They took the Cub out of the Gulf and out over the marshes of Cameron Parish. Duo squinted out
through the glare of the sunlight streaming into the cockpit from slightly to their right. How innocent
the day seemed, with the sun rising slowly over those gentle southern lowlands. It was then that he
thought about how just about anything could be hiding within the briny water below, perhaps
something dangerous, perhaps something not. A treasure, perhaps. Something to grow on, or hurt
oneself with. But there was nothing really bad or evil down there. It was just Mother Nature, after all.
Heero's pride seemed to be slowly reasserting itself. He didn't seem to want to talk about what had
happened on the beach, though he didn't draw away when Duo reached out and experimentally laid a
hand in his, where it was lying loosely next to the passenger seat. After a moment, they folded their
hands together, enjoying the touch.
* * *
They landed at Abbeville Municipal, checked the plane in and then drove Duo's car, a brand-new
Toru Saberblade (black, of course), to the nearest stop-&-rob to charge up the mag-batt. Heero
went inside to grab some coffee for them both and Duo stayed outside to watch the wire. After
paying, and brushing off the small talk coming from the man behind the register, Heero came back
out with the coffee to find Duo leaning back against the car with a thoughtful expression on his face,
his eyes half-lidded.
*beep* . . . . . *beep* . . . . . *beep* . . . . .
Heero walked over, pulled the plug from the now fully charged battery, and then turned around and
shoved Duo's coffee into his hands. "Drink this," he said. "I think you need it."
"Oh. . . thanks, Heero," said Duo in a distracted way.
They shared a comfortable, companionable span of silence there next to the by-pass and sipped
their caffeine. Then Duo cleared his throat.
"Um. . . Heero?"
"Hn?" Heero looked at Duo out of the corner of his eye.
"V'ya ever been to a church?"
". . ."
* * *
They found the church near the river downtown, a huge old Catholic cathedral that had had its
beginnings in the mid-19th century. It was a red brick edifice with a high steeple and was adjacent
to what appeared to be an ancient, crumbling rectory made in the late Spanish Romantic style. A
sign had been newly erected outside near the front sidewalk, a huge one that read:
Church of St. Mary Magdalene:
Erected in 1846 by Father Antoine Desire Megret,
founder of Abbeville."
They stopped just inside the front entrance and Duo dipped his hand in the basin of holy water and
made the Sign of the Cross. Heero began walking toward the sanctuary. Duo reached out and took
hold of his elbow.
"What is it?" Heero asked.
Duo pointed toward the basin.
"I'm not Catholic," said Heero. "I see no reason to emulate their rites."
"C'mon, man, it won't killya. When in Rome, y'know?"
Heero shrugged and went to the basin. It was easier than arguing with Duo, and he wasn't really all
that picky about religion anyway.
"See, you didn't melt," Duo ribbed him when he'd finished.
"Hn."
" 'Hn'," repeated Duo mockingly. "Straight from the Gospel of Yuy. 'Hn'."
"Back off, Duo," Heero told him. Duo immediately shut up. Heero sighed inwardly with relief. He
didn't want fighting between them.
They ended up in front of a rack of votive candles. Duo looked around. The carpet on the floor of
the sanctuary was a dull red and worn through in places, and the interior was rather ill-lit with only a
few dim, yellowish lamps overhead. The light coming in through the stained-glass windows had
taken on an overcast tinge, and by this light Duo could see an old couple sitting placidly in the back
pew, praying their rosaries.
The Church's fall from grace that had begun in the 21st century was now painfully evident by the
pieces missing from the carvings that depicted the Passion, which had once magnificently graced
the walls. Apparently there had been insufficient funds for renewal. Particularly disturbing, Duo
found, was that there was now no Simon of Cyrene to help Jesus carry his cross.
"I hear singing," said Heero.
Duo listened, and heard what Heero did: Soft voices, tuning themselves up, not quite a melody yet.
Children. He looked into the choir loft and saw a row of young faces, some peering down at them.
All looked much like the orphans he'd known on L2 colony.
The choirmaster entered the loft and took his position on the stand. He motioned for the organist to
begin. Both the organ and the organist were quite awful, but Duo suddenly realized he knew the
hymn they were singing, and realized also that it had now become one of his favorites. He and
Heero listened in wonderment as their voices rose, slightly out of tune, but beautiful, nonetheless:
"Strong, gentle children,
"God made you beautiful,
"Gave you the wisdom
"And power you need;
"Speak in the stillness
"All you are longing for;
"Live out your calling
"To love and to lead.
"Strong, hurting children,
"Angry and terrified,
"Open the secrets
"Your life has concealed;
"Though you are wounded,
"Know you are not to blame;
"Cry out your story
"Till truth is revealed.
"Strong, knowing children,
"Utter your cry aloud,
"Honour the wisdom
"God gave you at birth;
"Speak to your elders,
"Till they have heard your voice;
"Sing out your vision
"Of healing on earth."*
Duo realized halfway through that he was crying once again. He looked over at Heero and saw to his
amazement that the hymn was affecting his newly rediscovered emotions as well. Heero wasn't
crying yet, but it wouldn't be long.
Duo fished into his pocket and dug out two dollar bills. He put them in the box above the votive
stand and lit two of the candles, one for each of them. They burned alone there in the gloom, adding
their light to the meager supply that permeated the sanctuary.
He looked up at the window directly overhead. It showed Jesus Christ rising out of his tomb, and
dramatically, as the song was coming to an end, the sun came out behind it and lit up the scene with
brilliant radiance. Now their candles burned by themselves no longer.
Duo thought of his Father Maxwell, and of Father Felician from the Longfellow poem. He thought
about how they had given all they had for the sake of peace.
"They're not very big, are they?" Heero interrupted his thoughts from behind him. "The flames, I
mean." The flames coming from the candles were actually very tiny, providing only about half a
candlepower each.
Duo reached up and put an arm around Heero's shoulders, then he leaned over and kissed him on
the cheek. He almost laughed at the look of totally innocent surprise that came over his face.
~At least he didn't slug me,~ he thought. ~Oh, God. . . Could I love him any more?~
"S'okay," he responded, pulling himself closer and scratching the back of Heero's head, tousling his
mop of hair. "They're all they have to be."
And in the choir loft, the children began their singing once more.
* * *
"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks
to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but
you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but
you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for
violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness
cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only LOVE CAN DO
THAT!"
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
FIN
* "Strong, Gentle Children" by Don Damon, 1991
through the glare of the sunlight streaming into the cockpit from slightly to their right. How innocent
the day seemed, with the sun rising slowly over those gentle southern lowlands. It was then that he
thought about how just about anything could be hiding within the briny water below, perhaps
something dangerous, perhaps something not. A treasure, perhaps. Something to grow on, or hurt
oneself with. But there was nothing really bad or evil down there. It was just Mother Nature, after all.
Heero's pride seemed to be slowly reasserting itself. He didn't seem to want to talk about what had
happened on the beach, though he didn't draw away when Duo reached out and experimentally laid a
hand in his, where it was lying loosely next to the passenger seat. After a moment, they folded their
hands together, enjoying the touch.
* * *
They landed at Abbeville Municipal, checked the plane in and then drove Duo's car, a brand-new
Toru Saberblade (black, of course), to the nearest stop-&-rob to charge up the mag-batt. Heero
went inside to grab some coffee for them both and Duo stayed outside to watch the wire. After
paying, and brushing off the small talk coming from the man behind the register, Heero came back
out with the coffee to find Duo leaning back against the car with a thoughtful expression on his face,
his eyes half-lidded.
*beep* . . . . . *beep* . . . . . *beep* . . . . .
Heero walked over, pulled the plug from the now fully charged battery, and then turned around and
shoved Duo's coffee into his hands. "Drink this," he said. "I think you need it."
"Oh. . . thanks, Heero," said Duo in a distracted way.
They shared a comfortable, companionable span of silence there next to the by-pass and sipped
their caffeine. Then Duo cleared his throat.
"Um. . . Heero?"
"Hn?" Heero looked at Duo out of the corner of his eye.
"V'ya ever been to a church?"
". . ."
* * *
They found the church near the river downtown, a huge old Catholic cathedral that had had its
beginnings in the mid-19th century. It was a red brick edifice with a high steeple and was adjacent
to what appeared to be an ancient, crumbling rectory made in the late Spanish Romantic style. A
sign had been newly erected outside near the front sidewalk, a huge one that read:
Church of St. Mary Magdalene:
Erected in 1846 by Father Antoine Desire Megret,
founder of Abbeville."
They stopped just inside the front entrance and Duo dipped his hand in the basin of holy water and
made the Sign of the Cross. Heero began walking toward the sanctuary. Duo reached out and took
hold of his elbow.
"What is it?" Heero asked.
Duo pointed toward the basin.
"I'm not Catholic," said Heero. "I see no reason to emulate their rites."
"C'mon, man, it won't killya. When in Rome, y'know?"
Heero shrugged and went to the basin. It was easier than arguing with Duo, and he wasn't really all
that picky about religion anyway.
"See, you didn't melt," Duo ribbed him when he'd finished.
"Hn."
" 'Hn'," repeated Duo mockingly. "Straight from the Gospel of Yuy. 'Hn'."
"Back off, Duo," Heero told him. Duo immediately shut up. Heero sighed inwardly with relief. He
didn't want fighting between them.
They ended up in front of a rack of votive candles. Duo looked around. The carpet on the floor of
the sanctuary was a dull red and worn through in places, and the interior was rather ill-lit with only a
few dim, yellowish lamps overhead. The light coming in through the stained-glass windows had
taken on an overcast tinge, and by this light Duo could see an old couple sitting placidly in the back
pew, praying their rosaries.
The Church's fall from grace that had begun in the 21st century was now painfully evident by the
pieces missing from the carvings that depicted the Passion, which had once magnificently graced
the walls. Apparently there had been insufficient funds for renewal. Particularly disturbing, Duo
found, was that there was now no Simon of Cyrene to help Jesus carry his cross.
"I hear singing," said Heero.
Duo listened, and heard what Heero did: Soft voices, tuning themselves up, not quite a melody yet.
Children. He looked into the choir loft and saw a row of young faces, some peering down at them.
All looked much like the orphans he'd known on L2 colony.
The choirmaster entered the loft and took his position on the stand. He motioned for the organist to
begin. Both the organ and the organist were quite awful, but Duo suddenly realized he knew the
hymn they were singing, and realized also that it had now become one of his favorites. He and
Heero listened in wonderment as their voices rose, slightly out of tune, but beautiful, nonetheless:
"Strong, gentle children,
"God made you beautiful,
"Gave you the wisdom
"And power you need;
"Speak in the stillness
"All you are longing for;
"Live out your calling
"To love and to lead.
"Strong, hurting children,
"Angry and terrified,
"Open the secrets
"Your life has concealed;
"Though you are wounded,
"Know you are not to blame;
"Cry out your story
"Till truth is revealed.
"Strong, knowing children,
"Utter your cry aloud,
"Honour the wisdom
"God gave you at birth;
"Speak to your elders,
"Till they have heard your voice;
"Sing out your vision
"Of healing on earth."*
Duo realized halfway through that he was crying once again. He looked over at Heero and saw to his
amazement that the hymn was affecting his newly rediscovered emotions as well. Heero wasn't
crying yet, but it wouldn't be long.
Duo fished into his pocket and dug out two dollar bills. He put them in the box above the votive
stand and lit two of the candles, one for each of them. They burned alone there in the gloom, adding
their light to the meager supply that permeated the sanctuary.
He looked up at the window directly overhead. It showed Jesus Christ rising out of his tomb, and
dramatically, as the song was coming to an end, the sun came out behind it and lit up the scene with
brilliant radiance. Now their candles burned by themselves no longer.
Duo thought of his Father Maxwell, and of Father Felician from the Longfellow poem. He thought
about how they had given all they had for the sake of peace.
"They're not very big, are they?" Heero interrupted his thoughts from behind him. "The flames, I
mean." The flames coming from the candles were actually very tiny, providing only about half a
candlepower each.
Duo reached up and put an arm around Heero's shoulders, then he leaned over and kissed him on
the cheek. He almost laughed at the look of totally innocent surprise that came over his face.
~At least he didn't slug me,~ he thought. ~Oh, God. . . Could I love him any more?~
"S'okay," he responded, pulling himself closer and scratching the back of Heero's head, tousling his
mop of hair. "They're all they have to be."
And in the choir loft, the children began their singing once more.
* * *
"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks
to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but
you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but
you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for
violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness
cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only LOVE CAN DO
THAT!"
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
FIN
* "Strong, Gentle Children" by Don Damon, 1991