A Book of American Martyrs

by Joyce Carol Oates

  The stench here was sickening. By poking and prying with a broom handle Edna Mae discovered to her disgust something soft and furry wedged into a corner on the floor, at the shadowy rear: what appeared to be the desiccated corpse of a small rodent.

  “Oh, God . . .”

  She felt faint. She felt that she might vomit. She would have slammed the closet door except there was no one else in the house to deal with the emergency situation.

  The flies had to be hatching out of the corpse. Or perhaps there was more than one corpse.

  How shameful this was! If Luther knew how they were living now . . .

  How could you have done this to us!

  I will never forgive you.

  In the closet, she found an aerosol can of insect spray. She sprayed the corner thoroughly. A few flies fluttered toward her dazed, lurching. On the walls and ceiling of the closet was a small platoon of flies now beating their tiny wings, stricken. She felt a thrill of satisfaction—Now you know what it is like!

  Creatures had often crawled beneath farmhouses to die, in her childhood. The older farmhouses like her grandparents’ had not had basements but only crawl spaces. Mice, rats, gophers, even raccoons, larger animals. Dogs. Cats. The stench would be overpowering for days, it would linger for weeks. The smell of poverty, helplessness. And flies—of course. Everywhere flies and other insects. Just one of any number of signals that God has abandoned you.

  Each time she’d visited with Luther he had asked her how she and the children were managing in his absence and each time Edna Mae had said with a brave smile—“Well! We are managing.”

  Thinking—He does not want to know. He must be shielded.

  Luther had never relented about the “defense fund” on his behalf posted on the Army of God website. In prison, Luther could not access the website; inmates were not allowed computers, as they were not allowed private phones. So Luther had no idea that the defense fund was still posted, though (as Edna Mae had been informed by the Army of God organizers) contributions had dropped to almost nothing, since other Right-to-Life activists had more recently captured followers’ attention with women’s center protests, vandalism, arson, and attempted shootings of abortion providers.

  The new Right-to-Life martyr was James Kopp. Kopp had shot an abortion doctor in Buffalo, New York, in 1998 but had only recently been tried and convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole. Much of Kopp’s online glamour was, he’d been on the FBI’s list of Ten Most Wanted Fugitives. No other Right-to-Life soldier had been elevated to this list, since most were captured or surrendered to police at once. Kopp was affiliated with a militant Roman Catholic anti-abortion organization called The Lambs of Christ but had many admirers in the Army of God and Operation Rescue which were primarily Protestant.

  At their last visit, as if reading her thoughts Luther had said quietly, “Don’t despair, Edna Mae. God will not take me from you.”

  “I know. I know that.”

  “If you despair, our enemies will exult.”

  “Our enemies . . . Yes. I know.”

  “You know. But you must have faith, and communicate your faith to our children. You must not allow them to sink into despair.”

  “Our children are doing well. Luke is working for the county, and Dawn is working at Home Depot. Anita and Noah are still in school—their grades are good . . .”

  “Isn’t Dawn in school?”

  Here was a blunder. Edna Mae hadn’t told Luther about Dawn being asked to leave school and she did not feel that she could lie to him now. For a long moment she could not speak at all, feeling her husband stare at her through the scuffed Plexiglas barrier.

  She was perspiring now, recalling. Before Luther could repeat his question a bell sounded, loudly signaling that only five minutes remained of the visitation hour.

  During a visit Edna Mae rarely spoke to Luther about his “case”—about which she knew relatively little for it seemed always to be changing, very slowly and then with startling abruptness. There was an appeal that was still pending. And there was the possibility of clemency, and of commutation . . .

  Elsewhere in the country states were outlawing capital punishment. Illinois had recently outlawed the death penalty. It was possible that Ohio would be among these states sometime soon and Luther Dunphy’s sentence would be automatically converted to life in prison like James Kopp’s.

  It was hurtful to Edna Mae, as to others in the family, that so many of their fellow Christians in Ohio opposed any “weakening” of the criminal code. The very state senators who evinced sympathy for the right-to-life cause were rigorously opposed to changing the death penalty statute though such a change would have saved Luther Dunphy’s life.

  Edna Mae never spoke of such issues with Luther. It was her wifely duty to be upbeat, “optimistic.”

  Their visits invariably ended with prayer. What relief Edna Mae felt, when it was time for prayer!

  Our Father who art in Heaven. Hallowed be Thy name.

  They kingdom come, thy will be done . . .

  Edna Mae had peeked through her fingers to see Luther stiffly upright, shoulders back, hiding his face in his big hands. She had grown accustomed to seeing her husband in the shapeless prison uniform—a “jumpsuit” in Chillicothe prison colors, navy blue and white. On Death Row he’d concentrated on two things, he’d said: reading the Bible and making of himself a physically strong person. Luther had always been muscular but somewhat heavy, and now in middle age in prison he’d become lean, hard, like something chiseled from stone. His eyebrows had grown craggy, there were grayish hairs in his nostrils and in his ears. He was taking on some of the facial features of his elderly father, who did not approve (Edna Mae knew) of Luther’s wife—a stern impassive look, with a tendency to frown rather than smile. His skin had bleached out, and was very pale. He was allowed only one hour outside a day—but some days, for some reason, not at all. His eyes had become ashen eyes, that looked burnt-out as if from staring too long into the sun.

  WINDEX! Edna Mae had always loved the strong astringent smell of the cleaning liquid.

  She was wielding a half-filled bottle of Windex she’d found beneath the kitchen sink. Paper towels and rags. A fit of housecleaning was upon her in the wake of the fly crisis which seemed now to have abated. She had not sprayed Windex so lavishly, wiped and polished so energetically, scrubbed, swept, dusted with such zeal since she’d been a frantic young mother in their house in Muskegee Falls. Soon she’d used up the paper towels. She then used toilet paper to wipe up dirt on the floor. She took the filthy mop out of the closet, ran hot water into a red plastic bucket, poured in soap, and began to mop the kitchen floor. Softly she sang:

  This little light of mine

  I’m going to let it shine!

  This little light of mine

  I’m going to let it shine!

  Let it shine, shine, shine.

  Let it shine.

  She cleaned the kitchen windows, the windowsills. She wiped the walls where the flies had died. Little piles of fly corpses collected in the dustpan. With steel wool she cleaned the sink that was dull with grease, that had not been seriously cleaned in years. She cleaned the kitchen counters. She cleaned the kitchen table. She cleaned the vinyl chairs that were sticky with the droppings of months and years. A strong bracing smell of disinfectant filled the kitchen. With some effort she pushed open windows. She was tired but she was feeling exhilarated. She had not felt like this in a very long time.

  The rotted mouse corpse in the closet corner she swept into the dustpan and with eyes averted she carried it outside and dropped it into the trash barrel on the porch. Once a week Dawn or Noah hauled the barrel out to the curb for pickup.

  Next, she would clean the downstairs hallway. She would take on the bathroom.

  When her aunt Mary Kay returned in the late afternoon she was astonished by the smell of soap and disinfectant and the gleaming surfaces of her kitchen. “Edna Mae, what on earth has
happened? What did you do?”

  With a little smile of satisfaction Edna Mae said: “Only just what I should have done long ago. Clean house.”

  HOLY INNOCENTS

  Momma please don’t make me.

  Momma this is crazy.

  And I will lose my damn job! We need my job.

  EDNA MAE WAS STUNG. Edna Mae did not appreciate her daughter speaking so insolently—such profane words as damn.

  Edna Mae did not appreciate Dawn defying her even if—shortly—within an hour or two—Dawn gave in with an angry sob—OK, Momma. All right.

  IT WAS UNFAIR! She’d been “promoted” at Home Depot—(this was the term used)—though her hourly salary had not (yet) been increased her weekly hours had been increased and this though she was still considered one of the new employees. She would have two consecutive days off each month and so resented it, that her September days must be used up in the prayer vigil in Cleveland.

  For Edna Mae insisted. Dawn had not been able to say no.

  It was September 13. National Day of Remembrance for Preborn Infants Murdered by Abortion.

  Twenty-three volunteers from the Mad River Junction Pentecostal Church of Christ would travel by bus to Cleveland for the vigil, and for the burials in consecrated soil. A number of chartered buses were to bring volunteers from right-to-life congregations through Ohio and West Virginia.

  The Trucrosses did not advise bringing children to the vigil and burial in Cleveland. Edna Mae insisted that her circumstances were special and that her children must participate.

  The scales will fall from their eyes and their eyes will be opened.

  Edna Mae Dunphy had become a vehement woman! In this new season of her life she was suffused with energy like sunlight streaming through a rent in a thundercloud. Like moisture sucked into a living stalk that explodes into riotous bloom. She’d had her tangled hair that was the color of broom sage cut so that it fitted her head like a cap of waves and wan curls. She’d gone to the dentist—a trip dreaded and feared for years—and had several cavities filled. The last time she’d felt a yearning to take pills Jesus had struck them from her hand and they’d scattered onto a damp bathroom floor and she’d knelt whimpering and begging No no no please but the pills had been so wetted they had dissolved between her fingers and she could only lick her fingers in desperation like a dog despite bits of grit and hairs in the wetted pill-substance and during these minutes of degradation Jesus had stood at a little distance observing her coldly and Edna Mae had known herself broken in utter shame lifting her eyes to His and vowing Never again, Jesus. You have shown me the way, the truth and the light.

  And so it was. She did not return to any doctor to beg for pills. Instead in times of weakness she stumbled outside into the harsh cold air and cast her eyes skyward seeking help that never failed to come to her.

  Thank you Jesus!

  On dark mornings Jesus roused her from bed.

  A fierce power raged through her veins that was the very blood of Jesus. Many in the Pentecostal church remarked upon this change in Luther Dunphy’s formerly meek and sickly wife with awe and admiration.

  Reverend Ben Trucross could attest to the transformation in Edna Mae Dunphy. At first progress had been slow—not so sure. Then suddenly, Edna Mae had seen the light. And the light had shone out of her eyes. Merri Trucross had encouraged Edna Mae to come swimming with her and several other Pentecostal women at the YWCA and these sessions had worked out so well that Edna Mae sometimes went swimming there by herself—walked into town, a distance of more than a mile, in slacks, sweatshirt, sneakers and carrying a nylon gym bag. (Luke had seen his mother striding along South Street one morning and had almost not recognized her. Was that Edna Mae? With her hair cut, and walking with such purpose? Carrying a gym bag? So surprised, Luke had almost run the county road-repair truck he was driving into another vehicle.) At the YWCA she’d seen on a wall a list of courses offered at Farloe Community College and next day enrolled in a nurse’s aide program with the intention of updating her certificate.

  She’d been such an eager student, nearly twenty years before! Now, she could summon back only a residue of that eagerness yet (Jesus assured her) it would be enough to carry her through.

  For Edna Mae would have to start supporting her family, she knew. Anita and Noah at least.

  On the morning of September 13 the young children were groggy being awakened before dawn. It had been particularly difficult to rouse Noah, who flailed at Edna Mae in his sleep. Had they forgotten that today was the day of the “pilgrimage” to Cleveland? Edna Mae had told them only that many from their new church were going and that it would be a day they would remember for the rest of their lives.

  “We are living the shallow life of the world. We are like people with our eyes shut, sleepwalking. But the scales will fall from our eyes and we shall see.”

  The children touched their eyes. Scales?

  Immortality suffused her veins. Jesus had taught Edna Mae Dunphy to raise the dead—the dead that was her.

  It was the taste of her new life. It was not the ashes taste with which she had endured for so long.

  Dawn was alarmed that their mother now spoke with such emotion, and something like a schoolteacher’s certainty, you could not comprehend what she might mean. She hoped that something terrible would not happen in Cleveland which was sixty-five miles from Mad River Junction for Edna Mae had been saying for days that they would remember what happened there for the rest of their lives.

  There was something ominous in this. Edna Mae had even been on the telephone making plans—Edna Mae, who had not willingly spoken on the phone in years . . .

  Dawn had only a vague idea what was planned. Prayer vigil? Burials? Holy innocents?

  Badly Dawn wanted to stay in Mad River Junction. Her two days off from Home Depot she’d planned to use for a private purpose. Yet, she could not let Anita and Noah go alone with their mother on this mysterious trip that required staying away overnight—being “put up” in the homes of strangers.

  And how unlike Edna Mae this was, to wish to spend time with strangers. Even Christian Pentecostal strangers.

  Dawn had promised her father that she would help take care of the younger children. Luther had extracted such a promise from both Dawn and Luke at the time of his arrest but Luke had broken the promise and left his sister behind.

  Fuck you then, I am strong enough. I can do it by myself.

  “IT IS ONLY A RUMOR. Unverified.”

  Volunteers first heard on the bus that the vigil and burials might be televised on a “Christian-friendly” national news channel. Reverend Trucross was excited that such publicity would surely bring more volunteers to Cleveland and donations to the Holy Innocents Right-to-Life Action League.

  In Cleveland there were many more of them arriving in buses, minivans, cars. They knew one another at once, by sight—a wild joyousness spread among them like wildfire. In public places, in parks and on sidewalks they knelt and boldly prayed. Loudly they prayed. They chanted. They surrounded the Cleveland County Planned Parenthood Women’s Surgical Clinic and (some of them) would have to be dragged away by law enforcement loudly praying, chanting. Some of them said the rosary in loud voices. It was boasted that their prayers were loud enough to be heard in Hell.

  In public places they held aloft posters proclaiming SEPTEMBER 13 NATIONAL DAY OF REMEMBRANCE FOR PREBORN HOLY INNOCENTS MURDERED BY ABORTION. Eagerly they offered pamphlets to anyone who came near—Respect for Life: Your Baby Is Waiting to Be Born. Of a dozen pamphlets pressed upon strangers though ten might be found discarded on the ground yet two might be kept and (possibly) passed on to others. They marched with picket signs depicting the badly mutilated bodies of infants above such captions as NO BABY CHOOSES TO DIE and I DIED FOR MY MOTHER’S SIN.

  The lurid magnified pictures of infant corpses were not well received by the majority of strangers who saw them. In parks and on sidewalks people walked hurriedly past with averted eyes, or spok
e harshly or pleadingly to the volunteers, but in the roadway motorists had no choice but to slow their vehicles as picket-bearing volunteers inched out into traffic. They had been cautioned by their leaders not to interfere with traffic and not to be “aggressive” but the most fervent disobeyed precipitating a barrage of horns and shouts—“Get out of the way!”—“Go to hell!”—“You are terrible, sick people.” Police arrived, to drag them out of traffic and onto the sidewalk. Though they were threatened with arrest, no one was (yet) arrested.

  Such reactions the volunteers took in stride for they’d been prepared. Many of them had participated in prayer vigils in the past and encouraged the newer volunteers not to be frightened or discouraged. Jesus had not despaired in worse circumstances. Everyone knew they were doing God’s bidding. Even their enemies knew—atheists, Socialists, abortionists knew. At the Planned Parenthood clinic, everyone on the staff knew. In such places there were friends and allies who could not speak out for fear of reprisals as there were friends and allies among law enforcement. And often it happened, so wonderfully, an individual would stop to stare, to be moved, to be drawn into conversation, to take away a pamphlet, even to press money into a volunteer’s hands.

  Bless you. You are doing the work of the Lord.

  The most daring knelt on the walkway in front of the clinic. By law they were forbidden to trespass on the property itself. Unflagging in their zeal they continued to pray, and to chant. There were priests among them. There were nuns. There were teenagers, and there were children. There were the elderly, the infirm. Some were in wheelchairs pushed by adult children. Proudly they held picket signs aloft. Their banners—SEPTEMBER 13 NATIONAL DAY OF REMEMBRANCE FOR PREBORN HOLY INNOCENTS MURDERED BY ABORTION. Few women and girls would dare to enter the abortion clinic on this day for no one wished to run such a gauntlet past the shouting volunteers.