The Demon (39 page)

 
He seemed to age daily, almost hourly, the week preceding Palm Sunday. The haunting pressure within was almost equalled by the pressure without from work. A multinational organization was attempting to weaken, and ultimately destroy the corporations international syndicate. Harry, and the other members of the board, knew that he could develop the necessary strategy to preserve the integrity of the syndicate, but speed was of the utmost importance. There was a cutoff date, April 15, and if the reorganization plan was not ready by then, everything Harry had worked so hard to create through the years would suddenly disappear and the firm would be in financial chaos. And so he tried to continue to resolve his inner

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conflict by abandoning himself in his work, but that too was steadily eroding as a solution. He still managed to work, but his haunted mind made a mockery of him. He not only worked with lethargic ineptness that was incredible for him, but was constantly aware of the terrors in his mind, the terrors that were eating away at his flesh and boring into his bones.

 
He had lunch with Walt and Clarke Simmons every day that week, and each lunch started in exactly the same manner: How is it coming, Harry? Fine, nothing to worry about, and he would cringe inwardly as he heard himself lie, and he prayed that he would survive one more lunch so he could get back to the sanctuary of his office, resolved to attack the job with his former vigor so there really would not be anything to worry about. And then they would ask him how he felt, You dont look good at all. Well, I seem to have a slight touch of something, but its all right. It will pass.

 
Walt and Clarke were concerned when they looked at Harry, who was obviously fighting some sort of virus, but they just reminded themselves that he could do the job—he had in the past and there was no reason to think he wouldnt now.

 
Harry accepted the song of the tracks and allowed it to lull him into an almost pleasant drowsiness. He ignored the papers —yet again, yet again, yet again, yet again—and allowed the clacking to drone through him. When he stood up to get ready to leave the train, he no longer stretched his neck up and his shoulders back, but strained to his feet and hunched forward like a man two inches taller than the ceiling.

 
A feeling of hopelessness and terror seemed to precede him, as he trudged up the walk to his house.

 
Linda tried to occupy her mind by keeping busy and taking care of the children, and fought with herself not to ask or tell Harry anything. The most painful things for her were her feelings of hopelessness and lack of power. She desperately wanted to help the man she loved, the man who was slowly deteriorating before her very eyes, but though she constantly racked her brain, she could find no answer. No answer for

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Harry—or herself, but she knew she had to stay and keep trying.

 
Harry remained mute when he went to bed, trying desperately to ignore the fact that Linda was getting thinner and more haggard-looking each day, until he yelled himself awake in the middle of the night, sweat stinging his eyes, and tried desperately to breathe and destroy the image that hung in front of him, the image of that goddamn face melting into itself and the mouth hanging open in that dreadful silent scream . ..

and

then his sons face drifted from the mouth, eyes staring in questioning horror and faint wisps of smoke drifting from the finger marks in his cheek . ..

and then he would become

aware of a hint of light somewhere in the darkness behind the melting and constant faces, a light that seemed to be an eternal distance away yet he sensed that it could instantly blaze in front of him and suck him up in its vortex. And he fought against the light, trying to deny its existence as it slowly dragged itself closer and closer like some hulking creature with a twisted or crushed leg and he tried to scream it back and out of existence and the faces continued to melt into themselves until he was once more awake, wiping the stinging sweat from his face and sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the darkness that surrounded him and equally afraid of the light, clinging desperately to some semblance of strength, but the terrors in his mind simply mocked him and he sat crushed between the powers and fears of light and darkness until he fell back exhausted and slept for a few pitiful hours, then dragged himself from bed to start another day like the one before that would end in a nightmarish night like the one he had just survived.

 
For Linda White the days were barely tolerable. The sun was bright, the sky clear and new life was budding and blooming everywhere, yet there was no joy in her life. Easter had always been a special time for her, and she had been looking

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forward to buying an Easter outfit for Mary, but now she had to force herself to go shopping and then she just bought the first thing that seemed to fit.

 
The children, too, had been looking forward to Easter. This would be the first year that Mary would be aware of her Easter basket and she was all excited about the Easter bunny; and Harry Jr. was looking forward to the Easter vacation and stay-over visits with both sets of grandparents, but the forbod-ing atmosphere in the house was dulling the sharp edges of their joy.

 
Linda tried to shop to get baskets, jelly beans, chocolate rabbits and marshmallow chickens, coloring for eggs and the other Easter goodies, but kept putting it off one more day, unable to find or create the necessary energy to go and so she stayed in the home she so dearly loved and cherished, feeling more and more trapped the more she procrastinated, and more and more depressed, telling herself that tomorrow would be different.

 
Palm Sunday came into being with a bright sun, a clear sky and the refreshing coolness of early spring. Linda and the children were outside, and Harry sat alone in the house half hearing and half ignoring the television that was telling him about the events of the day.

 
He started to focus his attention on the television as he heard the phrase, special program, repeated a few times. Then the screen was filled with people crowded on the street. Thousands of them. Harry could not tell where they were, but wherever it was, it was absolutely packed. And there seemed to be a park in the background. He was suddenly and intensely curious about the reason for all those people being there. And then he became aware of the voice of an announcer informing him that it was Central Park in the background and he was looking down Fifth Avenue, and the building the camera would focus on from time to time was a hospital, the same hospital Harry had spent a few days in. He stared at the endless mass of people, his curiosity increasing—and, as you can see, there are literally thousands of people here on this

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glorious Palm Sunday waiting for the appearance of Cardinal Leterman. Some people have been here for hours, getting here early so they could get a good vantage spot from which to view the Cardinal. And this is, indeed, a beautiful day for a homecoming—can you get a shot of the park, Phil? Yes, thats it. As you can see there is green everywhere and even the ducks in the lake seem to be aware of the solemnity of the occasion as they glide across the surface of the water. It is a truly beautiful sight, the gentle rolling softness of the grass and the magnificent skyscrapers in the background with the blue sky and those white clouds rolling by and— O, yes, isnt that a beautiful scene, the buildings and sky reflected in the water of the lake—the camera kept coming in until the screen was filled with the familiar lake and the background clearly reflected in the water— Wait, there seems to be some activity in front of the hospital, ladies and gentlemen. Cardinal Leterman may be coming out now—the camera focused on the entrance to the hospital— I can see—yes, yes, there he is, ladies and gentlemen—a roar suddenly burst from the crowd and the people were jumping up and down to get a better view and others were on the tops of cars and everyone was screaming and most people were waving crosses of palms— theres an aide opening the door and the beloved Cardinal Leterman is standing just outside the hospital waving to the people, smiling, and it looks like there are tears rolling down his face as he reacts to this unprecedented and absolutely incredible and spontaneous outburst from thousands of people of all faiths. And that is one of the most marvelous and significant things about what is happening here today, ladies and gentlemen. This demonstration of love—just listen to them—and affection for one of the most revered and respected men of the cloth in the world is not based on dogma or theology or even religion, but is an outpouring of the hearts of people of all faiths: Protestants, Jews as well as Catholics, and people of other faiths and, I am sure, those who profess none in particular. This certainly is an unequalled testimonial to the life of love, devotion, kindness and service that this man has lived

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these past seventy-five years. As you can see there are endless flashbulbs going off, and the people are so eager to demonstrate their love and enthusiasm for this great, great man that it is taking a strong force of New Yorks finest to protect Cardinal Leterman from his admirers— Wait just a minute, ladies and gentlemen. He is raising his hands for silence, a hush has fallen over the crowd, and as you can see on your screens there are tears of love and gratitude— Ladies and gentlemen, Cardinal Leterman...

               
My fellow children of God . . . My life has been filled with countless riches through the blessings of Jesus Christ, our Lord, but surely this day must be the richest of the rich. Truly my cup doth run over. Surely no man can be more blessed than I, and surely no man can be less deserving than I for I am no more than a sinner. No more or less, perhaps, than anyone else, but still a sinner. Yet our merciful God in heaven has bestowed upon me countless gifts, including the gift of life, and has shown me a way of life whereby I can, in my small and humble way, try to glorify His name. And though I am not worthy of His gifts, I can but accept them and say may Thy will be done and not mine, and hope, and pray, that I may be an instrument of His peace. ... As you know, just sixty-four days ago I was stricken with a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital, where I was pronounced dead on arrival . . . yes . . . dead! Yet today I am alive through the grace of God and the ministrations of the dedicated and devoted men of medicine. And how fitting it is that I should once more walk these beloved streets on this day, this day that commemorates the ride of our Savior, Jesus Christ, into the holy city of Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday, aware that he was reaching the end of his ministry on earth. It came to pass that he was betrayed and suffered on the cross, and endured the Passion, so that we might know that through death in Christ we may all find eternal life. I am today a living miracle. A man back from the dead . . . Next Sunday, Easter Sunday, is the most important day in all Christendom when we celebrate the triumph of life

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over death. And so that I might in some way give thanks to the Almighty for the miracle of my rebirth, and give praise to our Lord and Savior, I will serve Communion in Saint Patricks Cathedral on that most reverent of days, Easter Sunday. . . .

Ladies and gentlemen, I can hardly

talk. There is not a dry eye anywhere to be seen. Cardinal Leterman is crying as freely as the rest of us and his face is one big smile as he blesses the people and is helped into his car. As you can hear, there is still a hush over the crowd, and as you can see, they are all standing absolutely still in complete reverence for this man who is so universally loved that he has been called not only a man of God, but a man of the world, loved by one and all regardless of what God they may worship. His car is slowly pulling away from the curb and— O, my God, ladies and gentlemen, people are starting to peel away from the crowd and lay down their palms in front of the Cardinals car. In all my thirty years of broadcasting I have never seen anything like this in my life. The Cardinals car is just barely moving and men and women and children are stepping into the middle of the street to lay down their palm leaves. This is the greatest demonstration of love I have ever seen, and needless to say no one is more deserving of it than Cardinal Leterman. As far as the eye can see down Fifth Avenue people are laying down palms and bowing their heads as the Cardinals car slowly passes by, the Cardinal giving the people his blessing. . . .

              
Harry stared at the television screen as the car of Cardinal Leterman slowly moved along Fifth Avenue and eventually the scene faded and the station identified itself and a studio announcer informed him that he had just seen a special program presented by the stations news bureau and the voice quickly faded into a hum and Harry continued to stare in front of him, not noticing and not listening. . . .

It

droned on and on and Harry was aware only of the hollowness within him that grew and grew and seemed to twist itself

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around his throat, trying to tug it down into that grinding, sickening and bottomless pit. He lay his hands upon his stomach and rubbed firmly, unconsciously trying to stuff the hole in his gut and stop the wind from blowing through.

He sat and

stared, his hands stuffed in his gut, for a short, painful eternity. Various images flipped and jerked on and off the screen as a series of commercials followed each other, but he did not see nor hear them. He stared. He stared from a hollowness into a hollowness. He stared from a pit into a pit—from a conclusion to a beginning. . . .

He stood . . .

slowly. The hollowness deepened. The pit deepened. His mouth was flushed with lead. The initial movement was painful. He stopped. His head whirled. He clutched his gut. He moved. Got a jacket. He left the house.

The train—yet again,