Читать книгу The Light in the Mirror - David I. Lane - Страница 14

10

Prelude to Crisis

The bright, warm days of summer were fading into fall with cooler nights and the smell of wood smoke in the air. The cannery responded to signs of the new season with slower production and reduced hours for workers such as Richard. The resulting freedom meant that Richard could once again plan weekend activities with Mac and others, including his new friend Tony. Richard found Tony’s descriptions of the hippie era fascinating. Although it became increasingly apparent to Richard that Tony, to a great extent, lived in the past. Once when Richard hinted at this in a conversation, Tony replied, “Well, everything groovy happened twenty-five years ago.” When Tony spoke of the protest marches, university sit-ins, draft-card burnings, speeches against the Vietnam War, and the music of the period, he conjured up vivid images that made those times live again for Richard. As their work at the cannery came to an end, both men expressed their desire to maintain their friendship.

The third-night after his cannery job ended, Richard thought, “I feel like I should be getting ready for work.” Weeks of that routine had been ingrained into his system. Though it hadn’t taken long to adjust to the graveyard shift, he wondered how long it would take his circadian rhythms to re-adjust.

Alone in the living room, he relaxed in a comfortable, old rocking chair. From a nearby table, he took a novel he had started and soon became engrossed. He had just reached a point where the hero confronted his nemesis when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“What! Oh, Uncle Mac! I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

“I’m sorry laddie, I dinna mean to startle ye. But I wanted to let ye know. I have your family’s photo album I’d been searchin’ for. It has pictures o’ your mither and father and your brother and sister. I thought ye might have time now to look at it.”

“Sure.”

The two men sat down on the sofa, and Mac put the album on Richard’s lap. As Richard turned the pages, Mac commented, sometimes saying where and when a photograph was taken.

“I certainly had a nice looking family,” said Richard sadly. Pointing at one photo, he declared, “I like this shot of the whole family. It looks like I’m included too, because my mother is expecting. Wait a minute though—that couldn’t be, my brother and sister are too young.” Richard looked at his uncle for an explanation.

“You’re right, o’ course, laddie. At the time this photo was taken, your mom was carryin’ her third child. In this photo, I think . . . she’s aboot seven months along. If it turned out to be a boy, she planned to name him Douglas. I canna tell ye what went wrong, but your brother was stillborn. I’m sorry to have to tell ye, but ye should know. We should always remember Douglas.”

“You know, Douglas and I have something in common—we both never knew our parents or brother and sister.”

“I was thinkin’ aboot him just last night. Ye see, my boy, if Douglas had lived, tomorrow would be his birthday; he’d be 39 years old.”

Richard and his uncle looked at, and talked about, family members in the album until past midnight. Richard concentrated hard on the faces of his relatives, imprinting them in his mind in an effort to see them as a family that would have loved him, rather than as strangers who didn’t know him. He wondered how they would view God’s purpose for his life.

“Over the years, I’ve seen how the things you do, Uncle Mac, always come back to the purpose God has given you for your life. I wish I knew God’s purpose for my life. The only purpose in my life has been my physical survival, and that of the people I love.”

“Stay close to the Lord, laddie, and He will show ye, in His gude time, how your life can have a larger purpose than just survival, as vital as that is.”

“By ‘larger’, Uncle, do you mean something important?”

“Not necessarily; ‘larger’ in the sense that it will give priority to the spiritual over the material. It will enable ye to please God and serve others ahead o’ your own comfort.”

“If my family had lived, maybe they would have taught me to be less self-centered, so that I could see now what He’d have me do with my life.”

“Aye. Your dear family would have been a benefit to ye. But, son, remember what the Word tells us, ‘And we know that in all things God works for the gude o’ those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.’”

“I want to find God’s purpose for my life—I realize I’ll never be truly happy until I do.”

“We may find God’s purpose, or it may find us, as it found Paul on the road to Damascus—like a light from Heaven.”

Mac suddenly looked at his watch “It’s been a bonny chin wag, but it’s time I called it a day, laddie. I’ll see ye at breakfast.”

“Okay. Thank you for showing me the album,” said Richard, starting to hand the album back to his uncle.

“No Richard, the album is yours now. I saved it for ye.” As Mac said this, he patted his nephew’s hand, smiled, and turned to head up the stairs.

Richard was up early the next morning; Tony was coming to pick him up for a drive to the site of a hippie commune where Tony had lived in the 70s. After dressing and spending time in devotions, he headed downstairs to discover that Mac had already eaten breakfast and was outdoors working in his garden. Richard ate a cold breakfast that sacrificed nutrition for speed, then went out and sat on the porch step to wait for the old Volkswagen van to appear. “Tony’s van will give the neighbors something to talk about,” chuckled Richard to himself.

At that moment a red Volkswagen van pulled up in front of Mac’s house. On the side of the van, facing Richard, Tony had painted a large yellow peace symbol. It seemed to Richard that the peace symbol looked like an upside down rake. He wondered what hippies wanted raked up. Underneath the peace symbol was the picture of a salmon jumping out of a stream. Printed under this scene were the words: “SAVE OUR ENVIRONMENT.”

Cranking down the van window, Tony yelled, “Hi, Richard! Your limo is here!”

Richard stood up and waved. Walking briskly toward the van, he paused at the sidewalk and turned to try to catch a glimpse of his uncle. Unsuccessful, he hurried around the van and climbed into it on the passenger side, as Tony held open the door.

“Use this rope, Rich, to tie the door shut. This here is a customized van,” laughed Tony.

As the van swiftly left the curb, Tony’s loud greeting to Richard brought Mac hurrying from the backyard, hoping to catch Richard to say goodbye before he left. He reached the front of the house only to see the van drive off down the street. Standing motionless, a sudden premonition seized Mac. It was the same feeling he’d had when Richard’s family had left on the fateful evening of their fatal accident. Entrusting his words to the wind, he called, “Be careful, Richard!”

“Hey, man! You’re lookin’ good! Enjoyin’ your freedom since leavin’ the cannery, are you, Rich?”

Before Richard could reply, Tony continued talking.

“Freedom, Man. That’s where it’s at! Rich, if it weren’t for havin’ to buy food and gas, I’d never restrict my life with a forty hour week, I can tell you that.”

“What would you do if you could?” asked Richard, somewhat amused at Tony’s view of work.

“I’ll tell you, I’d be back makin’ leather belts, wallets, and wristbands. Man, that was cool, ‘cause it was on my terms. If I wanted to do it, fine; if I didn’t, fine.”

“Why did you give up leather craft then?” Richard queried.

“Couldn’t compete with the big stores with their cheap, machine-made junk! Why, each belt, wristband, or wallet I made was a handcrafted original. See this belt I’m wearin’—I designed and made it.”

Richard looked admiringly at the belt. When he saw that Tony was looking at it too, instead of the road, hoping to sharpen Tony’s focus on the highway, he observed, “That’s an interesting brick building up ahead on the right.”

Tony looked up, but still seemed to be in his own world.

“Freedom is what all humans are searchin’ for and most of ‘em think they’ll find it by workin’ hard, savin’ money, and collectin’ a lot of material stuff, but it’s all an illusion, ‘cause the more they collect, the more tied down they are and the less freedom they have. See, Rich?”

“I guess you’re right. I once heard a professor say that he didn’t have time for his family, because he had to write articles to get promoted.”

“Right on, Rich! I knew a few like that, too.”

After driving for over two hours, the men devoted more attention to the countryside than to each other. Richard broke the silence that enveloped them.

“Say Tony, I need to get back to town early this afternoon. I found out last night that my mother had a stillborn baby many years ago, and today would be his birthday. I thought maybe Uncle Mac and I could do something in remembrance of Douglas.”

“Heavy, man. I’ll get you back on time, never fear.” With that declaration, Tony increased speed. “By the way,” he asked, “how old are you, if you don’t mind me askin’.”

“No, I don’t mind. I’m 24—born in 1975.”

“Well, Rich, you look younger and act older than your age. Hmm, the hippie era started to end when the war in Nam ended in ’75.” Tony fell into a brief silence, as a mourner might at the death of a friend. Then looking up, he yelled, “Hey Rich! There’s a sight you don’t see with your head down, countin’ your money. See him up there? A goshawk. He’s as free as any creature can be, floatin’ on the air currents.”

When Tony and Richard looked up, they were approaching a sharp curve at a high rate of speed. Becoming aware of this, Tony applied the brakes and, as the van began to skid, he struggled to keep from going off the highway. For some seconds, driving with two wheels on the level shoulder seemed to work. But when the shoulder inclined, the van, as if by an irresistible force, careened toward the telephone pole looming in its path.

Tony screamed, “Oh no! We’re goin’ to . . .”

A man driving a parcel delivery truck saw the red van strike the pole. He watched, horrified, as the driver was thrown from the vehicle, unrestrained by a seat belt. He heard the sounds of metal against splintering wood and shattering glass. There was nowhere he could safely park to try to help, but he called the state police immediately to request an ambulance.

Sitting on his weeding stool, working in his garden, Mac muttered to himself, “I know that Albert Schweitzer, in keepin’ with his reverence for life, wouldn’t allow flowers to be cut at his mission hospital in Africa, but I hope he would have allowed pesky weeds to be pulled.” Quickly he straightened from his crouching position. That’s the phone ringin’. Maybe it’s Richard. He hurried into the house.

Mac rushed to the telephone in the living room, picked up the receiver, and anxiously said, “Hello . . . No, I’m sorry ye have the wrong number.” As he sat down by the telephone, he tried to shake off the uneasiness he’d felt, when Richard drove off with Tony. The front doorbell’s sudden ring upset his thoughts. On the porch stood a police officer.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Kenneth Morgan of the state police. I would like to speak with the spouse or close relative of a Richard Hawkins.”

“I’m his uncle, Stuart MacGregor. Richard isn’t married. Is Richard . . . hurt?”

Speaking sympathetically, the officer responded, “The information I have sir, is that he was in a car accident on Highway 99 and taken by ambulance to Mountain View Hospital. I’m sorry, I don’t know the extent of his injuries.”

“Thank ye, Officer Morgan. Di’ ye know aboot when the accident happened?”

“Well . . . as I understand it, state police arrived on the scene . . . maybe, an hour ago.

“Thank ye, Officer. I’m goin’ now to see my Richard.”