Soul Tracker, page 10
She involuntarily glanced to David, who was now sharing Dr. Griffin’s smile. Suddenly her face felt very warm.
Griffin continued, “She is correct, though, when it comes to the absolutes of the program. There are some dangers that we’ve had to take precautions against.”
“Precautions?”
“Here, let me show you.”
They headed to the door of one of the pie-shaped chambers. Gita stepped down from the console to join them, moving self-consciously in her baggy khaki pants. These along with an oversized beige sweater were the least flattering of all her wardrobe. She’d purposely worn them—as much for David’s protection as for her own. She could sense his interest on the phone, feel her own excitement at the sound of his voice. And that must not be. He was too good of a man for that.
The outside wall and doors of the chambers were painted in jungle images—vines, leaves, a monkey or two—with colors that looked more like a preschool play area than cuttingedge technology. This was part of Mr. Orbolitz’s edict to maintain an atmosphere of fun and playfulness. Beside each door was a small, glass-enclosed shelf, holding what looked like a cross between expensive sunglasses and the silver wraparound band worn by the blind fellow in Star Trek.
Griffin reached to one of the shelves. The glass door opened automatically, and he scooped up the pair of goggles. “These are for visual input.” He passed them to David. “When they’re activated, they become miniature movie screens, but in 3-D.”
David examined them. “Very impressive.”
“Actually, too impressive. We discovered that our technology is so advanced that we can actually fool the brain into believing it is shutting down…so it does.”
“You mean you can fool the brain into believing it’s dying?”
“Something like that. Fortunately, it’s possible to build up resistance to the stimuli, but that takes time. Which is why we’ve included a little readout in the left corner of the goggles. It shows each user how much time he or she has remaining. When they approach the end of their time, a series of alarms begins to sound, warning the participant to stop the exercise.”
“Otherwise”—David motioned to the console platform—“you have to shut it down from up there?”
“Actually,” Gita said, trying to rejoin the conversation, “we discovered that abruptly ending the program creates a trauma to the neural system that is just as dangerous as staying too long.”
Dr. Griffin continued, “Which is why the chamber doors lock from the inside and why it’s nearly impossible to pull the plug up at the console.”
“So you’re on the honor system,” David said.
“With rather disastrous results if you break it.”
“May I look inside?”
“Certainly.” Dr. Griffin stepped aside. “There’s really nothing to see, but you’re welcome to take a look.”
David poked his head into the doorway of chamber one. A warm, orange light came on. Gita had seen the insides of the chambers a hundred times. Nothing but a room the size of a walk-in closet with every square inch covered in black soundabsorbent material. And an ingenious treadmill that rolled any one of 360 degrees.
David stepped back out, marveling. “So you actually see things we see when we die?”
“Not just things,” Griffin replied, “but people as well.”
“People?”
“Deceased friends and relatives who frequently come out to greet the newly departed.”
“You mean you can see other people who’ve passed away?”
Gita fired a look to David. She knew exactly what he was thinking.
Griffin nodded. “That’s one of the kinks we’re trying to work out. Apparently, the first thing many deceased see when they arrive is family, loved ones, and acquaintances. And with thirteen hundred past subjects, our VR participants have thousands of people they have to wade through before they can continue the program.”
David shook his head, his voice sounding further away. “Imagine, seeing people who have died.”
“More than see,” Griffin corrected. “See, hear…and feel.”
David turned to him, trying to understand. “Hear, as in you have speakers in the rooms?”
Dr. Griffin nodded.
“And these goggles are for the seeing. But how do you feel?”
“Ah, that’s the best part.” Griffin walked a few steps to the opposite wall and spoke: “Dr. Richard Griffin. Suit.” There was a slight hum as a door slid aside to reveal a blue, Spandex-like, virtual reality suit—complete with matching gloves and boots.
David approached as Griffin unsnapped the gloves from the hanger. “Each of these gloves, and the suit itself, is filled with tiny bladders of air.” He handed a glove to David. “When you reach out to an image projected in the goggles and try to touch it, the computer reads your movements, and at the moment of supposed contact the bladders expand. They push against your skin with exact pressure to give the feeling that you’re actually touching it—or even picking it up.”
Gita added, “You may feel the object’s temperature as well.”
“Or if it’s vibrating, or if there’s wind, or any combination of tactile sensations.”
Holding the glove in his hand, David pieced together the information. “So, between the 3-D visuals, the sound, and these suits, it’s like you’re completely there.”
“That’s the idea.” Then, as an afterthought, Griffin asked, “Would you like to try it on?”
“The gloves?”
“The whole suit.”
David looked at him, surprised.
“Sure.” Griffin grinned. “We can find a size close to yours and borrow it. The sensations won’t be entirely accurate, but close enough to give you the feel. In fact”—he motioned toward the chambers—“you’re more than welcome to spend a little time inside, if you’d like.”
“Dr. Griffin?” The concern surfaced before Gita could stop it. Both men turned, and she tried a more tactful approach. “Did you not say—were we not having guests this morning? Should we not be preparing for them?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Griffin asked. “They called just as you were signing in. Looks like they’ve cancelled.” Before she could respond, he turned back to David. “So what do you think, Dave? Want to give it a whirl?”
David was practically speechless. “Are you serious? I mean…are you sure it’s okay…”
“Absolutely. All I have to do is get approval from the head of the department and—oh, wait a minute, I’m the head.” Griffin laughed at his little joke.
“Dr. Griffin?” Gita repeated evenly. “Are you certain it is safe?” She looked at David. “Have you experienced a virtual reality environment before?”
Griffin laughed again. “He’ll be fine, Gita—as long as we stay within the six-minute limit.” He turned to David. “That’s the parameter we give first-timers since, as I said, the brain needs to become sensitized to the experience. Now if you were a child, we could push you further, since their minds are more elastic, but for you, six minutes is the max.” Another thought came to mind. “But listen, if you’re at all concerned, I’d be happy to accompany you in another chamber. I’d be at your side, traveling with you the entire time.”
David, still overwhelmed, stuttered, “That would be…that would be great…”
Dr. Griffin grinned and reached out to rest a hand on David’s shoulder. “Then let’s find you a suit and we’ll go together.” Turning to Gita he added, “Unless you’d prefer to accompany him.”
Gita shook her head.
He called up to the console. “What do you think, Wendell?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, Dr. Griffin. I’ll need some time to get things up and running, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Excellent.” Turning back to David, Griffin asked, “It’s okay with you, then?”
Still dumbfounded, David looked from Griffin to Gita then back to Griffin. “Yes…yes, that would be, that would be…incredible!”
Thirty minutes later, David sat with Gita in the large, mostly vacant cafeteria. Tiny quartz bulbs hung from silver girders which rose to form a futuristic cathedral of skylights and steel. Earlier they’d found a virtual reality suit for David and now they were sipping their respective coffee and tea, waiting as Wendell prepared PNEUMA and VR chambers one and three. Of course David was excited—thrilled, to be exact. But he still had important issues to cover, and once he and Gita were settled in, he pursued them.
“So you think the song on the radio, the phone call, you think they were all coincidence?”
Gita shook her head, her dark hair shimmering in the morning sun. “The more I think on it, the more I am certain someone is playing a hoax on you.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“The dead do not return, David.”
He hesitated, not wanting to offend, but not completely buying it either. “According to your beliefs.”
“According to truth.”
He took a silent breath and let it out. So they were back to that. “Gita, may I ask you a question?”
She looked up from her tea with those liquid black eyes.
“I’ve always found the notion of reincarnation kind of, well, intriguing. But back there…you sounded so adamant.”
The briefest pain flickered across her face and she lowered her cup. “I must apologize. I did not wish to be rude. But when you know something to be false, is it not dishonest to pretend that you don’t?”
David felt himself smiling. He so enjoyed her childlike honesty. But this was no child before him. This was somebody so honest, so intelligent, that he never tired of talking with her. More than that, he found himself energized just to be around her.
Misinterpreting his smile, she glanced down, obviously embarrassed. “I’m sorry if my candidness has offended—”
“No, no,” David interrupted, “I like your candidness. Really. I think it’s great.” His words were supposed to put her at ease, but somehow they made her more embarrassed. He tried again. “Actually, it’s your finest, well, one of your many…” He was only making things worse. “What I mean is, I enjoy it.” He shrugged. “I enjoy you.”
She scooped up the tea bag with her spoon and carefully wrapped the string around it. Still not looking at him, she returned to the original subject. “I have simply found reincarnation to be a dangerous and most brutal belief.”
“Brutal?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll grant you, to some it might seem a little silly—but dangerous and brutal? Isn’t that a bit of an exaggeration?”
She looked up at him, surprised. “I never exaggerate, David.”
He smiled. “I know, I know. Because that would be dishonest.”
Seeing his humor, she relaxed slightly.
He continued to tease. “And you believe in truth.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I am afraid so.”
“The whole truth and nothing but the truth—”
“Yes, yes.” She smiled.
“—so help you God—”
“—yes—”
“—especially the God part.”
She broke into a gentle laugh. It was the first time he’d heard it, and it made him feel warm and good inside. He savored the moment, taking a drink of his coffee. She responded by sipping her tea.
When they had finished, he continued, “So tell me…how do you see it as dangerous?”
Gita glanced up, those incredible eyes searching his for any trace of insincerity. There was none. She cleared her throat, then frowned slightly. He continued to wait until she began.
“Theologically speaking, reincarnation makes Christ’s sacrifice on the cross irrelevant.”
“How so?”
“If one can work off one’s evils by living over and over again until they reach perfection, then they do not need Christ to suffer and pay for those evils on the cross.”
“And that’s dangerous, because…”
“According to Christ, no one is good enough to face God on their own. That is why He said He must die to take our punishment.”
David nodded, understanding. Then, somewhat gently, he countered, “So it’s dangerous to the Christian faith.”
“More than that. If Christ was speaking truth, than it is dangerous to anyone who tries to stand before God on their own.”
“And if He wasn’t?” David asked. “Speaking truth, I mean?”
“Then, as many have said, He is either delusional or a bold-faced liar.”
Again David nodded. She had obviously thought this through. He continued, “You used the word brutal. How do you consider it to be brutal?”
Gita shifted in her chair. He waited. She rechecked the tea bag then glanced at her watch. “It is nearly time. We should return to the—”
More softly, he repeated, “How is it brutal, Gita?”
She looked up at him. He could see her searching again, making sure he could be trusted. She swallowed and glanced back down at the tea.
Finally, quietly, she explained. “I grew up in Nepal. With my brother. Hinduism was our state religion. Nearly everyone embraced it. Everyone believed in reincarnation.” She hesitated.
“Everyone but you.”
“No, we believed it as well.”
He gently persisted. “What happened?”
She lifted the cup to her lips. He noticed slight tremors rippling across its surface. She returned it to the saucer and continued. “When I was ten and my brother was five, our parents were killed in an automobile accident near Katmandu.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded, dropping her eyes to the tea. “Because we were orphaned, our neighbors and family turned their backs on us, refusing to take us in.”
David scowled. “Why?”
“They believed we were being punished for the evil of our past lives. They believed that is why our parents were killed, because of bad karma from our past.”
“I don’t understand. You were just children. Why wouldn’t they help you?”
“They believed they were helping us. They believed that the more quickly we suffered and died, the more quickly we would pay for our sins and reincarnate into a higher life.”
David felt anger starting to grow. “That’s terrible.”
She barely heard, losing herself to the memories. “Our local village expelled us. We were forbidden to reenter it…or any other village that knew of our plight.”
“How did you eat? How did you survive?”
“We drank the water from irrigation ditches, from puddles of mud. We ate what we could find or steal—vegetables from gardens, cats, dead rats. Sometimes my little brother…sometimes I would catch him eating dirt, just to fill his belly, just to stop the ache…” Her voice trailed away.
David sat, watching her struggle, wanting to help but not knowing how.
She swallowed and continued. “Later, we were picked up by a man who…” She took a breath and forced herself to continue. “…who sold us to other men…for their pleasures. Sometimes for a night. Sometimes for days.” Her voice grew thick. “Me, mostly.” She looked back down at her tea, blinking. David was about to reach out and stop her—there was no need to continue. But she pressed on.
“I had just turned eleven. Soon, I became his prized possession. His biggest moneymaker. And Nubee…” She took another breath. “One night my brother tried coming to my rescue. He was beaten so badly that he suffered severe brain trauma. For a long time we thought he would not survive. But he did…though he was never the same after that.” She raised her hand to her forehead, rubbing it with her fingers. David watched a single tear slip from the corner of her eye.
“How did…” He cleared his voice. “How did you get away?”
“There was another man.” She sniffed, quietly regaining her composure. “I cannot tell you his real name because what he did was very illegal.”
“Another monster?”
She shook her head. “This was no monster. At that time it was illegal to speak to anyone outside your immediate family about Jesus Christ. You would face at least one year’s imprisonment for doing so. But this man, this Christian, he saw our great need—he saw dozens of orphans like ourselves living along the roads. And he began to adopt us. One at a time. Covered in lice. Disease ridden. But he would adopt us. He would take us in. Clean us. Feed us. Enroll us in school.”
Her chest rose and fell before she continued. “And because we had become official members of his family, he could legally tell us about Jesus Christ. And we listened. We listened because we knew what he said was truth. We had already lived in hell, and now his truth allowed us to experience heaven.”
David nodded, greatly moved. “How many of you were there?”
“When I left for college there were sixty of us.”
“Sixty!”
“But there are thousands of others who will never be helped. Children and adults—sick, crippled, in need, who will always suffer—because no one wishes to interfere with karma.”
She took another breath and wilted ever so slightly. She was done. The story had taken much out of her. Unsure what to do or how to help, David reached across the table and clumsily took her hand. She tensed slightly, but did not withdraw it. How self-centered had he been? How stupid and thick? Did he think he was the only one who suffered? Who continued to suffer? And sitting there, David Kauffman understood something else. He understood why truth was so important to this incredible lady. For her it was more than just an exercise in self-righteousness or morality. For her, truth was invaluable because she knew, she had experienced firsthand the ugliness of falsehood.
Hang on, Dave, it’s quite a ride.” Griffin was right, it was a ride. Suddenly the two of them were shooting through a long tunnel. And at the far end? What else but the proverbial blinding light.
David turned to Griffin, who appeared to be beside him, but of course he wasn’t. He was actually in another chamber, wearing a similar VR suit and experiencing the same, identical program. The powerful computer merely projected the image of his body onto David’s goggles as if he were floating right there beside him. The 3-D rendering was nearly perfect—except for Griffin’s blowing hair. It appeared much thicker than David remembered. It was either a glitch in the system or a bit of vanity Griffin had insisted be programmed in. David suspected the latter.
Griffin continued, “She is correct, though, when it comes to the absolutes of the program. There are some dangers that we’ve had to take precautions against.”
“Precautions?”
“Here, let me show you.”
They headed to the door of one of the pie-shaped chambers. Gita stepped down from the console to join them, moving self-consciously in her baggy khaki pants. These along with an oversized beige sweater were the least flattering of all her wardrobe. She’d purposely worn them—as much for David’s protection as for her own. She could sense his interest on the phone, feel her own excitement at the sound of his voice. And that must not be. He was too good of a man for that.
The outside wall and doors of the chambers were painted in jungle images—vines, leaves, a monkey or two—with colors that looked more like a preschool play area than cuttingedge technology. This was part of Mr. Orbolitz’s edict to maintain an atmosphere of fun and playfulness. Beside each door was a small, glass-enclosed shelf, holding what looked like a cross between expensive sunglasses and the silver wraparound band worn by the blind fellow in Star Trek.
Griffin reached to one of the shelves. The glass door opened automatically, and he scooped up the pair of goggles. “These are for visual input.” He passed them to David. “When they’re activated, they become miniature movie screens, but in 3-D.”
David examined them. “Very impressive.”
“Actually, too impressive. We discovered that our technology is so advanced that we can actually fool the brain into believing it is shutting down…so it does.”
“You mean you can fool the brain into believing it’s dying?”
“Something like that. Fortunately, it’s possible to build up resistance to the stimuli, but that takes time. Which is why we’ve included a little readout in the left corner of the goggles. It shows each user how much time he or she has remaining. When they approach the end of their time, a series of alarms begins to sound, warning the participant to stop the exercise.”
“Otherwise”—David motioned to the console platform—“you have to shut it down from up there?”
“Actually,” Gita said, trying to rejoin the conversation, “we discovered that abruptly ending the program creates a trauma to the neural system that is just as dangerous as staying too long.”
Dr. Griffin continued, “Which is why the chamber doors lock from the inside and why it’s nearly impossible to pull the plug up at the console.”
“So you’re on the honor system,” David said.
“With rather disastrous results if you break it.”
“May I look inside?”
“Certainly.” Dr. Griffin stepped aside. “There’s really nothing to see, but you’re welcome to take a look.”
David poked his head into the doorway of chamber one. A warm, orange light came on. Gita had seen the insides of the chambers a hundred times. Nothing but a room the size of a walk-in closet with every square inch covered in black soundabsorbent material. And an ingenious treadmill that rolled any one of 360 degrees.
David stepped back out, marveling. “So you actually see things we see when we die?”
“Not just things,” Griffin replied, “but people as well.”
“People?”
“Deceased friends and relatives who frequently come out to greet the newly departed.”
“You mean you can see other people who’ve passed away?”
Gita fired a look to David. She knew exactly what he was thinking.
Griffin nodded. “That’s one of the kinks we’re trying to work out. Apparently, the first thing many deceased see when they arrive is family, loved ones, and acquaintances. And with thirteen hundred past subjects, our VR participants have thousands of people they have to wade through before they can continue the program.”
David shook his head, his voice sounding further away. “Imagine, seeing people who have died.”
“More than see,” Griffin corrected. “See, hear…and feel.”
David turned to him, trying to understand. “Hear, as in you have speakers in the rooms?”
Dr. Griffin nodded.
“And these goggles are for the seeing. But how do you feel?”
“Ah, that’s the best part.” Griffin walked a few steps to the opposite wall and spoke: “Dr. Richard Griffin. Suit.” There was a slight hum as a door slid aside to reveal a blue, Spandex-like, virtual reality suit—complete with matching gloves and boots.
David approached as Griffin unsnapped the gloves from the hanger. “Each of these gloves, and the suit itself, is filled with tiny bladders of air.” He handed a glove to David. “When you reach out to an image projected in the goggles and try to touch it, the computer reads your movements, and at the moment of supposed contact the bladders expand. They push against your skin with exact pressure to give the feeling that you’re actually touching it—or even picking it up.”
Gita added, “You may feel the object’s temperature as well.”
“Or if it’s vibrating, or if there’s wind, or any combination of tactile sensations.”
Holding the glove in his hand, David pieced together the information. “So, between the 3-D visuals, the sound, and these suits, it’s like you’re completely there.”
“That’s the idea.” Then, as an afterthought, Griffin asked, “Would you like to try it on?”
“The gloves?”
“The whole suit.”
David looked at him, surprised.
“Sure.” Griffin grinned. “We can find a size close to yours and borrow it. The sensations won’t be entirely accurate, but close enough to give you the feel. In fact”—he motioned toward the chambers—“you’re more than welcome to spend a little time inside, if you’d like.”
“Dr. Griffin?” The concern surfaced before Gita could stop it. Both men turned, and she tried a more tactful approach. “Did you not say—were we not having guests this morning? Should we not be preparing for them?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Griffin asked. “They called just as you were signing in. Looks like they’ve cancelled.” Before she could respond, he turned back to David. “So what do you think, Dave? Want to give it a whirl?”
David was practically speechless. “Are you serious? I mean…are you sure it’s okay…”
“Absolutely. All I have to do is get approval from the head of the department and—oh, wait a minute, I’m the head.” Griffin laughed at his little joke.
“Dr. Griffin?” Gita repeated evenly. “Are you certain it is safe?” She looked at David. “Have you experienced a virtual reality environment before?”
Griffin laughed again. “He’ll be fine, Gita—as long as we stay within the six-minute limit.” He turned to David. “That’s the parameter we give first-timers since, as I said, the brain needs to become sensitized to the experience. Now if you were a child, we could push you further, since their minds are more elastic, but for you, six minutes is the max.” Another thought came to mind. “But listen, if you’re at all concerned, I’d be happy to accompany you in another chamber. I’d be at your side, traveling with you the entire time.”
David, still overwhelmed, stuttered, “That would be…that would be great…”
Dr. Griffin grinned and reached out to rest a hand on David’s shoulder. “Then let’s find you a suit and we’ll go together.” Turning to Gita he added, “Unless you’d prefer to accompany him.”
Gita shook her head.
He called up to the console. “What do you think, Wendell?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, Dr. Griffin. I’ll need some time to get things up and running, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Excellent.” Turning back to David, Griffin asked, “It’s okay with you, then?”
Still dumbfounded, David looked from Griffin to Gita then back to Griffin. “Yes…yes, that would be, that would be…incredible!”
Thirty minutes later, David sat with Gita in the large, mostly vacant cafeteria. Tiny quartz bulbs hung from silver girders which rose to form a futuristic cathedral of skylights and steel. Earlier they’d found a virtual reality suit for David and now they were sipping their respective coffee and tea, waiting as Wendell prepared PNEUMA and VR chambers one and three. Of course David was excited—thrilled, to be exact. But he still had important issues to cover, and once he and Gita were settled in, he pursued them.
“So you think the song on the radio, the phone call, you think they were all coincidence?”
Gita shook her head, her dark hair shimmering in the morning sun. “The more I think on it, the more I am certain someone is playing a hoax on you.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“The dead do not return, David.”
He hesitated, not wanting to offend, but not completely buying it either. “According to your beliefs.”
“According to truth.”
He took a silent breath and let it out. So they were back to that. “Gita, may I ask you a question?”
She looked up from her tea with those liquid black eyes.
“I’ve always found the notion of reincarnation kind of, well, intriguing. But back there…you sounded so adamant.”
The briefest pain flickered across her face and she lowered her cup. “I must apologize. I did not wish to be rude. But when you know something to be false, is it not dishonest to pretend that you don’t?”
David felt himself smiling. He so enjoyed her childlike honesty. But this was no child before him. This was somebody so honest, so intelligent, that he never tired of talking with her. More than that, he found himself energized just to be around her.
Misinterpreting his smile, she glanced down, obviously embarrassed. “I’m sorry if my candidness has offended—”
“No, no,” David interrupted, “I like your candidness. Really. I think it’s great.” His words were supposed to put her at ease, but somehow they made her more embarrassed. He tried again. “Actually, it’s your finest, well, one of your many…” He was only making things worse. “What I mean is, I enjoy it.” He shrugged. “I enjoy you.”
She scooped up the tea bag with her spoon and carefully wrapped the string around it. Still not looking at him, she returned to the original subject. “I have simply found reincarnation to be a dangerous and most brutal belief.”
“Brutal?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll grant you, to some it might seem a little silly—but dangerous and brutal? Isn’t that a bit of an exaggeration?”
She looked up at him, surprised. “I never exaggerate, David.”
He smiled. “I know, I know. Because that would be dishonest.”
Seeing his humor, she relaxed slightly.
He continued to tease. “And you believe in truth.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I am afraid so.”
“The whole truth and nothing but the truth—”
“Yes, yes.” She smiled.
“—so help you God—”
“—yes—”
“—especially the God part.”
She broke into a gentle laugh. It was the first time he’d heard it, and it made him feel warm and good inside. He savored the moment, taking a drink of his coffee. She responded by sipping her tea.
When they had finished, he continued, “So tell me…how do you see it as dangerous?”
Gita glanced up, those incredible eyes searching his for any trace of insincerity. There was none. She cleared her throat, then frowned slightly. He continued to wait until she began.
“Theologically speaking, reincarnation makes Christ’s sacrifice on the cross irrelevant.”
“How so?”
“If one can work off one’s evils by living over and over again until they reach perfection, then they do not need Christ to suffer and pay for those evils on the cross.”
“And that’s dangerous, because…”
“According to Christ, no one is good enough to face God on their own. That is why He said He must die to take our punishment.”
David nodded, understanding. Then, somewhat gently, he countered, “So it’s dangerous to the Christian faith.”
“More than that. If Christ was speaking truth, than it is dangerous to anyone who tries to stand before God on their own.”
“And if He wasn’t?” David asked. “Speaking truth, I mean?”
“Then, as many have said, He is either delusional or a bold-faced liar.”
Again David nodded. She had obviously thought this through. He continued, “You used the word brutal. How do you consider it to be brutal?”
Gita shifted in her chair. He waited. She rechecked the tea bag then glanced at her watch. “It is nearly time. We should return to the—”
More softly, he repeated, “How is it brutal, Gita?”
She looked up at him. He could see her searching again, making sure he could be trusted. She swallowed and glanced back down at the tea.
Finally, quietly, she explained. “I grew up in Nepal. With my brother. Hinduism was our state religion. Nearly everyone embraced it. Everyone believed in reincarnation.” She hesitated.
“Everyone but you.”
“No, we believed it as well.”
He gently persisted. “What happened?”
She lifted the cup to her lips. He noticed slight tremors rippling across its surface. She returned it to the saucer and continued. “When I was ten and my brother was five, our parents were killed in an automobile accident near Katmandu.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded, dropping her eyes to the tea. “Because we were orphaned, our neighbors and family turned their backs on us, refusing to take us in.”
David scowled. “Why?”
“They believed we were being punished for the evil of our past lives. They believed that is why our parents were killed, because of bad karma from our past.”
“I don’t understand. You were just children. Why wouldn’t they help you?”
“They believed they were helping us. They believed that the more quickly we suffered and died, the more quickly we would pay for our sins and reincarnate into a higher life.”
David felt anger starting to grow. “That’s terrible.”
She barely heard, losing herself to the memories. “Our local village expelled us. We were forbidden to reenter it…or any other village that knew of our plight.”
“How did you eat? How did you survive?”
“We drank the water from irrigation ditches, from puddles of mud. We ate what we could find or steal—vegetables from gardens, cats, dead rats. Sometimes my little brother…sometimes I would catch him eating dirt, just to fill his belly, just to stop the ache…” Her voice trailed away.
David sat, watching her struggle, wanting to help but not knowing how.
She swallowed and continued. “Later, we were picked up by a man who…” She took a breath and forced herself to continue. “…who sold us to other men…for their pleasures. Sometimes for a night. Sometimes for days.” Her voice grew thick. “Me, mostly.” She looked back down at her tea, blinking. David was about to reach out and stop her—there was no need to continue. But she pressed on.
“I had just turned eleven. Soon, I became his prized possession. His biggest moneymaker. And Nubee…” She took another breath. “One night my brother tried coming to my rescue. He was beaten so badly that he suffered severe brain trauma. For a long time we thought he would not survive. But he did…though he was never the same after that.” She raised her hand to her forehead, rubbing it with her fingers. David watched a single tear slip from the corner of her eye.
“How did…” He cleared his voice. “How did you get away?”
“There was another man.” She sniffed, quietly regaining her composure. “I cannot tell you his real name because what he did was very illegal.”
“Another monster?”
She shook her head. “This was no monster. At that time it was illegal to speak to anyone outside your immediate family about Jesus Christ. You would face at least one year’s imprisonment for doing so. But this man, this Christian, he saw our great need—he saw dozens of orphans like ourselves living along the roads. And he began to adopt us. One at a time. Covered in lice. Disease ridden. But he would adopt us. He would take us in. Clean us. Feed us. Enroll us in school.”
Her chest rose and fell before she continued. “And because we had become official members of his family, he could legally tell us about Jesus Christ. And we listened. We listened because we knew what he said was truth. We had already lived in hell, and now his truth allowed us to experience heaven.”
David nodded, greatly moved. “How many of you were there?”
“When I left for college there were sixty of us.”
“Sixty!”
“But there are thousands of others who will never be helped. Children and adults—sick, crippled, in need, who will always suffer—because no one wishes to interfere with karma.”
She took another breath and wilted ever so slightly. She was done. The story had taken much out of her. Unsure what to do or how to help, David reached across the table and clumsily took her hand. She tensed slightly, but did not withdraw it. How self-centered had he been? How stupid and thick? Did he think he was the only one who suffered? Who continued to suffer? And sitting there, David Kauffman understood something else. He understood why truth was so important to this incredible lady. For her it was more than just an exercise in self-righteousness or morality. For her, truth was invaluable because she knew, she had experienced firsthand the ugliness of falsehood.
Hang on, Dave, it’s quite a ride.” Griffin was right, it was a ride. Suddenly the two of them were shooting through a long tunnel. And at the far end? What else but the proverbial blinding light.
David turned to Griffin, who appeared to be beside him, but of course he wasn’t. He was actually in another chamber, wearing a similar VR suit and experiencing the same, identical program. The powerful computer merely projected the image of his body onto David’s goggles as if he were floating right there beside him. The 3-D rendering was nearly perfect—except for Griffin’s blowing hair. It appeared much thicker than David remembered. It was either a glitch in the system or a bit of vanity Griffin had insisted be programmed in. David suspected the latter.
