A Knight of the Word

the black staff against his chair. He took a sip. `What do you Seattle homeboys say?'

`We say, "Shit or get off the pot;" but I expect that sort of talk offends your senses, so I don't use it around you: Ray shrugged and went back to his paper. After a minute, he said, `Damn, why do I bother reading this rag? It just depresses me'

Carole Price walked in, smiled at Ross, and moved over to the coffee machine. `What depresses you, Ray?"

`This damn newspaper! People! Life in general' Ray Hapgood leaned back and shook the paper as if to rid it of spiders. `Listen to this. There's three stories in here, all of them the same story really. Story one. Woman living in Renton is depressed–lost her job, ex–husband's not paying support for the one kid that's admittedly his, boyfriend beats her regularly and with enough disregard for the neighbours that they've called the police a dozen times, and then he drinks and totals her car. End result? She goes home and pets a gun to her head and kills herself-But she takes time first to kill all three children because–as she says in the note she so thoughtfully leaves–she cant imagine them wanting to live without her'

Carole nodded. Blond, fit, middle–aged, a veteran of the war against the abuse of women and children, she was the detector of Fresh Start. `I read about that'

'Story two.' Hapgood plowed ahead with a nod of satisfaction. `Estranged husband decides he's had enough of life. Goes home to visit the wife and children, two of than his from a former marriage, two of them hers from same. Kills her, 'cause she's his wife, and kills his children, cause they're his, see. Lets her children live, 'cause they aren't his and he doesn't see them as his responsibility.'

Carole shook her head and sighed.

'Story three: Hapgood rolled his eyes dramatically before continuing. 'Ex–husband can't stand the thought of his former wife with another man. Goes over to their trailer with a gun, shoots them both, then shoots himself Leaves three small children orphaned and homeless in the process. Too bad for them'

He threw down the newspaper. 'We could have helped all these people, damn it! We could have helped it we could have gotten to them! If they'd just came to us, these women, just come to us and told us they felt threatened and. . '

He threw up his hands. `I don't know, it's all such a waste!'

'It's that, all right,' agreed Carole. Ross sipped his coffee and nodded, but didn't say anything.

`Then, right on the same page, like they cant see the irony of it, is an article about the fuss being created over the Pirates of the Caribbean exhibit in Disney World!'

Ray looked furious. `See, these pirates are chasing these serving wenches around a table and then auctioning them off, all on this ride, and some people are offended. Okay, I can understand that. But this story, and all the fuss over it, earns the same amount of space, and a whole lot more public interest, than what's happened to these women and children. And I'll bet Disney gives the pirates more time and money than they give the homeless. I mean, who cares about the homeless, right? Long as it isn't you or me, who cares?'

'You're obsessing, Ray; said Jip Wing, a young volunteer who had wandered in during the exchange. Hapgood shot him a look.

`How about the article on the next page about the kid who

won't compete in judo competition anymore if she's required to

bow to the mat?' Camle grinned wolfishly. `She says bowing to the

mat has religious connotations., so she shouldn't have to do it. Mat

warship or something. Her mother backs her up, of course. That

story gets half a page, more than the killings or the pirates'

`Well, the priorities are all skewed, that's the point'

Ray shook his head.

'When the newspapers start thinking that what- goes on at Disney World or at a judo competition deserves as much attentionas what goes on with homeless women and children, we are in big trouble'

'That doesn't even begin to address the amount of coverage given to sports' Jip Wing interjected with a shrug.

'Well, politically incorrect pirates and mat worship, not to mention sports, are easier to deal with than the homeless, aren't they?' Carole snapped. 'Way of the world, Ray. People deal with what they can handle. What's too hard or doesn't offer an easy solution gets shoved aside. Too much for me, they think. Too big for one man or woman. We need committees, experts, organisations, entire governments to solve this one. But, hey, mat worship? Pirates chasing wenches? I can handle those'

Ross stayed quiet. He was thinking about his own choices in life. He had given up the pressures of trying to serve on a far larger and more violent battlefield than anything that was being talked about here. He had abandoned a fight that had become overwhelming and not a little incomprehensible. He had walked away from demons and feeders and maentwrogs, beings of magic and darkness, creatures of the Void. Because after San Sobel he felt that he wasn't getting anywhere with his efforts to destroy them, that he couldn't control the results anymore, that it was dumb luck if he ended up killing the monsters instead of the humans. He felt adrift and ineffective and dangerously inadequate. Children had died because of him. He couldn't bear the thought of that happening again.

Even so, it seemed as if Ray were speaking directly to him, and in the other mans anger and frustration with humanity's lack of an adequate response to the problem of homeless and abused women and children, he felt the sharp sting of a personal reprimand.

He took a deep breath, listening as Ray and Carole continued their discussion. How much good do you think we're doing? he wanted to ask them. With the homeless. both the people you're talking about. Through all our programs and hard work. How rnuch good are we really doing?

But he didn't say anything. He couldn't. He sat there in silence, contemplating his own I failures and shortcomings, his own questionable choices in life. The fact remained that he liked what he was doing here and he did think he was doing some good, more good than he had done as a Knight of the Word. Here, he could see the results on a case–by–case basis. Not all of his efforts -their efforts- were successful, but the failures were easier to live with and less costly. If change for the better was achieved one step at a time, then surely the people involved with Fresh Start and Pass/Go were headed in the right direction.

He took a fresh grip on his commitment. The past was behind him and he should keep it there. He was not meant to be a Knight of the Word. He had never been more than adequate to the undertaking, never more than satisfactory. It required someone stronger and more fit, someone whose dedication and determination eclipsed his own. He had done the best he could, but he had done as much as he could, as well. It was finished after San Sobel. It was ended.

'Time to get back to work' he said to no one in particular.

The talk still swirled about him as he rose. A couple of other staffers had wandered in, and everyone was trying to get a word in edgewise. With a nod to Ray, who glanced up as he moved toward the elevator, he crossed the room, pressed the button, stepped inside the empty cubicle when it arrived, and watched the break room and its occupants disappear as the doors closed.

He rode up to the main floor in silence, closing his eyes to the past and its memories, sealing himself in a momentary blackness.

When the elevator stopped and he stepped out, Stefanie Winslow was passing by carrying two Starbucks containers, napkins, straws, and plastic spoons nestled in a small cardboard tray.

'Coffee. tea, or me?' she asked brightly, tossing back her shoulder–length, curly black hair, looking curiously girlish with the gesture.

'Guess: He pursed his lips to keep from smiling. `Whacha got there?'

'Two double–tall, low–fat, vanilla lattes, fella.'

'One of those for me?'