Joel felt obsessed, which is why it made perfect sense to be polishing his shoes at five o’clock in the morning. He had put on his only suit, stared at himself as he combed his hair, wondering why he couldn’t just forget the whole thing for awhile—forget Tom, too.
Later, he left the warmth of the pickup and walked up to the church. The dark red bricks were cool to his touch. His hands were cold, the skin across the knuckles taut.
He tried the door. It was unlocked, which meant that Tom had been here. He looked in the chapel, hoping to find him before church. But the chapel was empty. Then, by God, he would sit through the whole damn thing, even though it was repulsive. He’d gone once with Tom, but the preacher strutted and preened, stretched ordinary words like rubber into strange sounds. He stuttered and spit, he whispered and screamed, and seeing that, Joel had felt embarrassed for Tom. But to see Tom, he would just have to sit through it.
He walked slowly up the aisle. The pews gleamed in the dark and the stained glass windows on the south wall were beginning to glow from the sunlight outside. Light broke through a skylight, casting a cone of brilliance across the pulpit. The microphone was a blinding sphere of silver where Tom’s father would deliver the sermon.
His deeply suntanned face was blank. It had been hopeful, then confused. Now it held a blank stare waiting for Tom, knowing he would have to sit through the damned sermon so they could talk. “You fucking coward!” His voice jolted him in the hushed chapel.
He closed his eyes and listened to the hush. It echoed with an emptiness greater than the desert. He couldn’t hear himself breathing, but he could feel the steady flowing in and out of his breath. The church was odorless, but he smelled the clean smell of his own flesh.
Nothing came to mind when he thought of church. He didn’t pray, because he knew what he wanted. Obsessed, he thought, again. I’ve never acted so silly before now, unless it was over Melissa Benson when I was a freshman. Yes. That was exactly like this. Except that where she had been practically like a goddess, with big eyes like eggs, a steady flow of lacy, gauzy, swirling rainbow-colored dresses and a high-pitched laugh, Tom was just a guy. Another male like himself. That was different for sure. But from the first time Tom had spoken to him, something in his eyes overwhelmed Joel. He was struck dumb by Tom’s black girlish lashes, struck by the way he looked in ordinary sport shirts and Levi’s. Melissa had a way of making Joel feel uncomfortable, and eventually he’d seen that she was losing interest in him because he never tried anything with her. He’d actually been relieved when she had dropped him. He’d often thought of her when he tried dating other girls, and he had to admit that the others had been downhill from her striking beauty. But then, along came Tom Allen.
At first, he’d been hesitant to introduce himself to Tom, because he was a townie. And maybe I never should have, he thought now, a little sadly. Maybe I should forget about him. But he knew he couldn’t. The sex, which was only a hint of what making love with Tom could be, was a thousand times more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. Kissing Tom, holding him, just the thought of it made Joel feel frustrated. I’ll fuckin’ make him listen .was his only thought, his only plan.
Cars began to pull up outside. He heard the front door opening, people walking across the vestibule. He stayed where he was until he felt a light touch on his back. He jumped, hoping it was Tom. But he turned around to a stranger’s face, the kind, wrinkled face of an adult.
“We’re about to start Sunday School if you would like to join us.”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to. He heard more people behind him in starchy dresses, talking in low churchy murmurs. The chapel was getting full, so he decided to wait outside.
The sun was above the trees now and a hot wind gusted over the sidewalk, making men reach for their hats and women hold their skirts as they hurried into the classrooms. The street was crawling with cars looking for last-minute parking places. Whole families emerged squeaky clean from their cars and scattered toward classes.
Soon he was alone on the sidewalk. He sat in the pickup; he was beginning to sweat. For a time, he dozed, spiraling downwards into a spinning sleep. He awoke suddenly. He looked anxiously about at the crowd coming out of Sunday school. Little kids with their little Bibles, pranced around like lambs in their little dresses and miniature suits, around the legs of the adults. He got out of the pickup feeling like a yokel among them. His suit, which he hardly ever wore, felt too tight; his shirt-sleeves were too long and stuck out too far under the jacket sleeves. His clip necktie bothered him; he kept feeling to make sure it was still hooked. The shirt collar choked him, and he kept swallowing. He joined the crowd on the sidewalk.
He recognized some guys from school—but they were ones he didn’t have much to do with. In another group, a couple of girls recognized him and waved pretty white-gloved hands. Joel walked away, feeling seedy.
Finally he saw Tom with a flock of young guys—all of them carrying Bibles and walking about the rest of the crowd, talking seriously, puffed up with their seriousness. Tom saw him and waved stiffly; he tried to break away, but a guy next to him grabbed his arm and followed. They walked up to Joel. It was Paul, of all people, whom Joel knew from school.
“Hi, Joel,” Tom said. He tried a smile, but it barely lifted the corners of his mouth. Tom said, “Paul, meet Joel.”
“Oh, we’ve met,” Paul said, with a hint of a sneer. Then he stuck out his hand.
Joel was shocked by the limp thing he took hold of, like a dead fish. He dropped it; it made the palm of his hand tickle. He shook hands with Tom, who got a searching look on his face when he met Joel’s eyes. Joel squeezed hard, feeling Tom releasing his grip, and he pulled Tom a little closer, almost off balance. “I’m here to talk, Tom. You’re not sick anymore are you?” He forced himself to smile as widely as he could. Tom’s face brightened a little; his eyes were appreciative. Joel let go of his hand.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Tom said. “I tried to call this morning, but.” Then a little guy walked up to Tom and he pushed him up to Joel. “This is Pete Thompson. Pete, this is Joel, my very best friend.” Both the little redhead and Tom seemed pleased.
Joel shook hands, noticing at least the kid’s wide-open smile and firm grip. He looked at Tom again. “So when do we talk?”
“Come on,” Tom said, with a helpless look. “It’s time to go in.”
They followed the crowd into the church and sat near the back, for which Joel was relieved. Next to him in the pew on his right, an old couple smiled warmly at him. Tom sat on Joel’s left, then Paul filed in next to the aisle, on Tom’s left. Pete Thompson was left standing in the aisle, looking nervous. Joel poked Tom and whispered, “Tell him there’s room next to me.” Tom reached over Paul and pulled Pete into the pew. There wasn’t as much room as
Joel thought, but Pete squeezed between him and the old couple, leaving the four of them squashed together. In situations like this, Joel usually curved his shoulders forward to alleviate the crunch. But this time he spread both arms around the kid’s and Tom’s shoulders. Pete’s body felt like that of a child, but Tom’s felt familiar next to him, and Joel closed his eyes and breathed deeply of Tom’s cologne.
As the church filled up, the crowd’s whispers filled the room with a soft sibilant hissing. But when a man walked up from the first pew and stood in the aisle in front of the pulpit, the whispering faded; someone coughed loudly. Directly in front of Joel, a young woman bounced a small baby on her shoulder; the little kid’s face bobbed up and down facing him, its little blue eyes unfocused.
“A few announcements first,” the man said. His voice was small and thin, and Joel wondered why he didn’t use the microphone behind him. “At two o’clock in the courthouse park, weather permitting.” Joel squeezed Tom’s shoulder, and when Tom turned and smiled, Joel wanted to ask him to explain why he hadn’t called. He was about to whisper when the announcer walked back over to the pew and sat down. Then immediately the piano player ro
lled her fingers over the keys to the opening of a song. The crowd rose noisily to its feet, and the room was loud with the turning of pages. Joel stood up next to Tom; he shared a hymnal with him.
When the piano player paused, Joel sucked in his breath. As the crowd began to sing, he felt his own throat vibrate. He could not hear himself, lost among all the voices. Tom’s voice rang sweetly, flat against the melody, and then toward the end blended smoothly with the rest.
When the song ended, Joel started to sit, but everyone else remained standing; he felt embarrassed. Another man stood up below the pulpit facing the crowd. “Let us pray.” He turned and knelt toward the pulpit and bowed his head:
Our most kind and gracious, heavenly Father: Bless this congregation this morning. Go with it, Father. Help us to prosper, to strengthen our ties, and go with our brethren in that strife-torn country of Vietnam. Help our boys, and bring them all home safely. Bless Sister and Brother Hutchins, Father, whose son has suffered the ultimate tragedy of battle, and who now awaits Your blessed call. And bless all the mothers and fathers of that other country, who likewise suffer the loss of loved ones. But especially be merciful, Father, in their ignorance of Your Grace. Go with us, today. Help those who are poor in spirit to be revived again, in Jesus’ great and good name, we pray: “Amen.”
He rose from his knees and turned back to the congregation. “Please remain standing for hymn number 48, number 4.8.”
When the hymn was over, the congregation seemed to fall to their seats like a great wave. Joel looked across the tops of their heads.
On the stage behind the podium sat the choir. Behind them, with the curtains open, was the baptismal font, with an oil painting of a forest behind it. A river ran through the forest. He couldn’t see the real water below, but the skylight was reflecting off it, causing a beautiful glow to shine on the water in the painting.
On one wall a bulletin board gave the church’s attendance record. Then on the next line the amount of money collected, and on the last line, the church’s expenses. On the opposite wall was another bulletin board with the hymn numbers. Below that was the SERMON FOR TODAY: The natural Sin of the Flesh. Below that was the SCRIPTURE FOR TODAY: Gal. 5:1, 15, 21; Gal. 6:1-8.
Tom’s father went immediately to the pulpit. He flipped the switch on the microphone; a high-pitched screech burst from the speakers in the ceiling. He held his hand over the mike until one of the men behind the pulpit adjusted it for him.
“Thank you, Brother Temple!” he boomed out of all proportion, Joel thought, to the man’s simple deed. “And thank you, brothers and sisters, for once again filling God’s church! Oh bless this day that God has made!” He spread his hands out widely on the pulpit as Joel had seen other preachers do. He paused majestically, surveying his flock, and leaned toward the microphone. “Our topic for today is one that has long vexed me. How will I talk of this? How will I tell you about the wonderful gift of Jesus’ love, when He asks us for so much in return?”
He stepped away from the podium, snatching the microphone by the throat and pulling it from its holder. He paced back and forth across the stage whipping the cord on the floor and chewing off the end of the mike as he spoke. “’You must lose your life in order to save it, Saith the Lord.’ But do you know what this means? That we must LOSE our lives? Please turn to Galatians, the fifth chapter, and read along with me! First verse:
“’Stand fast, therefore, in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.
“’He’s telling us to be free, Brother Allen!’ you might say. But brothers and sisters, He does not mean free to bite and devour one another. Verse 15:
“’Take heed that ye be not consumed one of another!’
“All that is of this world is rotting, brothers and sisters, and every day you must live this truth! You might say, ‘Brother Allen, I work hard, I help my fallen brethren.’ But if you clothe them, if you bear them up with food, and yet do not minister to their ailing spirits, you have NOT done what the Lord on High has commanded. Verse 16:
“’This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh.’
Verse 17:
“’For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and these are contrary the one to the other; so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.’
“Are you thinking, therefore, that you are not free?” The preacher paused in mid-stride. He turned and replaced the microphone in its stand. He stood behind the lectern and spread his arms and smiled benignly. “Jesus loves each of us the same, and lives in us when we give up the flesh. Your body may cease to breathe. That is NOT death! That IS freedom, friends. Your flesh is the bondage! Verse 18:
“’But if ye be led of the spirit, ye are not under the law.’
“You are free of the laws of the Jews. I am not telling you to quit your work. All of us must labor: the farmer with the plow; the soldier with the sword; the housewife, to provide us food to nourish our bodies. But the work that we are all called to is the saving of our souls!
“Read now in Chapter 5, Verse 6 and onward:
“’For every man shall bear his own burden.
“’Let him that is taught in the Word communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things.’
“But it is in the spirit that we must work, or else our other good works in the flesh are corrupted. Verse 8:
“’For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.
But
“’let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.’”
With every word the preacher spat into the microphone, Joel felt the vibration of the loudspeaker in his chest. His breath was shallow and, occasionally, he glanced at Tom, whose face was riveted to his father’s. What is the use of living? Joel wondered, if my body is no good?
“I will tell you a story,” the preacher continued, but Joel didn’t listen. He made faces at the little baby and was rewarded with a gurgly laugh. The baby’s little head bobbed spastically and after awhile, the baby’s mother tried to rock it to sleep. Pete, too, seemed restless and busied himself with a hymnal. Joel watched him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if Pete was Tom’s best church friend. The idea hurt him. He looked around the chapel at the heads inclined in various positions as the preacher droned on and on. Most people were listening, it seemed, by the way they nodded or held their heads high; but some of them may only have been pretending to listen, Joel thought.
The preacher was telling the story about Goliath, the famous giant, and David, the famous giant killer, killing the life of the story, Joel thought, by his frequent preaching about symbols and how one thing was likened to another, until Joel thought he would go crazy. But the preacher finally said, “And that day, David killed the giant. So you may be strong in body, or you may be weak, but you will lose your life if that is where you place your reward. The sins of the flesh, the temptation of them, even the luxuries that our nation loves—all this is like to Goliath. And it is frail against God and, for Christians, it is frail in the Spirit of Christ who gave up His body!
“The works of the flesh are manifest, my friends. Who amongst you have not beheld the silver jets of the air, or the mighty buildings in our cities and not marveled at the works of man?”
He paused to let the crowd think about what he had said.
“And yet!” the preacher boomed through the electronic microphone, his voice magnified, so that his words stabbed Joel’s ears. “And yet! In our cities, and yet…even here! There is great EVIL among us.”
The baby began to cry.
“Adultery…fornication…uncleanness…envy…drunkenness…all manner of abomination.”
Joel’s head felt as if it would crack with the booming words, his heart pounding, caged in his chest, beating itself against his ribs, his blood pumping under hi
s collar. The congregation was quiet as the preacher named the sins, and the words dropped into the silence like stones into water. Tom began to sniffle.
“.reveling, and on and on,” Tom’s father said, his voice growing deeper, sadder. “.the likes of which I tell you, friends, are the ways of the flesh, and they that live for these things, as Paul tells us, shall not inherit the kingdom of God!”
Once more, the crowd stood up at the waving hands of the song leader. Once more, the piano player rolled a few keys of introduction and paused. Tom’s father regained possession of the podium and Joel cringed, afraid that he was going to keep preaching. But he held out his hands in supplication. “If you are among those who have fallen to the sins of the flesh, come forward today, in Jesus’ name. Do not let your sins fester and rot the divine spirit within you. Come home, today, as we sing…” The pianist pounded again.
“COME HOME!” They sang loudly. “YE THAT ARE WEARY, COME HO-O-ME.”
Tom suddenly broke away from the pew that he had been holding onto. He swayed. Joel reached for him, but Tom pulled free, his face blank, his eyes riveted to the pulpit. Joel felt the color drain out of his face, then pulse back out of embarrassment for Tom. A sinking cold washed down his back; his knees began to shake.
As Tom walked up the aisle, people craned their heads. Some of the faces that turned to look at one another registered mutual, shocked approval. “Why! It’s the preacher’s OWN SON!” their faces said, as smiles shadowed their eyes. The singing almost died, but the pianist began to pound louder until the voices rose again. Paul Romaine’s face was rapt and held high, but he turned and grinned at Joel—a sly, triumphant gleam in his eyes that Joel found unsettling. Between them was an emptiness where Tom had been.
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