Authors: MAYNARD SIMS
“It
must be, for the layman. The resurrection of the dead is a complicated moral
issue. Indeed, if we were of the Christian persuasion, what we are discussing
here might very well be described as heresy. And yet the Christian hypocrisy is
complete, for when Christ rose from the tomb it was claimed as a miracle.”
“But
we’re not talking about Christ rising from his tomb. We’re not talking about
the Son of God.”
“No,
we’re talking about
your
son, Mr. Stock.
Your son,
Frank.
And we are saying that through Dr
Romodon
and the Church of the Divine Light, your son can be restored to you.”
“I
need a drink.” Stock turned in his chair and opened the desk drawer and took
out the bottle of whisky and two glasses. “You going to join me?” he said as he
poured the whisky into the first glass.
“I
regret not. Our faith teaches total abstinence from all forms of stimulants.”
“Very
noble,” Stock said sourly.
He was finding it hard to
get a grip on his emotions. He should be feeling elated now. When it was first
suggested to him that there was a possibility Frank could be brought back he’d
been euphoric. That was a little over a year ago. Then the scepticism set in
and he had left the matter alone. He’d supported the Church of the Divine Light
financially at Marlene’s insistence, but had long regarded them as cranks. It
was only over the last two months his scepticism had abated.
According to Leon Cooperman,
Marlene should be dead. Every day she survived confounded Cooperman more. He
had been against Stock bringing her home from the hospital, and almost
apoplectic when Stock announced that the only nursing care she was going to
receive would come from the Sisters of the Divine Light. Cooperman had been
persistent, and to finally quieten him down Stock had allowed him daily visits
and the pain reducing shots of morphine for Marlene.
Now,
it seemed to Randolph Stock, that Marlene’s condition was actually improving.
Of course, Cooperman disputed this, as did Caroline. They thought it was just
an old man’s fancy, his inability to face up to the fact the wife he cherished
was soon to be taken from him. But Stock knew differently. On the times he went
to sit with her he would hold her hand, and just lately, instead of her small
withered hand lying inside his like a dead bird, she’d actually been holding
back, gripping his fingers weakly. And there was a light in her eyes when she
looked at him, a vital spark that had been absent for so long. Randolph Stock
was now beginning to believe strongly that if the ministrations of the Church
of the Divine Light could bring about that much improvement in his wife’s
terminal condition, then they may, just may be able to substantiate other, more
outlandish claims.
He
knew that if there was only one chance in ten million that his son could be
returned to him then he had to take it. So why now did he feel so hostile to
the fat man in the white robe who went by the unlikely name of Brother Simon?
He should be feeling grateful to him. Randolph Stock realized with a shock that
gratitude was a feeling he hadn’t felt for years. He’d forgotten how to express
it.
But
there was another reason. He didn’t like Brother Simon. He didn’t like the way
the fat man sat opposite him, sweating like a pig and wiping his jowly face
with the sleeve of his robe. He didn’t like the way the man always smiled, as
if his lips had been glued into position. And he didn’t like him because he
didn’t trust him any more than he would trust a sleeping rattlesnake. Over the
course of his business life he’d learned to assess people quickly and
accurately, and there was something about Brother Simon that just didn’t hang
right, and it wasn’t only his white robe.
“You’re
a surprising man, Mr. Stock,” Brother Simon said.
“Oh, why?”
Brother
Simon adjusted himself in the chair again. “Because you are a very shrewd
business man, you must be to have reached the position you now occupy. And yet
not once during the discussions we’ve been having over the last two months have
you asked what the terms would be.”
Randolph
Stock looked at him neutrally. “As I’m sure you are aware, I’m a very rich man,
and I’m well aware that your church isn’t a charitable institution. So far the
nursing care for my wife has cost in excess of four hundred thousand dollars.
I’m quite prepared to double that figure to have my son restored to me.”
“Admirable,”
Brother Simon said. “But, my dear Mr. Stock, while your donations towards our
church have been gratefully accepted, Dr
Romodon
had
instructed me to tell you that he feels we can no longer impinge on your
generosity.”
“You
mean this is going to cost me nothing?”
Brother
Simon laughed. He had an irritating laugh, like a car that refuses to start. “Forgive
me, I have unintentionally misled you. There will be a cost. We have a number
of overheads that have to be met, and I’m sure you’ll agree that four hundred
thousand dollars is a small sum to pay to see your beloved wife now on the path
to a complete recovery.”
“How
can I believe you?”
A
frown creased Brother Simon’s brow but was soon absorbed by a layer of fat.
“But surely you have seen for yourself that she is slowly recovering. The
sisters have been most diligent in informing me of any change in your wife’s
condition, however slight. And I must tell you that Dr
Romodon
has been told of the improvement and he too is delighted.”
“Granted
she does seem stronger, but Dr Cooperman…”
Brother
Simon raised his hand. “Please, Mr. Stock. Dr Cooperman is a man of science,
and where science and faith meet there is always bound to be conflict. Science
is the arrogance of ignorance. Anything that cannot be explained away under
laboratory conditions is treated with scepticism. Why only the other evening I
was watching a television program where a team of scientists were trying to
explain away the phenomena of spontaneous human combustion, by giving very
plausible rational explanations, but ultimately declaring that there was no
such thing. I must say, I could have been swayed by their argument had I not
witnessed the self-immolation of a holy man in Tibet. He caught fire and burned
to cinders within an hour, and there was no outside cause of ignition, in fact
he was sitting in the middle of a deserted temple. Only Dr
Romodon
and I were present to witness the occurrence, but I swear on everything that is
holy that the man simply caught fire spontaneously. So you see
,
you shouldn’t believe everything Dr Cooperman tells you.”
Randolph
Stock sat unmoved. He firmly believed that seeing
was
believing
.
Brother
Simon smiled. “I see I haven’t convinced you. You must try to rid your mind of
all preconceived ideas of illness and death. There is a phrase they use in the
west; it’s all in the mind. Well our philosophy supports this.
So much that happens to the physical body is dictated by the mind
and the spirit.
Let me give you a demonstration. Quite crude, I’m
afraid, but it might help convince you.” He made a small beckoning gesture and
one of the hooded figures came from behind his chair to stand next to him.
“Take
off your hood, sister, if you would,” Brother Simon said.
The
hood was thrown back and Randolph Stock stared up into the face of an
extraordinarily pretty young girl. She couldn’t have been any older than Paula,
his granddaughter. She had a pale European face, with a finely chiselled nose
and expressive green eyes. The only off key feature about her was that her head
was completely shaved. With hair, Stock decided, she would have been stunning
to look at.
Brother
Simon was watching Stock intently. “Please would you roll back the sleeve of
your robe, sister?”
The
young girl obeyed, revealing a long white forearm. The fine downy hair was
light to the point of being almost invisible.
“Now
if you please, Mr. Stock, your cigar.”
“My what?”
Stock stared at the Havana between his fingers.
He’d completely forgotten it was there and there was an inch of ash on its end,
but still it smouldered.
“Please,
Mr. Stock,” Brother Simon said and reached out to take it.
Randolph
Stock flicked the ash into a brass ashtray and handed the Havana across to him.
Brother
Simon smiled. “Now, please observe.” He blew on the smouldering end of the
cigar until it was glowing a fierce red, then he took hold of the young
sister’s wrist, turning her arm so the sensitive skin on the inside of her
forearm was exposed. With a flourish that would have done justice to a stage
magician he set the glowing end of the cigar against the girl’s arm, pressing
the burning tobacco hard into her skin.
Stock
watched, horrified as tears filled the girl’s eyes. She was biting her lip to
keep from crying out, and sweat was beading on her forehead. Brother Simon held
the cigar there for thirty seconds as the skin of the girl’s arm began to char
and blister. Finally Stock could stand it no longer. The girl’s face had become
a mask of tortured agony.
“Enough,
man, for pity’s sake stop!”
Brother
Simon removed the cigar from the girl’s arm and turned to smile at Stock.
“Please don’t be alarmed.
Watch.”
Still holding onto
the girl’s wrist, with his other hand he covered the scorched flesh of her arm.
His face wrinkled into a frown of intense concentration and his mouth opened
and closed uttering words that Stock strained but failed to hear.
A
minute passed and then, with another flourish, Brother Simon took his hand away
from the girl’s arm.
The
skin wasn’t marked, save for a slight brownish discoloration where the burning
end of the cigar had been.
“But
that’s…” Stock looked in astonishment from Brother Simon to the girl. She was
smiling back at him. A deeply serene smile that disclosed nothing of the agony
she had recently suffered.
“So
you see, Mr. Stock, not everything is as science would have it.”
“I
guess not,” Randolph Stock said, and took a handkerchief from his pocket and
mopped his perspiring brow.
“Now
where were we?” Brother Simon said. “Ah yes, we were discussing terms.”
Dean
Rulski
pulled on his
shirt, trying hard to avoid Paula’s gaze.
“Lighten
up, can’t you?” Paula said. She was still lying naked on the sun
lounger
, a slight film of perspiration
sheening
her body. With a sigh she sat up and picked up her bra from the floor. “Look,
you were okay. Sure, you weren’t the best lover I’ve ever had, but for a first
time outing you did okay.”
Dean
buttoned his shirt. “I’m going back to the house,” he said, wondering why he
felt vaguely dirty. His first time with a woman! Somehow he’d always imagined
it was going to be something wonderful, instead he felt tarnished in some way,
and he felt as if he’d let his parents down. Perhaps kids from Arizona were
different from other kids. Perhaps other kids would want to brag about
something like this. All
he
wanted to do was to get back to the party
and away from Paula
Devereaux
. She was something else.
Something from outside his sphere of experience.
The
predatory female; he’d read that phrase in a book somewhere, and it described
Paula
Devereaux
perfectly.
“Hey,
lover boy,” Paula cooed from the
lounger
. “Your bow
tie’s on crooked.”
Dean
ignored her and headed for the door. He gripped the handle and twisted it, and
then remembered Paula said she’d locked it. He turned to look at her. She was
pulling her dress over her head.
“I
need the key,” he said.
“In
my purse,” she said.
“Can
I have it?”
She reached
under the
lounger
and pulled out her purse and tossed
the key across to him.