Ihs Together Eca International

Tears In The Darkness In the weeks that followed, as the survivors finally came to their senses, they began to count their great good luck. For every one of them, three had died. What but luck could explain that? There was no accounting for the sadness, of course, the emptiness that always follows the euphoria of luck. Almost every man had lost a buddy, a friend for the road. And they could not shake the feeling that their lives, their great good luck, had somehow been purchased at someone else’s expense. To a man, they also remembered a voice. When the bedlam was at its height, when men were screaming and moaning and begging for their lives, Father William T. Cummings, the Maryknoll priest who in Bilibid had read Ben Steele the last rites, would make his way to the middle of the hold and shout to be heard. “Listen to me,” he would yell. “You must listen to me!” Then, in a clear but calming voice, he would recite a prayer. 23 Our Father, who art in heaven . . . Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive