SquidgeWorld Archive

Jacob's Ladder 2: But There Will be Joy in the Morning
By BAW


He's crying again. He's trying to hide it, but he of all people should know that he can't hide it from me. Why shouldn't he cry? He's been through a lot. It's hard for a thirty-year-old to give up something he's been working towards since he was not-quite-sixteen.

The thing is, I thought he was over it. When it first happened, yes, he cried then and I was there for him. How could I not when I had been a large part of why his dream died? But when we had come up with a solution he seemed happy with it. He worked hard at the Academy; much of the coursework he was able to test out of, and what he couldn't test out of he aced. Even hand-to-hand and firearms; I wasn't surprised at the first--he's fast, and stronger than he looks, and I'd worked with him informally--but I didn't think he'd take to firearms. Oh, I knew he still didn't like them, but he's not one to do anything halfway. He even cut his hair! It's a little longer than regulation length, but nowhere near that mop he had before. He seemed so happy, so excited; I thought he was looking forward to it. But graduation is the day after tomorrow, and he's sobbing into his pillow.

Is he having second thoughts? Cold feet? Does he really want to do this, or is he doing it to please me, or because he feels he has no other options? Those are not good reasons for doing it, and if that's why he's doing it, I have to talk him out of it.

*************

I don't know why I'm crying. I want this, I do. It was a good decision, a logical decision, a way for me to keep on doing what I discovered I loved best, did best. I was excited about it, I really was; I still am.

Then why am I crying?

I am a master's-qualified behavioral scientist; my doctorate's implosion did not take that away. "Physician, heal thyself." Now, if someone else presented to me in this condition, what would I say? Think; Sandburg.

*************

He's stopped crying now, but he's not asleep. He's not meditating either. He's thinking, hard. Good. Whenever that wonderful brain of his latches onto a problem, it comes up with a good solution; most of his mess-ups have come from reacting with his emotions. I just hope the good solution is the one I want for him; it would half-kill me to loose him, but if he'd be miserable staying, I'd want him to go.

Isn't that what love is all about? Wanting the other person to be happy, even at the expense of your own happiness?

I'll tell him; tell him that he doesn't have to do this for me; tell him that there is another way, there has to be.

**************

Between hoping that his friend would make the right decision, and fearing that the decision would take him away from him, and worrying that he might make the wrong decision through misplaced loyalty, Jim Ellison did not sleep much that night. At about five in the morning he decided that, as he wasn't sleeping anyway he might as well get up. He pulled on shorts, a T-shirt and some sneakers and went for a run; when he came back he took a shower, dressed, made some coffee, and read the paper. When he heard sounds of returning consciousness in the smaller room, I bestirred to start a hearty breakfast. Soon his friend emerged from his lair, took the proffered mug of coffee, and vanished into the bathroom. When he emerged and sat at the table he was confronted with a huge plate--almost a small platter--on which was a three-egg vegetable and cheese omelet, a large serving of hash-brown potatoes, and even a small steak. Beside the large place was a small plate with a stack of whole-wheat toast, and on the other side a large glass of orange juice.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"You need your strength. You've lost too much weight."

"No, I weigh about the same; just more muscle, less fat."

"All the more reason. Muscle is protean; protean builds protean. Eat."

As they were doing the dishes, Jim broached the subject.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Chief? Give up being an anthropologist? You've worked at it since you were sixteen and. . . ."

"Hold it, Big Guy! Who told you I was giving up anthropology?"

"But . . .the Academy . . .the gun thing . . .being a cop. . . ."

"Look, Jim, a person who studies anthropology-or any other subject-to the level I have doesn't 'give it up.' At my level it isn't a subject --it's a way of thinking, of looking at the world."

"So's being a cop. It isn't something you should do because you can't think what else to do, or because you want to please your friends."

"Look, Jim, anthropology is all about studying how people behave in groups; how the groups structure themselves, and how the groups relate to other groups and to society as a whole. And, when those relationships are disrupted we can--sometimes--fix them, or help them fix themselves. Many of my skills and insights as an anthropologist are directly applicable to police work; you've seen this over the past four years--now I can just do officially what I've been doing all along.

"And I will, ultimately, get my doctorate, after a few years. There are institutions with extramural doctoral programs with little or no time on campus. I'm considering the University of South Africa in Pretoria; they'll let me confer with my advisor by e-mail and submit a dissertation; I'd not even have to show up for graduation if I didn't want to. Then, when I'm too old to be on the street, I can teach at the Academy or teach Criminal Justice somewhere---not Rainier, though, I can tell you."

"If you're sure you want this . . .that you've weighed the alternatives."

"Yes, I have."

"Tell, me, then. What are the alternatives? Driving your uncle's truck?"

"I could do that. Uncle Owen would have me in a trice. But there are ways I can use my education and skills outside of the University. The State of Washington has licensed me to teach high school Social Studies, and there's an opening at Aquinas. That's where you and Stephen went, isn't it?"

"Well, of course. Why didn't you ask before? I'll call Father Theo first thing Monday and.."

"Hold it! I didn't say that I wanted to do that; I just said that I could. You remember Martin Hardcastle at the Department of Social Services? The one whose brother is a detective in Homicide? He'd have me as a caseworker if I asked; there's so much overlap between Anthropology and Sociology/Social Work that I could easily make the transition. He told me so when we had that case with those abandoned children, and after the press conference he called me and told me that he didn't understand what happened, but he knew that there was a good reason and that if I wanted to apply he'd have me."

"You'd make a great social worker, Chief. You're so understanding and compassionate; you could help a lot of people."

"You're right. I would be good at it. If that's what I wanted to do. But I don't. I could also work in the Human Resources department of some large company; many social and behavioral sciences graduates do. And don't offer to ask your father to get me a H.R. job at Ellison Industries!"

"Graduation is tomorrow, Chief, and I have to know. Why do you want to be a cop? If it is just to please me or Simon--that isn't a good reason."

"That isn't the reason."

"Tell me, Chief, what is the reason?"

"Because I like it. I'm good at it. Because I need to be your partner."

"Hold up. The first two I understand, but the last. . . "

"You were raised Roman Catholic, Jim, although you don't really practice. But do you remember ever having the concept of vocation explained to you?"

"Yes, that's when God calls you to become a priest or brother. Some people have the calling, and don't want it. Some want it and don't have it. Some both have it and want it. It is supposed to be a sort of empty place inside you that can only be filled by following the call--and if you have it you won't be happy until you do; if you don't have it, you won't be happy if you join an order or apply for the priesthood."

"Exactly. I understood the concept, but it wasn't real to me. I don't much practice, but my tradition is Judaism, and we don't really speak in those terms. But ever since Inchana and especially ever since . . .well, I know you don't like to talk about it . . .but since the fountain, I've come to understand that being a Guide and Shaman is the same sort of thing. I know we haven't much explored the esoteric side of the relationship between the Guide and the Sentinel, but we both know that it is there."

"I understand that, Chief, but what does this have to do with. . . ."

"If I took those other jobs--became a teacher or a social worker, or if I worked in your father's HR department--when would I have the time to Guide you? The Guide's place is with his Sentinel."

"So you are doing it for me."

"James Joseph Ellison, you're a wonderful man and I love you dearly, but I'm surprised you can still wear your Jags cap. I'm not just doing this because I like you; I'm doing this because I need a Sentinel to Guide. The fact that I like, admire, respect. . .and even love my Sentinel is a major bonus."

"But Chief. . .Blair. . .last night, and the night before. . ."

"Yes, Jim?"

"You tried to hide it, but you were crying."

"So?"

"If you're happy at becoming a cop, of staying my Guide, why were you crying?"

"Jim, I loved the University. I loved teaching. And I was a good teacher; hell, I was an excellent teacher. Of course it is a sacrifice; but what's the point of sacrificing something you consider worthless? The greater the love the greater the sacrifice."

"I don't understand."

"Jim, do you remember that old movie we watched, Quo Vadis? Remember how the Christian martyrs sang as they waited for the lions? They wept and sang at the same time. They didn't want to give up their lives--but they did it anyway because they found something greater. It is exactly the same thing for me and my academic career."

"Then you're really happy about this?"

"Do you remember the ballad Careless Love? The last verse goes, 'I cried last night, /and the night before; /I'll cry tonight, / then cry no more.'"

"I know that song. It's about a pregnant woman whose lover deserted her. She's predicting that she'll die in childbirth."

"Right, Jim. Tonight Professor Blair J. Sandburg will die; Detective B. Jacob Sandburg will be born. "

"I've read that in England the Royal Standard is never at half-mast--'The King is dead, long live the King!'"

"Exactly, Jim. The old life dies, and we honor it and mourn for it; but the new life we welcome and rejoice over it."

"Chief, it is really hard for me to think that way; and I wish I felt that way, but I don't."

"Jim, can you believe something that you don't understand, the way a color-blind person can trust that there is a difference between red and green, even if he can't see it?"

"I don't know, Chief, but I can try."

"Jim, you know that I temporize and obfuscate, and sometimes leave out stuff, but have you ever known me to outright lie over anything really important?"

"No, Chief. Your temporizations and obfuscations have never been for important things, and always for a higher good."

"Then, even if you can't understand my reasons, can you believe me, trust me, when I tell you that I want to do this, and want it for a good reason?"

"Yes Chief. . .Blair, I trust you."

"Your hand on it?"

"Since when do we shake? Come here, Chief, and get a hug."

Jim laid his chin on Blair's head.

"Chief, why 'B. Jacob'?"

"The press conference and the release of my dissertation created a ninety-day wonder, but people will forget. If 'Blair' vanishes they will forget faster; 'Blair' is dead, long live 'Jacob'-or even 'Jake' or 'Jay.' I thought of changing my last name to 'Saunders', but that would mean going through the courts, and would probably be more trouble than it was worth. Besides, I'm not an assimilationist."

"So, tonight we hold a wake for 'Blair', and tomorrow we present 'Jacob' to the world?"

"Yes, Jim. 'Jacob' is a nice guy; you'll like him."

"I'll miss Blair."

"We all will, Jim, we all will."

***************

I hear him crying. He's not even trying to hide it. But that's all right. As Blair said, I don't practice my religion much, but I still have my Bible, and even read it occasionally. And I remember what the Psalmist says: "Weeping may come with the night, but there will be joy in the morning."

Rest in peace, Blair. I'm looking forward to meeting Jacob



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