God's Tears

God's Tears
By
Christopher D. Burns


There had been heavy rains that evening and the air was still damp, but the ground had been hot and dry for so long it had either steamed away or soaked up most of the standing puddles. It was about 7:00 p.m. and the sun, after having been hidden behind the clouds for so long, was making it's last appearance for the day. Jonathan and I made our way across the still wet asphalt of the parking lot towards the offices. The wetness gave the parking lot that just paved look, the ground was blacker and cleaner as a result of the rain.

The building was a small colonial style collection of offices painted off white which the setting sun turned to a rich russet gold with a brown trim and dark shingled roof. The air had that warm smell of a fresh rain on hot concrete, subtle but familiar. The asphalt gave way to a concrete sidewalk and the sidewalk led around the building to the main and side doors. The side door was a Dutch door with the top half divided into nine neatly beveled panes of clear glass divided and framed by wood painted white. The offices inside were small. Some contained printing equipment, others had small desk and steel shelving as befitted the quiet headquarters of a small New England town newspaper.

To use the term "newspaper" was to give it too much credit, it really was a gazette or penny-shopper; free to the public and filled with local items and columns devoted to "friends of the library bake sales" and "the Elk's Club Corner." The few people who worked on the weekly editions volunteered their time and effort. Revenue was generated by the local store owners advertisements and private contributions when things got lean.

The office had closed at 6:00 p.m. and Jonathan and I were going in to check to see if there had been any water damage after the heavy showers. It had been a long and dry summer and we knew the roof was prone to leak after heavy rains. We entered through the side door and looked around. There is an ominous creaking from the rafters. We know that the roof has leaked and the attic crawl space is probably full of water, but we see no outward signs of water damage. Before we could do any serious inspecting the phone rang. We both knew that the machine would answer telling who ever it was what the office hours and deadlines were. Jonathan answered on the third ring anyway, you never know.

While he began to take notes I went to the front area to check my desk and see if anything of note had arrived. I knew before I got there that there would be nothing urgent, it was just half wishful thinking. Nothing ever exciting had ever happened since I moved here two years ago from Florida. That is not to say that it was boring, it is just that everything here moved at it's own pace. There was a sense of contentment that seemed to permeate the air around this sleepy New England town. It was far enough away from the major highways that almost no one came through unless they were looking for this place. The town government was composed of people you saw every day at their antique shops or the country club. The Mayor was the guy who lived two doors down from you who cut his lawn every other Saturday. You went fishing with the Chief of Police and your son cut fire wood for the towns only Doctor. We saw so little of the outside world sometimes I forgot what state I was in.

I was lost in thought when Jonathan came in saying that Mrs. Cottington wanted to drop off a last minute article on the town council meeting and an advertisement of a house for sale. (She was the towns only REALTOR) I asked Jonathan when would she be by. He grinned sheepishly and I knew that this was the kicker. He said that she was in Willowbrook and would be right over. I knew that it was at least an hours drive from Willowbrook. Just then a low moan emanated from the ceiling. It told us that a great deal of water was awaiting us in the attic. I scanned the ceiling and sure enough I spotted a slight bulge in the center of the room. I motioned to Jonathan and pointed. He looked and shook his head. Well, I said, let's start looking the place over before we check the crawl space.

We did not mind the wait, we had nothing pressing, not that we ever did now days. Before we got started I heard a faint squeal of tires on pavement and a car radio playing outside. We both looked at each other. She could not have gotten here that quick by jet. Out in front a big Chevy Impala swung into the drive. It was kind of rust colored with a slightly worn black leather top. It was one of those 70's models with vinyl bench seats as wide as a church pew. It was crammed with stuff and was driven by a young woman in a white tank top. There was a young man sitting in the passenger side with a black tee shirt and a worn green cloth windbreaker. He looked sort of pale and out of breath. Who ever they were they were not from around here.

Jonathan went to the front door to see what they wanted. She was exuberant, bursting with the energy of youth and he seemed shy and reserved. They were lost and looking for a way back to the interstate. It seems the young man was a musician and looking for work in one of the larger cities to the South. He did not seem too thrilled about it and I wondered why. I began to gather from their story, well her telling at least, that he was a great trumpet player but after some sort of accident, he had lost his left lung and with it, his confidence. She seemed to have enough for the both of them. The young man seemed too weak to stand and I offered him a seat. He seemed to be on the edge of some sort of respiratory distress. Jonathan went to get him some water. I began to write the directions for them to get back to the interstate as she attended to her boyfriend.

Her name was Wilhelmena, but everyone called her "Billie" which I could understand. What made it strange was that his name was William and everyone called him "Billy." I felt that they needed a rest. A rest somewhere other than in that car, so I told them that they were welcome to sit for a spell. I almost felt their sense of relief when I told them that. Making sure that he was alright, she went sprinting for the car to get something. I thought maybe some sort of inhaler or medicine for the lad. He had shrugged off his light jacket. I thought for a moment that I saw a bulge and a depression under his tee-shirt on the left side. He saw me looking and pulled up his tee-shirt to expose a large mass of scar tissue over the left side of his chest extending up almost over his shoulder. He had lost his left lung in a bad automobile accident. They had tried out an experimental artificial lung, but it did work properly and now was just so much plastic left inside of him.

He said that he knew he could not be a professional trumpet player with only one full lung, but "Billie" had so much faith in him that he felt he could not let her down. He did love her so. She had been with him through all the operations and rehabilitation sessions. She had researched new techniques to increase lung capacity through therapy and had been the driving force behind his new regimen of intensive and sometimes painful exercises. She had kept him practicing with his horn when he had thought he would never play it again. "I can't let her down, I can't let us down. I do love her so…" Something in his eyes let me know that he was fighting a constant battle inside. A battle of "belief." A test of Faith. He really wanted to believe.

I looked up at the bulge in the ceiling. Had it gotten larger? There was now a wet patch over the bulge and Jonathan and I could see the beginning of a hairline crack running the length of the bulge. Billie came in carrying a trumpet case and a plain brown bag. She told Billy to "…show 'em what you can do." Billy reluctantly opened the case and pulled out a very pretty horn. I saw the battle in his eye's and in his heart. I saw what Billie either did not see or refused to acknowledge. He was torn over the love of his instrument, the love of Billie and her persistence, over the debilitating handicap that had been thrust upon him. I saw a great love of the instrument shine through the doubt. He put the mouth piece up to his lips and stood. I think Jonathan and I were more scared than anything else; we were afraid for the kid's health, we were afraid for his embarrassment. He took in a breath that sounded more like a sigh and began to play.

He started with a trill that knocked us back and made us open our eyes. We had not known what to expect, I mean the way Billie had talked him up we chalked it up to her relationship making her not quite objective. You know like the Mother that thinks her kid is a musical genius just because the scales he plays have gotten smoother. But this… this was earth shattering. This was mind blowing. Each note was perfectly clear and distinct even though they followed each other like bullets from a machine gun. The notes began to rise in a clarion crescendo and our hope rose with it. Gabriel could not have played better. And then like some one had unplugged him it was over. Not in the glorious finish as promised by the beginning, but in an abrupt stop that left us gasping for the "…why ?".

Just as Billy was gasping for his breath. Billie ran to him, trying to help, but he shrugged her off angrily and pushed her away. He twisted in his anguish and pain, he dropped the horn and began to pull off his shirt. He was breathing hard, his thin body racked by stifled sobs as he tried to come to grips with his anger and his pain. Jonathan and I watched. Each of us in the room felt his pain, we did not know what to do. He was crying openly now and he kept repeating "I can't, I can't…." over and over. Billie was in torment, watching him at the end of his rope. Billy had stepped backwards and was now in the center of the room. He wanted to be away from all of us. It was then that over Billy's sobs came the sound of infinite sadness. It was a low moan, almost a wail that seemed to echo Billy's own despair, only this could come from no human throat. Billie froze and began looking upwards for the source of the sound. Jonathan and I had been so engrossed by the scene before us that we had forgotten about the water in the crawl space above our heads, even so the sound chilled us to the marrow.

Billy seemed to be coming out of his episode but still was oblivious to what we were listening to. Billie's eyes had locked on to a spot above Billy's head. The moaning stopped and Billie ask in an awed voice, "What was that ? It sounded like…God crying…" Before Jonathan or I could explain, she said "Look ! There's His tears!" And she pointed to a spot right above a bewildered Billy. It did look like a tear. Right at the base of the shallow bulge, many drops were coming together to form a large drop. None had fallen from the ceiling, but seemed to be gathering into the largest single drop I had ever seen. It looked like a tear drop just before it falls off of the tip of your nose. It was big and clear as crystal, as it grew in size. Just as Billy looked up at where we were staring it dropped. It seemed to fall in slow motion. It hit Billy just to the left of his upturned face and splashed on his shoulder. He flinched. Billie, her mouth turned into an "O" of wonder, fell to her knee's and pointed at Billy's shoulder. I looked, but could not understand. Another drop hit Billy in the same place, but he seemed frozen in place with his eyes glued to his shoulder where the drops were striking. Jonathan stepped forward holding out his hand and staring open mouthed at Billy and his shoulder. I must have missed something so I got closer.

My knee's buckled and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. My eyes began to tear up and I could feel the hairs on my arm and neck standing up. Everywhere the drops splashed, scar tissue disappeared and was replaced by healthy flesh. It was as if I was watching a time lapse film running in reverse. His flesh was being healed right before our eyes. Each drop looked like it held about a quarter cup of …water? And everywhere the water ran flesh was healed. The depression in his chest was being filled by healthy living tissue. The drops were coming harder and faster and when no more scar tissue remained they stopped. Billie approached him with tears of her own streaming down her face. Billy turned to her and they embraced each of them lost for words. Jonathan and I just stared at them then each other and then the ceiling.

Billy seemed whole again. It radiated from his mind, body and spirit. After much hugging and well wishing we said our good-byes. Billie and Billy seemed anxious to be on their way with a renewed sense of vigor. And just as quickly as they came into our lives, they went on their way to a better life. Jonathan and I just looked at each other and grinned. We might speak of this later, the again we might not. Mrs. Cottington came in about five minutes after we had walked back inside. Jonathan thought it would be better to check out the water damage in the attic, with the way those drops had fallen it must have been about to burst through the ceiling. I took the information from Mrs. Cottington while Jonathan checked the attic. After about three minutes listening to her prattle, I heard Jonathan call me. I said a hasty good bye, thankful for the interruption and went to the ladder leading to the attic. I met Jonathan on his way down the ladder. He gave me the flashlight and shook his head. It was that bad. Must have almost six inches of water up there to make all that noise I thought as I climbed up the ladder. I looked around with the flashlight. The attic was as dry as a bone.