The Fox and the Commander

“Greetings, Commander!” Frederick told the reclining man leaning against the big round boulder at the top of the hill.

“Hello, Freddy,” the man replied to the fox who had just hailed him. The reddish brown creature  flicked his bushy brush of a tail from side to side and curled up contentedly in the shade of a neighboring crag of stone, close enough to the knoll’s edge that he could gaze down on the scene his humanoid friend was watching with interest.

“You are still here, I see,” Frederick said lazily, glad to be out of the noonday sunshine. He had been in pursuit of an all-too-skinny quail cock who proved too fast for him. Later he would track the troublesome bird to his nest and obtain supper for himself and his family, whose tummies would be growling by then, no doubt. “Are the nomads still at it down below?” he asked.

“You know very well they are!” the man chided. “Since they set up their camp a week ago, you’ve been doing your best to pilfer whatever straying chicks you could from them, sneaking about and striking from the shadows.” He clucked his tongue good-naturedly. “If you don’t cut that out, I may decide to un-shade the sentries’ eyes and let them send an arrow in your direction!”

“All right, all right...I admit it,” the fox said with very little remorse. “But you can’t blame me for trying to snag an easy meal once in a while, can you? These tribes of yours might be your special favorites...though, for the life of me, I can’t imagine why...but you might spare an effortless morsel now and then for those of us who have to chase our dinner.”

“Oh, you poor, poor fox-ling! You have it so hard, don’t you, poor Freddy?”

“And sarcasm hardly befits you, Commander, sir!” the fox huffed half-heartedly. He squinted toward the rows of tents down on the plain below them, where women and children were awaiting the return of their menfolk. “But you are right...I watched the army set out earlier with all their strange stuff. To tell you the truth, sir, they didn’t really look very dangerous. Rumors have been circulating that they’ve defeated nation after nation, king after king, tribe after tribe. But you certainly couldn’t prove it by looking at them.”

“Frederick, what have I always told you about judging a scroll by its cover? Oh, their army is strong, alright. But it is a strength that doesn’t always show on the surface. You’ve seen rattlesnakes before. They don’t look very frightening on the outside, do they? But if one of them bites you, you’d be one sorry little fox-ling!”

“So, are you telling me that this nomad army is going to bite and poison their enemies to death, O mighty warrior?” Frederick snickered.

“Not exactly. But this hidden strength I’m talking about will win them the victory all the same. Did you see the fellow who’s giving them their marching orders?”

“Uh...you mean the one with the short beard and the fancy helmet? Always fingering his sword?”

“Right. Well, right after they set up their camp, I arranged a meeting with him and gave him the battle plan that will get them into the enemy’s stronghold. I assured him that if they obey my instructions exactly, then defeating the city would be like shooting ducks in a barrel!”

“Okay...so this daily march around the walls of the town is part of the plan, is it?”

“Yes. Once around the city each day for six days, carrying the ark and blowing the trumpets.”

“Oh. That explains all the noise. And the noise explains why all the birds I’ve been chasing have been so fidgety all week long...”

“Let’s not start on that again, Freddy...”

“Sorry. Anyway, how do you figure that marching and carrying the chest and blowing the horns is going to win any battles?”

“I told you. Doing this for six days will build up this inner strength I mentioned. Usually this strength can only be built up by giving people instructions to follow that are hard for them to understand.”

“Well, okay...those orders you gave them certainly qualify as hard to fathom! Now, after the six days, what will happen? The enemies will just give up and open the gates and surrender?”

“No, the city-dwellers will probably just laugh at them and throw things...”

“So, when do the nomads use all this inner strength they’re building up?”

“On the seventh day.”

“Ooohhh...what happens then? More marching, I suppose?”

“Yes, quite a bit more. On the seventh day they will circle the city seven times. Then all the people in the army will give a mighty shout!”

“...And?”

“That’s it. Then, the army gets to go on in and capture the city and destroy it.”

“Uh...did I miss something?”

“What do you mean, Freddy?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’? The wall, man! There’s a big, thick, tall, impenetrable wall around the city!”

“No, no, no, my little friend. The wall won’t be there any more. The power I told you about will just obliterate it.”

“What? No battering rams?”

“No.”

“No black powder?”

“Uh-uh.”

“No earthquakes or tornadoes?”

“Nope. Just their faith, Frederick. Faith will give them the victory.”

“I...I...can’t believe it!”

“Believe me, Freddy, they do. They believe it. That’s why they are marching...why they’re following all my instructions, word for word.

“And when anyone believes me enough to obey me completely, there is nothing their faith cannot accomplish.

“Walls turn into piles of ash...

“Waters divide in two and dry up...

“Giants are killed with a stone and a sling...

“Tens of thousands are slain by a handful of men...

“And,” the man said with a knowing glint in his eye, “little foxes are allowed to catch up with quick quails!”

“Okay, I can take a hint,” Frederick said, springing up. He trotted down the hill with one backward glance. “But I’ll be back tomorrow...day seven, right? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”


(1,057 words)

A Man Upstairs

There is a man upstairs...
a man who labored with sweat and strain--
agonized through a hell of pain
long years for his family.

There is a man, I know, up there...
one who said farewell to ease--
tasked himself like Hercules
for sisters and for brothers,
for weakened, wayward mothers
and the fathers who abused
their blessings, lost...confused.

There is a godly man upstairs.
I know his name--not yet his face...
He’s earned his rest--none more,
but he’s working still;
he’ll build until
my home is all prepared...
for once my heart had dared
to trust this workman’s skill,
I knew his work, in me, he’d fulfill.

There is a man like me up there
who could have saved himself
from slave’s humiliation, loss
of privilege and the bitter cross...
But no reward awaited him
downstairs--here where dragons roam
and drudgery finds its wretched home,
where his very kin berated him
and a felon’s treatment fated him
and a father to Hades traded him...

There is a re-born man upstairs...
one whose work could not be cursed
or ever undone or reversed,
but ever counts for me,
when all of mine, disqualified,
lies burned to ash...all swept aside.
This workman took a throne
upstairs where he, second to none,
works all things for my good,
hears my complaints and writes in blood
the notes that buy me free
and pledges me the golden key
to enter in and live with him...upstairs.

The Work God's Doing

The Work God Is Doing

I live in a very busy world. If I assume that our country, for example, has around 5% unemployment, that means that 95 percent of all the folks around me are gainfully employed and engaged in some kind of mental and/or physical labor for a sizable portion of their lives. This, combined with the other activity we engage in like housework, yard work, chauffeuring people to and fro, working out at the gym, sports and music practices, etc., I’d have to say that busy-ness is a definite constant in most of our lives.

But are most of us really enjoying this frenetic factor of over-occupation that we face every day of our week? Do we truly enter into these activities, this busy-ness, with a feeling of purpose and pleasure and joyful accomplishment? Am I ultimately satisfied with my vocation, my calling in life? Or do I see my jobs and duties as a dreaded drudgery?

Today I am considering the work performed by the absolutely BUSIEST Being in all the universe: God.

Think that building your deck or planning your last picnic was hard? God planned and designed and built an entire cosmos (earth, heaven, galaxies, the water cycle, subatomic particles, electro-magnetism, elephants, walruses and weasels all included) in a period of six days (see Genesis 1). Of course, He rested on day 7, but purely as an example for workaholic human beings who need to slow down a bit each week for worship and contemplation.

The Bible suggests that all three Persons of the Trinity, or Godhead, were involved in the creation of all that is. Paul’s New Testament letter to the Colossians tells us: “[Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible...all things were created through him and for him” (Col. 1:15-16). The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit were all involved in the work.

So, after the seventh day, did the Trinity merely stop working and take a permanent siesta, leaving the newly created universe to operate and run down like a cumbersome clock? Uh...no. Paul goes on to write about Christ that: “he is before all things, and in him all things hold  together” (verse 17). Think of it like the little Dutch boy with his finger stuck in the hole in the dike. If he were to remove his finger from that hole, the sea would cause the entire dike to collapse and the town would be destroyed. God the Son--the Lord Jesus Christ--is the very person we can thank for not only creating all that is, but for sustaining all that is (including our very selves) by the force of his powerful will and word.

This work of sustaining the very fabric of the cosmos is a work that is never over and God is engaged in it at all times. If by some whim he were to take a nap or a vacation, there would be no universe left when he got back on the job! God is the one who thought up the laws of motion and gravity and magnetism that keep planets and stars and molecules from flying apart...He got everything together and set them on their courses. He determines that they will continue to stay together and for how long. And, when it pleases Him, He will say the word and just as easily those things will pass away. “They will perish, but you remain; they will all wear out like a garment. Like clothing you will change them and they will be discarded” (Psalm 102:26).

So, knowing that God’s work is so awesome and powerful, knowing that nothing can ever thwart Him (Job 42:2), what kind of relationship should I desire to have with this very busy supreme Being who controls and sustains all things? Hopefully, I ought to seek a relationship of love, trust and obedience. But, if He is so great, and I’m so tiny and insignificant, how can my hope be realized? Many religions in the world teach that the best I can hope for is to cower in fear of my creator and just do my best to try and please him for the outside chance that he might at last accept me into his presence after I exit this life.

The testimony of the Bible, though, is so much better news than that! The gospel, the “good news” of Christianity, is that God Himself took the initiative to reach out to ungrateful creatures like me who actually did our best to ignore, reject and, in fact, despise our good and wise Creator. God the Son, the second Person of the Godhead Himself, took on a human nature just like mine, lived a life on this very planet during which He perfectly obeyed His Father’s moral demands, offered his life up as a substitution for sinners on Calvary’s cross, suffered the wrath of God my own guilt and rebellion had earned, died on that cross and was buried, rose triumphantly from the tomb in a glorified physical body, and returned to God the Father’s right hand in heaven. What a glorious work of love that was!

And did Jesus Christ end His work after He ascended to heaven? By no means! There is an activity of God called Providence that gets very little press in our day. Paul describes it in the book of Romans: “And God causes all things to work for the good of those who love Him, those who are called according to His purpose” (Rom. 8:28). It’s amazing, but true...those who love God and have found forgiveness through the Lord Jesus Christ--trusting in Him and His work alone to save them--receive this stunning promise that ALL things are being controlled by our Lord and Savior so as to lead ultimately to our good, our blessing. And it is His purpose--His good pleasure--to do this!

Philippians 1:6 tells me that God, “who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” When God begins to save a soul by His grace, He never leaves the job half done (as I so often do), or fails to complete it. He always sees it through. God is the consummate Workman. And even now, as I am learning to walk in His holy ways more and more each day of my Christian life, “it is God who is at work in [me] to will and to do according to His good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13).

The physical and spiritual work God is engaged in moment by moment, day by day, year by year, century by century, is awesome to contemplate and ought to inspire our hearts to greater and greater heights of praise, devotion, affection and obedience. He is never inactive, yet He is ever purposeful and joyful in His work. And the most amazing thing of all is that our Lord invites you and me, sinners He chooses to redeem and glorify, to enter into His work along with Him! Like a little child learning to drive a tractor while sitting on his daddy’s lap, I am called to “work out [my] own salvation with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12), and to “go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15).

Now that’s a kind of busy-ness that a forgiven rebel like me can find ultimate pleasure in...how about you?

Choosing...to Choose

Choosing...to Choose

Jeffries found himself in the midst of a maddening struggle--with himself. He couldn’t decide whether or not to marry Lisa, the love of his life. In his own words, Lisa was “too perfect...she’s too smart, too talented, too sophisticated, too everything but what I want.” What did Jeff want? A woman who could “go anywhere, and do anything, and love it!”

Convinced that Lisa would be unhappy sharing his life of world travel and rough-and-tumble adventure, and that he would be equally miserable sharing her tame, New York society lifestyle, Jeff risked losing Lisa by refusing to choose. Instead, he suggested to his beloved that they could “just keep things status quo.” In other words, maintain their dating relationship indefinitely.

In a sense, I believe this is what countless people are doing in terms of their spiritual lives and their eternal destiny. Like those two protagonists in the Hitchcock film Rear Window, a vast legion of people are riding the fence between two worlds, keeping their options open, maintaining the status quo...refusing to choose.

The Bible tells of an ultimate showdown between the power of Jehovah and the power of the false god Baal, which took place on Mount Carmel centuries before Christ was born. At that time Elijah, the true God’s spokesman, challenged the indecision and apathy of the crowds that had gathered for this battle of the gods: “How long will you waver between two opinions?” he asked them. “If Baal is God, then serve him; if Jehovah is God, then serve Him!” But the Scriptures report that “the people answered him not a word.”

Because of the spiritual backsliding of their nation, perhaps because of peer pressure or the awareness that the nation’s royalty was supportive of Baal-worship, the Israelites were unwilling to choose sides in this face-off. It actually took a supernatural sign in the form of fire falling from heaven and consuming a bull, a stone altar, and a trench full of water, to convince these wayward worshipers that Baal was a fraud (1 Kings 18:16-40). This account makes it plain to me that even the most privileged, well-informed, spiritually blessed people can regress in their resolutions to follow after the one true God of heaven and earth.

It occurs to me that the willingness to choose often takes extraordinary courage. And that courage is exactly what is in short supply in our own day. I have heard and read of many a young woman who is at wit’s end bemoaning the lack of willingness to commit in the young men they know. Typically, young women wish to find mates who will happily and eagerly choose them and commit to them for a lifetime. But it seems that the number of guys who are willing to leave their other options behind and forge ahead with a permanent choice is decreasing year by year. Even Christian fellows too often seem to be spinning their wheels, unable or unwilling to choose.

No, we certainly ought not jump into important life choices without due consideration of the pros and cons. But it seems to me that a real man or a real woman is one who has come to know him/herself well enough to make a firm, final decision when the occasion calls for one. And, after making that choice, follow through with it without looking back.

Moses was such a man. A man of decision and a man of faith.

The book of Hebrews in the New Testament, chapter 11 and verses 24-26, describes Moses as one who chose by faith to follow an extraordinary path, led by an extraordinary God, to do extraordinary things. Moses left status, fortune, pleasures and popularity behind in order to identify himself with a nation of slaves who had nothing but the promises of an unseen God to cling to. Why? Because by faith he looked ahead to the final reward.

What reward do we as believers in Christ look forward to? An eternity of joyful fellowship with our Creator/Redeemer, the Lover of our souls, who paid the price to deliver us from the unending wrath and punishment our sins deserved.

And what reward awaits those who refuse to choose Christ? Those who keep their options open so that they can “enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season” (Hebrews 11:25)? The ones who make the easy choice of falling in with the status-seekers, wealth-wanters, pleasure-panderers of this world? They have, by that wretched choice, or by choosing not to choose, condemned themselves to an eternity of misery and torment at the hands of a God of infinite justice.

By our consciences, by our instincts, and by the revelation of God Himself, we all know that our choices matter. We know that we are meant and called to choose following Christ over following the course of the godless world around us. By faith, the gift of our Lord and Maker, may we have the courage to make that choice.

Choose Christ. Follow Him today. Leave the world behind. Never look back, except to invite others. He alone is worthy of our worship...our trust...our choice.

2006 poem I'd long forgotten about...

Proper Hatreds, Lesser Loves

Lesser loves and proper hatreds
hail us from the sacred page,
radiating, from the Holy,
on His scroll with secret whisper,
rays of passion, beams of rage;

Children of the adversary
hate alike the flaming truth,
and the fiery fists that clutched it
with a glory they can’t fathom,
since the years of Satan's youth.

Choking on the smoke of molten
metal -- chains of after-death,
hearts that waste in rebel wonder
in vile joy still choose to challenge
realms above, from realms beneath.

Loving whom he should have hated,
trading paradise for pain,
men their freedom blindly bartered;
Eve-deceived and Adam-slaughtered,
Abel paid the price for Cain. . .

Mankind’s hatred missed the target,
shedding blood six oceans deep;
shame-filled lives are not worth living!
Who can counteract such carnage--
surely no slain race of sheep?

Noah left respect for laughter. . .
Abraham’s faith risked a son. . .
Jacob fought and dreamt of angels. . .
Joseph traded dreams for slavery. . .
Moses, royal rights for none. . .

Then, a suffering Rabbi taught us
how to love and whom to hate:
“Come back to the patient Father!
Sin and self forsake forever!
Kiss the Son, for time is late!"

Turn and in His pow’r resist
the undertow from "things above";
heaven waits and hell is burning.
In the light of Scripture, learn
each proper hatred, lesser love.


MNA 2006

...a poem contemplating what is over my head

Above

O edgeless sky
so blue in day, so black at night,
your wonders fly above my head...
I want to cry
in savage tongues, in learnéd tongues,
beholding you with swelling heart,
watching your vast containment,
crying out in joy
and dread.

O weightless clouds
in looming march, in mystic march,
you meet and scatter at your whim...
Your flight confounds
my wayward mind, my tiny mind,
beholding you with drifting cares,
wanting your grace and freedom,
tempted to compose
a hymn.

O crystal stars
all beacon flames, all known by names,
beyond all sanity you spin...
How tame you are!
for with your power, I’d be a horror;
but there you burn, there you turn,
brilliant, obedient watchers
singing agelong songs
for Him.

Mark N. Aikins
July 10, 2014

Of Rabbits and Dreams

Leonard Starski pedaled his old Schwin bike down the path that bordered his farm, a wide grin on his childlike face. George had promised him a big surprise for his birthday, and the day had finally arrived, and George had never, ever, broken a promise.

He loved riding his Schwin around their property--really loved it!--loved it almost as much as petting the rabbits. And, of course, the best part of the ride was when he stopped at the front gate and got to admire the sign one more time. Lenny was as “dumb as a fence post,” as George was fond of telling him, and couldn’t read or write. But George had learnt him by heart what was on that there sign:

HAPPY HUTCH PET FARM...GEORGE HUTCHINS & LENNY STARSKI, PROPRIETORS

Lenny got off the bike and gaped at the fancy black lettering with pleasure. He read it slowly, out loud, holding his outstretched pointer finger close to his eye and moving it back and forth as he pronounced each word. He had to start the last word three times before he got it right. Big words like that one were hard to learn by heart, but George told him it was better than putting OWNERS on the sign because fancy words made them more respectable. Respectable meant important, and their farm had to be important so that the government men would come and buy the special rabbits in the metal barn where Lenny wasn’t allowed to go in.

Lenny frowned for a minute. He didn’t like the government men much, and he resented the metal barn he wasn’t allowed to enter. No matter how many times--maybe a thousand times--he asked George why, George wouldn’t say. That was the one subject that put George in a bad mood. Once Lenny had asked, “George, when are you gonna tell me why them metal barn rabbits is so special?” George got in a bad mood and said, “Someday when pigs fly to the moon, you big ox! Now, quit asking me about them!”

Lenny didn’t mind when George called him “big ox” or “meathead” or “dumb as a fence post,” ‘cause later George would feel bad and would give Lenny extra fun chores to do around the farm to make up for calling him names. Lenny was a hard worker--always had been--even on all the farms he and George worked on during Depression. He couldn’t remember much of that...just the misty memories of walking long roads, working long days, stoking soft little creatures...and, of course, George’s sweet, shining promises that one day they’d have a place of their own.

It was only after the operation that Lenny’s memory became clearer. He’d woken up in a hospital filled with strange people, funny smells, and scary gadgets that buzzed and chirped and coughed and wheezed. He thought he was having a bad dream until George came in with a pretty lady in a yellow sweater. When he saw them, he stopped shaking and yelling and trying to break the straps that were holding him onto the hospital bed.

George acted kind of funny that first day Lenny woke up from the operation. He looked different, too, all dressed up like for church or a special party. But when he saw Lenny was calming down and smiling at him, George smiled back and pretty soon they were talking back and forth like old times.

The lady in the yellow sweater said her name was Agnes and that she wanted to ask Lenny some questions. He was nervous at first, ‘cause maybe he wouldn’t know the answers like in school when other kids would laugh at how dumb he was. But the lady, Agnes, she was so pretty that he didn’t mind talking to her. She sat right up close and talked to him soft and her voice was like a gentle song that Lenny remembered from when he was sleeping and dreaming. Lenny told Agnes this and she said, “How sweet!” Lenny didn’t tell her that she smelled as pretty as a big flower shop, though; he was too bashful to tell Agnes that.

The questions she asked him weren’t hard--just ones he could answer yes or no, like did Lenny remember this or that name, or this or that farm they’d worked on, or what happened that caused him to need an operation. Lenny felt bad that he could remember only a few things from before the operation, but Agnes said it was normal that he forgot things from before.

Lenny liked Agnes a whole lot. She was the only person who’d ever called him “normal.” Lenny had nice dreams about her but that was the only time he’d gotten to see her. When he asked George later about seeing her again, he told him she’d gone away somewhere, he didn’t know where, and she was awful busy helping other people having other operations.

That first day after the operation was a new beginning for Lenny and George. George said they’d been paid a lot of money by the government because Lenny’s operation was special--it was “sparrow-mental.” Lenny didn’t know what that meant, but because he woke up and was okay, the government would be able to help lots of other people who’d been hurt and maybe would die without the operation. Lenny asked George, “Will Agnes be with them other people when they woke up, like she was with me?” George said he didn’t know. But Lenny kept imagining Agnes being there with the others and wished he could be there with her too someday.

Those days since waking up in the hospital were one exciting day after another.  First they cashed the big check the government gave them and bought Lenny a bunch of new clothes. Then they stayed in a fancy hotel for days and days and ate like kings on a holiday. While they were at the hotel George got some special papers that they both signed to change their last names to Starski and Hutchins. George said that was so they could move to a new area that only the g-men would know about and bad people from before that operation couldn’t find them and make no trouble. Then they rode on a train and got to eat in a club car and sleep in a Pullman car and the engineer even let Lenny blow the super-loud train whistle when they came to their new town.

Back on his Schwin and wearing his wide grin once again, he let out a piercing “woo-woooo!” as the wind whipped by him on his way up the drive to the farmhouse. It was Sunday and soon George and Mrs. Baker would be coming home from church. He would sit in the parlor with the Sunday paper and she would go to the kitchen and fix their lunch. She’d keep on her good dress with the purple flowers, but put on an extra big bib apron to keep it from getting messed on.  George would be quiet all day and take a nap in his ratty old armchair. Then after sundown they’d listen to Lone Ranger and Fibber and Molly in the rec room.

Lenny didn’t like church much and almost never went. He enjoyed the musical part but George wouldn’t let him sing along ‘cause he said Lenny had a tin ear. Anyway, most of the talking and reading parts were too hard to understand, and lots of the folks there would look at Lenny in a funny way, like they were afraid he might blow up or something.

“George, you go to church every Sunday,” Lenny said once. “You sure must like it, huh?”

George took a deep breath and smiled a sad kind of smile. “I go ‘cause I need it, Lenny. Not ‘cause I enjoy it.” Lenny cocked his head and blinked at him.

“Look at it this way,” George went on. “You had to learn a bunch of things about farms and rabbits and all, so you’d be ready when your dream came true, right?”

Lenny nodded. “Yeah. I learned real good about them rabbits.”

“Well, said George, “there are things people like me need to know--things to learn about another place we dream about. We learn those things in church so we’re ready to go there.”

“What things, George? What dream place you talking about?”

George reached up and mussed Lenny’s hair. “Don’t worry about those things, Len. Believe me, you already know all you need to know.” Lenny just walked away scratching his head. How could it be he knew things those people in church didn’t? He sure wished he knew what those things were.

He hurried through the house to the rear porch where the pet hutches were attached. On the way he grabbed a couple carrots from the vegetable bin near the back door. Popping the cardboard lid off the barrel of rabbit feed, he filled the pouches of the cloth feed belt he wore around his waist, and stooped down low to enter the first hutch. Calling the rabbits by name, cuddling and caressing them, rewarding the most eager ones with a piece of carrot, scolding them gently when they refused their food, humming and crooning to them with his booming monotone--these were the moments Lenny cherished. He was in Paradise...living his dream. Methodically moving from hutch to hutch, he repeated the ritual a dozen times, finally unfastening the feed belt to hang it on the hook by the back door...

And then he heard a scream. High, shrill, piercing like a jagged blade...a rabbit scream.

“Lenny, stop! Lenny, dear, wait!” a voice chased him as he leapt from the porch in the direction of the metal barn. Mrs. Baker’s voice. She and George had returned. Lenny didn’t stop or look back. George’s blue pickup was parked by the barn next to a large black van with a long green stripe: the government men were here. They never came on Sunday.

Lenny stopped short at the metal barn’s side door, hesitating. He wasn’t allowed in here and didn’t want to break any rules on his birthday. But that scream...and he could hear voices arguing inside...and one of them was George’s. Lenny couldn’t make out what they were saying. He cracked the door open and put his ear to the crack. He smelled a sudden aroma...one that reminded him of music. His eyes widened and he almost called out her name. But the voices were clearer now and he forced himself to listen, still unwilling to enter the forbidden barn.

A voice he didn’t recognize said, “Relax, Hutchens, there’s no need for him to know...as long as we’re all willing to be reasonable.”

“Cut the crap, Billings.” George’s voice. “The point is, I would know. Our agreement was for medical specimens. Medical. We’re interested in finding cures...saving lives. Not improving baby food and beauty products.”

“They’re dumb animals, Hutchens...they don’t know what the experiments are for. You think they care why they’re being killed?”

“I care...We care--Lenny and me. This kind of research...it saved his life. When we thought he was a goner....”

“Right--when YOU pulled that trigger after he killed that woman--”

“Shut up, you bastard!”

“Hey, take it easy, Hutchens! Like I said, no need for anyone to find out about you two. That was the deal, right?”

“Right. But this order...it’s outrageous!”

“Why? The little brutes multiply fast enough, don’t they? You’ll recoup your numbers in no time.”

“But...what’ll I tell Lenny?”

Another voice, a woman’s: “You’ll have to tell him something. He’s been listening at the door.”

This was too much. Lenny opened the door wider and shuffled into the barn for the first time.

“Agnes,” he said, looking around and trying to smile, “are you my birthday surprise?” The barn was lit with bright overhead lights that buzzed like swarms of angry bees. The walls were lined with shiny wire cages, each cage with its own rabbit. There were shiny metal tables and cabinets here and there. It smelled a little like the hospital where Lenny had his operation.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Lenny,” George said, but he was staring at the floor.

“I know, George. But I heard one of them rabbits screaming and...”

“Go on, now. Go back to the house.”

“No. No, George. I been listening. I been hearing what you and the g-man been saying. And I been thinking about this here special barn...and them special rabbits. I think I know some secrets about them. I think they’re like me...sparrow-mental. Agnes is right, George. I wanna...I gotta...

“You have got to tell me the truth. I want to know...what you know, George.”

“Lenny...” George slowly raised his eyes to fasten them on his friend. The g-man turned away shaking his head and began looking at some papers on one of the shiny tables. Agnes was looking on with a sympathetic frown, her yellow sweater seeming to glow in the bright lighting.

“Lenny...” George began again, taking a step toward him, “remember when I told you that you know all you need to know about that other dream place--the place the church people dream about?”

Lenny nodded.

“Well all those church people are scared, Lenny. They’re scared they’ll never make it to that dream place because of things that they’ve done...bad, wicked, despicable things. They go to  church to get rid of those things. They go there to get washed...to get cleaned up. Otherwise God might not let them into that special place...you understand?”

“But, George...why do YOU go there? YOU ain’t done none of those bad things...right, George?”

George looked like he was about to go on talking, but Agnes walked up and took his arm, stopping him.

“Lenny, it’s really good to see you again.” Her eyes were glimmering with moisture like dew on morning grass. “It’s been three years since your operation and I’ve been checking up on you during those three years, even though you never knew about it.”

Lenny frowned and reached up to scratch his head. “But, Agnes...George said...he told me you was gone away somewheres else and--”

“George was telling you what I told him to say, Lenny. You see, you are such a special person, and the operation was so new and special, that someone had to follow up and observe you to make sure that nothing went wrong--to make sure you didn’t get sick or...”

“...or die?” Lenny squinted at her and quit scratching. He stuck both hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet.

“...or die,” she agreed. “Lenny, you had to be protected in a way that you wouldn’t know about. That was why I couldn’t visit you or let you know where I was. George had to tell you some lies so that you’d never suspect that you were being observed. If you knew you were being watched, you would have behaved differently and my observations wouldn’t have been worth as much.”

“So, now that I know you been watchin’...now...you can’t watch me no more?”

“Well, we’ll have to see about that. It’s been three years and nothing has gone wrong yet. My employers will have to determine whether or not to continue the observations, with or without my involvement. But...if they leave it up to me, I would want to be allowed to follow up your case personally, with your knowledge and permission. I would want to be your friend, Lenny.”

“That’s what...Wow! That’s what I’d want move than anything, Agnes. That’s my birthday wish...my biggest birthday wish ever!”

Then Lenny frowned and glanced around. “But...George...Agnes...I wanna know why that there rabbit was screaming. I don’t want any of them rabbits getting hurt none, George.”

“That was my fault.” Suddenly the g-man--the man George called ‘Billings’--spoke up. George and Agnes turned and looked at him nervously. “I can see I had the wrong idea about the nature of this place. Of this farm. I accidentally hurt one of the speci---er, one of the rabbits, that is. I’m sorry, uh, Mr. Starski...it won’t happen again.” He sidled up to George and whispered something to him Lenny couldn’t catch. George nodded and turned a smile back in Lenny’s direction.

“You...you gonna make sure nobody hurts none of them special rabbits no more, George?”

“Sure. Sure, Lenny. You can count on me. You don’t have to worry about them.”

“Right! And Agnes...Agnes is making sure that I’m okay from that sparrow-mental operation...”

Agnes and George nodded and glanced at each other, smiling.

“And me...” Lenny continued, his happy spirit returning, “I’ll keep on taking care of all them pet rabbits. So now we all know everything we needs to know.”