Father and Son.
I had expected to have great difficulty keeping Newton's request a secret from my father. That I had shows how very little I still knew about the man, as he did not ask any of the details of the conversation. Perhaps he had heard everything, or divined the truth in my face somehow, but he did not ask any of the particulars of our discussion, nor did he give any hint or sign of being angry with me. When I emerged from Newton's study he took my hand wordlessly and led me down the corridor and back to my calculations.
He sat with me awhile then, and asked me to explain the figures I had worked. I did so the way I might have explained it to a child my own age, if I had ever had occasion to talk with children my own age.
Then my father asked me to take a seat at one of the small writing desks, and he himself sank into a seat beside me. "The world is ending," he told me, no trace of doubt in his voice. "The year is sixteen hundred and ninety-nine, this past millennium has been a terrible and dark thing, and I do not doubt that the Lord will choose to end our suffering as he so failed to do in sixteen-sixty-six."
I blinked, which in this moment felt like quite a drawn out motion. Time had so slowed that I might have counted the beats of a hummingbird's wings, if one had been around. After this endless pause, my father continued, "But supposing it does not. Supposing that we continue here, without the presence of God, going about our evil business, laying wicked plans for terrible deeds. Then what?"
This time, it was my tremulous voice that filled a long silence. "I do not think that I understand."
"Sometimes I worry that God would have me live forever. I do not hear His voice the way I once did."
"You told me to look for His face in flowers and His voice in the music of the river."
"I know what I told you," he spat, but the outburst frightened me far less than the look on his face. For the first time in my life, when I looked into my father's eyes I saw real emotion.
Being that I was so underexposed to the phenomenon, my initial reaction was discomfort. I immediately began analyzing the ramifications of what he had just said, trying to find the perfect equation that would let me say the right thing, but he saved me by continuing. "When God handed me you, He gave me a great responsibility that I did not understand. But also a gift." He smiled weakly. "I do not know what Mr. Newton told you today, nor do I wish to know, but I want you to know that I am proud of you."
I said nothing, but hearing those words quickened my pulse and gave my stomach an awkward flip. I even became a bit dizzy, so sanguinous had this declaration made me. When my father rose, patted me gently on the head, and left the room again, I found that I could no longer control the flood of emotion roaring along in my veins. I folded my arms on the desk in front of me, buried my face in the hollow thus created, and cried.
He sat with me awhile then, and asked me to explain the figures I had worked. I did so the way I might have explained it to a child my own age, if I had ever had occasion to talk with children my own age.
Then my father asked me to take a seat at one of the small writing desks, and he himself sank into a seat beside me. "The world is ending," he told me, no trace of doubt in his voice. "The year is sixteen hundred and ninety-nine, this past millennium has been a terrible and dark thing, and I do not doubt that the Lord will choose to end our suffering as he so failed to do in sixteen-sixty-six."
I blinked, which in this moment felt like quite a drawn out motion. Time had so slowed that I might have counted the beats of a hummingbird's wings, if one had been around. After this endless pause, my father continued, "But supposing it does not. Supposing that we continue here, without the presence of God, going about our evil business, laying wicked plans for terrible deeds. Then what?"
This time, it was my tremulous voice that filled a long silence. "I do not think that I understand."
"Sometimes I worry that God would have me live forever. I do not hear His voice the way I once did."
"You told me to look for His face in flowers and His voice in the music of the river."
"I know what I told you," he spat, but the outburst frightened me far less than the look on his face. For the first time in my life, when I looked into my father's eyes I saw real emotion.
Being that I was so underexposed to the phenomenon, my initial reaction was discomfort. I immediately began analyzing the ramifications of what he had just said, trying to find the perfect equation that would let me say the right thing, but he saved me by continuing. "When God handed me you, He gave me a great responsibility that I did not understand. But also a gift." He smiled weakly. "I do not know what Mr. Newton told you today, nor do I wish to know, but I want you to know that I am proud of you."
I said nothing, but hearing those words quickened my pulse and gave my stomach an awkward flip. I even became a bit dizzy, so sanguinous had this declaration made me. When my father rose, patted me gently on the head, and left the room again, I found that I could no longer control the flood of emotion roaring along in my veins. I folded my arms on the desk in front of me, buried my face in the hollow thus created, and cried.