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

It was the girl, Celeste, who was the apple of his eye. When she was a wee child, he took her everywhere with him, showing her off to everyone in the community, brimming with pride when she accomplished each small task associated with her own lengthening journey along the road of life. As she grew, he taught her to skate, to swim, and to ride a bike…all the things of childhood. He loved her with all his heart and showered her with affection.

There was one special thing they did together. From the time she was extremely tiny, he took her to the library, where he would gather a great stack of books – she would help him choose, although not too much in the beginning – and they would return home with their wonderful treasure. Curled up in a corner of the couch, he read to her of strange, faraway lands and knights in shining armour. Those were his favourite times in the whole world, with Celeste cuddled in the crook of his arm...times where his wife had no business. It was as if she knew and did not interfere when father and daughter were so engaged. Perhaps in those special moments, there were memories of another time for Gawd. Once, he wept at the memories. Wept to think of what had come before.

"Daddy, why are you crying?" the small child asked.

"It's nothing, honey," he answered. "Daddy's just being foolish."

"But you must be sad, Daddy," she said.

"I guess maybe I am," he answered. There was a pause. He wiped away another tear.

"What's making you sad, Daddy?" the child questioned.

"I was just thinking about somebody I used to know," he said. A vision of his mother and her life of abuse came to him, and he thought he saw her image in the young girl who was cuddled in the crook of his arm.

"I want you to be happy, Daddy," the child said, her face shimmering with youthful innocence.

"I am, baby," he said softly, and he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm happy when I'm with you. You make me happy."

But he wasn't happy, and even Celeste couldn't truly change how he felt. She provided him with some moments of joy in his otherwise drab life, which consisted mostly of avoiding the woman he had once loved so very much, but toward whom he now felt only anger. In the beginning, when she had first pulled back from him, he had tried to understand what she was feeling. But she would have none of his attempted understanding and would not even discuss their relationship, except in the angry exchanges he precipitated. Why had she become so cold? He could not answer that question, and in the end, he stopped trying.

As the daughter grew older, she sensed the icy tension between mother and father. She knew of the profound unhappiness that pervaded the home, but was only a child and could not understand the reason for it. At first, when she was still small, she seemed to try to pull the two together. When she realized they were having none of it and, indeed, were growing further apart, she stopped. She withdrew and became a quiet, moody child, speaking almost only when spoken to, always politely – she wasn't a rude child – and keeping mostly to herself. Gawd was troubled by her, but by the time she reached her teenage years, he had sunk into a sea of self-pity over his own dark circumstance. Still, he loved her dearly. She seemed like all he had.

Father and daughter continued to spend time together, but it became more of a tradition than something to be looked forward to. He seemed oblivious to her slipping away. It was as if Gawd was numbed by his life – he could not somehow believe that this was it – that he had struggled to make a place for himself in a world where he felt so little satisfaction at his lot. The humdrum of life had finally taken even his hopes and dreams.

After Celeste had reached her sixteenth birthday, there were troubles at the store. Mr. Bolander was over eighty, and even though he'd always run a tight ship, he hadn't kept up with the times. He had survived the onslaught of the first of the giant food chains, when it had built a huge superstore on the edge of town, then a second chain came to town a few short years later, seeking to buy out one of the existing grocery stores, then demolish it and build their own superstore. Mr. Bolander wouldn't sell, even though it was his location they were after. It was Ernie Sandlos, another local grocer, who hatched a deal with the mega-market. After that, the writing was on the wall for the couple of local grocery stores that were left. And old Mr. Bolander wasn't as sharp as he used to be, so there were troubles at the store.

Gawd was spraying down the lettuce one afternoon, when Vi DaCosta came rushing back into the store about twenty minutes before her lunch break was over. Gawd watched her march over to where the other check-out girl and Herb, the assistant manager, were standing. The three of them huddled, discussing something intensely, and it was obvious Vi was upset. She was waving something about in the air. Gawd put down the sprayer and walked over to see what was bothering the poor woman.

"Oh, man, I was afraid of this," Herbie, the assistant manager was saying, as Gawd approached.

"My husband, Fred, just got laid off from his job," Vi was lamenting.

"What do you think it means?" asked Betty, the other check-out girl.

"What's the matter?" Gawd asked innocently.

"We're all going to be out of a job," Vi sobbed. "That's what's the matter."

"Why?" Gawd asked, but there was a knot in his stomach. "What's going on?"

"They wouldn't honour Vi's pay-cheque at the bank," Herbie answered.

"I just came from there," she said, her mascara running down her face, giving her a clownish look. "They wouldn't cash it. They've been cashing my cheque there for the last thirteen years." She brandished the cheque aloft.

"Maybe there's some kind of mistake," Gawd offered. "Maybe the old man forgot to make a deposit, or transfer some money, or something."

The other three paused in their misery for a moment, eying Gawd suspiciously.

"Do you think so?" asked Betty.

"Hey, you know what he's getting like," Gawd said. "I mean, he's getting up there, and he just forgets once in a while. I'll bet if we go tell him what happened, he'll straighten the whole thing out."

"Do you think so?" Betty asked for the second time.

The four of them set off to find Mr. Bolander, who, at this time of day, could usually be found up in his office, sitting behind his huge oak desk, eating the bag lunch his wife of sixty years had made for him, and reading the paper he'd picked up early that morning at Heuhn's Drug Store.

They climbed the stairs and approached the office door a little hesitantly, knowing the old man enjoyed his quiet time each noon hour. Finally, they reached the door, and Gawd knocked quietly. There was no reply. He knocked again, a little more loudly. Still, no reply.

"I saw him go up here at lunch," Herbie said.

Gawd knocked a third time, still louder. "Mr. Bolander," he called through the door. But there was still no answer.

"Maybe he's sleeping," Vi offered.

"Maybe he's passed out or something," Betty suggested.

There was a moment of quiet indecision.

Gawd tried the door. It was unlocked. He turned the knob and slowly pushed it open. "Mr. Bolander?" he called out. "Are you in here, sir?"

The question was barely out of his mouth as a shadow fell across the partially opened door. Gawd turned to see what had caught the light. Mr. Bolander looked back. Empty, lifeless eyes, protruding toward him. Mr. Bolander, an old man who had seen his eightieth birthday, had hung himself.

Gawd pulled back, quickly swinging the door closed, crashing back into the others, forcing them to retreat to the top of the stairs.

"What's the matter?" cried out Betty, seeing his obvious distress.

He was shaken, but it passed. He told Herbie to go call the police, and told the women to go back downstairs and watch the store in case a customer came in.

"The old man's dead," he told them. "I guess we are out of a job."

So Gawd was cast out among the ranks of the jobless. It was a poor time, because there were few jobs around, and, in any case, Gawd had few qualifications for any reasonable type of employment. His already miserable life took a decided turn for the worse.

As he searched for work, unsuccessfully, he became frustrated and angry. He took to sleeping on the couch, no longer caring what his daughter might think about the situation between mother and father, stopped shaving every day as he'd done faithfully since he couldn't remember when, and watched hour after hour of the type of mind-numbing television he had never had time for.

One day, as Gawd was watching television, and Janet was out doing a good deed for some charity or another, the phone rang. It was a vice principal from Celeste's school. Did he know his daughter had missed several days of school over the past few weeks? They just thought he should know. Thanks, he said, hanging up the phone. He closed his eyes and swallowed. He was angry. Mad angry.

That night, the three of them, father, mother and daughter gathered for the evening meal. It was quiet as they ate.

"How are things going at school?" Gawd asked the girl between mouthfuls, breaking the silence that hung over the supper table.

"Okay," she answered quietly.

"You're sure?" he asked, persisting.

"Yes," she answered, and again her voice was quiet. She didn't look up to meet his gaze.

There was more quiet. He chewed slowly.

"How would you know?" he asked deliberately.

"What do you mean?" she asked back, looking up uncertainly.

"The school called today," he said, and he could see her bristle.

"Those bastards," she said angrily.

"Why haven't you been going to school?" he asked, and there was anger in his voice as well.

She shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing.

"I think we deserve an explanation," Gawd said, with severity in his voice.

"Young lady, is this true?" asked the mother, obviously surprised by the revelation that her daughter had been delinquent.

Celeste said nothing and got brusquely to her feet.

"I want to know what you've been doing with your time," Gawd roared.

"Go to hell!" she snapped back and stormed out of the room and up the stairs.

Gawd sat, arms outstretched, trembling with rage, unable to move.

The door to the girl's room slammed shut. A moment later, it opened, and she started to come back down the stairs. Gawd rose and went out to meet her, knowing she was making for the door to escape the house.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked loudly.

"I'm going out," she barked.

"I don't think so," he answered sharply.

"Just try to stop me," she said threateningly.

He strode toward her and grabbed her by the wrist. "You're not going anywhere unless I say so," he said, and there was true venom in his voice – he had forgotten his little girl.

The girl shrieked and tried to pull away, but he held firmly, so she collapsed, going limp, catching him by surprise so he couldn't support her, and she fell to the floor in a heap. The mother appeared from the dining room.

"What are you doing?" she yelled at Gawd, going to the girl, crouching down by her, embracing her.

"She won't listen," Gawd said, regarding the two of them huddled together. He knew he was beaten, that he had somehow been mistaken in his actions. "I'm sorry," he managed, feeling like something had changed in his life, and being profoundly sad because of it.

He turned and went to the door, grabbed his coat off the hook and left the house. He walked deep into the night, out to the place where he and his grandfather had gone – to his special place. But he found he could not stay there because of a feeling that he was somehow unclean – that he shouldn't have treated her so – the one who had been the centre of his life for all of her life.

Finally, he came home and entered quietly in the early morning hour. He silently climbed the stairs and crept into her room, where he sat on the edge of her bed. He watched her sleep, but she seemed to sense his presence, and her eyes fluttered open.

She started, but he placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder, and she calmed down.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so very sorry."

She said nothing. Her countenance staid, unmoved.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said. "I'm angry right now.......but it's not at you. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

A small smile broke across her face. He smiled back.

"I'm concerned about the school stuff, though," he said, with a serious tone to his voice. "You've got to get an education. Look what's happened to me. You've got to get out of this one-horse town, and the best way to do it is by hitting the books."

"I know, Dad," she said softly, but she kept her mind to herself, not looking up to meet his eyes.

"I don't know what's wrong with us," he said. "We used to be so close." He paused. "Remember the stuff we used to do together?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

She regarded him, but said nothing, yet her look confirmed that she remembered. Gawd felt tears come. She wouldn't talk to him. A wall had been built between them, and while he might scale his side, he could not cross over the top and descend to where she was, and she would not climb her side. He could not reach out to her. He tasted tears of sadness, but also of frustration.

The girl continued to regard him. She reached out and touched him, but still said nothing. "Remember, princess, that I've nothing to give you but myself," he said. "I know you're going to go your own way in life, but you've got to know that I'm always here for you. No matter what comes up, you've got to know that. All you've got to do is come to me and I'll listen."

She gave his hand a slight squeeze. "I know that, Daddy," she finally said.

He thought he felt sincerity in her voice. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I love you, princess," he said softly.

"I love you, Daddy," she responded.

Then, there was silence. He felt drained, tired for the first time since he had set out the night before.

"Sorry for getting you up so early," he said, breaking the silence. "You must be tired."

She gave a wide yawn, and smiled.

He got up and started toward the door. He turned back just before he swung the door closed. "I'm sorry about last night," he apologized once more. There was no answer. She's probably already sleep, he thought.

Things were better around the household. It was like the tension had been cut, and even the husband and wife seemed more amiable toward each other. Gawd got a job. It was just pumping gas at the Fina station up by Aunt Rose's house, where he used to live, but it was better than nothing. He accepted it gratefully and took a certain satisfaction from cleaning a person's car windows 'til they sparkled. If you're going to do something, you might as well do it right, he remembered his grandfather saying, all those years ago, during the brief period when he and the old man had been bosom companions. Besides that, he had been given to understand that if he worked out, he had a chance to advance to doing oil and lube jobs where the money was better and the hours a little more regular.

It was about that time that Janet secured employment at an insurance office in town. Gawd felt somewhat peculiar to think that his wife was helping to support the family. He knew that was an old-fashioned approach to life, but he still felt that way, and that was a fact. But the employment she received from Fred Murdoch, a classmate of theirs from Hampton High and now the most successful insurance man in Hampton, came at a fortuitous time. The unemployment insurance was running out and the job pumping gas wouldn't have paid all the bills. Also, Celeste was well on her way to growing up, and the wife seemed to have considerable free time on her hands. So Gawd acquiesced in the decision, and she went to work.

With Gawd working at the service station and Janet at the insurance agency, there could have been a problem because they only had one car and both jobs were across town. But Gawd volunteered to walk to work, saying it would do him good to get some much-needed exercise.

When Aunt Rose found out that Gawd was working nearby and walking to work, she rolled out the welcome mat for him and offered to make him lunches. Glad for the company, she said. He readily accepted and felt comfortable at being back in the home of his youth.

He was glad to see Aunt Rose so robust when he called on her for lunch that first day. She was truly a charm – that was what he now thought, despite the shaky start he'd had with her all those years ago. He and his grandfather had regarded her as a bit of a meddling battleax, and he well remembered the trepidation he'd felt coming to live with her in her big, old Victorian house.

"It's just so fortunate that you got that job at the Fina," Aunt Rose said, as she ladled out a bowl of her famous cream of asparagus soup. "Things must have been getting tight for you and Janet. That was an awful thing that happened to Mr. Bolander. He was such a nice man. Why I was a check-out girl there myself when I was just a girl – nearly every girl in town worked for Mr. Bolander at one time or another. Such a kind, old man. Such a terrible thing."

Gawd agreed with her between spoonfuls of his most excellent repast.

"Well, I'm not sure I agree with that wife of yours going out to work," Aunt Rose said, brandishing a piece of her homemade bread at him. "I think a woman's place is in the home. I realize your child is getting older, but she still needs her mother at home. Children need their mothers. That much I know." She took a bite of the bread.

"We need the money, Aunt Rose," Gawd said, halfheartedly, because although it was true, he felt the same way as the old woman.

"Money or no money, it's not good to have your child coming home to an empty house," she said.

He shrugged his shoulders, feeling she was right, but also feeling he might somehow be betraying his wife if he came right out and said it.

And so he continued to go to Aunt Rose's for lunch, and he enjoyed going there. He didn't mind her offering her opinion on just about anything under the sun, which she did. She had a tiny black and white TV on the end of her kitchen counter, which they often watched while they ate. And, because he worked peculiar hours, they ate at odd times and so watched everything from the news to various sporting events. She had a comment for everything. Not only didn't he mind her prattling on about this, that, or the other thing, he looked forward to it and found joy in it, as it reminded him of when he was a youth and had first come to live with her.

Again, a period of blissful calm settled in Gawd's life. He was able to work his way up to the lube and oil job at the Fina. Janet seemed happier than she had been for some time. Now that she was a working woman, it seemed a detente developed between them. Celeste was again a part of the family, conducting herself politely and courteously, even leaving some time for her parents, for which Gawd was thankful.

It was a truly satisfying time in his life. He would have continued to live that way for a considerable length of time, but all good things must come to an end. Or so the saying goes. At least that's the way he remembered it. And it surely must be true.

One day, he was going to Aunt Rose's for lunch like he always did. He found himself hurrying down the street toward her big, old Victorian house, when he saw what he thought might be a police car parked out front. He went quickly past the car and up the walk to the front door, where he was intercepted by a young police officer.

"What's the problem here, officer? Is everything all right? Is something wrong with my Aunt Rose?" He rattled out the questions in rapid succession, trying to push past the officer.

"You're her family?" the officer asked, and just then another officer appeared, older than the first and one who'd been around town longer, who recognized Gawd.

"It's all right, let him in," he told his young partner.

"Is there a problem?" Gawd asked.

"It's your Aunt," the senior officer replied. "A couple of her lady friends dropped by for lunch, and they found her in the basement where she'd been doing the laundry. Appears she had a heart attack or a stroke. She wasn't a young woman."

Gawd felt weakness in his knees, but he held firm. Aunt Rose, he thought. Aunt Rose. Dead.

"Looks like it was real sudden and real quick," the officer said. "She didn't suffer."

"Can I see her?" Gawd asked.

"She smashed her head a bit from taking a fall when it hit her," he answered. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Gawd went and sat on the front verandah of the big, old Victorian house he'd once called home. He saw her before him, and he wept for her. But he also wept for himself, because another piece of his life had been taken from him.

He got through her funeral and went on with his life. They got a nice settlement from her estate, and Gawd used it to pay off an assortment of bills and to pay off the mortgage on their little nest. That called for a celebration where they decided it would be appropriate to officially ignite the expired document and render it to ash.

Even Celeste was there for the mortgage burning. It was a pleasant family time. Janet seemed to smile more than he had seen her do for many years, and he again found himself attracted to her – feelings which he'd thought were gone forever, because he no longer allowed them to get the better of him. They laughed together, the three of them, and it was good. Gawd felt warmth and wished that it could last for such a very long time. Then Celeste announced she was going out with some friends, swimming at the quarry.

Be careful, he told her. I've seen them fish kids out of that quarry back when I was a boy.

"Yeah, right, old man," she said, and she was gone out the door.

Janet had gone upstairs. He wondered why and could only hope that he knew the answer. He brushed his teeth in the downstairs bathroom, then headed for the stairs. He felt light and confident as he climbed them. He opened the door to their bedroom, filled with anticipation.

He saw only the suitcase at first.

"What are you doing?" he remembered asking.

"I'm leaving," she answered. "I'm leaving you." She was jamming stuff into the suitcase.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I'm not happy," she answered. "Because I'm in love with Fred Murdoch."

"Fred?" he remembered sort of stupidly asking, wanting confirmation that his ears hadn't deceived him.

"Yes," she answered. "I was going to tell you weeks ago, but there was the business with your Aunt Rose. I didn't want to upset you."

He said nothing, just sat on the edge of the bed, feeling numb.

She grabbed the suitcase off the bed. "I'll be back for the rest of my stuff," she said, as she started toward the door. Then, she wheeled back toward him. "Look, I'm sorry about this," she said, "but it's for the better. We're both miserable. I'll be in touch so we can sort things out. You know, like who gets what." She turned partway toward the door. "I'll be seeing you," she said.

"Yeah, see you," he answered woodenly. And he listened to her descend the stairs and leave through the front door. He heard it close behind her, and just like that, she shut him out of her life. Just like that.

He got up and took a shower. He wept and the water washed away his tears. As he stood toweling himself dry, the doorbell rang, and he threw on his housecoat and made for the front door. It was ten o'clock. Who'd be at the door at this hour?

He swung it open and was surprised to see a police officer.

"There's been an accident out at the quarry," the officer said. "There's been a drowning."

And Gawd was cast out among the heathen.