*****
It was the practice of the church’s hierarchy to meet periodically in the antechamber to discuss the settlement and its ministration.
Prudence and I sat together facing the three men and Lamia. The Matriarch’s throne seemed to be rather deliberately placed before the map of the atoll looming on the wall over her head like a somewhat bent, vagina-shaped halo.
Beulah and her girlish minions came through and served up poached eggs and nut milk.
Mosiah gave his transubtantiating blessing on the food and drink.
And then we choked it down.
Ugh! I had grown sore weary of this provendery combination.
Would heaven never rain down and grant us a more refreshing thirst slaker?
Water, water, everywhere, taunted the salty sea, Nor any drop to drink.
The old man started in on the business of the day, shuffling through a stack of papers on the table before him. “It has been decided, Brother Linklater, that once you are married, you will indeed travel with your new bride to San Francisco to gather supplies.”
Prudence squeezed my elbow at this news and beamed.
“But there are some additions to our original list, and so it might prove necessary to hire two ships for the transference of the goods back to New Eden.” He glanced up from his notes. “I trust God has granted you the wherewithal to do so.”
I dipped my bonce with all the smugness of a rich man.
Mosiah then went over the details of a list that included such sundry stuffs as boards, doorknobs, Shining Bibles, and dirt.
“We would also urge you to procure a band of hardy goats.” He looked at me. “Including a buck for the purpose of perpetuating the herd, as we intend to slaughter the billy kids, grow the herd, and milk the nannies.”
“Praise be!” said Prudence. She seemed inordinately pleased about the goats, and I guessed that she had grown even more tired of eating eggs than myself.
“Now don’t you dare forget my list, Mosiah.” Lamia piped up. “I’ll be cross if you leave off one single thing.”
Mosiah sighed. “Of course not, Lamia. None of your desires will be denied.” He read from the Matriarch’s personal list. “Flower water, a pink parasol, tortoise shell combs, silk dressing gowns, a crate of sugar drop candies, and an extra wide bed.”
“Stuffed with soft feathers,” she added.
Mosiah nodded. “Stuffed with feathers.”
The lady looked at me and grinned, and although inappropriate by my way of thinking, her gaze then dropped rather hungrily to my lap. I felt sure she could see right through my thin linen trousers and was evaluating my ever-upturned manhandle.
I squirmed in my chair and tactically moved my plate over my front. But as I performed this action with a jerk, my fork clattered to the floor, drawing attention from everyone else in the room. Indeed, it felt to me like the others were suddenly now aware of this evocative overture directed from the lady to myself. Lamia did not help matters. Without lifting her gaze from my middle zone, she rather suggestively wiped her hand over her sweat-moistened cleavage and then licked her fingers.
My taste buds vicariously tightened at the resultant tang.
Force ground his teeth.
Will pressed his fists into the tabletop.
Prudence, distracted as she was with her plans for our honeymoon, seemed to be the only one not taking notice of the coquette’s little show.
I took a long swill from my milk and wiped my chin on my sleeve. “I think Force and Will both ought to give me a list as well,” I said. “There must be things I can bring back for them from the city. Maybe some fine new footwear, or some straw hats to keep off the sun.” (This magnanimity was a deliberate first step in turning the boys toward my favor, as well as serving to distract them from their wife’s flagrant flirtation.) I spoke directly to them with friendliness. “I would surely like to get you both something as a special gift just from me, your well-to-do brother-in-law.”
They were taken aback. The sides of them that hated me were at once wrestling with the sides of them that wanted some shiny new nepotisms.
Mosiah coughed skillfully, turning our attention to his daughter. He asked her, “Do you feel you have sufficiently instructed Brother Linklater in the doctrine and unique customs of the Shining Redemption?”
“Oh yes, Papa. Why Adamiah’s smart as a whip, and a real quick learner.”
“And so, you’ve told him everything?”
The brothers bent forward to attend her answer; Lamia lifted her attention from the area of my egg plate, raising an eyebrow.
“Well…” Prudence glanced to the jar standing in shadow on its pedestal at the far end of the table. “Most everything.”
Mosiah stroked his beard and continued. “Our new brother’s first sermon will take place this coming Sabbath, at which time he will be expected to draw from the jar for the occasion of your wedding day. He should also be made savvy to the unique details of the communion feast celebrating the Prophecy’s fulfillment. It is best if he is completely educated in Eden’s originalistic ways so that he might participate with the proper spirit of the ceremony.” The old man smiled tenderly. “Trust in God, my daughter, and She will guide you with her light.”
Prudence bowed her head. “Of course, Papa.”
I felt like a pet dog as they spoke – fully aware they were talking about me, but oblivious as to what the hell they were saying.
As training for my future role as church head, Mosiah asked me to close the meeting with the Lord’s Prayer, using the original version intended by the Old Girl herself.
I stood and bowed my head.
“Our Mother,” I intoned, “who art all around us, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on the sea, as it is in Heaven…”
Afterward, everyone but Mosiah rose to leave.
“Brother Linklater,” he called. “I’d like a word with you, please.”
Prudence patted my sleeve. “I’ll meet you later on.”
She left the room with Lamia.
The brothers filed past, casting perplexed looks my way before closing the door behind them.
And then I found myself alone in that chill room with a jar, my future father-in-law, and a looming disembodied vagina.
*****
The hoary old proselytizer did not speak directly. Instead, he sorted his papers and looked to be so occupied with other thoughts that I almost wondered if he had forgotten I was there.
I stood with my hands folded before me, waiting.
At last, he lifted his face and, for a long moment, only stared at me.
Even in the dim light I could see that his wrinkle-bunched eyes were of the same blue as his daughter’s, and it occurred to me that every time my lady and I made sweet blessed love, the old man would always, in some measure, be present – a disquieting thought.
“Brother Linklater,” he said. “Adamiah.”
“Sir.” I smiled without showing my teeth.
“I trust you are settling into life here on the island. Do you find it suits you?”
“Oh, yes, sir. It suits me quite well. It’s peaceful here, and warm. I feel God and her angels all around.”
He nodded and raked his fingers through his beard. Then he examined his nails, flicking at his fleas. “It’s no easy thing for a man to sacrifice his only daughter to marriage.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
“Prudence has been the apple of my eye since she was a small child. She has been my greatest solace since the passing of her mother.”
I nodded respectfully and let him continue.
“Her brothers, too, have always had her nearby and to themselves. The three of them share a special bond, tempered by their many shared hardships and sacrifices on behalf of the Shining Redemption. It’s hard for the boys to give their sister over to someone we hardly know.”
“Surely.”
“You must understand, Adamiah.” He held his palms together ove
r the table and opened them like a book. “Although Prudence seems quite confident, Will and Force still harbor doubts about you being the Chosen One of the Prophecy.”
“That’s understandable, sir. But I’m hoping over time to dispel their doubts and prove myself worthy of the faith you yourself are showing in me.”
“Well, honestly, Adamiah, I’ve been skeptical too.”
“Of course.” I laughed. “Why, you don’t know me from Adam.”
He did not find this an amusing way to put it.
“Much depends on your upcoming sermon, and if you are able to inspire the congregation. The degree of their acceptance of you is the barometer by which your station will be secured.”
This made me sweat.
“My sons have other issues besides. You see, they feel the Shining Redemption to be their birthright. They feel they should be the pilots of the church after I step down. It’s difficult for them to simply stand aside and let you take over an enterprise they have worked to build for all their lives.”
“I understand. I’ll take that into account and do my best to always include them in the church business.”
He seemed pleased at my saying this, and I sensed a slight emanation of gratitude pass from the old man to myself. I was possibly winning his confidence.
He then studied his knobbley knuckles, gathering his thoughts.
“I have spent my days navigating life’s sorrows and joys, Adamiah. Its disappointments and mystery. I have been both the captain of the ship, and the servant of the tide.” He stared at me directly. “As men, we try to justify our actions. We try to force our will upon life and bend it to our own ideas of righteousness, but make no mistake…” His eyes seemed to shine. “Life is female.”
A little bell tinkled in my head when he said that.
Somehow, if obliquely, I knew just what he meant.
“If there is any advice I can give you as you step to the helm of my church, it is this – do not resist your destiny. You must completely give yourself over to Her seeming senselessness and cruelty. Surrender. Do not question Her whims and unfathomable wisdom and hungers. Do not scheme and struggle and fight against your fate with any hope of saving yourself from the tossing sea of Her desires.” The old sage sighed and slowly shook his head, his gaze falling to the floor at my feet. “I assure you,” he concluded, “it is useless to do so.”
He fell silent.
I waited.
From outside there came the sound of laughing children.
I half expected the old man to lay his face on the table right then and expire. For it felt like he had just, after a lifelong gestation period and labor, given birth to his final summary. Surely his wispy spirit would now float out through the ceiling. But he did not die. And I felt in myself something that I had not expected. If one had to give it a name, I suppose one would call it empathy. For there was something in Mosiah’s little speech and bowed demeanor that caused me to feel for the man. He was my fellow passenger in this very mysterious life, my fellow victim and beneficiary. Of God’s Grace. As well as Her terrible sense of humor.
Our fortunes – indeed, the fortunes of all men – were mingled like tears in the sea.
“DID YOU AND PAPA have a nice talk?”
Prudence put on a wide smile, but I could tell it was but a mask to hide her worry and doubt.
“Yes.”
She walked at my side on the beach, nervously twirling a thread of seaweed round and round with her fingers. “And so, he told you everything? The whole caboodle?”
I knew she was referring to something in particular, most likely some detail regarding the name-stuffed jar and the enigmatic drawing therefrom. I do not rightly know why I responded the way I did. Regarded in rearview, I see now that it might have served me better had I questioned the caboodlery to which she referred. Perhaps I was just worn out from garnering so much bothersome church knowledge that I did not want any more piled on me right then. Or possibly I was afraid of what I might learn. Mosiah’s little speech had unsettled me. I was still fairly reeling with the colossal truth lurking in the depths of his warnful words.
Life is female.
Do not resist.
That seemed about as everything as anything could get.
The old man’s submissive philosophy seemed to cover any situation I should encounter, no matter what the details of said situation might be.
“Yes,” I said. “Your pa told me all I need to know.”
Prudence wound the seaweed ever tighter around her little finger. “And so, you’re fine with how it is?”
We stopped and watched a tiny red crab scuttle over the sand. He scurried sideways and fast. Then he slipped into the lapping waves and stroked away.
“We must do as God ordains,” I told her. “Although it sometimes feels confusing and scary, we must trust in Her big plan for our lives.”
“Oh, Adamiah! That’s just the way mama always said it. Why, she was the first to hear the Restored Words of God. She was the first one to sacrifice herself to the church and set an example for all you menfolk to follow, so as you’d know there was nothing to be fearful of, so as you’d see the bright gateway to paradise.”
I nodded. I only half comprehended what Prudence was telling me right then, but I nodded all the same.
“And besides, Adamiah… Why, once you’re head of the church, you can change up some of our troublesome old doctrine as it suits you.” She snapped the seaweed and tossed it to the ground. “That is, of course, if God should give you a covenant telling you that’s how She’d have it.”
Again, I was only half listening to my lovebird as she spoke. Her voice blew about my ears like spray. In spite of my apparent good fortune, I felt trapped by my destiny. I felt tossed on the selfsame sea that Mosiah had only just warned me about. There seemed no point in resistance.
And yet, call it the questionable habitude of my gender – some underlying manly desire to guide humanity’s advancement according to a personal idyll and self-serving compass – but something inside of me became marginally inspired by what Prudence had just said. Yes, I thought masculinarily. Indeed.
I scratched my chin.
I was about to be appointed lead man of the Shining Redemption. I was about to assume the helm. Some slight adjustments in course should be expected with such a shuffling of captains.
Surely, and for sure.
And the very first administrative action that came into my mind was the righting of what seemed to be the most glaringly incorrect practice I had yet learned of the Shining Redemption.
I looked out at the wide ocean, privately cogitating.
Far out near the reef, a pair of native men was casting a net from their canoe.
An albatross soared over their heads.
I would have to be cunning to induce the change. I would have to present the amendment as if it were God’s own good idea.
Admittedly, given the other more suspiciously ominous workings of the church, it now seems somewhat embarrassing that I was so preoccupied with this particular issue. But in my simple man’s brain, guided as it so often pathetically was by my near-to-bursting virility, I reasoned that it would meet the approval of all if the ladies of the clan gave up their practice of taking more than one husband.
That custom obviously needed to be twisted around the other way.
Harems, after all, are arguably more natural, satisfying, and divine.
THE MORNING OF MY sermon dawned hotter than hell.
I woke from a restless night’s sleep, damped with sweat and thirsty as a sun-cooked sponge.
My phallus, ever poised for service, arched up over my belly like the daggerboard of a capsized boat.
“Soon,” I reassured the eager little fellow, and blew out through my teeth.
I rubbed my face in my hands and then hoisted myself out of bed.
Beulah had draped my linen suit over the back of the chair. I regarded it critically. It was no longer, strictly speaking, white. Weeks of
wear had soiled and stained it to the point of making it threadbare and none too resplendent. A crooked off-color patch adorned one knee. The cuffs were frayed, the lapels tatty. The garment’s overall appearance was, to put it charitably, jaundiced.
I slipped the suit on slowly.
And then my shoes.
For lack of a mirror, I peered into the picture of Christ, although on that morning the resemblance between him and me was arguably quite scant. His robes were so billowing and aglow. His heavenly destiny so preordained. The legend of his early years was so goaty-girl–free. Truth be told, his self-righteous demeanor was so goddamned warranted and sure that I found myself feeling somewhat insecure in his presence.
“Say,” I beseeched, “if you could see fit to lend me a bit of your charisma today, I would be forever in your debt.”
In reply he only just hovered over the waves like a cloud and did not perceivably indicate any intention of sharing even the smallest trifling of his crowd-pleasing charm.
I struggled to puff up my enthusiasm.
I took my locket from the table and flicked it open, recalling that time when Adamiah had first shown it to me. It had rather transformed since then. The tin had corroded. The little picture inside had depreciated from its dip in the sea, and now it required some fair imagination to discern Prudence’s original likeness in the faded and brine-moldered smudge held therein. It was like looking at the maid’s face underwater.
Still, the little casket-shaped keepsake served to bolster in me a ration of hope. We were fast approaching the front edge of June – the long-awaited month of our wedding day – and shortly the lady would be mine. If I could just put down my doubts, preserve my tenuous virtue, and muster enough skill and audacity to deliver a reasonably inspiring sermon, my comfort and contentment would be secure.
Of course, the fulcrum word here was if.
I snapped shut the locket and hung it from its chain around my neck, letting it dangle inside my shirt against my raindrop tattoo.
Fortuna and the Scapegrace Page 23