Resurrection

Chapter Eleven

The morgue was only a couple of blocks away, down 7th Street, in the basement of the Medical Center.   Eddie offered to take Mr. Wilson in his squad car, but saw a tightness in his jaw as the long-legged man considered folding himself into the vehicle.  With a dashing smile, Zachary offered that they take the night air and make the short walk on foot.  Eddie thought it was too cold for a pleasant stroll to the morgue, but considered that Zachary would find the constricting car ride more unpleasant, and agreed.

As they began their walk, Zachary looked with admiration toward the open doors of a church across the street.  Amplified guitar strums and the full-throated wails of an Assembly of God congregation spilled from the church.  Zachary's expression reminded Eddie of a professional pitcher fondly observing a child learn how to play catch.

"They meet on Friday?" Zachary asked.

Eddie nodded and answered, "They leave the doors open for the teenagers to gather.  I figure it keeps them out of trouble.   The sounds that come out of there sometimes are a little scary.    We've gotten some calls."

"Scary?"

"Speaking in tongues, or whatever they call it.  Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me."

The song echoing across the street came to a climax, the accompanying percussion crashing indiscriminately amidst a rising echo of "hallelujah" and "gloria" from a small crowd.  The measured music had melted into an amorphous chanting, awed and chaotic, like bubbles roiling up from boiling water.

"Oh, I'm familiar with tongues," Zachary said as if musing a pleasant memory.

"You, uh... speak in tongues at your church?"

"No, no, no.  Without a divinely gifted interpreter, speaking in tongues is a fabrication.  Pure showmanship.  Were an interpreter present, aided by the Holy Spirit, we'd welcome the heavenly language in our services."

Eddie glanced at Zachary with a questioning look.

"Not an evangelical Christian, I take it?" 

Zachary said this with such a probing gaze that Eddie looked away as if he'd heard something down the street.  

More pointedly, the tall man said, "Are you a believer, Officer Márquez?"

"Like, a... like, do I believe in God?"

The throng of voices drifted away behind them, replaced by the creaking whine of the winter wind shuffling against them.  Eddie remembered his mother holding her rosary tightly in her hand, the click of the beads grazing her palm.  He thought of his wife's prayers drifting from Ramona's bedroom, his daughter repeating her every word with practiced reverence.  He thought of how he'd told Carmen he wanted Ramona to make her own choices about God and religion in the future.  The look in her eyes had made him drop the conversation immediately.

Eddie said, "I mean, I make my family go to church— Well, I don't make them go, they go because they enjoy it.  The music is good.  Not that— not that music is the only reason to go to church, it's more about... staying connected to God.  You know.  Praying.  I mean, my parents were Catholic, so I thought it would be, you know, more traditional, to have my family go even though it's a Presbyterian church.  No offense against Presbyterians.  The church services feel kind of Catholic."

Zachary spared him. "I am a believer, Officer Márquez.  And as a believer in Christ and the salvation of souls that have given their lives over to God's deliverance, I know for certain that my brother isn't in his earthly body anymore.  It was only a vessel.  And now his spirit is just one of the heavenly host, and he has no other concern than to praise God for all eternity."