I looked upon my father's book, remembering in vain what the man had said to me.
"Matthew my son, take this book. Take it and burn it. Do not throw it in the furnace, but take these matches and one by one pull the pages off and burn them until the writing is scarred and the pages are black and shrivelled."
My father's request seemed an odd one. It was just a book. The leather backing and the soft golden print worn to the point of unability to read. It did not seem harmless at all. But still my father's request burned into my mind.
"Burn the book, Matthew! Burn it!"
I took hold of the first page in my hand. I hesitated.
A stupid request indeed. Just a book, no harm in a book... but still the words burned my mind.
"Burn the book!"
I let go of the page and struck my first match. The hot glow of the orange flame hovering mere inches away from the page.
"Christ boy! BURN IT!! What are you waiting for?!"
I, lost of reasoning, pulled the match and flame back away from the book with such a force that the match went out.
"No."
My voice echoed loudly throughtout the small bedroom.
I dropped the matchbox into his pocket and grabbed up a scrap of red cloth and wrapped the book in it. I tied a blue ribbon to hold the cloth on securely and then placed the book inside of my jacket.
I couldn't burn it. The plain and simple fact I knew that it would be worse to burn it than anything.
"Out of sight..." came a voice in my head, "put my book out of sight. Hide it."
I glanced around the room. Where to hide it? My eyes laid on the chest.
"No!" came the voice of my mother screaming downstairs, "No! Leave him alone!"
I quickly laid the book into my chest, buried among my clothing and headed for the stairs. Something in me told me I should leave and hide myself, but I ignored the feeling.
My mother stood pulling a uniformed police officer off of another man.
"Leave him be!" Mother yelled, "No!"
"....Father?"
The Officer stood now with my father at gunpoint.
"Matthew!" my father said, "the book, did you do as I asked?"
"....Yes father...."
He looked relieved.
Then the officers dragged my father out of the house.
I turned to my mother, tears etched in both our eyes, "Why did they take him?"
She grabbed me in a tight hug and spoke in my ear in a venimous voice that I would never expect to hear from her. "He follows the Lord."
The world 'Lord' was spoken with such spite that I was blown away.
"Who is He? Who is the Lord?" I asked.
"You know it is dangerous to follow Him," she replied, "He does not take care of His people. He let's them be taken away from their families to be..."
I did not need to ask. I knew that once a man was accused Christian, they had to either renounce their Faith or be killed. It was awful really, reminded me of the salem witch trials. There were no real witches though, but these Christians were real and plagued the world willing to die and speak nonsense to us normal people trying to 'convert' us.
My father was killed at a public hanging the following day. Mother and I went there. Mother stood, emotionless and cold, next to me and I was staring up at my father. He was spouting some blithering nonsense about a fellow named Jesus and being saved.
"Save yourself!" a man called from the audience, "What of yourself? And your family?! Young Matthew needs a male role model! Think of your son, you selfish bastard!"
"My son..." Father's eyes landed on me. "The Lord will protect and Heaven will unite!"
And then he was dead.
"Matthew my son, take this book. Take it and burn it. Do not throw it in the furnace, but take these matches and one by one pull the pages off and burn them until the writing is scarred and the pages are black and shrivelled."
My father's request seemed an odd one. It was just a book. The leather backing and the soft golden print worn to the point of unability to read. It did not seem harmless at all. But still my father's request burned into my mind.
"Burn the book, Matthew! Burn it!"
I took hold of the first page in my hand. I hesitated.
A stupid request indeed. Just a book, no harm in a book... but still the words burned my mind.
"Burn the book!"
I let go of the page and struck my first match. The hot glow of the orange flame hovering mere inches away from the page.
"Christ boy! BURN IT!! What are you waiting for?!"
I, lost of reasoning, pulled the match and flame back away from the book with such a force that the match went out.
"No."
My voice echoed loudly throughtout the small bedroom.
I dropped the matchbox into his pocket and grabbed up a scrap of red cloth and wrapped the book in it. I tied a blue ribbon to hold the cloth on securely and then placed the book inside of my jacket.
I couldn't burn it. The plain and simple fact I knew that it would be worse to burn it than anything.
"Out of sight..." came a voice in my head, "put my book out of sight. Hide it."
I glanced around the room. Where to hide it? My eyes laid on the chest.
"No!" came the voice of my mother screaming downstairs, "No! Leave him alone!"
I quickly laid the book into my chest, buried among my clothing and headed for the stairs. Something in me told me I should leave and hide myself, but I ignored the feeling.
My mother stood pulling a uniformed police officer off of another man.
"Leave him be!" Mother yelled, "No!"
"....Father?"
The Officer stood now with my father at gunpoint.
"Matthew!" my father said, "the book, did you do as I asked?"
"....Yes father...."
He looked relieved.
Then the officers dragged my father out of the house.
I turned to my mother, tears etched in both our eyes, "Why did they take him?"
She grabbed me in a tight hug and spoke in my ear in a venimous voice that I would never expect to hear from her. "He follows the Lord."
The world 'Lord' was spoken with such spite that I was blown away.
"Who is He? Who is the Lord?" I asked.
"You know it is dangerous to follow Him," she replied, "He does not take care of His people. He let's them be taken away from their families to be..."
I did not need to ask. I knew that once a man was accused Christian, they had to either renounce their Faith or be killed. It was awful really, reminded me of the salem witch trials. There were no real witches though, but these Christians were real and plagued the world willing to die and speak nonsense to us normal people trying to 'convert' us.
My father was killed at a public hanging the following day. Mother and I went there. Mother stood, emotionless and cold, next to me and I was staring up at my father. He was spouting some blithering nonsense about a fellow named Jesus and being saved.
"Save yourself!" a man called from the audience, "What of yourself? And your family?! Young Matthew needs a male role model! Think of your son, you selfish bastard!"
"My son..." Father's eyes landed on me. "The Lord will protect and Heaven will unite!"
And then he was dead.
