Larin's God

In the beginning, Man created God in his own image. And with that God he molded himself. And if his self didn't match what his God wanted, he reshaped God, turned him around, sent him again through the furnace, burned him and molded him until there was room for his self to dwell there.

When I was a young boy, ten or so, I found God. He was hiding under a large rock in mama's backyard. It took me all day one autumn to dig away the weeds that grew around that stone, but I managed with a little help from Angust, our cat. I still remember watching that gaunt, orange cat claw away at the dirt. He triumphantly carried his unearthed weed into his private hole beneath the house. Looking into that hole I sometimes saw deep into his glowing eyes, like windows into another world that only Angust could see. If I had had eyes like Angust, maybe I could have just looked through the rock and seen God hiding there. But since I only had human eyes I had to sweat and grunt to move the stone. Angust didn't offer much help when I fitted my fingers underneath the side of the stone and heaved with all my might.

"Oh no, Angust," I told him. "You're not going to get what I'll find under this rock, so just back away." I heaved and groaned and the rock loosened, rising an inch. A spider scurried out from the dark crevice and headed straight for Angust. His mid-section rose so high it almost took the rest of him off the ground. In the blink of an eye, he was off across the weed-infested yard and into his hole beneath the house, and there he would stay until night came. I laughed so hard I lost hold of the rock and dropped it back into its hole.

"Don't you dirty yourself, Larin," mama called from one of the upper windows of our house¾my bedroom window. She was shaking my sheet and it flapped with the wind. I pretended not to hear her. I'm a boy, I thought, and little boys get dirty! That's what they do! Besides, God is underneath this rock, and I've got to get him out.

Rubbing my hands on my pants, I took another long look at the stone. I determined that lifting it from another angle would more easily draw it out of the hole. Once again fitting my fingers beneath the stone, I heaved with all my might and the stone tumbled out of the shallow hole. Amid a forest of wiggling bugs, worms, spiders and smashed weeds, I found God. He was sitting neatly between two dead beetles. Like my father always said, 'God is a light amid the darkness of this world,' so the gold coin shown brightly from between the dead, black beetles keeping guard over it.

"Larin," mama called again. "Larin! Your father is home. Come inside."

It's my God, father, not your God, so you just keep away! I snatched up the coin and put it in my pocket for fear that father would be looking over my shoulder, that he would take away what I had found. He had his own God, though¾a bad God. A nasty God.

I turned from the bug-filled hole and was relieved to see that father wasn't in the doorway. Even though he wasn't there I could almost hear him say What's in your pocket, Larin?, so when I stepped through the door into the house mama saw the foul grin on my face and said, "What's the matter with you, Larin? You know father doesn't like to see that kind of look on your face. Wipe it off."

Father doesn't like to see any kind of look on my face. He's just as mean as his God.

I wanted to say those words, just spit them out between clenched teeth, but I didn't want to be corrected again so I just zipped up my lips, turned and walked upstairs to wash up for dinner. The stairs creaked under my feet, and I stomped on them to make them louder because I knew mama didn't like it.

Father don't like this and father don't like that so we just go on doing whatever it is father likes because he's a man of God and knows what's best and we should do exactly as he says because he's the voice of God in this house and if we want to go to heaven we've got to follow him to hell if we have to.

I rubbed my God while I strode up those stairs. At least he didn't yell at me for a look on my face or because the stairs creaked under my feet. And just as that thought came I heard, "Don't you stomp up those stairs, young man!" This time it was father's voice. I ignored whatever he said next and rounded the corner into the bathroom. I closed the door and fished God from my pocket.

When I put God in the sink and turned the water on, it quickly washed away the dirt. Like a revelation, the coin came to life. It glittered there under the rushing water, sparkling in the fading sunlight that came through the window. On one side there was a picture of a man. He was an old man, and a scratch on the coin could have been a scar on his left cheek. I flipped the coin over and saw that it was as smooth as ice. There wasn't even a scratch.

"Come to dinner, Larin," father's voice came from below. It was his warning voice. If I didn't go right then, there would be trouble.

I dried God on the towel hanging on the back of the door, carefully replaced him in my pocket and went downstairs for dinner.

Father was already on his knees, his hands intertwined on the seat of his chair. Mama, also kneeling, looked up and smiled at me, but in that smile I saw a whole helping of fear.

I quickly knelt at my own chair and folded my hands just like father.

"Dear Lord," father began. "We pray for this meal to give us strength. We pray for thankfulness of all we have. We pray for guidance in helping us remember whom thou hast chosen to lead this family. Amen."

"Amen," said mama.

"Amen," I mumbled. Mama dished out the food and we ate in silence. We ate in silence and fear, mama and I. Silence because we were afraid of saying something to spark father's wrath. Fear because we might hold the fork and knife incorrectly. Fear because...

"I thought I asked you to wash the front windows today."

Mama's head sank. In a whisper she said, "I was too busy to get to it."

"The Relen family is coming over this evening. You can wash them while Larin and I clean up dinner."

Mama's head sunk further.

We continued eating in silence, a repeat from the night before and the night before that. But then father said, "Biana tells me that you refused to teach her daughter to sew because I had already given you too much work and you wouldn't have time." Mother nodded silently. Father nodded, as well. "I think you should reconsider and speak with her again. I've not overburdened you here at the house." He then looked around the dining room, down the hallway into the kitchen, then back the other way toward the staircase leading upstairs. "God would not have you tell another that his Oracle on the earth has overburdened you at home."

"Shut-up, father." The words came out of my mouth in a mild tone, almost inaudible. Father slowly turned to look at me.

"What did you say, son?" he asked.

"I said shut-up."

The edge of anger didn't even wash over father's face as I had expected. Mama had fear in her eyes, though. She shook her head at me. "Do you know what the lord does with people who profane?" he asked.

I was a young boy, but right then I knew father and I had different opinions about the meaning of the word profane.

"Your God isn't my God," I told him. "I've got my God right here in my pocket." That was when he pounded his fist so hard on the top of the table that mama's plate bounced off and landed in her lap. This time his face did turn red. He turned to mama and said, "Did you hear what the boy just said?"

I threw my fork and watched it spin end over end toward father's head. It sank into his left cheek. He was so stunned he fell off his chair. When he scrambled to his feet, the whole side of his face was covered with blood. He looked at me and surely saw the tears on my face. I was convulsing, fighting for each breath because I was so terrified of what he might do. He reached up to his cheek, pulled away a bloody hand, then walked out of the room.

***

Mama had the windows cleaned and father and I had dinner put away by the time the Relen family arrived. I watched from the top of the stairs as Brother Relen and his wife and their three children came into our house.

That night was the first time I ever heard father lie. "I fell on the back porch this evening and cut myself on the corner of the step," he told the Relen family. I don't know if they believed him or not, but four red marks on his face, all in a neat, tidy row, would have made the story, for me at least, hard to believe. Brother Relen offered what sympathy he could. I could see that he was nervous. Everyone was nervous around father, though. He was the voice of God in our town, a man everyone feared. My God wasn't one to be afraid of. My God was a God who let me be me, no matter what that me might be.

"Brother Relen," father said. Brother Relen stiffened. "I've been told that you do a bit of carpentry work."

"Yes, father, I do."

"Perhaps you might be willing to work on the floors up at the chapel. They are in need of desperate repair. The Lord will favor your work and the townspeople will no doubt appreciate your service."

For a moment Brother Relen's face saddened. I suppose he was wondering if the issue of what compensation he might expect would come next, but father said nothing. "I'd be glad to work on the church," he said. "Lord knows I have a heap of sins to cover up," he continued. They laughed pleasantly.

I looked down at the coin in my palm while the conversation below continued. The afternoon sun beaming through the window glinted off it lustrous surface. I had never before seen such a coin. Mama had taught me to count to one hundred using the various coins father brought home, but the coin I now held in my hand was one she never showed me. Maybe it was worth more than all the others.

When I turned the coin over to look at the other side, it slipped away out of my hand, bounced with a ting on the hardwood floor of the landing, and plunged straight down and bounced on the floor below. All I could hear, once the coin stopped bouncing and spinning on the floor, was the silence from the front room. Before I could move, father was there, bending over, crouching to pick up my God. He looked up at me and said, "What's this, son?" I didn't say anything. My God was gone now, fallen down to the devil who would never give it back. I watched father turn the coin over in his hands. The look on his face told me that he had never seen such a coin, either. "Where did you get this?" he asked, once again craning his neck to look up at me. And in that moment I could have sworn that the face on the coin was the face of my father. Would the fork wound become a scar?

"I found it," I said. "In the backyard."

"Brother Relen?"

"Yes?"

"Come have a look at this. I've never seen a coin like this in my life." Brother Relen came over. Father handed him the coin.

"Indeed."

"What do you make of it?"

Brother Relen shook his head. "I've not seen anything like it, either. It's definitely not from here. Not from Paquan, either. Or Tuaw."

"Brother Andrew can tell us," father said. "He's got enough rare coins in his collection to pay for three new chapels!"

"It's mine," I called from above, cutting off their laughter at my father's attempted jest. Both of them looked up at me. "Give it back!" I was surprised by the anger in my voice.

"This is the Lord's house, son, and in the Lord's house we share all things."

"I found it."

"We'll give it back to you, son. I promise. But first we want Brother Andrew to look at it. If I recall, you have some homework." He bowed his head again, ignoring me, to take another look at the coin.

I stomped back to my room. Finally I had found something in our house that I could call my own, and father had taken it away. I didn't believe he would ever give it back.

I wanted to kill him. With a fork. Slowly.

***

"The Lord, in his infinite wisdom, has decreed that the place of the woman is in the home. She is to be a guide for the children, and on her rests the responsibility of making her home a house of the Lord," father preached.

It was Sunday afternoon and the chapel, as usual, was packed like the frozen creamed milk Jandas brought to town from Riliniam each week. The mood in the room, to me at least, was just as cold. I don't know how anyone sat through father's lectures.

It had been almost a week since I found God under the rock in our backyard, and I hadn't heard a word or seen the coin since it fell down that long drop into the hands of the devil. I stared up at father. He looked so regal in his multi-colored robe and cone-shaped hat.

I looked around the room at the pathetic gathering. Some of the women actually had tears in their eyes. To me, it didn't seem that they were even listening to the words. They simply raised their hands to heaven and muttered 'amen' at least once every minute. Mama didn't, though. She sat next to me with her head bowed, looking at the back of my hand that she held in her own across her lap. Every once in a while I would see a tear on her face beneath the hat she always wore, but I don't think her tears ever came from the words of father's sermons.

I heard the door open at the back of the chapel and turned to see who had entered. It was Brother Andrew. After quietly closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and folded his hands in front of him. He was grinning.

Father saw him and began to speak faster. He seemed anxious, now, to finish. No one in the congregation seemed to notice. They never listened anyway, did they? They just wanted a reason to cry.

Within five minutes of Brother Andrew's entry, father finished his sermon. Thank the Lord for Brother Andrew!

As the congregation slowly filed out the door, chattering away with each other, father quickly made his way down the isle toward Brother Andrew who was waiting by the side door near the entrance to the chapel. That side door was the door to father's private office. No one ever went in there except him. But when father arrived and shook Brother Andrew's hand, he opened the door to his office and they both went inside. Then father peeked around the door, looked at mama and me and beckoned us to come.

"Come along, Larin," said mama, grabbing my hand and pulling me down the isle. We weaved our way in and out and around all the people and finally found our way to father's office. Once inside, father closed the door, walked around his desk and sat down. Brother Andrew was seated near the window, that grin still on his face.

"What news, Andrew?" Father asked. He, too, was grinning like a boy.

"I daresay you'll be a rich man by the time you walk out of this office," he said.

"So the coin is worth a lot of money?" father asked. He had that boyish glow in his eyes that I had never thought to see there. Then he seemed to remember that he was a man of God, a dignified servant, and said, "Riches, bother Andrew, do not lie with money." He had his index finger in the air to emphasize his point. "Riches come only from God almighty." I rolled by eyes. Brother Andrew seemed nervous. Mama sat next to me, her eyes hidden beneath her hat. She was like a fixture on the wall, always padding along after father, completely in his shadows. Like a pet, almost, but sometimes seeming to be even less than that. At least a pet got some attention. Sitting there in that quaint, slightly stuffy office, I wondered how she ever got pregnant with me. Father never kissed her¾at least not when I could see. I was ten, yes, but I knew what sex was and what it did to people. It was an endless hunger I could see in the eyes of all grown-ups. But mostly I saw it in mama's eyes. She fulfilled every role father imposed on her, but it was obvious that father wasn't fulfilling his part.

"Go on," father prodded.

"The coin is not from any known land," Brother Andrew continued. "I've never seen one of its kind before."

"You mean you don't have one in your collection? I thought you had every coin in the world."

"Not every coin, surely. I took the coin to Riliniam. I know a man there who has an even larger collection of coins than I do. He was as dumbfounded as I was."

"You mean no one has ever seen this coin before?" father asked.

"No. At least not anyone I know. And I know all the people who know anything about coins. The coin is made of a mixture of gold and some other unknown alloy. It may need to be sent to Paquan for further study. We believe it is an authentic coin of some ancient civilization. One we have no knowledge of."

"That is interesting," father said.

"As for the price of the coin, my friend is willing to pay five thousand Yonicks for it." The grin on Brother Andrew's face widened even more.

Father's mouth was hanging open. Mama gasped. I'm sure my own mouth was near the floor. Five thousand Yonicks! I had never even dreamed of such a large sum of money.

It was several moments before father could speak. "Five thousand?" he simply asked.

"Five thousand," echoed Brother Andrew.

"Sell it," father said. "Sell it right now."

It's my God, father. I found it! But I could see in the look in father's eyes that he wouldn't listen to any protest of mine. That piercing dagger of sin was edging slowly into his heart. In an instant, my God had become his God.

In the silence, Brother Andrew coughed. "There is the small matter of the fee I charge for selling coins."

Ever so slightly, father's grin faded into the grimace of greed. I don't know what was in his mind, but his face told me everything. Brother Andrew wiped sweat from his forehead. "The fee?" father asked.

"My standard fee is three percent."

The grimace of greed reared its ugly head again, but just for a moment.

"It's always been three percent," Brother Andrew added.

"Would you steal from the Lord, Brother Andrew?" father asked. I scowled at the same time Brother Andrew did. Even mother shook her head slightly. Stand your ground, Brother Andrew! Don't let his insolent righteousness cheat you out of your share!

Brother Andrew chewed his. Finally he said, "Getting paid for my service is not stealing from the Lord. The Lord is pleased when we provide for our families. I will donate the standard, required ten percent to the church and nothing more."

"Lord have mercy on your soul, then, Brother Andrew."

I was getting sick.

Brother Andrew stood. "I'll return the coin to you this afternoon." He turned to the door.

"Will you give me the name of your friend in Rilinium?" father asked.

Brother Andrew smiled and spread his hands. "My friend doesn't deal with people who know nothing about coins."

"Very well, then. Thank you."

Brother Andrew walked out of the office. As he closed the door, I heard him mumble an obscenity about father. It was a colorful obscenity, one I wasn't familiar with. I knew the words, but not the combination. I would have to remember it.

***

"You were too hard on him," mama said as we walked home from the chapel.

"The man would rob me and you think I was too hard on him?"

"He has six children. Have you forgotten that?"

"How many times do I have to remind you that it's more important to serve the Lord, giving all that you have to him, than anything in the world? Even to the neglect of your own children."

Brother Andrew's obscenity quickly came to my mind.

Mother walked ahead of us a few paces, throwing her head up into the sky. Father was too blind, even after so many years of marriage, to see that it was her way of showing her frustration at his lack of compassion. Even I could see that.

We walked on for several minutes. Finally, father reached his arm out to place it around my shoulder. Just as his fingers touched me I squirmed away and swatted his arm like I would a mosquito. I trotted up ahead until I was standing next to mother and put my arm around her back. You just walk back there with your God, father. Put your arm around him. You can both take my coin, sell it, and bask in the wonder of your filthy, stolen gold! And keep that damn three percent, too. Brother Andrew's kids don't need it.

"Has my family forsaken me?" father asked. Mama sighed again. I looked up at her face and saw the wrinkled edges of her frown. I wondered what she was feeling. Did she feel guilty for her anger toward father? She never talked to me about it when he was away from home. I guess she figured I was too young to understand. Maybe I was.

"May the Lord forgive both of you," father called to us.

"He never stops, does he?" I whispered. She looked down at me and smiled. Chuckled, even.

"I love you, Larin," she said.

"I love you, too, Mama."

***

Father was somber that afternoon. He sat in his rocking chair in the front room, looking out into the yard through the window. Mama busied herself with dinner. I sat at the top of the stairs again, stroking Angust's fur. He liked being scratched behind his ears and on his belly.

Father looked like a statue sitting in that chair. He didn't even rock. He had his eyes closed, too, and for a wonderful moment of pleasure I thought he might be dead. But he started drumming his fingers on the armrest. I wondered if I could hit him with a fork from where I sat and almost giggled out loud. It was a good thing I didn't have one right then. I'm sure I would have thrown it at him. During the next several minutes, I imagined a hundred forks whirling end over end, sinking into his devil's flesh. Mama was with me, throwing forks with both hands. I shuddered for a moment as I contemplated the horror of my thoughts.

"What should I do, Lord?" I heard father mumble. He was unaware that I was at the top of the stairs, watching him. He always talked to his God that way. I never heard an answer, though, and I doubt he ever did, either. You should give it back to your son, I thought across the distance, wondering if I could push my thought into his head. Give it back to the one you stole it from.

He started to rock, then. A rhythmic, slow rock. The sun was going down, and Brother Andrew would soon be over to return the coin.

I was glad Brother Andrew didn't let father manipulate him into losing his three percent. Brother Andrew should be our preacher. I liked his God better than I liked father's God.

Watching the road out the window I saw a horse-drawn carriage spitting up dust as it came toward our house. Father gripped the armrests of his chair until his knuckles turned white. I could only see part of his profile, but he looked…hateful. Today, it seemed more hateful than ever. A man of God isn't supposed to hate, he always taught me. Hate eats a man from the inside out, and that is the only way a man can be destroyed.

I heard Brother Andrew's steps as he walked on the fresh, dry autumn leaves on the pathway leading up to our front door. They got louder and louder until he rapped on the door. Father got up off his chair, went to the door and swung it open. "Hello, Brother Andrew," he said, his voice dripping goodness. I'm sure he had a smile on his face, but his back was to me. Brother Andrew didn't have a smile. He looked weary.

"Hello, father." He raised his hand, and I caught a glimmer of gold as the sun reflected off my coin. "Here it is." He dropped the coin into father's upturned palm. Then he turned to leave.

"Wait, Brother Andrew. Won't you come inside for a minute or two?"

"I really have other pressing matters, father."

"The Lord will watch over your affairs for a minute or two. Come inside."

Brother Andrew's shoulders slumped, but he turned around and walked into our house. I hid myself around the corner for fear that they would see me, sat on the floor and leaned my back against the wall.

"Corina?" father called. "Bring us some tea!"

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" asked Brother Andrew.

"The coin."

I peaked around the corner again, just in time to see Brother Andrew slowly nod his head. "It's a fine coin," he said. "I'm curious to know where it came from."

"I want you to sell it."

Brother Andrew didn't react at all to that. He looked as weary as before. "The fee is three percent."

"Three percent of five thousand is enough to build a new house, Brother Andrew."

"My fee is three percent. It has been for twenty years."

Father chuckled. "We're acting like school boys," he said, still laughing. "Over money!" Brother Andrew didn't laugh. I didn't laugh, either. You're the only one acting like a schoolboy, father.

Mama brought in the tea, and they sipped it for several minutes without talking. Father rocked. Brother Andrew scratched his head, looked out the window, shuffled his feet, and looked frequently at his watch. Only when father started his second cup of tea did he speak. "The Lord is displeased with you, Brother Andrew. What belongs to me belongs to the Lord, and your three percent belongs to the Lord."

It's my coin, father! Mine, mine, mine!

Brother Andrew stood. "I'll not sit here and take this abuse from you!" he shouted. "You tromp over an honest man doing honest business, for your own gain. And on the Sabbath, at that! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"Don't raise your voice at a man of God in his own home." I thought Brother Andrew was going to explode.

Just then, before Brother Andrew could speak, I raced down the staircase and into the room. Both he and father looked at me.

I addressed father. "You told me you were going to give me back my coin. I found it. You promised. Men of God don't lie, do they?"

Father had sweat on his forehead. Brother Andrew, seething mad, still managed a grin. I think father knew there was no way out because he slowly got out of his rocker, approached me, and handed over the coin. Without hesitation I held out the coin to Brother Andrew. "Here," I said. "I want you to sell it for me." Brother Andrew walked across the room and took the coin from my hand. "I want you to take fifteen percent for yourself, give me fifteen percent, and..." I hesitated. "And give him the rest," I finished, pointing to father.

"Yes, sir," said Brother Andrew. Sir. He called me sir!

"And one last thing," I said. Brother Andrew rose an expectant eyebrow. "Can you have your friend make three copies of the coin for me so I can remember what it looked like?"

Brother Andrew smiled and said, "Absolutely."

***

I think father was humiliated. After Brother Andrew left, he went into his room and didn't come out again the entire day. Humiliated or upset. Or both.

Mama came to me later in the evening. I was in my room, playing with a set of wooden blocks. When she appeared in the doorway, she had a huge smile on her face. It was so good to see her happy that I smiled back just as wide as I could spread my lips. She entered, walked over to where I sat on the floor, sat with me, and helped me build some sort of building out of the blocks. We placed blocks on top of blocks until it got so high that it threatened to topple over. It turned into a game, each of us placing another piece on the building, one after the other. Ten pieces later, while she was trying to place another one on top, the building toppled, wooden blocks crashing all over the floor.

"I lose," said mama, shrugging her shoulders.

"Let's play again!" I said anxiously.

We began again, long skinny blocks stacked here, fat, short ones there, and every other size in-between. It was a haphazard mess of a building.

"That was a brave, honest thing you did today," said mama. "I'm very proud of you."

"You're not upset?"

"Not at all."

"Father is, though."

"He has no right to be. You were right."

Just then, like a ghost come to haunt us, father appeared in the doorway. He had that exasperated look on his face that meant we were in trouble. The devil had come to chastise us again. Mother turned and looked up at him.

"You'll teach the boy that making a fool out of his father is okay?" he demanded. So you admit it, father? You admit you were a fool?

"Your son has a better understanding of the word integrity than you do. You made an ass of yourself, and your son redeemed you. You ought to be grateful." Mama turned around, picked up a block of wood from the floor, and placed it on the precarious building we were creating.

Father went into a rage. He stomped into the room and kicked the building we were creating, sending blocks flying and sliding across the floor. Mama and I scattered like the blocks. Mama rose and started toward the door. "I'll speak with you in our room. Now!" father said to her. Mama quickly left the room. Father turned to me. I was cowering in the corner. "I'm disappointed in you, Larin," he said. "You will not make a good preacher unless you learn to respect your parents. Both of your parents."

Make a good preacher? You think I'm going to be a preacher? Not for your God, Father! Not ever for your God!

I didn't hear father yelling from the other room so I don't know what he said to mama, but when I saw her again she had tears on her face. She never cursed in front of father! She never cursed in front of anyone! She was always so mild and loving.

I was proud of her, too.

***

"Do you love father, mama?" I asked the next morning after father had left for work.

"Of course I do," she said, but I didn't believe her. There was little conviction in her voice.

"Well, I don't."

"Shame on you, Larin! He's your father."

"No he's not."

Mama stopped kneading her dough, put her hands on her hips, looked hard at me and said, "Now why would you say something like that?"

"I want Brother Andrew to be my father."

Mama untied her apron, folded it neatly and laid it on the table. Then she said, "Come here, Larin. I have something to show you." She led me out of the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hall, and into her room.

There was a painting on the wall, and that's where mama led me. It was a painting of father. He was much younger in the painting than he was now. His hair was a bit longer, his face smoother. He was wearing a black hat; the kind sailors wore. "That's your father," said mama. She smiled at the painting, as if remembering those long gone years. "He was a gentle man, kind and loving. And handsome."

He was handsome. Kind and loving? I could never remember a time, in my life, that he was kind and loving.

Mama's face grew somber. She frowned. "Then he found God. Ten years ago." She looked down at me and said, "It's a strange phenomenon what God does to some people. But he's your father. You can't change that."

"Being a father is more than spilling your seed into a woman," I said, and immediately regretted it.

"Larin! Where did you learn such language?"

"From father," I returned. "He's always preaching about a man's seed and about how it defines roles in life. He taught me those words." Mama knew it was true.

"Your father is over-zealous."

"Over what?"

"Over-zealous. It means he's too wrapped up in his profession. There should be a balance in life, but father hasn't yet learned to walk that fine line."

"Why don't you divorce him?"

Mama's eyes grew wide. "Divorce?" Apparently it had never crossed her mind.

"Yeah," I answered. "Go find me a new father."

"Oh, Larin. Don't talk this way."

"Why not? You're not happy with him."

"But I am happy, Larin."

I looked up at mama and frowned. "Don't lie to me, mama."

She reared her head back and laughed. When she finished and looked back at me, she said, "Deep inside, your father is a good man. You just have to get to know him."

"No, mama. He just has to get to know you."

She fell silent. I hugged her then walked to the door. When I was in the doorway, she said, "You're a fine young man, Larin. I'm very proud of you." I turned around, rushed into her arms, and cried and cried and cried.

She cried with me.

***

Seven hundred fifty Yonicks! Brother Andrew delivered the money to our house one week later. I sat in my room with the coins spread out on my bed. Each coin was worth five Yonicks, for a total of one hundred fifty coins. They shimmered in the light of the lamp hanging from the ceiling. The sound of them touching each other, sliding across each other was like music. What was I going to do with so much money?

Just a few inches away sat my three replicas of God. They were silver, but in every other aspect, even the scratch on the man's cheek, the coins were the same.

Seven hundred fifty Yonicks!

Brother Andrew had also brought a red bag to put them in. I counted them, one by one, and dropped them into the bag. When they were all safely inside, I pulled the drawstrings of the bag and it closed up tight. Now, where to hide it? I thought and thought and thought. All of a sudden, it came to me.

It was dark outside, and mama and father didn't allow me to go outside when it was dark, but I tiptoed across my room, opened the door, tiptoed down the hallway, down the stairs and toward the back door. Once outside, I ran across the weed infested yard to Angust's hole under the house. It was the perfect hiding place!

I stuck my hands into the hole and dug out a little more dirt. Pushing the red bag carefully to the back of the hole, I then pushed the dirt back in, all around it. When I was finished, I pushed some weeds over the hole to conceal it. I made sure there was just enough room so Angust could still squeeze through. Satisfied, I patted my hands together and walked back to the house. Hoping mama and father had not awaken, I tiptoed back up the stairs and into my room. The three replica coins still lay on the bed. I scooped them up, put one in the top drawer of my dresser, way in the back, put one in the bottom drawer of my dresser, hidden under my clothes, and put the last one in my special, secret place under one of the loose wooden boards under my bed. No one would ever find it there.

Satisfied that they were all secure, I blew out the lamp and crawled into bed.

It was a long time before I went to sleep.

***

"What are you going to do with all that money?" mama asked father the next morning as we sat around the table eating breakfast.

"That money belongs to the Lord, Corina. He hasn't told me, yet, what to do with it."

"And what about you, Larin?" mama asked. "What are you going to do with all that money? I don't think a boy your age has ever been so rich." They both looked at me. I shrugged.

"I think you should give it to the Lord, son," father said.

"No," I answered. "It's my money. What's the Lord going to do with it?"

"Don't you think that's a little selfish?" father continued. "Remember what I told you about selfish people and what happens to them when they die?" I kept my mouth shut. Father's vision of hell didn't frighten me. Well, maybe a little, but I wasn't sure I believed him. Father added, "You think about it, son. Think about it and let me know." He got up from the table, dropped his napkin on his plate, and left for town.

Just after the front door closed behind him I said, "He's going to steal my money."

"Oh, he is not," mama said.

"It's my money, and I'm not going to give it to him or God!"

Looking across the table at me, mama said, "You're right, Larin. It is your money, and you can do anything you want with it. Anything at all."

"Really?"

"Really."

I hadn't given it much thought. What was I going to do with all that money? It sure would buy a lot of the frozen creamed milk Jandas brought to town from Riliniam every week. I could buy a million sets of those shiny, green marbles that my best friend Tim and I had stared at through the glass window of Mr. Canden's shop.

"I'm worried about you," I heard mama say, pulling me from my eager thoughts of all the things I could buy.

"Why?"

"Why are you so angry at father? It's not good for our family."

"Aren't you angry at him?"

"Sometimes, yes. But he provides for us, pays for all our clothes and our home and our food." Father always reminded us that without him, we would perish. Physically, maybe, but there was something else mama and I were dying from¾something much more important than our physical needs.

"I can provide for us, now, mama! I've got enough money to buy a new house, buy lots of clothes, lots of food, and anything else. Can't we go away and take care of ourselves?" During all my words, mama was shaking her head.

"No, Larin. We can't leave. We're a family. Besides, you're going to have a little sister. Or a brother."

All my thoughts stopped altogether. "A sister?"

"Or a brother, yes."

I got down from my chair and rushed over to her. I put my hand on her belly. Except for her breathing, it was flat and motionless. "There's a person in there?" I asked.

"Just a little one right now."

"Wow!"

"So, you see? We can't leave."

"But I have enough money for the baby, too. I have enough money for all of us!"

Mama started brushing my hair with her fingers. "I want you to learn to love your father. He loves you, and if this family is going to work, we need to be together. We need to love each other."

"But father doesn't love us."

"He does. He just has a different way of showing it."

Could she be right? Should I love father? Whenever his face came into my mind, though, all the hate came with it. I wasn't sure I could do it. Suddenly I felt mama's cold hands on my cheeks. "It takes time, Larin. You don't have to do it all right this moment."

"Why can't he be nice to us?"

"Your father has our best interests at heart," she said.

"So he knows our best interests better than we do? He knows what's best for me, what I should do, without even asking me about it?"

"Oh, Larin," said mama, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "You're too old for your age. You need to learn to appreciate the good in your father."

I stood there for a moment, digesting those words. I threw them up. "I haven't seen any good in father," I said. "I hate him."

"Hate is a bad word, Larin. I don't think you hate your father."

"I do hate him! I hate him more than anything in the world! And I think you hate him, too!"

"Go to your room, Larin."

"No! I¾"

"I told you to go to your room," mama interrupted. She said it calmly, with a smile. "You can come out after you've cooled down and we can talk about this some more."

"Fine. But I'm not giving him my money. I already gave him most of it."

"The money is yours, Larin. I'm still proud of you for what you did."

That took some of the anger away, and I did as I was told.

Once in my room, I spent several hours spinning my three coins on the floor, looking them over for the hundredth time, and getting bored. Angust was with me, but most of the time he just laid on the floor, sprawled out on his back, sleeping. I thumbed through a couple of books I had already read, and waited to cool down. Mama said I could come out after I cooled down, but I never did. That seething anger never went below a boil. So I just staid there, hoping that mama would see just how much I hated father and maybe start hating him, too.

It was almost time for dinner when I finally left my room. I went straight to the backyard, not even pausing to look into mama's eyes as she prepared food in the kitchen.

Angust went with me to the back porch. I sat on the cool stone and Angust curled up on my lap. His squeaky purr made my whole body vibrate. "Mama doesn't really like father," I told him. "He just makes her feel guilty all the time so she won't leave him. He says divorced people go to hell, but I don't believe him. I'd rather live in hell with the devil than live in heaven with him. You know that, Angust? He even says that animals don't go to heaven. He says they just die and they're dead, that they don't have spirits like people do. That's not heaven. Not to me it's not, and I don't want any part of it." Angust was the best listener in the whole world. He was even a better listener than Tim was. He never talked back, never disagreed, and never told me I was wrong. He was my best friend. "You know, what, Angust? Maybe you and me should go away by ourselves. I've got plenty of money for both of us." I thought I felt Angust shake his head, and I knew as I said it that it was wrong. I loved Mama too much to ever go away. Without her, all that money wasn't worth a single Yonik. "Maybe I should learn to love father. For mama, I should. Not for him or for me, but for mama. What do you think, Angust?" He just purred and purred.

A few minutes passed, and in them I determined that I was going to learn to love father. Well, show love, at least. It didn't matter that it was a lie so long as mama thought I loved him. For you mama, I'll try.

Just that very moment, as I was starting to stand, two heads popped up over the fence surrounding the far side of our house. They saw me and instantly disappeared. I heard them running through the dry grass on the other side. I jumped up from the porch, giving Angust a scare, and raced across the yard toward the fence. When I reached it I leaped up, grabbed the top, pulled myself up, and looked over just in time to see the two men duck behind a tree. I held myself steady for as long as I could, hoping they would reappear, but my arms quickly grew tired and I had to drop back to the ground. Just as I hit the ground, I heard them dash off to the left. I scrambled up the fence again and saw them disappear behind the house next door.

"What are you doing, Larin?" mama called from the doorway. I dropped to the ground again and ran back across the yard toward her. Pointing back at the fence, I said, "Two men! I saw two men looking over the fence into our yard! They just ran over to Tim's house next door!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, mama. Who are they?"

All of a sudden, mama's face turned white. "Come inside. Hurry!"

After entering the house, she bolted the lock. Running around the house, she closed all the windows, pulled all the drapes, locked the front door, and got out the largest knife in the kitchen and put it on the dining room table. She came to me, kneeled, looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Did you tell anyone about the money Brother Andrew gave you?"

I thought about it for a minute. I hadn't told Tim. He was in Riliniam for the next two weeks. "I did tell Angust." I said. "I hid it in his favorite hole under the house out back."

"Is Angust the only one you told? I need to know, Larin."

"Yes, he's the only one I told."

"Good," she said. She paced, then, for most of an hour. One time she stopped and took the knife off the table and put it back in the knife drawer. I sat against the wall and watched her.

Someone pounded on the front door. Mama said, "SHHHH!" and came to me. We held each other tightly, not knowing what to expect.

The pounding started again. "What's going on, Corina?" I heard father's muffled voice come from out front. "Corina?"

Mama rushed to the front door, unbolted the lock, and flung open the door. Once father was inside, she slammed the door shut and bolted it again. "What's going on here?" father asked angrily. "Why are the curtains drawn? And why did you lock the door?"

"About an hour ago," mama started, "Larin saw two men peaking into our yard over the fence in the backyard. Did you tell anyone about the money?"

"Well," father began. "Just brother Marcus. He's going to help build the new church," Father beamed. I don't think mama thought it was a good time to beam.

"When did you tell him?"

"Just an hour ago. You think these men were looking into our yard with the purpose of coming to steal my money?"

"Of course I do."

"God will protect us," father announced with a smile.

The front window shattered. The rock that did it flew across the room and landed on the seat of father's rocking chair. It happened so suddenly that we all jumped at the noise. Before we could move, a man came through the window, shattering what was left of it. Pieces of glass skittered across the floor. He was dressed in tattered, worn clothes, everywhere splotched with dirt. He reeked of sweat and smoke. He pulled a knife from behind his back. Mama screamed. The back door slammed open and we saw another man enter the house. Mama rushed into father's arms. Father stood rigid, his eyes hinting at a deep anger he was trying to control. I couldn't move a muscle I was so afraid.

The man who came through the window stepped closer, brandishing his knife and said, "Where's the money, preacher?"

Father didn't answer right away, but slowly rose his right arm, forming a square, his palm flat and his fingers extended. He said, "By the power of almighty God, I command you to leave. By his almighty power, you will die for this deed within two years."

Laughter came from the dining room and from the man in the front room. No one left. Father slowly lowered his arm.

"Come here, woman," said the smelly man, beckoning with his knife. Mama screamed again and father pushed her behind him. With lightning speed, the man was on me, wrapping his arms around my throat. He dragged me back toward the window, shouting, "I said come here, woman! Do you want the boy to die?" Cold steel touched my throat.

"The money is upstairs," said father. "There's a picture of me on the wall in our bedroom. The money is in a box behind the picture." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man in the kitchen race up the stairs and disappear. No one said anything. Only mama's sobbing broke the silence as we waited. An eternity later the man upstairs returned, two bulging sacks in each hand. It was hard to breathe, not only because the man's thick arm was around my throat, but also because his stench was so overwhelming.

"Let the boy go," said father. "We gave you the money."

I was flung across the room and landed in father's arms. The two men leaped out the window and were gone. For a few moments I could hear the jingling of my father's money as they fled.

Father took me in his arms, stroked my forehead, massaged my neck, and asked, "Are you all right, son?" His voice was deep with genuine concern. I saw a love there that I had never seen before, one that he, for some reason, had buried. I think he was almost ready to cry.

"I'm okay," I said, surprised by the calm in my voice. Mama was there, too, stroking my hair, kissing my cheeks, hugging me so tight I felt ready to burst. We all clung to each other for a long time, the cool wind from outside blowing into our house through the shattered window. In those few moments, I can honestly say we were a family.

After many minutes that probably drifted into at least an hour, we found the courage to break away from each other. Father immediately set about finding some thick blankets with which he could cover the hole where the window used to be. Mama tried to replace the back door that had been kicked off its hinges. I attempted to help her, and we finally succeeded to at least stand it up so that the wind wouldn't blow into the house. Feeling the need to be busy, I braved going out the front door and walked around the house to the backyard. After closing the gate behind me, I went to the woodpile and began chopping wood. It was getting cool at night, and we would definitely need a fire. It was hard work for a ten-year-old, and only the tiniest logs would split under the power of my weak, young arms. After twenty minutes or so, father moved the back door away and came out into the yard. It was dark by then, and mama was carrying a lamp for him, shining it here and there while father searched for something on the ground. He found whatever it was he was looking for and set about trying to fix the door. Tired, I dropped the ax and went to watch.

I could see sweat on father's brow and fatigue in his face. He wasn't used to such labor. I had never seen him work before. He always solicited the "goodwill" of the members of his congregation to do all the manual labor around the house. Or mama did it because he said he didn't have the time or because he had more important things to look after.

I realized that what father had been looking for was one of the iron bars that held the door in place. Soon he had the door fixed well enough that we could open and close it, but it hung lop-sided all the time and we had to lift it up to close it properly and hold it up while it was opening or it would scratch the floor.

I fetched the wood I had split and we built a fire in the fireplace and wrapped up in blankets in front of it. It was a welcome relief to be off my feet.

Once settled, mama said, "What if they come back?"

"They won't," I said.

"They will die within two years and go to hell," said father, staring into the flames of the fire. I could see the flames dancing in his eyes, reflecting back to me its yellows and reds and blues. "Mark my words. God has cursed them."

"What are we going to do now?" mama asked.

"I need to go see Altin," said father. "He'll send some men to find them. I just need to rest in front of this fire a little longer."

Listening to the crackle of the fire, we watched the shadows on the walls. "They didn't get my money," I said, venturing the first grin of the evening. Mama and father looked at me. "I hid it where no one can find it," I added, broadening that grin. Despite the trauma of the evening, they, too, smiled.

Still with a smile on his face, father asked, "Have you considered what we talked about this morning?"

Sure, I had considered it. For about two seconds. I nodded slowly. "Yes. My answer is still no."

"Given the circumstances, son, I think you should¾"

"Mama said it's my money and I can do anything I want with it."

Father turned to mama. "It is his money, Frian," she told him. "He gave you most of it, despite¾"

"I know, I know," said father. "But we're in desperate need right now. I hope you'll reconsider helping the Lord, son."

"In desperate need?" I asked. "We're in exactly the same situation we were in before I found God under that rock in the backyard."

"That coin, Larin, is not God. Do you understand that?" I said nothing. Father continued. "Money is not a God. Money is the root of all evil."

"From what I can tell, money makes people happy. So I want lots of money," I ventured.

"With it, son, we are nothing. Without it, we are poor and humble, fit to be taught the principles of eternity."

"Then we don't need it, do we?"

"We don't, son. You're right. But the Lord needs it to build his church. For that reason he let it fall into our hands."

"Well, your God needs to be more humble, too, so I'm not giving it to Him, either." Father sighed heavily and ran his palm over his balding head.

"I'm going to see Altin," he said while standing up. "He'll send some men to fetch the money." He looked at me and said, "Pray to God, son. Get down on your knees and ask the Lord what you should do with that money."

I just looked at the floor and sniffed. After father left, I went up to my room to think.

***

"What's your dad doing?" asked Tim. It was his first day back from vacation in Riliniam, and he had come over to play. He was standing in front of my bedroom window, looking out into the backyard. I heard what sounded like a shovel hitting dirt and dropped the logs I was playing with and went to stand beside him.

Father was below, digging a hole near the large rock where I had found God. "I don't know," I said.

"He's digging for something," said Tim.

Then I knew immediately what he was doing. It had been two weeks since Altin had sent some men to recover father's stolen gold, and we hadn't heard a word.

"I know what he's digging for. Remember that coin I told you I found? He's looking for another one."

"You know Jandas is in town from Riliniam," said Tim.

"He is? Did he bring that frozen milk?" At Tim's acknowledging nod, I exclaimed, "let's go!" and we were off down the stairs. My money was still hidden under the house in Angust's hole, which meant that father would discover my hiding place when I went to retrieve it. But it didn't matter, did it? Mama said it was my money, and father hadn't asked me about it but twice during the last two weeks. "And we can go to Mister Canden's shop and get those marbles, too, okay?" I added, taking two steps at a time in my excitement.

"All right!" Tim exclaimed.

We shot out into the backyard. Father saw us exit, but I ignored him in my haste to retrieve the red sack under the house. When I reached down into the hole and felt around for the sack, all I got was a handful of cat hair. Angust shrieked and lashed out with his claws. "Damn!" I cried and yanked my hand out of the hole. Two long, straight gashes on my palm were bleeding. I jumped up and kicked dirt at Angust as he ran across the yard, right past father and under the fence. Tim was laughing. "Don't you laugh at me!" I commanded.

"Don't let daddy hear you swear."

"Shut-up."

"Come on, Larin! Let's go! It's gonna be dark soon."

"All right!" I sucked at my wound, then reached into the hole with the other hand and retrieved the red sack. Quickly concealing it beneath my shirt, I ran back to the house and up to my room, Tim right behind me. "Wait until you see all this money!" I told him. Pulling at the drawstrings, I poured the coins onto my bed.

"Wow!" exclaimed Tim. "Look at all that money!"

But there was something wrong. Something was definitely wrong. I pulled one coin from the pile and examined it. On one side was a picture of a man, a man with a scar on his right cheek. On the other side, it was as smooth as ice.

"I've never seen any coins like these," said Tim, holding one up to the light coming through the window. Thinking that I had somehow mixed my three copies of the original coin with all the others, I took another one and looked at it. It was the same as the first. I took another one and found that it, too, was the same.

"Where did these come from?" asked Tim.

"This is impossible," I said. I grabbed yet another coin and found that it was also the same. Every one of them was an exact copy of the original. But they weren't copies. The original was gold. These were gold, too.

I retrieved my three silver copies from the three places where I had hidden them. Comparing one of the copies to one of the coins on the bed, I saw that they were different. The copy was silver. The one on the bed was gold, just like the first one I found between those two dead beetles.

"Look, Larin," said Tim. "I can see myself on this one side of the coin. It's like a mirror!"

"This isn't happening," I said. "These were Yonicks! I swear to you they were Yonicks!"

"How many sets of marbles do you think we can buy?" asked Tim.

I started scooping the coins off my bed and dropped them back into the sack. "Come on," I said. "We have to show my father." Back down the stairs we flew, threw open the backdoor and ran out onto the patio. "Father!" I called across the yard. "Father, come here!"

Father looked up from his digging and put his hand above his forehead. "What is it, son?"

"You have to come see these coins!" I called back. "Hurry!"

As father walked across the yard toward us, I opened the sack and poured the coins onto the patio. The sun made them sparkle until father's shadow got in the way. He reached down and picked up one of the coins. He twirled it around in his fingers for a moment, looked at both sides, then picked up another one and did the same. Then he spread them out on the patio so he could see more of them at once. "Well," he exclaimed. "I guess I don't need to dig anymore!" He laughed. "Why didn't you tell me you had more of them?"

"I didn't have more of them, father."

"Then where did you get these?"

"These are the coins Brother Andrew gave me."

Father shook his head. "That's impossible."

"I know it's impossible," I said. "But it's true! These were Yonicks just a few days ago. Now they're…well, whatever you call these coins."

Father was still shaking his head. "You must have made a mistake, son."

"No, I didn't! These were Yonicks. I counted them fifty times!"

"Maybe we need to take these to Brother Andrew and see if he can explain."

"Let's go, then."

Father proceeded to gather the coins and drop them into the red back. When he was finished, he said, "Go get into the wagon. I'll be there in a minute."

"Can I go?" asked Tim.

"Do your parents know you're over here?" asked father.

"Yes."

"Then you can go. We won't be long."

Tim and I raced to the front of the house. Tim was taller and faster than me, so he got to the wagon first and jumped up top and sat on the passenger side of the bench. Whenever father took us into town, we always hoped he would let us take the reigns and drive part of the distance, but he never did. He always told us we were too young. Besides, it took all of five minutes by wagon to get into town. Sometimes I wondered why father didn't just walk like most people. Tim and I did it all the time.

Father joined us a couple of minutes later, and we were soon bouncing down the dusty road into town. We didn't talk much along the way. I watched the cloud of dust behind us as we jounced along.

It didn't take us long to get to Brother Andrew's shop. Full of eagerness, we jumped off the wagon and ran into the shop. Even father had a certain haste in his step. I think he was just as excited and confused as Tim and I.

When Brother Andrew saw us enter, he sighed. It didn't look like he wanted to talk much. It was closing time, and now we were going to hold him up from going home to his family.

"Brother Andrew," said father. "It's good to see you. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Father. And you?"

"We're doing fine except for a little mix up," said father. He scratched his forehead. "I was hoping you might be able to clear it up for us."

"What's the trouble?"

Father pulled the red sack from his pocket and dumped the coins onto the countertop. Brother Andrew picked one up, looked at it closely, and raised his eyebrows. He shuffled through some of the others, then gasped. He looked at several more. "Where did you get these?" he asked.

"From you," said father. Brother Andrew, of course, looked confused.

"What do you mean you got them from me?"

"These are the coins you gave my son. At least that's what he claims."

"I gave you Yonicks and nothing more," said Brother Andrew. "I… This is unbelievable!"

"So you didn't give us these? Did you have your friend in Riliniam make a whole slew of copies and then you inadvertently gave us the copies instead of the Yonicks?"

"They were Yonicks," I said. "I counted them several times."

"Yes, they were Yonicks," said Brother Andrew. "I counted them several times, too."

Father had this frown on his face and a wrinkle on his forehead that bespoke incredulity. He even looked a little upset. "There has to be an explanation."

"Maybe we've witnessed a miracle from God Himself," ventured Brother Andrew.

Father slammed his fist on the countertop, making all of us jump. "Money is evil by its very nature!" he commanded. "God does not give men money in such a fashion. You've made a mistake, Brother Andrew."

"I don't think so," said Brother Andrew.

"I don't think so, either," I added. "He gave me Yonicks."

"Go get in the wagon, Larin."

Tim and I staid where we were.

"I said go get in the wagon."

"But—"

"Now, Larin!"

Tim tugged at my sleeve, so I went with him. Once outside, we got in the back of the wagon and watched father's gestures and his mouth moving through the window. Oh, how I wanted to know what they were saying! Father did most of the talking. Brother Andrew looked calm and spoke little. After nearly fifteen minutes, father exited the shop, the red bag jingling at his side. He leaped up on the wagon and without a word drove us out of town and back home. Tim and I exchanged curious looks. When we stopped in front of our house and let the cloud of dust pass us by, father turned in his seat and said, "You will say nothing of this to anyone. Both of you. Do you understand?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I said so." Father got down from the wagon. "Don't even tell your mother," he said, looking at me. "This is very important."

"I don't understand," I said. "What's so private about it?"

Father didn't answer but turned and started walking up to the house.

"Hey! What about my money?"

"It's not yours anymore," said Father without turning. "Forget about it."

"That's not fair!" I hollered. "Mama said it's mine!"

"You will tell your mother nothing of this," he said, then he was in the house and the door closed behind him.

"Damn him!" I yelled, half hoping he would hear me. "He can't do that! It's my money!" I kicked the side of the wagon. The siding splintered. A piece of wood jutted outward, and I kicked it again, splintering it even further. A couple of shards of wood fell to the ground. And then I jumped on the siding. Again and again I jumped on it, rocking the wagon precariously. The horses whinnied their disapproval, but I went on in my rage. With a sickening crack, the siding fell away from the wagon. I fell to the ground, sputtering curses. When I looked up at the wagon, Tim was staring down at me wide-eyed. Just as my eyes scanned the damage, the front door opened. The whole side of the wagon was torn off. A gaping hole crept at least a foot into the cabin, looking almost as if some giant mouth had taken a bite out of it.

The footsteps pounding in my ears got louder and louder. Finally they stopped. "What the hell are you doing?" said Father. It was the first and last time I ever heard him curse. Tim jumped out of the wagon and raced down the driveway, out onto the main road and toward his house. I watched him go and wished he would have staid. I needed his support. Mama!

Father hit me so hard on the right side of my head that I couldn't stop the left side of my head from hitting the ground. As I scrambled to get up, he hit me again, right in the middle of the back. Then I couldn't get up. I awaited death, unable to move. I could hear father breathing heavily. Would he hit my again? Where was mama? Oh, where was mama! Please, Lord, let mama come out now, oh please, oh please!

"Frian!" mama's cry came from the house. "Frian!" she cried over and over, her cry growing louder and louder. And then her hands were on me, gently turning me over. Her face came before mine; her tears fell onto my cheeks. She stroked my face, my neck and my chest. "Oh, Larin," she cried. "Are you all right?" She was having a hard time speaking over her tears. I tried to speak and couldn't. I was too frightened to move my lips. Then mama's face disappeared. "You hit him!" I heard her say. "You hit him!"

"Just look what he did to the wagon!" said Father.

"You care more about your wagon than you do about your own son?"

Father growled and I was able to turn my head enough to see him walking toward the house.

"Don't you walk away from me Frian Alm!" commanded mama. Father kept walking. He slammed the door behind him and I swear I could feel the ground shake from the vibration. Mama's face came into my view once again. "Oh, Larin," she said. "Are you all right?" I still couldn't speak, but nodded my head. "Can you stand up?" she asked. I didn't think I could, without her help, and shook my head. "Here, let me help you up," she said. She took me under the arm and pulled. I managed to get to my feet with her help. I was still dizzy and leaned heavily on her as we walked to the house.

Mama took me up to my room and laid me in my bed. She left for a minute and brought back a wet rag that she wiped on both sides of my head. When the rag came away, I saw that it was red. "You go to sleep, now," she whispered. She pulled the curtains to block what was left of the evening sun, then quietly closed the door behind her.

It took a long time to fall asleep, but when I did, I replayed the scene over and over again in my dreams.

***

"Will you divorce him, now, mama?" I asked the next morning as she and I ate breakfast.

Mama looked forlorn. She shook her head. "He's never hit you before," she mumbled.

"But he's hit you before, hasn't he?"

"That's different."

I slammed my fists on the tabletop, just like father did the evening before in Brother Andrew's shop. Was I becoming like him and there was nothing I could do about it? "How is it different?" I begged. "You tell me what's different about it!"

"Forgive him, Larin."

"Forgive him?" I said, appalled.

"The Lord said we must forgive all men. Only He will deal justice."

I was seething. "Don't let father's interpretation of God's word cloud your judgment, mama! The devil was in him last night!"

"That is my own interpretation," she countered. "I know that without having to hear your Father's sermons."

"He's an evil man!"

"Why did you do that to the wagon? I don't think you handled your anger any better than your father did."

I sighed. "He took all my money," I said. "He just took it and told me to forget about it. You said it was mine."

Mama traced the lines in the oak table with her finger. "Your father told me that somehow the coins were mixed up with ones that looked exactly like the one you found in the backyard."

"Yes, they were. I can't explain it."

"You don't understand why he told you not to tell anyone about the money, do you?"

I thought about it for a minute. "No. I don't"

"Let me tell you, then. You see, Father teaches that God once did miracles among us, but only in ancient times. Your Father teaches that God doesn't perform miracles today, that He is finished with miracles and that we must rely on faith and faith alone."

"I know that!"

"Then you will understand why he took your money and told you to forget about it."

"No, I don't."

Mama sighed. "Your Father has spent many years teaching the things he strongly believes. One key principle is that God no longer performs miracles. The strange misunderstanding with the coins can't yet be explained, therefore we can look at it as a miracle. Anyone can say that God has given us this money to build up his kingdom, to build churches, help the poor, care for the sick and so on. Do you see it now?"

I saw it, yes, and I thought it was stupid. "I get it," I said. "Father, having seen a miracle, now wants to deny that what he has taught for years is incorrect, just to keep his congregation in blissful ignorance. That way, they'll keep paying their tithing."

Mama shook her head. "You are too smart for your years, Larin."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"No, Larin. You are wrong. Father wants to keep this a secret until it can be explained. He is convinced that it will be explained. Word of this might cause undue harm in the community. He is concerned for the welfare of the weak people in his congregation. Being swayed from the truth, they might not be able to come back once this incident is explained."

"The ever loving Priest. He loves the money of his congregation more than he loves his own family."

"What your father did to you last night was completely unacceptable. I want you to know that he was up all night praying for forgiveness."

"Maybe he should ask me for forgiveness instead of his God," I retorted. I got up from the table to leave.

"Please, Larin—"

"Please, what, mama?"

"Forgive your father."

I stood there with my back to her for a few minutes. Then I said, "When you can give me a satisfactory explanation as to the difference between Father hitting you and Father hitting me, then I'll consider forgiving him."

I left the room, my breakfast untouched.

***

I don't remember saying a word to Father for the next several months. There was no talk of the money, not even an offhand remark or a private conversation I happened to overhear. I talked to Angust about it. He purred his approval whenever I talked about my Father the devil.

Mama said nothing more to me or, as far as I know, to father, about that day I destroyed the wagon. I think he manipulated her with his preacher talk into believing his side of the story and so she conveniently forgot about the victim. She never did give me a satisfactory response to my question, either. I still loved her as much as always, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of betrayal. It was hard to be angry with her when she was getting so big with my little brother or sister. She was so absorbed in her pregnancy that I don't believe she even remembered that evening. I wondered how she could forget.

Father started building a new church on the outskirts of town on a small hill. Well, he didn't build it. He paid someone else to do it and watched at a safe distance. Where the money came from is obvious, but I never approached him about. I watched him as well as my two eyes could. It would have been nice to have eight pair of eyes, but God didn't see fit to grant me such a wish so I used the two I had. I was waiting for the day Father would make a really big mistake and mama would have a reason to divorce him and take me away to some other place. Father also bought a new wagon. He gave the old one to the poorest family in town and made no show of hiding it from his congregation.

Tim and I dug around in the backyard all summer long and into the fall. We never found anything but rocks and dirt and bugs. Father's only comment near the end of fall was "You've tilled it well. Why don't you plant grass, now?" Tim laughed. I didn't.

I turned eleven a couple of months before Angel was born. There was a hubbub around our house for weeks, everyone coming to see the new baby. I sort of fell away from it all, snatching hardly any attention from the people who visited. I had to fend for myself when it came to food. Mama was too busy feeding and caring for the baby. It didn't bother me at all. I felt myself fortunate to be ignored. It gave me time to wander off into town and dreamily look at the marbles and other toys at all the shops, wishing that my money hadn't been so unjustly taken from me. Sometimes I wandered up to the hill where Father was building his new church. It was at least three times larger than the one we met in, and it was splendid enough that even I looked at it in awe as it sprang from the ground. And it was being built with my money, I was sure. I wondered how Father would be judged for stealing my God to appease his God. I guess it depended on whose God would do the judging.

Another year passed and I turned twelve. Not much had changed between Father and I. We hardly spoke. Mama got used to Angel being around and I got more attention from her. She helped me with my schoolwork and taught me how to cook. In my free time, Tim and I would play games. In the winter we pushed sleds down the hill where the church was being built. In the summer we caught grasshoppers and frogs and did grotesque things to them, often resulting in their deaths. When winter came again, Tim and I got our sleds out and prepared for snow.

That was when Father made his big mistake and my whole world changed forever.

***

The day before the first snow of winter fell, Father's new chapel was dedicated to the Lord. And not a day had passed before it was forever scarred by sin.

The dedication lasted all morning. Father spoke of the virtue of the walls, of the sanctity of the rooms, of how God himself would walk the halls. He spoke of his untiring devotion to God and how this new chapel would bring hundreds of souls to Him. And on and on and on.

Tim and I watched as the steeple was set into place and all the gathered worshipers cheered and entered the newly completed building to hear the first sermon preached within its walls. Because Father had been so long-winded during the dedication, he took only five minutes at the podium, stroking its sides and peering at his tithe payers with obvious glee in his countenance. "You all helped build this sanctuary!" he said. "God bless you and your families! May we live as we should to be worthy of such a temple!" And that was all he said that first sermon. Thankfully, Tim and I left and ran home as quickly as we could.

We had barely gotten out of our good clothes and into our old when Mama came home and ordered us to set dishes and help her with the last minute preparations of the food that would be served to all the visitors who would shortly arrive. Grudgingly, we obeyed. An hour later our house was full of people. They talked about boring things like the new chapel, how neat Father looked at the podium and about their preparations for winter. Tim and I, pockets full of finger-food, slipped away into the cold backyard where we threw imaginary snowballs at each other, frequently looking up into the sky for any sign of the snow we so longed for.

Father didn't come home to see his guests. As the afternoon rolled by, some of the guests left, not wanting to wait any longer to congratulate their priest. Mama, naturally, was concerned and asked that Tim and I walk into town and try to get Father to come home. We were eager to get away, despite all the food. Grown-up talk was just not interesting enough to us. Walking along the well-trod paths into town, looking up at the mountains and chewing on grass and smelling the stiff, cold wintry air, was far more appealing than jumping around a fenced-in backyard. So we skipped along trails we had created, looking longingly at the hills that would soon be covered with snow, and threw rocks into the brush.

When we were within sprinting distance of the new chapel, Tim said, "Let's race!" and immediately we were off, bounding over small hills, through knee-high grass and up the gradual slope that was the hill where the chapel stood. It stood on that hill like a crown on a king's head, glittering in the early evening sun. It was a fine, polished, wondrous thing to look at, and for once I was proud of father.

It was one time I wish I hadn't been faster than Tim. It was the one time I beat him at a foot race. I think God gave me power I didn't possess, that day. My legs moved like rushing water, carrying me forward to smack right in the face of that horrible, ugly wound, that scar that marred the very purpose for building that structure atop that hill.

I arrived at the doors of the chapel first, threw them open and rushed inside. There was no one in the chapel, so I raced across the new, polished wooden floor shouting, "Father! Father! Where are you?" It took only a couple of seconds to reach the door to Father's new office. Forgetting all courtesy, I threw open his door and rushed inside.

Father was there, and he was naked.

So was the woman lying on his new desk. I don't recall her name, but I'll never forget her face or her body. It was the first time I had ever seen a naked woman. Tim came into the room only a second later, and he saw them, too.

Father hurried around behind the desk, grabbing at the clothes piled on it. The woman quickly snatched her shawl from where it lay on the table, covering herself as best she could. Then she slapped father. She was up off the desk and ducked out of the room just as quickly. When father took his hand away from his cheek, there was blood. A long, thin trail right down the side of his cheek. In that moment, I realized that father was the man on that coin. The man on the coin was obviously older, but it was father—probably ten years from that moment.

Only a few seconds passed, I'm sure, but it was the longest few seconds I can remember. After they had passed, father said, "Son, I...

I whirled around and left. Just as fast as I had come in, I ran right back out. Father was calling me, screaming that I turn around and talk to him, but I couldn't look him in the eye. Never again could I look him in the eye.

Oh, mama! I'm so sorry, mama! She was all I thought about as I ran. Surely she would divorce him, now. Surely we could leave Father alone with his sins and his God and his new chapel and his harlots.

When I came over the hill that looked down on our house, it was no longer there. It had vanished. The plot of land where it was didn't even have a scar. It was as if the house had never been there. I looked around, thinking I was in the wrong place, but I wasn't.

Afraid and confused, I went back to the chapel, hoping that it, too, hadn't disappeared.

It hadn't.

But it wasn't the same chapel. It was only half the size of the one I had left only moments before. That was impossible! But so were the coins…

I fell to the ground and screamed. And I prayed. For the first time in my life, I honestly prayed to God in Heaven that he would wake me from this nightmare.

Brother Andrew found me an hour later.

He had no idea who I was.

***

They didn't believe me. Of course, how could they? I wasn't sure I believed it myself. Father was gone. Mama was gone. The coins were gone. Balinia was gone. As if they had never existed.

I guess I got my wish. Brother Andrew adopted me as his own and treated me with respect despite the rumors from those gossipy neighbors. Praise the Lord all the day, but gossip all through the night.

He was a good father, I suppose. I felt, however, that I was always a misfit. I clung to my crazy story like a calf to its mama's tit, but I never did wean myself. Brother Andrew was a fine, upstanding man with not only knowledge but the wisdom to use that knowledge for the benefit of all. A fine, upstanding man, I say, but I would never measure up as long as I clung to that story. Only once he spoke to me of it. He said that I had to let it go, to put it behind me so I could measure to something. I told him that I believed only in the truth, and it was the truest truth I knew. He didn't condemn me, but asked only that I hide it from others, that they might not treat me with disrespect.

I admit that there is much wisdom in his words. My experience has fetched more ridicule than I would have liked. More than one employer has turned me away.

I've learned that men are hypocrites by nature, that they don't even know their own hypocrisy. Ignorance is chalked up to the mysteries of God. If it's not in the scripture, it's not truth and therefore not important. Such a God has no room in my heart. God is not ignorant of science, and so why should I be?

I followed a different path. Science, astronomy, physics, archeology. I believed in God and still do today. But I haven't found a people who believe in Him the way I do. My God gave me life that I might make something of it, that I might take my own initiative and do much good on my own, not that I would spend my days lamenting my fallen state, groveling on my knees for forgiveness of a sin I did not commit. And so I have become an outcast in a world that claims the Power of God, a world that claims to be the most noble, generous generation in history.

Where my mama and father are, I haven't a clue. I believe I was the first to think of time travel, that somehow they were whisked away from this time to another. Such a concept is staggering and completely ridiculous, but there it is. I cannot explain what happened and have spent my life trying to understand it. After so many years of thought, I don't even know how much truth there is left in my warped memory.

I don't know what connection all this has with the day I caught my father committing adultery. Was he some man from the future on some sort of vacation into the past, and when he got caught committing adultery by his son he was immediately brought home and somehow I was left behind from some flaw in the time travel mechanism? The absurdity of that imagining is frightening even to me. Perhaps I have gone mad.

God is out there, I am sure. I expect a full explanation of the coin, the disappearance of my family and everything, when I find Him.

Copyright 1998 Chad Cottle

Chad Cottle is one of three editors of Titan. A writer since High School, he hopes to make it a full-time job as soon as possible.

You can e-mail Chad cottlec@cooley.com