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met Morrie at a crossroads, pursuant to a dream. He’d dreamed that a voice came to him out of a thundercloud limned with lightning, and it said, “I am God. You have alienated everyone close to you and I pity you. I shall stand for your son in my own church and make him happy in life.”
    My father said, “You give to the rich and leave the poor working stiffs to hunger. I do not want you for my son’s godfather.” And there was a clap of thunder and the cloud went away, and the earth split and a flame rose up out ofthe crack and a voice spoke from it, saying, “I am Satan. Have me. I will make him rich. I will see that he gets on well in the world.”
    My father said, “You are the Prince of Bullshitters. I do not want you either, for I do not trust you.” And fire flared, and Satan was gone, also. Later then he was halfway to wakefulness, a shadowy figure passed near and told him, “When you awaken walk outside. Stop at the first crossroads you come to. I will meet you there.”
    “Who are you?” my father asked.
    “I am he who makes all equal,” came the reply, “in a most democratic fashion.” And my father got up, dressed, went out into the darkness, and waited at the crossroads. There he met Morris, and he invited him to be my godfather, for he said that one who had him for a friend would lack nothing.
    “Do you know what that means?” Uncle Matt asked me.
    “Yeah. It’s a good thing that he went to the crossroads, or I wouldn’t have my bike.”
    He stared at me for several moments. “Rose and I weren’t present at your christening. We’d had a disagreement with Sam earlier. So neither of us got to meet Morris.”
    “I know.”
    “The next time you see him, tell him it had nothing to do with him, or with you. Tell him we wish he’d stop by sometime.”
    “You will get to see him,” I told him. “He says everyone does. I’ll ask him to name a date next time—”
    “Never mind,” he said, suddenly.
    Later, that evening, after my birthday party, I went out on my new bike again. Lacking an address for a thank-you note, I resolved to go visit Morrie and say it aloud. In the past, when I’d wanted to see him between birthdays I would wander about trying to figure out how to do it and before long I always encountered him—most recently as part of the crowd at an auto accident, and once at the beach, where I was watching the guard give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a guy. This time, though, I’d go in style.
    I pedaled hard till I got to the outskirts of town, coasted downhill to a wooded area, turned onto an old logging road now mainly used by hunters, fishermen, hikers, and kids from the high school following dances and movies. It was darker down here than it was up on the hill, and I bore to the left, coming onto a long, winding stretch under summer foliage.
    “Dorel,” I said, ”I’m really happy with you, and I want to go and thank Morrie for such a great birthday present. I don’t know where to find him but I’ve got a feeling you do. I’d like you to help me get to him—now.”
    A throbbing seemed to begin within the dark vehicle, and as we rounded the next corner a kind of stroboscopic effect began. At first It seemed that it might simply have been from the angle of the light and the trees’ spacing. But after a while each period of darkness seemed more intense, lasted a little longer; and each time the light returned it came more dimly, carne for a shorter bit of time.
    Soon, I coasted down a dark tunnel—for I noted that I need no longer pedal but only steer in the direction of a distant light which now came into view. Dorel vibrated, and we picked up speed. After a time, the light grew brighter and I entered a gallery of stalactites and still pools. The place was a blaze of light, for there were candles everywhere I looked on every ledge, in every niche, atop every flat surface They varied in size, they burned with a still intensity. There were no drafts here, save for