“You do not fear death?”
“No––what is it that the old history of mine says? ‘Death is not departing, but arriving.’ I am not afraid. But the little Carmen––I wish that she might live. She––ah, Padre, she could do much good in the world. Bien, we are all in the hands of the One who brought us here––and He will take us in the way and at the time that He appoints––is it not so, Padre?”
Josè lapsed again into meditation. No, he could not say that it was so. The thoughts which he had expressed to Carmen that morning still flitted through his mind. The child was right––Rosendo’s philosophy was that of resignation born of ignorance. It was the despair of doubt. And he did not really think that Carmen would be smitten of the plague. Something seemed to tell him that it was impossible. But, on the other hand, he would himself observe every precaution in regard to her. No, he would not sleep in the church that night. He had handled the body of the plague’s second victim, and he could not rest near the child. Perhaps exposure to the night air and the heavy dews would serve to cleanse him. And so he wrapped himself in the blanket which Doña Maria brought from within the church, and lay down beside the faithful pair.
In the long hours of that lonely night Josè lay beneath the shimmering stars pondering, wondering. Down below in the smitten town the poor children of his flock were eating their hearts out in anxious dread and bitter sorrow. Was it through any fault of theirs that this thing had come upon them, like a bolt from a cloudless sky? No––except that they were human, mortal. And if the thing were real, it came from the mind that is God; if unreal––but it seemed real to these simple folk, terribly so!
His heart yearned toward them as his thought penetrated the still reaches of the night and hovered about their lonely vigil. Yet, what had he to offer? What balm could he extend to those wearing out weary hours on beds of agony below? Religion? True religion, if they could but understand it; but not again the empty husks of the faith that had been taught them in the name of Christ! Where did scholastic theology stand in such an hour as this? Did it offer easement from their torture of mind and body? No. Strength to bear in patience their heavy burden? No. Hope? Not of this life––nay, naught but the thread-worn, undemonstrable promise of a life to come, if, indeed, they might happily avoid the pangs of purgatory and the horrors of the quenchless flames of hell! God, what had not the Church to answer for!
And yet, these ignorant children were but succumbing to the evidence of their material senses––though small good it would do to tell them so! Could they but know––as did Carmen––that 177 rejection of error and reception of truth meant life––ah, could they but know! Could he himself but know––really know––that God is neither the producer of evil, nor the powerless witness of its ravages––could he but understand and prove that evil is not a self-existing entity, warring eternally with God, what might he not accomplish! For Jesus had said: “These signs”––the cure of disease, the rout of death––“shall follow them that believe,” that understand, that know. Why could he not go down to those beds of torture and say with the Christ: “Arise, for God hath made thee whole”? He knew why––“without faith it is impossible to please Him: for he that cometh of God must believe”––must know––“that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him.” The suffering victims in the town below were asleep in a state of religious dullness. The task of independent thinking was onerous to such as they. Gladly did they leave it to the Church to do their thinking for them. And thus did they suffer for the trust betrayed!
But truth is omnipotent, and “one with God is a majority.” Jesus gave few rules, but none more fundamental than that “with God all things are possible.” Was he, Josè, walking with God? If so, he might arise and go down into the stricken town and bid its frightened children be whole. If he fully recognized “the Father” as all-powerful, all-good, and if he could clearly see and retain his grasp on the truth that evil, the supposititious opposite of good, had neither place nor power, except in the minds of mortals receptive to it––ah, then––then–––
A soft patter of little feet on the shales broke in upon his thought. He turned and beheld Carmen coming through the night.
“Padre dear,” she whispered, “why didn’t you come and sleep in the church with me?” She crept close to him. He had not the heart nor the courage to send her away. He put out his arm and drew her to him.