The Second Fall

By Howard Griesch

Chris and Mike first met as teenagers over twenty years ago, playing basketball and hanging out with their friends on the streets of Queens in New York. Chris has earned his PhD and is a professor of archaeology in the city university system in Queens. Mike is now called "father," having become a Roman Catholic priest in a local parish. Our story begins with Chris and his team, as we find them hard at work, at their most recent dig site in the Middle East. Chris has been endeavoring for several years to locate the site of the original Garden of Eden. He believes that he is finally at the right site. Chris is unaware of what he has unintentionally discovered, a discovery that will lead him unknowingly into a violent world of lies, deceit, and murders. He soon finds himself in the crosshairs of the world's most powerful shadow government. With help from several priests and a cardinal from the Vatican, Chris begins to realize the significance of what he has found. He has been chosen, according to the cardinal, to become the primary catalyst for events leading to the end of days, as foretold in the book of Revelations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641912730

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The Second Fall

Howard Griesch

Copyright © 2018 Howard Griesch

All rights reserved

First Edition

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Christian Faith Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64191-272-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64191-273-0 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Acknowledgments

Even a journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step. As it turns out, that first step can be the most daunting. Remember the first time you attempted to ride your two-wheel bicycle without the training wheels, or the first time you jumped into the deep end of the pool?

Usually, parents, siblings and friends were nearby to cheer you on. In many cases they would cajole you relentlessly. The ultimate motivator may have been the ‘double-dog, dare.’ Or, the final gauntlet… ‘you’ll never do that!’

I had the idea for my book almost five years ago. About one year ago, after a lot of thinking and planning, I decided to remove the ‘training wheels’ and begin the arduous task of writing.

To my friends Walt and John, who listened to me while I bounced ideas off of them. And for reading my original manuscript and cheering me on.

To my brother Phil, who said dryly, Yeah, I’ll buy a copy of your book. How much?

To my son Peter. After hearing about a number of my other ventures, said, Dad, finally, this idea has legs. Go for it.

To my daughter Elizabeth. When I was thinking about looking for a co-author, she convinced me to just start writing on my own.

Finally, to my wife, Ronni. She encouraged me from day one. She listened almost every night as I gave her updates on my writing progress. She sat with me as we proofread every single page of the manuscript. I dedicate this book to you!

A literal reading of the pages of the bible will divulge mysteries and stories more exciting than any story that any author or writer could ever come up with. I challenge you to open the bible to the book of Genesis and begin your own journey. It will be the beginning of an amazing and supernatural ride. Shalom!

Safwan was a town near Basra in Iraq. Time to wake up, professor. Your chariot awaits. Haha.

Not funny, especially since I never really get a full night’s sleep in this hellhole.

I have some tea brewing in the chow tent, professor, as well as some hot food. Also I packed all the inventory paperwork in duplicates as you requested, and—

Cork it, Steve. What time is it anyway? And why in God’s name are you waking me now?

I could barely see through my crusted lids, but still, I was able to focus on the tent seam opening. It was still pitch-black outside. This was either a bad dream or the insipid boy genius overdid it on the local stash of cheap wine last night. He was hands down the brightest grad student I had ever worked with.

However, he was really shortchanged when it came to common sense. Perhaps one of his fellow students put him up to this. No doubt a combination of jealousy and sophomoric joke playing, designed to get a laugh among themselves, as well as being able to provide the opportunity to humiliate their much younger colleague. As I sat up on the cot, I could feel my back and neck reacting to the inevitable pain of just a few hours of cramped and contorted half sleep.

All right, Steve, before I get up and pound my boot into your butt, what gives?

I’m sorry, professor! Eddie told me to make sure and wake you by 5:00 a.m. He said you told him last night to make sure he had everything on the list completed. Since I’m the first year grad student, he pulled rank and told me to get everything ready for you. He had the look of a small child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A look of fear and embarrassment was etched on his face, as he was guilty of little more than taking everything literally in almost every situation. After all, he was three years younger than any of the other first-year archaeology students. As my eyes began to focus under the yellowish pale light of the kerosene lamp, I could see what appeared to be the frame of a five-foot-seven-inch boy who looked to be no more than a teenager with a pale and sickly looking palor to his skin, in spite of the fact that he had been working outside almost every day for the past two months.

I’m really sorry, professor. I really thought they meant this morning. I guess that maybe the guys fooled me again.

Then my brain kicked in. Between the heat and the wine from last night, I’d almost forgotten that I was catching an early flight back to the states this morning. I did tell Eddie to wake me, Steve. First of all, you did well. Second, when we’re out here in the armpit of hell, you don’t have to call me professor, okay?

Okay, Chris. But you did say that the dig site was a classroom. And in the classroom, we’re supposed to call you—

Never mind, Steve. Thanks for getting me up on time. If you organized all the documentation, I’m sure it’s perfect. I’ll be in the next tent to get my tea in a couple of minutes.

As I squeezed into my boots, I could feel the sandpaper-like grit from the inside of first one boot then the other, as it chaffed my ankles. After nearly two months here, I still couldn’t get used to the daily insult of sand in my shoes, my socks, etc. It was like that irritating trip to the beach that never seemed to end. And getting a shower for relief was pretty much out of the question. As I pushed back the tent flap, I could see the sun beginning to come up. It was still a bit chilly, and for a change, the arid winds seemed to have died down a bit. It was eerily quiet. As I turned toward the chow tent, which was about thirty feet away, I looked down and saw a pair of desert scorpions scurry across my path—a usual morning ritual around here that I had sort of grown accustomed to. I could hear the voices of Eddie and some of the locals who were part of our dig team, as I came within ten feet of the tent. As I entered the tent, I could smell the fresh brewed coffee—well, what passed for coffee out here. I went straight for the tea and grabbed a piece of bread. While I was slapping some jelly on the bread, Eddie and some of the other grad students came over to my table to wish me well on my trip back home and to get any last-minute directives from me while I was away. My plan was to return at the end of May when the second teaching semester ended.

Eddie, can I trust you not to cause any major uproars while I’m gone?

Don’t worry, Chris, I’ll be on my best behavior!

Eddie was my senior leader and would run the dig site operations while I was gone. He had an excellent eye for detail, and in spite of his penchant for being a practical joker, he was very serious when it came to his passion: archaeology. He too grew up in Queens, New York. I was only five years his senior. I was his doctoral advisor and, at times, his father figure, babysitter, etc. He had all the fire of youth coupled with a free spirit and the need for adventure and thrills. His quick wit and dry sense of humor could often be mistaken by those who met him for the first time as vicious sarcasm. However, there wasn’t a mean or vindictive bone in his body. He was just Eddie, being Eddie. I, along with the rest of the team, had grown used to his unfettered flapping of the gums, as Carol so loved to say. She was one of the other three grad students here. However, most of the locals we hired to help with the operations at the site were not quite so understanding or forgiving. To them, Eddie was crude and insulting, someone to be avoided whenever possible. You could see them dropping their eyes when they passed by him. The dig foreman, Abdul, had discussions with me about many things, including Eddie. He understood and was more tolerable of Eddie’s foibles than the rest. However, I could see him rolling his eyes and shaking his head on numerous occasions after listening to some of Eddie’s diatribes. Abdul was as serious and mature, as Eddie was carefree and immature. A nice counterbalance between the two, I thought.

Abdul will be driving you to the airport in about twenty minutes, Chris. And by the way, Carol finished tagging all the pieces we discovered over the last two days. I’ll send you an e-mail with all the updated info tomorrow.

Thanks, Steve.

I took another sip of tea and munched on my bread. I was excited by what we were finding at our level three depth but also anxious to get back home to prepare for my fall teaching semester. Carol sat down next to Eddie with her breakfast in hand.

Have a great trip, Chris. We’ll miss you. Carol was a year younger than Eddie. She was from the Midwest—Nebraska to be exact. She was polite to a fault, calm and mature, with a sweet and engaging personality. I’ll keep an eye on him, she said, as she took a quick side-glance at Eddie. She continued in an excited tone, talking about yesterday’s finds. I think we are very close to making breaking news, she said. Ah, the optimistic enthusiasm of a first-year grad student, I thought. Many times, I thought the same way, only to be dealt a dose of cold hard reality.

I would be beyond thrilled, Carol. Just go slow and take it one step at a time. If this is the one, we’ll know it soon enough.

Eddie looked up from his coffee and reminded me how lucky I was to be going back to civilization.

Listen, Chris, think of us when you’re enjoying a real bagel and orange juice, not to mention a great slice of pizza. I never thought that I would be nostalgic about Queens cuisine.

Eat your heart out, Eddie.

Yeah, and while you’re at it, say hello to the guys we play hoops with at the cage. The cage was a dilapidated basketball court where I spent many hours playing ball with the neighborhood kids. Now they were all past their prime playing years, but we still got together every few weeks, regardless of the weather, to play and reminisce. That’s where I met Eddie’s older brother Mike. We were the same age. At eighteen, we finally allowed Mike’s kid brother to play with us. Eddie was barely thirteen and begging to run with us. We always put him on the stronger team to help even things up.

Try not to blow out your back again. After all, you’re not nineteen anymore, Chris. At the age of thirty-three, I wasn’t exactly ancient. However, in basketball years, kind of like in dog years, I was over the hill. When you come home in three months, we’ll see what kind of shape you’re in, pal. I’ll be practicing. Eddie reminded me to say hello to his brother Mike. Actually, he was now Father Mike, a Jesuit priest. Even as teenagers, Mike was the sensible one—the ref, the peacekeeper, the voice of reason among a disparate band of typical, out of control kids from a fairly tight-knit, lower-middle class town.

I said, Sure thing, Eddie, knowing that it was unlikely that I would speak to him, let alone get together with him. I had lost faith in organized religion years ago.

Mike never gave up trying to bring me back to the church. I guess I just wanted to avoid an uncomfortable situation. I could still hear my mother saying how she wished that I could be more like Mike: respectful, polite, and nice. All the parents liked him. He was the model kid.

Abdul entered the tent and nodded good morning to everyone. I’m ready to leave when you finish your food, professor. I said my goodbyes to all as I was grabbing my bags. Carol gave me what seemed to be an extra long hug and a kiss on the cheek. I had to admit to myself that I would miss her as well and not just on a professional level. We had grown close over the past two months, more like a brother-sister relationship. But that preceded what might be an evolving set of feelings on both of our parts.

However, I was also aware of the pitfalls of becoming involved with one of my grad students, as tempting as it was. I threw my stuff in the back of the pickup truck as Abdul hopped in the driver’s seat.

It was an old Chevy pickup truck, circa 1990s. I knew nothing about trucks or anything mechanical, but it didn’t take an ace mechanic to know that this piece of junk was on its last legs. Let’s put it this way: the ride felt as if the shocks and springs had been completely removed. The engine whined, and it stunk like burning rubber and gasoline combined. The one hundred plus mile ride to the airport would seem like a rollercoaster ride on steroids. But this was my chariot to my flight home. Abdul was invaluable to us. He not only spoke the local languages, but he was also fluent in English as well.

He was, however, a man of few words. But when he spoke, he did so with an air of resolute authority.

In addition, he was incredibly adept at getting supplies, local permits, and the support of the local movers and shakers. He was only forty-six but had the weathered appearance of a much older man.

He was thin to the point of looking as if he was sick. Yet he had the hand strength of a gorilla, a trait that Eddie and others painfully discovered when horsing around the dig site. After which, they offered to shake Abdul’s hand to make sure there were no hard feelings. Abdul’s expansive grin and nodding acceptance of their apology was betrayed by his ironlike grip.

So how are the wife and kids, my friend? Abdul nodded and told me how difficult it was for all of them with the constant upheavals in the government, the killings and riots, etc. This was a different world for me. I was amazed at how anyone could cope, let alone maintain their sanity.

My children said to thank you for the books and the clothing you gave me for them.

You’re welcome, I said, as I sustained another kidney jarring bump.

Keep checking your side of the road, professor. There was a lot of shooting out here late yesterday afternoon. I instinctively slouched down in the seat as if that would help. Even a BB pellet could pierce this tin can. Hopefully, we can make it to the airport in one piece. My family and I have grown very fond of you, professor. I would be greatly saddened if anything were to happen to you while you are in my care.

Well, that makes two of us, my friend. We engaged in small talk most of the way, as it made the next seventy-five miles slip by a bit faster. Abdul reminded me yet again about the growing suspicion of the archaeology community in Iraq, specifically that of the minister of antiquities in Bagdad, regarding our work in the area just southeast of Safwan.

I will speak with them this week, professor, and assure them that nothing leaves here without their permission. Of course, that means they will send the usual bureaucrats who will check every little piece in our possession.

I’m confident that you’ll handle everything just fine, Abdul. With that, another craterlike hole seemed to swallow the front of the truck.

Amazingly, we kept going. However, my back did not feel so lucky. It felt like I just finished a full court run after playing for an hour. Maybe I should rethink playing too soon when I get home!

Listen, as long as we take really good pictures and catalogue everything in terms of location, dig level, etc., we should be fine, Abdul. Anything of perceived national/local value they will want to keep, and that’s fine.

Yes, I know, professor. I tell them that you and your colleagues respect our history and customs. I present it to them this way. We are finding pieces of our history and giving it to them.

Do they have any interest in what we are really looking for?

Not at all, professor. In fact, they say, and I mean no disrespect, that you are an educated man who is a bit misguided and perhaps delusional.

Hmm, in other words, I’m nuts.

Abdul thought for a minute and looked at me pensively, not sure how to respond, not knowing if he had offended me. I do not say these things, professor, they do. You know the respect I have for you and—

I interrupted him mid sentence. Abdul, relax. They wouldn’t be the first people to voice their skepticism. I’ve been called worse by family, colleagues, even members of the church. We both had a good laugh. We were on the same page so to speak.

Besides, the laughter gave us a short respite from the agony of this seemingly never-ending trip to the airport. For the next thirty minutes, we were silent, just holding on to whatever we could inside of the truck that might give a bit of stability. After a few minutes, I kind of grew numb to the motion of the truck. I was thinking mainly about the dig site and everything we experienced over the past few months. As my mind drifted, I couldn’t help but think about Carol and the time we spent talking late into the cool desert evenings inside of the chow tent. We drank tea and talked a lot about our vastly different childhood experiences. I was missing her already.

A dry arid wind began to blow across my side of the truck, bringing the usual plethora of sand.

It hit my face like a mini sandblaster. It stung and burned at the same time. I grabbed a piece of burlap off the floor. It had been wedged between my feet. I wrapped it over my head and down the right side of my face. It did the trick. However, it exposed the ten-inch diameter hole in the floorboard.

I placed my feet, as best as I could, over the hole. It stopped most of the fumes, sand, and other debris from projecting upward into the truck and my face. Abdul just glanced at me with a business-as-usual expression. No doubt he was amused at my big city inability to just accept the circumstances and suck it up. I knew him well enough now to just adapt and remain quiet; no complaining allowed.

As we neared the airport, my mind was racing about the possibilities of what we would find at the dig site within the next few months. My words to Carol and the team, cautioning them not to become overly excited before we could confirm our findings, were playing like a rehearsed mantra in my mind.

I was excited, and so were they. We all tried to cover our true feelings so that we could proceed at a professional and meticulous pace. After seven years at various dig sites, I was convinced that we were finally going to be successful, not to mention that this was a burning desire of mine since childhood.

Abdul pulled over by the fence. We had arrived. Professor, enjoy your flight and stay well. May God go before you.

Thank you, my good friend. And you as well. As I grabbed my bags, Abdul mentioned that the additional scaffolding would arrive by the end of next week. He concluded dryly that it would depend on the willingness of the local workers to cooperate. He would, of course, provide them with the usual incentives. He must keep them happy and loyal to him. He had his reputation to maintain.

Out here, that meant everything, guaranteeing not only your progress, but at times, your very existence.

I hear you, Abdul. I will be in touch with Eddie in a couple of days. I’ll make sure he has the funds.

Thank you, professor. I will take care of all the construction at the site. Don’t you worry.

As I walked toward the plane, I made a mental note to speak with the university finance folks about yet another miscellaneous expense. I was the middleman between them and a world they knew little about. Academia can be such a wonderfully protected bubble. At least the benefactors and well-healed alumni would continue to take this in stride, I hoped. As long as I could continue to keep them excited about the potential results, they would remain flexible, at least up until now they were.

As I buckled myself into the seat, I could feel the jet engines beginning to roar. The air-conditioning was slowly spitting out the first bits of cool air, a coolness I hadn’t felt during the daytime in months.

Once we were airborne, I reached into my bag and pulled out the latest cataloguing papers. Steve had demonstrated his usual attention to detail and organization. As I reread and perused the data and pictures, my mind raced excitedly back to the site. I also pulled out the latest Landsat imaging pictures sent to me about a week ago. Control your excitement, I told myself. I knew how Carol felt when she said what she did this morning. Of course, there was an X placed over our location, put there with an indelible red marker. There was a line with an arrow pointing to the margin. The note read, X marks the spot. Welcome to Hades by the sea. The party starts here. Bring your own date.

Thanks, Eddie. You’re the gift that keeps on giving. I sat there, almost trancelike. It would be a long flight, plenty of time to read and think. However, before twenty minutes had passed, I drifted off to sleep. It was the kind of sleep that a small child has the night before Christmas. It would be 11:00 p.m. before we touched down in New York.

I felt the hand of the steward on my shoulder. Would you like a bottle of water, sir?

Sure would, I said. An extra bag of chips would be great too. We would be landing in about forty-five minutes. I was on the left side of the plane, and I was anticipating getting a look at the New York skyline as we approached Kennedy Airport. It was the end of August. The pilot got on the speaker and made his customary announcement about the change in time, the weather, and the temperature.

It would be eighty-two degrees when we landed. It would feel cool and comfortable to me compared to what I had been living with for the last several months. My body was in Queens, New York, but my mind was still in a middle-eastern desert. It was time to mentally transfer back home. As we touched down on the tarmac, I could feel the straining of my seat belt. I then heard the sound of the reverse thrusters and the whining of the landing gear and brakes, as we began to rapidly slow down. Okay, time to turn on my cell phone, I thought. Hopefully, my brother would be on time to pick me up. I worked my way to the baggage claim area, after spending what seemed like an eternity going through the immigration area. Slung over my shoulder was my carry-on bag with all my papers. I was really beat from the trip, not to mention thirsty, hungry, and in need of a really good shower. The baggage carousel began to move, as I stood there in a relaxed but fatigued brain fog. I was looking around to see if my brother Phil had arrived, as I began dialing his number. Before I could finish, I heard a familiar voice, Hey, rock boy. I’m over here. He was standing just beyond the roped off area, adjacent to baggage claims. Great. I’ll be home soon, I thought. As we negotiated the parkways and then the side streets, my brother and I caught up on the events of the last few months. He was just about the same age as Eddie. Come to think of it, they had personalities that were similar in many ways. Maybe it was something in the water or the year they were born.

Unlike Eddie, he took a career path into the business world. He was a pretty successful pharmaceutical sales rep. And yes, he took every opportunity to point out our career differences. How do you like my new company SUV? Listen, one of our competitors has an opening for the Brooklyn territory. I know the district manager, and I can send him your resume if you want. This would be the same conversation we had on several previous occasions. Usually, it took place at my parents’ home.

I’m really happy teaching at the city university, not to mention my work at different dig sites, doing research, etc. I know it’s not the same kind of money you’re making, but I’m happy.

"Uh-huh, and living at home with Mom and Dad, and driving a fourteen-year-old junk mobile. Are you happy about that? There’s more to life than looking for rocks and digging in the sand. Besides, at some point, you’re going to want to get married and settle down. The reality is you will need money."

Well, I like what I’m doing now. Maybe in the future, but on another topic, how are Mom and Dad doing? It was almost one o’clock in the morning when we pulled up to the house. Are you coming over for Sunday dinner? I’m assuming Mom still makes her meatloaf and—

Phil smirked and said, Yeah, she does. Of course, now that her favorite son is home, she’ll probably make something special.

By the way, I’m bringing a date. They already met her, so lay off the interrogation when she gets here. Besides, you two have something in common.

I was just too tired to pursue the conversation. See you tomorrow, and thanks for the ride. I fumbled for the house key, as I listened to the traffic going by. It was good to be home, in spite of all the activity at this ungodly hour. I thought how safe the neighborhood was compared to where I had been. I passed by Dad’s little hothouse that was attached to the back porch. The door leading from the kitchen to the screened in porch was open. It was the only way into the hothouse so the house was secure. During the summer, he left the door open for better ventilation; it made for better growth and healthier veggies, so he claimed. I could smell the aroma coming from the hothouse, which was only about twelve feet from the kitchen door. It was the refreshing smell of a small farm with organic veggies and fruits. I dropped my bags by the kitchen table.

I turned on a small counter light. The house was quiet, and I didn’t want to wake Mom and Dad. I grabbed a bottle of water and some leftovers from the fridge, making sure to move slowly and softly. I was thinking how great it was to have a fridge stocked with food. I may have missed this the most! I went to my room and slowly collapsed in the bed. I turned on a small light that was sitting on my nightstand. As I began to eat, I started to close my eyes in exhaustion. Mom’s food, a mattress instead of a cot, and the muted sounds of passing traffic; God, it doesn’t get any better than this. A few minutes later, after eating every last crumb, I grabbed my water bottle and chugged down what was left. In mere seconds, I would enjoy my first good night’s sleep in months. I pulled off my boots and let them drop to the floor.

For a brief instant, I was back in the desert, as I could feel grains of sand rubbing abrasively against the back of my heels and along the outside of my ankles. I hadn’t had time to change them before my flight.

Oh well, I’ll shake them out tomorrow. I pulled off my dig pants and let them drop to the floor next to my boots. I instinctively went to put them on top of my bed, but then I stopped, knowing that there was no need to; no scorpions in this tent. I’ll get them in the morning, if Mom doesn’t get them first, and put them in the wash. I turned off the light and sank back into my pillow.

The light woke me up. It was the brightness of the early morning sun coming through the bedroom window of my second floor cave. As my eyes began to adjust, I could begin to smell the familiar aromas of breakfast: eggs, bacon, and coffee. The traffic outside was almost nonexistent. That’s right, I thought, Sunday morning. I rolled out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans. Still in a sleepy fog, I made my way to the kitchen. There was Mom cooking at the stove. Dad was at the far end of our old wooden kitchen table having his coffee. It struck me right away how different he looked. He lost a lot of weight and appeared to have aged several years in just three months. Phil had warned me last night not to be too shocked when I saw him. Mom was looking like her old self. They both jumped up to greet me.

After hugs all around, Mom started to load up my plate with eggs and bacon. She was also making waffles. I wanted to politely protest that it was far too much food, but I knew that it would fall on deaf ears and that she would continue to cook what appeared to be enough food for about five additional sons. It’s great to be home, guys. I really missed you both.

Dad looked at Mom’s cooking and then turned to me. Not all the food, though, right?

Oh, stop it, Bob. Can’t you see how skinny he’s gotten? Don’t worry, Chris, I’ll fatten you up before you have to go back to that horrible place.

I looked at Dad. How are you feeling, Pop?

Not bad. The docs say I’m doing pretty good, considering everything I’ve been through.

Mom looked at me, then Dad, and then back to me as she obviously wanted to change the subject. So, Chris, tell us all about what you’ve been doing, what you’ve found, and how it is over there. Are you going to be famous? I ran into Eddie’s brother, Father Mike, at church last week. He was telling me about the excavations and what you and your students have been finding.

Eddie wrote to Father Mike and told him that. I held up my hands as if to indicate ‘I surrender.’"

First of all, you know Eddie. He never could keep a secret. Secondly, anything we find or discuss at this point is up for analysis and will be under scrutiny by the university. Everything is preliminary. Thirdly, while I understand Eddie’s excitement, he really shouldn’t be sharing anything with anyone outside of our academic circle. But since you brought it up, Mom, yes, it is pretty exciting for me too. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Okay?

Well, okay, Mr. Big Shot Professor. I won’t share your secret with anyone else. She said it with her usual laugh and a tone of fake indignation. You know how proud we are of you! I felt like I was back in grade school, and I just made the honor roll at P.S. 37.

I know, Mom.

Your father too, although he rarely says it to your face. Just the other day, he was telling your brother how he always knew how smart you were, and—

My father looked slightly embarrassed, turned to my mom, and said, All right, Susie, I think Chris gets the picture.

As I tried to eat the rest of the waffle, Mom just kept on talking about her sister, my cousins, the neighbors, etc. Mom, I’m stuffed like you wouldn’t believe. I haven’t eaten this much since I left three months ago. Why don’t you just sit down and have your coffee and relax, and we can talk about Phil’s new girlfriend. At this point, Dad excused himself to go to the hothouse to do some weeding and watering before he and Mom would head off to morning mass.

Well, Mom said, she seems very nice, educated, polite, and—

I held my finger to my lips. Shh. You can tell me about this later. Actually, you know I don’t really care anyway. I was just waiting for Dad to leave the room. What’s going on with him? How is he really doing? My mother’s demeanor and tone changed immediately. Her face took on the expression of a doctor or a priest who was about to deliver some seriously bad news.

As she began to speak, her voice was barely above a whisper. Not good, Chris. We went to the heart specialist last week. He didn’t want to go, but I insisted. He is always tired, and he has been losing weight. His color is not good either. I told him to lay off all the coffee and sweets. I try not to cook fried foods and— Mom was getting emotional and worked up.

I stopped her and said, Mom, calm down. What did the cardiologist actually say was wrong with Dad?

Well, here, she said, as she reached into her pocket. She handed me a crumpled piece of paper that looked as if she had read and reread it many times. It was a medical report detailing all of his tests and the results. You needed a dictionary to understand; it was almost like reading a foreign language. However, about three-fourths of the way down the page, I could see the words congestive heart failure. It was followed by some letters and the Roman numeral for 2. It’s really serious, Chris. Your dad doesn’t want to admit it, but his health has declined dramatically in the last two months. The doctor was recommended by your brother. He is very nice. They have your father on several medications.

I sat there expressionless. He seemed fine when I left three months ago. What happened?

How about another cup of your coffee, Susie? Dad proceeded to take off his gloves as he stepped out of the hothouse and into the kitchen. Mom snatched the paper I was holding, quickly returning it to its original crumbled state and then deftly slipping it into her jacket pocket.

Okay, Bob. But remember, Father Mike’s homilies have a tendency to go on for at least forty-five minutes. Dad was now by the sink washing his hands and responded by saying that it was okay. The coffee would keep him alert, not to mention awake. I know, said Mom. But you’ll need to find a seat at the end of the pew so you can quietly slip out to use the restroom. You’ll miss half of his sermon, Bob.

Dad smiled and said, No problem. as he turned to me, winking and grinning. You see, the coffee solves two problems.

Mom just looked over her reading glasses, giving us both that look. Apparently, I have two children at the table, she said. I was holding back a laugh, as I stared at them. Don’t encourage him, Chris. It’s bad enough you won’t go to church. Mom turned to put the milk away in the fridge. "You know, your aunt will be at mass this morning, not to mention all my bowling buddies. Why don’t you get dressed and come with us! She figured that I was sufficiently softened up after the huge breakfast and my no defenses might be down. As I started to drop my head and roll my eyes in Dad’s direction, she hit me with the second salvo. You know, I was told that Father Mike has a really good homily prepared on the rosary and healing, and besides, you know that he would love to see you at mass."

I appreciate the effort, Mom, but you know how I feel. Listen, Dad can put in a good word for me with the powers that be. Also I’m still exhausted from the trip, and I can’t wait to take a nice long shower.

Dad knew enough to just stay neutral; he was the country of Switzerland when it came to discussions on religion between me and Mom. He needs some alone time to relax and get ready for your delicious meal this evening, Susie. I’m sure he’ll come with us next time. Remember, he has several months before going back there, right, Chris? Dad gave me that look, accompanied by a slight wink.

That’s right, Dad, I said.

Mom finished drying her hands and placed the towel over the front lip of the sink. Looking at Dad, she said, Okay, are you ready, Bob? Dad got up and patted me on the shoulder as he proceeded out of the kitchen to the front door. Mom followed, and without turning to look at me, she gave her parting shot, so to speak. I’ll tell everyone you say hello. Come to think of it, if Father Mike is free this evening, maybe he will join us for dinner, then he can tell you all about his homily personally.

I didn’t say a word. In a few seconds, they were out the door. Knowing my mother, she would get Mike over here tonight, even if he was scheduled to meet with the pope himself! She was like a bulldog latching on to a bone, whenever she made up her mind to do something. Persistence was not one of her shortcomings. As a kid, it used to really annoy me. However, being older now, I couldn’t help but reflect on the obvious impact that genetics played in one’s progeny. It was my unwavering determination and resistance against opposition, multiple failures, and disappointment that had enabled me to get this far in my field. To my colleagues and critics alike, I must have sounded much like my mother just did: never give up, and always find a way to get to your goal. Kind of like a digger at an excavation site: just keep digging long enough, and you’ll find something!

After a long shower, I laid down on the living room couch to watch some TV.

After a few minutes, I decided to take a walk down to the cage just to walk off the breakfast. I grabbed the basketball and tucked it under my arm. If one end of a court was open, I could shoot around.

Dinnertime would arrive soon enough!

Twenty years prior, late June, I had just turned fourteen.

School was out, and I couldn’t wait to start the summer vacation. However, Mom had plans for me and my brother Phil. Dad had already left for work, and we were finishing breakfast.

I was anxious to get outside and down to the cage to play ball and do whatever I wanted after that! The whatever would probably entail something that was not allowed by my parents and perhaps even the cops in the neighborhood. Mom must have had mind reading abilities. She matter-of-factly announced that she had planned some things for us. She placed a church brochure in front of us.

It said, St. Theresa’s Summer Bible Study and Recreation Program.

It’s three days a week, boys. It goes from 9:00 a.m. till 2:00 p.m. You’ll love it.

That’s your opinion, I thought. What a bummer this was going to be. That’s okay, Mom. I’ll walk Phil down there if you want, and I’ll make sure he’s on time. Ah yes, the helpful and considerate older brother. That’ll get me off the hook, I thought.

The look on my nine-year-old brother’s face spoke volumes. I’m not going if you’re not going, he said.

Mom looked at me with a sarcastic grin and said, "Oh, how sweet of you, Chris. Yes, your brother will be safe with you, I’m sure. When you get there, make sure to tell the monsignor that the both of you will be registering." With that, she handed me an envelope, which she explained contained a check paying for the both of us.

Mom, you’ve got to be kidding. I’m fourteen years old. This crap is for the younger kids.

She gave me a glaring look. First of all, watch your language, young man. You’re not too old for this wooden spoon of mine. And secondly, I spoke with the director, and he said that the program goes up to age seventeen. So you’ll enjoy it, Mister Big Shot Fourteen-Year-Old. End of discussion. As we began the nine-block walk, I could see Phil grinning. The message was, You got yours. Haha.

Keep smiling, kid. Oh, gee, am I squeezing your hand too hard?

We finally arrived at the recreation center behind the church. To my surprise, there were a lot of kids there. The monsignor was an older looking priest, maybe even older than my parents. He shook our hands and welcomed us with a big smile and a loud booming voice. My name is Father Anthony. You’re going to have a wonderful summer with us. Hmm, it sounded like he spoke with Mom.

How do I get out of this one? I blurted out. Is this going to be like an all-day mass? Can I go home for lunch?

The priest smiled. Don’t worry, my son. We have lunch for you here. You’ll learn about stories from the Bible. We have arts and crafts, singing— blah, blah, blah is what I was hearing. Until the end, when he said, We have basketball, baseball, and touch football. Now he had my attention. Maybe this might work out. He led my brother to a room with a bunch of kids from seven to twelve years old. We then went to another room with kids my age from like thirteen to fifteen