From Genesis to Revelation:
One Man's Journey Into Light

And Gawd settled in to live his life. He used his university savings to buy a car, something he was sure he'd need after the baby came. It was a joyous occasion as the tiny girl burst into being. She was named Celeste, and Gawd marveled at her. So tiny, yet so perfect. He showered her with attention, walked her to and fro in the buggy, sat her on his lap and spoon fed her cool tea, and called her silly baby names. He had little recollection of his own infancy, other than to imagine it had been difficult, knowing all too well his mother's dire circumstance, and it was like he wanted his own wee child to have everything that he had not. For the first time, he thought perhaps he knew what it might mean to be in love. He craved the infant while he sorted through radishes and lettuce at Bolander's.

But Janet was another story. Something happened to her at the moment she gave birth, and she had not been the same since. After she came home from the hospital, after the miracle had occurred, she kept to her own side of the bed, turning to face away from him with her knees tucked up under her. At first, he would cuddle close to her, pressing himself against her, touching her gently in her private places. But even when she would eventually roll over to give herself to him, she would be stiff and cold and unyielding. He could feel it. He could feel the hardness. He tried to talk to her about it -- to tell her how he felt, that he needed the closeness with her -- but she withdrew. He stopped making the bedtime overtures, and he lived celibate.

He threw himself into his work at the store, and Mr. Bolander seemed to like him -- gave him a small raise after his first three months. It was dreary work, but he guessed he should throw himself into it, and try to become accomplished at something -- even if that should be building the perfect pyramid of cantaloupe. And, of course, he read voraciously and was a regular visitor to the Halybury Public Library. And he dreamed -- of one day getting out of Halybury and of one day going to the university. No one could take his dreams from him -- that much at least was left him.

Five years passed, then seven. And, finally, twelve years had passed, and Gawd lived in a kind of quiet misery. He doted on his daughter who was now on the threshold of becoming a young woman and was growing more beautiful by the day. He and Janet slept in twin beds and likely would have found separate rooms, if not for the child and the image that must be maintained.

One day, a new librarian came to work at the Halybury Public Library. Gawd had known that the regular librarian was going to be leaving on maternity leave -- she had gotten quite large over the past month -- and one day, she was gone and a new face appeared.

He was sitting in the lounge area, browsing the newspapers as he sometimes did on those occasions when he wanted to escape the house -- frequent occasions indeed. Someone started straightening the papers on the table in front of him. He glanced over the top of the paper he was reading to see a woman directly in front of him. Just at the moment he looked up, he must also have moved, and that attracted her attention, and she also looked. Their eyes met, and Gawd felt a rush of excitement wash through him. He felt himself flush and tried to break off the contact, but couldn't. She turned away first. He looked away embarrassed.

"Hello," the woman said, and he sensed that she had also felt something in that instant their eyes had met.

"Hi," he managed to return.

"It's quiet in here tonight," she commented, returning to straightening the papers.

"Yes," he answered. "There must not be any school projects due tomorrow."

She smiled. "Yes, they do tend to come with a rush," she said.

"Hey, I remember what it was like," he said. "Even though it was a few years ago."

"It doesn't look like it was that long ago," she said.

There was a pause in the conversation, as strangers searched for appropriate dialogue. He regarded her for the first time. Liked what he saw. Attractive, but subtle. Tasteful.

"You working here?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm filling in for Shirley," she answered. "She's off to have her baby."

"Yes, I suppose so," Gawd answered. "I hope everything goes well."

"Yes, me too," she agreed. "Having babies looks like tough work."

He almost said something about his own experience with childbirth all those years ago, but something stopped him -- perhaps a fear that if he admitted family and, by implication, marriage, she would terminate the interaction. And he found that he wanted to prolong it. For the first time in a very long time, he felt a sense of giddy exhilaration just to be with her. Only one other woman had ever done that to him -- and it had been his wife when they had been in another life and all had been well between them.

"I haven't seen you around," he casually remarked.

"I've only been in town a month," she answered. "I'm living with my grandmother for a while -- looking after her. Getting this job was a real stroke of luck."

"You're from the city?" he asked, folding his paper across his knee and turning full attention to her, somehow flattered that she would choose to continue the exchange with him.

"Yes," she answered, also abandoning what she was doing, sitting on the edge of a chair opposite him, glancing about, perhaps to make sure she could spare this moment. "I've been here for visits since I was a little girl, but I've never lived here before," she explained.

"You must find it pretty boring," he commented. "There's not much going on around here most of the time."

"I find it charming," she answered. "My grandmother is very involved, even though she's getting up there. She has a couple of church groups, a bridge group, a reading club, the horticultural society and some other things on the go. I came here to get some rest, but she's been dragging me all over the place with her."

"She probably travels in the same circles as my Aunt Rose," Gawd answered. "She's a pretty active old lady, too. Always on the go."

"If she hangs out at the United Church, I've probably seen her," the new librarian said.

"As a matter of fact, she does," Gawd answered.

And they laughed.

"It doesn't sound like your grandmother needs that much looking after," he said.

"No, she really doesn't," she admitted. "It could really be that she's the one looking after me." As she uttered the remark, the expression on her face changed. A sudden, dark cloud appeared to spread over what had previously been such a sunny disposition.

"You need looking after?" he asked, then thought perhaps he was prying and should mind his own business.

"Lately, it seems I do," she said.

And just at that moment that was a harumph from over by the circulation desk, and they looked over and could see an elderly patron waiting for service.

"I've got to go," she said, getting to her feet.

He started to unfurl the paper he was holding. "Welcome to town," he said.

"Thanks," she answered, and was gone.

Gawd waited for her to get another interruption in her duties, and hoped she would again choose to straighten newspapers, so they could resume their conversation. But there was no such break, and finally it was closing time. He could see that she and the other librarian were doing the closing time tasks. He waited as long as he could possibly wait, and then made for the door, hoping she'd see him and intercept him, so he could again have the opportunity to speak with her. But she was nowhere to be seen, and he was soon out the door, starting the walk home, slowly at first, then, as he realized she would come no more on this night, a little more quickly.

He slept on the couch that night. He felt guilty, and perhaps he should have. Although it had seemed an innocent exchange, his thoughts had not been so pure and immaculate. He found her attractive -- and she had shown interest in him. It seemed it had been a lifetime since an attractive woman had shown interest in him. He had reveled in it. Gotten excited. And now he felt guilty and wondered if he had indeed committed adultery on this evening. He guessed he must have, if he felt so unclean -- and that was how he felt.

That Saturday, he wasn't working for a change, and Janet and Celeste had gone on a Guiding expedition, a mother/daughter thing from which he was excluded. He had gone over to Aunt Rose's to help her turn her mattresses; something she did regularly twice a year, even though nobody slept in five of the six beds in her great, old house.

"My heavens," the old woman was saying, "I'm so glad you haven't forgotten your Aunt Rose. I'm sorry I have to bother you from time to time, but the rest of my kinfolk have all but forgotten I'm still alive."

"Oh, Aunt Rose, they're just busy. They all love you. You know that," Gawd said, humoring her. He struggled with a big queen-size mattress in a room that had stood empty for over forty years.

"Where did you say your family were going?" Aunt Rose asked, as she waved her hands about in the air, apparently directing the motions of the mattress.

"They've gone camping for the weekend," he told her for the third time, huffing and puffing with the mattress. She was slipping, he thought.

The old woman appeared thoughtful for a moment. "You should come to the church with me," she said.

"Tomorrow?" he asked, sliding the mattress into place, neatly flipped over.

"No, tonight," she answered. "They're having a dinner."

He stood, hands on hips, gasping for air, exhausted from his effort. "A dinner at the church?" he asked. Thoughts of a woman crossed his mind.

"Home-made pie," Aunt Rose coaxed.

But his mind was already made up. He'd get a good meal...and...you never knew who you might meet at church.

"It's a deal," he said.

He went home and got cleaned up, paying a little more attention to himself than he usually would, having an extremely rare Saturday night shave, liberally splashing after-shave on his smoother-than-silk face when he'd completed the deed. He even struggled with the iron trying to press a shirt for the occasion. Aunt Rose would have said he was getting all gussied-up.

Then, he did one more thing -- something he'd not done in more than a decade. He slipped his wedding ring off his finger and hid it at the back of the top drawer of his dresser. He felt a twinge of guilt as he performed this simple action, but he did it just the same. The guilt was followed by a trace of anger that he should feel he was betraying anyone or anything, when he had felt so betrayed for so long himself.

Off he went to the dinner at the church. Aunt Rose was delighted, because he didn't make attendance at church too regularly any more, not since he'd moved out. She made such a fuss over him when they arrived, that he almost wasn't sure it was worth it. But then he caught sight of the new librarian's back in the kitchen and felt his heart flutter ever so slightly just to know she was here. Already he hoped there would be an opportunity for them to meet -- surely she wouldn't stay in the kitchen while he remained at the other end of the hall, having to be content with the company of old hens. He quickly formulated a plan to avoid such a catastrophe.

"Here, Aunt Rose," he said to his elderly companion. "Let me take that back to the kitchen for you." He gently relieved her of the lemon meringue pie she was carrying.

"That would be so nice of you," she said, smiling, not suspecting his ulterior motive for the apparent good deed. In a flash, he was standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Where would you like this?" he asked a little more loudly than necessary, holding the pie aloft.

One of the church ladies snatched it from his hand faster than you could say 'how do you do', but his announcement had the desired effect on the busy kitchen, as everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and looked up to see who had arrived. They all took a quick glance toward the door, but he saw only one of them.

"How are you?" asked the new librarian, smiling while up to her elbows in the roast beef she was carving.

"Hi," he answered, offering a slight wave and a smile of his own. Then, even though he knew he really shouldn't, he took the liberty of ducking and dodging his way through the kitchen to where she was carving the meat.

"Imagine meeting you in a place like this." he dead panned.

She smiled again. "I guess you've just got to know the right people," she said.

There was a moment of silence, and the two of them stood still. He felt they were suddenly and magically alone, so transfixed was he just to be in her presence. He could see nothing but her soft beauty, radiating out to him, ebbing over him in a delicious wash of emotion.

"They're getting ready for grace," interrupted an anxious woman's voice. "How's the meat coming, Barbara?"

They were startled back to the reality of the kitchen. "Fine, Grandma," answered the librarian, whose name he'd now discovered was Barbara.

"I should be going," he said. "Aunt Rose is probably holding a seat for me. Maybe I can see you after dinner."

"I'd like that, but I'll have quite a few dishes to help wash after the hungry horde has chowed down," she answered.

And at that moment, a swarm of church ladies appeared and whisked the platters of meat away, and the contact was broken. He was carried away toward the door, and she had grabbed up the gravy and was going in the other direction. She glanced back toward him, just as she was disappearing. They smiled at each other and he offered a small wave.

It was a long and hectic dinner, with the old hens cackling merrily away, spreading tales about the various people who were out of earshot. He wondered if he might become a topic for one of those tales if he followed through with his apparent plan -- and he had no doubt that he would.

Finally, though, it was time for the pie and coffee, and he was glad because it was a more social time, with people taking time to visit with those they'd not been sitting close to during the meal. He was able to take his pie and coffee and leave the table to stand off in a corner by himself. He'd had enough making pleasant chit-chat for one day. He guessed Barbara had eaten in the kitchen with the rest of the church ladies. He'd watched out for her during dinner, but had not caught so much as a glimpse.

He finished his dessert and walked the dirty plate and cup back toward the kitchen. He passed through the doorway and saw her immediately, this time up to her elbows in dishwater -- by herself, at the moment.

"You look like you could use a hand," he remarked.

She looked up to see him, and offered her customary pleasant smile. "I'm sure I'll have plenty in a minute or two," she said. "I think the ladies are busy gabbing."

"Do you think they'd mind if I helped out?" he asked.

She smiled warmly, brushing a soapy hand across her brow. "Oh, I don't think so," she answered.

Soon, they were both up to their elbows in dishwater. He reflected, during a load of silverware, that he'd not had such a good time in quite a long while, and he found himself hoping that the church ladies would keep right on gabbing. But, of course, they didn't. Soon there was a flurry of activity around them; dishes clattered and cupboard doors slammed as a veritable army of well-intentioned souls descended on the kitchen and proceeded to get it ship shape.

But the ladies chose to leave the two to their dishwater, and they washed away in quiet, with only the help of a couple of others, who started drying. Gawd was in his glory, with the woman by his side, and even though there was no real conversation, he thought he felt a closeness to her. But he kept to himself, almost sure, but not quite, that she returned his feeling, yet afraid to utter any word for fear it might be the wrong one and could possibly offend.

"Well, that is a strange sight," broke in Aunt Rose's voice from the doorway overlooking the cleanup.

"Aunt Rose," Gawd said, looking over at her, shaking the soap off his hands into the sink. "I suppose it's time to go."

"I was wondering where you'd gotten to," the old woman said. "But I can see you're in good hands." She smiled at Barbara. "How's your grandmother, dear?" she asked.

"She's fine," Barbara answered. "She was right here a minute ago -- I don't know where she's gotten to."

"You say hello for me," Aunt Rose said.

"I'll make sure I do," Barbara replied.

"I'll be out in a minute," Gawd said to his aunt.

"I'll wait outside," Aunt Rose answered. "It's warm in here."

"I won't be long," he promised. She turned and was gone.

Gawd turned toward Barbara. "I guess I've got to go," he said, somewhat unhappily.

"It's been fun," she said, extending a soapy hand. He gave it a firm shake and turned to go. He walked about two steps, then stopped, and turned back toward her.

"How about a coffee?" he asked uncertainly. "After you finish here."

"Where?" she asked, again offering her warm smile.

"I think the place by the bus station will be the only one open this late," he said.

She looked at her watch. "About ten?" she asked.

"Sure," he answered. And he turned and was gone. But there was a certain spring to his step as he left.

There was quiet in the car as he drove Aunt Rose home. It was an unusual quiet, because the old woman was usually chattering about this, that or the other thing.

"Where did you say Janet and Celeste are tonight?" she finally asked, cutting through the silence.

"They're at a Guiding thing," he said. "They're camping out."

"You could stay at my place tonight," she said. "Sleep in your old room. You won't be lonely."

"No, I'll be all right," Gawd answered. "I'm going to draw myself a hot bath, do some reading, and maybe watch one of those bad movies on the late show. It's going to be a nice, quiet night. I've been looking forward to it for a month. Don't worry about me, Aunt Rose. I sure won't be lonely." He felt a little twinge as he rhymed off the succession of lies, but he chased it quickly away.

There was a silence after he finished.

"Things are all right between you and Janet?" the old woman asked intuitively.

"Sure," he answered, choosing not to elaborate on the one-word answer.

"There's just so much divorce going around," she said. "Why just tonight Shirley Beale was telling us that Marge McGuire's son Robert is getting a divorce from that Blakeney girl -- and they've got three children. It's a crying shame. What will become of those kids?"

"Yeah, but it's no good staying together if you're not happy; not just for the sake of the children," Gawd answered, perhaps more defensively than was necessary, sure the old woman had found him out. "They say that's the worst thing for the children."

"I don't know," she said. "There was a time when people made a commitment when they chose to be parents -- and they stuck together through thick and thin. It's just too easy to get a divorce these days."

Gawd was quiet. Nothing was said for a moment.

"Anyway, I'm glad to hear that you and Janet are getting along fine," Aunt Rose said. "She's a good girl. And Celeste is just the perfect little angel. You've got the perfect family there, and you should treasure it."

"I do, Aunt Rose," he said. "I do," he repeated for emphasis, but he wasn't sure he convinced himself.

They arrived back at her big, old, very dark house, and he pulled into the driveway.

"Are you sure you won't stay?" she asked, as he reached over and opened her door for her. "I could make you a bedtime snack like I used to."

"Thanks, Aunt Rose," he said, leaning over and kissing her lightly on the cheek, "but I think I'll take a rain check if you don't mind."

"All right," she said, getting out of the car. "You look after yourself."

"I will," he answered.

She smiled and swung the car door shut.

He waited in the driveway until he was sure she was in the house, then he waited for a light to come on inside before he backed the car out into the street, and started on his to the coffee shop down by the bus station. It was nine-thirty. He'd be a little early, but he was anxious to be there. So, he went anyway.

He had picked the coffee shop down by the bus station, not because it was likely to be the only one open – another lie in a web of lies -- but because he was fairly certain there'd be no one who knew him. It was vitally important that this be a clandestine operation, because rumors would be flying everywhere if the meeting was observed by the wrong people. That meant pretty well anyone who knew him -- and that meant pretty well anyone -- because this was a small town.

He sat in a faraway corner of the hazy place -- it had a bit of a reputation, being near to one of the seedier bars in town. He wondered that he had invited her here; perhaps it had not been a particularly wise decision. But what could he have done? Invited her to his place?

By ten past ten, he was losing hope that she'd come, but about a minute or so later, before real disappointment started to set in, the little bell over the door gave a jangle, and she appeared. She smiled when she saw him.

He got up to meet her, paid for her coffee, and embarrassed himself by dumping a pocketful of change all over the floor. She helped him retrieve it. He joked about being a klutz. She laughed. He felt better. Finally, they were sitting opposite each other in the booth in the faraway corner of the place.

"Sorry about this place," he apologized.

"It's all right," she said. "I was glad for the chance to get out. I've been feeling a little cooped up with Grandma."

"Yeah, I guess it would be kind of difficult to move to a new town," he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"You've lived here all your life?" she asked.

"No, but I moved here when I was just a kid and I've been here since," he answered. He offered no further explanation and hoped she'd not press him on a past that few had any inkling of. "You've moved a few times?" he asked, taking the initiative and turning the conversation back in her direction.

"My Dad was a bank manager," she explained. "He was from here originally, but he moved right after high school to take a job with the bank, met my Mom, swept her off her feet, got her pregnant, and the rest is history -- as they say... but we moved a million times."

"Did you come here when you were a kid?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," she answered. "Some of my fondest memories are of coming here in the summers to stay with Grandma and Grandpa. I had a great time coming here -- and I met a few people so I'm not a total stranger."

"And how did you come to be here this time?" he asked, continuing the questioning. "Your grandmother doesn't look like she needs too much help. She seems pretty spry."

She didn't answer, but looked away. He had pressed. He regretted it.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's all right," she said, looking back at him. "It's stupid." But tears started to well up in the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," he offered.

"It's not your fault," she said. "I was in a long relationship; I thought for the rest of my life. But it ended. We decided it was for the best because we'd grown apart. He said he wasn't happy anymore." She produced a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said for the third time. "It must be a hard time for you."

"I don't know," she said. "It's strange. I felt relief when we first separated, but it's bothered me that he's living with someone else. I phoned his apartment one night just after he moved out and a woman answered the phone. I just hung up. But I didn't sleep at all that night. I thought I would die from a broken heart. I didn't think I loved him any more. But I decided that night to take a leave from my job and get away."

"Life can be unkind," he said, but he felt a growing sense of uncomfortableness at his current circumstance.

"Yes, I suppose it can," she answered.

He had been ready to pour out to her what a miserable, unhappy marriage he was trapped in, and how he had been so struck by her, and he was sure she felt it too, and it was like they were meant for each other, and all that other gushy, romantic stuff that people in this situation usually pour out. But he didn't. He swallowed hard. He knew she had felt it too.

"So, do you work as a librarian in the city?" he asked instead, overwhelming himself with morality.

"Actually, I'm a school librarian," she answered, following his lead away from an emotional minefield. "I took a sabbatical this year. Grandma said she could use the company."

"You'll have a good year here," he said. "This is a good community."

"Oh, I know," she answered. "I may complain about being cooped up, but I'm on the go now more than I was before I moved here -- just trying to keep up with Grandmother -- and this is what I need right now. It keeps my mind off things."

"I'm sure everything will work out," he told her, and he meant it.

"You're a nice guy," she told him, and he believed it.

They sat through a second cup of coffee, and then a third, but it was only a pleasant conversation, and there was nothing more. He could not bring himself to break a trust he held with Janet. He remembered how he'd loved her -- and he wanted to love her again. He wondered if he could try talking to her again.

He went home and drew himself a hot bath, and dug out an old, tattered copy of a favorite book, and burrowed down into the steamy water, until he felt relaxation flow through him. After the bath, he fixed himself a cup of tea, and settled in to watch one of the old movies on TV. It was a Western. He was glad to see that the hero saved the day, got the girl, and lived happily ever after. That's the way it should be, he thought, that's the way it should be.