157. From The Dead

I sat outside our room at the Mountain Meadow Motel the next morning, enjoying the very early bout of spring weather.  The temperature would climb to 60 today, according to the weatherman, who said so this morning on the small black and white TV in one of our rooms, the one we call Gryffindor.  I tipped back in the cheap plastic chair against the wall of the building and felt the rear legs begin to bend under my weight.  As I leaned forward, a small green station wagon turned in from the main road and proceeded down the drive to the office, located off to my left in the center of the motel.  A short man with a mustache rolled his ample body out of the car and began to walk toward the office.  When he saw me sitting in my work robe, he changed course and walked over to me.

“I’m looking for Brother Jesse,” he said.

“That’s me,” I said as I stood to shake his hand.  He took it … I thought reluctantly … and then asked if we could sit and talk.  When we found two chairs that would hold each of us, he began.

“I’ve been following your blog,” he said.  “I’m Roger Kumminski, the fireman who went in after your abbot.”

.

I felt fear well up in my stomach and said nothing.

“The brother was alive, you know, when I found him,” he continued.

I knew that, of course, and I knew Agnes was dead when they got him into the ambulance.

“I heard what you testified at the courthouse,”  the fireman said.  “When I found him, he talked to me, too.”

A silence ensued.  Unable to stand it, I asked, “So what did he say?  Could you understand him?”

“Yes,” said the fireman, “I could understand him.  The first thing he said was to leave him.  He wanted to die.  I didn’t want to leave him, so I started dragging him out.  He fought me.  I stopped for a breath and then I tried to put my air pack mask on him again so he could get some air.  He knocked the damned thing away from his face and then he said, ‘I’ve got to get to Jesse before he jumps.  He’s up there.’ He said, ‘He’s in his chapel. He’s in his chapel.’” 

Roger Kumminski had been looking down at the ground in front of us, concentrating as he told his story.  Now he turned and looked at me.

“What did he mean?” asked Roger.  “Did you jump out a window to escape the fire?”

I didn’t think it would be helpful to explain my past fits of depression.

“Agnes had been my Abbot,” I said.  “It was his job to worry about the welfare of each of us.  I used to climb out on the roof and enjoy the view.  Agnes always worried I’d fall off.  He was confused when he spoke to you.  Maybe he ran up to the third floor chapel looking for me during the fire and couldn’t find me.”

Roger gave me a strange look.