Many Men Have Sons

              The Angel appeared on a Wednesday evening, while Abe was drinking a glass of beer.  What Abe noticed first was an oddly luminous shape hovering in his periphery.  Abe tilted his head up, until he met the creature's eyes, set in a face with lines so severe they seemed carved from marble and did the only thing he could think of-- he nodded, in greeting.  The angel's face lost some of its tension, as it nodded back, then placed its hands behind its back, standing somewhat more at ease.  "Abraham...," the voice was loud and ringing, and sounded like it came to Abe from all directions at once-- not just above and below, but from inside him as well as out. Like it was coming from his very bones.

"It's just Abe, actually," said Abe.

The Angel paused and looked down at Abe, brow furrowed.  "Your name is Abraham," he said, clearly unused to being interrupted.

"Well," Abe shrugged.  "I mean, I guess so.. Yes. But I've been Abe for as long as I can remember."

The Angel sighed, but went on. "I am the Archangel Gabriel and I come before you bearing a message from God on high."  

The volume wasn't as loud this time, but Abe could still feel the words, vibrating through his chest, along his spine, and somehow they were the first words he had ever heard, and the truest.

"God has designed a test for you, Abraham.  A test of your faith in Him.  He requires the sacrifice of your son.  If you prove your faith in God, your reward is that you will lead His peoples to the second coming of Christ," he said.

Abe set his beer down and stood to face the Angel.  "Sacrifice my son? How does that make me fit to lead anyone?"

Gabriel shook his head.  "God's ways are mysterious, and I am simply a messenger. The message is that if you trust God, you will do what he asks, even if it costs you your son.  That is how God will know that you are the servant who can lead His peoples."

Abe frowned.  "But, my son?"

"Do you not want the reward?" asked Gabriel.  "Do you not want to be the steward of the Second Coming?"

"No, I don't want the reward," said Abe. "I want my son."

Gabriel stood silent for a moment, looking down at Abe, and looking, Abe realized, for all the world, exactly like Abe's grandmother when she silently let her children and grandchildren (and even once or twice, before she had passed, her great-grandchildren) know how disappointed she was in their behavior.

"If Christ the Redeemer never returns, is this the world you want your son to grow up in?" asked Gabriel.

Abe's face fell and his head dropped in shame. "You already know the answer to that."

"God knows," Gabriel replied. "I am merely the messenger."

Abe stared at his feet. "I pray every night that this mess of a world begins to change for the better." Abe looked up to meet Gabriel's eyes. "Every night, I ask God to make the world a safer, better place for my son. I ask for wisdom to live by the teachings in the Bible, to live by the word of the Lord." Tears started to well in Abe's eyes, and anger started to rise behind his words. "I ask God to help me be strong for my son, to do the right things, to make the world better in any small way that I can. For him!" said Abe, one fist tightening around his beer glass, the other clenching into a fist.

Gabriel's face remained passive. "God is giving you the opportunity to do just that, Abraham. God has heard your prayers, and has chosen YOU to be His agent of change. He has chosen you to make this place that better world that you asked Him to bring about."

"But I asked Him to change it FOR my son!" hissed Abe. "What is the point of changing things if the cost IS my son?"

"Many men have sons, Abraham."

"Why does it have to be my son?" asked Abe, as a tear fell down his cheek. He angrily swiped it away, then seeing the beer left in his glass, he flung the rest of the liquid over the edge of the deck and smacked the glass down on the arm of the chair he had been sitting in.

Gabriel didn't answer. He stood still and silent, letting Abe brood.

Abe sat back down in his chair, staring straight ahead, deep in thought, unaware of how much time was passing.  

Across the backyard, the neighbor, Walt, flipped on the outdoor light, and came shuffling out with a garbage bag.  Wondering if Walt would look over and see Abe's oddly luminous guest, Abe glanced sideways.  To his surprise, the deck was dark and empty except for himself.

"Huh," he said to himself.  "Not even a goodbye."

---

On Friday, Abe woke up early after a night of fitful sleep at the sink of dirty dishes, the scatter of empty beer bottles.  If Sharon saw any of this when she dropped Nate off tonight, she would threaten to revise the custody arrangement.  But that wasn't what curdled his insides.  After Sharon threatened him, clucking like a wet hen, she would roll up her sleeves and clean up his kitchen for him, scolding him all the while.  Nate would wander off and get lost with his Xbox, and Sharon would force Abe to sit there until she was satisfied that she had browbeaten him sufficiently (costing him at least 90 minutes of quality time with Nate, if not the entire Friday evening). Then, her face would momentarily soften, and she would put her hands on her hips, and with her lips pursed, she would ask "Are you alright, hon?" 

And that would be the worst part. The sympathy. The utter surety in her voice that SHE had her shit together, and ole Abe did not. He rolled his eyes, and set about the task of cleaning up the kitchen himself. 

              On his way out the door for work, he tossed the trash bag into the garbage can, and the clanking sound it made as the sheer amount of beer bottles rattled against one another was alarming enough that he winced.  The trash was picked up twice a week, and he'd put out a full can on Wednesday night. He could hear Sharon’s voice in his head, saying "Christ, what will the neighbors think, hearing you rattling out to the trash can three days a damn week with that many glass bottles?" No matter how long Sharon was gone, he thought she would always be one of the voices in his head. Sometimes he hated her for escaping his mess. Sometimes, he envied her.   

              That evening, after work, Abe picked up pizza, beer, Nate's favorite soda, and ice cream. He was home by six, hot pizza on the counter, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his son. The current custody arrangement said his weekends were supposed to start one hour after Sharon got off work, which was 5 pm. But at 7, he was still alone.

At 7:30, they finally arrived. After a peremptory knock, Sharon opened the front door and let herself and Nate in. 

"Sorry, sorry," she announced, in lieu of greeting.

Abe stood up from the couch and turned to face them as Sharon was closing the door behind her. He tried to set his face with a neutral expression, then looked at Nate and smiled. "Hey Buddy, there's pizza in the kitchen." Abe glanced at Sharon. "I can warm it up in the oven if you want."

The boy glanced between his parents before shaking his head. "It's okay, Dad." He dropped his bag and headed to the kitchen.

Abe shoved his hands in his pockets, standing next to the couch, and looked at Sharon expectantly, waiting for her to speak. 

After exchanging pleasantries, Sharon snuck a look at her watch. "He has homework," she said. "Make sure he works on it." Sharon glanced at her watch again, then called out to Nate. "Please," she added.

Abe nodded. 

Nate trotted back to the foyer and gave his mother a hug and kiss goodbye and Sharon took a last look around the entryway, then left.

Abe gave a deep sigh of relief and locked the door behind her. 

              The next morning, Abe nagged his son out of bed around 11, and the paper was completed by 1 pm. Abe proofread it, and pronounced it error-free. By 2 pm, they were headed to the state park for a hike up the trail to Widow’s Cliff, a six-mile hike to a cliff overlooking the town.

              As they got closer to the park, Nate got more and more animated. He had been subdued when he arrived, his mood improved slightly while he played video games, and then he had turned downright sullen when awakened and required to work on his homework. But now, in the afternoon sunshine, the easy smile returned to his face as he gave his father updates on everything happening in the 6^th grade.

“We’re here, kiddo,” he said.

              “Cool,” said Nate, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out of the car on already long legs.

              Abe watched him go, and imagined the man his son would grow up to be, a stab of longing seizing his heart. Eleven years was not enough. He gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles creaked.

              “Dad?” Nate was leaning in the open passenger door, staring at him, one eyebrow raised. For a moment, Abe saw a grown man looking at him, and blinked in wonder. The moment passed, and Nate was a child again, bent over and staring at him quizzically. “You coming?” asked Nate.

Abe forced a smile and nodded. “Sure thing, kiddo.” He unbuckled and heaved himself out of the car. One foot at a time, he moved toward the trailhead, feeling like he was swimming against the tide. Watching his son’s back, bouncing up the trail ahead of him, he felt the forced smile drop and the corners of his mouth turned down. Abe’s stomach filled with bile and began to cramp. The slideshow behind his eyes was like an unceasing nightmare. Every step was equally insurmountable and inevitable. Nate was still chattering on about the things in his life that made him happy, and for Abe, this too was unbearable. The incessant reminder of his only child’s innocence was like a knife in his guts. Abe marched on, the turmoil inside him roiling, until Nate paused and glanced back. Abe quickly plastered a smile on his face. Nate tilted his head, like a quizzical bird, as Abe fell into step beside him. Nate took his father’s hand and for a moment, didn’t speak. He glanced sideways, seeing the sweat on his father’s face.

              “You okay, Dad?”

              Abe’s smile became more genuine. His son was a good person. Despite the divorce, despite the occasionally fraught nature of the relationship between his parents, Nate was essentially good. He stopped walking for a moment, and placed a kiss on his son’s forehead.

              Nate wrinkled his nose. “Gross, Dad.” But he smiled a wide smile and continued holding his father’s hand as he started to walk again, pulling Abe along with him.

              Abe’s thoughts wandered to the multitudes. To the parents who didn’t have the chance to watch their children grow like he could watch Nate. To the children who wouldn’t… who HADN’T made it to eleven, like Nate already had. Again, his thoughts returned to the question of what could be done. Why didn’t God do something? Abe looked over at his son, his beautiful, oblivious son.

              Now that God had given him the opportunity to do something, could he possibly do it? Was this thing he was being asked to do not, in and of itself, evil? Abe knew what Sharon would say, but of course, Sharon’s opinions on faith and religion had been part of the reason their marriage had failed. Her lack of faith in him had been another part.

              “Dad, look!” said Nate, pointing ahead of them on the trail.

              He was pointing up at the top of a pine tree, where a hawk was perched, only thirty yards above them. Abe smiled.

              “What kind is it?” asked Nate.

              “Not sure,” said Abe, softly.

              “Can we look it up when we get home?”

              Abe nodded before thinking, then almost choked on the words. “Of course,” he managed.

              “Cool,” said the boy.

              They watched for a moment longer before the hawk took flight, then the two continued up the trail. Before long, they were nearing the top of the cliff and the overlook. Abe looked around, hoping that other people had ventured out today, and that the overlook was crowded, but they appeared to be the only ones.

              Nate whooped and jogged to the edge. “Dad!” he shouted. “Come look at this! It’s amazing!”

              Seized with panic, Abe stayed where he was. “Be right there.” He took several deep breaths. He stood stock still, hoping against hope that a voice would boom out that this was close enough, that he had passed the test, that Nate, like Isaac, was saved.

              But Abe didn’t believe it would happen. In the Bible, Abraham had followed God unquestioningly. Abe couldn’t even walk up a trail without a panic attack, hoping all the while for a reprieve. “God chose me,” he thought. “I can save them all, and the only cost is one boy,” he muttered.

              Looking out over the cliff, Nate called back to his Dad. “What’d you say?”

              Abe started forward toward Nate. The boy glanced back, saw his father walking towards him and turned his attention back to the horizon.

              “Look, Dad,” he pointed, “You can see the haw…”

              Abe reached his son, planted his hands on the boy’s back and firmly shoved. Nate went over the side before he could make a sound of surprise, an intake of air for a scream instead of a scream as he went airborn.

              Abe heard nothing as he turned to walk back down the trail. His ears were ringing with a sound like ocean waves, an absence of sound, a sound much like a boy sucking in air for a scream over and over again on a loop. He walked for only a few minutes before a whisper broke through the sound that wasn’t a sound, telling him, “call the police call Sharon.” He felt a strong urge to turn around, so he did. He turned around and headed back up to the cliff, though his brain began screaming at him that he didn’t want to do that, that his boy was up there. That if he went up there he would have to look, he would have to see.

              He called the police, who patched him through to the ranger’s station, who sent rangers up to the cliff top. Then he called Sharon. When the ringing stopped and he heard her say hello, he had no idea what to say, until he heard a whisper in his ear, so he just repeated what it said.

              “Sharon,” he repeated. “There’s been an accident. Nate’s dead.” Then the rangers were there. He handed the phone off to one of them, and he could hear his shrieking ex-wife, as the ranger took the phone and tried to talk to her.

              Later-- how much later, it was impossible to say-- Abe found himself in a gray room, as a man and woman entered, guiding Sharon ahead of them. They brought a chair for Sharon, and placed it on the same side of the table as Abe. Sharon, who looked as blank as Abe felt, her face gray, her eyes puffy and red, sat down beside him and squared her shoulders. She was silent. Abe glanced sideways, to see her clenching her jaw hard.

              “It’s okay to cry, Sharon,” he said, placing a hand on her arm.

              She jerked away from him so hard she bumped the table and nearly tipped her chair over. “Don’t touch me!” she hissed, and the tears burst forth. She began to sob, and for a moment, seemed torn between hiding her face and just openly crying, but after a moment, she hastily swiped at her eyes, jerked the chair away from Abe and looking expectantly at the man and woman, still standing on the other side of the table. She cleared her throat twice, loudly, shaking her head, then folded her hands on the table in front of her. “What is this about?” she asked.

              "Mr. Davidson?" asked the man.

              "Yes?" said Abe.

“And, are you Mrs. Davidson?” asked the woman.

“No.” Sharon shook her head. “We’re divorced.”

“But you’re Nate’s mother?” she asked.

Sharon’s face clouded and her eyes closed for a long moment. “Yes.” She said finally.

“I'm Detective Wharton,” said the man. "This is Detective Rodriguez," he said, gesturing to the woman.

Sharon's eyes narrowed and the haze of grief retreated from her eyes. "Detectives?" she asked. Slowly, her head swiveled to look hard at Abe.

“I just have a couple of questions for you, if you don't mind," said Wharton.

Abe was silent. Sharon leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her expression pinched and wary.

“Mr. Davidson, when you took your son on the hike, did you notice anyone else up near the cliff top with you?”

“Oh,” said Abe, a feeling of relief flooding him. He shook his head quickly, trying not to let the relief be too obvious. “Uh, no, I didn’t see anyone.”

“Mmm,” said Rodriguez.

“Why?” asked Sharon.

The detectives ignored her question.

“Mr. Davidson, did you and Nate have any arguments leading up to the day you went on the hike?”

“No,” said Abe.

“What about today?”

“No,” said Abe.

“You’re sure? Not about anything? Kids that age argue with their parents about all kinds of things,” said Wharton. “Taking out the garbage,”

“Cleaning up their rooms,” said Rodriguez.

“Doing their homework,” suggested Wharton.

Abe’s face was more cautious now, but he shook his head. “No, we didn’t argue about anything. He finished his project for school, and we decided to go for a hike.”

“He finished a school project on a Saturday?” asked Wharton.

“With no argument?” said Rodriguez, her voice incredulous.

“He said his mother had made him do most of it already during the week,” said Abe.

Defensive, Sharon nodded. “He’s right,” she said. “I was worried he would screw around with his father, so I made him work on it every night.” She glanced at her ex-husband and shrugged a half-apology.

“Hmmm,” said Wharton. He looked at the two of them. “Was it a contentious divorce?”

They both shrugged, not making eye-contact.

Rodriguez locked eyes with Abe. “Do you blame your wife for the divorce?”

“Ex-wife.” They each said it, simultaneously, then glanced at one another.

“I don’t blame her,” said Abe, but he could feel his face turning red.

“What's going on?” asked Sharon.

“Mr. Davidson, did you want to hurt your ex-wife?” asked Rodriguez.

“No!” said Abe, quickly. (“Too quickly” whispered a voice in his ear.) He cleared his throat. “No.” He said it more calmly. “I don’t want to hurt Sharon.” He looked from Wharton to Rodriguez. “What is this about?”

The detectives shared a look again.

"Mr. Davidson," said Wharton, "there was a hiker up on the cliff today. They filmed what happened to Nate. We're going to be placing you under arrest for murder. You have the right to remain silent.”

Abe’s heart froze for a long moment, but then a strange sense of relief came over him. So, they knew. Abe nodded, standing up.

"Wait, a minute!" Sharon said. "What is going on here?" She lunged at her husband, and the detectives caught her and held her away from him. "What do you mean MURDER?!" she shouted. "What happened?" she asked, voice breaking. Then she froze, a squeak like an injured rabbit escaping her throat, as her face crumbled. She turned to the detectives. “What did he do?”

Abe sighed, deeply. "I had to, Sharon."

"Had to WHAT?!" she shouted the last word, her voice raw.

"God told me to do it."

"GOD?!" She howled.  "GOD TOLD YOU TO DO WHAT?" She jerked free from the detectives and stood directly in front of her husband. Quietly, with menace, she asked him. "What. Did. You. Do?"

Abe just looked at her.

"SAY IT!" she screamed in his face.

"I pushed him," he said calmly. "It was a test. The Archangel Gabriel came to me and said that if I sacrificed Nate, then I could lead God's peoples." He smiled gently at her. "It's the second-coming of Christ, Sharon. It's a good thing."

Sharon's hands went to her mouth, and her knees started to buckle. Rodriguez, still at her side, put her hand under her arm and guided her down into the chair.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sharon asked him, as tears began to slide down her face.

"Abraham didn't tell Sarah." He looked over his shoulder as Wharton started walking him out the door. "It's a miracle, Sharon!" he yelled back to her. " God's Abraham lives again!"

From her chair, Sharon looked up at him, her face contorted with hurt and confusion.  She called after him, all pity gone. "But your name isn't Abraham. It's Roger."