Absence of Faith (5 page)

"Damn," he said staring at the
broken grinder. He stared at it for several minutes.
Wait. It
shouldn't have broken,
he thought,
the dirt is soft.
He
moved the broken grinder and pushed some dirt aside. It was hard
underneath. He got a small broom, brushed a small area, and found a
wooden plank. He brushed more dirt away and another plank appeared.
Slowly, as he brushed more and more dirt aside, other planks
appeared. The wood was placed together vertically with a single
small hole in the left side. Carson placed two fingers in the hole
and lifted. The stubborn hinges creaked, but Carson was able to
pull the door open. The door revealed five wooden steps that went
down into nothing. He went back to the stairway and took a
rechargeable flashlight from its charging base. As he descended the
steps into the subbasement, a cool, damp, musty smell flowed past
him. The subbasement was only four feet high forcing him to crouch
down. When he threw the light on the walls, the light reflected
back silvery light and colorful hues. Further in the walls were
lined with shelves holding hundreds of Mason jars filled with
preserves. All had crudely made hand-written yellowed labels taped
to the jars identifying their contents.

"Linda! Linda! Come here! Quick!"
he yelled and raced back up the stairs towards the entrance of the
basement.

"Linda! Linda!"

"What is it? Where are you?" she
said in a far away voice.

She came to the stairway and looked
down into the ancient basement.

"Over here. Look, the rest of Mrs.
Hibbin's preserves," Carson explained. "This reminds me of my
grandmother. She had a canning cellar and we used to love to go
down there and pick out our favorite jam when we were kids. This is
great!"

Linda reluctantly entered the
canning cellar brushing cobwebs out of her way as she navigated
into the dark hole.

"Wow! Look at all these jars!
They're the same as the ones we found in the kitchen cabinet," she
said. "Are they any good?"

"I don't know. The ones upstairs
were good, maybe these are too," Carson said. "There's only one way
to find out."

He took one off the shelf labeled
"Blueberry Jam" and twisted the top. The jar hissed slightly as he
opened it. He moved the flashlight beam into the jam.

"Looks okay and smells okay,"
Carson said. "But I would feel better if they were checked before
we eat this stuff.”

"Yeah, that's for sure," she said.
"What's over there in that corner?"

Carson moved the light.

"Looks like a few blew up, and
recently, too. Look the stuff is still wet," Carson
said.

"No not that. Shine the light over
there again. Look the wall is darker," Linda said.

"Looks like water leakage. Look the
floor is green. There's mold all over the place. The water must be
leaking in for that much mold to survive here," Carson said. "Look,
there’s more broken jars. They must have blown up months or even
years ago. You know, I had a feeling something was here. I smelled
something funny down here a couple of months ago. It was right
after it rained. Now I know what it was."

"Do you think the ocean is leaking
in?" Linda asked.

"I don't know. We'll have to check
it at high tide. It would be a big problem if it did."

"Why? Couldn't you just cement it
up like the other wall?"

"I don't know. I don't know if it
would hold. The lower you go underground the closer you get to the
water table."

"The what?"

"The water table. The ground level
where there is water. Coastal areas have low water tables. You
don't have to dig too deep to strike water and higher areas have
high ones."

"Oh I'm getting out of here. This
place gives me the creeps," Linda said.

They ascended the narrow steps into
the regular basement.

"By the way, what are we going to
do with all this junk down here? Maybe, we should get rid of it.
I'd like to have the space for our stuff," Linda said.

Carson looked around
thoughtfully.

"Why don't we sell it," he
said.

"Who would buy this old junk?"
Linda asked.

"Lots of people. We can sell it at
the auction. People buy anything there," he explained.

"Yeah, they do. That's a great
idea. We can borrow my brother's truck and cart a load down there
every Saturday until it's gone. If you're working, I’ll get him to
help me," she said. "I can even sell these preserves at the Village
Fair next week."

"Great. Here. Take these jars
upstairs and I’ll get some more," Carson said.

"Okay."

Carson went back down the steps and
took several sealed jars off the shelves and headed up the stairs.
When he emerged he noticed a green and white mold on the surface of
the jars. He took them to the kitchen sink washed them, while Linda
cut the fatty edges off four chicken breasts on the cutting
board.

"You know what I think. She really
died and then came back because it wasn't her time," Linda
said.

"What? Who?"

"Mrs. Whitehead."

"What are you talking about?" he
said.

"Haven't you heard about people who
have had near death experiences?" Linda explained.

"Yes, I have. But if Mrs. Whitehead
had a near death experience, it was a negative one. Besides,
there’s no scientific evidence proving that what these people saw
is real or just a figment of their imaginations," Carson
said.

"How do you explain all these
people from different parts of the world having the same experience
- leaving their bodies, floating up, entering a great tunnel of
light, going up to this great, bright light, and then having
feelings of ultimate happiness - free from pain, sickness, worry,
and everything that afflicts us here on earth!" Linda
explained.

"There's been research on this, and
they believe that it's the birth experience - these people are
reliving their birth experience - being in darkness, then going
through a tunnel to a great light," Carson explained. "It's just a
theory, but it has more credence than these people who claim they
went to heaven and came back."

"What about my father when he got
hit by a car. He was pronounced dead just like you were, and then
he said he was sitting on the lap of this giant man who told him
that it was not his time, and that he had to go back. As soon as
the man told him that he woke up in the hospital," Linda
explained.

"Maybe, it was a bad dream. There's
no proof of what happened one way or the other," Carson added.
"Besides, there are other studies that show the brain becomes very
excited near death and that there is a lot of electrical activity
just before death."

"And there's no proof that he
didn't either. I believe that we go somewhere. I read an article
about several people who died, and one boy said he traveled to the
light and saw golden roads. Relatives and friends he knew had died
met him and, and they all communicated telepathically. They took
him down one of the roads and he just glided along. Everyone just
floated along. His feet never touched the road. Then they told him
it wasn't his time, and he woke up in the hospital," Linda said.
"And what about your nightmare with the dog? What do you call
that?"

"Okay, I believe in heaven and
hell, but I also believe there is a medical explanation for people
who seem to be dead and then come back to life. I think they never
died, and maybe our instruments didn't detect their life force, and
they appeared dead. Then, there is a new burst of life and they
come back to life. There has to be a medical explanation. I believe
when you're dead, you're dead, and then you go to heaven or hell,"
he said.

"You just see things one way and
that's it."

The phone rang.

Linda picked up the white receiver
off the wall unit and said hello.

"It's for you, a Doctor Hansen?
Who's that?"

"I don't know," Carson
whispered.

"Hello."

"Hello, Doctor Hyll. My name is
Doctor Albert Hansen and I'm head of pathology at the hospital.
I've been meaning to meet you, but you know how our schedules are.
What I'd like to do is invite you for lunch tomorrow. I'd like to
discuss a business opportunity with you. I've been looking for a
person with your credentials..."

"What kind of business
opportunity?" Carson cut in.

"A partial partnership in a medical
laboratory outside of the hospital. I'd like you to come on board
with us."

"Why me? I just finished my
residency."

"Because you're exactly what we
need - someone young and ambitious to help us succeed."

"How many are there?"

"Eleven. You would be the twelfth
partner."

"But, I just bought a house and I
have loans..."

"Don't worry about that now. Meet
me in the hospital cafeteria at one. Just ask a few of the nurses -
they'll point me out to you."

Carson was silent for several
seconds.

"Okay, I'll be there," Carson said.
"I know what you look like."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow, and
thank you."

"Bye."

"Bye."

"Who was that?" Linda
asked.

"You won't believe this. Hansen is
head of pathology at the hospital and he wants me to be a partner
with him and some other doctors in a medical lab. I'm meeting him
for lunch tomorrow."

"That's wonderful!" Linda
said.

"Everything sounds wonderful until
you find out what it's really all about," Carson replied. "It
sounds too good to be true, that's all."

"What will it cost?"

"I don't know. He said not to worry
about it right now. What can I lose except that I have to subject
myself to that wonderful stuff the cafeteria serves as
food."

C
arson ran
out of the ER room and took an elevator to the first floor. It was
one o’clock and he wasn't looking forward to the meeting - he
really didn't want to become a partner in a lab - he wanted to
practice neurology and treat patients with nerve disorders, not be
an entrepreneur in his own hospital. The cafeteria was crowded with
noise and people. He picked the shortest line, grabbed a plastic
tray and waited for the line to move.

"Hi, Doctor Carson. Come to fill
that bony frame of yours with some fat today," a rather plump,
large woman yelled over the glass counters that contained the
heated food.

"How are the meatballs,
Marsha?"

"Lousy. Want some?"

"Sure. Put them on a wheat roll,"
Carson said smiling.

The large woman seemed to float
behind the counter moving from one section to the next to make the
meatball sandwich.

"How's that?" she said holding the
sandwich up for Carson to see.

"Looks good."

"And make sure you eat all of it!"
she scolded. "You're too skinny."

"I will, I will," Carson
replied.

He carried his tray to the center
of a large room filled with rows of brown Formica-topped tables and
metal folding chairs. Carson looked around the large room until he
spotted a small man with graying hair and a wrinkled, drooping face
sitting at a corner table. He walked past a maze of tables and
chairs.

"Hello, Dr. Hansen?" The man looked
up. "We spoke last night."

"Yes. Hello! Hello! Glad to meet
you finally. I've seen you around from time to time," Dr. Hansen
said rising and extending his hand. "Sit down, sit
down."

Carson grabbed his hand - it was
smooth, but firm.

"What do you think of Ocean
Village?" Dr. Hansen asked tucking a paper napkin into his collar
just above his blue bow tie.

"My wife and I love it here. The
hospital could use some improvement, but its ok," Carson
said.

"Well, that's how a lot of us feel,
and that's why we'd like you to be on our team. Many doctors feel
that the lab is grossly inadequate and poorly staffed for what we
need to get done. Many are using outside labs, but these labs
aren't quick enough, and have no loyalty to us, and they are
expensive. If we need something done very quickly, they don't come
through because they're swamped with work and they really don't
care because they have plenty of business - pretty much the way our
own lab works here. It's poorly understaffed and it has much too
much work to do. We feel that the work is less than
acceptable..."

"I haven't been here that long, but
I got that impression, too," Carson said. "Have you tried going to
the trustees to put more money into it?"

"Plenty of times. They really don't
have the resources and they need to turn a profit this year. That's
why we need our own lab and we would like you to be part of it,"
Hansen explained in a meek, tiny voice that did not fit his
forthright manner.