Longing

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 90 of 170 · 20 per page

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "Ay! When we can." "Yes! And we _will_! we _will_, won't we?" she leaned over, making the tea spill, catching his wrist. "Ay!" he said, tidying up the tea. "We can't possibly _not_ live together now, can we?" she said appealingly. He looked up at her with his flickering grin. "No!" he said. "Only you've got to start in twenty-five minutes." "Have I?" she cried. Suddenly he held up a warning finger, and rose to his feet. Flossie had given a short bark, then three loud sharp yaps of warning. Silent, he put his plate on the tray and went downstairs. Constance heard him go down the garden path. A bicycle bell tinkled outside there. "Morning, Mr. Mellors! Registered letter!" "Oh, ay! Got a pencil?" "Here y'are!" There was a pause. "Canada!" said the stranger's voice. "Ay! That's a mate o' mine out there in British Columbia. Dunno what he's got to register." "'Appen sent y'a fortune, like." "More like wants summat." Pause. "Well! Lovely day again!" "Ay!" "Morning!" "Morning!" After a time he came upstairs again, looking a little angry. "Postman," he said. "Very early!" she replied. "Rural round; he's mostly here by seven, when he does come." "Did your mate send you a fortune?" "No! Only some photographs and papers about a place out there in British Columbia." "Would you go there?" "I thought perhaps we might." "Oh, yes! I believe it's lovely!" But he was put out by the postman's coming. "Them damned bikes, they're on you afore you know where you are. I hope he twigged nothing." "After all, what could he twig!" "You must get up now, and get ready. I'm just goin' ter look round outside." She saw him go reconnoitring into the lane, with the dog and gun. She went downstairs and washed, and was ready by the time he came back, with the few things in the little silk bag. He locked up, and they set off, but through the wood, not down the lane. He was being wary. "Don't you think one lives for times like last night?" she said to him. "Ay! But there's the rest o' times to think on," he replied, rather short. They plodded on down the overgrown path, he in front, in silence. "And we _will_ live together and make a life together, won't we?" she pleaded. "Ay!" he replied, striding on without looking round. "When t' time comes! Just now you're off to Venice or somewhere." She followed him dumbly, with sinking heart. Oh, now she _was_ to go! At last he stopped. "I'll just strike across here," he said, pointing to the right. But she flung her arms round his neck, and clung to him. "But you'll keep the tenderness for me, won't you?" she whispered. "I loved last night. But you'll keep the tenderness for me, won't you?" He kissed her and held her close for a moment. Then he sighed, and kissed her again.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  But the more I thought about it, well, Julian could be wrong. He’d been Liesl’s oldest friend at Edwards. It was possible he ascribed to Phoebe the guilt that he, Julian, felt. If he were right, I’d have noticed. – The next night, I found I’d paused in front of Exhibit, a dive nightclub on Whiting Street that I’d heard Phi Epsilons extol. Like fishing in a kiddie pool, a pledge had said. Inside, spotlit girls pivoted on round tables. I had to push through a pit to get to the bar; when I slipped, the humid bodies, writhing, held me upright. I didn’t stay long, but I kept going back until the night I walked a girl, Leigh, from Exhibit to her place. She told me about the spin classes she taught for a living. I was invited in. She pulled off her shirt. Small, tanned packs of abdominal muscle shifted as she fidgeted with a satin bra. I forgot I—I have to— I couldn’t think of an excuse. The bra, tissue-pink, dangled from one strap. I left, apologizing: I went home, where Phoebe slept, sick with the flu. I’d helped her to bed before going out. In the trashcan, I caught sight of the torn plastic of a tampon sheath, and when I crept beneath the blanket, she turned toward me, still unconscious, wrapping me in limbs and warmth, this bleeding, feverish creature I didn’t know how to stop wanting. – I quit the Exhibit visits. I received an email from Leigh asking if I’d like to get a bite to eat sometime, but I didn’t know what to write. One day sped past, then several, until I thought it would be more insulting if I wrote, at this late point, than if I didn’t respond at all. The note might have been lost in transit, or she’d written to the wrong Will Kendall. – While I still had Phoebe with me, hot in my arms, singing Ella Fitzgerald back to life as I washed the dishes, I knew what I was losing, and it ached as if she’d already gone. The expected rift came in late March. I was home; she planned to have gimlets with Julian at the Colonial. I’d heard his reproaches tolling from Phoebe’s earpiece when he called. I miss you, angel, he’d said. Bix misses you. He says no one’s asked for his house special in ages, and how could you be unkind to Bix? I was in the kitchen, fixing a salad. I sliced a red onion lengthwise, then into minute squares. I swept the last diced bits off the knife: piled amethysts, I thought, a geode. I had the idea I’d show it to Phoebe. I’d finished most of a bottle of wine. She was in the bedroom, door open, trying to zip up a dress.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I heard your phone from out on the landing. I should have just let you sleep, but I wanted to see you— I spent most of the break in ice-piled Noxhurst, working extra shifts at the restaurant. In late fall, Paul had finally given me a promotion; I couldn’t have left during the holiday rush. I thought, too, that I should save a little cash while I had the time. I helped see Michelangelo’s through New Year’s Eve, an upheaval of white-peach Bellinis and smashed flutes, banderoles and tricolored spumoni (a Conti tradition, I heard Paul tell a table), then I flew home to Carmenita. It was the first trip back since I’d started school. I’d anticipated the pleasure I’d see on my mother’s face, but then, almost as soon as the plane landed, I wanted to leave again. Outlines softened, salt in liquid; I felt how easily I could dissolve into the life I’d left behind. Ripped flip-flops still held the stain of old footprints. She asked me to attend church. I said I couldn’t; I offered to drive, past the graffiti-blotched traffic signs I didn’t need to consult. I let her out, then left in a rush to evade old friends who, still God-wild, pitied me. Radio stations I’d left preset hadn’t changed. Last spring, while she was being held captive in the hospital, I avoided the house. Instead, I’d taken to driving around town at night to look in at people’s lives. Intact families sat in the blue wash of television light, tranquil, like drowned statues. I noticed, too, that she’d kept up the habit of red lipstick, the starlet’s hue my father used to like. He insisted she put it on, this high-effort cosmetic: she had to check it often, making sure it hadn’t bled. She wasn’t an attention-getting woman. Bold red was his preference, not hers. Each time she applied it, she might as well have been signaling across the miles that she still loved him. I talked as often as I could to Phoebe. She’d grown up in L.A., and though I’d made it up, perhaps because, I felt that this shared childhood belonged more to me. It was the upbringing she’d received by chance, while I’d picked mine: I cultivated it, and kept it alive. In fact, at first, I resented Phoebe’s theft of citrus trees and jasmine, the tennis balls whirling in full sunlight. But she accepted what I said without question; now, isolated as I felt, Phoebe’s belief helped me recall who I could be. By this point, we’d had to be apart almost a month. Phone calls spun out hours at a time.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Do anything, he said. He didn’t look up from his book. I tapped his wrist, impatient, until he put the book down. Take a class, if you want. In, ah, the fine art of Sichuan cuisine. I flinched; noticing, he said, fast, No, it’s what I’d do if I, I love Sichuan food. Phoebe, forget it. I’m joking! Just come. If you don’t go, I won’t. It was fine. I let it pass, though I heard what he’d implied, the insult left unsaid, that he’d enroll in a cooking class if he didn’t have his own, real pursuits. Well, he had a point. I saw them spin, like tops: a lifetime’s stack of plates I hadn’t been allowed to wash, whirligig red- gold globes of fruit I hadn’t peeled. I still couldn’t cut an apple without nicking myself. When I tried, knives slipped. Dishes fell, goblin- bewitched. The logic behind this upbringing: if I didn’t learn how to be in a kitchen, no one could keep me there. It wasn’t a spell. It was a gift, one I had put to no use at all. – In the spring, I learned my grades might prohibit going to Beijing with Will. I let it be what happened; I failed. I’ll miss you, I said. I kissed his hairline. He turned away, his forehead pinched, high. I didn’t like causing him pain, but I couldn’t have tagged along. I kissed him, again. I didn’t stop until he turned back to me, still so trustful: like a child, finding solace with the person who’d hurt him in the first place. I took Will to his flight, then I returned, alone, to Noxhurst. The suite locked shut. Its silence rang like an alarm. I sat on the futon, at a loss. I didn’t have a friend in town. The June hours swelled, humid, dull, waiting to be filled. At parties, listless bodies held iced drinks to hot, moist skin. The college had no air-conditioning, and I kept thinking I should get a window unit. If I bought it, though, I’d be obliged to haul it home. I’d have to install it. I thought of the time a pigeon had flown into my suite, how it had crashed, flapped, rattling around, the trapped bird too panicked to find an exit. It dotted the living room white with shit. I was shrieking; Julian, too. Liesl ran to the landing, but Will stayed calm. He caught the pigeon with an upended trashcan. Sliding a flattened shoebox beneath the plastic lip, he carried it out. If Will were here, he’d have long since solved the air-conditioning problem. Instead, I sprawled on damp sheets. I listened to flash storms, too hot to sleep. Will’s fund in Beijing required most of his time; often, he couldn’t talk. Julian was living in Manhattan.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  The silk-tied trio high-fived. But joke or not, I still couldn’t tell Phoebe I’d help, then claim I had no time to date, and I felt as relieved about what I’d promised as though I hadn’t also been the fool trying to split us apart. – I asked Bix if I could settle the tab. Phoebe offered to pay, but I said no, I had it. She waited with me for the bill. You have a lot of friends, I said. Do I? Well, even while we’ve been sitting here, I said. If you tallied up all the people who stopped to say hello. She glanced around, looking a little absent, as though she’d already started leaving. If anything, I think I know all the alcoholics, she said. – But I’m wondering if that can be right, if I met Julian in his lilac bishop’s garb when I also first heard about John Leal, or if I’ve combined multiple Colonial visits, all of them with bow-tied Bix mixing his gimlets, the nights melting like ice slivers into one God-struck evening. I think I’m sure, though, about this sequence. It’s possible these are just the details I’ve saved. It could be grief’s narrowed vision: I’ve noticed what I’ve lacked. I am certain that, after my first night at the Colonial, I woke up early the next morning. I had to study for an upcoming exam. Head aching, I was still puzzling through a problem set when I heard the dull roars of a crowd. I didn’t want to lose time; I resisted curiosity as long as I could, then I dropped the pen. I unlatched the casement window, pushing it open. Down on the street, crowns of heads bobbed, marching. No! More! Kills! No! More! Kills! Who was killing whom? Still in my boxers, naked from the waist up, I leaned across the sill into the cold, trying to make out the words on a sign. Instead, I saw, or I thought I saw, a pink hallucination, a large infant floating against light-blue skies. I blinked, then it was a puppet, held up with barbershop-striped poles. It lolled on its back, the fat strung limbs shining. In the news, I would read that the baby was ten feet tall, assembled from cloth and foam by protest organizers, and that the crowd was rallying against an abortion clinic that had opened in downtown Noxhurst; for now, as I strained, I could make out overtly Christian placards. Depictions of the cross, mentions of God. I watched the protest pass, sick with longing. Such a lot of people who still believed they were picked to be God’s children. The unreal baby jiggled its fists, as in the divine visions I once hoped to have, the marvels I’d thought possible. The nephilim at hand, radiant galaxies pirouetting at God’s command. Faith-lifted mountains. Miracles. Healings. I turned Christian in junior high, the first time my mother fell ill.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I know, he said, that you want me to tell you what comes next. That you might feel confused, even frightened. The truth is—but he paused. He sat up, looking into the open, perturbed faces. The truth. They’d each come to him broken, desperate for healing. Since pain takes changing forms, he tried to be what his people needed. In short, he’d reshaped himself in his disciples’ image. He picked up a handful of dirt. The soft, fine soil, silted from Christ’s blood. He glanced at the sky, now emptied. With a sigh, he upended his hand. The hole was left unsewn. The truth is— 36.PHOEBEWhile I look for the Lord, I’ve found Him. If I lift a stone, I’ll see Him beneath it. Cut a tree open, and I’ll have Him again. I’ve thought so often, Phoebe said, of the idea that longing should be allowed the chance to find its object. Since desire pleads to have more, I’ll inhabit that space. It’s a privilege to have loved: with each loss, I’ve gained practice in the divine. I haven’t given up loving my mother just because she died. If she’d taken a trip, the love wouldn’t end. It’s not so different, except that I haven’t known when, and if, she’ll return. But the Lord moves in the rifts. He fills the void. To the extent that I can be present with a want of the Lord, I’ll be with Him, too. 37.WILLGrowing up, I watched people try to ruin their own lives. In Carmenita, kids melted skin with polluted tattoos. They’d drive while high, headlamps unlit, in pursuit of invisibility. Haile Nichol, a friend’s cousin, had been dancing with lit sparklers in her mouth when she tripped. One slid down her throat. She died spitting light. Shooting potato guns, vandalizing police cars, they drag-raced in gullies and picked fights with giants—they, I’d have said, but here I was, in jail, sitting chained to a metal table: a child of Carmenita, bona fide. My head throbbed. I’d hit it, falling, when I ran. I still hadn’t been allowed a phone call. The door opened with a click, then Fitz and Hugh walked in. It turned out the man was Hugh; the woman, Fitz. Sitting first, eyes bright, Fitz leaned forward. I shouldn’t ask how you’re feeling, she said. Because, well, you did kick Agent Hugh in the stomach while tainting federal evidence, and that’s just in the past six hours. You’re in trouble, Will, but even so, I don’t want you in pain. Would you like medical attention?

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Plain lust, I’d have respected. Instead, I craved the postcoital talks, the truths told in bed. I ate pain. I swilled tears. If I could take enough in, I’d have no space left to fit my own. In turn, I couldn’t walk five minutes through Noxhurst without hearing a dozen hellos. Faces lit up if I walked into a room, the liking a light I could refract, giving it back. Phoebe, oh, I love that girl, people said, but it’s possible they all just loved the reflected selves. (Here’s a story she used to tell: once, I drank a bottle of my mother’s perfume while she was out of town. I was little, still too young to believe such a long absence could be revoked. So, I chased down what I did have, the love I’d lost distilled in scent. It worked, though, my mother would explain, laughing. When Haejin opened her eyes, I was there. I’d rushed to the hospital. They’d pumped the child’s stomach. I didn’t leave Haejin with anyone else for years.) Will, at first, was like the others. I was at a party again, dancing, when I spotted him. He stood next to the alcohol, his face a stranger’s. By this point, a month since I’d come to Edwards, I thought I’d met all the partiers. He held his plastic cup to his mouth a long while, his solitude obvious. It pulled me in. I shifted into his line of vision, but he kept looking past me, into the crowd of bodies. He lifted his drink again. Fine, I thought. I had a half-cup full of punch. Foam sloshed, poison-red. Still dancing, I moved close to him. I tipped the cup, letting punch spill down his leg. 14. JOHN LEAL Noxhurst, though, his group said. Of all the places he could have gone after Yanji, why had he returned here, to his old college town? But John Leal saw no need to indulge such questions. He’d had his troubles, it was true. The night he first left Noxhurst, he’d imagined he’d never return. I’ve since learned, he might have said, that nothing energizes like humiliation. It had rained his first day out of the gulag, the lines slanting like marionette strings. In each breath he inhaled, he’d heard the call of the dying Christ. But none of this merited saying. It would be weak to tell too much, to explain. It could mislead. The Lord eludes the whys. To insist is also a slight; give me, we plead, testing Him. In pursuit, we misprize. Lord, increase my bewilderment, they’d do well to ask. Instead, he told them he had been called back to Noxhurst, God wanting him here. Just as He wants all of you, he said, looking in turn at his disciples’ upturned faces. 13. WILL I’d felt, for months, as though I lived pushed up against glass walls.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  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. Nights, I was in the habit of spilling the bottle of prescribed sedatives onto the bedside table to look at the pills scattered white, like dice. I’d made the novice mistake of living downtown, next to the fund. The Financial District emptied along with its office buildings. I drifted the streets in the milk heat of late mornings. Taxis blurred past, roof lights signaling isolation.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  In His service, there wasn’t a single opening he wouldn’t exploit. No gambit existed that he’d have fancied beneath him; he would give, if it helped, anything. The Lord had peeled the flesh off His corpse. He had spread it as a bloodied veil upon this earth, a flailed red carpet to ease His people’s fall. Others might ask how long, but he could wait. Faith is a long patience. Minutes tremble, he told his group, with the hope of revelation. Each particle of dust breathes forth its rejoicing. The stripped Noxhurst trees spelled out the Lord’s writing, if they’d learn to see it. God is, not was. He, John Leal, had called them as heroes. The Lord had laid His hand upon their heads. 24. PHOEBE The night I came back to Noxhurst from Julian’s, Phoebe said, I tried calling Will. He was still in his office, in Beijing. The call wasn’t scheduled, but he picked up. He asked what was wrong. Nothing, I said, and he hesitated. He thought I sounded upset. Well, it’s hot, I said. Maybe that’s what you’re hearing. If you’re sure, he said. I told him I was, but I came home the next afternoon to find boxed peonies in the hall, a gift from Will. The lush, open-lipped petals, flaring signal-red, indicated he thought I’d lied. I left the bouquet in place. Outside, the light was harsh, startling. A high-bodied bus listed past, piping exhaust. I imagined going right, angling into its path. But I wasn’t going to walk into traffic; foolish, then, to pretend otherwise. – I still had peonies spoiling in the hall the June morning I opened a one-line email from John Leal, inviting me to his house again. Since the first time, I’d declined his invitations. Instead, to be polite, I’d had a drink with him, the occasional lunch. I’m not religious, I told him. I know that, he said. I’m just hoping to be friends. This time, though, I felt alone. I said yes. It wasn’t until I attended the third house meeting that I asked what had inspired him to persist so long. The first language of God is silence, he said. You’ll have to sweep the temple steps awhile before He’ll call to you. But He will. Phoebe, believe it or not, God tells me you’ll be essential to His plan. It’s the truth. In His name, yours will be magnified. – No, I didn’t believe in God’s plan. Still, I liked listening to him talk. It had so little to do with the life I’d known. I kept thinking I’d go to one last meeting, then quit. I went again. He noticed I fidgeted, and he advised I exercise, as they did. It’ll be good for you, he said. He sounded playful, but when I laughed, he didn’t. Unechoed, I heard an idiot, laughing at nothing. I stopped.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Hey, I called. I wanted to explain, so I jogged. With a slam, she rushed into a small house, out of sight. – It was late by the time I returned to the high-rise. I took a pill; I went to bed, but the sedative wasn’t working. In Noxhurst, Phoebe would have been next to me, her back displayed, intimate, the spine like rope. I felt tied to her as though by a physical line, its pull tightening with each night we spent apart. Upright again, I put the electric kettle on to boil. I tapped in the first third of Phoebe’s number before I set the phone down on the table. The last time we talked, she’d told me she wasn’t coming to Beijing. She’d begun spending time with John Leal again, I knew that much. I’d been right when I thought I glimpsed them in the dining hall. Then, while I was in Beijing, she’d gotten in the habit of attending meetings at his house with the group we met last fall, the Christians. On an impulse, she said. She was bored. Noxhurst was so dull, she said. All this, I’d known; now, though, she was also telling me the group had strict rules about attendance. If she missed meetings to travel to China, she wouldn’t be allowed back in. But what are you even doing with these people? I asked. These people? I can’t believe this. Who is John Leal—what is he to you? He’s a friend. You don’t know the first thing about him. I do, though. Fine, I said. Tell me where he grew up. In India. India? His parents built a charitable hospital in Calcutta. . . . because they’re, what, aid workers? Will, they’re missionaries. In the pause that followed, hiding I wasn’t sure what, I stood in front of the kitchen glass, watching street-level laborers dig. Jackhammers drilled into asphalt. Taxicabs jostled past the ruins, and then they pulled free. I knew that, at some point, I’d left Phoebe with the impression I was hostile to Christians. But what I hadn’t explained was that, if I went on a jog, I still heard Leviticus like a song to beat out the rhythm of each stride. If I walked out to a bare street, I panicked—afraid again, until I relearned not to be, that the God in whom I’d stopped believing had lifted His faithful up to His side, leaving the rest of us, who’d declined His pledge, to die. Toward the end, when I felt faith slip from me like the last remnants of a loved, radiant dream, I looked around during church services at all the believing fools, and I grieved with envying them. I used to think I valued truth more than I did the Lord, but I wasn’t so heroic. If I could have stayed, I would.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  b 2:4 Or languages , the Greek can have either meaning. c 2:9 Modern Turkey. d 2:33 Or by . e 2:34 In Ps 110:1 Heb Adonai . f 2:35 The earthly kingdoms will be subjugated at the inauguration of the kingdom of Christ. g 2:40 Or Escape . h 2:41 There were about 100,000 to 120,000 people in Jerusalem at this time, and even more at these festivals. i 2:42 Lit the breaking of bread . j 2:43 Lit every soul . k 2:44 One early ms does not contain were and and . Acts 3 a 3:2 Probably a reference to the bronze-covered Nicanor Gate. b 3:22 Or as He raised up me . The Jews understood Moses as a type of Christ (Messiah). Acts 4 a 4:6 Annas served as high priest A .D . 6–15. He was removed from the position by Rome, but continued to be extremely influential and was regarded by the Jews as de facto high priest even though others (his sons and son-in-law) officially held the office. b 4:6 Caiaphas (Annas’ son-in-law) served as high priest A .D . 18–36. c 4:6 Perhaps this is Jonathan, one of Annas’ sons. d 4:7 The Sanhedrin sat in a semi-circle. e 4:11 The cornerstone is the supreme foundation stone governing the structure of the entire building. All other stones will be set in reference to this stone. f 4:13 They had no formal religious training in the rabbinical schools. g 4:36 Barnabas becomes a prominent figure in the book of Acts (9:27 ; 11:22–30 ; 13:1–14:28 , etc.), and it may be for that reason that Luke briefly mentions him here, telling the reader how Barnabas came to be associated with the apostles. Acts 5 a 5:2 Ananias wanted everyone to think that he had turned over all the money from the sale, so secretly holding some back was essentially embezzling. If he had been honest and told Peter that he had kept some of the money, he would have done nothing wrong. b 5:17 This may refer to either Caiaphas (the official high priest) or his father-in-law, Annas (the de facto high priest). See note 4:6 . c 5:28 The reason the Council members refused to refer to Jesus by name is unclear, but may indicate contempt, guilt, or perhaps fear. d 5:30 Lit wood . e 5:34 Saul of Tarsus, later known as the apostle Paul, was among Gamaliel’s students. See 22:3 . Acts 6 a 6:1 Jews born outside the Holy Land who spoke the Greek language and had adopted much of the Greek culture. b 6:1 Native-born Jews who spoke Hebrew and/or Aramaic and lived according to Jewish custom. c 6:2 See note Matt 10:2 . d 6:5 These seven men had Greek names, so they may have been Greek in ancestry, language, or way of life; however, Stephen, in his defense before the Sanhedrin (ch 7 ), exhibited an extensive knowledge of Jewish history.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  c 28:3 Probably a sand viper (vipera ammodytes), whose venom is deadly and fast-acting. d 28:11 I.e. sons of Zeus in Greek mythology. e 28:13 Located about 150 miles from Rome in the Bay of Naples, near Pompeii, this was Rome’s main seaport. f 28:15 About 43 miles from Rome. g 28:15 About 33 miles from Rome. h 28:29 Early mss do not contain this v. The Letter of Paul to the Romans Romans 1 The Gospel Exalted 1 P AUL, A a bond-servant of Christ Jesus, called as an apostle (special messenger, personally chosen representative), set apart for [preaching] the b gospel of God [the good news of salvation], 2 which He promised beforehand through His prophets in the sacred Scriptures— 3 [the good news] regarding His Son, who, as to the flesh [His human nature], was born a descendant of David [to fulfill the covenant promises], 4 and [as to His divine nature] according to the Spirit of holiness was openly designated to be the Son of God with power [in a triumphant and miraculous way] by His resurrection from the dead: Jesus Christ our Lord. 5 It is through Him that we have received grace and [our] apostleship to promote obedience to the faith and make disciples for His name’s sake among all the Gentiles, 6 and you also are among those who are called of Jesus Christ to belong to Him; 7 [I am writing] to all who are beloved of God in Rome, called to be saints (God’s people) and set apart for a sanctified life, [that is, set apart for God and His purpose]: Grace to you and peace [inner calm and spiritual well-being] from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ. 8 First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith [your trust and confidence in His power, wisdom, and goodness] is being proclaimed in all the world. 9 For God, whom I serve with my spirit by preaching the gospel of His Son, is my witness as to how continuously I mention you 10 in my prayers; always pleading that somehow, by God’s will, I may now at last come to you. 11 For I long to see you so that I may share with you some spiritual gift, to strengthen and establish you; 12 that is, that we may be mutually encouraged and comforted by each other’s faith, both yours and mine. 13 I do not want you to be unaware, c brothers and sisters, that many times I have planned to come to you, (and have been prevented so far) so that I may have some fruit [of my labors] among you, even as I have among the rest of the Gentiles. 14 I have a duty to perform and a debt to pay both to Greeks and to barbarians [the cultured and the uncultured], both to the wise and to the foolish.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Knuckles burning, I got in the station wagon; I drove toward Reverend Lin’s house. It wasn’t the Sabbath, but still, with his sizable parish, the church should have been open— I parked several houses down from his. The street was quiet, lined with palm trees and tidied hedges. In the pale light, the lawns floated wide, like magic carpets, and I thought of Phoebe living here in the months before Edwards, grieving. She’d longed to escape; as had I, but here I was, still so God-haunted. I walked on blackened palm fronds, a tangled pile: I imagined lifting up the lush jumble of leaves and finding it was Phoebe’s hair, disheveled with morning. The stem of a frond shone as white as the part of her head. She’d raise a hand, then drop it, unwilling. I’d tease her out of bed since, having had the night apart, I’d want Phoebe with me again. No one replied to the bell. When I peered through a glass hexagon into the attached garage, I saw no cars. 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.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Meanwhile, glittering Coney Island was what I’d wanted. I hadn’t known, but she had. This time, I waited. The phone didn’t ring until late in the morning with my mother’s hello, barely audible. Is this a good time for you, Will? It is. We talked, and she told me she’d started a new job. It was one, then two, three, four; then five; then six o’clock. The doorbell rang. In a rush, I dropped my glass, but it was Leigh, looking uncertain. You don’t like birthdays, fine, she said. She held out a round tin, fingernails polished red. But even you have to like a fresh rhubarb tart. It isn’t a good time, I should have explained, but I asked if she wanted to come in. When Phoebe moved out last spring, I’d run into Leigh again, at Exhibit; since then, we’d shared a bed often enough that she might have expected to see me once I’d returned to Noxhurst. It’s been hectic, with school, I said, pouring the cask-strength bourbon I knew she liked. Ice slid in the glass. I meant to call, but I’ve had a lot going on. No, I figured. I just thought you could use a treat. I crouched to clean the gin I’d spilled. The glass had broken into several clean shards. Still, I wiped around the spot in case I missed a piece, and I thought of Phoebe, yes, but I was also recalling an earthquake I’d lived through when I was five, six. I’d squatted beneath the dining-room table while plates leaped from the shelves, white fragments like giant teeth gnashing toward us. With my mother’s arms around me, I felt how frightened she was, her breaths fast, but she’d sung to me, an upbeat Bizet tune with improvised English lyrics. She kept singing, heroic, to help me be less fearful, until the convulsions stopped. If I’d truly believed life began at minute zero— What is it? Leigh said. It’s nothing. I waited until she left, then I tried one last call. Phoebe’s father’s house was listed; he, too, had a landline. He picked up, to my surprise. I’d all but forgotten that dialing a phone could result in a live conversation. I asked for Phoebe. She’s at Edwards, he said. No, she isn’t, I almost said. Instead, I ended the call. I had no reason to trust him. He’d introduced them in the first place. When his office opened in the morning, I went to see Dean Pasch, the head of my hall. I waited; I looked out the window at a girl sporting a cowboy hat. She sat on the courtyard’s split-rail fence, talking with someone who, as I watched, pushed his hand beneath the back of her shirt. He moved up in slow circles. His forearm bulged from the girl’s spine, distending ribbed cloth until he exposed a tall swath of freckled skin.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  For I testify of you that, if possible, you would have torn out your own eyes and given them to me [b to replace mine]. 16 So have I become your enemy by telling you the truth? 17 These men [the Judaizers] eagerly seek you [to entrap you with honeyed words and attention, to win you over to their philosophy], not honorably [for their purpose is not honorable or worthy of consideration]. They want to isolate you [from us who oppose them] so that you will seek them. 18 Now it is always pleasant to be eagerly sought after [provided that it is] for a good purpose, and not just when I am with you [seeking you myself—but beware of the others doing it]. 19 My little children, for whom I am again in [the pains of] labor until Christ is [completely and permanently] formed within you— 20 how I wish that I were with you now and could change my tone, because I am perplexed in regard to you. Bond and Free 21 Tell me, you who are bent on being under the Law, do you not listen to [what] the Law [really says]? 22 For it is written that Abraham had two sons, one by the slave woman [Hagar] and one by the free woman [Sarah]. [Gen 16:15 ; 21:2 , 9 ] 23 But the child of the slave woman was born according to the flesh and had an ordinary birth, while the son of the free woman was born in fulfillment of the promise. 24 Now these facts are about to be used [by me] as an allegory [that is, I will illustrate by using them]: for these women can represent two covenants: one [covenant originated] from Mount Sinai [where the Law was given] that bears children [destined] for slavery; she is Hagar. 25 Now Hagar is (represents) Mount Sinai in Arabia and she corresponds to the present Jerusalem, for she is in slavery with her children. 26 But the Jerusalem above [that is, the way of faith, represented by Sarah] is free; she is our mother. 27 For it is written [in the Scriptures], “REJOICE , O BARREN WOMAN WHO HAS NOT GIVEN BIRTH ; BREAK FORTH INTO A [joyful] SHOUT , YOU WHO ARE NOT IN LABOR ; FOR THE DESOLATE WOMAN HAS MANY MORE CHILDREN THAN SHE WHO HAS A HUSBAND .” [Is 54:1 ] 28 And we, [believing] brothers and sisters, like Isaac, are children [not merely of physical descent, like Ishmael, but are children born] of promise [born miraculously]. 29 But as at that time the child [of ordinary birth] born according to the flesh persecuted the son who was born according to [the promise and working of] the Spirit, so it is now also. [Gen 21:9 ] 30 But what does the Scripture say?

• From The Decameron (1353)

  There was in the kingdom of France a gentleman called Isnard, Count of Roussillon, who, for that he was scant of health, still entertained about his person a physician, by name Master Gerard de Narbonne. The said count had one little son, and no more, hight Bertrand, who was exceeding handsome and agreeable, and with him other children of his own age were brought up. Among these latter was a daughter of the aforesaid physician, by name Gillette, who vowed to the said Bertrand an infinite love and fervent more than pertained unto her tender years. The count dying and leaving his son in the hands of the king, it behoved him betake himself to Paris, whereof the damsel abode sore disconsolate, and her own father dying no great while after, she would fain, an she might have had a seemly occasion, have gone to Paris to see Bertrand: but, being straitly guarded, for that she was left rich and alone, she saw no honourable way thereto; and being now of age for a husband and having never been able to forget Bertrand, she had, without reason assigned, refused many to whom her kinsfolk would have married her. Now it befell that, what while she burned more than ever for love of Bertrand, for that she heard he was grown a very goodly gentleman, news came to her how the King of France, by an imposthume which he had had in his breast and which had been ill tended, had gotten a fistula, which occasioned him the utmost anguish and annoy, nor had he yet been able to find a physician who might avail to recover him thereof, albeit many had essayed it, but all had aggravated the ill; wherefore the king, despairing of cure, would have no more counsel nor aid of any. Hereof the young lady was beyond measure content and bethought herself that not only would this furnish her with a legitimate occasion of going to Paris, but that, should the king's ailment be such as she believed, she might lightly avail to have Bertrand to husband. Accordingly, having aforetime learned many things of her father, she made a powder of certain simples useful for such an infirmity as she conceived the king's to be and taking horse, repaired to Paris.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Fiammetta having made an end of her story and the manful magnanimity of King Charles having been much commended, albeit there was one lady there who, being a Ghibelline, was loath to praise him, Pampinea, by the king's commandment, began thus, "There is no one of understanding, worshipful ladies, but would say that which you say of good King Charles, except she bear him ill-will for otherwhat; but, for that there occurreth to my memory a thing, belike no less commendable than this, done of one his adversary to one of our Florentine damsels, it pleaseth me to relate it to you. At the time of the expulsion of the French from Sicily, one of our Florentines was an apothecary at Palermo, a very rich man called Bernardo Puccini, who had by his wife an only daughter, a very fair damsel and already apt for marriage. Now King Pedro of Arragon, become lord of the island, held high festival with his barons at Palermo, wherein he tilting after the Catalan fashion, it chanced that Bernardo's daughter, whose name was Lisa, saw him running [at the ring] from a window where she was with other ladies, and he so marvellously pleased her that, looking upon him once and again, she fell passionately in love with him; and the festival ended and she abiding in her father's house, she could think of nothing but of this her illustrious and exalted love. And what most irked her in this was the consciousness of her own mean condition, which scarce suffered her to cherish any hope of a happy issue; natheless, she could not therefor bring herself to leave loving the king, albeit, for fear of greater annoy, she dared not discover her passion. The king had not perceived this thing and recked not of her, wherefor she suffered intolerable chagrin, past all that can be imagined. Thus it befell that, love still waxing in her and melancholy redoubling upon melancholy, the fair maid, unable to endure more, fell sick and wasted visibly away from day to day, like snow in the sun. Her father and mother, sore concerned for this that befell her, studied with assiduous tenderness to hearten her and succoured her in as much as might be with physicians and medicines, but it availed nothing, for that, despairing of her love, she had elected to live no longer.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Nights, I was in the habit of spilling the bottle of prescribed sedatives onto the bedside table to look at the pills scattered white, like dice. I’d made the novice mistake of living downtown, next to the fund. The Financial District emptied along with its office buildings. I drifted the streets in the milk heat of late mornings. Taxis blurred past, roof lights signaling isolation. One evening, as I walked home from the office, I saw a girl stumble, then fall. Leaning toward the curb, she threw up. I’d have kept walking, but she’d drawn people’s attention. Someone whistled, laughing. A group of loud men stopped to watch, swaying in place like a barbershop quartet. I bent down, telling the girl my name. I asked if she knew where she was going. I’m in a hotel, she said. It has a café called the Black Spotted Dog. The White Dog. I don’t know. It has no dogs. My girlfriends— She threw up again, gasping. Unsure what else to do, I held back the girl’s bob, thin curls clinging with sweat. She asked for water, her voice small. The tinted glass of a deli reflected our images. I went in. I bought a bottle of Evian. I handed it to the girl, and, still sitting, she tried a sip, spat it out, then poured the rest of the bottle on her head. Liquid gushed down the girl’s dress, splashed the tan slopes of slim legs. Holding the upended bottle, she wept. Exhausted, I helped the girl up. Lukewarm Evian rilled through my hands as in the baptismal rites I’d loved, and I recalled my mother’s smile rising from the lake, light striating the muddied blue. Phoebe pushing herself out of the pool, the wet flashing down in sheets. Medieval penitents so avid for holiness they’d swilled saints’ baths, a long tradition of lustral mania that led straight to the penitential cuts striping Phoebe’s back. Was this also faith’s aftereffect, the lingering taste for others’ histrionics? If so, I’d had enough. Where’s your hotel? I asked, about to hail a taxi. She named an intersection close to the seaport, a couple of blocks north. I could walk you there, I offered. She stopped crying, and stared. I don’t think so, she said. But I, those drunks are watching you, and— Who the hell are you? I provided my name again, but she recoiled, flinging off the arm with which I held her up. She thrust both palms out, a warning, as she backed down the street, toward the hotel. I stayed where I was. In the days to come, I couldn’t forget that storefront glass, the mirrored girl. This girl wasn’t Phoebe, I realized that, but I kept seeing a procession of girls falling down, long hair radiating into black haloes.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  51 Joseph named the firstborn Manasseh (causing to forget), for he said, “God has made me forget all my trouble and hardship and all [the sorrow of the loss of] my father’s household.” 52 He named the second [son] Ephraim (fruitfulness), for “God has caused me to be fruitful and very successful in the land of my suffering.” 53 When the seven years of plenty came to an end in the land of Egypt, 54 the seven years of famine began to come, just as Joseph had said [they would]; the famine was in all the [surrounding] lands, but in the land of Egypt there was bread (food). 55 So when all the land of Egypt was famished, the people cried out to Pharaoh for food; and Pharaoh said to all the Egyptians, “Go to Joseph; do whatever he says to you.” 56 When the famine was spread over all the land, Joseph opened all the storehouses, and sold [surplus grain] to the Egyptians; and the famine grew [extremely] severe in the land of Egypt. 57 And [the people of] all countries came to Egypt to Joseph to buy grain, because the famine was severe over all the [known] earth. Genesis 42 Joseph’s Brothers Sent to Egypt 1 N OW WHEN Jacob (Israel) learned that there was grain in Egypt, he said to his sons, “Why are you staring at one another [in bewilderment and not taking action]?” 2 He said, “I have heard that there is grain in Egypt; go down there and buy [some] grain for us, so that we may live and not die [of starvation].” 3 So ten of Joseph’s brothers went down to buy grain in Egypt. 4 But Jacob did not send Benjamin, Joseph’s [younger] brother, with his brothers, for he said, “I am afraid that some harm or injury may come to him.” 5 So the sons of Israel came [to Egypt] to buy grain along with the others who were coming, for famine was in the land of Canaan also. 6 Now Joseph was the ruler over the land, and he was the one who sold [grain] to all the people of the land; and Joseph’s [half] brothers came and bowed down before him with their faces to the ground. 7 When Joseph saw his brothers he recognized them, but [hiding his identity] he treated them as strangers and a spoke harshly to them. He said to them, “Where have you come from?” And they said, “From the land of Canaan, to buy food.” 8 Joseph recognized his brothers, but b they did not recognize him. 9 Joseph remembered the dreams he had dreamed about them, and said to them, “You are spies; you have come [with a malicious purpose] to observe the c undefended parts of our land.” 10 But they said to him, “No, my lord, for your servants have [only] come to buy food.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  26.JOHN LEALIt 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.PHOEBEIn 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. Poor Will. Paradise still burns his eyes, but he can’t get back in. It would be hard to witness others’ faith; he tried so long for his own. Though he’s lived in a state of lack, people often take what he’s lost to be nothing, a joke. Even his mother still thinks it’s a phase. His childish rebellion. He grieves, the absence more vivid to him than what’s present, while being forced to pretend he’s fine. It’s possible that, with time, the mask has sealed itself upon his face. John Leal says I should stop living with Will. But if I moved, I’d join the list of all those Will loves who failed him. One parent in Florida; the other ill, preoccupied with Christ. The God-shaped hole, Will calls it. He hears the church bells sing, but not to him. 28.WILLI exiled myself to the living room. The mattress on the thrift-store futon was so thin that its metal ribs jutted through. I slept on the floor instead, bundled in a plaid blanket. Late the fifth night, finding me like this, Phoebe insisted I come back to bed. No, I’m all right, I said. But you’re shivering. She pulled off the blanket; holding it like a cape, she took it to the bedroom. I waited as long as I could before giving in. She’d left my half of the bed unoccupied. Lulled by the shared warmth, I fell asleep. The following night, she started wearing more to bed than her usual cotton panties, adding a shirt, striped pajama pants, the clothed skin radiating heat, but still taboo. I couldn’t help imagining Phoebe with him. Paired, they flashed from the ceiling, shining billboard projections of his black-nailed toes fumbling up and down Phoebe’s muscled legs. He strained with effort. Thighs lifted to meet him, and he looped my girlfriend’s ponytail in his hand. With a hard tug, the way she liked it, he tightened the leash, Phoebe’s face shown smooth, fast, as if surging from the pool. –