By My Hands

by Alton Gansky

  “It’s the lying that bothers me.”

  “Why, Dr. Tremaine, how quaint! Please remember that we have 600 patients here, and it’s our responsibility to protect them.”

  Protect them from what? Rachel wondered.

  Tuesday, March 24, 1992; 4:00 P.M.

  PAUL ISAIAH GLANCED AROUND the dimly lit interior of the San Diego Sports Arena. In the center of the court area that had served many sporting events was a prefabricated stage, its support structure hidden behind a valance of deep-blue fabric. An acrylic pulpit dominated the center of the stage. Around him was row upon row of vinyl-covered seats in which thousands of people would tomorrow sit and listen to him preach his customized version of the Gospel.

  “Up here, Reverend.” Isaiah turned to find the source of the distant voice. In the weak light he saw a figure waving. “Wait there; I’m coming down.” The figure made its way down the concrete steps.

  “R.G., I thought that might be you. Everything okay?”

  “Perfect as always,” R.G. replied glibly. “How about you? Are you going to be your usual captivating self?”

  “There shouldn’t be any complaints,” he said with a grin. The two men walked up the stage and stood behind the pulpit. “How long have we been doing this now? Nine years?”

  “Almost.”

  “I still can’t get used to it. Thousands of people will gather here to hear me.” Isaiah gazed around the cavernous structure. “It’s a long way from those tent revivals we did in the South.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Tell me, R.G., what are a couple of old southern boys doing with an office in L.A. and traveling all over the world?”

  R.G. shrugged his narrow shoulders, “Making money, of course.”

  Isaiah thought about that. R.G. was the practical one of the two, his unbridled frankness bothered him. Isaiah had not started off to be a charlatan and didn’t consider himself one now. He had entered seminary with the goal of pastoring a small country church somewhere. When had he changed?

  Perhaps it was the spectral image of three coffins that haunted him. One coffin so tiny, so incongruous. Three coffins that visited his mind daily, that robbed him of any spontaneous joy.

  “Paul!” A rough hand shook him. “You’re doing it again. Come on, man, snap out of it.”

  “Sorry R.G. I . . . I was thinking.”

  “Are you taking your medication?”

  “Of course. But enough of that, we’ve got work to do. Tell me about the press coverage.”

  As the two men walked through the dimly lit hall, R.G. spoke of the press coverage, the music program, the timing, and the expected monetary results.

  Tuesday, March 24, 1992; 7:50 P.M.

  AT 7:50 P.M. ADAM pulled his car into the hospital’s back parking lot. He told himself that he had chosen the rear emergency room entrance because parking was easier, and he didn’t mind the longer walk, but he wondered if his real motivation wasn’t to avoid the mass of the ill camped at the front entrance. He especially feared seeing the crooked little boy. Once again he felt ashamed.

  Entering the hospital, Adam decided to walk to the fourth floor office wing. Since Rachel hadn’t told him where to meet her, he thought that might be a good place to start.

  Adam had just turned down the office corridor when he noticed a large piece of paper with his name in red letters taped to a door: “Adam, please meet me in room 602. If I’m not there, wait for me. Rachel.”

  The sixth floor was reserved for cancer patients. Returning to the stairway, Adam climbed the additional two floors. Pausing outside the hospital room, Adam looked at his watch: it was exactly 8. Thinking that Rachel might be waiting inside for him, he quietly entered the room. There was only one patient in the small cubicle but no sign of Rachel.

  Adam felt uncomfortable. Although he had been in hospital rooms hundreds of times, it was always to visit members of his church. Here he was alone with a man he had never met who was suffering from some form of cancer.

  Adam drew closer and noticed that one of the IV bags contained a solution of morphine. Adam felt the man was dying. Minutes passed like hours as Adam watched the slow, shallow breathing of the man

  Feeling compelled to do something, Adam stepped closer to the figure on the bed. His minister’s compassion welled up within him. The sight of the patient’s thin frame and shallow breathing tugged at his soul. Adam often admired doctors: at least they could do something—medicate, operate, treat. They could immediately see the results of their efforts—even if the results were bad. All Adam could do was speak encouraging words and pray.

  To be sure, prayer was important, but it often seemed so passive. At times he envied those who believed in faith healing. Often he wished he could simply lay hands on the sick as Jesus and the apostles had done and see the disease evaporate. He had even fantasized about the lame walking and the blind seeing as a result of his prayers. It wasn’t that Adam lacked faith; there was no doubt that God could heal. It was that Adam had never seen it occur at the request of a person.

  Perhaps I’m just afraid, Adam thought, afraid that if I prayed for a miraculous healing and it didn’t happen I would feel embarrassed—embarrassed for me and for God.

  But he was alone now. What would it hurt to try? After all, he had seen David Lorayne not only come back from a coma but be miraculously healed of his illness and surgery. Maybe God was doing something new now. Maybe Adam had been drawn into this because God Himself was beginning a new work in Adam’s life.

  Moving closer to the patient, Adam laid his right hand on the man’s forehead and took one of the man’s hands in his left hand. The patient did not respond to the touch. Closing his eyes, Adam cleared his thoughts. He imagined himself standing before a huge throne on which God sat. In hushed tones, he prayed, “My Heavenly Father, I acknowledge that You are the God of the universe, and that nothing is beyond Your reach. I come before You praying for this man whose name I do not know, but I do know that he needs You. Grant now this miracle.”

  Opening his eyes slowly, Adam gazed at the figure on the bed. His stomach churning with emotion he said in a soft, rhythmic tone, “In the name of the risen Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, be heal—”

  Suddenly the room was filled with the bright light from the hallway. A silhouetted figure stood in the doorway.

  “Will you please come with me, Reverend Bridger?” The voice was polite but unmistakably resolute.

  “Who are you?” Adam’s heart raced.

  “My name is Mr. Sanchez, Reverend. I’m in charge of hospital security. Our hospital administrator is very interested in speaking to you.” The door had closed behind Sanchez allowing Adam a clearer view of him. What Adam saw was a Hispanic man who was one or two inches taller than he. He had wavy, brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. It was difficult to be sure, but Adam suspected that under the three-piece suit was a well-muscled body.

  “I was to meet Dr. Rachel Tremaine here.” Adam wondered what to do next.

  “She is waiting for you too.” Sanchez moved to Adam’s side and took his left arm in a firm grip. “Now, if you’ll please come with me.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sure your questions will be answered if you’ll just accompany me.” Obediently, Adam released the patient’s hand and let Sanchez lead him from the room.

  Tuesday, March 24, 1992; 8:15 P.M.

  “I DON’T BELIEVE THIS!” Adam spat out his words bitterly. “You mean to tell me that you set me up? That this was all a scheme so that you could watch me?”

  Dr. Evan Morgan studied the irate minister. “If you will sit down, our time together will proceed much more smoothly.”

  Seated around the conference table with Dr. Morgan were Bill Sanchez and Rachel Tremaine who sat quietly and stared at the table.

  “How much do you have to do with this, Rachel?” Adam sounded more hurt than angry. Rachel didn’t respond.

  “She was doing as I ask
ed, Reverend,” Morgan said firmly. “Now, please sit down.”

  Adam raised his hands in resignation and seated himself. “I would very much appreciate some answers,” he said, holding his anger in check.

  Morgan blew a cloud of blue smoke into the air.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Reverend.” Morgan smiled. “That means we have something in common. You see, we want some answers too. For example, why are you here tonight?”

  “You know the answer to that as well as I. I’m here at the invitation of Dr. Tremaine.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “Yes.” Adam had decided to phrase his answer carefully. He was already at a disadvantage and he knew it. They had succeeded in angering him and his anger was clouding his mind. There were things he wanted to know, and to get that information he’d have to calm down.

  “You’ve come to our hospital on other occasions, haven’t you?” Morgan continued.

  “Ministers often visit their members when those members are hospitalized.” Adam’s voice was now controlled.

  “I think there’s more. In fact, I think there’s more to you than meets the eye. Wouldn’t you like to tell us about it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do,” Morgan said coldly.

  “Then you’re wrong.”

  Morgan set his pipe down and then folded his hands behind his head. “Reverend Bridger, we here at the hospital have had a difficult time of late. Some unusual events have happened, events that have been inaccurately reported in the media. I think you have a key role in these events. In fact, I think you are at the hub of our troubles. I would appreciate it if you would give us more than short, glib answers.”

  Adam’s anger swelled again but determined not to lose control. “Let’s have an understanding here. I am here at my own sufferance. You have no authority to hold me or, for that matter, to question me. I must also remind you that you do not constitute a court of law. I will answer only those questions I choose to, and I will answer only if I wish.”

  “Very well, then,” Morgan said. “Let me summarize. You, of course, are correct. You were set up. We’ve been watching you since you drove into the parking lot. Like most hospitals, ours is equipped with video surveillance of all the areas surrounding the hospital. A very useful capability, since several times a year someone attempts to help himself to our pharmacy. In addition to an outside surveillance system, we have a partial interior system as well. We even had a specially installed camera in the hospital room where you were a few minutes ago.”

  “So?”

  Morgan sighed and leaned forward. “We believe that you are the so-called Healer.”

  Adam’s mind raced back to the patient in the room. He remembered his own hesitancy about praying for the healing of the unknown man, thought of his own struggles to believe in miraculous healing, then laughed—a hard and deep and resonant laugh. The unexpected laughter stunned the others.

  Morgan’s face reddened. “I see no humor in all this.”

  “I’m sure you don’t,” Adam said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I can assure you that I am not your man.”

  Morgan stood and paced behind the conference table.

  “Isn’t it true that you parked in the rear lot?”

  “Yes. Where did you park?” Adam retorted.

  “That’s different,” Morgan said angrily. “All staff park in the rear lot.”

  “I parked there so that I wouldn’t have to pass through the mass of people camped in your lobby.” Adam saw no reason to bring up the haunting, crooked little boy.

  “Isn’t it also true that you entered through the emergency room and avoided the elevators by using the stairs instead?”

  “True, and for the same reason that I’ve already given.”

  “And when you were alone with the cancer patient, didn’t you stand over him? Didn’t you touch him?”

  “Guilty as charged, Dr. Morgan,” Adam said sarcastically. “I confess to praying. But please don’t tell the other ministers. I might not be asked to the next luncheon.”

  “Your sarcasm doesn’t help.”

  “Oh, doesn’t it? I find it very helpful. And I find this laughable.”

  “Laughable?”

  “Certainly. You and your amateur investigators have accused me of being your Healer, and your only evidence is that I parked in the wrong lot, took the stairs instead of the elevator, and prayed for a dying man. I hope you are better at medicine than detective work.”

  Rising from his seat, Adam walked to the door. Turning to face the others, he said, “Dr. Morgan, Mr. Sanchez, I want to thank you for the entertaining evening, but I do want you to understand something, and I want you to understand it very well. You may think that because I’m a minister I can be used as a doormat. Well, understand this—if you ever attempt to pull a stunt like this with me again, I will make sure that the family of the man in room 602, the AMA, and any medical review board I can think of will hear of this breach of ethics. And I’ll make sure the news media hears of it too.”

  Dr. Morgan spun on his heals and spat, “Do you think you can threaten me . . .”

  “I just did.”

  Morgan’s jaw stiffened and his face turned crimson. Sanchez remained seated but cast a vicious stare at Adam.

  Turning to Rachel, Adam said in a much more somber tone that conveyed his hurt, “I’m sorry I wasn’t worthy of your trust.”

  AS ADAM LEFT, RACHEL felt tears well up in her eyes.

  Nineteen

  Tuesday, March 24, 1992; 8:45 P.M.

  “HOW COULD SHE?” Adam said to his car. He squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Imaginary dialogues filled his mind. In each one he masterfully told off the pompous doctors who had attempted to trap him.

  By the time Adam pulled the car into his driveway, he knew he must do something with his anger. The only thing it would do would be to destroy his logic and force him into poor decisions. Yet, denying the emotion was useless.

  Adam felt the need for physical exertion, but it was too soon after his surgery. He would have to settle for something more pedestrian—a simple walk. Entering the apartment, he changed into sneakers and a blue jogging suit.

  Adam stepped from the apartment into the night air and saw a full moon in a clear sky surrounded by stars. There was something therapeutic about a night sky, the Milky Way casting its band of speckled lights across the heavens. What was it the astronomers said—a billion galaxies, each with a billion stars? Somehow the vastness of space made his problems seem less significant.

  But the problems weren’t insignificant. The Loraynes were still missing, kidnapped by people with unknown but probably violent motives. He wondered if the Loraynes could see the stars tonight from wherever they were.

  Adam’s adrenaline-laced anger soon gave way as he walked. At first his mind churned with the events of the last few days, but with each step he gained more perspective and grew calmer. Forcing back the emotion-induced haze, Adam began to think as he had taught himself to think: systematically.

  He asked himself what he really felt. He discovered not a simple answer, but one that was layered like a cake. He felt fear for the Loraynes, and he felt frustration at not being able to help. He also felt something else, something powerful and nagging. He knew it had to do with what had just happened at the hospital. They had treated him improperly, attempting to trap him. They had also been condescending. At his very core, Adam was a humble man, but he had a professional pride in his education and his vocation. Yet, because of that vocation, others had made the mistake of assuming he was a superstitious fanatic. Those outside church life often thought that a spiritual mind could not be a reasoning one. They did not realize that some of the finest minds of the ages were filled with belief and faith. Isaac Newton wrote more about religious matters than scientific. Pasteur, Pascal, and others revered as intellectuals possessed an abiding Christian belief.

  Adam walked without d
irection or destination until he found himself at the back gate to the play yard of the elementary school. The gate was chained in such a fashion that it could be opened part way.

  Slipping through the opening, Adam made his way into the play yard. He could hear the breeze rustle through the leaves of a nearby fruitless mulberry tree. In the distance he heard a car horn honk, and the sound of a television program drifted through the air from one of the nearby homes.

  Walking to the large swing set, Adam sat on one of the plastic seats and looked over the empty schoolyard. It had a lonely, haunted feeling, a sensation with which Adam could relate. He too felt lonely and haunted. Just as the schoolyard was missing children, he was missing something. As a minister, he had held many counseling sessions with those who sought his advice. Often, married couples would come to him for help. Invariably, one or the other would ask if marriage was worth the trouble it took to stay together. Adam gazed at the dust on his sneakers and knew inside that, compared to the loneliness of a solitary life, companionship was worth it.

  Adam counseled himself that night as he had counseled scores of others who came into his office. He asked what the real source of the problem was. In what were the negative emotions rooted? The answer came quickly. The problem was not only the way he had been set up—he had a right to be angry about that—but the one who helped set him up—Rachel. He had no right to expect anything of her. As a doctor her first loyalty was to a hospital embroiled in an impossible situation. And yet, he felt deeply disappointed that she would have gone along with Morgan and Sanchez in such a ridiculous scheme. He was hurt, and that’s what was eating him. That and the ever-present sense of helplessness. The question remained: What could be done?

  “Okay, enough of this pity party.” With that, he rose from the swing and paced around the play yard. He walked in a large circle that took him from the swing set past the monkey bars, onto the paved basketball courts, along the chain-link fence and back to the swing set. He had no idea how many times he made the circuit; he just walked and talked with himself. Interspersed in his self-dialogue he prayed. The prayers were short like Post-it Notes stuck to the door of heaven in which he asked God questions about himself, about the future, and about what to do.