The Walk (21 page)

“I only needed you.”

Her words were loving but firm. “That was never true. You were meant for more than just me.”

“What people? Who will come?”

“Many. Angel.”

“Angel? An angel?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

She leaned over and kissed me, and it was the sweetest thing I’d ever felt. “Don’t worry, my love. Your path is seeking you. She’ll find you.”

Then she was gone.

I awoke in a soft bed, swaddled in clean, white sheets. A plastic tube circled my ears and was blowing oxygen into my nose. There were metal bars at my sides. Something was constricting me. I reached down. There were bandages across my abdomen.

I was suddenly aware that a woman was sitting next to me. I turned to look at her. My vision was still a little blurred, and there was a window behind her, making it look as if she were glowing. I didn’t know who she was, though something about her looked familiar. I didn’t even know where I was.

“Welcome back,” she said softly.

For a moment, I just looked at her. My mouth was dry, and my tongue stuck to my mouth as I tried to speak. “Where am I?”

“Sacred Heart Hospital in Spokane.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the woman you stopped to help outside of Waterville.”

I didn’t understand. “Waterville?”

“Remember? You fixed my tire?”

I remembered. It already seemed like a long time ago. “I should have taken you up on the ride.”

She smiled wryly. “I think so.”

Her being there made no sense to me. Nothing at that moment made sense to me. “Why are you here?”

“The police called me. They found the card I gave you. They said it was the only phone number they could find on you.” She reached over and touched my arm. “How do you feel?”

“Everything hurts.” As if in consequence of my words there was a sudden shock of pain that took my breath. I groaned.

“Careful,” she said.

“What happened to me?”

“A gang jumped you. They beat you up pretty bad.”

“I thought they were going to kill me.”

“They might have if it wasn’t for the two men driving by. They were coming back from hunting and had shotguns. They probably saved your life.”

I closed my eyes.

“I have the men’s phone numbers. In case you want to thank them.”

“Did they take my pack?”

“A police officer told me they have your things.”

A few minutes later, a doctor walked in. She was young and looked a little like Monnie, my former neighbor, though her hair was red and short. She inspected my I.V., then looked up at me. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not dead yet.”

She grinned. “That’s what I was hoping. I’m Doctor Tripp. You had a close call. You lost a lot of blood.”

“How long have I been here?”

“You came in around one
A.M
. and . . . ,” she checked her watch, “it’s almost two.”

My head was foggy. “Two in the morning?”

“In the afternoon,” she said.

“What happened to my stomach?”

“You were stabbed. You had to be given a blood transfusion.”

“How many times was I stabbed?”

“You have two major wounds to your belly and one flesh wound in your side. Luckily they missed your liver, or you’d be in much worse shape. You also have a concussion.”

“That’s why my head hurts,” I said. “The big guy kept stomping on my head.”

“They worked you over pretty good. You really need to find a different set of friends to hang out with.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“The police would like to talk to you when you feel up to it. They’re just down the hall.”

“They’re here?”

“One of the young men who attacked you was shot. He’s in ICU.” She added, “Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere. Except jail.” She turned to the woman next to me. “Are you his wife?”

“I’m a friend.”

I exhaled slowly. “How long will I be here?” I asked.

“A while. At least a few days. Maybe a week.”

“I need to get back out walking.”

Her brow furrowed. “Sorry, but you’ll have to put your
plans on hold. You’re in no condition to walk. Your next stop is home.”

I didn’t respond.

“Where is home?” the woman asked.

“I’m homeless,” I said. I felt awkward saying it out loud.

“He can come home with me,” the woman said.

The doctor nodded. “Okay, we’ll deal with that when we get there. I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you.” She touched my shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’re doing so well.” She walked out of the room.

I turned to the woman. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re the kind of guy who stops to help a stranger. Besides, you didn’t know me when you came to my rescue. I’m just returning the favor.”

“How do you know I’m not a serial killer?”

“If you were, you wouldn’t have turned down the ride when I offered it to you.”

She had a point. “Probably not,” I said. I lay back and took a deep breath. This wasn’t a detour I had planned on. Of course, that pretty much summed up my life. “I don’t even know your name,” I said.

“Sorry.” She reached out and touched my hand. “It’s Annie. But everyone calls me Angel.”

When I was a boy, my second-grade schoolteacher read us a Brazilian folk tale called
The Little Cow
.

A Master of Wisdom was walking through the countryside with his apprentice when they came to a small, disheveled hovel on a meager piece of farmland. “See this poor family,” said the Master. “Go see if they will share with us their food.”

“But we have plenty,” said the apprentice.

“Do as I say.”

The obedient apprentice went to the home. The good farmer and his wife, surrounded by their seven children, came to the door. Their clothes were dirty and in tatters.

“Fair greetings,” said the apprentice. “My Master and I are sojourners and want for food. I’ve come to see if you have any to share.”

The farmer said, “We have little, but what we have we will share.” He walked away, then returned with a small piece of cheese and a crust of bread. “I am sorry, but we don’t have much.”

The apprentice did not want to take their food but did as he had been instructed. “Thank you. Your sacrifice is great.”

“Life is difficult,” the farmer said, “but we get by. And in spite of our poverty, we do have one great blessing.”

“What blessing is that?” asked the apprentice.

“We have a little cow. She provides us milk and cheese, which we eat or sell in the marketplace. It is not much but she provides enough for us to live on.”

The apprentice went back to his Master with the meager rations and reported what he had learned about the farmer’s plight. The Master of Wisdom said, “I am pleased to hear of their generosity, but I am greatly sorrowed by their circumstance. Before we leave this place, I have one more task for you.”

“Speak, Master.”

“Return to the hovel and bring back their cow.”

The apprentice did not know why, but he knew his Master to be merciful and wise, so he did as he was told. When he returned with the cow, he said to his Master, “I have done as you commanded. Now what is it that you would do with this cow?”

“See yonder cliffs? Take the cow to the highest crest and push her over.”

The apprentice was stunned. “But Master . . .”

“Do as I say.”

The apprentice sorrowfully obeyed. When he had completed his task, the Master and his apprentice went on their way.

Over the next years, the apprentice grew in mercy and wisdom. But every time he thought back on the visit to the poor farmer’s family, he felt a pang of guilt. One day
he decided to go back to the farmer and apologize for what he had done. But when he arrived at the farm, the small hovel was gone. Instead there was a large, fenced villa.

“Oh, no,” he cried. “The poor family who was here was driven out by my evil deed.” Determined to learn what had become of the family, he went to the villa and pounded on its great door. The door was answered by a servant. “I would like to speak to the master of the house,” he said.

“As you wish,” said the servant. A moment later the apprentice was greeted by a smiling, well-dressed man.

“How may I serve you?” the wealthy man asked.

“Pardon me, sir, but could you tell me what has become of the family who once lived on this land but is no more?”

“I do not know what you speak of,” the man replied. “My family has lived on this land for three generations.”

The apprentice looked at him quizzically. “Many years ago I walked through this valley, where I met a farmer and his seven children. But they were very poor and lived in a small hovel.”

“Oh,” the man said smiling, “that was my family. But my children have all grown now and have their own estates.”

The apprentice was astonished. “But you are no longer poor. What happened?”

“God works in mysterious ways,” the man said, smiling. “We had this little cow who provided us with the slimmest of necessities, enough to survive but little more. We suffered but expected no more from life. Then, one day, our little cow wandered off and fell over a cliff. We knew that we would be ruined without her, so we did everything
we could to survive. Only then did we discover that we had greater power and abilities than we possibly imagined and never would have found as long as we relied on that cow. What a great blessing from Heaven to have lost our
little cow.”

This is what I’ve learned. We can spend our days bemoaning our losses, or we can grow from them. Ultimately the choice is ours. We can be victims of circumstance or
masters of our own fate, but make no mistake,
we cannot be both
.

We are all on a walk. Perhaps not as literal as mine, but a walk all the same. I don’t know what lies ahead of me, but I have 3,000 miles to find out. There are people I’ve yet to meet who are waiting for my path to intersect with theirs, so they can complete their own journeys. I don’t know who or where they are, but I know for certain that they are waiting.

You don’t know me. I am no one famous or important. But, like you, I arrived here with a round-trip ticket. Someday I’ll go back to that place from whence I came. Back home where McKale waits.

When that time comes, I’ll look her in the eyes and tell her I kept the promise—that I chose to live. She’ll smile and laugh then say, “I can’t believe you walked across the entire continent, you crazy old coot.”

That’s the way I imagine it will be. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. Sometimes, in the shadowlands of
my dreams, she whispers to me that she’s waiting. And in those moments I know she is near. As she said to me, “Death is like being in the next room.”

Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking. Maybe it’s love. Or maybe it’s something better. Maybe it’s hope.