Steven James - Opening Moves

Joshua had never heard his father speak like this and it felt like he was becoming a part of something very special, a part of his father’s grown-up world, almost as if he was being let in on a great secret, and he found it thrilling to know such big and hidden things.

His father led him toward the far side of the barn and Joshua thought he might have heard another sound in addition to the mice, but he wasn’t sure. He was old enough to know that barns, even when they’re empty, always seem to whisper, as if the animals that have lived and died inside them have never left. Animal ghosts, he thought to himself, that never sleep.

Sunlight crept through the narrow cracks between the boards on the sides of the barn. Shafts of light, cutting through the darkness. The streaks of sunlight were filled with dust motes and wandering flecks of hay disturbed by their movement as the two of them passed through the barn.

“Even the sun?” Joshua asked.

“The sun?”

“Will God kill the sun?”

“Yes. Someday far in the future. Even the sun. There will only be darkness at the end of all things.”

Joshua thought about that. “But what matters then? I mean, if everything just dies? What we build or make or learn, if it’s all just gone?”

His father didn’t answer right away. “This moment matters.”

“And I guess it’s okay, though, if we go to heaven, right? To be with Mom?”

His father didn’t reply and Joshua took it as some sort of rebuke, that mentioning his mom or heaven was somehow something bad and he did not bring them up again.

He stood beside his father, half in the sunlight that would one day die, half in the shadows that would not.

“Son,” his father said, “I’ve never shown you the place beneath the barn. The cellar. You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

Another secret.

“Yes, sir.”

His father paced across the stale, dry hay. Tiny slivers of straw dusted up in small clouds around his feet as he walked.

Joshua followed him to the corner of the barn.

It lay mostly in shadows. Joshua watched as his father swept his boot across the straw and, instead of simply hearing the crinkle of it brushing aside, he also heard the rough clatter of a wooden plank.

And then he heard something else. A muffled sound, somewhere beneath the boards.

“This is a very special place, Joshua. No one knows it’s here.”

Joshua wondered if his mother had known about it before she died three years ago. Wondered, but said nothing.

“But,” his father went on, “I want you to know about it. You’re the only one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re big enough to keep a secret?”

“Yes, sir.”

Joshua’s father brushed some more of the straw away, revealing a wooden trapdoor about three feet wide and three feet long. He uncovered a latch that had been padlocked shut, then removed a key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. “I’m bringing you here because it’s time you learned about the special things. You’re old enough now.” His father clicked open the lock and set it aside. “Aren’t you, Son?”

He looked at Joshua expectantly.

“Yes, sir.”

His father slid the last bits of straw aside, revealing a large metal ring attached to one of the boards. Then he grasped it firmly, yanked open the trapdoor, and stepped to the side.

A black square gaped open in the ground before Joshua. Wooden steps descended and then disappeared into the cool darkness.

The sounds Joshua heard were coming from somewhere far below. They were louder now. At first Joshua thought they might be coming from some kind of hurt animal. He took a step back. “What’s down there, Daddy?”

“I’m going to show you. This is where we’re going to have the lessons.”

“Is it an animal?”

“Death is natural,” he replied, and Joshua knew that was not an answer, but he said nothing. “You understand this, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Everything dies.”

“Yes, sir. Everything dies.”

“We have to kill to stay alive, Joshua. That’s the way it is in the world. We kill cows and pigs and chickens to have meat, we kill plants to have fruits and vegetables. Just to stay alive. The life of one being depends on the death of another. This is natural. This is the way of the world.”

Joshua had never thought of it like that before. It seemed to make sense, but it also made him feel sad, almost guilty, as if he’d done something wrong just by being alive. Killing so many things.

His father drew a heavy flashlight out of his jacket pocket, clicked it on, and directed it into the darkness. “In the Bible God says, ‘For the life of the flesh is in the blood: and I have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your souls: for it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.’”

Joshua didn’t quite know what that meant, but it sounded important-it had to be important or else his father never would have mentioned it, or else it wouldn’t be in the Bible. He didn’t want to sound dumb, so he stayed quiet, acted like he knew what his father was talking about.

Atonement for the soul.

The blood.

They started down the steps.

His father held out his free hand to Joshua. The dark air of the barn seemed to wrap around them, surrounding them like a quiet blanket. And those shadows, that eternal darkness that would last as long as God, held Joshua for a moment. Then he took his father’s hand as he walked beside him to the cellar.

The sounds continued.

Joshua was starting to get scared.

They reached the floor of the secret place.

Dirt. Packed down and trampled. In different places there were dark splotches on the ground. Wooden beams were propped against the walls to support the earth, kind of like in the mines his father had taken him to once in the mountains west of Denver, not far from their home.

From behind them, sunlight slid down the steps and filtered through the air, but the darkness didn’t seem to want to let any of it into the cellar itself.

Only after his father directed the flashlight beam across the cellar did Joshua see the man. He was standing with his back against the support beams about fifteen feet away. Some kind of metal chains had been attached to the wood and the man’s wrists and ankles were locked in the chains. There was something in his mouth to keep him from making too much noise. He was fat and extra folds of skin rolled out from beneath his shirt.

“Who is he?” Joshua’s voice caught.

“His name is Kenneth.” His father drew a long hunting knife out of a sheaf on his belt, then held the knife’s handle toward Joshua. “Take the knife, son.”

But he didn’t take it.

The man named Kenneth stared at them wide-eyed, shook his head frantically.

Joshua’s father went over, removed a black hood from his jacket pocket, and tugged it over Kenneth’s head. “This is your first time, Joshua. It’ll be easier if you don’t have to look at him.”

Beneath the hood, the man was making sounds that Joshua did not like.

Joshua didn’t move, didn’t accept the knife, which his father brought back to him now.

His father spoke softly. “Take the knife, Joshua. This is very important.”

“But sir, it’s…I’m scared.”

Kenneth shook and rattled his chains, trying to pull himself free from the wall. But he couldn’t do it. Joshua thought he wouldn’t ever be able to do it.

“I know, Son. Don’t be frightened. Just take the knife.”

At last his father gently positioned the knife in Joshua’s hand, as if it were a precious gift, and that’s what Joshua thought of in that moment-a gift, and of course, his upcoming birthday.