(continuation of the story)
“Whaddya mean, ‘lost it’?”
“Whaddya mean, ‘lost it’?”
“Well, he just said a bunch of stuff
at a team meeting and the boss said that was it, he’d have to go.” Ted paused again and studied his
interlocutor. Fred gave no sign. “I want you to know that I am trying to work
with Charlie, Mr. Bayer. I really like
Charlie. I’m trying to help him get established
in his relationship with God. But he is
still exploring. Everything is brand new
for him.”
“What’re you talking about? Relationship with God? You with some kind of cult?” Fred almost bit his tongue, realizing he had
said it again.
Ted seemed to take zero
offense. “No, no, not really. We are an intense community of faith. And we attract Charlie’s kind of
intensity. Let me tell you how I met
Charlie. I was down at the beach with my
family and some other church members.
Charlie was with some folks from his company playing beach volley
ball. He got into a dispute about the
game. The argument grew very
intense. Charlie stalked off and went
and sat on a blanket close to where we all were. He was sipping a beer and started to talk
with us. Most of our group was getting
some hamburgers grilled and really weren’t paying any attention. He had this way of talking so softly that you
really couldn’t hear, you know? But he’s
sitting there talking straight at you, and you feel like maybe you ought to be
listening. I went over by his blanket
and we began a conversation. He was
really embarrassed that he had gotten so upset about the game. But he said something that stuck with
me. He said, ‘Why do something if it
doesn’t matter?’”
Fred squirmed in his chair. “That sounds something like Charlie.”
“Anyway, I ended up giving Charlie
my phone number. The next evening, he
called. I went over to his place. We talked half the night. It’s been that way ever since. He’s either over at my office, talking to me
or my secretary or whoever else will listen.
Or, he’s calling me up, wanting me to come over and talk to him. And from the start, he seemed to be hung up
about one thing—his relationship to you.”
Fred sat up straight; his hands
gripped the arms of his chair. His eyes
no longer were studying the smiling face of the preacher. He was staring into the spaciousness of the
lobby of the giant medical complex.
“Mr. Fred Bayer, please come to the
Information Desk.” Fred shot a glance at
Ted, who looked puzzled. The
announcement repeated itself, and Fred rose painfully from the cushions of the
armchair and strode heavily back to the little lady with all the information.
The lady already was lost back into
her romance novel as Fred rested his forearms on the fake marble counter-top.
“I’m Fred Bayer.” He decided not to force her to make any
assumptions.
She looked up with a blank
expression and hesitated briefly. Then,
recognition came to her and she excitedly thumbed through her crumpled
notes. “Oh, yes. Fred Bayer.
Your son, Charles Bayer, would like you to go to his room as soon as you
arrive.” It was as though she and he had
never had the previous conversation.
Yet, her accuracy in delivering the message was admirable. “Room 3342.
Take that second bank of elevators to Three and you can follow the signs
to his room.”
“Thank you.” Fred ground the marble slab with his heel as
he turned to his right and pushed on to the elevators. He realized Ted was beside him, but he did
not speak to the preacher.
On the third floor, he hesitated and
studied the signs and arrows directing him to various ranges of room
numbers. He walked along the corridor,
hardly noticing the uniformed personnel.
Ted walked silently along, to his left and behind a step. Fred was counting backwards as they
progressed down the numbers. When they
arrived at 3342, there was a name beside the “A”: Augustino Malconado; but there was no name
beside the “B”. Perhaps, they hadn’t
gotten to it. Fred cautiously looked
around the door frame.
“Hello, Dad.” Charlie was sitting in a bed beside the
window. The curtain was open between the
two beds. The other bed was empty, but
it looked as though someone was using it.
“I see you’ve met Brother Gonzales.”
“Yeah. How’re you doing?” There was a bandage on his forehead. Charlie was sitting up; one knee was pushing
the sheet high, the other poked out from under the sheet.
“Oh, I’m all right. I have a pretty good headache. But I’m OK.”
Fred dragged a chair between the bed
and window. He was oblivious to Ted, or
to the paging announcement in the hall.
He sat heavily and gripped the arms of the chair. His head swung slightly side-to-side as he
spoke: “Now, what is all this ? You worry your mother. You fax me at work. You even send a message to the pilot. What is so important that I got to fly out
here? I got orders and new
employees. How come you are always such
a mess, raising a ruckus about everything that occurs to you?”
Charlie leaned back on the bed. He looked at his father. Sorrow covered his face. Then, his expression changed, his eyes
focused.
“Dad, I think I’m saved. No, I know I’m saved. I have decided to follow Jesus.”
Fred did not respond. He looked at his son, his face twisted into
intense focus.
“This is my most important
decision. I know I’ve been a mess. Do you understand that this is the decision of my life?”
“There have been others.” The family sarcasm slipped through Fred’s
lips.
“Yes. Yes, I have decided to quit drugs, to be a
hermit, to divorce Karen, to be a lawyer, to drive a truck. I know that I am always making decisions.”
“And you’ve said you’re sorry about
four or five times.” Fred wanted it all
to get out.
“Yes.” Charlie began to weep. The words came out louder now, forced out
between the sobs, his voice getting husky from the swallowed tears.
“But, Dad, I didn’t call you out
here just to say I’m sorry. I want you
to know this. I want you to know and
really understand that I have come to terms with myself, with you and our
past.”
Fred sat still. He was trying to understand. “I’m trying to understand, Son. I really am.
But what’s the big deal? I mean
you going to church and stuff. You going
to be a—what is it?--funda-, fundamental?
I heard they’re always talking religion.”
Charlie took a deep breath. He looked at Ted, leaning in the
doorway. “It’s like this. When I came out here, I was tired. I had been through so many things. I just wanted to come out here and have some
fun. Austin had started to get on my
nerves. I had taken training in computer
graphics. I was ready to sit in front of
a keyboard and do my thing.”
“You know your trouble,
Charlie?” Fred butted in and seemed to
put Charlie off track. “Your trouble is
‘me.’ All I hear you talking about is
yourself. What about your family? What about me? I’m an old man. I fly out here—drop everything…”
“That’s it, Dad. That’s exactly
it. I was talking to Pastor Gonzales one
day. I said—you know—just what you
said. And he said—you remember
this?” He looked at Ted in the
doorway. Ted nervously nodded, unsure
how he would be a part of this story.
“He said, ‘Charlie, right now this story is about one person, and that
is you.’ You see, Dad, I’ve been, like,
in this gigantic wrestling match with God for the first thirty years of my
life. I’ve been trying to be free,
trying to be free by making decisions and going off on tangents and doing
outrageous things. I’ve been so crazy in
so many ways. And somehow, deep inside,
I knew I would not quit being—you know—Charlie,
until it was right. Until I knew it was
right. Until I got it right. Remember how I argued with that teacher that
day? You had to come to school because I
would not quit insisting that I was right.
And you said, ‘What’s all the ruckus about?’ And I told you how the English teacher was
dead wrong about Andy Simkins’ sentence.”
Fred chuckled. “I had no idea what that was all about. You trying to be smarter than the teachers.”
“You know what? I figured out about six years later that I
was wrong. It was a subtle point of
grammar, and the teacher was right, but she could not convince me. But this is not about being right, so much as
living right…You know, being convinced that you’re on the right track. See, that’s more important even than freedom. To be related to everything in the right
way.” The words gushed out. Fred was trying to follow his son’s
reasonings, but he also was studying his son.
He did seem at peace. He thought
of that night when Charlie’s acid-inspired theories had filled the darkness. He detected a difference now in this
sun-filled hospital room. It was a sense
of having turned a corner. It was a
sense that he—Charlie’s own father—might play a role, but he would not make the
difference. The difference was already
there. He was only the fringe on the
Persian rug in the room filled with furniture.
The fringe mattered, but the room was full.
Charlie continued: “Anyway, I had several talks with Ted. It all started when I got upset at beach
volley ball. Can you believe that? Ted and I, we talked—about everything. I wanted him to solve me. To get me free of my crazy ways. Fortunately, he was wise enough not to try to
do that. He just told me about
Jesus. So, I went to one of the services
over at New Life. And, at some point,
the crowd was singing about Jesus. And I
just ran down to the front—right in the middle of the service. Old Ted, he pulled me over to the side and
asked me what’s going on. I said, ‘Ted,
Jesus has got to do something about me.’ And Ted stopped the singing and he
told everybody what I said. And then
everyone prayed. And you know, Dad,
something came over me.” Charlie’s voice
broke.
Fred’s elbows were resting on his
thighs, he was leaned over, and he twisted now to look up at the face of his
son.
“Dad, I have been changed by
Jesus. I know I’m still a mess. But it’s OK.
I’ll calm down, I think. But not
too much. I want always to be radically
committed to Him.”
“What about your job?”
“Guess what? My boss heard about the wreck. He called a while ago, and we had a long
talk. I think I’m going back. I just have to restrain myself.”
“Can you do that?”
“You know, Dad, I think I really
can.” Charlie looked across the room to
the generic print of a vase of flowers.
“The long nightmare is over. Tell
Mom that. Tell her I’m OK.”
Fred could not resist one more
argument. “Yeah. I’ll tell her, but first tell me
something. Why couldn’t you come home on
the Fourth or for Thanksgiving or something and tell us this? How come I got to fly all the way out here
for you to tell me you got religion?”
Charlie looked at his father. Tears came to his eyes. He stared out the window and tried to gather
his thoughts.
“How many times have you and I gone
round and round, Dad?”
“Too many. Seems like I’m always in the thick of
something with you.”
“Do you know how important you are
to me?”
Fred said nothing.
“Somehow, you and me have got to be
square before all this stuff is square.
Do you understand? It’s like
we’re joined at the hip. It’s love one
day, hate the next. But we’re always
together, no matter where I live.”
Fred stood to his feet. He glanced at the preacher, who had retreated
to the hall, though he was still framed by the doorway. He stared out at the amorphous architecture. “What is it you need from me? I can’t seem to get it through my head what
you want.”
“I guess I want you to get a sense
of the importance of what I am going through.
To have some idea that what I am doing is going to matter to me…and to
you.”
“I, I have a hard time with
that. I mean, your mother and me, we
always went to church. What have you
discovered that is any different than what you learned in Confirmation?”
“It’s not that different. But it’s real. For the first time in my life, Jesus is
real. Forgiveness is real. Reconciliation is real. Not just something you learn. Something that really happens to you.”
“OK.
I’m willing to work on this. It’s
going to take some time. Maybe I can
stay a few days. I’ll have to make some
phone calls.”
An hour later, Ted delivered Fred to
Charlie’s apartment. Fred settled in,
making calls to change flight plans and calling his wife and his son Fred.
The next day, Charlie returned home
from the hospital. He had a bad bruise
on his forehead. He and Fred went to the
grocery store and bought TV dinners and some simple things Fred could cook. Fred made two calls to the factory that
day. The business was going OK.
Charlie had the weekend before he
had to return to work. Father and son
went to a Dodgers game Saturday afternoon.
Sunday morning, Fred went with
Charlie to church. The service seemed
tame enough. It was less formal—people
would stand and sing songs, sometimes repeating them several times. It surely was no cult, Fred decided. Ted was busy after the service with various
people who all seemed to need his attention.
Sunday afternoon, Fred fell asleep
in front of the TV. Late that afternoon,
he awoke. The TV was off and there were
no lights on in the living room. The
apartment faced east, so the windows offered very subdued light. He fumbled his way around the living room
until he found the light switch. He
peeked into Charlie’s bedroom and saw that it was empty. Back in the kitchen, he saw the note on the
counter:
“Dear Dad, I have finally decided to
go ahead and do it. It does not seem to
matter much to you. I guess I am on my
own in this. I really do love you and
Mom. Charlie.”
A chill went down Fred’s spine. He re-read the note. He tried to think. He reached for the phone. Who to call?
Not Marie. Not when you don’t
know anything. The police? He hesitated.
Finally, he grabbed the directory.
He tried to think of Ted’s name, then the name of the church. His brain would not work. His huge hands thrashed around on the crowded
counter, trying to find something with phone numbers. Finally, he found an address book. He tried “C.”
Bingo! “New Life Bible Church.”
He called. The phone rang several times. Then, a masculine voice answered.
“Could I speak with the
reverend? What his name? Ted.”
“Brother Gonzales is in church right
now. Could I take a message?”
“OK, look. What time is your service over?”
“Oh, we should be done in about 45
minutes.”
“All right. Give me your address. I’ll just take a cab over there.”
The man gave Fred the address. Fred called a cab and soon was on his way.
But would he be too late? He went over the past few days. He never picked up on something like
this. Why was Charlie going to do this? Fred was sure that he was doing so much
better, that he was happy. The cab made
a swing by a park. Dusk was settling
over the later afternoon park activities.
He caught sight of children down by a little pond. Two boys were wrestling in ankle-deep
water. The victor knocked the loser on
his bottom in the muddy water.
His mind clicked on a conversation
of that morning. Charlie had pointed
toward the baptistery of the church. It
was not a font from which a minister sprinkled a little water on a baby’s
head. This was a tank where people were
dunked, totally soaked.
“I’m going to be baptized in that,
Dad,” Charlie had said.
“But I ignored him when he said
that,” thought Fred. “I was more
interested in how people get dried off and stuff.
The cab pulled to a stop in front of
the church. He paid and hurried up the
walk to the entrance. The service was
still going on. A couple of men were in
the spacious foyer. One was peeking
through the diamond-shaped window of the door into the sanctuary. He was grinning. Suddenly, there was applause from the
congregation. The men took advantage of
the applause to speak in normal tones.
The one who had been peeking said,
“That was my niece. She was really
worried about getting her head wet.”
Fred tried to get a view through the
little window in the door. The men
realized he was trying to see.
“You can go on in,” one said. They opened the door in invitation.
He tried to slip in without being
seen. As he came in he realized that
Charlie was talking over the PA system.
He tried to orient himself, his vision sweeping around the room, trying
to locate his son. Then, he realized
that Charlie was in the baptistery! Ted
was there, and a man was standing outside, holding a wireless microphone to
Charlie’s mouth.
“…I finally realized that what was
important to me was to be reconciled to God.
This stuff that has been happening to me is the greatest ever. I am really excited that I am going to be
baptized. I only wish my Dad could be
here to see it.”
Fred realized that Charlie was
looking out over the middle set of pews and had not noticed him enter. He waved his hand cautiously, hoping Charlie
would notice. Ted was talking now…
“…baptize you in the name of the
Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.”
Ted had his hand behind Charlie’s
head, and Charlie was going under. Fred
was walking down the aisle toward the platform.
He wanted Charlie to know he was there.
His son came out of the water and instinctively shook his head. Water spayed out of the baptistery onto the
carpet of the platform.
“Over here, Charlie!” Fred was running now. He had his hand up, as though he were hailing
a cab. “Charlie! I’m here, Son.”
The two men in the chest-deep water
wiped their eyes, trying to locate the sound.
His voice was getting drowned in the applause. Then, Charlie saw Fred.
“All right! You made it, Dad!”
Fred stood at the edge of the platform,
oblivious to the audience. Then,
somebody was helping him up on the stage.
He went to the wall of the baptistery and embraced his son. Water ran off the son’s head onto the
father’s shoulders, and the dark blue sports shirt was pressed tightly to the
dripping T-shirt. Water splashed down
the front and back of Fred’s pants.
Charlie had worn a pair of clogs
into the baptistery. When he reached for
his father, he stepped out of the clogs.
Suddenly, his feet slipped, shooting in front of him parallel to the
wall of the tank. His torso lurched in
the opposite direction. His grip on Fred
reflexively tightened, and his father was jerked over the wall and down into
the water. Ted and another man stepped
over to help the two thrashing men. Charlie
was helped back to a standing position, and Fred was pulled back out of the
tank, but not before he was soaked thoroughly with the water of Charlie’s
baptism.
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