Tony was surprised at how full the parking lot was. He was going to have trouble finding a spot so he headed for the main gate to drop off Walt.
He left the engine running and ran around to the passenger side to give Walt a hand getting out. He told Walt to go ahead and he’d catch up. Walt said OK but just stood there for a minute leaning on his cane seeming almost nervous. Then he straightened his fedora and his tie, took a deep breath and started for the gate. Tony pulled away to look for a parking spot.
This wasn’t how he usually spent Good Friday morning, sleeping in would have been nice, with Shane spending the day with Meg and her family, but when Walt had started talking about it and how it was something that he and Esther had done together every year and how this was the first year without her and he didn’t think he could go alone – of course Tony offered. Of course Walt refused, but it wasn’t the kind of refusal you take seriously and in the end they agreed that Tony would provide the wheels and Walt would buy lunch. Tony knew perfectly well that Walt won on both counts but what could you do?
He found a spot, locked the car, headed for the gate. He’d never been to one of these things before. “The Stations of the Cross”. He’d spent most of last evening trying to find the Bible that somebody’d given him and Meg when they got married. Finally turned up in a box of her old records that she still hadn’t taken. The Thompson Twins, Cindi Lauper and the Bible. Yeah. He looked through it for the story figuring it was probably pretty climactic so it would be near the end, but man was that wrong. In the end he Googled it and found it on page 1191.
He read the whole story. Twice. So that was Good Friday? It was awful. Everybody Jesus had trusted either sold him out or ran away. It was just mean. Tony hated movies like that. Even with a happy ending. He wished he wasn’t going, now.
He reached the big gate, the one that said “Sacred Heart” in big cast iron letters on the top. Just inside there was a path that split left and right through a meticulously gardened patch of mature trees. Dead centre in the fork there was a larger than life bronze statue (the first of 14) surrounded by benches filled with people. It was the scene from page 1191 where Jesus prays in the garden. Tony wanted to find Walt, so he followed the path around a bend.
The next statue he found was one of Jesus being buried. His friends were carrying him, lifeless. Some had their hands covering their faces.
The next was one of Jesus body being taken down from the cross. Tony realized he was going in the wrong direction, but he stopped long enough to look at the scene here. Jesus’ eyes were open and empty. The eyes of the dead. His friends looked angry, shocked. One figure, a woman who Tony figured was Jesus’ mother was reaching up to touch his bloody face.
After that, he saw the cross lying on the ground with Jesus stretched out on it, while huge soldiers held him down and hammered the nails that would hold him on it.
Then, Jesus standing in the middle of a circle of soldiers who were laughing at him and taking his clothes.
None of the rest were any better. Jesus falling down under the weight of the cross, Jesus finding himself face to face with friends and followers who clearly couldn’t understand what was happening. The fear on their faces was so strong you could Tony could feel it. They must have felt so lost. Confused. Afraid.
Finally, he found Walt, back near the beginning of the story - at the statue showing the scene where Jesus has just got his death sentence. Tony was struck by how calm he looked. Not just resigned, but like he really knew that it was OK. Like he was where he was supposed to be and he was waiting for everybody else to catch up.
He glanced at Walt, sitting, both hands on his cane upright between his knees, completely focused on that bronze face. Tony started to notice how quiet the place was. A bit of traffic noise, a few birds, footsteps. But quiet. Kind of like on Remembrance Day. Walt sat with his head tilted slightly and a smile in his eyes. More himself than Tony’d seen in months.
It was Shane who’d adopted Walt and Esther. He was 13, looking to make some cash after a snowstorm going door to door down the row of townhouses. An hour later the phone rang and it was Shane. These really nice, really old people had paid him 20 bucks to shovel their walk and invited him in for hot chocolate and he was standing on their front step using the phone because he knew better than to go into a stranger’s house, but they were really nice and really old and was it OK? Tony asked what number it was and Shane said 136. Tony said alright, but a half hour and no longer, got it? Got it.
Ever since, Shane had helped with their garden or the snow and stayed for lemonade or hot chocolate. He never talked about it much, but Tony couldn’t miss the fact that Shane would come home calmer. Tony had mixed feelings about the whole thing, but with how tense things were getting at home, mostly he was grateful to these really nice, really old people for giving his son a bit of peace.
And now two winters later, Esther was gone, and Meg was gone, although not entirely gone enough sometimes, and here was Tony chewing his nails and dying for a smoke and there was Walt lost in a moment that Tony didn’t understand. And there was that peace again. That calm. Tony didn’t get it. Walt and Esther had loved each other more than Tony had thought possible ‘til the day the ambulance was in their driveway and Walt’s love of 57 years was just gone.
Tony headed for the gate. He’d wait for Walt there.
There was space on the bench near the gate. It was cold against his legs so he pulled his coat down as he took a seat. The statue seemed bigger now. A man in a long robe, barefoot. He was on his knees, collapsed over a boulder with his face buried in the crook of one arm, and the other curled over the back of his head. His fingers were clenched in his hair, his shoulders hunched up, his toes digging into the dirt. Terrified. Of what he had to do? Of not having done enough? Of being alone?
Of course he wasn’t alone, somebody wrote down what he said. Somebody who cared enough to stick around, but didn’t know what to say or how to help. Who probably would have tried to stop him if they’d known. Who just knew that he was in pain and couldn’t walk away. Tony wondered about the silent watcher. Watching his friend suffer.
Just like Tony’d watched Shane suffer as his parents’ marriage died bit by bit. Like he’d watched Walt suffer, holding Esther’s hand in the ambulance, saying goodbye to his sweetheart of 57 years. Just being there.
Helpless.
But how - how - how had this man, this Jesus, become the one that Walt was seeing? How had these white knuckles become those folded, resting hands? These shoulders become those square, relaxed ones? Something about angels, but Tony knew that if an angel started talking to him, he’d have to check himself in somewhere, so there had to be more to it than that.
Jesus knew what was coming and he was determined to stand up and take it. He could have walked away. Or at least tried. But he didn’t. Because it was too important. Important enough to make yourself die for.
To die for.
In the quiet of the garden, Tony was struck by something. Looking at that statue, he realized either Jesus went through all that for nothing and it just proved that humanity was poison, or - could all those annoying TV preachers be right? He wasn’t sure which seemed worse. Or maybe they were both true. Maybe the world was poisoned and Jesus did die to put it right.
He sat for a long time thinking about that ‘til he realized he was cold. Walt would be coming soon. He thought about Walt and peace and that maybe he had a few questions to ask over lunch.
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