Anna told her
about life as a frustrated young mother. Her husband left her when they found
out about Susan’s deafness. As she spoke, tears streamed down her face.
“She wasn’t minding
me that day. Susan had gotten into some chocolate ice cream. I kept putting it
back into the refrigerator. I went to do laundry. When I got back, she had
chocolate all over her. I went crazy. I kicked her. I kicked her and she fell
down the stairs.” Anna stopped talking. She was biting her lip. “I killed my
little girl. She was so sweet. All she wanted was some chocolate ice cream.”
Senta felt her own
tears stinging her eyes. Without thinking, she reached over and hugged Anna.
And she held her.
“I will carry the
guilt all my life, Senta. I can’t fix that. And I cry for my child every day.”
Anna broke away from her and blinked back her tears. “But I know God has
forgiven me, even if I can’t forgive myself at times. And I know that He’s
taking care of my Susan…and I’m doing everything I can so I can see her in
heaven.”
Everything at the
moment stopped. Senta felt a chill down her spine. Somehow she made a
connection. For a flash, she felt the pain and rejection that little Susan
felt. Maybe there was something to this Jesus who changed people’s lives. Like
a runaway train, her life flashed before her. Her wasted, useless, tortured
life. What was the purpose of it all? Suddenly, she could see clearly what Anna
was talking about. In that moment, she totally understood her friend, Paul and
how he had forgiven her. Senta smiled through her tears. The words flowed out
of her mouth.
“Anna…you’re
right. This is a good place for you to be. Maybe God put you here through
Susan…so He could talk to me.”
Doc Wilson had
stayed behind in Canada while the movie company went back to Hollywood to
finish the Billy Dee Williams picture. He consulted with the French doctors at
the little Coeur De Salvation Hospital. He wanted to know all there was about
Judd’s condition so that when he talked to him, he’d have the answers.
The French doctor
had a rudimentary knowledge of English. He spoke to Doc in a halting manner.
“He will get
feeling in his limbs. Your stuntman…uhm…minor spinal damage, a warning.”
Doc Wilson nodded. “I understand.”
“If he continues
his stunting…a slight bump will paralyze him from the neck down. Or it could
kill him.” Doc Wilson kept nodding, wondering how he was going to tell Judd
that his career was over. “His leg will heal, but he will walk with a limp.”
The doctor’s
English was too weak to be medically technical, but Doc understood Judd’s
condition.
The nurse adjusted
the tubes that sent various fluids through Judd’s veins. She heard how the
stuntman was injured. It had been a straight, two hundred-foot drop into icy
water.
“What was the
movie they were filming?” she’d asked a friend.
“I think it’s
called “The Last Dove”. It stars Burt Reynolds and Billy Dee Williams.” Her
friend told her.
Now, as the nurse
stood over the broken body of Judd Wagner, she made a mental note to go see
“The Last Dove” when it was released.
Since his movement
was limited, she didn’t notice that he was now awake. His eyes had shifted to
hers and the glass of water on the table.
“Are you thirsty,
mon aimee?” She dumped the warm water and got ice from the hallway. She
returned with a fresh glass of cold water and a straw.
“Your doctor
friend is still here. He wanted me to call him when you wake up.” As she held
the glass, Judd sucked the ice water down with extreme greed. He felt like he’d
been lying in the Sahara for the past three weeks.
“What time is it?”
he croaked. His eyes shifted to the nurse who had hurried out. He tried moving
his finger. First things first. Nothing. He tried to wiggle his toe. There just wasn’t any feeling at
all.
Doc Wilson walked
in and closed the door. He was smiling.
“So you’re awake
now.”
“Go ahead Doc.
Tell me the worst. I’m prepared.”
Doc’s smile was
fixed on his face. “You’ll be getting your feeling back in a few days.” Judd
closed his eyes. Relief flooded over him. He thought he’d done himself in good.
The smile was still frozen on Doc’s face. There was something else.
“Don’t lie to me, Doc.”
“I’m not. Soon,
you’ll get your feeling back.”
“I thought I felt
a tingle in my left calf last night.”
Doc nodded. “You probably did. Your right leg
has a bad compound fracture. It might not heal the way you want it.”
“Am I going to
lose it?”
“You don’t have to
if you follow doctor’s orders.”
“I don’t like that
smile on your face Doc. I’m going to get my feeling back and my leg is going to
heal to a certain extent. What else? What are you not telling me?”
The tight smile
melted as Doc pulled up a chair and sat. “Judd, your career is over.” Judd felt
a muscle spasm in his neck as he assimilated the bad news. My career is over.
That can’t be.
“How about getting
a second opinion?”
“Sorry Judd.
Doctor Lennard and I concur. And that was the rosy prognosis.” Judd tried to
nod, but his neck muscles weren’t responding.
The neon sign on
the side of Loaves and Fishes proclaimed that “Price of the Cross” was in its
seventeenth hit week. Originally scheduled for a six week run, Cory had to add
performances and moved the next play, “Barefoot in the Park” to the
experimental theatre downstairs.
The Christian
Science Monitor and Crossroads had given Paul’s play rave reviews. The Los
Angeles Times and California Magazine had ignored Loaves and Fishes, but
because the word of mouth was so strong, they sent their religious editors to
give it a look. Both editors came back with glowing praise, but the Times and
Magazine would not send their theatre critics. There was a piece in the
Calendar section of the Times about “Price of the Cross” including a brief
interview with Paul. That was pretty much it.
Word of mouth was
what really kept the ticket office humming. At first, it was mostly church
people, but word spread throughout the theatre community. Several movie stars
attended the performances, along with prominent politicians. A “whatever became
of…” article on Cory was written up in the San Diego Union. This article was
picked up nationally and before she knew it, Cory’s theatre was flooded with
reservations from across the country.
“It’s not me
they’re coming to see,” Cory told Paul. “It’s your play. I told you, it was
dynamite.”
“I think it’s a
combination of things,” said Paul. “Steve’s performance is brilliant. Zeke’s
music captures the mood and sets the tone…
“…and your
direction was creative, visually compelling, fresh and flawless,” Cory added,
finishing his sentence for him.
He shook his head.
“I was going to say the director didn’t do it any harm.”
Steve, Paul’s
acting friend from Zaks had become a believer in the last year. He had been in
most of the plays produced at Loaves and Fishes, sometimes starring in them, sometimes
appearing in smaller, supporting roles. He married Billie, who was also
baptized. Cory gave her a job as box office manager and head of ticket sales.
Billie also appeared in shows as well. They both told Paul that just being
around the Christians in the Loaves and Fishes company had influenced their
views on God.
“I used to make
fun of you behind your back at Zaks,” Steve confessed. “All of your religious
talk was a joke to me. But when we went out and fed those people down in the
barrio, my heart just melted, man. I could see what you were talking about when
you spoke of Jesus’ love for the poor.” Paul had put a brotherly hand on
Steve’s head and mussed his hair.
“I know you made
fun of me at Zaks. But I also knew you had a good heart.”
One Friday night
after a performance, Paul saw a familiar face backstage. It was Goldie Hamon
from City of Angels Church.
“Hey Goldie, you
finally made it”.
Goldie’s deep, brown almond eyes were shining.
“I think this is the best play you’ve ever written, Paul. I got cold chills.”
Goldie was a casting director and kept a busy schedule.
“You must have
been real busy casting movies, Goldie. I figured you’d be here on opening
night.”
“Oh, I’ve been up
in Canada seeing a friend of mine. He was hurt in an accident and I think he
needed me."
“I hope it’s not
serious,” said Paul.
“It’s not life
threatening. He lost feeling in all of his limbs, but he’s getting it back and
recuperating.”
“That’s good,
Goldie. Zeke and I will pray for him.”
Paul noticed an
older man standing at the door. He was tall and thin. He wore thick glasses and
had a fringe of grey hair around his baldpate. Goldie turned to him.
“Oh Paul, this is
my dad. Papa, this is Paul Morgan, the writer-director.” The man had a firm
handshake. Paul could see where Goldie got her no nonsense, direct gaze.
“Mr. Morgan, an
honor. I’m Bretherd Hamon.” The name jogged something in Paul’s memory.
“Are you an agent
sir? I think I might have sent you one of my movie scripts to you.”
Bretherd and
Goldie laughed. “Hardly young man. I produce religious films for
churches.”
Then Paul
remembered. “Oh. You did “Road to Salvation”.”
“Among others,”
smiled Bretherd.
“And the one about
the young man who was brainwashed by a religious cult…”
“”The Other Side
of Heaven”,” said Goldie.
Paul pointed
emphatically at her. “That was it! Those films were great Mr. Hamon. They were
very inspiring. I saw “Road to Salvation” when I first attended City of Angels
and ten people were baptized after seeing that one.”
“It’s nice to know
we’re doing a good job.”
“Papa’s a pretty
good preacher himself.” Goldie said proudly.
“I’d love to hear
you sometime Mr. Hamon.”
“Thank you son.
Now I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Anything sir,
just name it.”
Bretherd Hamon looked around the crowded
backstage area. “Uh, is there some place we could talk in private?”
“Yes sir. My
office is upstairs.”
Later, as the crew
cleared the stage to ready it for the next evening’s show, Paul told Zeke of
Bretherd Hamon’s proposal. They sat on the back row, watching the activity on
stage.
“He’s going to
produce a film on the life of Christ.”
“I’m surprised he
hasn’t done that one already,” said Zeke.
“He has. But this
time he’s going all the way. This will be a film playing in regular cinemas
across the country. He found a distributor of minor standing, but has a major
link to the big theatres.”
“Wow, that’d be
great Paul. If he could get Christ’s message into the mainstream like that…just
think of how many people would see it.”
“No telling how
many souls might be saved by seeing it.”
“Didn’t television
do a mini-series on Christ last Easter?”
“Yeah, Mr. Hamon
said the ratings went through the roof. That’s what convinced him to do this
one.”
Zeke looked at him curiously. “So what does
that have to do with us?”
“He already spoke
to Cory. He wants to use our actors in key roles. After all, it will be a low
budget production.”
“Makes sense.”
“And he wants me
to write the script and direct it.” Zeke looked stunned. She tried to open her
mouth, but nothing came out. Paul was smiling and nodding. “Can you stand it?”
“I can’t believe
it,” said Zeke. “Four years ago you were flipping burgers at Zaks. Now you’ll
be directing Al Pacino.”
“I don’t know
about Al Pacino.”
“Hey, how about
Jack Palance as Pontius Pilate?”
“I was thinking of
Farrah Fawcett as Mary.”
Zeke gave him a
hard nudge in the ribs. “If you cast Farrah, I want you casting Lee Majors as a
major apostle.”
Prison had an
anti-drug program instituted during Senta’s fifth year there. Inmates came and
went. Most of them were clean for a short period of time, but were soon back on
the drugs.
Senta spoke to the
chaplain about the program. It was an eight-week trial of withdrawal and
counseling. Senta was determined to get clean, sober and stay that way.
When she came out
of the program, Anna was there to help her. “Stay away from the druggies during
breaks.”
“Yeah, that’s when
they do their dealing.” Then Senta laughed. “Of course, practically everybody
here is a druggie.”
Anna shook her
head. “I’m not. Sheila’s not. And that new girl, I don’t know her name. Stick
with us. We’ll even eat together.”
Senta clasped
Anna’s hands warmly. “Thank you, Anna. I appreciate your advice and support. I
really do.”
During breaks,
Senta started having Bible study with Anna, Sheila and the new girl whose name
was Tiwana. Senta still had the Testament that Paul had given her and she was
stunned to learn the life lessons she’d been stowing under her bunk.
“Even if Jesus was
merely a prophet like the Muslims say…” said Tiwana, “…He was a genius. Look at how He answers all those smart
priests and government officials.”
Sheila looked
insulted. “Jesus was the Son of God. I truly believe it.”
Tiwana shrugged.
“I’m open to that. I just want to know more.”
Senta was deep in thought. “I believe that He
actually existed and came back to life after the crucifixion.” The other three
women looked at her.
Anna smiled. “Why
do you think that, Senta?”
“Just everything
about it rings true. His birth, His life, His death makes sense when you
consider the history and attitudes at the time.”
Sheila cocked her
head. “You’ve been spending more time in the library I see.”
“I told Senta
about that book called, “The Middle East, A Living History”, said Anna.
“All of those
Herods and Caesars existed”, Senta added enthusiastically. “And the governments
and religions were just like the Bible says.”
Ever since she
discovered Jesus, Senta wasn’t only hungry for religious knowledge. She started
spending time in the prison library reading everything she could, concerning
the times and customs of the Bible. Senta was learning the geo-politics and the
cultural terrain of those ancient days. Anna had made out a list of books and
Paul was going to order them for her. She was particularly interested in the
evolution of the Bible, from the ancient texts, to the King James version, to
the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls.
Anna was delighted
and proud of Senta’s spiritual awakening. As the ladies continued their Bible
study, Anna said, “I believe if she could, Senta would learn Aramaic so she
could read some of the research in its native tongue.”
“That reminds me,
can you get me a book on Latin?” Senta asked.
“We have some
books on basic Latin in the library.”
When the break was
over, Senta had laundry duty. She bade her friends goodbye and headed
downstairs to the prison laundry.
There was a long,
dark tunnel that led from the yard to the basement. As she walked through the
tunnel, she heard footsteps padding behind her. Just as she turned, a rough
hand slapped over her mouth and a massive arm caught her throat, pinning her
against the wall.
Senta’s eyes
widened in terror as she saw the nasty blade Kayla held to her face.
“Hello Sweetness.”
Senta’s head couldn’t move. She tried to
scream, but Kayla held her fast. “You haven’t bought any coke from me
lately.” Senta felt the knife under her
chin. The blade was sharp and stung like a wasp. She was afraid to move. “How
much do you need Sweetness? A bag? Two bags?
More?” Kayla took her hand off Senta’s mouth, but kept the blade under
her chin.
“I…I don’t want
any drugs.”
For a second, Kayla’s pupils got larger. She
gave Senta a mean grimace. “Yeah. I heard you went into The Bin.” The Bin was
the name of the drug rehab program.
“I need to stay…to
stay clean.” Senta was shivering. What did this mad woman have in mind for her?
“I know you need
to stay clean, but I need to stay in business. Now how much do you want?”
Although it was phrased as such, it was not a question. With the knife pressing
into her flesh, Senta couldn’t move her head.
“No. I can’t.” Kayla put her face closer. The
smell of cigarettes, bad breath and body sweat assaulted Senta’s nostrils.
“Yes you can!”
Kayla spat. “You will!”
“No Kayla. Jesus
wouldn’t like…” Before Senta could say anything else, she felt the air leave
her throat. The floor fell out from under her and she was staring up at Kayla
with the bloody knife in her hand.
“See ya in hell,
Sweetness.”
Senta couldn’t
scream. She was gagging on blood. She put her hands to her throat and felt the
wetness. The tunnel got darker.
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