Driver, T. C. (10 page)

I called my ex-wife Patty back in Virginia as was my custom every few weeks or so. We talked longer this time; a very good sign. She lived back in Roanoke, in our same old house. Patty was always the love of my life. Patty kicked me out when I went middle-age crazy with a nineteen-year-old wanna-be model, but she has long forgiven me now. A truly saintly woman she is. I do count her as my wife under God. The Roanoke County divorce we both signed seems not to account for much when weighed against our vows to God and our lives together. I pray that one day she will once again receive me as her husband. A gift I truly don't deserve. Why is it that sometimes in this life we just don't know?

After a long sleep in a cheap hotel in Thailand, and now all by myself, I found myself not much fun to be with. I awaited the landing gear fix to our planes. They had been flown on a large Russian cargo plane disassembled and were not here yet.

The next days were like pulling off the fast lane on a country interstate highway, stepping out to take a leak on the side of the road, and locking yourself out of your car. Another world, just outside yours that you have now stepped into, has now become yours. Solitaire, red wine, the Holy Bible, TV movies and the road side soup vendors helped me abide the long, hot days. The third week, on the third floor of this rat and cockroach infested old hotel which was also three blocks from the old base main gate and located on Third-Street. This night would bring personal pain and terror the likes of which I had often inflicted on others, but had never experienced my self.

An explosion in the hotel lobby brought down much of the front of the building. My room was now open to the sky and street below. The force and burn from the blast downstairs left me stunned, in pain, and out of focus. Being part drunk on red wine and lying in a sturdy old metal bed with wheels was the last piece of protection that helped shield me.(in man's eyes) I stumbled out of the burning bed into a smoke filled hallway, falling down and crawling on my belly gasping for air. I now slithered like a snake down the stairs. There were many rats in this old hotel all using the same stairs I was. I then felt cool cement on my bare belly and what I believed was the metal corner of a green dumpster before I passed out.

Some weeks later, judging by the beard on my face, I awoke in still another metal bed with small metal wheels. I was the patient in six beds, with one bright bulb in a center ceiling pull string socket. I was alive! Burned on side and hurting like hell! An Indian woman nurse, with traditional scarf and nose jewel added to her nursing clothes, spoke something non-English as she reached up toward my IV drip and I was back in la-la land.

I would wake up now and again. Each time my medication would be adjusted and back out I would go. My third time awakening, I saw Unk talking to a policeman in the hallway before I blacked out again.

The seventh time I awoke, my room was different. It was dark and very quiet. There were voices and flashlights roaming outside. I got up and looked out through large, dusty plate glass windows. The power was out. I grabbed some sheets, two wool blankets, a smock,
  
and sweat pants and put the roll over my shoulder. Was this a prison, a hospital, or maybe both? Guess I picked the right clothes; for my escape was uneventful. The gate personnel paid me no mind as I walked out. I then began walking and sleeping by the roadside. My wool blankets were my only refuge and comfort. I had wanted to throw them down to lighten my load, but I was now glad that I had not done so. As I curled up on a bank of tall grass, hearing and smelling water, but not seeing it, I was surprisingly comfortable, at ease and free. I thanked God for my life and wondered why I was back in India? This had to be India and not Thailand, or else I was losing my mind. I would later learn that twenty-six weeks had 'gone by' since the blast. The first night I slept well, but I was unaware. How often in this life we just don't know. Does our knowing, or not knowing, even matter?

In the morning, I walked down a steep ravine onto an ancient, wood covered and well worn path. There were huge trees and fancy tiles and bricks. Often the path had a hard surface, but in some places the path was only smooth-packed dirt; cool to my bare feet. The water was not fast moving, but rather gurgling out of pipes here and there into deep, clear pools. Maybe it was for irrigation, a water system or maybe a sewer system? The main road was always close by and usually above me. On this path, I met others often; one third or so were on bikes. Some carried
  
heavy burdens, struggling on their way. Most often I was alone in solitude and beauty. Each man I passed smiled, spoke and was very polite. The women, it seemed, would rather not be spoken to. They all preferred a slight nod of the head. Watching one old man pull up a tall, straight, stemmed plant and use the long stem to wash it off in the water was fascinating. He broke off the stem, pulled off the fine hair-like roots and then ate the center part on his way. This plant, with a white, bent root was a blessing; a comfort. Truly the plant helped me survive. The third night, I arose early, awakened by many men above. A big tour bus was being towed back onto the main highway, out of the woods just above me. The men came close, shining their lights over me as they hooked up the bus. I lay quiet, not very well hidden in my trusty wool blankets. On the back of the big bus was written: THE BZ BROTHERS BLUES BAND in fancy gold letters. Soon, my still water path was indeed still again. In peace, I drifted off to sleep. Not having my Bible, I repeated the 23
^rd
psalms over and over; always 'once more' before sleep. I was so glad Mom made me learn it by heart.

The next evening, after another day's travel, I again stopped to rest. The water path was fancy, even majestic, here, graced with many white stone arch bridges and large beautiful statues surrounded with colorful tiles. In the cove before me were two of these white stone bridges, also a bronze statue of a woman drawing water with a long, smooth vase. The kind people often make lamps or fancy whiskey bottles out of. In the deep, still water, her reflection looked like it was also drawing water. This effect was something to see. It was something to ponder over. I
  
stared, lingering for some time, for I was worn and tired. The water then rippled her perfect reflection and a stiff cool breeze hit my face as it moved through the trees and across the still water. I remembered the words of Jesus.

Spirit is as of the wind, and like the wind has the power to show the truth. I heard a voice say
“behold”
.

Startled and awakened, I quickly hastened on my way, sorry for dozing off. Only a short way down the path, I stopped to rest again, my strength gone out of me for the day. This time I stopped on one of the beautiful, white stone bridges. Looking down into the water, I saw my bearded, scraggily, old self.

“Hello, Cornelius” I said out loud. “You look kind of rough today, old boy. No wonder the women in India will not speak to you (ha-ha)!
 
Down in the water below me was another bridge; a perfect reflection of the one I was standing on. The God was engraved on both bridges into the large center stone at the top of each arch. This false reflection bridge was 'given away' by the word God! The word read backward? Yes, the word of God has the power to show one the truth. “Yes” I said to myself.

I drew weary again and made my bed for the night, just off and up the hill from the path. Pondering the wonderful things I had seen that day, I prayed “Lord that your servant Cornelius might see the truth.” As I dozed off, I saw across the high tree tops far above me the edge of a man's little finger. As if a huge giant, much too big for this world, with his hand laid around me, was lying close by. With all the courage I could muster, I said “Speak, oh giant” and bowed. I trembled in fear as he spoke.

“Do not worship me, Cornelius! I am but your fellow servant1 give all glory and honor to God in the highest! You have learned well today! Look seeker of truth! Behold fellow servant!”

The giant knew my questions before I knew what to ask. His voice had power and authority.

“Behold! In the water! The general term BIBLE has the power to deceive in water! Look into the water, Cornelius! Always use the words HOLY BIBLE!”

Then the words flipped upside down.

“Behold, Oh servant! DEBBIE and HEDDIE are daughters in the hedge of CECIL. These are false names! They have the ability
to deceive in the water!”

Again, the words turned upside down.

“Behold, oh servant! JOE COE, These are false names.
 
The power to deceive in water is living in these names! Do not be deceived!”

Again, the words flipped upside down. Hold this page up to your bathroom mirror. Your mirror will act as the water! Words will be backwards and hard to read! Now turn your book upside down! Look in the water! A few words will be easy to read! These words have the ability to deceive in water! Their false reflection looks real!

“Be not fooled, Cornelius! Walk in faith and truth! Know you that by their works you will know them!”
 
(Wind, Word and Works)
“Now walk! Be on your way now, oh servant! God has spared you again this night!

“Again, you said, oh giant” I mumbled. “Thank-you, oh Giant” I said out loud as I packed up my bed. Now very much refreshed, I hustled down the still water path by moonlight. “Say hi to God, Giant! I mean say Hello!” My eyes had been opened. The words I spoke had the power to deceive in water.

“I mean, God bless you, Giant!” I knew, I just knew, that the Giant was pleased with my progress, but he was talking to someone else. Talking to God, I think; not me anymore. In the far, distant night I heard many men and dogs coming down from the main road onto the old still water path.
 
They came crashing through the leaves and trees, coming in fast pursuit of me. If my enemy could only see the great giant that God had placed between them and me! “It sure is great to have my own giant!” I shouted.

After my seventh night of following the still water path, I was walking in the evening and heard sounds of music above. This was a church meeting? I was into the countryside now; this music sounded American. It was a Church of God missionary group. I scrambled up the steep bank as quickly as my legs could climb.

The service was both inside and outside with two sets of double doors standing open to a picnic shelter. The music swelled my heart with joy overflowing. I started rejoicing! I had heard and sang the song before in church many times! Maybe you know it, too. The song goes like this.

Oh, magnify the Lord! For he is worthy to be praised!

Oh, magnify the Lord! For he is worthy to be praised!

Hosanna (clap)! Blessed be the Rock (stomp)!

Blessed be the Rock of my salvation!

Hosanna (clap)! Blessed be the rock (stomp)!

Blessed be the rock of my salvation!

When the singers started singing in rounds starting with “Oh, magnify the Lord”, I collapsed to my knees and prayed. I prayed “Lord, I want so much to be Holiness! Please forgive this foolish sinner and find a place for me in your kingdom. Praise God! Praise God! Praise his name!” I could not stop praising God.

A big guy named Pastor Steve and his grown daughter Jennifer, along with 'The Conner Kids', led the spirit filled service. Praise God! Fried chicken, dirty rice and pinto beans never tasted so good. Praise God! Why do I keep shouting praise God! Praise God! Those Baptists and Methodists are all right, my friend, but they ain't got nothing on these Holy Rollers! The famous Conner Kids were well known back home in Virginia. I had heard them on the radio many times before. The little ones were just babies when they started singing at the original Gospel Cafe in Roanoke, Va. I wondered if the old Cafe was still open. When I talked to Edsil, Judy and Jeraline (the grown-up Conner Family Gospel Trio, they remembered me coming to their Gospel sings years ago. They are the parents and Grandmother of the famous Conner Kids.

I blended in and cleaned up (in more ways than one) with this Church of God missionary group. They helped me call my wonderful ex-wife, Patty. True to her loving nature, she was glad to learn that I wasn't really dead as had been reported. The old hotel in Thailand had burned long, hot and to the ground.
 
It was a complete loss. She wired me money to American Express. There was a big hotel in the next town. She was willing to send money to me even though I had missed my payments to her since the blast. Wake up, Cornelius! Who can you trust? Who loves you? What is truth?

I cashed out when the money cleared and checked into a room using my real name and Express card number, but I never went to my room. The room two doors down was checked to a man I met in the hotel lobby while waiting for the money to clear. His name was Chubby Ed.”