Conceived Without Sin (18 page)

Sam smiled. His hunter-at-the-opening-of-deer-season smile.

Bingo,
Buzz thought, knowing, in the way of grace, that a lot was riding on this story. He looked to
Donna on the jetty.
She
is
praying for us.

"According to legend," Buzz repeated, "Saint Helen became devoted to the cross that changed civilization, both by Jesus, and by Constantine. She set out for the Holy Land, and went to the hill where they crucified Him. They dug nearby, and found a cistern. Inside, she found three wooden crosses.

"They didn't know which cross was the one Jesus died on.
Two other guys got crucified with Him, after all, so they laid a sick guy–I think it was a leper–on two crosses, and nothing happened–"

"And when they put the leper on the third cross, he was healed," Sam guessed.

Buzz nodded gravely.
I wonder if he's writing the whole story off at this point.
Sam's face gave no clue.

"Ever since, Catholics have believed that the cross she found was
the
cross.
The True Cross. Over the years, it was sawed and cut into thousands of bits and pieces, relics we call them, and distributed around the world. Mostly, they're venerated in churches. But many pieces are in the possession of laymen. I say 'in the possession' because you can't own a relic. You can't sell them, either."

"Didn't they sell them in the Dark Ages?" Sam asked, vaguely remembering something
from a history class.

"Yeah, there were many abuses," Buzz conceded. "But it got cleaned up. I'm sure a lot of phony true cross pieces were hawked. Chaucer, who was a devout Catholic, ripped the guy who sold phony relics in The Canterbury Tales."

The information seemed to flow into Buzz's mind uncalled, like the answers that came to him while watching
Jeopardy.

"So you're saying that this guy's
astronaut uncle took a piece of wood up into space," Sam said, then stopped himself. "Sorry, the
true
cross. I know you believe. It must mean a lot to you. To you it's more than wood."

"I appreciate that, Sam. I always appreciate how you let me be myself, let me be Catholic, and don't demand that I always talk like it's not important to me," Buzz said sincerely.

"I feel the same way about you,"
Sam said. "About letting me be myself."

"Gosh, we sound like a couple of guys at an AA meeting," Buzz joked, playing the man. No mushy stuff. Not in the playbook.

"Anyway," Buzz continued. "Here's the cool part. You see, Whitey's uncle didn't go up there just to bring it up and take it down. It never came down. The True Cross, that is."

"What do you mean? You mean he left it on Skylab?"

"No,"
Buzz said, lowering his voice. "He snuck it out with him when he was in his monkey suit, floating on the tether, and launched it into space."

"Ya don't say," Sam said, looking up to the stars for the first time.

"I do say. Pretty wild, huh?"

"Did it float away? No, I guess it couldn't have. It must be orbiting."

"That's what Bill told me. It's orbiting."

"Good story, even if it's not the cross
of Jesus. The astronaut–there's a man who got something done. He did a unique thing. I like that. If it is the True Cross–" Sam stopped to think for a moment. "–then it's even funkier. It's right there, right now, either way." Sam was still looking up. So was Buzz.

He did it!
Buzz thought, elated.
He made the connection for me!
Grace told him to wait. Without realizing it, Buzz obeyed.

After what
seemed like a long time, Sam cleared his throat.

"Buzz, aren't you forgetting something?"

"Forgetting what?" Buzz asked.
Don't get too cute.

"What does the cross floating in space have to do with anything?" Sam asked reasonably.

"You said it yourself. It's up there right now, whether you believe it's the True Cross or just a piece of wood. It's the same wood that Helen dug up, most likely, in
the fourth century, and as far as we're both concerned, it might even be the same piece of wood Jesus died on. That Mary's tears dried on.

"Let's suppose it is. This next part is going to be hard to follow, because I just thought of it, but bear with me."

"I'll try, Buzz. Don't worry. I never fully understand you. I don't know if you understand what you say yourself, but it's always interesting.
Maybe that's because I'm
not
a believer."

Buzz prepared to plow on.
Let grace tell him. I've never said one thing that convinced Sam of anything,
Buzz prayed in response to grace. A small act of humility.

"Okay. Where was I?" Buzz asked.

"Bear with me," Sam helped out.

"Oh. Yeah. Bear with me. Let's just suppose that it
is
the cross Jesus was on. Whether or not Jesus was God, let's set that aside.
Don't we both agree that Jesus was a real person?"

"It's hard to deny he walked on the earth. The historical record and a couple billion Christians can't be that wrong," Sam said, with a rare affirmation. "Even my father believes in the historicity of Jesus."

That explains a lot,
Buzz thought.

"Well, then. Here we are. That piece of wood above our heads is like a real, solid, material time machine.
That piece of wood stretches across history. No matter what minute, no matter what hour, no matter what day, no matter what month, no matter what year, that piece of cross is always in its own
now
–you know, the present. It's always circling the world. It's in
our
now. It's in the now of every human being on earth. It will be in the now of every person who ever walks the earth, just as it was in
Jesus'
now two thousand years ago."

"I'm sort of following you," Sam said politely, straining.

Buzz was straining too, trying to think, trying to form the right words. Trying to carry the cross. A small act of perseverance.

"I know. Hang with me. Hang with me. Let me think."

Both men noticed that Donna was no longer on the jetty. She was walking back.

Don't come back,
Buzz thought disjointedly,
deeply alarmed.
Keep praying. Please, Mary, have her keep praying.

+  +  +

Donna stopped in her tracks.

Overtime?
she thought.

She felt worn out.

But wasn't Jesus worn out?

The prayer had been difficult, but it had also been almost, almost–fun. Either way, it had been exhilarating.

Okay,
she told Grace.
Overtime.

She turned around.

Overtime. Now.
For Buzz.

Not for Sam? No.

For Buzz,
Grace replied.

+  +  +

The emotion in Buzz's heart when he saw Donna turn and begin trudging back to the jetty was overwhelming. Exhilarating. Her shoulders were drooping. But she was going back. Puzzle pieces, like thousands of tiny pieces of wood, came together in his mind. And formed a cross.

Now. Go for it.

"Back to the now, Sam. I'm ready."

"I'm ready, too. Shoot. The now."

"The greatest illusion in the
world," Buzz began again, "is that there is a yesterday and a tomorrow. Sure, we talk about yesterday and tomorrow like they're real, but we never live in them. We can only live in the now. Right here. You and me, we're here, in God's cathedral, that's where we are. We're here, now. That's reality."

"I follow that completely. It's completely rational."

"Right. I knew you would. I knew you would,"
Buzz allowed excitement to enter his voice. "And that's the key to understanding life in general, and kids in particular. Sam, my marriage died because of me. Not because of Sandi. I was an alcoholic, and the reason was because I didn't want to be in the now. I got wasted so I didn't have to face the now.

"The now scares me, it scares the daylights out of me, even today, sober. I wouldn't let
Sandi have a kid. My reasons sounded so innocuous at the time, but they were deadly. Deadly. I kept telling her, 'Someday we'll have a baby, sweetheart. But not now. Someday. When we're ready.'

"Don't you see it, Sam?" Sadness had crept into Buzz's voice. In addition to trying to convince Sam, he was also trying to convince himself. This conversation had taken a turn Buzz wasn't expecting. He
pushed forward, ignoring the sadness creeping up on him.

"No, Buzz. I'm not trying to be a jerk, but I don't see it. I wish I did." It was the truth. Sam loved the truth.

Please, God!
Buzz prayed.

I'm so tired,
Donna prayed.

"You see, someday never came, Sam. It was all in the illusion of tomorrow. Tomorrow would come, and I would be in the now again, and I would shovel that kid into the next
tomorrow. When Sandi got pregnant by accident, and my daughter came into the now…well, I just freaked out."

Buzz's words had started to pour out. He was looking down at the sand, remembering images, seeing faces, and hearing screams he hadn't faced in a long time.

"All my plans for tomorrow," he went on, his voice beginning to waver, "which were illusions anyway; they fell apart, and I was too
selfish to give them up. I resented my own daughter. Everything I did after that, every decision I made, every shot glass I brought to my lips, every time I screamed at my wife, and, and…every time I hit her. I hit Sandi a lot. I put her in the hospital once…"

Buzz's voice cracked. Sam turned to look at him.

"Yes, I beat my wife. She was a beautiful, slender little thing. How could I?"

Buzz was
no longer talking to Sam.

"Every time I hit her–it was all because I wasn't man enough to carry the cross in the now. I ran from responsibility. Sandi wasn't so bad. I can't blame her for dumping me. I wasn't a father. I wasn't even as good as my own father. He never ignored me. He never…he…oh God. I'm just rambling."

Buzz fell into a dark silence. He refused tears. He forced himself to finish.

"I cheated on her, too," he confessed, his bitter words coming from far away. "Four or five times. Cheating is too nice a word. I had sex with other women. I broke my vows, my word. I even flaunted it before Sandi, one time, to hurt her. Sure, I've gone to confession, but I can't undo what I've done. The images come back–from the, you know–the other women; they haunt me. Show me what I really am.
I'm…I'm
lost."

Buzz was finished; he put his hands into his hair. He started to shake. A wind blew.

"It's so frustrating," he croaked, unable to stop talking. "Knowing what I mean to say, but not being able to say it!"

His anguish was right with him now. His emotions were on the surface, battering him like the huge breakers.

"The secret life of men," Sam whispered, a distant melancholy in his
voice.

"What's that?" Buzz asked, looking up. Sam seemed so tall, so dignified. Above him.

Buzz felt weak, inconsolable, small.

"Something Donna said to me once," Sam continued, surprising Buzz with his calmness. "We were talking about how hard it is for us, for men, to say what is inside our hearts. To translate the word inside into a word outside. Until I met you guys, I never even tried. I
just floated through life, ignoring the words inside. As you might say, I wasn't living in the now."

"I think I get it," Buzz said, falling silent.

Why hasn't he said anything about me hitting my wife? Cheating on her? About me failing as a father? He must think I'm a piece of trash.

He lit a cigarette, but it tasted stale, useless, unsatisfying. He threw it into the sand.

Donna came off the jetty
for the second time. Buzz's heart sank.

It's over.
He could feel it. His shoulders sagged and his body shuddered. A giant, silent sob welled up from his belly.

I'm lost.

But Buzz was wrong. Men are often wrong about their emotions. Donna was still praying, saying a word of the Hail Mary with every step, struggling to keep her eyelids from closing.

I just want to go to sleep,
she thought between
words of prayer in her heart. She was spent. Running on empty.

Buzz felt like a sandcastle in the wind and waves, being worn away, on the verge of collapse. He leaned forward, tottering, his eyes unfocused, his head spinning, when he felt Sam's graceful hand on his shoulder.

It seemed to Buzz as if his friend's one hand was keeping him from falling into an abyss. Buzz looked up.

Please, help me.

"What you mean to say," Sam said serenely, "is that Ellie and I shouldn't put off having kids. For you, as a Catholic, having kids is why you get married. You're saying that if I'm not ready to bear the burden of having kids right now, like your Jesus carried the cross, because that's how you describe bearing burdens–carrying the cross–if I'm not ready for that now, then I'll always put it off,
because someday never comes. And Ellie and I should be clear on that before we get married. Somehow, the cross in the sky above us reminded you of that. I don't follow all that stuff about the piece of wood up there being in the now. I don't think it matters. I don't think–Buzz?"

"Yeah," Buzz said, crushing sadness in his voice. He was looking down again. His mouth was as dry as cotton.

"Look
at me," Sam commanded. There was power in his voice.

Buzz looked up again. His eyes were watery, salty.

"You did it, man," Sam said enthusiastically, bringing his other hand up to Buzz's other shoulder. "You convinced me. You're saying I should be a man. Have the kids. Be happy with Ellie. I know that. My father is a good father. When you see me, you see my father. It's not a mystery to me. You
should cut yourself some slack. I know you loved your dad. I can hear it in your voice. But the guy was an alcoholic. He let you down. You got lost. He didn't show you the way. Your faith did. Your faith is beautiful, man. It saved you. You're not lost anymore. Even if I don't believe in it, I can see that it saved you. And I love you for it. I love how it makes you bend over backwards to try to
save me too."