Conversations With Dead People
Nov. 1st, 2010 02:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aaaaaaaagh_sky“Reverend Avellone?” said Ellen, blinking in the increasing light. “What are you doing here?”
“I could probably ask you the same question,” said the old man. “But I think I should ask where ‘here’ is first.”
Ellen started to answer, then stopped. This wasn’t the bathroom at Milliways. It wasn’t the Vault, either, or a tunnel in Lamplight Caverns. This was-
“This is the Long Tunnel,” she said slowly, reaching out with one hand to touch the cool grey steel of the walls. “I remember this place. I haven’t been here in years.”
The old man nodded, his shaggy grey hair bobbing. “You used to come here when you were a child,” he said. “In your imagination, when you couldn’t sleep.”
“It led to another Vault,” Ellen murmured, her fingers still resting on the wall. “With more people, far away. All different people.”
“And your mother.”
“Yes.” She stepped away from the wall. “I… yes. I thought…”
“’We’re born in the Vault’,” Avellone quoted softly. “’We die in the Vault’.”
“And we go to another Vault when we die.” Ellen closed her eyes. “This was the way there. Only the Overseer knew where it was, so when people died-“
“He took them here, and helped them down the Tunnel.”
“And the other Vault’s Overseer met them in the Tunnel,” Ellen murmured. “And took the dead person the rest of the way, and our Overseer came back alone. It… I thought it made sense. I was just a little kid- I’m sorry, Reverend-“
“It’s all right,” Avellone said, and might’ve smiled a little. “You were a child then.”
She exhaled. “Is it wrong that I wish I still was?” she said, eyes still closed.
“No. Nothing’s wrong with wishing,” Avellone said. “But wishing will never make things real.”
Ellen opened her eyes at that.
“We had a discussion once,” Avellone said, his gnarled, big-knuckled hands interlinked in front of him. “Do you remember? It was about God.”
“You were teaching me to be the next chaplain, Reverend,” Ellen said dryly. “We had a lot of conversations about God.”
“True.” Avellone smiled, and his face crinkled like a bit of drying fruit rind. “But this one, I think, you should remember. You asked about the surface, and about the War-“
“And you said there were some prayers that shouldn’t ever be said,” Ellen said slowly. “I think I remember.”
Avellone nodded. “What were they? Do you recall?”
“The first,” Ellen said, “was… the first was that I shouldn’t ever pray for harm to come to another. Because if harm was going to happen, it would happen, but we shouldn’t use God as our strongman.”
“That’s right.” Avellone loosened his hands a little. “The second?”
“Not to change,” Ellen said, “what had already been done. Not to say to God ‘please make my answers on that test right’, or ‘please make sure Mrs. Woods’ baby is a girl’, because God had already made his will manifest in whatever it was.”
“Also right,” said Avellone. “The third?”
“Any kind of bargain,” Ellen said, digging the buried lesson carefully out of memory. “Not to say, ‘God, if you do this for me, I will do that for you’.”
“Why is that one wrong?”
“Because that’s trying to strongarm the Almighty,” Ellen said. “Trying to make him do something for me. Trying to turn him into magic.”
“Also right,” Avellone said, and nodded. “And from there we spoke some more, for a very long time. And you finally realized something. What was it?”
Ellen rubbed at her face with both hands. She knew the next part; she didn’t want to say it. But Reverend Avellone was watching, and he would watch forever. For as long as they were both here.
“That He is all-knowing, and all-loving, and always with us,” she finally said. “But-“
“Go on.”
“All-knowing. Always with us. But not almighty,” Ellen finally said. “Because- Because no one who loved us that much could allow the War, if he had the power to stop it.”
“Because the story of Moses and Pharaoh is wrong,” said Avellone. “God didn't harden Pharaoh's heart. The one thing God cannot change is the human heart. When the human heart is bent on destruction, no amount of God’s pleading with us can change it. When the human heart says to turn away from the outstretched hand, no power of God can force us to take it and accept His grace.”
There was silence in the tunnel for a time.
“I shot those men in Paradise Falls,” Ellen said eventually. “After they had surrendered.”
“Yes,” Avellone said. “You did.”
“They might’ve meant it.”
“Maybe.”
“Or not?”
“Maybe.”
Ellen’s eyes narrowed a little at that.
“I’m not going to tell you, Ellen. I don’t know what they might have done. Nobody does, not even them. Their possibilities ended there. Yours go on.”
“Can I…” She wasn’t sure of the words. “How do I make up for it?”
“You don’t,” Avellone said, remarkably calmly. “What did we just go over? You can’t go out and do something and turn around and say ‘there, God, forgive me for what I did’. You can’t force His hand by your actions.”
“Then what do I do?” Ellen almost wailed.
“You believe,” Avellone said. “You believe in God’s forgiveness. You don’t ask to have what you did undone. You don’t try to justify what you did. You say, ‘this is what I did, and this is how it is, and this is how it is going to be from now on’. You don’t live your life to balance some kind of ledger of right versus wrong. You live your life to do the right thing as far as you’re able, because only you can do that. God can’t turn the human heart. He can only offer forgiveness, and hope that you accept it.”
Ellen opened her mouth, closed it; there was nothing to say to that.
“It will be a while, I think, before it sinks in,” Avellone observed. His tone was not unkind. “I hope you have the time for that to happen. I don’t know if you will.”
A chill ran over Ellen’s spine. “What do you mean?”
“Events are coming to a head on the surface,” said Avellone. “You had better hurry. You and your Paladin friend don’t have much time.”
Ellen blanched, and spun on one heel to run for the exit.
“I could probably ask you the same question,” said the old man. “But I think I should ask where ‘here’ is first.”
Ellen started to answer, then stopped. This wasn’t the bathroom at Milliways. It wasn’t the Vault, either, or a tunnel in Lamplight Caverns. This was-
“This is the Long Tunnel,” she said slowly, reaching out with one hand to touch the cool grey steel of the walls. “I remember this place. I haven’t been here in years.”
The old man nodded, his shaggy grey hair bobbing. “You used to come here when you were a child,” he said. “In your imagination, when you couldn’t sleep.”
“It led to another Vault,” Ellen murmured, her fingers still resting on the wall. “With more people, far away. All different people.”
“And your mother.”
“Yes.” She stepped away from the wall. “I… yes. I thought…”
“’We’re born in the Vault’,” Avellone quoted softly. “’We die in the Vault’.”
“And we go to another Vault when we die.” Ellen closed her eyes. “This was the way there. Only the Overseer knew where it was, so when people died-“
“He took them here, and helped them down the Tunnel.”
“And the other Vault’s Overseer met them in the Tunnel,” Ellen murmured. “And took the dead person the rest of the way, and our Overseer came back alone. It… I thought it made sense. I was just a little kid- I’m sorry, Reverend-“
“It’s all right,” Avellone said, and might’ve smiled a little. “You were a child then.”
She exhaled. “Is it wrong that I wish I still was?” she said, eyes still closed.
“No. Nothing’s wrong with wishing,” Avellone said. “But wishing will never make things real.”
Ellen opened her eyes at that.
“We had a discussion once,” Avellone said, his gnarled, big-knuckled hands interlinked in front of him. “Do you remember? It was about God.”
“You were teaching me to be the next chaplain, Reverend,” Ellen said dryly. “We had a lot of conversations about God.”
“True.” Avellone smiled, and his face crinkled like a bit of drying fruit rind. “But this one, I think, you should remember. You asked about the surface, and about the War-“
“And you said there were some prayers that shouldn’t ever be said,” Ellen said slowly. “I think I remember.”
Avellone nodded. “What were they? Do you recall?”
“The first,” Ellen said, “was… the first was that I shouldn’t ever pray for harm to come to another. Because if harm was going to happen, it would happen, but we shouldn’t use God as our strongman.”
“That’s right.” Avellone loosened his hands a little. “The second?”
“Not to change,” Ellen said, “what had already been done. Not to say to God ‘please make my answers on that test right’, or ‘please make sure Mrs. Woods’ baby is a girl’, because God had already made his will manifest in whatever it was.”
“Also right,” said Avellone. “The third?”
“Any kind of bargain,” Ellen said, digging the buried lesson carefully out of memory. “Not to say, ‘God, if you do this for me, I will do that for you’.”
“Why is that one wrong?”
“Because that’s trying to strongarm the Almighty,” Ellen said. “Trying to make him do something for me. Trying to turn him into magic.”
“Also right,” Avellone said, and nodded. “And from there we spoke some more, for a very long time. And you finally realized something. What was it?”
Ellen rubbed at her face with both hands. She knew the next part; she didn’t want to say it. But Reverend Avellone was watching, and he would watch forever. For as long as they were both here.
“That He is all-knowing, and all-loving, and always with us,” she finally said. “But-“
“Go on.”
“All-knowing. Always with us. But not almighty,” Ellen finally said. “Because- Because no one who loved us that much could allow the War, if he had the power to stop it.”
“Because the story of Moses and Pharaoh is wrong,” said Avellone. “God didn't harden Pharaoh's heart. The one thing God cannot change is the human heart. When the human heart is bent on destruction, no amount of God’s pleading with us can change it. When the human heart says to turn away from the outstretched hand, no power of God can force us to take it and accept His grace.”
There was silence in the tunnel for a time.
“I shot those men in Paradise Falls,” Ellen said eventually. “After they had surrendered.”
“Yes,” Avellone said. “You did.”
“They might’ve meant it.”
“Maybe.”
“Or not?”
“Maybe.”
Ellen’s eyes narrowed a little at that.
“I’m not going to tell you, Ellen. I don’t know what they might have done. Nobody does, not even them. Their possibilities ended there. Yours go on.”
“Can I…” She wasn’t sure of the words. “How do I make up for it?”
“You don’t,” Avellone said, remarkably calmly. “What did we just go over? You can’t go out and do something and turn around and say ‘there, God, forgive me for what I did’. You can’t force His hand by your actions.”
“Then what do I do?” Ellen almost wailed.
“You believe,” Avellone said. “You believe in God’s forgiveness. You don’t ask to have what you did undone. You don’t try to justify what you did. You say, ‘this is what I did, and this is how it is, and this is how it is going to be from now on’. You don’t live your life to balance some kind of ledger of right versus wrong. You live your life to do the right thing as far as you’re able, because only you can do that. God can’t turn the human heart. He can only offer forgiveness, and hope that you accept it.”
Ellen opened her mouth, closed it; there was nothing to say to that.
“It will be a while, I think, before it sinks in,” Avellone observed. His tone was not unkind. “I hope you have the time for that to happen. I don’t know if you will.”
A chill ran over Ellen’s spine. “What do you mean?”
“Events are coming to a head on the surface,” said Avellone. “You had better hurry. You and your Paladin friend don’t have much time.”
Ellen blanched, and spun on one heel to run for the exit.