John Hemlock’s hands were not the first thing you noticed. That would be his eyes, the soft expression on his face that contrasted with the hard set of his huge body.
The second thing you noticed, if he spoke to you – and he would speak to you – was the gentle, raspy tone of his voice. Almost a babylike tone, except for the rasp.
No, you would not notice his hands at first, but when he took your hand in a gentle-but-firm clasp of greeting, then you would notice them – when his hand enveloped yours, when he placed his other hand over yours to emphasize his pleasure in meeting another human being he had never encountered before.
They were huge hands, rough from a lifetime of work and hard play, which for John Hemlock were one and the same.
Johnny Hemlock was born on Earth, and he was a large young man, and that attracted the attention of athletic coaches. To race through his early years, he found himself in a vast metropolis along one of Earth’s largest lakes, a city called Green Bay, where for nearly 300 years the major attraction had been an ancient sport that involved large men moving a ball across a field of grass while other large men tried to impede your progress in violent collisions.
He was one of the best athletes this city that celebrated athleticism had ever seen. And one of its gentlest souls. He had been chosen for a life of ferocious blows and clashes, but his instinct was for serenity, and his life’s ambition was to travel the galaxy sharing his love for Jesus.
Our meeting was anything but tranquil. In fact it came on the evening when one of my most cherished theories faced its first trial by fire.
“In a kill or be killed situation, there must be a third way,” I always said. When that situation arose, John Hemlock was the third way.
I was delivering a lecture about nonviolence, noncooperation and the future of Sirius 4. The crowd seemed very attentive and receptive to the message until a man stood up in the second row, worked his way to the aisle, stepped forward and raised a gun toward me. I had a clear view down the barrel and knew that in a moment my life would be over.
An impossibly large figure, moving impossibly fast, burst into my field of vision and collided with the would-be murderer with a force that lifted him off the ground and sent his weapon sailing harmlessly out of his reach – if he would have been able to reach for anything or concentrate on anything except retrieving the wind that had been knocked out of his gasping lungs.
And after he saved my life, John Hemlock reached out an impossibly large hand and grinned softly.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, professor.”
Entry 23
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