Gilbert Morris Read Online Free Page A

there were Christmas cards pinned to the bulletin board where important bulletins were usually kept. When he reached his father’s room, he started to turn in, but Mabelene Williams, a large black woman in a white uniform, was coming out. “Hello, Mabelene.”
    Nurse Williams stared at him. “Well, you did come—at last.”
    â€œI’ve been real busy, Mabelene.”
    â€œI’ll bet you have.”
    For some reason Mabelene felt it was her calling in life to shame Benjamin Raines for not coming to see his father more often. She was usually successful, for Ben already had a guilty conscience about the matter. Every year he made resolutions to come and see his father at least once a week, but somehow it never worked out that way. “I’m going away for Christmas, but I promise you, Mabelene, I’ll come every week before Christmas.”
    â€œYou won’t be here for our Christmas party?”
    â€œNo, I’ll be in Spain.”
    â€œWell, I hope you enjoy yourself.” Mabelene’s eyes went all flinty, and she had more to say, but Ben didn’t want to hear it. He had heard it all before, and besides, he didn’t need to carry a guilty conscience with him to Spain. It probably was against the law to do such a thing. He said, “Merry Christmas, Mabelene,” and ducked inside the room. His father was in his wheelchair, and his head was tilted to one side. He was sound asleep. His mouth was open, and he looked helpless and vulnerable.
    Ben stood there uncertainly and then took a chair, moving quietly. He knew his father wouldn’t mind being awakened, that he always wanted to talk, but what was there to talk about? Desperately, Ben had tried to interest himself in the affairs of the Veterans Hospital. When his father had first come here four years earlier, he had been more faithful, but coming to visit his dad had become a drudgery that he hated.
    Ben sat and studied his father, and as he did, uninvited thoughts came trooping into his head. He wished heartily that there was a lock on the door of the mind—that he could shut things out that had no business there. But there was not. He had tried everything. It irritated him that he was an intelligent man but could not control his thoughts.
    Sitting there with the pale sunlight streaming through the window, Ben regarded his father, Willie Raines. In Ben’s mind William Raines had always been a failure. He had volunteered for the army and had been so terribly wounded at the Battle of the Bulge that he could never again do heavy work. He was unskilled at anything, and during

Ben’s formative childhood years the family had moved from one place to a cheaper one throughout the meaner streets of Chicago.
    Ben thought about how many times during his teenage years his father had been unable to work, and Ben had had to struggle to bring in what income he could. This meant that he was not able to participate in sports, at which he had been rather good, and even after all these years it took all the strength he had to keep the resentment back.
    The sleeping man stirred, coughed, and suddenly reached out with his hand as if trying to grasp something. He mumbled something in his sleep, and his face twisted. But then he relaxed, and Ben leaned back in his chair. He thought of the years he had spent at the newsstand on Thirteenth Street. His father had finally managed to buy into a newsstand, but it had been Ben who had had to keep it running. It was an outside newsstand, covered with plastic and canvas when it was closed, but Ben had sat there many weary days, through snow and sleet and ice and blistering summers, while the other boys were out playing ball.
    Harsh, bitter memories stirred within Ben, and he had a sudden impulse to get up and flee the room. He was not a Christian, but he had strong notions of right and wrong, and one of these notions was that it was wrong for him to despise his father for his