Revelations(70)
Although I can’t exactly tell her that. I know her too well to think she wouldn’t tell him, so that doesn’t become an option. I wish I could tell her, try to ease some of her burden. But she’ll find out soon enough, I reason, and then they’ll be together again, for a good long time. Mary M, too. The other apostles. And maybe he’ll think of me once in a while. At least I hope so. All right, I know he will, just as I know he loves me. What I’m doing, I do for his own good. That’s what I keep telling myself.
My heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise, like breathing is no longer an autonomic function. I know it’s for his own good, even if he’ll be angry I’ve done this behind his back. But I won’t be here to yell at. He’ll have to wait and do that when he dies a more natural death later on. Hopefully of old age. At least I know I’ll be able to watch him from there, even if I can’t speak to him, or touch him.
That’s the price I’m willing to pay for his life and his freedom. A small one, indeed, in the scheme of things.
So why do I feel like my whole world is shattering around me, like I’m losing the only thing that makes it worth living? Not that I’m going to go on living. I’m not afraid to die, certainly not, I’ve done it far too many times to think twice about it. Pain and death are abstract concepts that have come to mean nothing to me. Pain is something to be endured, but it does end. Death is but another stage of life. It’s just that… it’s just that…
Dammit, I have him now. I have what I’ve always wanted. He’s all I’ve ever wanted or needed. And I’m greedy—I want more of him, more of his time before I have to let go of him, before I have to go. I want him. That’s all. Just him. Just Jesus. The injustice of the situation washes over me, along with the sharpest pain I think I’ve ever felt, far worse than anything inflicted by mere man. A pain that sears my very soul. Mary holds out her arms to me and I fall into them, releasing the tears that threaten to choke me. She holds me close while I cry out my pain and sorrow in gut-wrenching sobs that contain no words. When I exhaust myself in her compassionate arms, I work at catching my breath, but at least the tightness has eased a little bit.
Mary takes a Kleenex from her purse and dabs at my cheeks and eyes, before handing it to me, so I can use it for the relief of my nose, which is streaming, dammit. She waits patiently for me to pull my sorry act together into some semblance of dignity. Or whatever I have that passes as dignity, which isn’t a whole lot right now, I know. “Please, don’t say anything to him,” I murmur, not wishing him to know I’ve had some sort of a breakdown. It’d be most distressing to him, I know, and I’ve no wish to cause him any distress on my account. Vain hope, however.
“You must know that he’ll know,” she says, stroking my cheek soothingly.
“You’re tied to him even more now than before, Judas, and he to you. He knows how you feel, and he’ll feel your pain.” The truth of her words is punctuated by the sudden buzzing of my phone. A text from Mary M. Judas, what is going on? J is convinced you’re in trouble. M.
Damn. Just what I didn’t want. I try to bluff my way out. I’m fine, tell J not to worry.
It doesn’t work. Did I really think it would? The phone rings instead, mere seconds later, and I know who’s bound to be on the other end of the line when I answer. Mary rises, whispers, “I’ll be in the car,” before removing herself to the Humvee, allowing us our privacy. How I do love her for her very kind heart. I try to hold it all in, for his sake, as I press phone. “Hello?” I make it a question, although I am quite sure it’s him.
“Judas, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice pitched low, the pain in it quite audible to my ears.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I stoically maintain as I deflect his concerns, forcing my voice to something closely approaching its normal timber. “How are things there?
Everything going well?” I’m only concerned about his welfare, the rest can go hang themselves. Except maybe Thomas.
“Things are well,” he replies, hesitantly. I can tell he isn’t convinced, and he’d like to delve into the question in more depth. “Very well,” he adds, pausing for a moment, then, “Jude, I know something’s wrong, please tell me…”
“Nothing other than I miss you terribly,” I confess, which is the truth, if not the entire truth. I lower my voice even more, although Mary cannot possibly hear me.
As if my doing so will draw us closer together through the medium of the phone.