of his scars, and I find the words: “I forgive you.”

  He doesn’t get it. Not a word of it reaches him. He stands there furious and trembling, his face grotesque with rage. But I feel different. I’m weightless, soaring. I can fly forever.

  I climb up the tree into the Galileo, leaving him below me. He finds his voice and screams at the empty tree.

  Mouser scampers over and licks my hand. Ginger wriggles comfortably in my lap. And I feel different inside, cleaner.