apply to any law schools except Georgia because I can't afford out-of-state tuition. Yesterday, I saw the ocean for the second time in my life. My conversational Spanish doesn't function past basic communication. I can't compete with you in any area of life or experience.'
'Life isn't primarily about competition, is it?'
'No, it's about glorifying God,' I said.
Vince nodded. 'Gerry Patrick told me you were a serious Christian. Your faith made an impression on her, and I wanted to find out why.'
'I'm not sure it was a good impression.'
'She seemed positive, but the Bible says we shouldn't be surprised by persecution and misunderstanding.'
I couldn't believe my ears. 'Are you persecuted?'
Vince shrugged. 'Imagine how people at the law school react when they find out I believe the Bible is true and Jesus Christ is the only way of salvation. The only acceptable belief is no belief, and the greatest foolishness is commitment to truth.'
'How did you come to believe?' I asked.
Vince rubbed the back of his scarred right hand. 'In high school I suffered a serious chemical burn to my right hand and arm when a lab partner caused a minor explosion during an experiment. The corrosive activity of the chemicals didn't stop until they took me into surgery.'
I winced.
'I spent almost a week in the hospital and have had multiple skin grafts. I usually don't tell people this, but as I suffered, I thought about hell, where the fire never stops and the pain never ceases.'
The waiter brought two cups of chilled soup.
'This is an asparagus-based soup,' he said. 'It sounds weird, but give it a try.'
I touched a tiny spoonful to my lips. It was a puree with a much lighter flavor than I expected. I ate a larger spoonful.
'It's good,' I said.
Vince ate several bites without speaking. I waited for him to continue. He kept eating, occasionally glancing around the restaurant.
'Are you going to leave me wondering why you decided not to go to hell?' I asked. 'That would be stranger than this soup. Which is delicious,' I quickly added.
Vince put down his spoon. 'Sorry, I have a tendency to focus on one thing at a time. I'm not the best multitasker.'
'Then eat your soup before you tell me more.'
Vince efficiently reached the bottom of the cup.
'I'm listening,' I said when I saw he'd finished. 'Why did you think about hell at all? Not many preachers ever mention it.'
'In a literature class I'd read Dante's Inferno and Jonathan Edwards' `Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.' I had a cultural knowledge of the Bible and was familiar with the concept of eternal punishment. But until the accident, everything was theoretical. Afterward pain dominated my life. In between morphine injections I suffered horribly. The pain would ease, but I knew it would return and my mind couldn't escape the thought of suffering at an even more extreme level-forever.'
'That's terrible.'
'Do you want to change the subject?'
'No, no. Our church believes in hell, but I don't like to think about it. I'm more interested in learning how to obey the Lord in my day-to-day life.'
The waiter brought our meal. The food looked like a picture from one of the magazines at Mrs. Fairmont's house.
'What is it?' I asked.
'Blanquette de veau. It's a veal dish.'
I took a bite. There were unusual flavors with a hint of onion.
'Can you keep talking?' I asked. 'In between bites?'
Vince nodded. 'Hell wasn't the only thing I thought about in the hospital. Of course, I thought about my lab partner. He should have been the one suffering, not me. Many times I imagined the chemicals spewing onto his hand and arm instead of mine. Then I read what Paul wrote about forgiving people who have sinned against us. It made logical sense. If I wanted God to forgive me so that I wouldn't go to hell, I needed to forgive the student who sinned against me. I talked to my parents about it. My father listened, but my mother thought I was delusional.'
'What did she say?'
'That my mind was too precious a gift to throw away on Judeo- Christian mythology. She's a strict humanist. My father sees the order in science and that makes him doubt random chance as the explanation for the universe.'
'Discussions around your supper table must be interesting.'
'Anyway, after I got out of the hospital, I started reading the Bible and started attending an Episcopal church not far from our house. The thoughts of hell went away, and the love of God filled my heart.'
Vince's description of his conversion left me with doubts. It didn't sound like he'd prayed it through.
'What about your lab partner? Did you forgive him?'
'Yes, and when I told him what happened to me, he prayed to receive Christ too. Now, he's in a postgraduate chemistry program at Rutgers.'
We ate in silence for a minute.
'But how do you know God's love is in your heart?' I asked.
Vince smiled. 'Oh, when it happens, you'll know.'
During the remainder of the meal, he plied me with questions. I had to fight the sense of being interviewed by an anthropologist studying a primitive religious sect. Several times he appeared puzzled, but there was no hint of criticism. I finally decided everything I told him was going into an internal computer file to be processed later.
Dessert, custard topped with fresh blueberries, arrived. The custard was the creamiest substance I'd ever put in my mouth.
The chef returned at the conclusion of the meal. I smiled as sweetly as I could while Vince complimented him on the meal.
'Why did you take a summer job with Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter?' I asked him during the drive back to the office. 'With your academic background, you could have worked anywhere.'
'One, it's close to home without being there. I'll spend next weekend in Charleston.'
Vince turned onto Montgomery Street. I waited for other reasons. None came.
19
AFTER I THANKED VINCE FOR LUNCH, I GRABBED THE JONES file from the library and rushed upstairs to Zach's office. His door was open. Fast-food paper wrappers from lunch were strewn across his desk.
'Are you ready to go?' I asked.
Zach looked at his watch. 'I worked until one o'clock, then went out for a burger. Mr. Appleby doesn't take a two-hour lunch unless there is going to be a twenty-thousand-dollar fee on the line.'
'Vince took me to a French cafe near Greene Square. The food was good, but the service was on European time.'
Zach wadded up the food wrappers and threw them across the room into a round trash can.
'Nice shot,' I said.
'When did you go to Europe?' he asked, standing up.
'I haven't. Vince told me the French take a lot of time with their meals. Eating is more of a social event with them than it is for us.'
