As he walked, the sun pressing down, the smell of cut grass wafting through the air, he thought about what he was going to say to the Reverend, how he was going to discuss his predicament without actually telling him about Mr. Joseph.
Maybe I should tell him. He is a man of God. They’re supposed to love everyone, regardless of who—or what—they are, right? If anyone would know the right thing to do, he would be the one.
But would even a man of God be prepared to hear such a tale?
No, Toby decided to keep quiet, unless he thought it absolutely necessary to tell the Reverend.
Ten minutes later, Toby arrived at the Reverend’s house.
Pastor Henry Wakefield lived with his wife and two dogs in a cute lemon-painted single-story stucco right next to Belford United Methodist Church. It seemed too dainty for the Reverend, but then his wife, Alice, was into flowers and China cups and always smelled of lavender, so he guessed it suited her. Toby liked Alice Wakefield, but he hoped she was out today.
Toby strolled up the path, and at the door, rang the bell.
Toby heard yapping coming from the backyard.
Soon the door opened. Toby smiled and said, “Hey Rev.”
Henry Wakefield smiled back, though his smile was skewed. “Toby, hi. This is a surprise. I know it’s hard for you to keep track of the days, it being vacation and all, but church is not for another four days.”
The Reverend was wearing a dark blue short-sleeved shirt, which showed off his strong, tanned arms, and light brown pants.
Toby nodded. “Yeah, I know that. It’s just, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment?”
The Reverend nodded. “Sure.” He stepped aside, and when Toby was inside the house, the Reverend closed the door. “Follow me.”
Toby had only been inside the Reverend’s residence once before, years ago when he was around nine or ten. His mom had asked Pastor Wakefield if Toby could use his bathroom (Toby had drank two big glasses of Coke before going to church that morning, and by the end of the service, had been bursting). The Reverend had kindly allowed Toby to use his facilities, for which Toby was eternally grateful.
The Reverend’s house hadn’t changed much in four years. The same religious pictures and framed sayings from the Bible still hung on the same walls and the house was as neat as it was back then, free from the usual clutter. There were lots of books, though. It felt more like a casual office than a house. The outside may have been the work of his wife, but the inside was most definitely the Reverend’s doing.
Toby followed the Reverend into the living room, and was glad to see it empty, except for a TV, a radio, two small sofas and a desk in one corner.
“Alice is working today,” the Reverend said, as if sensing Toby’s relief. He sat in one of the sofas.
Toby took a seat in the other. “Oh, yeah, right.”
“And the dogs are outside, so they won’t annoy you. Would you like a drink?”
Toby shook his head. “No, thanks,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. The pictures of Jesus and Mary and the other religious pictures that adorned the walls seemed to be staring down at him.
“Okay, so what’s going on?”
Toby swallowed.
“You can relax,” the Reverend said, laughing softly. “The pictures aren’t going to come to life.”
Toby nodded. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be so nervy.”
“It’s okay, take your time. Remember, everything you say to me is in the utmost confidence. Nothing you tell me will leave this room. Unless, of course, someone bribes me with some whiskey.” He winked.
Toby started to feel at ease—the Reverend had that way about him. He was like a cool uncle. He was also one of the few adults who came to visit him in hospital, aside from his parents. Even Mrs. Stein and Miss. Wilson waited until he was back home. “Okay.” Toby took a deep breath. “What should you do when you find out that someone isn’t who you thought they were? That this person is hiding a secret, a very dark secret?”
The Reverend frowned. He licked his lips. “Can you tell me what this secret is?”
Toby shook his head. “No. But to tell you the truth, I don’t think you’d believe me even if I did tell you.”
“Try me.”
Toby gazed to the floor.
“No, it’s okay,” the Reverend said. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s not important.”
Toby looked up; smiled thinly. “Okay.”
“But let me ask you. This secret, is it... dangerous? Or illegal?”
Is being a zombi technically illegal?
Toby shook his head.
“Good.Okay. Go on.”
“Well, I don’t know what to do. Whether I should tell my parents about it, or even the police. I mean, I found out by accident, nobody knows except me. But the problem is, if I do tell someone, there’s a chance this person with the secret may get, well, in a lot of trouble.”
The Reverend’s kind, blue eyes narrowed. “You say this secret isn’t dangerous, or illegal, yet you’re considering going to the police?”
Toby shrugged.
“And you’re worried that if you do tell someone, this person will be in trouble?”
“Not trouble exactly. Danger.”
“Well,” the Reverend said. “I can see this is a serious matter for you. If you don’t mind me saying, Toby, but you don’t look too good. Are you still having trouble sleeping?”
Toby nodded.
“Because of this problem?”
“That, and other things. I only found out this secret the other night. I’ve hardly slept since.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”
“Maybe a glass of Coke, if you have it.”
The Reverend smiled, then got to his feet. “Be right back.”
While the Reverend was out of the room, Toby again glanced at the pictures on the wall. He was particularly drawn to the ones of Jesus. One picture depicted Jesus nailed to a cross. The second showed him deceased and buried in a cave. Lastly, there was a picture of Jesus standing by the cave entrance, a large boulder pushed to one side. In this one, Jesus was standing with arms outstretched, light glowing all around him, and people were kneeling before him.
(blinding white pain, screaming—Frankie?—a crowbar raised in the air)
The memory flash ended and when the Reverend came back, Toby flicked his eyes from the pictures and wiped his eyes. The Reverend handed Toby a glass of Coke.
“Is everything okay?” the Reverend asked.
“Sure,” Toby said, taking a long drink.
The Reverend, carrying another glass, sat back down and sipped what looked like iced tea. “I’m curious, Toby. Is this person aware that you know their secret?”
“Yes.”
“Did you promise not to tell anyone about it?”
“Well, not exactly. As I said, I found out by accident. This person told me I could tell my parents or the police if I wanted to. Of course they’d prefer it if I didn’t—their life would be ruined if I did—but I never promised I wouldn’t tell.”
“So they didn’t threaten you?”
“No,” Toby said. “They didn’t threaten me.”
“Now it seems to me, Toby, that if this problem is keeping you awake, maybe it’s too big for you to handle just on your own. Maybe you should tell your mom or dad.”
“But I don’t think they’d believe me,” Toby said, taking a gulp of Coke. “They’d think I was making it up.”
“You’re not making this very easy for me,” the Reverend said. “So this secret, it’s not dangerous or illegal, yet if you told someone, you’re worried that the person would get hurt. But you also think that you wouldn’t be believed even if you did tell someone?”
Toby shrugged. “Sounds silly, I know.”
“Not silly. Just... confusing.”
“If I told my parents, they’d probably think I was telling stories. Or maybe even worry I was going crazy. And they’re already worried enough.
But if they did believe me, then the person in question would be in danger.”
“Danger from who?”
“Everyone. The whole town, the police.”
“The police?”
Toby nodded and finished the drink, set the glass on the floor.
“I think the bottom line is this—is this person any danger to you or anyone else?”
Toby paused. “No.”
“Have they threatened you or anyone else?”
“No.”
“So this secret, you’re worried because it, what, scares you?”
Toby nodded.
“Why? If it poses no danger or threat, and it’s not illegal, why does it scare you?”
Toby considered his answer. “I guess, because it’s strange. I don’t understand the person or their secret.”
“Fear of the unknown?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Toby, God made everyone in his own image. He taught us to love thy neighbor. As long as this person isn’t dangerous, then you need to love and accept them for who they are. We’re all different, that’s what makes this world such an interesting place. Let me ask you something else: is it more dangerous to keep the secret to yourself, or is it more dangerous for the person if you were to tell someone about their secret?”
It didn’t take Toby long to think of the answer. “It’s a lot more dangerous to the person if I told,” Toby said. “Keeping it a secret hurts nobody.”
The Reverend nodded. “Well there’s your answer.”
Toby smiled. It felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It all seemed so simple, so clear. “Thanks,” Toby said. He got to his feet.
“I hope I was some help,” the Reverend said as he stood up.
“A big help.”
The Reverend led Toby to the front door. “You know you can come to me anytime. My door’s always open.”
“Not at the moment it isn’t.”
The Reverend grinned at Toby, gave him a gentle nudge. He pulled the door open. “Better?”
“Much.”
Toby turned to say goodbye.
The Reverend placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at Toby with those kind, fatherly eyes.
“You’re not a child anymore, Toby. You’re an intelligent young adult, facing a whole new world of problems and obstacles. Ultimately it’s your decision, but think very carefully about the choices you make, especially when they concern other people. It’s not wrong to divulge other people’s secrets, only if by doing so you’re preventing other people from getting hurt.”
Toby nodded, and the Reverend’s hand dropped from his shoulder.
“Can I ask you one more thing?” Toby said.
“Shoot.”
“You know how Jesus was crucified, and then rose from the dead three days later?”
“I think I may have heard about that, yes.”
“Well, I was just wondering, wouldn’t that make him, you know, a zombi?”
The Reverend first frowned, then he burst into a smile. Laughing, he said, “Well I guess, technically, it would’ve. Why on earth would you ask that?”
Toby shrugged. “Like I said, just wondered. Well, thanks again Rev. See you Sunday.”
“I hope so. And Toby, good luck.”
With a nod, Toby turned and left Pastor Wakefield’s house.
Toby sat at Mr. Joseph’s kitchen table, clutching a glass of water. His hands were trembling.
Mr. Joseph was sitting opposite, hands clasped around a cup of herbal tea. Bandages were wrapped around his head.
“I want to thank you, Toby.”
“For what?”
“For not telling anyone about me. When I answered the door and saw it was you...well, I guess I was expecting the police. Your dad at the very least. But I’m glad it was you. I imagine it must have been a hard decision.”
Toby nodded.
After leaving the Reverend’s, Toby had thought a lot about what the Reverend had said. One thing in particular really struck a chord: that what scared him most about the whole Mr. Joseph situation wasn’t the threat of violence, or the thought of some shambling, flesh-eating monster; it was fear of the unknown.
He recalled something his dad once said to him. One time when Toby was around six, he had woken up during the night, scared seemingly for no reason. When he turned on the light, there, perched on the wall near his bed, had been a great big hairy spider. He had screamed and his parents raced in and upon seeing the reason for their son’s outburst, his dad had smiled, put his arm around Toby and told him there was nothing to worry about. While his mom went about capturing the spider, using only a jar and a sheet of paper, his dad had told Toby that though it may look scary, really, the spider was a lot more afraid of him than Toby was of it. Toby had seriously doubted his dad’s logic, and up until now, had always thought his dad was wrong—after all, how could something so ugly, so terrifying be afraid of a harmless human such as himself?
Toby now understood what his dad had meant.
You had to look at things from the other person’s (or, in that case, spider’s) point of view—see it from their side. To a spider, even a six-year-old would look like a giant.
He thought about Mr. Joseph cooped up inside that house for the past twenty years, hardly ever venturing outside except to work at Barb’s, constantly being laughed at, always the recipient of mean-spirited pranks, all the while worrying about the truth being discovered.
And so, he realized on the long walk home, that the only way to face ones fear was to meet them head on. And the only way to face the unknown was to get familiar with it. So, instead of heading home, he decided to keep going to Mr. Joseph’s house. He figured he at least owed the man a chance to explain—he had, after all, saved Toby’s life.
“I haven’t slept since I found out,” Toby said. “It was all I could think about.”
“I know the feeling.”
“You have trouble sleeping?”
“No, I don’t sleep, period. I haven’t slept in over ninety years.”
Toby’s eyes widened. “You don’t sleep at all? Never?”
Mr. Joseph shook his head. “One of the unfortunate side effects of my condition. I pass the time by watching TV or reading. And I don’t watch much TV, so I do a lot of reading. I buy most of my books from second-hand shops, and I also borrow a lot from the library. But, I guess you’d know that.”
“Yeah. So, what do you read?”
“Oh, just about everything. I love history the most. But I’ve read just about every type of book there is. It’s a great way to pass the time.” Mr. Joseph’s face grew sad. He sipped some tea, then said, “Well you must have a million questions you want to ask me.”
Toby, gazing down at the old wooden table, nodded.
“I’m just as scared as you are, Monsieur Fairchild,” Mr. Joseph said. “Even after all these years, the idea of what I am still scares me. I can only imagine what you must think of me.”
“I... I don’t know what to think.”
Mr. Joseph took another sip of tea. “I’m curious, why did you come over the other night? How did you know the gunshot had come from my house?”
Toby sighed. He hoped this wouldn’t come up, but then he figured, compared with everything else, Mr. Joseph knowing the truth seemed slight. “About a month ago, some friends and I sneaked over to your place to, you know, play a prank. While my friends went into your backyard, I stayed and watched you at the window. I saw you... you know, with the gun.”
Mr. Joseph nodded. Then he said, “So that was you and your friends who tipped over my garbage can?” He smiled thinly. “Funny how things work out.”
Toby gazed at the old man with the bent neck, jagged scar and thick wad of bandage wound tightly around his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, hearing that noise stopped me from going through with it that night. And if that hadn’t happened, well, I may not have been around to find you a few days later, wandering up the stre
et.”
Toby looked at the glass in front of him. “Oh,” he said. “Right. So anyway, I was awake the other night, unable to sleep, when I heard what sounded like a gunshot. And I figured, you know, after what I saw that night, that you might have... finally gone through with it. So I came out to investigate.” Toby looked back up at Mr. Joseph. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it. How can you be sitting here, talking to me, if you’re...?”
“Dead?” Mr. Joseph sipped more tea. “It’s a long, sad story Toby.”
“Will you help me to understand?”
“Sorry?”
“I want to know about your past. I want to hear about how you became a zombi. I’m scared. But I don’t want to be. In order to face your fears, you have to meet them head on, right? Well, here I am. I want to know about your life. I want to understand.”
“I haven’t spoken about my past to anyone. I think about it every day, but...” Mr. Joseph’s voice trailed away, and his blank, glassy eyes fixated on the cup he was holding. He stayed that way for a long time. Finally he blinked, and snapped out of his daze. “First, you must understand something. I’m what is known as a zombi savane—basically, that means someone who has died, been brought back as a zombi, but has then awakened and returned to the state of the living. That doesn’t mean I’m alive, like you are, I’m still a zombi, I’m still without life, but I can think and act and feel. You see, if you give a zombi salt, whether it’s a piece of meat or a salted cracker, it awakens them from their trance-like state. They can think and talk, even feel, again. Salt equates with blood, which is the life force, so the moment a zombi tastes salt, he or she is suddenly aware of what they are.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “Zombis—real zombis—aren’t flesh-eating ghouls; they’re simply people who have been cursed, who have had their souls taken from them by an evil vodou priest, have died as a result, and then been brought back to do slave work, or other menial tasks. I’m not dangerous. Zombis aren’t dangerous. We’re simply soulless beings.”
The Awakening Page 24