“If I take you to the hospital, they’ll put me back in jail. I can’t go back to jail, man. I can’t.”
“They wouldn’t put you in jail if you take me to the hospital,” I said slowly, still feigning injury, passivity. I knew that I might find an opening, a moment when I could surprise him, overpower him, take away his gun. As long as he didn’t know I was okay, I had an advantage.
“Oh yes they would, man. They’d know I shot you, and they’d lock me up.”
“We don’t have to tell them. I won’t tell them.”
“I can’t trust you, man. I wish I could, but I can’t. I can’t go back to jail, that’s all. I have to kill you.” He seemed forlorn. This was not where he wanted to be. He wasn’t making any moves. His gun hung limply from his hand, pointed down toward the floor. The boxes were still stacked around me. I couldn’t judge how much strength I had, whether it would be enough to push out and wrestle him down. He was small but strong. Was he still full of adrenaline? That would make him even stronger. My strength lay in words, in verbal swordplay. If I could keep him talking, he wouldn’t take stronger action.
“Maybe I could go into the hospital alone, Ray. You wouldn’t even have to be there. You could get away.”
“No, man,” he said, shaking his head. “As soon as you told them, they’d come find me. They’d track me down.”
I was silent. That didn’t work, I thought.
He said, “Why aren’t you dead, man? I shot you four times in the head. How come you’re still alive and talking? You should be dead! I know I didn’t miss.” He looked again at my head, taking it in one hand and turning it to the left and right. “Does it hurt?” he asked. He seemed genuinely concerned.
“Yeah, it hurts,” I lied. “But I think I’m going to be okay.”
“Well, I don’t know what to do. I can’t take you to the hospital. I can’t just let you go, because you’ll go to the police. Why were you so damn nice to me, man? No one’s ever been that nice to me before. It made it harder to kill you. You kept buying me stuff, and giving me stuff. I just couldn’t decide when to do it.”
Not if, but when.
“What would you do with all this stuff if you had it, Ray?” I asked.
“I could go home and be somebody, I could do stuff. I’d have enough money to buy my way out of there, man.” Ray began to talk. He talked about his home in East Los Angeles, the poverty around him, his anger, the schoolteachers who made him feel stupid, his father who drank too much and beat him, and being tough on the streets. He talked about joining the army, how that was supposed to make it work, but he couldn’t stand being told what to do all the time, so he went AWOL. He talked about dealing drugs, and drug deals going bad, and how he ripped off his dealer buddies. That’s why he had to leave L.A., because they were looking for him. He talked about stealing his father’s gun and money before he left, then he realized there was no place to hide, so he decided to turn back. Maybe he could do one more rip-off and get rich. He just needed one hit, one sucker. If his target was rich enough, he could pay off the dealers and start over. So he decided to kill whoever stopped. Whoever came by to help him. Me.
The night had turned to morning, the sky shifting slowly from indigo to blue. The sound of chirping birds made me grateful to be alive.
“I’m pretty stiff and sore, Ray, I’d feel better if I could get up and stretch.” I was still in the same position I had been in for six hours. Dried blood was plastered to my hair and face, my shins hurt from being pushed against the edge of a cupboard door, and my back was stiff and throbbing.
“Okay, man, I’m going to let you up, but don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“Okay, Ray. You just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Remind him that he is in control. Don’t let him feel out of control. Look for an opening.
He moved the boxes from around me, stepped back with the gun in his hand, and opened the door. I crawled slowly out of the van, stretching upright for the first time. How beautiful the world was to my new eyes. Everything shone as if made of sparkling crystal.
We had stopped on a residential street near a small pond at the bottom of an embankment. He gestured down the dirt trail that led to the water. As I walked down the steep incline I thought, “Is this death again, tapping on my shoulder? Will he shoot me in the back and push me into the water?” I felt weak and vulnerable, yet simultaneously immortal and impervious to his bullets. I walked erect and unafraid. He followed me to the water’s edge and stood by as I squatted down and rinsed my bloodied hands and face, splashing cool, fresh water on myself. I stood up slowly and faced Ray. He looked at me curiously.
“What would you do if I handed you this gun right now?” he asked, holding the gun out to me.
My answer was my first thought: “I’d throw it out into the water,” I said.
“Aren’t you mad at me, man?” he asked. He seemed incredulous.
“No, why should I be mad?”
“I shot you, man, you ought to be angry! I’d be fucking furious! You wouldn’t want to kill me if I gave you this gun?”
“No, Ray, I wouldn’t. Why should I? I have my life and you have yours.”
“I don’t understand you, man. You are really weird, really different than anyone I’ve ever met before. And I don’t know why you didn’t die when I shot you.” Silence. Better left unanswered. As we stood at the water’s edge, I realized that Ray had undergone as profound a transformation as I had. We were both different people than we had been the day before.
“What should we do now, Ray?”
“I don’t know, man. I can’t take you to the hospital. I can’t let you go. I don’t know what to do.”
So we continued our talk, seeking a solution to his dilemma. We explored the possibilities—what could we agree to? I made suggestions, he told me why they wouldn’t work. I made other suggestions. He listened, considered, rejected, and relented. We sought a compromise.
Ultimately, we found a bargain we could agree to: I would let him go, and he would let me go. I promised not to turn him in or report him to the police, but on one condition—he had to promise that he would never do anything like this again. He promised. What choice did he have?
As the sun was rising over the hills, we climbed back into the van. I sat in the passenger seat as he drove to a place that he knew. He parked, and I gave him all the cash I had, about $200, and a couple of watches I thought he could pawn. We walked together across the street. The sun was shining. It was early in the day but already warm. He had his army jacket and sleeping bag under one arm, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Somewhere in the bundle there was a black gun.
We shook hands. I smiled at him, and he continued to look confused. Then I said goodbye and walked away.
In the emergency room of L.A. County Hospital, a doctor scraped away small bits of metal, skin and hair, and sewed stitches into my scalp. He asked me how it had happened, and I told him, “I was shot, four times.”
“You’re a lucky man,” he said. “The two bullets that hit you both glanced off your skull. You have to report this to the police, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” I said.
I knew that I was lucky, but more than lucky – I felt blessed. I didn’t go to the police. I had made a promise and had received a promise in return.
I kept my promise. I believe that Ray kept his.
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This story was first published in the book, I Thought My Father Was God…and Other True Tales from NPR’s National Story Project, edited by Paul Auster (Henry Holt, October 2001), and is the basis for the short feature film, “The Kindness of Strangers,” directed by Claudia Myers, which won “Best Film” at the Rosebud Film Festival. It debuted at the Hollywood Film Festival in 2004.
Photo credit: Flickr / -AX-
You can watch the award-winning short film, “The Kindness of Strangers,” which was based on my story. The narrator’s point of view is switched to Ray, and many facts were changed to make it more film-worthy, but most of the dialogue in the film is close to what actually happened. (20 minutes long)
http://www.EverydayAwakening.com/video.html
Visit my website to learn about my teachings about beliefs: http://www.TransformYourBeliefs.com.
What a miraculous story of love, faith, forgiveness and letting go. That is truly inspirationial Lion!
Loved this story 10 years ago and it has legs…