Maria kept walking towards the institute until the two orderlies were out of sight, then turned back towards the shed at a brisk trot. The sun hung low on the horizon, and the sky burst into pink and orange and red flames. As she jogged down the path, thankful that her uniform included sensible nurses’ shoes, she thought about all the things she had seen at the institute. Something was very wrong. Certainly their methods differed from what she had been taught in nursing school. Even criminals were treated with more dignity than Johanna had been.
And why, if Johanna were Muslim, did she talk about God and not Allah? That didn’t make sense. Of course she could have been hiding her religion, but, as drugged as she was, she couldn’t have kept up the pretext of Christianity for long.
Maria was scared. She didn’t know everything.
And who had called the orderlies? Maria was the only one who could have known that Johanna had died.
The door to the building was padlocked. She examined the lock and checked the door for gaps or weak spots. She examined the windows. Maria was reluctant to break the glass, but she finally managed to pry one of the windows open, squeeze herself inside, and get the light turned on. Fearfully, she opened the door to the metal closet. A blast of cold made her shiver. Slabs of beef and pork hung in a row speared on thick hooks. So it was a meat locker.
Maria knelt next to the box on the dirty floor of the shack. It was mostly an act of respect - a wish to commend Johanna’s soul to God, with some final act of reverence.
The jostling motion nudged Johanna, continuing the dream:
Inside the burning room, Johanna sat, stubborn, unforgiving – with both her body and the doctor’s twisted in pain. And the hose lay just outside the door.
“You let me down, Lord. You abandoned me. You asked me to hang the sign, then set me down in the middle of hell on earth and I called you, and you did not answer.”
“I was there.”
“But I didn’t see. I didn’t know. And I was scared and hurting and I called you and asked you to help me, and you didn’t. And I never did anything to deserve all the pain.”
“Johanna.”
“And now you want me to forgive.”
“Johanna!”
Reluctantly she rose and quenched the flames with water, water that laughed as a children running through lawn sprinklers in August. And, through the splashing water, she saw the doctor’s face, shining golden, all but hidden by black, oily smoke. Before, all she’d seen was the smoke. But now, shining through all that, Johanna caught a glimpse of what she’d never seen before – the soul – pure essence – the part of him that God loved. Like the part of her that God had loved and had forgiven all those years ago.
And through the same smoke she saw the rest of them, the nameless faces who had sacrificed her country and her freedom for their greed.
The smoke was there. Corruption, lies, murder. All there. But, shining through it all, God’s divine spark and the souls that God so loved. Amazed and humbled, Johanna found that she could love them too.
Maria looked at the coffin. It seemed such a pathetic end. “Dear God in Heaven.” Shivering, Maria sat down on the floor of the meat locker and made the sign of the cross. “I offer prayers for the soul of Johanna Jacobson. Grant her an entrance into your land of light and life. Please, Lord, I don’t know what she’s done or how she came to be here, but she’s suffered so much. May she find your love and your peace at the end of it all. Then, Maria was weeping, strangely caring about this person whom she barely knew, whom she’d never seen except in a deeply drugged state. And she opened the box to hold Johanna’s hand one last time.
And why, if Johanna were Muslim, did she talk about God and not Allah? That didn’t make sense. Of course she could have been hiding her religion, but, as drugged as she was, she couldn’t have kept up the pretext of Christianity for long.
Maria was scared. She didn’t know everything.
And who had called the orderlies? Maria was the only one who could have known that Johanna had died.
The door to the building was padlocked. She examined the lock and checked the door for gaps or weak spots. She examined the windows. Maria was reluctant to break the glass, but she finally managed to pry one of the windows open, squeeze herself inside, and get the light turned on. Fearfully, she opened the door to the metal closet. A blast of cold made her shiver. Slabs of beef and pork hung in a row speared on thick hooks. So it was a meat locker.
Maria knelt next to the box on the dirty floor of the shack. It was mostly an act of respect - a wish to commend Johanna’s soul to God, with some final act of reverence.
The jostling motion nudged Johanna, continuing the dream:
Inside the burning room, Johanna sat, stubborn, unforgiving – with both her body and the doctor’s twisted in pain. And the hose lay just outside the door.
“You let me down, Lord. You abandoned me. You asked me to hang the sign, then set me down in the middle of hell on earth and I called you, and you did not answer.”
“I was there.”
“But I didn’t see. I didn’t know. And I was scared and hurting and I called you and asked you to help me, and you didn’t. And I never did anything to deserve all the pain.”
“Johanna.”
“And now you want me to forgive.”
“Johanna!”
Reluctantly she rose and quenched the flames with water, water that laughed as a children running through lawn sprinklers in August. And, through the splashing water, she saw the doctor’s face, shining golden, all but hidden by black, oily smoke. Before, all she’d seen was the smoke. But now, shining through all that, Johanna caught a glimpse of what she’d never seen before – the soul – pure essence – the part of him that God loved. Like the part of her that God had loved and had forgiven all those years ago.
And through the same smoke she saw the rest of them, the nameless faces who had sacrificed her country and her freedom for their greed.
The smoke was there. Corruption, lies, murder. All there. But, shining through it all, God’s divine spark and the souls that God so loved. Amazed and humbled, Johanna found that she could love them too.
Maria looked at the coffin. It seemed such a pathetic end. “Dear God in Heaven.” Shivering, Maria sat down on the floor of the meat locker and made the sign of the cross. “I offer prayers for the soul of Johanna Jacobson. Grant her an entrance into your land of light and life. Please, Lord, I don’t know what she’s done or how she came to be here, but she’s suffered so much. May she find your love and your peace at the end of it all. Then, Maria was weeping, strangely caring about this person whom she barely knew, whom she’d never seen except in a deeply drugged state. And she opened the box to hold Johanna’s hand one last time.
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