Read Online Second Touch by Bodie Thoene, Brock Thoene - Free Book Online
Authors: Bodie Thoene, Brock Thoene
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wounds with wine and oil. Lily reapplied the dressings day after day in a battle that could not be won. ¬I’m praying again, Creator of Me and Them and Us! Help me! Help me see them, not with my eyes, but as you see them. Faces featureless now. But you formed them body and spirit in your likeness. Do you suffer too? Is this your faceless face? your handless arm? Cantor sang on and on, his voice a prayer for those who had no strength to pray. “This poor man called, and the Lord heard him; He saved him out of all his troubles.”13 ¬I’m praying again, Inventor of the Senses! How good of you to leave their hearing till the last. How good you are to bless Cantor with the sickness so he can sing to them in their darkness! How great is your wisdom to bless Rabbi Ahava with this suffering so he can be here with them! Rabbi Ahava, always disregarding the levitical laws about who was unclean, embraced each patient. He spoke words of encouragement. “It will be over soon. Soon. Rest. It’s all right to let go. But ¬don’t give up hoping. Yes! Messiah waits at the end of life to welcome us! Don’t be afraid of darkness. There is light at the end of the dark journey!” Lily scooped up the featherlight body of a small boy named Shalom. He could say ¬only two words distinctly when he came: Shalom and Mama. Shalom was ¬only eight or nine. He had entered the Valley last summer. For
years he had lived among the gravestones Outside. Then somehow he had come here. Dragging himself on stumps where feet should have been. Covered with disease. No face. He called Lily Mama. Imagine. She let him call her Mama. Didn’t mind. Embraced him like his mama should have . . . if ¬only . . . “Shalom! Good morning, love,” she whispered in the hole where his ear had been. “The sun is shining outside. Bright. I saw pink flowers blooming on the high slopes. We’ll go hawking later. Catch a rabbit or a pigeon to feed you tomorrow. What do you think?” The child replied with a moan of acknowledgment. “When you get to heaven, you’ll run through the fields. Would you like to fly with the hawks too?” Another moan. Yes. Yes. He would very much like to fly. “You will. You will. Angels fly. You have an angel, and soon he’ll take you flying like a hawk. Put in a good word with the Almighty for me, love.” She kissed his scab-covered head, then began to clean the filth from him. “The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, And He delivers them.”14 Cantor sang. Rabbi Ahava spoke the psalms. Lily cleaned what remained of the calves of his legs. Tears. Tears. Her tears. Little boy. Never had a chance to live. So near to flying away. Someday they would fly together in heaven. But for now the earth held her here, rooted like a tree. ¬I’m praying again, Soaring One. Do you remember what he looked like before? All of them? Me? Us? Will you restore us? Do the souls of children grow more beautiful in this refiner’s cauldron? Am I seeing myself in these? And you? Are you here with him? in him? Am I tending your wounds? The visit ended after two hours. “No one dead today,” Cantor said. “I think little Shalom will leave us soon,” Lily murmured. Rabbi Ahava remarked, “There are always more to take the places of those who leave us. So many.” Then, “How is Deborah? Is the baby due soon?” “Any day,” Lily told him. “I think she’s somehow holding off until Jekuthiel ¬comes back. She wants him with her when the baby’s born.” “So long, he’s been gone. So long.” The rabbi shook his head slowly from side to side.
Avel stood on the pinnacle of the Tower of the Flock. The boy recognized the black horse pounding toward Migdal Eder. He likewise recognized its rider. Avel’s heart drummed in his nine-year-old chest with violence equal to the thumping hoofbeats. Good news never traveled this fast. To Ha-or Tov, his friend in the pasture below, Avel shouted, “Centurion Marcus is coming!” Then he leapt
years he had lived among the gravestones Outside. Then somehow he had come here. Dragging himself on stumps where feet should have been. Covered with disease. No face. He called Lily Mama. Imagine. She let him call her Mama. Didn’t mind. Embraced him like his mama should have . . . if ¬only . . . “Shalom! Good morning, love,” she whispered in the hole where his ear had been. “The sun is shining outside. Bright. I saw pink flowers blooming on the high slopes. We’ll go hawking later. Catch a rabbit or a pigeon to feed you tomorrow. What do you think?” The child replied with a moan of acknowledgment. “When you get to heaven, you’ll run through the fields. Would you like to fly with the hawks too?” Another moan. Yes. Yes. He would very much like to fly. “You will. You will. Angels fly. You have an angel, and soon he’ll take you flying like a hawk. Put in a good word with the Almighty for me, love.” She kissed his scab-covered head, then began to clean the filth from him. “The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him, And He delivers them.”14 Cantor sang. Rabbi Ahava spoke the psalms. Lily cleaned what remained of the calves of his legs. Tears. Tears. Her tears. Little boy. Never had a chance to live. So near to flying away. Someday they would fly together in heaven. But for now the earth held her here, rooted like a tree. ¬I’m praying again, Soaring One. Do you remember what he looked like before? All of them? Me? Us? Will you restore us? Do the souls of children grow more beautiful in this refiner’s cauldron? Am I seeing myself in these? And you? Are you here with him? in him? Am I tending your wounds? The visit ended after two hours. “No one dead today,” Cantor said. “I think little Shalom will leave us soon,” Lily murmured. Rabbi Ahava remarked, “There are always more to take the places of those who leave us. So many.” Then, “How is Deborah? Is the baby due soon?” “Any day,” Lily told him. “I think she’s somehow holding off until Jekuthiel ¬comes back. She wants him with her when the baby’s born.” “So long, he’s been gone. So long.” The rabbi shook his head slowly from side to side.
Avel stood on the pinnacle of the Tower of the Flock. The boy recognized the black horse pounding toward Migdal Eder. He likewise recognized its rider. Avel’s heart drummed in his nine-year-old chest with violence equal to the thumping hoofbeats. Good news never traveled this fast. To Ha-or Tov, his friend in the pasture below, Avel shouted, “Centurion Marcus is coming!” Then he leapt
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