down the street. Standing motionless, a sudden premonition seized Mac. It was the same feeling he’d had when Richard’s family had left on the fateful evening of their fatal accident. Entrusting his words to the wind, he called, “Be careful, Richard!”
“Hey, man! You’re lookin’ good! Enjoyin’ your freedom since leavin’ the cannery, are you, Rich?”
Before Richard could reply, Tony continued talking.
“Freedom, Man. That’s where it’s at! Rich, if it weren’t for havin’ to buy food and gas, I’d never restrict my life with a forty hour week, I can tell you that.”
“What would you do if you could?” asked Richard, somewhat amused at Tony’s view of work.
“I’ll tell you, I’d be back makin’ leather belts, wallets, and wristbands. Man, that was cool, ‘cause it was on my terms. If I wanted to do it, fine; if I didn’t, fine.”
“Why did you give up leather craft then?” Richard queried.
“Couldn’t compete with the big stores with their cheap, machine-made junk! Why, each belt, wristband, or wallet I made was a handcrafted original. See this belt I’m wearin’—I designed and made it.”
Richard looked admiringly at the belt. When he saw that Tony was looking at it too, instead of the road, hoping to sharpen Tony’s focus on the highway, he observed, “That’s an interesting brick building up ahead on the right.”
Tony looked up, but still seemed to be in his own world.
“Freedom is what all humans are searchin’ for and most of ‘em think they’ll find it by workin’ hard, savin’ money, and collectin’ a lot of material stuff, but it’s all an illusion, ‘cause the more they collect, the more tied down they are and the less freedom they have. See, Rich?”
“I guess you’re right. I once heard a professor say that he didn’t have time for his family, because he had to write articles to get promoted.”
“Right on, Rich! I knew a few like that, too.”
After driving for over two hours, the men devoted more attention to the countryside than to each other. Richard broke the silence that enveloped them.
“Say Tony, I need to get back to town early this afternoon. I found out last night that my mother had a stillborn baby many years ago, and today would be his birthday. I thought maybe Uncle Mac and I could do something in remembrance of Douglas.”
“Heavy, man. I’ll get you back on time, never fear.” With that declaration, Tony increased speed. “By the way,” he asked, “how old are you, if you don’t mind me askin’.”
“No, I don’t mind. I’m 24—born in 1975.”
“Well, Rich, you look younger and act older than your age. Hmm, the hippie era started to end when the war in Nam ended in ’75.” Tony fell into a brief silence, as a mourner might at the death of a friend. Then looking up, he yelled, “Hey Rich! There’s a sight you don’t see with your head down, countin’ your money. See him up there? A goshawk. He’s as free as any creature can be, floatin’ on the air currents.”
When Tony and Richard looked up, they were approaching a sharp curve at a high rate of speed. Becoming aware of this, Tony applied the brakes and, as the van began to skid, he struggled to keep from going off the highway. For some seconds, driving with two wheels on the level shoulder seemed to work. But when the shoulder inclined, the van, as if by an irresistible force, careened toward the telephone pole looming in its path.
Tony screamed, “Oh no! We’re goin’ to . . .”
A man driving a parcel delivery truck saw the red van strike the pole. He watched, horrified, as the driver was thrown from the vehicle, unrestrained by a seat belt. He heard the sounds of metal against splintering wood and shattering glass. There was nowhere he could safely park to try to help, but he called the state police immediately to request an ambulance.
Sitting on his weeding stool, working in his garden, Mac muttered to himself, “I know that Albert Schweitzer, in keepin’ with his reverence for life, wouldn’t allow flowers to be cut at his mission hospital in Africa, but I hope he would have allowed pesky weeds to be pulled.” Quickly he straightened from his crouching position. That’s the phone ringin’. Maybe it’s Richard. He hurried into the house.
Mac rushed to the telephone in the living room, picked up the receiver, and anxiously said, “Hello . . . No, I’m sorry ye have the wrong number.” As he sat down by the telephone, he tried to shake off the uneasiness he’d felt, when Richard drove off with Tony. The front doorbell’s sudden ring upset his thoughts. On the porch stood a police officer.
“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Kenneth Morgan of the state police. I would like to speak with the spouse or close relative of a Richard Hawkins.”
“I’m his uncle, Stuart MacGregor. Richard isn’t married. Is Richard . . . hurt?”
Speaking sympathetically, the officer responded, “The information I have sir, is that he was in a car accident on Highway 99 and taken by ambulance to Mountain View Hospital. I’m sorry, I don’t know the extent of his injuries.”
“Thank ye, Officer Morgan. Di’ ye know aboot when the accident happened?”
“Well . . . as I understand it, state police arrived on the scene . . . maybe, an hour ago.
“Thank ye, Officer. I’m goin’ now to see my Richard.”
11
Despair and Prayer
On his way to the hospital, Mac prayed hard and drove fast. He shaved 20 minutes off the usual trip to Riverfield; the ambulance took Richard to Riverfield Hospital, due to its proximity to the accident.
When he arrived, Mac parked the car and rushed toward the building’s entrance. Standing aside only to let two women holding bouquets exit the front doors, Mac hurried to the information desk. He started to speak to the woman behind the desk, but instead turned to see who had touched his shoulder.
“Are you Mr. MacGregor?”
“Aye, I’m Stuart MacGregor, Richard Hawkins’ uncle.”
“Yes, a policeman called and said you were on your way, Mr. MacGregor. I’m Dr. Schiller. Your nephew is unconscious. We’ve X-rayed his jaw and neck and didn’t see any sign of fracture. I have called in a neurologist, and will need permission to continue treatment.”
“Ye have it, Doctor. Please do whatever is necessary to help my Richard. Di’ ye think I might see him for just a minute?”
“Yes, of course. Come this way.” The doctor led Mac to the Emergency Room, to a position just inside the door.
Mac fought back tears as he gazed at Richard lying on a wheeled cot, with a doctor and two nurses working over him. His shirt was off, revealing a large bandage over his ribs. His pants had been removed leaving him lying in his shorts. The petite, dark-haired doctor had treated cuts and abrasions on both legs and applied a cast to his ankle. While Mac watched, she examined Richard’s head. Mac heard her tell a nurse to bandage a wound that was above Richard’s right temple. He was receiving IV fluid, through a tube,
