One Bad Thing

Copyright © 2004 Glenn R. Wichman. A small story about a chance encounter between two inconsequential people

One Bad Thing

Copyright © 2004 Glenn R. Wichman

The story of Richard Young and Gordon Goldman, born on the same day in different states in the year 1949, and the strange adventure they shared in the autumn of their 20^th year.

Richard: Bathed in pale afternoon sunshine filtering through lacy homemade curtains, his blue-eyed handsome face framed by his brand-new, store-bought haircut, he sat on the wooden floor of the kitchen in the house he shared with his parents and countless siblings, at the edge of the town of Kalispell, Montana.  He was leaning against a cupboard, sipping a 7-Up.  The house was currently empty, except for Richard and his best friend Andrew, who was nursing his own 7-Up across the floor.

Gordon: His own mother likely wouldn’t recognize him, which given the circumstances was probably for the best right now.  He hadn’t slept indoors in twelve days.  He hadn’t shaved or showered in even longer.  His neck itched.  His only recent bath had been a plunge into the chilly Flathead River, trying to retain his modesty amongst a band of wild naked hippies.  And, damn it, his name was not Gordon.  All this he pondered, lying on a flannel blanket over a bed of pine needles, staring up at the big Montana sky and wondering when the next, final, stage of his escape would begin.

But let’s start with Richard.

“So this is it?  This is my bachelor party?” asked Richard.

“It’s as much bachelor party as you’re gonna get,” Andrew replied.  They took long, slow swigs of soda.  “Let’s start the toasts!  First, to your bride Sarah, a fine, upstanding young woman.  And so much prettier than Katie!”

Richard caught Andrew staring hard at him, looking to see what reaction his toast would receive.  Richard managed a poker face.  Not because he thought he could mask his feelings, mind you, but to avoid giving his friend the satisfaction of causing a reaction.  

“Most folks would say so,” he allowed, while clinking bottles with his friend.  A couple more sips went by without comment.

“Rick, in less than three days you are off to Canada to get married.  You are going to get to do…uh…those things that married men get to do.  You’re marrying a beautiful, upstanding young lady in a temple wedding and you, my friend, are supposed to be a whole lot happier than you look right now.”

Andrew was trying to break loose something inside his friend.  He broke something loose, but it was not the something that he had intended.

“Oh, you are so full of … something that … I don’t know what it is, but you are full of it.  I am perfectly content to marry Sarah.  You think I don’t want to but you’re wrong.”

They stared at each other.  “So, what’s the problem then?”

Richard was silent for a while, then: “You’ve known me all my life.” He dropped his voice to a near-whisper, though that served no purpose in the empty house.  “Have I ever done anything bad?”

“No,” said Andrew, lowering his voice to match, “you haven’t.  You never touched alcohol, tobacco, caffeine or members of the opposite sex.  You’ve never shoplifted or cheated on a test or lied to your parents or missed a day of church.  You’ve never burned ants with a magnifying glass.  You’ve never said a swear word, even when one is called for.  You were the only senior in school on Senior Ditch Day.  You, my boring friend, are Kalispell’s most upstanding citizen!”  Any hint of derision in Andrew’s voice was apparently lost on Richard.

“Okay, here’s the thing.  In a few days, I’m going to be a husband.  Within a year, I’ll likely be a father.  For the rest of my entire life, I’m going to be responsible for a family.  People are going to be counting on me.  I’ve been resisting temptation all my life, and doing okay so far, but now I’ve got to keep resisting for the whole dad-blasted rest of my life.  What if the temptation just keeps building up inside of me until, WHAM!  It overtakes me and I do something really horrible and end up in jail and bring shame and destitution on my entire family for all time?”

Andrew stared at his friend for several seconds.  “Ricky, that is the dumbest thing you have ever said in your life.”

“Listen, I’m serious!  I want to get this out of my system.  Before I get married and have to be responsible, I really think I should do One Bad Thing.”

“Really.”

“Really!  For as long as I can remember, I’ve obeyed every rule that’s been put in front of me.  I don’t even know what it feels like to disobey.  How can I be a good father if I don’t know what that feels like?”

“But Ricky, you aren’t allowed to do anything bad,” Andrew teased, “You have to uphold the family honor.  Remember, you are a Direct Descendant Of Brigham Young!”

Richard’s response caught Andrew by surprise: “Oh, gosh darn being a direct descendant of Brigham Young.  You know, Brigham Young had fifty-six children.  In the whole Mountain Time Zone, you can’t hardly turn around without tripping over a direct descendant of Brigham Young.”

Andrew scooted a few feet to the right.  “Okay… I’m just going to move over here so I’m not in the line of fire when you get struck by lightning.”

They sat in silence for a bit, then Andrew said, “So, Ricky.  What is this one bad thing that you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

Andrew chuckled.  “You don’t know?  You don’t have a specific bad thing in mind?”

“I’ve tried to come up with something, but my mind goes blank.  I was hoping you could help me.”

Andrew laughed and laughed.  “Okay, let’s give it some thought.  Man, we only have three days to plan and execute the One Great Sin that will satisfy you for the rest of your life. You should really have given me more notice.”

Richard spoke in earnest: “One more thing.  Whatever it is, I can’t get caught.  I’ve got to get clean away with it, or they won’t let me in the temple, and then the marriage is off!  But it has to be something big.  Not just drinking coffee or something.  I need something that will last me a lifetime.”

They sat sipping their 7-Ups for a few minutes and then a sly smile crossed Andrew’s face.  “I may have an idea.  Meet me at my house tomorrow around six.”

* * *

Seven miles away, in a stand of evergreens outside of town, on the banks of the Flathead River, stood a man. He was well over six and half feet tall, with about enough meat on his bones to fill out someone half his size.  Most of his weight appeared to be in his long, wild, curly hair and his beard.  Everyone who knew him called him Koop.

“Hey, Gordon!” said Koop.  “Hey, Gordon.  Hey, Gordon.  HEY!  GORDON!”

It finally dawned on the object of all those heys that he was to be called Gordon now, and he answered.  “Oh, hey, Koop.  What’s up?”

“Man, you have got to get better at that.  Make sure you practice every day!  I’ve instructed everyone to call you Gordon.  Your job is to answer to it.”

“Okay, Koop, okay.  You sure Gordon is my only choice?”

“Your name is Gordon Goldman and you were born July 12^th, 1950 in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.  These identities aren’t easy to come by so stop complaining.  You get through all this and you can change it to something you like in a few years.”

Koop made Gordon repeat his personal stats until he got them right.  After the quiz, Koop said, “So, you got your old driver’s license?”

Gordon pulled it out and was about to hand it to Koop, but Koop looked away and said, “Don’t show it to me, man!  Just take these scissors, cut out the picture " carefully " and give it to Dogstar.  Burn the rest of the license.”

Gordon was almost overcome by a compulsion to do something " anything " other than what Koop had told him to do.  But he calmed himself with steady breathing, and he reminded himself: They are here to help me.  He told himself to go along with what Koop said.

Koop sensed that Gordon needed empathy.  “Don’t worry man, we’ll take care of everything.”

Gordon asked, “How do you do that, exactly?”

“It’s best that you don’t know, exactly.  But give us a few days and we’ll have a full set of Canadian I.D. for you.”

* * *

It was about four months earlier Richard and Andrew had first heard of the band of hippies that had set up an encampment at the outskirts of Kalispell.  Excited by a new opportunity to practice their evangelical skills, the two young men had ventured into the woods, books of Mormon in hand, and offered to share the Restored Gospel with the 20 or so wild-looking flower children.  Koop had welcomed them, and he gathered everyone around and told them to listen to everything Richard and Andrew had to say.  The hippies had asked them lots of questions. Koop was particularly interested in polygamy (which he termed a “very groovy concept”), and was quite disappointed to find out that it was no longer considered acceptable.

Richard and Andrew returned each day for about a week, and the hippies listened to their teaching each time.  But after they had shared most of the basics, Koop thanked them for their time and informed them that they (as a group) had decided not to convert to Mormonism, and that no more teachings would be necessary.

That was the last contact Richard had had with the hippies, but Andrew would go back and visit them from time to time.  Richard warned him against this: “They’ve definitively rejected the Restored Gospel; it’s time to leave them to God’s judgment.  If you keep hanging out with them, it’s likely they’ll be a bad influence on you.  You won’t be a good influence on them.”  So Andrew stopped telling Richard about his visits, but he didn’t stop going out to the woods.

* * *

At the appointed time, Richard showed up at Andrew’s house, his heart pounding in anticipation.  Part of his mind felt just terrible about what he was about to do (whatever it turned out to be).  It felt terrible because the rest of him had never felt so alive, so thrilled, and he was just sure that there was something very wrong about that.  Andrew met him at the front porch, and the two of them took a walk around the block.

Andrew jumped right in.  “I’ve got a doozy for you.  A first-class sin that, if you can pull it off, should keep you satisfied for a lifetime.” Andrew grasped Richard by both shoulders, and looked directly into his eyes.  “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to help a deserter escape from the United States Army.”

“Are you crazy??” Richard shouted at Andrew, “How can you even suggest that?  Given who my father is, given who my brother was.  How can you think that I’d do something like that?”

Andrew didn’t seem a bit taken aback by Richard’s outburst.  He continued to look his friend in the eyes, he continued to smile.  “Okay, man, that’s cool.  I thought you wanted to do something naughty.  I figured this scheme was a perfect fit for you.  Unfortunately, I don’t have a plan ‘B’, so unless you’ve got something, you’ll just have to head for eternity with nothing to be forgiven for.”

Andrew watched Richard’s face as various emotions worked their way through it.   For a full three minutes Richard thought through the potential outcomes of acting, and the potential outcomes of not acting.  At the end, he said, “What would I have to do?”

They began walking again, and Andrew spoke in low tones.  “It won’t be hard.  There’s a guy, we don’t know his real name, but he’s been living with the hippies for the last couple of weeks.  You’re headed for Canada for the wedding anyhow, so just arrange to drive alone.  Come up with a good reason.  I’ll meet you a few miles north of town and pass off our guy to you.  He’ll have a set of Canadian I.D. to get him past the border.  Most likely the border guards aren’t going to ask any questions, but if they do, you just say he’s your cousin or something, and he came down for your bachelor party and he’s coming back with you. You get a few miles into Canada, and you drop him off on the side of the road.  He’s on his own.  You head for the Cardston Temple like nothing unusual happened.”

“I don’t know…”

“Look, you don’t have a lot of time to decide here.  I’ve gotta get back to Koop with an answer, pronto.  And you have to head for Cardston in the morning anyhow.  Tell me now if you are In or Out.  But here’s the thing:  If you are in, you’re in all the way.  If you say yes, you can’t back out.”

Richard bit his lip, and pondered again acting versus not acting.  And slowly, he nodded his head.

* * *

It was about 9:30 that same night.  Koop nudged Gordon’s snoozing body with a toe.  “Gordon, wake up!  We got you a ride to Canada.”

Gordon awoke and rolled over to see Koop, standing with the clean-cut townie that sometimes hung out with the hippies.  He squinted groggily.  “But, Koop, my Canadian I.D. hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Yeah, the timing is a bit of a problem, but I’ve got that worked out.  Our contact was going to bring the stuff tomorrow night.  I’ll call Canada tomorrow with the new plan.  You’ll leave Kalispell without I.D.  Our contact will meet you at " say " two p.m. at the Logan Pass Visitor Center parking lot in Glacier Park.  Say that back to me.”

“Two p.m.  Logan Pass Visitor Center.”

“Visitor Center Parking Lot.  Good.  He’ll find you.  He’s got the picture on your new license to identify you.  You’ll have to get a haircut and lose the beard before then.”

“Koop, shouldn’t I wait until I have the I.D.?  Wouldn’t that be safer?”

“No.  Safer is you keep moving.  Safer is we’ve found someone with a legitimate reason to cross the border.  Someone who is willing to take you.  That don’t happen every day.”

“Okay, okay,” said Gordon.  “So once I’m in Canada, who’s my next contact?”

Koop looked quizzically at Gordon.  “Man, this is the last station on the underground railroad.  Once you are in Canada you are on your own.  Do you know anybody in Canada?”

“No.”

“Good.  ‘Cause if you did, you couldn’t contact them.”

Koop heard a low rumble that he discerned to be two separate V-8 engines, in two separate Ford Crown Victorias, coming towards the encampment from two sides, each one about ¾ of a mile away.  “Oh, crap.  That’s the fuzz, and they’re here in force.  Gordon, you gotta get outta here now.”  Koop turned to Andrew.  “ChoirBoy, you take him.  Lead him through the woods, not on the roads.”

“Me?” asked Andrew, “I can’t take him.”

“You’ve got to.  You have to get him to his ride.  The cops are going to spend a lot of time here with us " I’ll guarantee that " so once you get out of earshot you’re home free.  Piece of cake.  They don’t got bloodhounds or nothing.”  He reached down and helped Gordon to his feet, then turned the gesture into a handshake.  “Good luck Gordon.  Now move, both of you!”

Andrew looked at Gordon.  “You got all your stuff?”

“I don’t have any stuff.”

Koop pointed out the direction to head that would lead them away from the police, and they took off hastily.  When they were a couple hundred yards down a thickly wooded path, they heard sirens and saw red and blue lights refracted through the trees.  For a bit their hearts were in their throats as they rushed down the path as quickly and silently as they could.  When they reached the edge of the wood, they relaxed as they realized the cops were not following.  And now they were out in the open, so they moved at a normal walking pace, so as not to arouse suspicion should someone happen upon them.

“Hi, I’m Gordon.  But it’s not my real name.”

“Hi, Gordon.  I’m ChoirBoy.  It’s not my real name either.”

“So I take it from what Koop said that you’re not my ride.”

“Nope.  Your ride is a friend of mine.  I’ll take you to his place now.”

“So, I gotta know.  Why is your friend going to stick his neck out for me?”

As they walked several miles to Richard’s house, Andrew told Gordon about the plan for Richard to do One Bad Thing.  And Gordon wished all the more that he had the luxury to wait for a different ride.

* * *

In Richard’s dream he was 10 years old again.  His friend Andy was throwing little stones at his bedroom window, getting his attention to try to convince him to sneak out after curfew.  In real life, Andy had never succeeded in getting Ricky out after curfew.  In the dream, Richard went to the window and opened it up.  But Andrew kept throwing rocks, even though the window was open.  They hit Richard in the face, but made the same sound on his face as when they hit glass.

So Richard slowly emerged from dream to reality, to discover that someone was indeed throwing pebbles at his window, as hadn’t happened for 10 years.  All he could see were the glow-in-the-dark hands on his clock, both pointing straight up.  He dragged himself over to the window and opened it.  In his back yard he could see two figures, one of whom he recognized as Andrew.  He whisper-shouted: “What are you doing?  You’re going to wake up the whole house.”

“Hey, Ricky.  I’ve got Gordon here.  He’s the guy I was telling you about.”

“What?  I was supposed to pick him up tomorrow morning.  Outside of town.  What’s he doing here?”

“Yeah.  Uh, here’s the thing.  The police are after him.  Pull him in your window and keep him hidden, and get him out of here tomorrow.”

“No!  That wasn’t the plan.”

“Look, the plan’s changed.  You said you were in all the way.  Remember that!” And with that, Andrew was gone, leaving Gordon standing, dazed, in Richard’s back yard.  Richard watched Andrew retreat, but could not yell after him without risking awakening one or more of his siblings.  Gordon smiled sheepishly.  Richard’s mind raced through his alternatives, and he quickly concluded there was only one thing to do.

“Hi, Gordon, I’m Richard Young.  Come on in.” and Richard reached out and helped Gordon get through the window.  Once Gordon was inside, Richard spoke earnestly to him: “Listen: I don’t like you and I don’t want to like you.  I think what you are doing is despicable.  I don’t even want to talk to you except when absolutely necessary.  But I promise you, I will have you safely in Canada by tomorrow night.  Understand?”

Gordon nodded.  He realized that Richard couldn’t see the nod in the darkened room.  He swallowed hard and managed a “Yeah.”

“Good.  Now, we’ve got a big day tomorrow, so let’s get some sleep.”

They were fortunate that Richard currently had a room to himself, which was a rarity in his house.  There was a second, unused, bed in the room.  That bed was neatly made, and had a lovely hand-quilted comforter that reached to the floor.  To Gordon, it looked awfully inviting.  But he knew it would not be wise to sleep in the bed.  Instead, he slipped underneath it, completely concealed by the comforter.  It was even less comfortable than his bed of pine needles, but he fell asleep quickly enough in spite of the cold wooden floor beneath him.

* * *

Richard was wide awake with the first rays of dawn peeking through his window.  The alarm would not go off for a good 20 minutes.  He switched it off prematurely.  “You awake, mister?” he whispered under the other bed.

“Yeah, I’m up.  Hang on…”

“Okay, listen.  You smell kinda…outdoorsy.  If we’re going to spend all day in a car together, we gotta get you a shower.”  As Richard was saying this, Gordon dragged himself out from under the bed.  As Gordon tried to stretch the kinks out of his neck, Richard got his first good look at his … project.

“Man, you look outdoorsy, too.  You planning to cross the border looking like that?”

“No, uh,” said Gordon, “I’ll have to get a shave and a haircut somewhere along the line.  Sorry, this all happened more quickly than I expected.”

“Well, I ain’t taking you to any barbershop.  We’ll have to take care of it here, before anybody else wakes up.”

Richard made sure the coast was clear.  He snuck into the kitchen and grabbed a paper bag.  Then the two of them made it to the bathroom.  As they darted through the hallway, Gordon was struck by the massive number of family pictures that lined the walls.  He was particularly struck by how many of the subjects of those pictures wore uniforms.  Being on the run had taught him how to quickly take in the details of his surroundings.  In the few seconds he had, he noted the picture of Richard, figured out which pictures were Richard’s siblings; he noted the blank spot on the wall where a portrait had been removed.

Gordon felt the wonder of a hot shower after so many days in the woods.  The water that headed down the drain was dark with the soil of the Flathead Valley.  But he didn’t nearly feel clean when Richard insisted he get out.  “I need a shower, too, and we’ve got to leave enough hot water for the others.”

Gordon managed to shave off his beard with a safety razor while Richard showered.  As Richard had instructed him, he was careful to keep all the shaved hair in the paper bag. 

When Richard was out of the shower, he told Gordon, “There’s an electric shaver under the sink that we use for haircuts.”  Gordon tried his best to give himself a decent haircut, but the jagged, uneven results were disastrous.  “Your long hair would’ve raised less suspicion!  Here, I’ve given haircuts to all of my little brothers.  I know how to do it.”

Richard was in the midst of cutting Gordon’s hair when a knock came on the bathroom door.  Richard’s father’s voice came through: “Richard?  What are you doing in there?  What’s that noise?”

“Uh … just trimming hair Dad.  Want to make sure it looks good,” said Richard, thus barely managing to keep ‘lying to his father’ off his blossoming list of sins.  Then he heard his Dad talking to his Mom, “The poor boy’s gone loony trying to look good for the wedding.  Got him a store-bought haircut, but now he’s got to fix it up himself.”  Then, back to Richard: “Alright, you can take your time this morning.  The rest of us can wait today.”

All hope of getting down the hall unseen faded as the household came awake.  So, Gordon had to squeeze himself out into the back yard through the bathroom window " clad only in a towel, as putting his “outdoorsy” clothes back on would have undone the effect of the shower.  Richard went through the hall back to his room to get clean clothes for Gordon.  He realized that his own clothes would be a bit too small to fit Gordon properly.  So, though it almost killed him to do it, he went into the closet and got a set of his big brother’s clothes and passed them out the window.

Gordon darted across the back yard, and across a gravel driveway into a corrugated steel building that served as the Youngs’ garage.   The garage was cluttered with typical garage stuff, and cluttered still more with more than a dozen large paper-wrapped parcels, leaving just enough room for a slightly beat-up white Ford Fairlane.  Gordon got into the clothes he’d been given, and hid his old clothes behind some of the clutter.  His task now was just to wait until Richard came into the garage " and to hope no one else came in first.

The morning wore on with Gordon sitting in the garage pondering his options.  He was quite worried about entrusting his fate to someone who wasn’t completely on his side.  Someone who, really, was completely not on his side.  He thought about all the people who had helped keep him out of the hands of the MPs from Louisiana to Montana.  From the sincere, seriously misguided, communist woman in Baton Rouge who had hidden him in her secret room that was a shrine to Lenin, to the tiny 85 year-old Mennonite pacifist who had driven him from Pocatello to Kalispell in the middle of the night in her ’59 VW bug, to Koop with his grand ideas of universal love, all of them had nobler reasons for helping him escape than he had for escaping.  Would Richard really keep his word?  It seemed to Gordon that he might be better off to risk hitchhiking to the glacier park visitor center (which one was it again?), and wait there for his contact, who might then be able to bring him back to Canada.

He had just about decided to follow this plan when Richard came into the garage, tossed him a crescent roll, and said, “Let’s get ready to head out!

“Here’s the deal: I’ve told the folks I want to drive up alone, but there’s no way to get this car off the property without being seen " my whole family is going to want to see me off.  All these packages,” " here he indicated the brown-paper wrapped parcels " “are gifts from relatives in Utah who can’t make it to the wedding.  You’re going to have to lie down on the floor of the back seat here, and I’ll pile the packages on top of you.  I think I can get you hidden completely.  It’s about a hundred miles to the border; I’ll pull over and let you get in front sometime before we get there.  Now, get in, we don’t have a lot of time.”

Gordon figured that to refuse Richard’s help now was to risk that much more that Richard would just turn him in.  He figured his only option right now was to do as he was told.  He realized he would have to tell Richard about the necessity of stopping at that visitor center, but he wisely figured that this was not the time.  Let’s get on the road and take things from there, he thought.  So he crammed himself onto the floor of the back of the Fairlane, managing to curl his body over the hump of the drive train, and waited patiently while Richard arranged wedding gifts on his back until he was completely obscured.

Richard looked at his handiwork.  From most angles, no hint of Gordon could be discerned.  But the arrangement of boxes looked very peculiar, just as if it were trying to hide something.  It would never fool anyone who was suspicious, but, he figured, one advantage of having never done anything wrong in your life, is that no one ever suspects you are up to something.  And the thrill of getting away with a crime once again made him feel truly alive, and that thrill itself frightened him at the same time.

Satisfied now with the arrangement, Richard opened up the garage door, got in the Fairlane and started it up.

He headed slowly across the gravel drive, where he was soon surrounded by his parents and siblings, all cheering him on.  He was forced to come to a stop to say goodbye.  Before Richard knew what was happening, his father had opened the passenger door, got in, and sat down.  The weight pressed down on the passenger seat, forcing Gordon’s face into the front wall of the rear seat and making it almost impossible for him to breathe.  Richard began to tremble and sweat.  His father spoke: “So, you’re gonna bring the wedding presents with you, eh?  Maybe you want to sneak a peek at what you’re getting?”

Richard protested: “No, Dad!  I would never do that!  You know I would never do that!”

“Hey, hey, settle down.  Of course you wouldn’t.  Listen, son.  You don’t need to be so nervous.  The wedding isn’t until tomorrow.  And, once you start your life as a married man … I know it may not seem like it now … everything will come … uh … real natural.”

Gordon was feeling panicky as he felt a long father-son chat coming on.  He couldn’t remain in his current squished position for long, but he couldn’t alert Richard to his predicament either.  Richard’s dad shifted his weight, the seat pushed in on Gordon, and an involuntary squeak came from Gordon’s squished face.

“You crying, Rich?” asked Rich’s father.  “Listen, don’t drive up to Cardston by yourself.  Let me come with you.  We can have one last father-son time before you’re a married man.”

“No, Dad.  I appreciate it, but, I … uh … really want to take this time to just be alone with God and pray and stuff.”  And so ‘lying to his father’ was added to his list of sins after all.

“Well, son, I guess that’s your call at this point.  Alright, then we will see you at the hotel tonight.  Have a safe drive, and God bless!”

Gordon felt the weight leave him as Richard’s Dad got out of the car, but he didn’t dare gasp for breath, not yet.  He waited until he heard the car door close, then took a huge, loud, intake of air.  Richard was shaking so he could barely shift the car into drive.  He waved quickly at his family, and advanced down the gravel drive as fast as he could without spraying them all with rocks.  He pulled the Fairlane onto the street, and startled Gordon with a loud “Whoo-hoo!  We got away!”

Though Richard didn’t notice him, Andrew stood alone in an empty field a little ways down the road.  He watched the white Fairlane speed by, and he smiled.  He watched the car pull onto U.S. Highway 2, and waited until it disappeared in the distance.  Then he headed back to his house to prepare to join his friend in Cardston.

* * *

After half an hour of driving down highway 2, Gordon was still crammed on the floor.  Richard hadn’t mentioned anything about letting him up; as a matter of fact neither man had spoken at all.  Finally, Gordon had to speak: “Hey, I’m starting to get really nauseous back here.  If you don’t want to be smelling vomit the rest of the way, you might want to let me sit in front.”

“Okay, man,” came the response, “The problem is that we’re driving through open range right now.  Any place I pull over, anybody could see you getting out.  You’ll just have to hang tight.  And try not to barf.”

The minutes dragged on with no more words.  Gordon felt dizzy and faint.  His vision blurred.  With each breath he took, the air felt more stale.

At West Glacier, Richard left highway 2 and took Going-To-The-Sun road into Glacier National Park.  Within a week or two, this road would be closed for the winter, so traffic was very light, most folks stayed on the U.S. highway.  Of course, Going-To-The-Sun road had a lot more twists and turns, which exacerbated Gordon’s condition.  Fortunately, within a couple of miles Richard found a scenic overlook devoid of tourists, and he decided to chance freeing Gordon from his little prison.

Gordon found that he could not move " his muscles had cramped in their contorted positions.  Richard had to pull out all the boxes, and pull Gordon free.  Gordon collapsed onto the parking space and drank in breath after breath of the cold clear mountain air.

Soon the waves of nausea began to dissipate and his vision began to clear.  He looked up to take in the breathtaking scene of a crystal clear lake on which ice was just beginning to form, and the piney forests behind lake, and the towering snowcapped peaks behind the pines.  The scene began to make him feel like a new man.

Richard reloaded the boxes into the back seat as he let Gordon recover.  It was several minutes before Gordon could speak.  “We’re inside Glacier Park now?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, there’s something you need to know.  They weren’t able to get my I.D. card to me back in Kalispell.”

In response, Richard swore for the very first time in his life.

“It’s okay.  There is a plan.  Someone is going to meet me with my card at the visitor center here in the park.  At two p.m.”

“Which visitor center?”

“I can’t remember.  But I’ll know it when I see it.”

Richard swore for the second time in his life.  “There’s Apgar, Logan Pass or Saint Mary.”

“Oh, yeah.  Logan Pass.”

“Oh, great.  Two O’clock?  We’ll be at Logan Pass by noon easy.  We have to waste two hours?”

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

They drove in awkward silence, alongside pristine Lake McDonald and then further up into the Rockies.  Gordon was full of curiosity about his companion, but did not dare to ask any questions.

Richard was lost in thought during this time, and he came to a realization: if he got Gordon safely across the border, he would be guilty of aiding a fugitive from justice, thus he would have done his One Bad Thing.  If, on the other hand, he turned Gordon in at the border, he would be guilty of betraying someone who put full trust in him, and thus he would still have done his One Bad Thing.  He was simultaneously struck by opposed feelings: One of joy in freedom, that he did not have to help Gordon if he didn’t feel like it; the other of grief, for his innocence was now beyond recovery, no matter what course he took.

After several minutes of quiet, Richard finally broke the silence: “So, you a commie-lover, or just a coward?”

“What?!”

“Why you running away from the army?  Do you want the commies to win, or are you just scared to fight?”

Gordon realized he was not in a position to be offended by the question, but it took him quite by surprise.  Everyone he had spent time with since going AWOL had been fully supportive of his position.  He hadn’t been directly challenged on it until now.  He answered with his own challenge: “You’re of fighting age.  Why aren’t you in Vietnam killing the commies yourself?”

Richard was offended, but he answered: “I tried to join.  They wouldn’t take me.” He slapped his chest.  “Heart defect.  No big deal really, but it was enough to keep me out.”  After a few moments of silence, Richard repeated his question.  Gordon decided to answer.

“I don’t know if this war is right or wrong.  Never gave that any thought ‘til after I went AWOL.  I ain’t afraid to die, and I think under the right circumstances I’m willing to kill.  But I didn’t sign up for this war, I was drafted.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, you’re in the army.  Somebody tells you what time to get up, what time to go to bed, exactly what job you are going to do every day.  The more I did it, the more it bothered me.  I thought about what was going to happen when they sent us into combat.  Somebody was going to tell me, ‘go kill that guy,’ and then my job is to go kill that guy.  Well, that’s the biggest thing you are going to do in your whole life, isn’t it?  Killing someone.  I thought, man, if I’m going to kill someone, I need to be the one who decides that they need killing.  That’s just got to be my own decision.

“Finally, my mind just got set:  Whatever it takes, I’m going to make all my own decisions from now on, I’m not going to accept anyone else’s plan for my life.”

“But that’s so stupid,” countered Richard, “the whole point of authority is that it’s not your responsibility.  If you end up killing the wrong guy, it’s not on your head, it’s on the head of the one who gave the orders.”

“That’s not how I see it,” replied Gordon, “it’s still my responsibility; it’s my call.  One day I made my decision.  My decision.  I didn’t tell my parents or my sister or my fiancée, so that way they don’t have to lie when the MPs come asking questions.  I had a weekend pass and I just decided, I wasn’t coming back.”

Richard decided he would take a shot at actually trying to understand where Gordon was coming from: “So, let me get this straight.  You don’t like following orders, so to avoid having to follow orders, you are giving up everything you own, your family, your love, your country " even your own name?”

“No, no,” Gordon replied, trying to make him understand:  “It’s not about following orders.  It’s about being in control.  Yes, I’ve traded away everything.  But I have control over my own destiny, and that’s worth everything.”

Richard laughed.  Gordon asked him what was funny.  Richard answered:  “You really think you are in control of your own destiny?  What, did you choose me to help you escape?  I could just decide to turn you in at the border.  You have no control over your fate, man.”

“Okay, right now I have to take what help I can get.  But once I get across that border, then I will be able to live my life however I want to.”

Richard laughed again.  “Man, I am taking you to Canada, not Neverland.”

* * *

For several miles they drove along in uncomfortable silence.  Gordon stared out the window, contrasting the serene majesty that surrounded them with the tense atmosphere inside the car.  He decided it couldn’t hurt to try some small talk: “So, are you marrying a Canadian?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you getting married in Canada?  Are you marrying a Canadian?”

Richard seemed happy to have something more pleasant to talk about as well.  “No.  Sarah’s from Kalispell.  But we’re Mormons.  We’re getting married in the temple.”

“I thought the temple was in Salt Lake City.”

“There’s more than one temple.  There’s like, half-a-dozen.  Each ward " that’s like a parish " reports up to one temple.  Our temple is in Cardston, Alberta.”

“So, whenever Mormons get married, they may have to drive hundreds of miles?  Go to a whole different country?”

“Well, no.  For a regular, ‘til-death-do-us-part’ kind of marriage, you can just have it at the local Mormon Church.  A temple wedding is a bigger deal.  When you are married in a temple ceremony, you stay married, even in heaven.  You’re married forever.”  They continued in silence for a bit, and then Richard added, “Yeah, even death won’t get you out of a temple marriage.”

* * *

They pulled into the Logan Pass visitor center around 12:30 in the afternoon, after being stuck behind a slow-moving motor home for several miles.  They went in together and ate lunch at the snack bar.  It was Gordon’s first time out in public since going AWOL.  He knew he was taking a bit of a chance, but there was hardly anyone there in the park so late in the season, and anyway he figured he’d likely rouse more suspicion by staying in the car than by behaving like a normal tourist.

They ate lunch together in silence.  Then, with plenty of time left to kill, they headed for the gift shop.  As they browsed through the trinkets and souvenirs, Richard picked up an amethyst heart-shaped necklace, and said absentmindedly, “boy, I bet Katie would like this.”

“Who?” asked Gordon.

Richard reacted in some surprise.  “Uh, you know, my fiancée.”

“Nice try, Richard.  You already told me you’re marrying someone named Sarah.  Come on now,” he cajoled, “who is Katie?”

“Heh heh.  Yeah, okay you caught me.  Katie is just a girl from Kalispell.  Just an old friend.  Just a real nice girl.”

Something in Richard’s voice made Gordon ask, “Why aren’t you marrying her?”

Richard smiled.  “Wouldn’t convert.”

“Huh?”

“She’s a Baptist.  I told her about the Restored Gospel.  She agreed to let the elders come and teach her.  She studied Mormonism for months.  But in the end, she wouldn’t convert.  She even tried to get me to convert instead!”

To Gordon’s lapsed-Catholic mind, Baptists and Mormons seemed fairly interchangeable.  He didn’t see the big deal.  “So, why didn’t you convert?”

“Me?  I am the great-great-great grandson of Brigham Young.  I can’t leave the faith.  I loved to listen to Katie talk, and I’d listen to her talk to me about anything except what she believed.  There are some things that it’s dangerous to listen to.”

* * *

At two o’clock they headed out to the parking lot.  They leaned on the back of the Fairlane and pretended to admire the scenery.  Richard asked in hushed tones who they were to be looking out for, and Gordon responded that he had no idea.

Many minutes passed.

After 2:15, Richard took to looking at his watch every couple of minutes.  Gordon wished he would stop doing that.

At 2:25, Gordon started looking at his watch every few minutes as well.

At 2:30 a yellow Dodge Dart pulled into the visitor center parking lot.  Richard and Gordon smiled and nodded at the young couple who got out.  The couple smiled, said good afternoon, and continued on into the visitor center.

At 2:35, Richard began pacing up and down the sidewalk by the parking lot.

At 2:40, a red and white 17-window VW Microbus pulled in, coming from the north.  No one got out.

Richard and Gordon stared at the microbus.

At 2:45, the sliding door of the Microbus opened, and a young black woman stepped out.  She walked past them towards the visitor center without so much as glancing in their direction, but in a low, clear voice, said “Gordon Goldman” as she walked by.  Gordon followed her in.  Richard stayed where he was.

At 2:50, Gordon and the black woman reappeared.  The engine of the microbus started up as soon as she was out of the building, and the vehicle took off south the moment she got back inside it.  Richard looked expectantly at Gordon.

“Sorry, man, looks like a no-go,” said Gordon.  “She told me that the guy bringing my I.D. got caught at the border.  Apparently he was carrying hashish as well as fake I.D.s.  She said he was able to pass the I.D. off to someone else, but it’s still on that side of the border.  Actually, it’s in a bus station locker in a town called Lethbridge.  She gave me instructions on where to find the key to the locker.  It’s like a damn spy movie.

“Anyway, now I’ve got to get into Canada before I’ll have my Canadian identity.  So I’ve got to figure out how to do that.  Thanks for getting me this far, man.  I’ve held you up long enough.  Have a good wedding.”

Richard shook Gordon’s hand, told him good luck, got into the Fairlane and started it up.  Gordon watched as the Fairlane headed out onto the highway.  The car was just starting to accelerate, then it slowed and turned back in the driveway at the other end of the parking lot.  Richard drove up to where Gordon was still standing at the curb.  He pushed open the passenger door and said, “Get in.”

Gordon just stood there.  Richard repeated: “Get in.  I promised I would have you in Canada by tonight.  I haven’t broken a promise so far in my life, and I’m not going to start now.  Get in the car, we’ll figure something out.”

* * *

After Logan Pass, their road began to descend the eastern slope of the Rockies.  Soon they were driving along the shore of Saint Mary Lake, a mirror-image of the lake they had seen back on the western slope.  Gordon worked on his courage for many minutes, then said, “Why are you helping me?”

“None of your business,” came the reply.  Firm, but not angry.

“Hey, man.  My life is in your hands right now.  I think it’s my business.”

“My friend didn’t tell you?”

“He did.  But, please, I want to hear it from you.  Why are you helping me?”

Richard didn’t answer right away.  His first thought was that he wasn’t about to trust this stranger with the struggles that had been hard enough to share with his life-long friend Andrew.  But then another thought began to form.  Once Gordon was safely in Canada, he would never be able to come back to America again.  Gordon could never admit to having even met Richard.  Neither Richard nor anyone Richard knew would ever see Gordon again.  The stranger couldn’t betray his trust if he wanted to.  Gordon was his perfect confessor.

And so Richard shared the idea of the One Bad Thing.  One wild deed before he had to become responsible.  “And I just couldn’t think of what the bad thing should be, so I asked Andy for help.  This whole thing was Andy’s idea, not mine.”

Gordon looked hard at Richard as they drove in silence for a while.  Then he challenged him: “Come on, really.  Why are you helping me?”

Richard spoke with conviction: “That’s the honest truth.  I just want to do One Bad Thing.  And this is it.  And don’t worry; I’m going to do it!”

Gordon answered with more conviction: “I don’t buy it.  I don’t care how sheltered your life was, I don’t believe you couldn’t come up with a bad thing on your own.  Why not get drunk?  Why not get a hooker?  Heck, if you had just beaten me to a pulp instead of giving me a ride, that’d still count as One Bad Thing.  Why are you helping me?”

Richard responded with as much finality as he could muster: “I just am.”  But Gordon knew there was something more.  He let his thoughts percolate as he watched the late afternoon sun glint on Saint Mary Lake.  Quite some time passed before Gordon asked his next question.

“Whose picture was missing from your wall?”

Richard didn’t answer.

Gordon’s voice became more demanding: “Whose bed did I sleep under?”

Richard stared straight ahead.

And more demanding still: “Whose clothes am I wearing?  They’re not yours " they’re too big for you.”

Richard would not answer, but tears began to well up in his eyes.  And because of those tears, he didn’t see the moose.

* * *

The Fairlane rested, at an odd angle on each axis.  There were only inches between the front of the car and the shore of Saint Mary Lake.  The car had settled into a reed-filled marsh at the lake-edge.  It finally seemed to have stopped sinking.

Gordon had seen the moose crossing the highway.  He had yelled “Moose!” and he had grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the right, causing the Fairlane to miss the moose and probably saving their lives.  Richard had the presence of mind to slam down on the brake with both feet when the car careened off the highway toward the lake.  He got the car stopped before it went all the way into the lake.

The engine was still running.  Richard put the car in reverse and tried to just back out of their predicament, but it became clear that the rear wheels were getting no traction.  Richard was unable to get his door open; something was blocking it.  So, Gordon got out on his side, and by stepping carefully he was able to walk all the way around the car without sinking knee deep into the mud.  “Good news is it doesn’t look like the car’s been damaged,” Gordon told Richard.  “Bad news is, it’s stuck pretty good.”

Gordon heard the sound of a vehicle pulling to a stop on the road above them, and turned to see a park ranger in a Jeep.  “You fellas need some help?” the ranger asked.  How could Gordon say no?

The hour that followed was the most harrowing of Gordon’s escape thus far.  The ranger’s Jeep had an electric winch mounted on its front bumper.  In order to get into a stable position to use the winch, the ranger had to park the jeep sideways across the northbound lane of Going-To-The-Sun highway.  He radioed for help, and two local sheriffs drove down from the town of Saint Mary to direct traffic around the jeep.  Richard, Gordon, and the ranger worked together to attach the winch cable to the rear axle of the Ford.  Gordon gave up trying to keep his face hidden; he figured that his best bet was to act as normal as possible and hope that no one was specifically on the lookout for him.

As the winch was slowly pulling the Fairlane up from the marsh, the ranger brought the boys back to the Jeep, where he began to fill out an accident report.  As Richard began, truthfully, to explain how the accident came about, the wind began to whip around them and large heavy raindrops began to pelt the ground.  So the ranger hurried to finish the report, and after a quick look at Richard’s license he wished the boys well and hopped into the relative comfort of his Jeep.  And thus Gordon was spared of having to explain who he was.

Once the Fairlane was back safely on the road, one of the sheriffs offered to call in a tow truck.  But, after inspecting things a bit, Richard determined that aside from some mud, the car was good as new, and he said he’d rather just get going " he had a wedding to get to.

Darkness fell as they left the mountains, leaving the park and turning from Going-to-the-Sun highway onto US 89, which headed straight north toward the border.  They were both very hungry after their ordeal, but they didn’t stop to eat at Saint Mary " they didn’t want to take any more chances on being seen.

* * *

They drove north through the darkness.  Gordon was starting to drift off to sleep when he was brought back fully awake by Richard saying, “His name was David.”

“He was the oldest.  Eleven months older than me.  We shared that room our whole lives.  He joined the army the day he turned eighteen.  Most of my relatives have done their time in the service.  My pop was a mechanic in the air force.  He fixed planes in England during World War II.  So my Dad’s expectation was all his sons would join up, and serve their time.”

“When we sent my brother off, you never saw someone who looked more like a soldier.  He looked like the picture on the recruiting poster, straight and tall and iron-jawed and not a wrinkle in his uniform.  I couldn’t wait to join him.

“When I turned eighteen and tried to join up, my brother was already in Vietnam.  He was there seven months before they sent him home, badly damaged.

“He was on patrol when he got hit by a sniper.  One shot to the groin, shattered his pelvis and blew his privates clean off.  I mean there was no equipment left down there " I know because I had to change his colostomy bag and stuff.  They didn’t know if he’d ever be able to walk again, but they said there was hope.

“He came home and he was in that bed, the one you slept under.  He was always in pain.  He was on morphine and about five other drugs and medicines.  Pretty much I was his nurse because he wouldn’t allow Mom or any of our sisters in to take care of him, and Dad was never real comfortable around sick people.

“The drugs got his sleep schedule all screwed up.  He had nightmares all the time.  He’d start talking in the middle of the night, and sometimes I wouldn’t know if he was awake, or dreaming, or having hallucinations from the drugs.  But I’d go over and sit on his bed and talk to him, and if he was coherent, I’d listen to what he had to say.

“He said he was a lousy soldier, that he didn’t have the instincts for it.  I didn’t believe him, though.

“He told me that having his private parts blown off was only the third worst thing that happened to him in Vietnam.  He said the second worst was watching a comrade die.  But " and this is why he thought he was a bad soldier " he told me the worst thing was when he had to kill people.  And I guess he killed his share.  He said they were told that enemy soldiers were sub-human, but he somehow never believed that.

“He told me that every time he killed an enemy, a vision would flash in his head.  He would see a woman weeping, a different woman each time, and he felt somehow certain that he was seeing the wife or the sweetheart of the person he killed.  And he knew that they were just as capable of love as Americans were, and that those women missed their men just as much as his fiancée would miss him if he were killed.  And even when he was back home, those women continued to haunt his dreams.

“He never told anyone else about his dreams, anybody besides me.  And I never told anybody; I kept it our secret.  And I think the part about the visions is real, you know, not just something that came later with all the hallucinations.  He was pretty lucid when he told me about the visions.

“There were other times when he clearly wasn’t in his right mind.  One night, he woke up screaming.  I went to him, and he was sweating and shaking.  He told me that I needed to get my Buck knife, and sneak into the homes of every eighteen-year-old in Kalispell and sever all their Achilles tendons, so they wouldn’t be able to join the army.”

“Wow,” said Gordon, “How did you respond?”

“I told him I’d take care of it right away.  And that doesn’t count as a lie, because when he was real agitated like that, it was important to calm him down.  You had to say whatever you thought would soothe him.  He fell back asleep and never mentioned it after that, so I don’t think he even remembered.

“So, sometimes he was obviously hallucinating, and sometimes he was obviously clear-headed, and sometimes it was hard to tell.  I remember our last conversation, right after Sarah broke off their engagement, he made me promise…”

 “Whoah!” interrupted Gordon.  “Back up.  Sarah was going to marry him?  Your Sarah?”

Richard smiled sheepishly.  “Oh, did I leave that part out?  Sarah and David had been inseparable since like, seventh grade.  Neither of them ever dated anyone else.  She was practically a part of the family.  They got engaged on the day that he joined the army.

“But when she found out he wouldn’t be able to give her children, she decided she couldn’t marry him.  She told David and David told me.  To this day, nobody else knows she did that.  Except now you know.

“The night after she broke it off, David managed to crawl to the closet, where we kept his medicine, and he just took all of it " every single pill in every container.  I found him dead on the floor in the morning.

“The coroner came. There’s a long story there that I won’t tell you now, but the coroner, we know him.  His family and ours have never gotten along.  Anyway, he made sure that it was in the paper the next day " ‘Local Man’s Death Ruled Suicide’

“My Dad was just so ashamed.  He wouldn’t even have a funeral.  He wouldn’t even let David be buried in the cemetery with the rest of our family.  My Dad and I buried him on a hill on our property, and that was the end of him.  His pictures were gone from the wall that same day.

“And here’s the thing.  If that sniper’s bullet had just been twelve inches higher, if my brother had just died in Vietnam, he would be a war hero.  There would be pictures of him all over the house.  But as far as I see it, he did die in Vietnam.  It’s just … It’s just that death didn’t fully set in until he got home.  Really, I think he died in Vietnam.”

The tears that Richard had never cried at David’s bedside, and the tears that he had never cried at David’s grave, were now streaming down his face.

They drove on for several minutes in a silence which was broken only by Richard’s occasional embarrassed sobs and sniffles. After the tears had slowed and finally stopped, Gordon prompted Richard for the rest of the story:  “What about Sarah?”

“Sarah?  Well, after that, Sarah didn’t really have anything in the way of prospects.  Everyone still saw her as David’s girl.  And me?  I didn’t have any prospects either, because the only girl I ever loved wouldn’t convert.  And Dad?  He loved Sarah; he still wanted her to be part of our family.  So, he started dropping hints, and I picked them up.  I proposed and she said yes.  And that’s the whole story.”

“Do you love her?”

“I will.”

Richard abruptly pulled the Fairlane off the highway, onto a dirt side road and parked in an area well hidden by trees.  “The border is about a half mile ahead.  Do you want to get back under the boxes?”

“No,” said Gordon, “that fooled your family okay, but it would never fool border guards.  Is there room for me in the trunk?”

“Yeah, should be.”

So Gordon climbed into the trunk of the Fairlane, which turned out to be considerably more comfortable than the floor of the back seat had been.  Richard was about to push the trunk closed, but Gordon said, “Wait!”  He stared intently from the trunk for a few seconds, then said, “Okay, close it.”  Richard pushed the trunk closed, and in the blackness Gordon burned what he had seen into his memory: the tall pines lit by the moon, clouds in the distance, an owl high in one tree, a silvery beer can on the wet ground.  It was his last chance to look at the United States, and he wanted to remember.

* * *

They were both thinking the same thing as the car approached the border.  They knew that if the border guards decided to inspect the car, they were both doomed.  Their success rested on Gordon keeping completely quiet, and on Richard not doing anything to arouse their suspicions.

There would be two sets of guards at the border; first, the Americans letting Richard out and then the Canadians letting Richard in.  The Americans were the biggest concern.  They were the ones from whom Gordon was a fugitive.

In the darkness of the trunk Gordon felt the car pull to a stop.  He barely dared to breathe.  He could hear muffled voices outside the car, but could not make out what they were saying.

“May I see your driver’s license?” asked the guard.  Richard handed it to him without a word.

“Is your trip for business or pleasure?” asked the guard.

“Uh.  Business, I guess.  I’m going to Cardston to get married.”

The guard looked at the license, then at Richard.  “You’re eyes are bloodshot, buddy.  You been drinking?”

“No sir.  I never drink.  Not a drop, ever.  It’s just been a long day.”

The officer smiled.  “You say you’re getting married in Cardston?  You getting married at the temple?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I guess that makes you a Saint.”   He read Richard’s name from the license.  “Richard Young, huh?  You by any chance related to Brigham Young?”

“Yes, sir.  Direct descendant.”

“No kidding!” replied the officer, beaming. “Me too!  We must be some kind of cousins.  Glad to know you.” And he shook Richard’s right hand, while returning the license to him with his left.  “You’ve got less than twenty miles left to go.  Good luck with your wedding!”

* * *

As soon as they were safely out of sight of the border guards, Richard found a secluded spot and let Gordon out of the trunk.  “I’ll drive you to the terminal in Cardston,” Richard said, “You can catch a bus to Lethbridge from there.”

At the border, US Highway 89 had turned into Alberta Provincial Highway 2. And every Canadian highway sign seemed to Gordon to be saying, “You made it.  You are free.  You are free.”

Richard pulled the Fairlane to a stop at the Cardston bus station.  Gordon surprised him by leaning over and giving him a big hug, and then he disappeared into the terminal.  Richard could see that the bus for Lethbridge was just loading up.  He stayed in the car and watched Gordon get on the bus.  Richard spoke quietly as he watched the bus’s taillights recede:

“Sometimes you were obviously hallucinating, and sometimes you were obviously clear-headed, and sometimes it was hard to tell.  I remember our last conversation, right after Sarah broke off your engagement, you made me promise you something.  And I made the promise.  I even told Andy about the promise.  But I didn’t really intend to keep it.  I didn’t see how I could.  So I forgot about the promise until today.  But David, I did promise you, didn’t I, that I would somehow keep at least one person from sharing your fate.  Well, my brother, promise kept.  And one bad thing accomplished.”

And Richard drove away from the bus terminal, toward the center of town.  Over the tops of the trees, he could see the spires of the Temple, lit up against the night sky.

The End.