people here, do they? I’ve never heard that Indians eat people. Maybe they did before the white folks came here, but not anymore. My lips feel like they’ve been flayed raw. My mouth froze to the packed snow, and I’ve broken a rib. I’m shaking all over. Only my right hand refuses to move. It’s clamped like the claws of an eagle around the ax handle. But the rest of me is shaking so hard I can barely see. I think even my eyes are shaking in their sockets. My teeth are chattering. I catch a glimpse of the Indian above me. He bends down closer, but I’m shaking so bad I can’t see his face. It’s nothing but a dark patch.
I don’t understand what he’s saying. I can’t tell whether it’s English or an Indian language. I think he sounds scared. Or maybe angry. I try to say something, but all I hear is the chattering of my own teeth. He puts his hand on my forehead and mutters something. His hand is ice cold now. Even colder than I am inside. I’m freezing inside and out. When the cold outside meets the cold inside me, I will die. I think that’s how it will happen. Because then there won’t be any warmth anywhere. Even the fire seems cold now. It’s glowing, but it gives off no heat. It’s glowing in the middle of the darkest forest. In the middle of the night. The forest animals stay away from the fire. They fear it, just as we fear the Lord. “Thou shalt have no other gods before me. That is, above all else we shall fear and love God and put our trust in Him. There is only one true God, the Creator and Lord of all things. The heathens’ gods are dead idols.” They are hollow tree stumps. If you kick them, rats and toads come out. That’s what their gods are: rats and toads and snakes. The Almighty Lord is in heaven, but these unhappy souls have never heard of him. Or of Jesus Christ. The man sitting over there doesn’t know who Jesus is. He offers young goats and lambs to Baal.
But I have almost been in heaven. I’ll be going back there soon. Up into the vault of the sky, and through it, beyond to God’s Kingdom, where its radiance will warm me again. There it might take two years before I have enough money for my own boat. If you’re not afraid of hard work, of course. And there’s so much fish that you can earn more in a week than a man does in a whole year back home. That’s why I have to go there, to earn money. I want to have my own boat and my own house. I want to eat pea soup with pork. He has taken the pot off the fire. He’s crumbling something into the water. I don’t know what it is. It looks like a piece of bark. The whole time he keeps up that cursed humming. As if he’s singing something into me. I don’t like it. Maybe it’s idol worship. And now he sticks his hand under his blanket and takes something out. It looks like a small pouch. He sticks his fingers down into it and then sprinkles a pinch of something into the pot. He’s probably not making pea soup. It’s a witch’s brew. And he wants me to drink it.
“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth. And in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. On the third day He rose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty. From thence He will come to judge the living and the dead.” So he will return here to earth, to judge us all, whether we are alive or dead. But where on this earth will he find the dead? Will Jesus open the graves? Every single grave in every single cemetery in the whole world? Won’t they come out as skeletons and half-rotten carcasses? Is that what will happen? If so, a terrible stench will spread over the day of resurrection. And it won’t be a pleasant sight either. There must be many more dead than people who are alive. What will they all do? Maybe the same things they
I don’t understand what he’s saying. I can’t tell whether it’s English or an Indian language. I think he sounds scared. Or maybe angry. I try to say something, but all I hear is the chattering of my own teeth. He puts his hand on my forehead and mutters something. His hand is ice cold now. Even colder than I am inside. I’m freezing inside and out. When the cold outside meets the cold inside me, I will die. I think that’s how it will happen. Because then there won’t be any warmth anywhere. Even the fire seems cold now. It’s glowing, but it gives off no heat. It’s glowing in the middle of the darkest forest. In the middle of the night. The forest animals stay away from the fire. They fear it, just as we fear the Lord. “Thou shalt have no other gods before me. That is, above all else we shall fear and love God and put our trust in Him. There is only one true God, the Creator and Lord of all things. The heathens’ gods are dead idols.” They are hollow tree stumps. If you kick them, rats and toads come out. That’s what their gods are: rats and toads and snakes. The Almighty Lord is in heaven, but these unhappy souls have never heard of him. Or of Jesus Christ. The man sitting over there doesn’t know who Jesus is. He offers young goats and lambs to Baal.
But I have almost been in heaven. I’ll be going back there soon. Up into the vault of the sky, and through it, beyond to God’s Kingdom, where its radiance will warm me again. There it might take two years before I have enough money for my own boat. If you’re not afraid of hard work, of course. And there’s so much fish that you can earn more in a week than a man does in a whole year back home. That’s why I have to go there, to earn money. I want to have my own boat and my own house. I want to eat pea soup with pork. He has taken the pot off the fire. He’s crumbling something into the water. I don’t know what it is. It looks like a piece of bark. The whole time he keeps up that cursed humming. As if he’s singing something into me. I don’t like it. Maybe it’s idol worship. And now he sticks his hand under his blanket and takes something out. It looks like a small pouch. He sticks his fingers down into it and then sprinkles a pinch of something into the pot. He’s probably not making pea soup. It’s a witch’s brew. And he wants me to drink it.
“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth. And in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. On the third day He rose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty. From thence He will come to judge the living and the dead.” So he will return here to earth, to judge us all, whether we are alive or dead. But where on this earth will he find the dead? Will Jesus open the graves? Every single grave in every single cemetery in the whole world? Won’t they come out as skeletons and half-rotten carcasses? Is that what will happen? If so, a terrible stench will spread over the day of resurrection. And it won’t be a pleasant sight either. There must be many more dead than people who are alive. What will they all do? Maybe the same things they
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