INNER BEAUTY

John Stenheimer wanted to kill someone. And not just anyone. He wanted to kill a Black man or a Jew. Either one would do; it didn’t really matter.

As the leader of a local neo-Nazi group in a Southern state, he had to set a certain example for his followers. He had just earlier given a powerful, riveting speech to his acolytes, leading them in the chant, “Blood and soil! Blood and soil! Jews and Negros will not replace us!”

John Stenheimer had all the visible requisites of a neo-Nazi. His blond hair was styled in a crewcut. He had the lovely tattoo of a swastika on the back of his head; a jagged SS symbol on his chest in deference to the Third Reich’s Schutzstaffel; and a large 88 on his back, representing the eighth letter in the English alphabet, HH, an abbreviation of Heil Hitler.

He also had the necessary beliefs in White Supremacy and the inherent inferiority of all other races and people. After all, the influence of his genetics could not be denied. John came from a proper German family and felt quite Aryan.

As a young child, John loved to sit on his grandfather’s knee and listen to tall tales from the War and the era when, as his grandfather would say, “a German could feel proud of his nation and his heritage.” According to his grandfather, Germany would still be in control of Europe to this day had Hitler not made the terrible mistake of invading Russia. By allowing the opening of a second front, Germany was hopelessly overpowered by the combined forces of the Soviet Union on one side and the United States on the other.

By the time he was an adult, John had connected with numerous social media sites that shared similar views, and, before long, became a well-known speaker for his nefarious philosophy. In several forums, members often spoke of their desire to kill. John found resonance with these people and slowly developed the same desire.

As John Stenheimer drove home from his rally, he began to think seriously about killing someone. “It’s now or never!” he thought. It was just a matter of finding the right victim. Of course, the method of killing had to be considered. He could simply run someone down with his car, but that might make a mess, and dent in his front grill and quarter panel. He could shoot someone, but that makes a loud noise and might attract attention. Using poison gas, however attractive and logical, seemed much too cumbersome.

Just then, as he drove along a back road, well up ahead he saw a young Black fellow, probably in his late teens or early 20’s, walking on the curb on the driver's side, and the opportunity presented itself. John had a baseball bat lying on the back seat, left there by his younger brother. John stopped the car for a moment, reached back and grabbed the bat by the handle, and then slowly accelerated forward, steering the car to come up alongside the young man. As he drove past, he floored the gas pedal and swung the bat with his left arm, connecting perfectly on the back of the young man’s skull.

John let out an involuntary “Yee haw!” as the car sped forward. John looked back through the rear view mirror and saw a dark shadow lying unmoving on the street behind him. As the car picked up speed, John stuck his head out of the driver’s side window to look back at the crime scene, laughing uncontrollably at his perceived power of life and death.

But by driving while looking backward, John didn’t see the upcoming construction sign warning that the end of the road was upon him. Traveling now at more than 70 miles per hour, John’s car smashed through the sign and catapulted off the road into a ravine 50 feet below, the vehicle descending through the air and hitting the rocks with the force of a pile driver, bursting into flames.

••••••

It was now three months later, and John’s parents, older sister and younger brother were taking turns at a bedside vigil in the ICU at University Hospital. John had been in a coma for these past months and had undergone more than 15 surgeries. The ventilator produced its rhythmic hiss in a cycle of one breath every four seconds, and numerous monitors and systems beeped and whirred.

Since the accident, John had not moved a muscle, although a broken neck was ruled out by a cervical spine CT scan. He remained in a medically induced coma, not only to prevent agitation but also to assuage the discomfort of having a ventilator tube in his trachea. But suddenly, at first almost imperceptibly, a finger moved. Then, a hand moved. Soon after that, John opened his eyes.

Once John’s neurological status appeared stable and recovering, the doctors ordered the ventilator discontinued and the sedation stopped. The attending nurse who had been on his case since his admission sat by his bedside and began to speak with him.

John asked the nurse, “What happened to me?”

The nurse, Gayle, responded, “John, you had a terrible car accident. Your car went off the road into a ditch. The police estimate you had to be going at least 60 or 70 miles per hour. They figured you fell asleep behind the wheel.”

John asked timidly, “Did the police say anything else?”

Gayle thought for a moment. “No, just that. But you were in really bad shape when the emergency guys brought you in. They said it was a miracle that you were alive. You’ve had quite a time in the hospital so far. Honestly, no one thought you were going to survive.”

John asked, “Gayle, tell me everything that happened to me.”

Gayle said, “Well, I’ve got to tell you, you’ve had the most wonderful medical team and doctors you could imagine. The head surgeon, Dr. Ayele Baruch, literally didn’t leave your bedside for a moment. I’ve never seen such an amazing effort to save a life. He’s a transplant surgeon. You’ve had fifteen surgeries, I think, maybe more. He performed at least eight of them, along with his team. I think he’s going to want to tell you all the details of the surgeries, so I’ll leave the rest for him.”

John asked, “Could I meet my doctor now?”

Gayle chirped, “I think so, if he’s available. I’ll page him. I’m sure he’ll want to chat with you.”

John readied himself to meet the man who saved his life. He heard the doctor’s voice outside the room speaking with the nurses. Then, Dr. Baruch entered the room and, smiling, came to the bedside.

“So, how is my favorite patient?” asked Dr. Baruch.

John was momentarily speechless. He gazed up at the very slender, very tall, very dark-skinned doctor, and said, “Gayle told me how you saved my life. Thank you so much.”

Dr. Baruch smiled and nodded. “I must tell you, it wasn’t easy. You were a real challenge. When you were first brought in, we had our doubts whether we could pull you through.”

John requested to know more.

Dr. Baruch spoke. “John, you were very badly injured in the accident. Your internal organs sustained a tremendous amount of damage. Your heart, liver and kidneys were irreparably crushed by the force of the impact. We had no option other than to perform a multiple organ transplant. You received a new heart, a new liver, and new kidneys from a young donor who had died the same night you suffered your injuries.”

As he spoke, Dr. Baruch’s eyes welled up with tears. He bowed his head forward, trying to hold back his emotional torment. As he leaned forward, John was able to see a yarmulke on the doctor’s head.

“John, my son died the same evening you were brought in. He sustained some type of severe head injury. The police were never able to figure it out. He was found lying on the side of the road with a fractured skull. We don’t know how it happened. It might have been some type of random attack by robbers. But he was a perfect donor for you. My son’s heart, liver and kidneys are now alive in you.”

Dr. Baruch continued. “My son David was such a wonderful kid. He was going to be starting medical school later this year. We loved him so much. Losing him was the most horrible thing that has ever happened to my wife and myself. He loved everyone. All he wanted to do is improve the world.”

“So, in a way, my son lives on in you. It softens the agony of losing him to know that, somehow, his death gave life to another.”

John could barely speak, but forced himself.

“Dr. Baruch, you must have noticed my tattoos. I see you are wearing a yarmulke. I guess that means you’re Jewish, right? But you’re also Black. I don’t understand it. Why would you have been so eager to help me once you saw the tattoos? I’m sure you know what they mean.”

The doctor sat down on a chair and spoke.

“John, I am an Ethiopian Jew. My parents and I were rescued from a concentration camp during a civil war in my country. I never lost sight of the miracle of life the rescue gave me and my family. That is why I became a doctor. But in Judaism, in one of our sacred books, the Talmud, it states that when a life is saved, it’s like saving an entire world. And, in every world, there is good and bad. The important part of that is to know that there is always some good. No world is totally bad.”

After the doctor left the room, John remained quiet and still. He could feel his new heart beating strongly and steadily. And, somehow, he felt it speaking to him, saying, “Tikkun olam. Repair the world! Be kind to people and love them. Never be cruel to anyone. And remember, there is always some good in everyone.”