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Show page 116 of unforgetfulness. He dies there, during the storm. A bolt of lightning peels one side of the tree, stilling him forever. His face is jarred and distorted into a mask of agony. His arms and shoulders are burnt to a dry crisp. One fist is bloody and terribly banged up from striking the oak." Durango laid the ledger aside and finished his beer. He shook his head. Campbell felt as old as time. "The past is sometimes more of an enemy than a friend," he said. "I wish in this instance the past would be kind. Tell me about that tape recorder. The Lord is crowding me." Durango took Campbell into a storage room and showed him the recorder, batteries, and clock timer. The recorder had two big spools, one feeder, one receiver. "I like a good, clean, thoughtful scheme," Durango said. "I'll let you use it free if you play it your first service and I'm there to see Radcliffe jump, I'll put you on a tape of beautiful harp music, plays three minutes on the hour every hour. Spirits don't carry on steady. They play or wail awhile, then go away and come back and play or wail some more. That's where many folks makes mistakes, expecting spirits to work steady. I got genuine spirits." He reached for a box. "I'll set the timer; it's a clock with wires. Switches on when you want it, cuts off automatically. Can be put in this box. Don't let trash or anything get in the main switch on the face of the recorder, it won't actuate, but you-know that. Take it with you." Campbell slipped out a rear door and drove away. |