I told him that I wasn’t at the point of dropping in the street. The way I said it, however, implied that it was a possibility.
That’s good, said Luther, with his customary insensitiveness. What you need more than earthly food is spiritual sustenance. If one has that, one can do without ordinary food. Remember this—God always provides sufficient for the day, even to sinners. He watches over the sparrows … You haven’t altogether forgotten the good teachings, have you?—I know your parents sent you to Sunday School … and they also provided you with a good education. God was looking after you all the time, Henry…
Jesus, I asked myself, how long will this continue?
Perhaps you remember the Epistles of St. Paul? he continued. Since I gave him a blank look he dove into his breast pocket and exhumed a worn-looking New Testament. He stopped dead and began thumbing the pages.
Don’t bother, I said, give it to me from memory. I’ve got to get home soon.
That’s all right, he said, we’re on God’s time now. Nothing can be more important than the precious words of the Bible. God is our Comforter, remember that, Henry.
But what if God doesn’t answer one’s prayers? I said, more to discourage him from looking up the Epistles of St. Paul than to know the answer.
God always answers him who seeks Him, said Luther. Perhaps not the first time or the second time, but eventually. Sometimes God sees fit to try us first. He wants to be sure of our love, our loyalty, our faith. It would be too simple if we could just ask for something and have it fall into our laps, wouldn’t it now?
I don’t know, I said, why not? God can do anything, can’t He?
Always within reason, Henry. Always according to our merits. It’s not God who punishes us, but we ourselves. God’s heart is always open to him who seeks Him out. But it must be a real need. One must be desperate before God gives of his kindness.
Well, I’m pretty desperate right now, I said. Honest, Luther, I need that money bad. We’re going to be evicted in a day or two if something doesn’t happen.
Luther was strangely unmoved by this last piece of information. He was so well attuned to God’s ways, it seemed, that a little matter like eviction meant nothing to him. Perhaps God wanted it that way. Perhaps it was a preparation for something better. What does it matter, Henry, he said fervidly, what does it matter where you are living if only you can find God? You can find Him in the street just as easily as at home. God will shelter you with His blessed wings. He watches over the homeless just as much as He does over others. His eye is on us always. No, Henry, if I were you, I would go home and pray, pray that He show you the way. Sometimes a change does us good. Sometimes we get too comfortable and we forget whence all our blessings flow. Pray to Him tonight, on your knees, and with a full heart. Ask Him to give you work for your hands. Ask to serve Him, remember that. Serve the Lord, it is said, and keep His commandments. That is what I am constantly doing—now that I have found the light. And God rewards me abundantly, as I explained to you before…
But look, Luther, if God is really taking care of you so handsomely, as you say, couldn’t you share just a little of your blessed reward with me? After all, five dollars isn’t a fortune.
I could do that, Henry, most certainly—if I thought it were the right thing to do. But you’re in God’s hands now: He will look after you.
In what way would it interfere with God’s plans if you were to lend me that five bucks? I insisted. I was getting fed up.
The ways of the Lord are beyond our knowing, said Luther solemnly. Perhaps he will have a job for you to go to in the morning.
But I don’t want a job, damn it! I have my own work to do. What I need is five bucks, that’s all.
That will probably be provided, too, said Luther. Only you must have faith. Without faith, even the little you have will be taken from you.
But I haven’t anything, I protested. Not a God-damned thing, don’t you understand? God can’t take anything away from me because I have nothing. Figure that out!
He can take away your health, he can take your wife from you, he can take from you the power to move your limbs, do you realize that?
He’d be one big louse to do that!
God afflicted Job sorely, surely you haven’t forgotten that? He also raised Lazarus from the dead. God giveth and God taketh away.
Sounds like a swindle game.
Because you are still beclouded with ignorance and folly, said Luther. For each one of us God has a special lesson to teach. You will have to learn humility.
If I only got a bit of a break, I said, I might be ready to learn my lesson. How can a man learn humility when his back is already broken?
Luther disregarded this last completely. In restoring the New Testament to his breast pocket he came upon some forms from the insurance company which he flourished in my face.
What? I fairly shrieked, you don’t mean to say you want to sell me a policy?
Not now, to be sure, said Luther, grasping my arm again to quell my agitation, not now, Henry, but perhaps in a month or so. God works His wonders in mysterious ways. Who knows but that a month from now you may be sitting on top of the world? If you had one of these in your possession you could borrow from the insurance company. It would save you a lot of embarrassment.
Here I abruptly took leave of him. He was still standing with hand outstretched, as if immobilized, when I got to the other side of the street. I gave him one parting glance and spat out a gob of juicy disgust. You prick! I said to myself. Yon and your fucking Comforter! For a pair of heartless shits I’ve never seen the like of you. Pray? You bet I’ll pray. I’ll pray that you have to crawl on hands and knees to scratch for a penny. I’ll pray that your wrists and knees give out, that you have to crawl on your belly, that your eyes will become bleary, and filled with scum.
The house was dark when I got back. No Mona. I sank into the big chair and gave myself up to moody reflections. In the soft light of my table lamp the room looked better than ever. Even the table, which was in a state of huge disorder, affected me pleasantly. It was obvious that there had been a long interruption. Manuscripts were lying about everywhere, books lay open at the pages where I had left off reading. The dictionary too was lying open on top of the book-case.
As I sat there ‘I realized that the room was impregnated with my spirit. I belonged here, nowhere else. It was foolish of me to stir out in the manner of a householder. I should be home writing. I should do nothing but write. Providence had taken care of me thus far, why not forever? The less I did about practical matters the more smoothly things went. These forays into the world only alienated me from mankind.
Since that fantastic evening with Cromwell I hadn’t written a line. I moved over to the writing table and began fiddling with the papers. The last column I had written—the very day that Cromwell had visited us—lay before me. I read it over quickly. It sounded good to me, extraordinarily good. Too good, in fact, for the newspaper. I pushed it aside and began slowly perusing a novelette which was unfinished, that Diary of a Futurist, of which I had read fragments to Ulric once. I was not only favorably impressed, I was deeply moved by my own words. I must have been in good spirits to have written that well.
I glanced at one manuscript after another, reading only a few lines at a time. Finally I came to my notes. They were as fresh and inspiring as when I had jotted them down. Some of them, which I had already made use of, were so provocative that I wanted to write the stories all over again, write them from a fresh, new angle. The more I unearthed, the more feverish I became. It was as though a huge wheel inside me had begun to revolve.
I pushed everything aside and lit a cigarette. I gave myself up to a delicious reverie. All that I had wanted to write these past fall months was now writing; itself out. It oozed out like milk from a cocoanut. I had nothing to do with it. Someone else was in charge. I was merely the receiving station transmitting it to the blue.
Just the other day, some twenty years since this occurrence, I came upon the words of one Jean-Paul Richter, which described exactly how I felt at that moment. What a pity I did not know them then! Here is what he wrote:
Rien ne m’a jamais emu davantage que le sieur Jean-Paul. II s’est assis a sa table et, par ses livres, il m’a corrompu el transforms. Maintenant, je m’enflamme de moi-meme.
My reverie was broken by a gentle knock at the
