Guilt

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 57 of 99 · 20 per page

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  11 “We are all the sons of one man; we are honest men, your servants are not spies.” 12 Yet he said to them, “No, you have come to see the undefended parts of our land.” 13 But they said, “Your servants are twelve brothers [in all], the sons of one man in the land of Canaan; please listen: the youngest is with our father today, and one is no longer alive.” 14 Joseph said to them, “It is as I said to you, you are spies. 15 “In this way you shall be tested: by the life of Pharaoh, you shall not leave this place unless your youngest brother comes here! 16 “Send one of you [back home], and let him bring your brother [here], while [the rest of] you remain confined, so that your words may be tested, [to see] whether there is any truth in you [and your story]; or else, by the life of Pharaoh, certainly you are spies.” 17 Then Joseph put them all in prison for three days. 18 Now Joseph said to them on the third day, “Do this and [you may] live, for I fear God: 19 if you are honest men, let one of your brothers be confined in your [place here in] prison; but as for the rest of you, go, carry grain for the famine in your households, 20 but bring your youngest brother to me, so your words will be verified and you will not die.” And they did so. 21 And they said to one another, “Truly we are guilty regarding our brother [Joseph], because we saw the distress and anguish of his soul when he pleaded with us [to let him go], yet we would not listen [to his cry]; so this distress and anguish has come on us.” 22 Reuben answered them, “Did I not tell you, ‘Do not sin against the boy’; and you would not listen? Now the accounting for his blood is required [of us for we are guilty of his death].” 23 They did not know that Joseph understood [their conversation], because he spoke to them through an interpreter. 24 He turned away from his brothers and [left the room and] wept; then he returned and talked with them, and took Simeon from them and bound him in front of them [to be kept as a hostage in Egypt]. 25 Then Joseph gave orders [privately] that their bags be filled with grain, and that every man’s money [used to pay for the grain] be put back in his sack, and that provisions be given to them for the journey. And so this was done for them. 26 They loaded their donkeys with grain and left from there. 27 And at the lodging place, as one of them opened his sack to feed his donkey, he saw his money in the opening of his sack. 28 And he said to his brothers, “My money has been returned!

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  9 “The bread of the Presence shall be for Aaron and his sons, and they shall eat it in a sacred place, for it is for Aaron a most holy portion of the offerings by fire to the LORD , his portion forever.” 10 Now the son of an Israelite woman, whose father was an Egyptian, went out among the Israelites, and he and a man of Israel quarreled and struggled with each other in the camp. 11 The Israelite woman’s son blasphemed the Name [of the LORD ] and cursed. So they brought him to Moses. (Now his mother’s name was Shelomith, the daughter of Dibri, of the tribe of Dan.) 12 They put him in custody until the will and command of the LORD might be made clear to them. 13 Then the LORD spoke to Moses, saying, 14 “Bring the one who has cursed [the LORD ] outside the camp, and let all who heard him lay their hands on his head [as witnesses to his guilt]; then let all the congregation stone him. 15 “You shall speak to the Israelites, saying, ‘Whoever curses his God will bear his sin [through his own death]. 16 ‘Further, the one who blasphemes the name of the LORD shall most certainly be put to death; all the congregation shall stone him. The stranger as well as the native-born shall be put to death when he blasphemes the Name [of the LORD ]. “An Eye for an Eye” 17 ‘If a man takes the life of any human being [unlawfully], he shall most certainly be put to death. 18 ‘The one who kills an animal shall replace it, animal for animal. 19 ‘If a man injures his neighbor (fellow citizen), whatever he has done shall be done to him: 20 fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth; just as he has injured a man, so shall the same be done to him. [Matt 5:38–42 ; 7:2 ] 21 ‘The one who kills an animal shall replace it; but he who kills a human being [unlawfully] shall be put to death. 22 ‘You shall have one standard of law for the stranger among you as well as for the native, for I am the LORD your God.’ ” 23 Then Moses spoke to the Israelites, and they brought the one who had cursed [the LORD ] outside the camp and stoned him with stones. Thus the Israelites did just as the LORD had commanded Moses. Leviticus 25 The Sabbatic Year and Year of Jubilee 1 T he LORD spoke to Moses at Mount Sinai, saying, 2 “Speak to the children of Israel and say to them, ‘When you come into the land which I am giving you, then the land shall keep a Sabbath to the LORD . 3 ‘For six years you shall sow your field, and for six years you shall prune your vineyard and gather in its crop.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I kept seeing the point in time, and choice, when I pressed Phoebe down against the floorboards. She’d flinched with pain, then surprise. I’d found it satisfying: I enjoyed frightening the girl I loved. I had hurt Phoebe more than they could. I wasn’t to be trusted. If I loved Phoebe, I’d leave the girl alone. Useless tears burned my eyes. I left when I could. – I sent Julian a note with what I’d learned about cults, after which, knowing Phoebe’s schedule, I did as she asked, staying away. With no sign of Phoebe, I kept finding I’d paused to gaze, instead, at a beige raincoat thrown across a bench; a girl in a striped dress. The dining-hall grand piano, its glossed lid hinged open. Piped-in Ella, scatting, had me at a standstill in the deli aisle. The bathtub drain clogged. I pulled out a black plug, the tangled hairs iridescent with soap-froth. She’d left lip balm in a pile of toiletries. I twisted open the black cap: the gel surface was still indented, rough with use. I inhaled the faint salt scent of Phoebe’s mouth, then sealed the balm. I put it beneath the sink, where I could find it. By chance, in late April, I saw Phoebe again. I was exiting the dining hall. In the rotunda, I saw my old girlfriend walking in. It was too late to pretend otherwise. Once we’d said hello, she fell silent. Others hurried past. She stood in place, face averted, until, at a loss, I asked about Julian. Julian, she said. Your friend, I said. Julian Noh. Tall. Korean. I haven’t talked to him in a while. I looked up, startled. I’d gotten used to the sound of Phoebe on the phone with him, the Julian who also stopped by without notice, pint of kimchi in hand, illegal Czech absinthe. He’d leave the gift in the kitchen before he hightailed it into the bedroom, taking hours of Phoebe’s time. But you love Julian, I said. She shifted an arm, a one-sided shrug. The rotunda light whitened Phoebe’s features as in an overexposed photo, already turning this, us, into the past. I apologized; she interrupted, head shaking. I should go, she said. Will, I don’t think you’ve even tried to understand— I caught sight of Phoebe one more time, that spring. She was crossing the quadrangle with John Leal, lit up then extinguished in pools of light. I watched Phoebe laugh. She had on a jacket I didn’t recognize: his, perhaps. It hid her small frame. I turned left; I let them be. – In June, I moved south, to Manhattan, for a hedge-fund internship. I worked long hours, more than I had in Beijing, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I solicited extra projects. I couldn’t fill what little time alone I had. I required pills, or alcohol, often both, to fall asleep.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  There, people knew who he was. His familial name inspired respect. He went again. Before long, he led services; he found an available lot, and helped build the house of God. He toiled. He hustled, until if, once in a while, he didn’t uphold perfect self-control: if he flailed, and shouted, it hadn’t been on purpose—was that it? I pained him with how fast I’d picked my mother’s side, and did he hope, with his periodic calls, to retrieve lost time? But then, late one night, as I was leaving the Litton Street house, John Leal let slip that he’d known I was rich. My mother’s savings, the life insurance: it was a small fortune, which I’d obtained through killing the person I loved. I didn’t go to the next Jejah meeting. I ignored John Leal’s emails. He showed up at my suite, knocking until I let him in. I asked him to leave. I was shaking. It wasn’t my father’s right to tell you anything, I said. I haven’t talked about it with a single friend, I didn’t tell Will— I know, he said. I do. Phoebe, listen. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. But, listen, your father talked to me about this a while ago. It was before I even realized I’d return to Noxhurst. He wasn’t confiding in his daughter’s friend. You and I hadn’t met, and he just wanted advice. Phoebe, he was thinking about you, the guilt you’ve carried. He worried. I’m sure he still does. It was August, the suite heat-swollen. I still hadn’t put in an air-conditioning unit. I wiped my forehead, and he asked if I’d take a walk with him. It’s cooled down, outside, he said. I didn’t assent, but when he turned to leave, I followed him. He kept talking. What you’ve inherited is a gift, he said. No, it is. This doesn’t mean you’re obligated to keep it. You could pass it along. Phoebe, others are also in pain, and can use the help. I’m not sure I could do that, I said. Yes. But I— You can. 25. WILL We followed him as he pushed a path into the waiting crowd. The protest hadn’t started yet, but wind rippled plastic-sheathed signs. Sunlit fetuses swung up, down, while flags flicked like striped tongues. John Leal halted; he spun, abrupt, and doubled back. I thought he’d tell us we’d taken a wrong turn. Instead, he butted his face up to mine, so close I felt his breath. Will, he said. Oh, Will. He’d learned, he said, that I was full of questions. So, I was confused about his time in the gulag—which, all right, it had been a bewildering time for him, as well. Given I hadn’t lived through it, how much more so for me.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Blinded, I lost control of the sedan: all this, I’ve admitted. I also said, though, that she died at once. She didn’t. I hit the truck, then the sedan slid along a railing. It flipped on its side. The next time I opened my eyes, she’d fallen on top of me. I asked if she was hurt. She didn’t respond, but she was still breathing. People outside kept shouting that the metal had twisted. They’d have to slice it open. But I had both hands free. I’d heard the stories about people finding inborn superhuman abilities, lifting cars to save trapped babies. I tried to push. It had no effect. She’d moved fast to put herself between me and the truck. In that split of time, she’d unbuckled the seat belt. She’d hurled in front of me. If she could do all that, I should at least be able to help pull us out. Instead, I sat in place. I waited while she bled to death. John’s said that Christ is with us, not beyond, in pain. To recall those I’ve hurt, to catalog the times I’ve failed, is also to learn how to forgive. Christ’s purifying crucible isn’t pain, but sin. Each loss includes its redress; each evil, its pardon. The truth is, I did crash. People lift cars. I claim this guilt. If all is possible for those who believe, if I, if you, can be so much at fault, think how powerful you and I will be. 33. PHOEBE The first time I played music for anyone else, Phoebe said, it was to audition with a well-known soloist. He didn’t think he wanted a child student, but one of my mother’s friends had urged him to give me a trial. Until then, I’d had no lessons: I sat at the piano because I loved what I could do. He stacked books on his bench. I climbed up, then I played as I always had. I stopped when the soloist pressed his hands into his eyes. I thought that, disliking what I’d done, he hoped to avoid looking at me. I didn’t care. I wasn’t sure I wanted the instruction; it felt artificial, like being taught to breathe. But then, he put his hands down, and I saw he was crying. He asked what I thought while I hit the keys. I told him that sound was trapped in the piano. I had to let it out. So, you’ve heard the piano’s soul shining through, he said. I couldn’t tell, at the time, what he meant. Now, though, I think he was right. It’s taken me a long while to recall what I was born knowing. I’ve visited the old Hilcox Street graves. People in those days died more often as infants, often within the first month of life. I’ve written down the inscriptions of children who barely lived. I’ll recite the names. What I’ve learned from grief is how superficial it is. I’m tired of being selfish.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Taped boxes stood heaped to the ceiling. I wondered about Phoebe’s piano trophies, if she’d kept or trashed them, all those gilded, first-place spoils. Once, I’d made the mistake of asking if her father had also insisted she keep playing. He didn’t attend a single recital, she said. Then, considering, she added, Maybe he wanted to, though. It’s possible he just wasn’t invited. I wouldn’t have cared, not at the time. I slid down, hitting sloped concrete, and then I crawled around to the side of the house, where I’d be less in sight. I didn’t think it was legal, being here. Ivied leaves starred a white lattice. Noticing a scrap beneath a wilted stalk, torn hazard tape, I picked it up. I spat on it, then rubbed it clean. Thin plastic rippled to the touch. I sat against the wall. The day the rest of Jejah’s warrants were issued, Jo Hilt had been located in a private hospital in Lott, Connecticut, receiving in-patient psychiatric care. She released a brief written statement: hoping, she said, to give what answers she could. I’d have predicted that, as he tightened control of his disciples, John Leal would have introduced the idea of public violence. I knew, too, how he’d have convinced them. Privileged childhoods, the lifelong habit of achieving: all the shared Jejah attributes others have found baffling would have helped him instill the bravado to do what God, in His slow-moving wisdom, had not. But Jo claimed it was Phoebe who’d first raised questions about Phipps clinic. In the spring, she’d begun asking if they shouldn’t be doing more. Local clinic protests had declined in size. Every few minutes, children died. If they could, for instance, disable abortion facilities, the action would save lives. It would be the rational extension of what they believed. Since no one but John Leal had spoken, to date, with God, Phoebe asked if he’d take the question to Him. Jo didn’t think he would: in general, he’d told them what to do, not the reverse. Jo hadn’t learned what happened next. In mid-April, Jo’s parents, Sybil and Elijah Hilt, had realized that, despite the large allowance she received each month, Jo had drawn extra funds from her trust. Disturbed, suspecting drugs, they drove up to school. While questioning Jo, Sybil had noticed whip marks on the girl’s leg. They disregarded all attempts to explain; against Jo’s will, they’d taken her home, to Darien. She cut her wrists, then was hospitalized. John Leal had rented the upstate cabin to use as a spiritual retreat, starting in June, Jo said. They’d all given their savings to Jejah. Phoebe supplied the most—everything she had, as John Leal pointed out.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  30.PHOEBEI’ve lied about the crash, Phoebe then told them. That night, in L.A., we did watch a cellist. I’d been crying, and I insisted on driving us home from the concert hall. Blinded, I lost control of the sedan: all this, I’ve admitted. I also said, though, that she died at once. She didn’t. I hit the truck, then the sedan slid along a railing. It flipped on its side. The next time I opened my eyes, she’d fallen on top of me. I asked if she was hurt. She didn’t respond, but she was still breathing. People outside kept shouting that the metal had twisted. They’d have to slice it open. But I had both hands free. I’d heard the stories about people finding inborn superhuman abilities, lifting cars to save trapped babies. I tried to push. It had no effect. She’d moved fast to put herself between me and the truck. In that split of time, she’d unbuckled the seat belt. She’d hurled in front of me. If she could do all that, I should at least be able to help pull us out. Instead, I sat in place. I waited while she bled to death. John’s said that Christ is with us, not beyond, in pain. To recall those I’ve hurt, to catalog the times I’ve failed, is also to learn how to forgive. Christ’s purifying crucible isn’t pain, but sin. Each loss includes its redress; each evil, its pardon. The truth is, I did crash. People lift cars. I claim this guilt. If all is possible for those who believe, if I, if you, can be so much at fault, think how powerful you and I will be. 31.WILLWith April rolling into spring, I tried one more time. I read all the advice I could find for people hoping to pull those they loved from cults. I emailed Tess, the girl who’d quit the group just before I joined, but the note couldn’t be delivered: she’d left school, I gathered. I attempted to enlist Julian, as well. He didn’t return my calls, so I borrowed a Phi Epsilon’s jeep. I drove to Litton Street, to the Jejah house. I intended to apologize, in person; as the literature advised, I wanted to let Phoebe know I could be depended upon. Full, positive support, but once I parked, I didn’t get out. The windshield sprouted buds of light rain. In a little while, I thought, but still the minutes ticked past. When I looked at my watch again, it was almost midnight, too late to ring the bell. I kept seeing the point in time, and choice, when I pressed Phoebe down against the floorboards. She’d flinched with pain, then surprise. I’d found it satisfying: I enjoyed frightening the girl I loved. I had hurt Phoebe more than they could. I wasn’t to be trusted. If I loved Phoebe, I’d leave the girl alone. Useless tears burned my eyes. I left when I could. –

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  13 ‘In this way the priest shall make atonement for him for the sin which he has committed in one of these things, and it will be forgiven him; then the rest shall be for the priest, like the grain offering.’ ” 14 Then the LORD spoke to Moses, saying, 15 “If a person commits a breach of faith and sins unintentionally against the holy things of the LORD , then he shall bring his guilt offering to the LORD , a ram without blemish from the flock, valued by you in shekels of silver, that is, the shekel of the sanctuary, as a guilt offering. 16 “He shall make restitution for the sin which he has committed against the holy thing, and shall add a fifth [of the ram’s value] to it, and give it to the priest. The priest shall then make atonement for him with the ram of the guilt offering, and he shall be forgiven. 17 “Now if anyone sins and does any of the things which the LORD has forbidden, though he was not aware of it, still he is guilty and shall bear his punishment. [Luke 12:48 ] 18 “He is then to bring to the priest a ram without blemish from the flock, according to your valuation, for a guilt offering. In this way the priest shall make atonement for him regarding the error which he committed unintentionally and did not know it, and he shall be forgiven. 19 “It is a guilt offering; he was certainly guilty before the LORD .” Leviticus 6 Guilt Offerings 1 a T HEN THE LORD spoke to Moses, saying, 2 “When anyone sins and acts unfaithfully against the LORD by deceiving his neighbor (companion, associate) in regard to a deposit or a security entrusted to him , or through robbery, or if he has extorted from his neighbor, 3 or has found what was lost and lied about it and sworn falsely, so that he sins in regard to any one of the things a man may do— 4 then if he has sinned and is guilty, he shall restore what he took by robbery, or what he got by extortion, or the deposit which was entrusted to him, or the lost thing which he found, 5 or anything about which he has sworn falsely; he shall not only restore it in full, but shall add to it one-fifth more. He shall give it to the one to whom it belongs on the day of his guilt offering. 6 “Then he shall bring to the priest his guilt offering to the LORD , a ram without blemish from the flock, as valued by you, as a guilt offering.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Before long, he led services; he found an available lot, and helped build the house of God. He toiled. He hustled, until if, once in a while, he didn’t uphold perfect self-control: if he flailed, and shouted, it hadn’t been on purpose—was that it? I pained him with how fast I’d picked my mother’s side, and did he hope, with his periodic calls, to retrieve lost time? But then, late one night, as I was leaving the Litton Street house, John Leal let slip that he’d known I was rich. My mother’s savings, the life insurance: it was a small fortune, which I’d obtained through killing the person I loved. I didn’t go to the next Jejah meeting. I ignored John Leal’s emails. He showed up at my suite, knocking until I let him in. I asked him to leave. I was shaking. It wasn’t my father’s right to tell you anything, I said. I haven’t talked about it with a single friend, I didn’t tell Will— I know, he said. I do. Phoebe, listen. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. But, listen, your father talked to me about this a while ago. It was before I even realized I’d return to Noxhurst. He wasn’t confiding in his daughter’s friend. You and I hadn’t met, and he just wanted advice. Phoebe, he was thinking about you, the guilt you’ve carried. He worried. I’m sure he still does. It was August, the suite heat-swollen. I still hadn’t put in an air-conditioning unit. I wiped my forehead, and he asked if I’d take a walk with him. It’s cooled down, outside, he said. I didn’t assent, but when he turned to leave, I followed him. He kept talking. What you’ve inherited is a gift, he said. No, it is. This doesn’t mean you’re obligated to keep it. You could pass it along. Phoebe, others are also in pain, and can use the help. I’m not sure I could do that, I said. Yes. But I— You can. 26. JOHN LEAL It wasn’t that Christianity fetishized pain, or exalted it. What point could there be in glorifying something so available? It would be like exalting oxygen. But the faith did recognize the potential effect of pain: how it can, with most of us, open what’s closed. Like cut flesh, we become available to excluded possibilities. Light enters in the injured place, he said. That the bones which He hath broken might rejoice. 27. PHOEBE In the next Jejah confession, Phoebe might have said to them, One night, I walked past a woman talking with a small boy in a white sailing suit. They’re waiting, she told him, in Korean. We should rush. The child trotted, obedient, his soles flaring. The woman bent down to kiss the top of his head. I’d stopped in place. I watched them, feral with longing. When a taxi slid past, I wished: Hit them. In pain, I wanted the world to feel as I did. So, Will.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I’ll do it, she said, but she hesitated, then sat. I filled the kettle. From the cupboard, I took down the aged puerh I’d bought in Beijing’s tea bazaar, a labyrinth I’d spent hours roving, intent on finding what she’d like best. It’s the king of teas, the merchant had explained, pouring me a sample cup. Unable to decide, I’d tried so much tea I’d had to piss outside, behind the building. I broke off a piece. I crumbled it into the mesh basket. Puerh leaves unfurled, like relaxing fists. You should have something, she said. I don’t want tea. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten. I hadn’t, I realized. In a panic, I’d failed to eat since morning. She could tell, by looking at me, if I needed to eat. I took Phoebe the cup. She leaned into my side. With an arm swathed in cashmere, the soft fibers prickling, she pulled me close. My breathing slowed. Once, not long ago, she’d pointed to a picture on Julian’s wall, a child with his arms flung out. Posed like a kite, she’d said. A kite, I repeated, the word unrolling a tableau of blanched sand. Heat. Light. Surfboards gliding, iridescent; swimmers beaded with sea foam. Harlequin kites spooled high, lolloping toward the sun. In that childhood photo, I couldn’t avoid noticing a crucifixion pose, while she saw—a kite. I’d loved Phoebe’s pagan mind, unpolluted with His blood. Phoebe, forgive me, I should have said, help me, but then she shifted to drink the puerh. Let go, I moved to sit at the table, a tall vase of white phlox dividing us. She inhaled steam. Wire hangers, I said. What? Bleach, I said. For millennia, women have tried to induce home abortions. They’ve drunk bleach, hot lye—even the Bible gives tips about this. Quinine. Hippocrates advises a prostitute to jump up and down. I told Phoebe about a high-school friend, Stu, who’d punched his knocked-up girlfriend in the stomach until she fainted. She asked to be kicked down the stairs. He’d done it, blinded with tears. The abortion she wanted was too expensive, and she had Baptist parents she couldn’t tell. Once, a local wit, calling in to a radio show, was asked to explain what people did for fun in Carmenita, California. Get pregnant, he said. The kind of people she, Phoebe, knew would always be able to obtain abortions, while fifteen-year-old children in towns like mine spewed— what? Phoebe shook, laughing. No, it’s just, Will, you researched this. The quinine. You looked it up, getting all these points in line. Tell me why you picked Christians, I said. Excuse me? You chose the one set of beliefs I wasn’t going to be able to stand. I’m asking if it was on purpose, if it’s something I did. I can’t fight tonight, she said. She pushed away the tea. It sloshed in the cup, without spilling. I’m so tired.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  By the time I returned to the kitchen, people had started shouting out bets on the Harris wife’s alleged price. Paul had appointed himself the betting-pool judge, and all those permitted inside the dining room found an excuse to stroll past the veal aficionado’s wife. Dishwashers thronged with line chefs into Paul’s office to examine his live feed. Bets got one-upped, cash flung down. The final purse came to more than nine hundred dollars. Let’s make it an even grand, Paul said, throwing in extra bills. He called the price. A waiter, Josh, won the pool. While he crowed, I asked if I could borrow a little cash. Man, just take it, he said, thrusting a fistful of his winnings into my apron pocket. I promised I’d pay him back, but he declined, laughing. You made this jackpot happen, he said. – Shift ending, I locked myself in the bathroom to count the night’s take. With what Josh had lent me, and what I’d make in the next shift, I’d have enough. I’d deposit the cash Friday morning. I riffled the soft pile of bills. The week after the Beijing trip, I’d returned from class to find my mother unconscious, holding an emptied pill bottle. I called an ambulance; while she was still in the hospital, in the psychiatric ward, the house’s water had been suspended. I hadn’t seen a final notice about the bill, but when I twisted the tap knob, nothing happened. She’d be released from the hospital in three days. If I didn’t fix the situation in time, I’d have failed again. I hit the useless faucet, but then I called the utilities help line. I negotiated. I explained. I paid what I could, and I had it all working before she came home. When I left the restaurant, I saw Isabel. I asked what she was doing. I have a ride coming. I’ll wait with you, I said, until it’s here. She objected, so I insisted. It was late, the street deserted. It’s not safe, I said. Do as you like, she said, turning aside. She fidgeted with a phone. I took out mine. I’d hoped to apologize, but Isabel’s playacted silence, this hostile charade—she didn’t know how much I needed the cash. It wasn’t as though I had a choice. The asphalt, still wet, shone with the night. A pickup truck fishtailed to the curb, and Isabel hurried in. 19. WILL When I finished the job, I returned from Beijing to Noxhurst. In the first flush of reunion with Phoebe, it seemed possible we’d only fought because we’d had to be apart too long. The previous spring, we’d decided to split an apartment; in August, she’d signed the lease on a small place above Café Azul. In bed, in the dining hall, we resisted even short-lived separation. I opened my eyes each morning to find a naked leg thrown across mine, my arm fixed tight across her stomach.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  The next time my father called, I picked up, for once. I said hello. He asked how I was doing. We talked a bit. I tried imagining what he’d felt: this indulged first son, servant-coddled, chaebol hidalgo, used to getting what he wanted. Then, upheaval. Humiliation. Left behind in Seoul, trailing his wife and newborn child to L.A. He had to beg a month, alone in a hotel, before she’d let him live with us. His English was book-learned, ill-suited to fast-talking L.A. If he wished to buy cigarettes, the shop clerk asked him what he’d said. He had to point, like a child. The small Korean house church across town might have been a haven, the one place where he felt valued, whole. There, people knew who he was. His familial name inspired respect. He went again. Before long, he led services; he found an available lot, and helped build the house of God. He toiled. He hustled, until if, once in a while, he didn’t uphold perfect self-control: if he flailed, and shouted, it hadn’t been on purpose—was that it? I pained him with how fast I’d picked my mother’s side, and did he hope, with his periodic calls, to retrieve lost time? But then, late one night, as I was leaving the Litton Street house, John Leal let slip that he’d known I was rich. My mother’s savings, the life insurance: it was a small fortune, which I’d obtained through killing the person I loved. I didn’t go to the next Jejah meeting. I ignored John Leal’s emails. He showed up at my suite, knocking until I let him in. I asked him to leave. I was shaking. It wasn’t my father’s right to tell you anything, I said. I haven’t talked about it with a single friend, I didn’t tell Will— I know, he said. I do. Phoebe, listen. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. But, listen, your father talked to me about this a while ago. It was before I even realized I’d return to Noxhurst. He wasn’t confiding in his daughter’s friend. You and I hadn’t met, and he just wanted advice. Phoebe, he was thinking about you, the guilt you’ve carried. He worried. I’m sure he still does. It was August, the suite heat-swollen. I still hadn’t put in an air-conditioning unit. I wiped my forehead, and he asked if I’d take a walk with him. It’s cooled down, outside, he said. I didn’t assent, but when he turned to leave, I followed him. He kept talking. What you’ve inherited is a gift, he said. No, it is. This doesn’t mean you’re obligated to keep it. You could pass it along. Phoebe, others are also in pain, and can use the help. I’m not sure I could do that, I said. Yes. But I— You can.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  But this is where I start having trouble, Phoebe. Buildings fell. People died. You once told me I hadn’t even tried to understand. So, here I am, trying. 2.JOHN LEALOnce John Leal left Noxhurst, halfway through his last term of college, he drifted until he ended up in Yanji, China. In this city, adjacent to North Korea, he began working with an activist group that smuggled Korean refugees toward asylum in Seoul. He’d found his life’s work, he thought. Instead, he was kidnapped by North Korean agents, spirited across the border, and thrown into a prison camp outside of Pyongyang. In the stories he later told the group, he said the gulag brutalities were bad enough, but at least they’d been expected. What astonished him was the allegiance his fellow inmates showed toward the lunatic despot whose policies had installed them in their cells. They’d been jailed because, oh, they’d splashed a drop of tea on his newsprint portrait. A neighbor claimed to have overheard them whistling a South Korean pop song. Punished for absurdities, they still maintained that the beloved sovereign, a divine being, couldn’t be to blame. At first, he assumed this was lip service, the prisoners afraid to say otherwise. But then, he thought of the refugees he’d met in Yanji, how they talked of loving the god they’d fled. They attributed the regime’s troubles to anyone but the sole person in charge. A month into John Leal’s time in the gulag, prison guards held an optional foot race, the prize a framed icon of the despot. In the confusion, those who fell were trampled. One child died of a broken spine. Through howls of pain, he shouted hosannahs for his lord. They weren’t lying, the poor fools. They believed in the man as one might believe in Jesus Christ. Some people needed leading. In or out of the gulag, they craved faith. But think if the tyrant had been as upright as his disciples trusted him to be. The heights he’d have achieved, if he loved them—if, John Leal thought, until his idea began. 3.PHOEBEI hoped I’d be a piano genius, Phoebe told the group, in the first Jejah confession she tried giving. She’d have sat in the circle, holding a kidskin journal. Though I’d driven Phoebe here, I was outside, going home. It’s a mistake. I should have stayed, but I didn’t. Instead, I’ll add what details I can. The full lips, spit-polished. She licked them, tense. I’m striving to picture it: Phoebe, talking. The thin, long-fingered hands folded tight. She looked down, inhaled.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  This is what I do, I thought. It’s who I am. I hurt those I love. In the morning, I left a note on Julian’s table. I woke up feeling unwell, it said. I took the first train back to school. 22.WILLI half-ran through Platt courtyard, taking the diagonal path. On the frozen lawn, a small group huddled around a picnic table, cigarette tips burning. I rushed past while someone slung a girl across his back. Help, she wailed. I paused, uncertain. Put me down, you big dolt, she said, but then she let out a howl that rolled into a laugh. I kept going. I made it to the Hilcox gate with less than a minute left. I’d switched a night shift to be here. I opened my coat to let in the cold. It was several minutes past the assigned time, then six. Fifteen. Don’t be late, he’d said. White disembodied masks floated toward me, cloaks rustling. Close those eyes, Will. I was blindfolded, wrists tied behind my back. Instructed to walk, I took a few steps, hesitant. I was pushed, lifted into a tight space. I touched rough, short-piled fabric, then a metal ridge: I’d been put in a car trunk. The chilled glass of a bottle nudged my palm. Drink this. I forced down a harsh liquid, and then I was told to tuck my head in. The lid banged shut. The engine surged, then settled. Tasting bile, I held it back. I’d attended Jejah meetings a month before John Leal said I could be initiated. In all this time, I’d taken part in nothing more alarming than long-winded Bible studies. I hadn’t heard a single confession. No one dug holes, and even John Leal’s talk of hearing God sounded like orthodox delusion, the usual born-again cant. But if Jejah evinced signs of being less fanatical than I’d thought, I wasn’t relieved. I intended to be let in. If I could learn what, exactly, had attracted Phoebe, which conjuring tricks he’d used, I’d be able to prove his show wasn’t real. Watch his hand, I’d explain. That flick of a wrist. I’d practiced His illusions, as well; expert, I could pull Phoebe free. The car stopped, and then the trunk opened. I had trouble staying upright. I swayed, blind, while invisible hands impelled me forward. I felt a rush of warmth: we’d gone inside. Sounds echoed; voices, chanting. I listened to find Phoebe, but I couldn’t. Still clothed, I was led into a lukewarm pool. I was told to take a deep breath, and strong hands pushed my shoulders down. I plunged in. The blindfold slipped. I saw the light-spangled tiles, John Leal’s blue-veined feet. It was peaceful, the water like soft glass. When he let go, I almost wished he hadn’t.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  b 24:1 Ordinarily taking a census would have been a routine procedure for a nation as a way of assessing taxes or conscripting and assigning men to an army. But in Israel none of this was necessary unless it was commanded by God, and David’s action was the product of ego and an uncharacteristic shift of trust and dependence from God to human resources (as Joab suspected, v 3 ). To his credit, David eventually realized this and came to God in repentance. c 24:3 Lit delight in . d 24:24 Later Solomon would build his temple on this site. The First Book of the Kings 1 Kings 1 David in Old Age 1 N OW KING David was a old, advanced in years; they covered him with clothes, but he could not get warm. 2 So his servants said to him, “Let a young virgin be found for my lord the king and let her attend him and become his nurse; let her lie against your chest, so that my lord the king may feel warm.” 3 So they searched for a beautiful girl throughout the territory of Israel, and found Abishag the b Shunammite, and brought her to the king. 4 The girl was very beautiful; and she became the king’s nurse and served him, but the king c was not intimate with her. 5 Then Adonijah the son of [David’s wife] Haggith exalted himself, saying, “I [the eldest living son] will be king.” So [following Absalom’s example] he prepared for himself chariots and horsemen, and fifty men to run before him. [2 Sam 15:1 ] 6 His father [David] had d never rebuked him at any time by asking, “Why have you done this?” Adonijah was also a very handsome man, and he was born after Absalom. 7 He had conferred with e Joab the son of Zeruiah [David’s half sister] and with Abiathar the priest; and they followed Adonijah and helped him. 8 But Zadok the priest, Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, Nathan the prophet, Shimei, Rei, and David’s f most formidable warriors did not side with Adonijah [in his desire to become king]. 9 Adonijah sacrificed sheep and oxen and fattened steers by the Stone of Zoheleth, which is beside [the well] En-rogel; and he invited all his brothers, the king’s sons, and all the men of Judah, the king’s servants [to this feast]. [2 Sam 15:7–12 ] 10 But he did not invite Nathan the prophet, Benaiah, the most formidable warriors, or his brother Solomon. Nathan and Bathsheba 11 Then Nathan spoke to Bathsheba the mother of Solomon, “Have you not heard that Adonijah the son of Haggith has become king, and David our lord does not know about it? 12 “Come now, please let me advise you and save your life and the life of your son Solomon.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I carried the plates to my table. I saluted fresh arrivals. By the time I returned to the kitchen, people had started shouting out bets on the Harris wife’s alleged price. Paul had appointed himself the betting-pool judge, and all those permitted inside the dining room found an excuse to stroll past the veal aficionado’s wife. Dishwashers thronged with line chefs into Paul’s office to examine his live feed. Bets got one-upped, cash flung down. The final purse came to more than nine hundred dollars. Let’s make it an even grand, Paul said, throwing in extra bills. He called the price. A waiter, Josh, won the pool. While he crowed, I asked if I could borrow a little cash. Man, just take it, he said, thrusting a fistful of his winnings into my apron pocket. I promised I’d pay him back, but he declined, laughing. You made this jackpot happen, he said. – Shift ending, I locked myself in the bathroom to count the night’s take. With what Josh had lent me, and what I’d make in the next shift, I’d have enough. I’d deposit the cash Friday morning. I riffled the soft pile of bills. The week after the Beijing trip, I’d returned from class to find my mother unconscious, holding an emptied pill bottle. I called an ambulance; while she was still in the hospital, in the psychiatric ward, the house’s water had been suspended. I hadn’t seen a final notice about the bill, but when I twisted the tap knob, nothing happened. She’d be released from the hospital in three days. If I didn’t fix the situation in time, I’d have failed again. I hit the useless faucet, but then I called the utilities help line. I negotiated. I explained. I paid what I could, and I had it all working before she came home. When I left the restaurant, I saw Isabel. I asked what she was doing. I have a ride coming. I’ll wait with you, I said, until it’s here. She objected, so I insisted. It was late, the street deserted. It’s not safe, I said. Do as you like, she said, turning aside. She fidgeted with a phone. I took out mine. I’d hoped to apologize, but Isabel’s playacted silence, this hostile charade—she didn’t know how much I needed the cash. It wasn’t as though I had a choice. The asphalt, still wet, shone with the night. A pickup truck fishtailed to the curb, and Isabel hurried in.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  The side of my face tickled. I touched it: I was bleeding. Once, in a Noxhurst club, Phoebe had straddled a mechanical bull, violating the posted rules by having it dialed to the highest setting. Torso flinging back and forth, she’d swung a hand high. When thrown, she yelled, as though in pain, and I pushed through the crowd to find Phoebe sitting up, a jean-leg rolled. Blood curled down the injured limb, like a prize ribbon. Let’s do it again, she said. I told Fitz I wanted to help. I was allowed a phone at last, so I dialed Paul. He sent a friend, Piero Neri, as counsel, but that wasn’t why I gave in. Not to placate Hugh, nor to avoid jail, prosecution. I wanted to be right about Phoebe; Fitz made it possible. If you believe what you’re telling us, she’d said. Fitz requested every detail I had. Begin with how you met, she said. I’ll figure out what’s relevant. I was hoarse, throat stinging, by the time she said I could go home. She’d be in touch. Until then, she said, you’ll have to stop trying to contact Phoebe. It’s important. Will, I’m being a friend to you. I’m asking you to promise. – During the following week, while I attended classes and counted baccalà fillets, I was always waiting until I could resume the real life I had online, staring into the laptop I’d borrowed, a glass ball of potential news. I held gin in my left hand; with the right, I kept clicking. One evening, I read about a Noxhurst mosque that had just been vandalized, a U.S. flag painted on the lawn, pipe bombs lobbed through its windows. Most of the ill-assembled pipes had fizzled without exploding, but a single bomb had erupted in the mosque’s front hall. Some local bigot, people assumed. Since no one plausible had claimed responsibility for the clinic bombings, anti-Muslim sentiment was running high. I showed up ahead of time to my next shift at Michelangelo’s. Finding Paul, I asked if he had questions about how I’d ended up in jail. He was inspecting shellfish deliveries. Without looking up, he said, So, the kid thinks I want to quiz him. Couple hours in jail, ta-da, you think it makes you fascinating. What am I, the fucking paparazzi? He slit open a box of live crayfish, and I said I thought he should be kept apprised of what I’d done. Since I work here, I said. I’ve told you bozos, he said, I’m up to date with all that needs knowing about you. You’ve got a secret that affects this place, if it’s my business, then I’ll be up to date. But this, first off, it’s no secret, and also I don’t give a shit.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  2 ‘Or if someone touches any [ceremonially] unclean thing—whether the carcass of an unclean wild animal or the carcass of an unclean domestic animal or the carcass of unclean creeping things—even if he is unaware of it, he has become unclean, and he will be guilty. 3 ‘Or if he touches human uncleanness—whatever kind it may be—and he becomes unclean, but he is unaware of it, when he recognizes it, he will be guilty. 4 ‘Or if anyone swears [an oath] thoughtlessly or impulsively b aloud that he will do either evil or good, in whatever manner a person may speak thoughtlessly or impulsively with an oath, but he is unaware of it, when he recognizes it, he will be guilty in one of these. [Mark 6:23 ] 5 ‘So it shall be when a person is guilty in one of these, that he shall confess the sin he has committed. 6 ‘He shall bring his guilt offering to the LORD for the sin which he has committed, a female from the flock, a lamb or a goat as a sin offering. So the priest shall make atonement on his behalf for his sin. 7 ‘But if he c cannot afford a lamb, then he shall bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons as his guilt offering for his sin to the LORD , one as a sin offering and the other as a burnt offering. 8 ‘He shall bring them to the priest, who shall offer first the one for the sin offering, and shall nip its head at the front of its neck, but shall not sever it [completely]. 9 ‘He shall also sprinkle some of the blood of the sin offering on the side of the altar, and the rest of the blood shall be drained out at the base of the altar; it is a sin offering. 10 ‘The second [bird] he shall prepare as a burnt offering, according to the ordinance. So the priest shall make atonement on his behalf for the sin which he has committed, and it will be forgiven him. 11 ‘But if he cannot afford to bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons, then he shall bring as his offering for his sin the tenth part of an d ephah of fine flour as a sin offering; he shall not put [olive] oil or incense on it, for it is a sin offering. 12 ‘He shall bring it to the priest, who shall take a handful of it as a memorial portion and offer it up in smoke on the altar, with the offerings by fire to the LORD ; it is a sin offering.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I helped Phoebe lie down. I forgot to be careful. She asked what I was up to, and I said, I’m celebrating. I’ve settled the problem with the restaurant: I found a solution Paul can live with— What restaurant? Who’s Paul? Even then, I still could have fixed the mistake. But in the low-wattage lamplight, Phoebe’s face was shining. It floated like a reflection, detached, the pale, thin shape I knew as I did my own. I’m tired of lying, I said. I explained about Paul. I waited tables at a place called Michelangelo’s. Each time I claimed to be in a library carrel, I’d had to go to the restaurant. I didn’t have a carrel. I studied at home. She’d known about my mother’s illness, the pills; I’d told Phoebe my father left us while I was on a mission trip to Beijing, but now I outlined what had followed. The financial problems. Debt; going bankrupt. Double-shift nights. The profound shame of owing money in a small town. I talked about Carmenita. The first minutes on campus, when I saw the sunlit lawn unrolled. I’ve wanted to tell you, I said. I didn’t know how to explain. I’d have told you the truth from the start if I’d known I, sometimes I thought you guessed, but you— No, you don’t— —too considerate, or— Will, don’t fucking pretend I was in on this. That’s not what I’m saying. The fact that you lied to me for months instead of telling me where you’re from— She zipped on her boots, then left. I called, but she didn’t pick up; I left messages, apologizing. The next morning, when I went to Phoebe’s suite, she refused to let me in. I went home. I waited. I stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. I tried a sedative, prescribed at the student clinic. It had no effect. Drunks traversed the quadrangle, the shouts and songs echoing through closed glass. I should get up, I thought, but then Phoebe stood across the lawn in a gilded dress. Pale limbs, exposed, were gleaming. But aren’t you chilled, I wanted to ask. The crowd swelled. Phoebe, I called, frantic, trying to keep the girl in sight. In spite of the cold, they all stripped down. Carnival masks blossomed in the field of skin; bodies mingled, and then I woke up again. The days lengthened, inflating into a full week alone, without Phoebe. Each night, I attended parties. I hoped she’d be there.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  4 David’s men said to him, “Behold, this is the day of which the LORD said to you, ‘Behold, I will hand over your enemy to you, and you shall do to him as seems good to you.’ ” Then David arose [in the darkness] and stealthily cut off the hem (edge) of Saul’s robe. 5 Afterward, David’s d conscience bothered him because he had cut off the hem of Saul’s robe. 6 He said to his men, “The LORD forbid that I should do this thing to my master, the LORD ’s anointed, to put out my hand against him, since he is the anointed of the LORD .” 7 So David strongly rebuked his men with these words and did not let them rise up against Saul. Saul got up, left the cave and went on his way. 8 Then David also got up afterward and went out of the cave and called after Saul, saying, “My lord the king!” And when Saul looked behind him, David bowed with his face to the ground and lay himself face down. 9 David said to Saul, “Why do you listen to the words of men who say, ‘David seeks to harm you?’ 10 “Behold, your eyes have seen today how the LORD had given you into my hand in the cave. Some told me to kill you, but I spared you; I said, ‘I will not reach out my hand against my lord, for he is the LORD ’s anointed.’ 11 “Look, my father! Indeed, see the hem of your robe in my hand! Since I cut off the hem of your robe and did not kill you, know and understand [without question] that there is no evil or treason in my hands. I have not sinned against you, though you are lying in wait to take my life. 12 “May the LORD judge between me and you; and may the LORD avenge me on you; but my hand shall not be against you. 13 “As the proverb of the ancients says, ‘Out of the wicked comes wickedness’; but my hand shall not be against you. 14 “After whom has the king of Israel come out? Whom do you pursue [with three thousand men]? A dead dog, a single flea? 15 “May the LORD be the judge and render judgment between me and you; and may He see and plead my cause and vindicate me by saving me from your hand.” [Ps 142 ] 16 When David had finished saying these words to Saul, Saul said, “Is this your voice, my son David?” Then Saul raised his voice and wept. 17 He said to David, “You are more righteous and upright [in God’s eyes] than I; for you have done good to me, but I have done evil to you. 18 “You have declared today the good that you have done to me, for when the LORD put me into your hand, you did not kill me.