by T E. D Klein
Now the Old One is faced with an even more important task, a task which has to be completed by Midsummer's Day.
He has to find a woman.
Not just any woman. The age has to be right. And the background. And the color of her hair.
And, of course, she will have to possess that very special qualification…
'Wonderful place you've got here.' He was being just a little ingenuous, tramping through the undergrowth with Poroth. The farm looked better than it had in the photographs – greener, certainly -but it plainly needed a lot of work. Even Freirs could tell that, and the last farm he'd seen had been in Days of Heaven, with Richard Gere shoving a screwdriver into Sam Shepard. The Poroths had already cleared an irregularly shaped plot of land nearly twice the size of a football field, extending westward from the farmhouse's back lawn, past the barn and down to the meandering little brook that curved across the southern edge of the property, but there appeared to be many times this area still to be attended to, including a huge uncultivated section on the far side of the brook that Poroth had spoken of 'saving for next year.'
The place was much bigger than it had looked from the road -close to fifty acres, all told, though most of this was forest, or fields of weed too thick and high to walk through. Freirs reminded himself that the Poroths had moved in just last fall, and that, till then, the land had lain untended for seven or eight years. Perhaps this was why a young couple like the Poroths had been able to afford it.
He would have liked to ask Poroth how much the place had cost, now that the two of them were alone out here, lunch under their belts and the land stretching green and sun-soaked before them, but for most of the day – at least ever since they'd passed his mother's house, back there on the road – Poroth had fallen into some kind of mood, replying to Freirs' occasional polite questions with an air of gloomy distraction. Here was Brother Lucas Flinders' place, he'd said, barely nodding toward some tidy farmhouse they were passing. That one was the Reids'. Down this way lived Brother Matt Geisel… More than that he'd seemed disinclined to say. And then, toward the end, barreling down the three miles of pitted, unpaved road that wound through woods and brambles to the Poroths' farm, he'd barely talked at all, too preoccupied with keeping the old truck from going off into a ditch. Before them the road had seemed to buck and twist beneath their wheels like a wild thing, at times almost doubling back upon itself- 'like it's trying to throw us off,' Freirs had said, holding tightly to the door handle and wishing the other would slow down. What in hell was he trying to prove? Poroth had said only, 'This sort of road's not meant for driving on,' and hadn't so much as glanced in Freirs' direction.
He'd recognized the farmhouse from the photograph as soon as it came into view, a small grey-shingled boxlike affair, as tall as it was wide and obviously quite old, set close to the edge of the road as if eager to greet the few strangers who ventured out this far. The thornbushes along the side were green now, dotted here and there with dark red rosebuds. Deborah, Poroth's wife, had been standing there on the porch as they drove up, a pair of cats gathered like children at her feet. Even at this distance, Freirs could see that she, too, looked much as she had in the photo, dressed in homespun black from neck to ankle. She had waved gaily to them as Poroth spun the wheel and brought the truck around to the side of the house, where it came to an abrupt halt on a bare section of the lawn.
The first thing that had hit him was the silence. He'd noticed it as soon as Poroth shut the motor off. As he climbed out onto the grass, grateful to be on solid ground again, it was as if the whole world had suddenly come to a stop. Back in Gilead, standing alone, he had felt a similar quiet, but there it had seemed somehow less dramatic, a more fragile thing soon to be shattered by the inevitable noise to come, traffic noise and tractors and the intrusion of human voices. Here, though, he sensed that except for the small sounds of insect, bird, and wind in the trees, the silence was permanent, a central fact of life.
Deborah immediately came down from the porch to meet them. She was a handsome woman, even better looking than he'd hoped, with strong cheekbones and wide dark eyes beneath heavy un-womanish brows. Her mouth was large, the lips sensual and thick-not a puritan's lips at all; with makeup, in the right clothes, she would really be something to see. Her mass of black hair was obviously long and full, but she wore it swept back behind her head and knotted in a complicated bun with a severity that looked almost painful. He wondered what she'd look like with it down.
'I sure hope you didn't have to wait long,' she said, after Sarr had introduced her. 'Services always run so late at the Reids', the way Brother Amos can talk. I was afraid you'd get fed up and start walking back to New York.'
Freirs smiled – in part to make up for Poroth, who, he saw, was scowling at his wife. Probably didn't like her putting down the neighbors. 'Oh, I wasn't about to walk home. In fact, I had myself a little nap.'
'I found him sleeping in the graveyard,' said Poroth. 'Right by that big stone of the TroetsV
Deborah laughed. 'A good choice! They're Sarr's old relations.'
'Yes,' said Freirs. 'I gather almost everyone is.'
'And guess where he found our notice,' said Poroth. 'The one I put up in Flemington.'
'Where?' She turned to Freirs.
'I found it on a bulletin board in New York.'
This news, he saw, had caught her by surprise. She looked from him to her husband, as if the two men shared a secret. 'How did it get there?'
'That's what we don't know,' said Poroth grimly. 'Some kind of prankster, maybe.'
'Or else a good Samaritan,' said Deborah. She considered this a moment, then nodded. 'Yes, it must have been, don't you see? Look how nicely everything's turned out. It just might be a sign from God.' Eyes wide, she turned back to Freirs. 'It's like your name -from Jeremiah. I'm sure that's an omen too.' She grinned. 'Maybe you'll turn out to be a prophet.'
Freirs laughed uneasily. 'I'm afraid I'm no relation. But then, you never can tell.'
'I can tell,' she said. 'You were meant to come here, I'm sure of it. And I'm sure you're going to fit right in.' Scooping up a cat, she began moving toward the house. 'Now come on, both of you. I have lunch ready, and then Sarr can show you around. You two just better be hungry. There's sliced ham and cheese, and fresh dandelion greens-' Looking back at Freirs, she added, 'Nothing from our own garden, not yet, anyway – but there's a rhubarb pie from the Geisels right up the road.' To Sarr she added, 'Brother Man's coming by later. I think he wants to meet our guest.'
'Sounds like just what the doctor ordered,' said Freirs, hurrying after her. For a moment he caught a glimpse, in back of the house, of the outbuilding where he'd be staying. It looked somehow less welcoming than the farmhouse. Maybe they didn't want to show it to him till they'd softened him up. Well, that was okay; he could use a good lunch. He followed Deborah up the porch steps, surreptitiously eyeing her swaying hips encased in the black dress, the hemline sweeping barely an inch above the floor. A wonder it didn't get dusty.
Behind them in the yard, Poroth sighed. The matter of the rental notice seemed to be closed. 'I'll leave the truck out,' he called, coming after them. 'We'll have to start back to town by five to make the bus.'
While Deborah held the screen door open for Freirs, a pair of cats dashed past her feet and into the house, closely followed by another that Freirs hadn't seen. This could be a problem; he hadn't counted on there being so many.
Inside, the house seemed cramped and dark, with an unmistakable odor of cat; his nose tickled alarmingly. He heard Poroth's footsteps on the porch behind him. The old floorboards creaked. 'It's lighter in the back,' Deborah said, leading the way. They passed from a small front hallway to what was obviously the living room, where a rocker and a low, rather worn-looking couch stood facing a small fireplace. Beyond it lay the kitchen, afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and a screen door in the rear.
It took Freirs a moment to realize what was missing. He looked in vain for lamps, a light switc
h, television; there was nothing but a small kerosene lantern on the mantelpiece. As he entered the kitchen, he saw another on the shelf by the doorway. He cleared his throat. 'I thought your ad said "Fully electrified." '
'The outbuilding is,' said Poroth, ducking as he came into the kitchen. T ran the wires in myself not two months ago. But in our own home-' he shrugged. 'W e prefer to keep the modern world at a distance. Here, you see, we're independent of the city and its ways.'
Freirs sensed, not for the first time, a hint of disapproval. Across the room he noticed a huge cast-iron woodburning stove rubbing shoulders with a shiny little Hotpoint. He turned to Deborah, who was busying herself at the sink, cats milling at her feet. 'I suppose that stove is gas-powered.'
'Correct,' said Sarr. 'We bought it secondhand from a man in Trenton.'
'Honey,' Deborah said over her shoulder, 'show Jeremy the tanks out back.' Freirs watched her lay a platter of ham on the kitchen table and remembered how hungry he was.
'Here, look at this.' Poroth pushed open the screen door and led Freirs out into the back porch, where two more cats were lying on the dusty wooden steps. 'Each one lasts about a month,' said Poroth – but he was pointing to a pair of silver canisters standing like miniature spaceships against the rear wall of the house, surrounded by rosebushes and weeds. 'Ordinary propane. It heats our water and cooks our meals.' Draping a long leg over the railing, he leaned back against the weathered wooden post and folded his arms.
'I don't get it,' said Freirs. 'You say you want to be independent of the modern world, but gas is just as modern as electricity. And probably just as expensive.'
He thought perhaps he had offended Poroth, but the other seemed amused. 'I know it doesn't sound very rational,' Poroth said. 'I don't pretend it is. The choices we've made have been largely… symbolic. Expressions of our faith.' He smiled wryly. 'Does that make any sense?'
Freirs shrugged. 'I suppose so.'
'Look,' said Poroth, 'we're not fanatics, Deborah and I. We have indoor plumbing. We own a truck. When one of us gets sick, we see a doctor. Some of the Brethren are stricter than that; others may think we're too strict. There's plenty of room for differences. You'd be surprised how open-minded the Brethren can be.'
He would, all right. He hadn't forgotten the looks they'd given him in town. But he said politely, 'You people must be a lot more liberal than I figured. I'd had you pegged as a New Jersey version of the Amish.'
Poroth made a face. ' "Blackhats," we call them. They're little better than tourist attractions, if you ask me.'
'I guess I was going by appearances. I mean, you seem to dress the same as they do, except for the hats.'
'It's true, we have our similarities. Certain customs, outward forms… This sort of thing.' He pointed to Lis trousers. 'See? No pockets. Pockets breed avarice. Give a man pockets, and pretty soon he'll want something to put in them. "He that is greedy of gain troubleth his own house." ' Poroth smiled. 'That's what I meant by symbolism.'
'No kidding! I thought those pants looked strange.' Wait till he told them about this back in New York.
'It's the same with the beard. See? Brethren don't wear mustaches because the military wore them – in Europe, anyway – and we refused to leave the farm.' Abruptly he swung his leg down and stood; he was nearly a head taller than Freirs. 'Electricity's a symbol too. You'll find a battery in our truck, another in our radio. We like to listen to the Bible broadcasts. But Deborah and I, we're not ones for labor-saving and luxury. We have no interest in wiring up our home. As I see it, an electric wire's a golden chain that binds a body to the city – and that, my friend, is the citadel of corruption. When the city flickered, we'd flicker. When the city went dark, we'd go dark. That's a tie we'd rather do without.'
He started back inside. Freirs lingered a moment on the porch, gazing at the land that lay behind the house, at the outbuildings, orchard, and fields, but thinking of the monstrous Con Ed plant back in Astoria and how it had lit up the night sky like an ocean liner.
At last the view drew his attention. Where the fields ended, sloping gently downhill from the farmhouse, his eye was caught by the distant glimmer of a stream. The property was more extensive than he'd imagined, though its exact limits were hard to discern, for it merged gradually with the woods which, in every direction, formed a backdrop to the scene. They were dark with shadows and, even at the height of afternoon, far from inviting. He realized suddenly how far he was from the city, and felt a tiny shiver of excitement. This was the real thing.
The three of them ate in the kitchen, seated on some heavy high-backed chairs before an ancient wooden table that some long-dead Poroth ancestor had made. The farmhouse, he'd discovered, had no dining room; it was simply too small – three rooms upstairs, two rooms down, and rough plank floors with spaces often wide enough to see through. Deborah, smiling, had remarked that, when she swept out the kitchen, the crumbs slipped through the cracks and ended up in the root cellar below, where the mice ate them.
'And they, in turn, get eaten by the cats,' Sarr added, as if compelled to remind her of this. 'All part of God's plan.'
Freirs studied the two of them while Poroth said grace and the cats prowled restlessly beneath the table. Except for the difference in height – for even when he was seated, Sarr towered over them both -and the fact that Deborah was, from what he could see, full-breasted and wide of hip while Sarr was tall and rather willowy, the two looked much alike, as if they'd stepped from the same faded tintype, representatives of some earlier generation. Despite their dark hair, both had skin of a surprising smoothness and pallor, considering the time they probably spent outdoors. It was already clear to him that
Deborah was the friendlier of the two; yet in moments of quiet like this one, as she sat listening, eyes downcast, while her husband thanked the Lord for His bounteousness and the guest He'd sent them today, Deborah wore an air similar to Sarr's – a kind of guarded dignity. They seemed brother and sister, in fact: two solemn-faced children raised in the wilderness, both of them on speaking terms with God.
By the time grace was over, though, Freirs had become distracted by a growing need to sneeze. 'It's nothing to worry about,' he explained with irritation when the two finally looked up. 'I just happen to be allergic to a variety of things – cats most of all.' He gritted his teeth and tried to smile as a pair of them, a yellow tiger-stripe and a charcoal grey, both obviously young, crowded closer to rub against his legs. He was as angry with himself as with the animals; he'd have been happy to reach down and pat them, scratch the downy hair behind their ears, but with each successive breath he could feel his nose becoming clogged, as if somewhere a mechanism had been triggered that he was helpless to control. The corners of his eyes had already begun to itch.
Sarr sat watching him in silence; maybe he saw such afflictions as evidence of weakness or of God's displeasure. Deborah appeared more sympathetic.
'I think it's a good sign,' she declared, watching beneath the table as the cats, no doubt in an effort to leave their mark on a stranger, continued to rub themselves diligently against the bottoms of Freirs' pants legs. 'I mean, the way they've taken to you. It shows you're welcome here. I guess we're all starved for visitors.'
Sarr frowned. Clearly this sort of thing made him impatient. 'Shall I put them outside?'
That was, in fact, precisely what Freirs wanted, but he was in no mood to make a scene; these animals were the closest things the Poroths had to children. Surely they could all work it out over the summer. 'They're okay here,' he said lightly, and launched into an elaborate cock-and-bull story – though who could say, maybe it made sense – about how the only way he'd ever get over the allergy was by exposing himself to the offending animals as often as possible. 'It's just a matter of building up the right antibodies,' he said, privately resolving to see a decent allergist as soon as he got back.
Deborah looked relieved. 'Well, just remember now,' she said, 'If you ever have problems like this over the summer, the
re's always antihistamine in the medicine chest.'
She sounded as if it were a foregone conclusion he'd be staying with them; and maybe it was. He already felt as if he knew them. Obligingly he marched off to the bathroom in search of the pills, grateful that she hadn't offered him some Brethren-approved medication like herbs or mud or some other crazy folk remedy.
The bathroom was a crowded little chamber just off the kitchen, with a small curtained window looking out upon the rosebushes at the side of the house. In the corner stood a bulky metal water heater apparently connected to the tanks out back and, next to it, a primitive sink with separate faucets for hot and cold. Freirs wondered why nobody'd had the sense to connect them; it only took a simple Y-shaped pipe. The room was dominated by a gigantic old claw-footed bathtub, big enough for two, that would probably take hours to fill. No showers for him, then, if he spent his summer here. He told himself that baths were more relaxing: reading classics in the tub, soft music on the radio – it might not be so bad.
The medicine cabinet was a revelation: dusty little plastic bags with roots in them, and colored powders, and things afloat in brown unlabeled bottles, side by side with a handful of prescription drugs for headaches, nausea, nerves – plus mouthwash and aspirin and scented bath talc, and, on the top shelf near the end, a half-empty package of strawberry douche. The Poroths must have an interesting marriage, he decided.
Back in the kitchen Deborah had set out a platter of cheese beside the ham and was busy slicing a loaf of thick brown bread, the kind he saw at German delis but that always seemed too expensive. She was wielding a bread knife that looked half as long as a sword, while San-sat watching her impassively, a king on his throne.
'Now this looks good,' said Freirs, seating himself across from Poroth. He poured himself some milk from a ceramic pitcher and washed down the pill, some local version of Contac.
'Yesterday, I want you to know, that milk was in the cow,' said Deborah. 'It's from Sarr's uncle's dairy.'