〃I know what you 'was just。' Poor little Armor； you just pat him like a little boy and he'll feel better。〃
〃You could catch your death〃
〃Tell that to your pa！ If I cough my guts out； you tell him what it means to throw a man in the snow！〃
〃Oh no！〃 she cried。 〃I can't believe Papa would〃
〃See？ You don't even believe your own husband。〃
〃I do believe you； it just ain't like Pa〃
〃No ma'am； it's like the devil himself； that's what it's like！ That's what fills that house of yours up there！ The spirit of evil！ And when a body tries to speak the words of God in that house； they throw him fight out in the snow！〃
〃What were you doing up at the house？〃
〃Trying to save your brother's life。 He's no doubt dead by now。〃
〃How could you save him？〃
Maybe she didn't mean to sound so contemptuous。 It didn't matter。 He knew what she meant。 That him having no hidden power； there wasn't a thing he could do to help anybody。 After years of being married； she still put her faith in witchery； just like her kin。 He hadn't changed her a bit。 〃You're just the same；〃 he said。 〃Evil's in you so deep that I can't pray it out of you； and I can't preach it out of you； and I can't love it out of you； and I can't yell it out of you！〃 When he said 〃pray；〃 he shoved her a little； just to make his point。 When he said 〃preach；〃 he shoved her harder； and she stumbled back。 When he said 〃love；〃 he took her by the shoulders and gave her such a shake her hair broke right out of the bun she'd made of it； and fluttered around her head。 When he said 〃yell；〃 he knocked her back so far she stumbled down on the floor。
Seeing her falling； even before she hit the floor； he felt such a shame go through him； even worse than when her father threw him in the snow。 A strong man makes me feel weak； so I go home and shove around my wife； what a big man that makes me。 Here I been a Christian who never hit or hurt a man or woman； and I knock my own wife； flesh of my flesh； right down on the floor。
That was his thinking； and he was about to throw himself on his knees and bawl like a baby and beg forgiveness。 He would've done it； too； except that when she saw the look on his face； all twisted up with shame and rage； she didn't know that he was angry at himself； she just knew that he was hurting her； and so she did what e natural to a woman who grew up like she did。 She moved her fingers to make a fending； and whispered a word to hold him back。
He couldn't fall on his knees before her。 He couldn't take one step toward her。 He couldn't even think of taking a step toward her。 Her fending was so strong he staggered back； he headed for the door； he opened it and ran outside in just his shirt。 Everything he'd been afraid of came true today。 He probably lost his future in politics； but that was nothing pared to this： his own wife did witchery in his own home； and she did it against him； and he had no defense against it。 She was a witch。 She was a witch。 And his house was unclean。
It was cold。 He had no coat； not even his waistcoat。 His shirt was already wet； and now it clung to him and froze him to the bone。 He had to get indoors； but he couldn't bear to knock on anybody's door。 There was only one place he could go。 Up the hill to the church。 Thrower had firewood there； so he'd be warm。 And in the church he could pray and try to understand why the Lord didn't help him。 Haven't I served you； Lord？
***
Reverend Thrower opened the door of the church and walked slowly； fearfully inside。 He could not bear to face the Visitor； knowing how he had failed。 For it had been his own failure； he knew that now。 Satan should have had no power over him； to drive him from the house that way。 An ordained minister； acting as the emissary of the Lord； following instructions given to him by an angel Satan should not have been able to thrust him out of the house like that； before he even knew what was happening。
He stripped off his cloak； and his topcoat as well。 The church was hot。 The fire in the stove must have burned longer than he expected。 Or maybe he felt the heat of shame。
It could not be that Satan was stronger than the Lord。 The only possible explanation was that Thrower himself was too weak。 It was his own faith that faltered。
Thrower knelt at the altar and cried out the name of the Lord。 〃Forgive thou my unbelief！〃 he cried。 〃I held the knife； but Satan stood against me； and I had no strength！〃 He recited a litany of self…excoriation； he rehearsed all his failures of the day； until at last he was exhausted。
Only then； with his eyes sore from crying； his voice feeble and hoarse； did he realize the moment when his faith was undermined。 It was when he stood in Alvin's room； asking the boy to confess his faith； and the boy scoffed at the mysteries of God。 〃How can he be on top of something that ain't got no top？〃 Even though Thrower had rejected the question as the result of ignorance and evil； the question had nevertheless pierced his heart and penetrated to the core of his belief。 Certainties that had sustained him most of his life were suddenly split through by the questions of an ignorant boy。 〃He stole my faith；〃 said Thrower。 〃I went into his room a man of God； and came out as a doubter。〃
〃Indeed；〃 said a voice behind him。 A voice he knew。
A voice that now； in his moment of failure； he both feared and longed for。 Oh； forgive me； fort me； my Visitor； my friend！ Yet do not fail also to chastise me with the terrible wrath of a jealous God。
〃Chastise you？〃 asked the Visitor。 〃How could I chastise you； such a glorious specimen of humanity？〃
〃I am not glorious；〃 said Thrower miserably。
〃You're barely human； for that matter；〃 said the Visitor。 〃In whose image were you made？ I sent you to bring my word into that house； and instead they have nearly converted you。 What do I call you now？ A heretic？ Or merely a skeptic？〃
〃A Christian！〃 cried Thrower。 〃Forgive me and call me once again a Christian。〃
〃You had the knife in your hand； but you set it down。〃
〃I didn't mean to！〃
〃Weak； weak； weak； weak； weak。〃 Each time the Visitor repeated the word； he stretched it longer and longer； until each repetition became a song in itself。 As he sang； he began to walk around the church。 He did not run； but he walked quickly； far faster than any man could walk。 〃Weak； weak。。。〃 He was moving so fast that Thrower had to turn constantly just to keep him in sight。 The Visitor was no longer walking on the floor。 He was skittering along the walls； as smooth and fast in his motion as a cockroach； then even faster； until he became a blur； and Thrower could not keep up with him by turning。 Thrower leaned on the altar； facing the empty pews； watching the Visitor race by again and again and again。
Gradually Thrower realized that the Visitor had changed shape； that he had stretched himself； like a long slender beast； a lizard； an alligator； bright…scaled and shining； longer and longer； until finally the Visitor's body was so long that it circled the room； a vast worm that gripped its own tail between its teeth。
And in his mind Thrower realized how very small and worthless he was； pared to this glorious being that sparkled with a thousand different colors； that glowed with inner fire； that breathed in darkness and exhaled light。 I worship thee！ he shouted inside himself。 Thou art all that I desire！ Kiss me with your love； so I may taste your glory！
Suddenly the Visitor stopped； and the great jaws came toward him。 Not to devour； for Thrower knew he was unworthy even to be consumed。 He saw now the terrible predicament of man： he saw that he dangled over the pit of hell like a spider on a slender thread； and the only reason God did not let him fall was because he was not even worthy of destruction。 God did not hate him。 He was so vile that God disdained him。
Thrower looked into the Visitor's eyes and despaired。 For there was neither love； nor forgiveness； nor anger； nor contempt。 The eyes were utterly empty。 The scales dazzled； scattering the light of an inner fire。 But that fire did not shine through the eyes。 They were not even black。 They simply were not there at all； a terrible emptiness that trembled； that would not hold still； and Thrower knew that this was his own reflection； that he was nothing； that for him to continue to exist was a cruel waste of precious space； that the only choice left to him was to be annihilated； uncreated； to restore the world to the greater glory it would have had if Philadelphia Thrower had never been born。
***
It was Thrower's praying that woke Armor up。 He was curled up by the Franklin stove。 Maybe he stoked that stove a mite too hot； but that's what it took to beat back the cold。 Why； by the time he got to the church his shirt was solid ice。 He'd get more charcoal to pay back the parson。
Armor meant to speak right up and let Thrower know he was there； but when he heard the words that Thrower was praying； he couldn't find no words to say。 Thrower was talking about knives and arteries； and how he should've cut up the enemies of God。 After a minute it came clear： Thrower hadn't gone up there to save that boy； he'd gone