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witnessed.  I believe that Dack Zuster was healed. And my faith
means I might have to pay the money I owe him.
 So you don t want go ahead and put those crooks behind
bars.
 No, I m sorry. I think we re finished.
And so it was we sat there a few long minutes, Gomez cleaning
his spectacles and tight-lipped about our stalemate. The bailiff
fetched Dack from the hallway. And I sat there willing to do as
Jesus suggested, Pay to Caesar what s his and to God what s his.
Did I learn anything else?
I now drive more carefully, more attentively. I wish, of course,
for a another miracle to help my church get on firmer ground
financially, but I realize that no one person can do that.
Mainly, I take the road as it comes.
One other thing, two days ago, I was driving down 16th where
my car hit Dack. There on the same corner was another young man,
dressed not unlike Dack. He held out his thumb, hitchhiking. I
rolled the window down, asked if he wanted a ride. He said he d
been waiting more than half an hour and got in.
Part of the old me would have wanted to ask if he d received
the Lord Jesus into his heart. But I knew it was enough to simply
share what I had with this young man and let it be.
We drove on through intersections and I felt as if my heart was,
for one of the few times in my life, beginning to open. I was taking
it in. Caring for others, this hitchhiker beside me. I was happy only
because I finally knew I had much to give others, even complete
strangers and I was no longer afraid. That was it, I was no longer
filled with, as Paul would say, fear and trembling. I could have at
that moment died straight away and known I was saved.
Completely saved.
We drove on and the hitchhiker, as if in that intimate space of
the car unknowingly shared my revery of reverence, said,  You
saved me.
MARBLES ON THE LOOSE
In chuffing motions high and wide, the young woman rubbed a
chalkboard eraser through the examples of Palmer penmanship for
the letters s and t. She had run out of time because of the
interruption. The special way to make a small t at the end of a word
would have to wait for next class, she had told students as they
streamed out for recess.
From beyond the empty desks came the sound of glass clicks.
She turned and looked at a fat boy kneeling on the floor beside a
bulging Gold Medal Flour sack.
 I be done.
He rose, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and cast
a final, searching glance downward. His brow, freckled darkly,
furrowed.
 I m sure, Benno, you got them all.
 Yes, Miss Arguello. If I can get anybody to play, I win more. I
Mister Marbles King.
 I am Mister Marbles King, Benno.
 Yes m.
Benno left, tennis shoes thumping, squealing over the waxed
corridor. The marbles sack swung by its drawstring. He tramped
down the stairs, intent on the playground, when girls from class
Shonda, Tori, and Annrae stopped talking and to a one beamed at
him.
 Your marble bag not looking too heavy, said Tori.
Shonda asked if he missed any. Annrae s eyes cut from Shonda
to Benno, her mouth open like she wanted to say something.
 Not none, he said.
 I saw Jared pick up some by his desk, said Annrae.
 Oh, you be jiving me. Benno walked sideways past the three,
not missing a step.
 Bag look smaller, Shonda yelled after him. He pushed open
the metal door with its small, sunlit wire-mesh window and went
outside.
A riot of kids played four-square, hopscotch, tether ball,
kickball in the far corner, and game after game of marbles, where
guys hunched over white circles chalked out on the black asphalt.
Benno waggled the taut drawstring, then set the marbles sack
down and crossed his arms, as proud a figure as Michael Jordan.
Unlike Michael, he had no takers in his game. These guys wouldn t
make room. They d point to the sack, ask what he wanted with
more marbles.
Benno wondered when he d ever play marbles again. Below a
forehead of Jheri curls, his dark eyes squinted. He checked off all
the good players who refused to play. It was everyone, including [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]