158. From The Dead (Continued)

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.

“Brother Jesse, I’m a good Catholic,” said Roger.  I don’t believe in lying to the cops or the D.A.  I told them all I knew.  But I can’t testify against a religious brother either. I told the D.A. that and he said he didn’t need me to testify anyway.”

“Look,” I said.  “Agnes had cancer.  His liver was shot. He wanted to die.  I was his abbot, Roger.  He asked me to help him to die.  I will live every day with that, but I did what I thought was right.  I guess eventually the D.A. agreed. No one sent me to jail.” 

“You thought you were risking jail?  They didn’t let you go because of that,” Roger said as he turned to look at me. 

“You did what you thought was right,” he continued.  “But me, I’m a fireman.  It’s my duty to save people whether they want that or not.  I tried to bring the Brother out because that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“What do you mean, you “tried to bring him out” of the fire.

Roger leaned back in his chair and stared up at the mountains across the road and off in the distance. 

“I failed.  Failed my duty,” he said very quietly. “I didn’t bring your abbot out of the fire. I left him there just like you did. I was running out of air in my backpack and he kept dropping to the floor like dead weight and pleading with me to let him go.”

Suddenly, I felt sorry for this poor man who had no reason other than what he believed to be his failure to explain why he had let Agnes die.

“The fire was getting worse,” he said.  “I could hear the structure creak and the smoke and was starting to blow around like a whirlwind.  I knew we didn’t have much time left.”

Roger was looking at the ground again and he spoke in hushed tones, almost reverently.

“I got thinking about my wife and kids and …. you know,  I just wanted to take them all out for a pizza when I got home.  That’s all I could think about.  Just a goddamned pizza!  And then I ran.”

In my mind I was there with Roger, running for the exit.  Out into the snow, running after the life I wanted so badly to hold on to.  To hug those I loved, to live life, to eat a pizza.”

“But Agnes got out,” I said.  “I saw him brought to the ambulance on a stretcher.

“He jumped from the roof,” said Roger.

“What?” I almost shouted.

“I don’t know how he got up there,” said Roger, “but somehow after I left he got out on the roof and jumped.  That’s why we could hear his scream.  He was outside on the roof.”

My abbot, the man I had felt so sorry for after his death, had either been forced off the roof by the flames or decided to embrace eternity as I had often considered.  If the latter, Agnes had stolen my final act of self-glorification.  For only a person who truly cannot get over himself ends his own life.

“But that was never mentioned by the D.A. or the newspapers,” I said.

“Well, they knew.  So did the Coroner.  I guess the newspaper didn’t print it because of me.  I’m the local hero,” he said with irony.

That was true. I had read of Roger’s exploits saving hikers from the depths of ravines they’d fallen into, as well as one other extraction from a fire, that particular one successful. 

So,” I chuckled, “the D.A. was ready to hang my ass for leaving Agnes in the fire, but not you?”

“You would have never been charged.  Maybe you could put this in your blog,” said Roger. “I’d feel more honest if it were public.”

Roger leaned his head back and took a long final swig of coffee from the paper cup he had brought.

“It was nice to meet you, Brother Jesse.  If you guys find a house and fix it up, give me a call and I’ll try to help out.  I’m a pretty decent carpenter,” he said.

“I appreciate your offer, Roger,” I replied.  “We’re not sure about what we’re doing at the moment.”

“Well, knowing Lance,” he said, “I’m sure he’ll help out with a few dollars.”

“Do you know Lance?”  I asked, a little surprised.

 “He was married to my sister,” he said.  “She died a few years ago, before he moved up your way.  He loves that property.  When he was a kid he used to sit on that rock cliff the whole day long.  Brother Harpo taught him to fish!”

“Harpo taught Lance to fish?” I was incredulous.