Page 58 of The Serpent King

“Are you working hard and helping your mother pay off our debts?”

“Yep.” I’m doing great; thanks for asking. Love our visits.

“Good.”

His father seemed more alien every time he came here. But then again, maybe that foreignness had an upside. Maybe his father had changed, diverged from his mother. Maybe prison had given him some new perspective. Dill had a sudden inspiration. “Speaking of paying off debts. I had an idea. What if I were to go to college so that I could get a better job and help pay off your debts faster?”

Dill’s father regarded him with cold skepticism. “College? Is that where you mean to learn true discipleship?”

“No sir, just learn what I need to get a good job.”

He drew his face close to Dill’s. “College will teach you that God is dead. But God is not dead. He is alive and he shows himself to those whose faith shows signs of life.”

“I wouldn’t believe that God is dead.”

Dill’s father laughed curtly. “Your faith was weak. Your faith failed you on the hour it was given you to take up the deadly serpent. You were as Peter, trying to walk on the waves of the Sea of Galilee, but sinking. You need instruction and learning, but not the sort college provides.”

“I have faith.”

“What sign proves it?”

“I played in the school talent competition. That took faith.”

His father leaned back, the slightest glimmer of pleasure on his face. “Did you? Did you preach the gospel through song?”

“No.”

The glimmer of pleasure faded. “What did you sing about?”

“Loving someone.”

“Oh. ‘Loving someone,’ ” Dill’s father repeated back, mockingly. “Did you risk death for Jesus’s name at this talent show?”

“No.”

“What did you risk?”

“Ridicule. Humiliation.”

“The true Christian risks that every day. We are fools for Christ. You risked nothing but your pride. I have inmates in my ministry whose faith is stronger than my own son’s. Thieves. Murderers. Rapists. You have my name. Not my faith.”

Dill felt fury building in him. “If my faith is weak, maybe it’s because of you. You’re one to talk about faith. Where was your faith when it came time to resist temptation?”

His father bent in and spoke in a hiss. “Your faith was weak even before Satan’s work destroyed our signs ministry.”

“Satan’s work? How come you didn’t tell the jury that? Why didn’t you tell them that Satan came down our chimney and downloaded kiddie porn? How come you told them it was my fault?”

His father gave him a cautioning scowl. “Satan is no joking matter. Satan has no body. He works with weak flesh.”

Dill stabbed his finger at him, his voice faltering. “Your weak flesh. Yours. Not mine. You and I both know it. And God does too.”

His father exhaled slowly, as though waiting for a wave of rage to subside. He spoke in measured tones. “Do you not see God’s hand in guiding me here to minister among the imprisoned?”

“No. I don’t see that. I see a man who’s let my mother think I got her husband locked up. I see a man who tried to save himself by destroying his own son’s reputation. I see a man who seems to be doing fine in here while Mom and I work our asses off to repay your debts.”

His father’s eyes darkened. “Watch your tongue. Our debts. Did you not eat at our table? Did you not live under our roof?”

“Your debts. And now I’m paying for your sins by watching the world move on without me. I can’t go to college like my friends because of you.”