You Will Never See Any God: Stories by Ervin D. Krause Page A

protests of the generous old man. The Sioux City papers, covering the event, called him a benefactor and philanthropist.
    Old Schwier gave to the hospital too, and he felt badly that he could not help more, but the town had already built a new one just after the war.
    Gradually he forgot and the town forgot and he was loved and adulated and his kindness was known and his smile was common. Only with the minister did he still sometimes weep and be concerned.
    “Has my God forgiven me?” he asked.
    “Yes, God can forgive any sin.”
    “And my wickedness, too?”
    “Yes, and any wickedness—God loves you.”
    “Will he take me to Himself?” Schwier asked. He had heard much of the church’s words, as “wickedness” and “to Himself,” and could repeat them.
    “If you have fully repented,” the minister said.
    “I do repent. I do love, and I feel His love.”
    “Then He will take you.”
    The time came in the fall. There were three heart attacks in rapid succession and the doctors came and the ministers, too. They did everything they could for him. The minister gave him the last communion, which Old Schwier understood. His mind was clear, the minister said, his sins were washed away. Afterwards Old Schwier called for Diedrich and he had the son read the will. Much went to charity and to the church but the bulk of the large estate went to the children, and Diedrich was to search for the others and if they could not be found within five years, he was to have it all.
    “My son,” Old Schwier said when Diedrich had finished reading the will, “come and I will give you my last blessing.”
    “You have no right to bless anyone,” Diedrich said.
    “My sins are forgiven. I have repented. I am ready to see my God.”
    “You will never see any God.”
    “My poor child. You don’t believe. But I believe and I am at rest and happy. Come, let us pray together now. I know we cannot be together long.”
    “We have never been together.”
    “We can be now. My God has forgiven me my sins.”
    “What kind of a God is that?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A God that let you do what you have done and then let you by because you change your mind at the very last minute.”
    “I have seen my error.”
    “No one could forgive you.”
    “Everyone has forgiven. The people who hated me love me now.”
    “Only because you have money.”
    “God has forgiven me.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Because I believe.”
    “And I believe he has not. He is not so easily fooled as the stupid people of this town.”
    “But he has, don’t you see? I have repented, and he has forgiven me.”
    “I haven’t forgiven you, father, and neither have any of my brothers and sisters. We will never forgive you.”
    “Oh, oh, oh,” the father wailed, and the tears ran down his ashen, lined cheeks.
    “How can God forgive you if we do not? What kind of a God is that?” Diedrich almost smiled then.
    “I believe. I do believe. He has forgiven.”
    “Then we should all do what you have done and wait until God, if there is such a thing, comes to us out of the sky.”
    “Don’t test me now, not now.”
    “You could not live long enough to be forgiven, father. Forgiveness cannot come in the last second of eighty evil years.”
    “There is no hope then . . .”
    “For you there isn’t.”
    “Get away from me. Get away.”
    “Are you getting angry now, father? Anger may kill you.”
    “I want to see the reverend. Let me see him.”
    “Your sins are forgiven, you said.”
    “They are. They are all washed away. I believe. I believe. I have repented.”
    “Then why do you want to see the reverend? Are you still doubtful? Are you worried?”
    “No! I know my God wants me. He loves me.”
    “Good. Then die, father, before he remembers all you have done and changes his fickle mind.”
    “You devil!” the father cried. “Go, you devil!”
    “In a moment. I have much time.”
    “I do not bless you. I take it back. Goddamn you!” The