"The next day, Garth went to the bank and emptied his savings account. He thanked me for taking him out of the clinic, and told me I should leave and go back to my old life. He and Marl were going to spend all his money on food and clothing for the street people, and then just do whatever it was they had to do. He wasn't worried at all about the future.
Mongo, I just got caught up in the spirit of what Garth was trying to do. You may say I'm crazy, or a fool, but I didn't want to leave. I just had this feeling-and it's impossible to describe-that something wonderful and very important was about to happen, and I wanted to be a part of it. I had my own savings, and a trust fund with a not inconsiderable amount of money in it. I used that money to put the down payment on the bathhouse to use as a base of operations for what Garth wanted to do, as well as buy the first food and clothing supplies to give out to those who needed it."
"If you used your money to buy the bathhouse, why did you put it in Garth's name?"
"Because I wanted to." Carling paused, smiled thinly. "You still don't understand. It was Garth who was going to make this wonderful, important thing happen, not my money. Although I didn't fully realize it at the time, I'd made a commitment, like Marl, to give everything I had-including my life-to whatever it was Garth wanted to do."
"Go ahead."
"After we moved into the bathhouse, things just began to snowball. Garth and Marl were out all the time, walking the streets and bringing people back here for food, shelter, clothing-or just comfort. We were quickly running out of everything, including money, and then the wonderful things started to happen. The 'word' that I mentioned had already started to get around. The Salvation Army, as well as a number of other relief agencies that operate down here, began to help us and share their resources. Lines began to form, and still Garth and Marl walked the streets to bring more people here. I think what most impressed the other agencies was Garth's effectiveness; some of the men and women he got to come to us for help would never think of going anywhere else. Nobody had ever been able to get them to accept help; they had always been afraid to go to city shelters, even during the winter."
"Afraid with good reason," I interjected. "They get ripped off in those shelters. Who keeps order here?"
Carling thought about it, as if the question hadn't occurred to him before. "There's Marl, of course," he said at last. "He can be very intimidating-to anyone who's looking for trouble. Also, we have a couple of dozen Guardian Angels who work for us. But we've never really had any trouble. There's just this feeling of goodness and good feeling around here that's almost palpable, at least to some of us, and I really do believe that it's this sense of goodness that radiates from Garth which keeps away evil." He paused, flushed slightly. "Silly, I know."
"Maybe not so silly," I said quietly. I was indeed most impressed with what was going on in the bathhouse-and terribly proud of my brother, despite all my other concerns and misgivings.
"Anyway, almost before we knew it, we were getting all sorts of offers of money, goods, and services from other relief programs, wealthy individuals, and corporations; the jackets and headbands you see everyone wearing are donated-no advertising strings attached-by a sporting goods manufacturer. You want a jacket, Mongo? I'm sure we can find one that will fit you."
"Let me think about it."
"The point is that we ended up, virtually overnight, with a sizable financial structure-and the responsibility that goes along with it. Thank God for Sister Kate."
"Sister Kate, I take it, is the nun outside?"
Carling nodded. "She's with the Sisters of Mercy. They donated her, in a manner of speaking, and it was a most significant contribution. Besides being a nun, she's a C.P.A., with an M.B.A. from Wharton. She helped us organize, and she keeps the books. Without her, we'd have been swamped long ago. She's just wonderful. She's a gift from God-Who, as I said, provides."
"But she's still a Catholic, in good standing with her order?"
"Of course; as I said, they 'donated' her. Why shouldn't she be?"
I pointed to the rings-and-knife mural on the wall behind the desk. "Is that a religious symbol?" I asked in what I hoped was a neutral tone.
"No. It's just. . well, it's just kind of a sign that identifies. People seem to like it. Kind of 'catchy,' don't you think?"
"It seems kind of militaristic for an organization like yours."
"Not at all; not when you understand what the rings symbolize."
"Wagner's operas."
"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The great knife is Garth, struggling to defeat them."
"Who understands that?"
"People who understand it."
"Who designed it?"
"A Guardian Angel who used to be a graffiti artist. He'd been listening to Garth's stories about the Valhalla Project, and he came up with it. Everyone thought it was just super, so we adopted it as a logo. Why?"
"Just curious."
"Incidentally, I know now that all of Garth's stories about Siegmund Loge and the Valhalla Project are true, Mongo. Garth was never psychotic. He was simply telling the truth to the doctors, nurses, and patients in the clinic-but the patients were the only ones who sensed that it was the truth. Interesting."
"Yeah, interesting. What do you call yourselves?"
"We don't call ourselves anything. Others are starting to call us Garth's People."
"Lousy name," I said as I felt a sudden chill.
"Why?" Carling asked, and smiled thinly. "Because it reminds you of the name given to the people in Siegmund Loge's communes-Father's Children?"
"Something like that." The notion that Garth, even inadvertently, might be taking up where Siegmund Loge had left off in the overall scheme of things was just too sour an irony to dwell on. The Triage Parabola. Human extinction. Loge had said that, given our present state of being, nothing could be done; history would keep repeating itself over and over and over, until. . "Forget it. What difference does it make what you're called?"
"No difference. Names aren't important. The only important thing is Garth's mission on earth."
"His 'mission on earth,' Tommy?"
"Yes."
I spread my arms in a gesture meant to encompass the room, the bathhouse, the streets outside-and perhaps beyond. "What's your thinking about how Garth fits into all this?" The sudden chill I had felt hadn't gone away; indeed, I was growing colder by the moment.
"I don't understand your question," Carling said, leaning forward on the desk. His pony tail had fallen over his right shoulder. "Without Garth, this wouldn't exist. Garth is 'this.' "
"Tommy," I said as I breathed a small sigh, "from the very first time I saw you working with Garth, I knew you were a hell of a good nurse, a solid professional. I also pegged you as a man with his head and heart in the right place, and both feet solidly on the ground."
"But now you've changed your opinion of me?" the other man asked in a mild tone.
"Tommy, I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate-am grateful to you for getting Garth away from that clinic when you did. If you hadn't done what you did, Garth could have lost his mind, and maybe his life. But now I have to ask you a question."
"Please do," Tommy Carling said in the same mild tone.
"Anyone can see that you're helping all sorts of people, doing all sorts of good works …"
"But?"
"Is what you're up to here good for Garth? Once, that would have been the first question you asked yourself."
Carling looked vaguely surprised. "Good for Garth? This is what he wants and desperately needs, Mongo. You don't seem to be able to understand-or accept-that. He's a man who feels the suffering of others to the very core of his soul. You know that he cries when he sees someone-man, woman or child-hungry, cold, or in pain? To help other people is not only a spiritual need for Garth; it is, without exaggeration, a physical one."