From "Wall of Twilight": Without a word, he sat behind the parapet with his carbine and looked out. A level of his mind scanned the countryside looking for movement, changes in the landscape, smoke, anything that could arouse his suspicions. Quite independently, another level considered the concepts of sin and evil. To him, sin meant causing pain to someone else; evil was pain in general. Evil was hurting and/or being hurt. When one managed to avoid hurting and being hurt, one found himself happy and at ease with God without ever actively seeking for it. This was morality for him - not what passed for morality in certain circles, what had caused Wickham to raise his eyebrows on learning that Marija was basically a prostitute. However, was this frame of mind ever possible? According to this definition, he was a sinner; he was also both a maker of evil and a victim of evil. He hoped his gnawing pain was enough to balance his sins. The pain of missing his wife; the pain of having hurt Regina with his attempt to avoid more pain, to the point of driving her away, at risk of her life; the pain of being a cheating husband, and also a man whose statistically probable death would shatter his family. And the pain of the war and the things Hitler was doing. And little Marija. There were evils that could not be helped; there were others that could be fought only to the price of more pain and hurt. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his brow on his arm. Life itself felt to him like a maze of pain, and it was an unfamiliar feeling for a generally well-adjusted man. You turned one corner to avoid hurt and ran straight into more hurt. From the bottom of his anguish, he took his right hand away from the carbine and, hidden from Nichols' view, crossed himself. He believed there was One who had come to take their evil upon himself - not just their sins, but all evil. From the top of his wooden watchtower, He could tell each of them: "Ye're a right bastard, but if ye repent I'll tak' it awa' fram ye. And I'll also tak' care o' the pain ye're nae responsible fer. Look at me, wi' a' these nails and flogging scars and crown o' thorns: ye think I dinnae know wha' ye're going through? Ye think I havnae suffered it a' already? Ye're nae alone, laddie. Aye, that's nae much comfort, but it's the best I can do." He found himself smiling and wondering what was more heretical, his ideas on evil or having Jesus talk in a Scottish accent. And it was a comfort. He hoped Regina, wherever she was, could find comfort the same way. |