Free If I Should Die Before I Wake by Han Nolan Page B

wicked?
    Is it wicked to hate people who have destroyed your life? Is it wicked to hate people whose sole purpose is to make your life miserable?
    Does Simon hate me? How long have I been here? How long can a person live without food? Why did I have to know him? Why did he have to move in behind us right before Daddy died? What kind of sick joke is that? Moving a Jew family, a happy, smiley Jew family into my life? I don't want to be connected to him. I don't want to care about him. I don't care.
    I hate it. I hate it all!
    I hate the Jews! And the Germans! And while I'm at it, I hate you, Mother! And I hate being trapped in this white place with you, Grandma, Grandmaw, with your droopy-dog look.
    I hate living in the ghetto, and starving to death, and watching the people I love die.
    I hate it all! All I feel is hate—all I am is hate.
    Just let me close my eyes. No more thinking. No seeing.
    Just let there be darkness.
    And silence.
    Just let me not be.
    Who's that? I hear someone. Is it Brad? Brad's here. I told you he'd come.
    "How is the patient?"
    "Reverend Jonnie! I'm so glad. I didn't think they'd let anyone else up here, but of course, you're her pastor."
    Never, Mother! Never a pastor who glides through life on his own oil slick.
    "What's the news on the outside? Have they found that boy?"
    "I'm sorry, Ruby. No, the news isn't good. The parents received a note in their mailbox last night. It said the boy is dead. No signature, of course, just a swastika."
    "Good Lord, the poor kid. And Hilary ..."
    It's not true. It's not. Grandma, don't believe him. They wouldn't do that. Brad wouldn't do that. It's not true. Oh, please, it's not true.
    Stupid Simon. Why'd he have to be so stupid? Why'd he have to be so little, so different?
    I asked him that once. No, really, I did. We were in the garden between our houses. He was working, weeding around the vegetables and grinning like he was having fun. That's when I asked him why he was so weird, why he had to act so different so nobody liked him. Know what he said to me? He said, "I thought you liked me." That's how stupid he was—is.
    I told him I didn't like him, and neither did anyone else. And he says, "You used to like me. You used to play with me, remember?"
    "That was because I was bored," I told him. "I could never like a Jew boy. You're all snobs."
    "We're not snobs, you just don't understand us. Why don't you try to understand us? Why don't you read your Bible, then you'll understand."
    "See," I said, "that's just what I mean, Jew boy."
    I kicked a clump of dirt at him. I mean, who acts like that? Who talks like that? Only Simon. Simple Simon.
    Oh, he's alive all right.
    "Let's not worry about Hilary's future just now. How is she? What does the doctor say?"
    "She just seems to be in this—limbo. I don't know if she's going to die or what. I don't think even the doctor knows."
    "We must have faith, Ruby."
    "Yeah, well, I brought my Bible."
    "But you're upset. Come, sit back down and let's talk."
    "It's just that it's not working. My prayers aren't working. There's no comfort in the words I'm reading, but I can't stop reading them. It's like someone else is choosing the words I have to read."
    I thought you brought the Bible for me, Mama—Mother.
    "Ah, God is speaking to you. You have been touched, blessed. We must get down on our knees and give thanks to God, who is preparing the way for what is to come."
    "What are you saying? Is God preparing me for Hilary's death, or is He punishing me for it?"
    "What do you think?"
    "I've never been so frightened." "Let us listen for God's precious words and He will give you the comfort you are seeking."
    "No. Please, I don't understand. Why do I feel so compelled to read this book of Jeremiah? It's the Old Testament. I've never had any use for it, but reading it now, it frightens me. I feel as if the Lord is trying to tell me something.
    "Tell me this, Reverend. Why should this passage frighten me so?
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