The Death and Resurrection Of Martin Luther

The River's Secret

The river flowed quietly against the river banks. A fisherman cast his net while his daughter walked near the shallow part, trousers rolled to her knees, her toes sinking into the mud.

  “Father!” she called out. “I see something by the shallow part!”

From the other side of the river, her father looked up from where he was setting the fishing lines. “Fish?” he asked, hopeful.

She shook her head. Her brow furrowed. “No, not fish. Something big… looks like…” She paused. The figure bobbing near the reeds didn’t look right. It was upside down, half- swallowed, the water swaying it gently back and forth. For a second she thought it was an animal. But animals didn’t look like that.

Her curiosity pushed her closer. She grabbed a long stick from the ground and poked the figure. The water shifted, and the body rolled slowly onto it’s back.

Her scream echoed through the trees.

  “Father! Father, come quick!”

The father dropped everything and dashed across, splashing through the shallows. When he reached her side, he froze. His chest heaved. It wasn’t an animal, It was a man.

The face was swollen, pale and discoloured, lips cracked. The body looked like it had been in the water for days, bloated and stiff. Dark patches marked the chest and shoulder, they were bullet wounds.

The girl clutched her stick tighter. “Father… he’s dead. We shouldn’t be here.”

Her father bent low, staring hard. He muttered, “Lord have mercy.”

  “Father, please,” she begged, her voice shaking. “Let’s go. If anyone sees us here, they won’t believe we just found him. We’re poor, and they’ll say we killed him.”

Her father rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes stayed on the man. Something tugged at him, stronger than fear. He leaned down and pressed two fingers against the man’s neck.

For a moment, nothing. No movement, no sound but the girl’s ragged breathing.

Then…so faint he almost missed it, there was a pulse.

The father’s eyes widened. “He’s alive.”

The girl stepped back. “No… that’s not possible.”

  “I felt it,” he insisted. He pressed again, firmer this time. There it was, weak and uneven, but it was there.

Her mouth fell open. “But look at him! He has holes all over his chest. He looks…he looks rotten already. Father, no man can survive this.”

The father straightened, jaw tight. “But yet he’s breathing.”

  “He’s barely breathing!” She wrapped her arms around herself. “What if he dies in our hands while we’re trying to help? What if people see us carrying him? They’ll say we killed him!”

  “But we can’t leave him.”

  “Father, listen to yourself. We can’t take him to the hospital, they’ll arrest us on the spot. Do you want to spend the rest of your life explaining how a dying man ended up in your care? They won’t believe us. Nobody will.”

Her father’s silence was heavy. He stared at the stranger in the water, chest faintly rising and falling. The man looked broken, skin bruised, wounds seeping slowly into the river.

The girl tugged his sleeve. “Please, Father. Let’s go before it’s too late.”

Her father didn’t move. His voice was low. “He’s someone’s son.”

Her throat tightened. “And we’ll become someone’s prisoners if we don’t walk away.”

The body in the water moved. Just slightly, barely above the surface. A sound a faint sound escaped his lips, like air squeezing through a dry throat.

The girl gasped and stumbled back. “He... he just moved!”

The father leaned closer. “He’s fighting. He wants to live.”

The sound came again. Like a small whisper, no words, just pain. The bloated lips trembled, and bubbles rose from the corner of his mouth.

The girl covered her ears. “Father, he’s not even human anymore. Look at him, he's a corpse!”

Her father reached into the water, gripping the man’s arm. “Help me lift him.”

She shook her head violently. “No. No, I won’t. There's no way I'm going near that thing.”

  “Help me,” he said again, firmer this time. “If we leave him, his blood will be on us. God will judge us for walking away.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She bit her lip hard. “He could be a criminal or a gang member for all we know. The last thing we need, is to get associated with trouble.”

  “Then we’ll carry the truth with us. But we cannot walk away.”

The girl stood frozen. Her father crouched low, sliding both hands under the man’s shoulders. The man groaned faintly, his head rolling to the side.

  “Father!” she whispered sharply. “Please… don’t.”

  “Now,” he commanded. “Lift his legs.”

She hesitated, trembling. The man’s eyelids flickered, a thin line of white showed beneath them. Another rasp tore from his throat, a sound that made her stomach twist.

Her father looked up at her, sweat trickling down his forehead. His voice broke with urgency. “Daughter, I can’t do this alone. Lift his legs!”

She dropped the stick, knelt down reluctantly, and slid her hands under the man’s heavy boots. His body was cold, stiff, heavier than she imagined. She gagged at the smell of river and decay.

  “On three,” her father said. “One. Two. Three.”

They heaved together. The man’s body shifted, water pouring off him in dark streams. His chest rose sharply, as if the sudden movement forced air back into his lungs.

  “Who could have done this to him?” she whispered.

Her father wiped his forehead. “Looks like an assassination. But we can't be too sure.”

Suddenly, the man’s fingers moved. First one, then another. The girl’s eyes widened and she leaned too close to be sure. But in a flash, his hand shot out, weak but desperate, clamping onto her wrist.

She screamed, stumbling backward but unable to break free. His grip, though feeble, carried the weight of terror, as if he clung not to her skin but to life itself.

  “Oh my God!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He’s holding me!”

The father lunged forward, prying at the man’s hand. “Easy, daughter. Easy with him. He’s not gone yet, he doesn’t want to let go.”

The girl shivered. “Father… I don't have a good feeling about this.”

The father swallowed hard, staring at the half-dead man who they had just brought out of the river.

 “Who are you, stranger? And why did the river spit you back out?”