“Drop the knife,” the cop said to Clarence.
“These are the bad guys. I just caught ’em.”
“Drop the knife and we’ll talk about it,” the cop said. Clarence dropped the knife on the street.
“Okay,” the officer said, “who are you?”
“I’m Clarence Abernathy.”
“The sportswriter?”
“Yeah.”
“And who are these two?”
“The lowlifes that killed my sister and my niece.”
Geneva Abernathy and Esther Norcoast met at five o’clock to set up for the North Portland Community Bazaar. Geneva scanned the nearly one hundred booths in the old middle school gym. She perused the homemade clothing, wall hangings, framed photos, jewelry, you name it. Dani had brought her paintings here the last few years. Geneva had helped her in her booth. She’d also seen Esther Norcoast at her own booth last year. A few days ago Esther had called Geneva to ask for her help with her “Angel Awareness” booth.
“This is going to be so much fun,” Esther said to Geneva, who looked wide-eyed at the vast assortment of products in the dozen boxes. No wonder Esther had reserved three large tables. Geneva helped Esther lay out display racks of fine silver- and gold-tone angel jewelry, pendants, lockets, and earrings. Next came angels with wings and harps, male angels, female angels, adult angels, baby angels. Geneva set up a neatly printed placard: “Little Sterling Angel with Vermeil Wings, $20.00.” Another said, “Angel Surrounded by Marcasite Heart, $28.00.”
Esther pointed to a gold angel necklace. “That’s my daughter Katie’s angel. I think about her every time I see it. She wears it all the time.”
On the second table, next to the jewelry, Geneva helped Esther put up angel figurines, cherubs, seraphim, angel collector plates and ornaments, and even angelic wind chimes. Next to them sat Victorian angel photographic prints, original angel art, Christmas tree toppers, and angel music tapes and CDs. Esther turned on a portable CD player and started playing “angel music.” Geneva wondered how anyone knew the music preferences of angels, but it sounded pleasant enough.
On the third table Esther laid out a supply of books, among them near-death experience accounts, including Embraced by the Light. Alongside these she set out A Book of Angels, In Search of Angels, Ask Your Angels, Commune with Angels, Touched by Angels, Know Your Angels, Angel Voices, and The Angels Within Us. It was an hour before they got everything set up just how Esther wanted it.
“Wow!” Geneva said. “And I thought it was just angel jewelry. You’ve expanded!”
Esther laughed. “A year ago I was trying to do my own handmade angel jewelry, but the life of a politician’s wife doesn’t allow much time.” She looked at the three crowded tables. “I guess I really have branched out, haven’t I? Reggie says if you’re going to have a vice, this is a pretty good one.”
“I’ve always admired your guardian angel pin,” Geneva said, pointing to the winged silver emblem on Esther’s suit lapel. “But I didn’t realize how much you’d gotten into this. What’s the story?”
“Well, five years ago my sister was dying of cancer. I really needed help and support, and I wasn’t finding it in family or church. Then someone gave me a book on angels. I loved it so much I went out and got several more. The books really spoke to me, filled a void in my life. I always knew there was something more, a supernatural presence. When I got my first guardian angel pin, it reminded me of this unseen presence. It helped me make more sense of the world, made me feel good about myself. Lots of people asked me about it, and the Trib even did a feature story on me related to my interest in angels.”
“I remember reading that,” Geneva said.
“Up till a year ago I worked a lot of hours at Reggie’s office, but I cut way back to give me more time with this. Last year I went to a seminar called ‘Ask Your Angel,’ where the leaders showed us how to get guidance from our guardians. That was a big step, because my angel went from being just a source of comfort to a source of guidance. I was facing some hard things, and it was wonderful to get the guidance I needed.”
Geneva fidgeted a little. “I believe God guides his children. And I believe he sends guardian angels to them. But how do you get guidance from an angel?”
“You just ask for it,” Esther said. “You talk to them, share your innermost thoughts and feelings, your emotions and your struggles. If you’re wondering what to do about a problem, you ask them to draw your heart toward one option or show you another.” Esther spoke in an animated voice, demonstrating this wasn’t just a hobby but a passion. “I sell the jewelry as an opportunity to get out the word about angels. That’s why I carry these books and pamphlets. One thing that means a lot to me is that angels never put you down. They don’t make you feel guilty; they make you feel good, which is more than I can say for a lot of churches.”
“Esther,” Geneva asked cautiously, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
She hesitated. “Yes, I believe in a Jesus Christ of love.”
“How about a Jesus Christ of justice?”
“Well, of course, justice. But not the negative way he’s sometimes presented. I don’t believe in a God who sends people to hell. I believe in compassion and comfort. That’s what the angels bring us. Help and hope and guidance. You have a guardian angel too, you know.”
“I believe that, though I admit I’ve never given it much thought. I did hear a sermon on angels once.”
“Just once? You’ve been going to church for how many years, and just one sermon? Angels are so much more important than that. They have wisdom and insight people don’t. Look,” Esther reached over to one of the tables, “here’s a couple of my favorite books and tapes about communicating with our angels. It’s all very positive and encouraging. Take these with my compliments. And please, take the piece of jewelry of your choice. It’s the least I can do for all your help.”
“People are going crazy over you,” Dani said to Torel.
“Over me?”
“Over your kind, I mean. Angels. I thought of it as a good sign, but now I’m not so sure.”
“In a sense it is a good sign,” Torel said. “The children of Adam feel a great need for comfort in a world that is violent and frightening. The thought of heavenly protectors working for their good is very appealing.”
“Well put, my friend,” Lewis said. “You must remember, Dani, that once all people believed in the supernatural. While having different views of God and angels, they would consider anyone who did not believe in them to be ignorant, if not insane. But the long age of supernaturalism gave way to the short age of naturalism, where men attempted to explain the universe as self-existent, coming from nothing and going nowhere. Faith in God was displaced by faith in evolution, science, man, self. None of these could bear the weight of faith. The age of anti-supernaturalism couldn’t last long, for human hearts testify to a greater reality. They long to find the source of the eternal sound they now hear only in echoes.”
“Yes,” Dani said. “I understand that here like I never did on earth.”
“They know intuitively the dark world as it now is was never meant to be their home,” Lewis continued. “So they long for a better home, a true home. When modernism failed to satisfy, failed to ring true to the heart or mind, it moved to postmodernism. So, many people who twenty years ago didn’t believe in the supernatural now do.”
“And that’s good, isn’t it?” Dani said.
“Good, but only as a first step,” Lewis said. “It’s one thing to believe in the supernatural, another to believe in the one true God revealed in the Scriptures and the one and only Savior, Jesus Christ. As my friend Chesterton said—I must introduce you to him—‘When men cease to believe in God, they do not believe in nothing; they believe in anything.’ These are at once the most cynical and most gullible people who have ever lived. They are skeptical about the truth they should believe, yet gullible about the falsehoods they should question. They believe in the mystical, the
occult, the New Age, anything and everything but the truth. They believe in angels because it is comforting. But the only good reason to believe anything is that it is true. And while they are correct that angels are real, they must ask the bigger question—who these angels really are. More particularly, whose they really are.”
“So they now believe in angels,” Dani said, “but without believing in the sovereign God who made those angels, the holy God who became a man and went to the cross to provide salvation for men.”
“Precisely,” Lewis said. “And they therefore take false comfort. For if they believed in nothing, they would likely know the crushing emptiness within and feel compelled to look outside themselves for the truth. But because they believe in the supernatural, the emptiness feels as if it is being filled. All people long to believe in the other, the transcendent, that which is above and beyond them, greater than they. That is why the notion of UFOs and benevolent aliens fascinates them—they offer hope and answers while not requiring them to bow the knee to the Creator and Savior who is the answer. Universal equality is a very wearisome and boring dogma. They long to know the superior. They long to bow the knee.”
“But why would people believe in angels but not in their Maker?” Dani asked.
“Because,” Torel said, “while they long to bow the knee, in their blindness they will choose to bow it to that which they should not. That is idolatry. They worship angels because they suppose angels are safe. Of course, we are not safe—far from it. Elyon’s sword-bearing warriors are safe only to those they are sent to protect. Those who have not bowed their knee to Elyon’s Son are not the friends of God, but his enemies. Still, they imagine we are safe, chubby angel babies, wish-granting genies. Belief in us gives them a link to the supernatural without having to come to grips with the frightening holiness of Elyon Almighty.”
“If they seek out contact with angels,” Lewis said, “without first bowing their knee to the Carpenter, they may find angels, all right, but not the ones they seek.”
“You mean … fallen angels?” Dani asked.
“Yes,” Torel said. “Those of my kind who rebelled against Elyon. They hate all his creation, especially the children of Adam. Sometimes they terrorize them, other times they appear to them as angels of light, disguised as if they were still servants of Elyon.”
“Why do people believe them?” Dani asked.
“Because they are blind,” Torel said. “Unless Elyon first touches them, do you expect the blind to see?”
“Ollie, thanks for coming. What’s going on? Why are they holding me?” Clarence asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Reckless driving. Endangering pedestrians. Assault. Destruction of property. Holding a knife to someone not engaged in a criminal act. Have I missed anything?”
“Look, Ollie. These are the guys who killed Dani and Felicia.”
“Did they tell you that?”
“Not in so many words. But when I asked them if they’d been to 920 Jackson Street the night of the murders, they turned tail and ran.”
“And that proves they’re the killers?”
“Well, why else would they run?”
“Oh, let’s see. A six-four, three-hundred-pound dude with an attitude challenges them. Why wouldn’t they run?”
“Come on, Ollie. This was the car. A gold Impala, late seventies. Two young male Hispanics. And I’m only 288 pounds.”
“What color did you say the car was?”
“Gold. You remember what Mookie said.”
“I know what Mookie said. But the guys you manhandled? Their Impala isn’t gold. It’s green.”
Clarence groaned. “I was sure it was gold.”
“I just went to the yard where it’s been impounded. It’s green. Not even close to gold. You color blind or something?”
“But—are you saying these really weren’t the guys?”
“Let me say it straight out so even a journalist can understand me—these really weren’t the guys. Based on your accusations, the police searched the car, the green car. No drugs. No weapons. These guys don’t have a police record. They’re model citizens. They work for a nursery out in Troutdale. To top everything off, they’ve even got an alibi. The church they attend in Gresham had a special service that night. It went late, and then they were up past midnight with each other’s wives and kids at their apartments, which are right next to each other. Even the manager saw them.”
“What were they doing in North Portland?”
“When you accosted them? Well, this being America and all, they really don’t have to explain that. But they were looking for some repair shop with a special on front-end alignments. They had the flyer in the car. They were trying to find the place, ran low on gas, and were going to ask directions at the station when this big ugly dude confronts them like he saw their faces on America’s Most Wanted.”
“But, I was sure—”
“Sure of what? That just because they’re two Latinos in a green car that looks gold only to you, that somehow they’re guilty and you can chase them down like they were Charles Manson on the lam? Why don’t you let the cops and the courts mete out the justice, okay?”
“Maybe because the cops and the courts don’t bring people to justice.”
“Your vigilante justice sure doesn’t cut it.”
“Better vigilante justice than no justice.”
“Well, what you did was injustice, you got that? You’re in trouble, Clarence. And you got the cops in trouble too. They arrested two innocent guys based on your assurances because you’re a credible journalist—how’s that for an oxymoron? How do you think the Portland Hispanic Council is going to respond to the cops arresting those guys? I wonder how many lawyers will volunteer to file lawsuits for these guys? By the way, you owe them a new car window. That’s all they’re concerned about right now. Maybe if you give them cash they won’t file any charges against you.”
“File charges?”
“Reckless endangerment, vehicular pursuit, destroying private property, assault with a deadly weapon. They could make a good case for calling it a hate crime too.”
“A hate crime?”
“Yeah. You went after them because they were Hispanics, right?”
Clarence was released at 10:00 P.M. and got home just before Geneva came back from the bazaar. Ty had stepped out, violating his grounding, but Jonah had been watching the girls and everything was okay. Clarence decided not to mention the incident with the car. No need to upset Geneva. He had a big Band-Aid on his hand and had formulated a good excuse when she came in the door. All the kids were in bed, and he acted as if he’d been home all evening. Geneva overflowed with stories about Esther Norcoast and angels and the bazaar. He was glad to listen.
“I went to the Kims’ store this afternoon,” Geneva said. “I apologized for Tyrone.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Clarence said. “He apologized himself. Remember? I took him in this morning.”
“I know. But I felt bad. We’re his guardians. That makes us responsible too.”
“He has to make his own choices.”
“I still felt bad. Mrs. Kim and I had a good talk. I’m getting to know her. Her name’s Mae.”
“Uh-huh.” Clarence picked up the newspaper.
“I invited them to dinner. They’ll be here tomorrow night at 6:30.”
“What? You invited them to dinner?”
“I think I just said that, didn’t I? Hattie Burns is going to watch the kids, so it’ll just be the four of us. Unless her sister comes, but Mae doesn’t seem to think she will.”
“But—we don’t even know them.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? Having people over for dinner is how you get to know them.”
“But, they’re …”
“What? Korean? Yeah. And we’re black. And Jake and Janet are white. And Ray’s American Indian. So what?”
“Trying to shame me into agreeing to this, huh?”
“I’m not asking you
r permission, Clarence. They’re coming. I hope you’re here. You can hide out at Hattie’s with the kids if you want to, but she’ll put you to bed early. And I’ll have a lovely evening with the Kims. I’ll just tell them you didn’t show up because the man who writes columns preaching color blindness is a racist.”
Clarence glared at her. “I’m not a racist.”
“Fine. Then we’ll both be here for dinner tomorrow at 6:30.”
“It must be hard for you living here sometimes,” Geneva said to the Kims. “We’ve traveled overseas, but I can hardly imagine starting a new life in another country.”
“Is strange place. Even now that we Americans,” Benjamin Kim said. “We very scared sometimes. But we do not want to look scared, so we … what is word?”
“Compensate,” Mae Kim offered. Obviously, they’d talked about it before.
“Yes. We act … in control. This make people think we aloof, hostile. But this is not so. Well, perhaps it is sometimes so.”
“What do you mean?” Clarence asked.
“In Korea, there is Confucian emphasis on education. Among Koreans it created, what is word, hierarchy of skin color. When someone studies indoors all day, he has fair skin. This represent honorable life of scholar. Darker skin comes from working all day in sun. It represents lowly working-class life. So, is sometimes true Koreans keep distance from darker Americans but want to be included among lighter ones.”
“One thing I respect about Koreans,” Clarence said, “is you’re such hardworking people.”
“This come from desire to break free from centuries of poverty and oppression from Japanese.”
Geneva looked surprised. “I’ve always thought of Korean and Japanese as almost the same,” she said. Both Kims looked shocked at this statement.
“Oh, no. We very very different,” Mr. Kim said. “Korean people bitter toward Japanese because bad things they do to us. We work and work, make money, send our children to good schools. Our students do very well academically, but sometimes poor in relating to people. Since we are Christians, we have asked our Lord to help us overcome this. We have prayed about it. When you invited us to dinner, it was answer to our prayer.”