Guilt by Association

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Will you never look away from me,

  or let me alone even for an instant?

  If I have sinned, what have I done to you,

  O watcher of men?

  Why have you made me your target?

  Have I become a burden to you?

  Why do you not pardon my offenses

  and forgive my sins?

  For I will soon lie down in the dust;

  you will search for me, but I will be no more.

  “‘Why have you made me your target?’” Dani smiled faintly as she said, “That’s what we all feel at some time or other when life is falling apart—Why are you doing this to me, God? To the ancient Jews it was indisputable that God is almighty, that He is just, and that no human being is innocent in His sight. That’s why, when Job’s three friends came to reason with him, after he lost everything, circumstances made them think that Job was suffering because he had done wrong. That’s the problem that Job and his friends grapple with—why do the righteous suffer?”

  “Yeah, how about that!” Lonnie broke in suddenly. “My oldest sister never hurt nobody. She worked herself to death, raising us eight kids. Then when she was only thirty-seven years old, she got sick and died.” Lonnie’s round face turned hard and, with a bitter edge to his voice, he added, “She didn’t go easy, either. Took her a year to die, and she hurt something awful the whole time. Why’d God let that happen?”

  A sense of frustration swept over Dani, for she saw that not only Lonnie, but all the others were reacting with a stubbornness based on doubt. Her hands trembled as she clutched her Bible, longing to give up. But her stubborn streak held Dani in place.

  “I don’t have the answer to that, Lonnie. Job didn’t get any answer, either. At times he became almost bitter against God. Once he cried out, ‘Tell me what charges you have against me. Does it please you to oppress me, to spurn the work of your hands, while you smile on the schemes of the wicked?’ But Job never gave up on God! In chapter thirteen he says, ‘Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him!’”

  Holtz asked quietly, “I have never understood that book, though I have read it often. How could a man who had been almost destroyed still have hope?” He looked around at the faces of his fellow prisoners, seeking for an answer, then shrugged. “I suppose he was a saint. But I am not a saint, Danielle—so it’s difficult for me to look at this terrible thing we’re caught up in and have much hope.”

  Candi’s voice sounded thin and reedy, and her face was tense as she said, “Dani, that’s in a book, but this prison ain’t something made up! And I’m scared!” Her mouth trembled, and she tried to say more, but could not.

  Dani said quietly, “I’m scared, too, Candi. I think we all are. I think Job must have been at times. But Job had one hope. He knew that God was just—he knew that! The ancient Jews never believed anything else. So Job kept saying, ‘If I could just find God! He’d help me, He’d understand!’ That’s why in chapter twenty-three, verse three, he says:

  “If only I knew where to find him;

  If only I could go to his dwelling!

  I would state my case before him

  and fill my mouth with arguments.

  I would find out what he would answer me

  and consider what he would say.

  Would he oppose me with great power?

  No, he would not press charges against me.

  There an upright man could present

  his case before him,

  and I would be delivered forever

  from my judge.

  “Job wants to find a merciful God; he says so over and over again,” Dani said. “And he is absolutely sure that such a God exists. He says ‘I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.’ But who is this redeemer?”

  Dani began to chronicle man’s efforts to find peace throughout the history of the world. Finally she said, “Man has been suffering since the beginning of time, and he has cried out, ‘Where is the one who can deliver us? Where is the strong one who is able to destroy our enemies of fear, of hatred, of famine—of all the plagues of the human heart?’”

  Dani opened her Bible, looked at it for what seemed a long time, and when she spoke there were tears in her eyes. “When the deliverer came, he didn’t come with pomp and ceremony, and he didn’t come as a king to sweep evil away with a flashing sword. Let me read to you how He did come.”

  But she didn’t read from the open Bible. She began to quote from the Bible version she had memorized as a child, and the quiet words seemed to hover in the cold air.

  “And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem . . . To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”

  She blinked the tears away, and her lips softened as she said, “I always cry over that—to think that the deliverer of mankind was born in a stable!” Then she dashed the tears away quickly and quoted again:

  “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for . . . I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

  She closed her Bible and looked around. Sid was looking down, so she could not see his face, and Candi was weeping freely, her tears leaving marks down her cheeks. “One week from tomorrow will be December twenty-fifth—Christmas. For most people, it’s tinsel and Santa Claus. But for me, it’s for that baby who was born: God’s only begotten Son.

  “But he’s not a baby in a manger now,” she said, and her voice rose. “He grew up, became the only perfect man the world ever saw. And when he was thirty-three years old, he was taken out and crucified. The Bible says that Jesus didn’t die for His own sins. He died for our sins, for the sins of the world. And that’s what Job meant when he said, ‘I know that my redeemer lives. . . .’”

  She quoted some New Testament Scriptures and ended, “We may die in this prison, but even if we get out, we’ll die someday. For me, Jesus Christ is the answer. If I die in this place, I’ll die trusting God!”

  After Dani sat down, the others got up and went about other things, and despair gathered in her breast. What good is it? she thought bitterly. They don’t care—even with death at our elbows, they don’t care! Bowed down with a sense of futility, she blamed herself. God, I’m no preacher. I can’t do this again! I won’t! She got up, and the cold, bleak air of the silo seemed to creep into her spirit.

  All morning she went over the information sheets with Holtz, and finally, after a bowl of soup at noon, doggedly returned to the task. Once she said, “This job is just about as useless as pecking away at that concrete!”

  Holtz placed his hand over hers. “You are tired and a little discouraged.” His grip was strong, and he squeezed her hand firmly. “Why don’t you go take a nap? You’ll feel better.”

  She put her own hand on top of his, noting how strong he was, despite his age. “All right, Karl,” she answered wanly. “At least I’ll get warm!” She went to her bunk, noting that Candi was buried under her small mountain of blankets. The air was so cold it hurt her lungs, so she burrowed deep under her blankets. After a while she grew warm and dropped off into a fitful sleep.

  Awakening with a start when hands touched her, fear shot through Dani. “What . . . !” She shut off her startled cry, when, burrowing out from under her blankets, she found Candi kneeling beside her, weeping and shivering in the cold air. “Candi! What’s wrong?”

  “I—I don’t know!” Candi unsuccessfull
y tried to stop the convulsive sobs that racked her.

  “Are you sick? Can I get Karen?”

  “No! I ain’t sick. I’m just scared!”

  At once Dani knew what was troubling the woman. She looked around and, seeing that the other women were gone, offered gently, “Candi, sit with me. We’ll cover up and stay warm while we talk.” Then she pulled Candi close and, under the covers, felt her quaking frame. Wrapping her arms around the other woman, Dani said, “Candi, Jesus loves you!”

  Instantly Candi collapsed against Dani, emitting great sobbing cries. Finally she grew still, and Dani said, “Let me tell you how to have peace, Candi—” She began to speak softly, quoting Scriptures, answering questions, and finally she asked, “Would you like to have Jesus Christ in your heart, Candi?”

  “Oh, Dani! You don’t know what I’ve done!” she wailed. “You’ve been good, but I can’t even say the things I’ve done!”

  “Why, Candi, don’t you know that they called Jesus ‘the friend of sinners?’ He didn’t die for the good—because there are none! He died for sinners like you and me.”

  Dani prayed constantly that none of the others would come in. After a long time Dani said, “I’ll pray for you, Candi. You just tell Jesus that you’ve been wrong, then ask Him to forgive you and to give you peace.” She began to pray at once. The other woman’s body tensed, but finally Candi gave a muffled cry, drew back, and stared at Dani with wide-open eyes.

  “Oh, Dani!” she whispered, and her whole face was alight with a joy that made Dani rejoice. “I feel so—so—peaceful!” she exclaimed. “It’s like a big load just dropped off my back!” She dashed the tears away from her eyes and whispered, “Is this what you feel?”

  “Yes!” Dani was crying, too, and some of the joy that bubbled up in Candi seemed to be rising in her. She had never felt anything quite like it. “Jesus is the prince of peace, Candi!”

  “Will it always be this way?”

  “Well—” Dani hesitated, then nodded firmly. “He said one time, ‘. . . My peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth. . . .’ I guess the world takes away what it gives—and He doesn’t.”

  When Dani mentioned the terrible danger that faced them, Candi nodded. “Sure, I know. But it’s not so bad now.” Her face grew serious, and she was silent. Finally she nodded as if she had settled something and smiled at Dani, saying, “You know what? No matter how this thing turns out, I’m ahead of the game. I mean, if I’d stayed outside, how much chance would there have been for me to get saved? Not much! Not too many preachers in a strip joint! So if I do make it, one thing is sure—I’m never going back to that life!”

  When Rachel called them to dinner, Candi said hurriedly, “And if I don’t make it, why that’s all right, too!” She squeezed Dani, threw off the blankets, and said as she got out of the bunk, “I’m like you now, Dani. If I die in this place, I’ll die trusting Jesus!” She suddenly wheeled and ran out of the room.

  Rachel stared after her. “What’s with her?” she asked Dani.

  “Why, I think she’s just met up with one of your countrymen, Rachel.”

  “What’s that you say?” Rachel asked suspiciously.

  “Why, she’s just met a man from Nazareth—Jesus by name.”

  Rachel’s smooth face was marred with anger that turned her mouth cruelly down. “Leave me alone!” Then she wheeled and went to the bathroom, slamming the door and snapping the lock bolt home, as if she were shutting herself up in another world. She always locked herself in for the long showers she loved. But this time the expression on her face was a harder denial than the steel bolt on the door.

  Dani shook her head sadly, wondering how she would ever be able to break through Rachel’s wall. As she put on her shoes, Dani thought, Rachel may be harder even than Vince or Sid. As she passed out of the room she whispered, “But Candi was hard, too!”

  At breakfast, Lonnie looked up from his eggs to ask, “What’s with you, Candi?” Then he shot a quick glance at Dani and nodded. “Oh—you hit the glory trail, I reckon.”

  Candi smiled, and a flush touched her cheeks. “Sure, that’s it, Lonnie. A little late—” She faltered, but caught Dani’s encouraging smile, and it brought her head up. “A little late, but let me tell you, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  Karen smiled briefly. “I’m glad for you, Candi.” She pushed her plate back, saying soberly, “I guess you all know that Vince is worse.”

  “He coughed all night.” Betty nodded. “And it’s one of those hollow, dry coughs, too, the worst kind!”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. And Rachel has a temperature.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Rachel protested, but her cheeks were flushed and she looked little better than Vince.

  “Vince’s lungs aren’t good. I think he has pneumonia. I don’t want to take chances; I’m putting you both on the strongest antibiotic I’ve got,” Karen added. “It’ll make you sleepy, but that’s what you need anyway.”

  At ten o’clock the supplies were lowered, and as usual everyone gathered to see what was sent.

  “Look!” Karen cried out as the basket came to eye level, “Its filled with the canvas you asked for!”

  Holtz pulled at the light-blue nylon cloth and turned to Ben, asking, “Will this do?”

  “Yes.” Ben nodded, and his face seemed less bleak than before. “There’ll be more, I guess.” As they quickly unloaded and the basket ascended, he commented, “I was pretty sure we wouldn’t get this stuff.”

  “So was I,” Bix agreed. “Maybe our luck’s going to change.”

  The supply box was lowered twice, the last load containing a heavy drill motor and several bits. Just as they got them all unloaded, Maxwell Stone’s voice came so unexpectedly that all of them started.

  “Now, you are aware that I am not the monster you have made me out to be.” A trace of self-satisfaction had entered his voice. “You have the material you requested to insulate your quarters. I must warn you, however, that if you attempt to use the drill for any other purpose, you will be severely punished.”

  Karen said quickly, “We have a very sick man on our hands. He needs to be in a hospital.”

  “That is out of the question. You may have whatever medicine you desire, Dr. Sanderson, but at the risk of being repetitious, I must remind you that the key to your release is in your hands, not mine! As the poet Milton said, ‘The mind is it’s own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell—a Hell of Heaven.’ So you must make your own destiny.” He paused, then asked, “Have any of you decided to rid yourself of the guilt we’ve so often spoken of?”

  “What guilt?” Rachel suddenly stepped forward and lifted her face defiantly toward the camera. “Stone, everything you say is insane! Why, your words are like ‘a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury’!” She lifted her fist and shook it at the camera, shouting, “I confess that you are a lunatic! I confess that if I ever get the chance, I’ll cut your throat!” Suddenly taken by a fit of coughing, she was forced to stop.

  Angered Sid yelled, “She’s right, Stone! You’re the one who should be confessing! Them two people you killed—Rosie and Alex—was worth a hundred of you!”

  “And how much were the people worth whom you killed, Valentine?” Stone shot back instantly. “How many were there? At least five—including two women—were there not?” Stone began to reel out a series of charges and convictions, along with dates, and each one seemed a club that struck Sid with telling force. When Stone finally came to an end, he asked caustically, “How many lives are you worth? You should have been executed years ago! But in this day it’s very difficult for a man to be punished for his crime! Instead of handing out death sentences, our courts are handing out candy to murderers! But that will change, oh, yes! All will be level in our government, I promise you!”

  Holtz suddenly cried out, “Don’t think us all fools, Stone! Government? We know very well what your government will be!”

  “It will be
quite unlike the government that made you, Herr Holtz!” Stone shot back. “The degenerates of the Third Reich produced a race of killers. The government of my own country has gone in the opposite direction, so that criminals rule the streets and honest men and women huddle in fear. Men chase after women like dogs! There is no honor among them—and the women have the moral standards of Cleopatra, that harlot of the Nile who debauched the rulers of her day!” He ranted on wildly, ending, “You have been given the opportunity to confess your errors—an opportunity, I might add, that you have not always given to others! But you must act for yourselves, for I will not force you.”

  The speaker went dead. Sid’s face had turned white, and he looked around with a hangdog expression, as if he expected someone to accuse him. When no one did, he wiped his brow, turned, and walked away.

  Dani went at once to Holtz’s desk and began writing. She was just finishing a page when she became aware that someone had come to stand beside her. Looking up quickly, she was shocked to find Ben gazing down at her.

  “Sit down, Ben.” She tossed the pen on the desk. “I’m sorry about asking you about—about the girl.”

  “You haven’t forgotten her name, have you?” he asked. “Florrie was her name. But that’s part of the deal, isn’t it? Get everything out in the open?”

  Dani moved uneasily, unable to read his face. “I—I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she murmured. “I know you aren’t the killer. You got into this trying to help me, and now I’ve done something to you. Something I regret very much!”