He, too, is leaning into the music, drawn into its swift, skimming momentum. Pale-freckled Heddi also seems altered: there is an undercurrent of passion, possibly rage, in the dulcet sounds of her viola, where previously she was tentative, as if feeling herself unworthy of the music.
The terror of beauty, Luce thinks. Like the terror of mortality, it is what links us. As they near the end of the Presto, plunging forward, downward, wild flying notes in a tarantella, suddenly it happens that the Little Quartet is lurching again.
The audience is stunned. In the startled hush, someone coughs, or laughs—sheer embarrassment, nerves. Scully, Tyler, Heddi, Luce—these mortal beings, familiar faces shining with triumph, have played for the audience as if their very lives were at stake. Luce is blinking back tears; Heddi wipes her face on a sleeve of her sleek black shirt.
See, you bastards? I am not dead yet. Behind the musicians, the sky has been steadily darkening. There are flashes of heat lightning, like fire. Deafening claps of thunder. Within seconds, a storm moves in from the northeast. Low rumbling rolls across the sky like the sound of celestial bowling.
Vedders Hill itself seems to be shaking. Waxless candles have been lit, their flames high and tremulous. Now rain is pelting against the windows. Rain in steely sheets. The thunder continues. Flashes like strobe lighting that stun the brain. Guests press hands over their ears. Shield their eyes. They are laughing, though they are also frightened. They are white-faced, stricken. Some of them are not certain where this place is—where they have been brought.
Overcome by emotion, Luce has fled into the kitchen clutching her violin, as if to shield it from staring eyes. She has exposed herself, she thinks—her very soul outside her body, but perhaps it is her body as well, unclothed, naked.
If Andrew heard the music clearly, then Andrew knows. Everyone who heard must know. And there is Scully close behind her, following Luce into the kitchen. He wants ice for his Diet Coke. Luce shrinks away. Bright, blinding sunshine. She has bought flats of petunias, pansies, black-eyed Susans to plant in the moist earth. But how vile, the smell! But surely Luce is protected by the mask, and certainly she is protected by the gloves, which are thick and unwieldy, made not of cloth which can wear out but of a sort of plasticized rubber.
Except for the smell, Luce is actually very happy. Luce is smiling. Luce is thinking, What a triumph! The quartet surprised everyone the previous night but particularly they surprised themselves.
It is unusual for him to venture outdoors at this hour of the day. Usually he is at his desk by 8 A. And the surprise is—Andrew is wearing a green gauze face mask of his own! Luce stares at her husband uncertainly. Not knowing whether Andrew is mocking her or whether, smelling the befouled earth so close to their house, he is at last acknowledging that something is grievously wrong.
He joins Luce in the ravaged garden. His mask is askew, giving him a wry, rakish air. Half their faces hidden, each has become tantalizingly unfamiliar to the other. Their eyes seem different, somehow. Wife, husband? Masked by gauze, their voices are muffled. Luce and Andrew begin to behave in antic fashion, like mimes.
They begin to laugh together, giddy. Perhaps they are still drunk from the festive night before, which did not end, for some of the hardier guests, until after midnight. She is careful not to be overly familiar with her thin-skinned husband, not to offend, though she means to protect him from looking foolish. By Deborah Treisman. By Joyce Carol Oates. Thirty years.
Her life decided for her. It has. And a good cook. And then—silence. Enter your e-mail address. This Week in Fiction. You have offended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince, and yet it is nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment.
It is to be ascribed to nothing else that you did not got to hell the last night; that you were suffered to awake again in this world, after you closed your eyes to sleep. And there is no other reason to be given why you have not dropped into hell since you arose in the morning, but that God's hand has held you up.
There is no other reason to be given why you have not gone to hell since you have sat here in the house of God provoking his pure eye by your sinful, wicked manner of attending his solemn worship. Yea, there is nothing else that is to be given as a reason why you do not this very moment drop down into hell.
O sinner! It is a great furnace of wrath, a wide and bottomless pit, full of the fire of wrath that you are held over in the hand of that God whose wrath is provoked and incensed as much against you as against many of the damned in hell. You hang by a slender thread, with the flames of Divine wrath flashing about it, and ready every moment to singe it and burn it asunder. Refresh and try again. For it is said, that when that due time, or appointed time comes, their foot shall slide.
Then they shall be left to fall, as they are inclined by their own weight. God will not hold them up in these slippery places any longer, but will let them go; and then, at that very instant, they shall fall into destruction; as he that stands on such slippery declining ground, on the edge of a pit, he cannot stand alone, when he is let go he immediately falls and is lost.
Edwards wanted to impact his audience by appealing to their fears, pity and vanity. Edwards had a powerful impact on his puritan audience because of his use of a cautionary tone, clear imagery and complex figurative language. He believes that if a person was to fell, it would be because God wanted him or her to may be because of their wickedness. Similarly, both of the Old and New Testaments have numerous references on a caring Father who gives grace and mercy to his hurtful enemies.
It also shows how God finds sinning to be distasteful but is prepared to show His rage towards his foes. In this sermon Edwards refers to Gods everlasting wrath. He describes Gods anger towards those who do not follow and believe in Him. It is explained that God is the only one who is able to save people from going to Hell. Edwards wants people to imagine how evil and distressed life would be without Gods love and mercy.
He explains that to not burn in Hell people need to ask for forgiveness from God, experience Gods mercy, and continuously practice the Lords word. The Lord gives us many opportunities to rely on Him and when we need his love and mercy the most.
People ignore that and believe they can be their own gods. No one can come to the father except through me.
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