“Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim. And he saith unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it. When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and knew not whence it was: (but the servants which drew the water knew;)…”
-John 2:7-9
“And when he saw a fig tree in the way, he came to it, and found nothing thereon, but leaves only, and said unto it, Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever. And presently the fig tree withered away.”
-Matthew 21:19
“And he [Jesus] said unto them, Where is your faith? And they [The Disciples] being afraid wondered, saying one to another, What manner of man is this! for he commandeth even the winds and water, and they obey him.”
-Luke 8:25
“Quantum mechanics is certainly imposing. But an inner voice tells me that it is not yet the real thing. The theory says a lot, but does not really bring us any closer to the secret of the 'old one'. I, at any rate, am convinced that He does not throw dice. “
-Albert Einstein
Letter to Max Born
(4 December 1926)
Between a Rock and a Hard Place
“Momma’s gonna kill me,” thought nine-year-old Simon.
The failing sun burned into his hazel eyes as he blinked and rubbed out the dusty tears. By all accounts he was a good boy and had never come home so late from fishing. Simon knew his mother wasn't afraid for him. Every rock and tree for ten miles about was his playground. But when Momma said to be home before dark, she meant it. This was going to end with the switch for sure and two days of a sore backside.
He broke into an awkward trot, causing a pair of jell-o-y catfish to bounce a jaunty, squelching rhythm on his back. Simon could almost hear the whistle of Momma’s thin willow wand behind him. And though a whuppin’ scared him, it wasn’t near as bad as the thought of making his mother cry.
Tall thick grass stood at the water’s edge and he had to work through before stepping onto Laurel Glen road. But he did not follow it west toward town. Simon crossed over and pushed his lanky frame between two close-set pines, dropping down into Smuggler’s Gulch. The old dry wash had once been a water outlet for the stone-crushing mill, long since torn down. Only this very useful shortcut remained, running from Falling Creek Reservoir to his little house on the outskirts of town.
Decades of adolescent feet had worn a meandering path through the narrow vale. Two generations before Simon, moonshiners had used it to for narrow escapes from revenuers, or so the local legend said.
Simon had trod this path many times and so, despite the fact he was running downhill, he was shocked to trip and fall. He lay sprawled on the trail and cried for half a second. With a mouthful of dirt; two fish swimming in his shaggy hair; and a toe which throbbed harder than when Billy Joe hit him in the head with a baseball, Simon didn’t think things could get any worse. He rolled over and looked back to see what had brought him down.
There in the narrow path was a stone. It was smooth, oval and appeared like an undersized hen’s egg…except for one thing. It was blue; not your dull, old denim blue, but a bright, glowing blue. The thing reminded Simon of Ol’ Man Fitzgerald’s still after it caught fire during the Halloween party last year.
He caught up the rock, examined it for a second, and dropped the thing heavily into his pocket. Years later he couldn’t give a good reason why he kept it, other than kids don’t find glowing rocks every day.
Shaking off the “wimpies”, Simon worked himself out from the bottom of the gulch and turned again for home. Somehow being late just didn’t seem all that bad anymore. “Maybe momma’ll be doin’ the washin’ an not see me come in,” he said out loud to the fish. “Yea, or cookin’ supper.”
The thought of reprieve from certain death brightened his face immediately. Soon he wore a crooked smile and a very old but favorite tune his Grandmother had taught him began to beat rhythm with his trot, “Jimmy crack corn an’ I don’ care; Jimmy crack corn an’ I don’ care…”
His big toe began to complain loudly with each step. Coming to a halt, he massaged the offended digit.
“Damn! I wish momma would buy me some new shoes.” Even as he said the word Simon felt at once ashamed for cursing and yet somehow excited for having gotten away with it. A small thrill clawed its way from the pit of his stomach and rushed its escape from his mouth. He glanced left and right at the empty countryside and burst out, “Damn -damn damn-damn damn-damn-damn!”
Simon’s head hung guiltily, as if Ol’ Preacher Jim was about to jump out from behind the crepe myrtle. He glanced up; gave out a tiny snicker; and resumed his journey.
Just as the sun melted into an orange puddle which drained beneath the horizon, Simon began to think about tomorrow.
“Wonder if Bobby wants to gig some frogs before dawn? We could check out the haunted Walker
A steady thump against his leg reminded Simon of the stone he had found.
“And I could bust out Ginni Shelton’s window with this one”, he thought viciously. “Serve her right for callin’ me an’ momma a couple heathens just because we don’t go to church with her and her Grandpa.”
Simon’s mind began to wander on previously unexplored roads. And a whole world of mischief opened to him.
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