Ceremonies

by T E. D Klein

  She had baffled him even in the early days, before his father's death. There'd been times when she appeared to lead an almost secretive existence apart from the family, nor had she ever shown the slightest interest in its affairs. She had shared none of her husband's devotion to business, the doings of the town, the rise and fall of others' crops or the fortunes of his own beloved store, the buying and selling of grain and supplies, the faithful nightly entries in the ledger, the bedside prayers for guidance as he balanced his obligations to God and the community with the same care he brought to balancing his books. Instead, even then, she'd been prone to moods of distance and distraction, as if listening for faraway voices or preoccupied by some half-remembered dream.

  It had been clear, even then, that the Brethren felt uneasy in her presence, though they were loud in the praise of her piety. Many of them still clearly regarded her as something of an oracle, and she was popularly reputed to have second sight. As to the actual extent of her powers, Poroth himself couldn't say; he only knew that he had inherited no such powers himself – for which he supposed he was glad. Still, watching her as she stood there in the darkness, her face, as always, turned away from him and the moonlight so cold on her hair, he found himself recalling all the things this night represented and longing for some small token of encouragement from her, some word of benediction.

  But that, he knew, would have to come from somewhere else.

  Nor was it long in coming. The others, he saw now, had fallen silent. They were watching a grey-haired woman, Sister Corah Geisel, who stood at the head of the table. Her hands held something out of sight.

  'We're plain folks,' she began, gazing into the familiar faces around her. 'And I'm no good at speechmaking. You all know that this farm's been standing empty for too many years, ever since Andy Baber gave up working the land, and so we're all real glad to see it under cultivation again. But probably no one's half as glad as we are, Matthew and me. You see, livin' where we do, just over on the next road, we've always felt kind of on the edge of things out here, and. .. well, it's good to have some company again!' The others laughed and nodded. 'So, bein' as we're their closest neighbors, and since there's no one likelier to do them this service, we wanted Sarr and Deborah here to have our chaplet.' She held up a dried and withered garland of corn: two ears, the husks, and a shaggy mass of leaves. 'It's from a good crop – the Lord was bountiful last summer -and you all know it just wouldn't be right to plant without one. We're hopin' it'll get these young people off to a proper start.' Solemn as if she were crowning a queen, she placed the garland upon the uppermost point of the star-shaped loaf.

  Faces turned toward him expectantly, his mother's among them; Poroth realized he would have to say something. He cleared his throat. 'Brother Matthew and Sister Corah do us a real honor, and I know the Lord'll bless them for their neighborliness. We give thanks for the bread we're about to eat, and thanks for those who prepared it. It's made from store-bought cornmeal, but next year, thanks to you good folks, we'll be using our own.'

  'And next year we'll be planting on time!' Deborah had added that. She'd replaced Sister Corah at the head of the table and stood clutching a long, serrated bread knife, its blade gleaming redly in the firelight. The brightness was reflected in her eyes.

  'And now,' he said quickly, 'let us bow our heads together in silent prayer.' He stood biting his lips, eyes closed, but the only sound he heard was one of the children driving some predator from the corn seed.

  At last he looked up. He had been distracted, annoyed at his wife; there had been no prayer in his heart. He wondered if somehow the others had seen, but they were staring pensively at the cottonbread as if lost in recollection. Only Deborah herself stood watching him now – and, just beyond the firelight, seven pairs of wide unwinking eyes. He hadn't noticed them till this moment.

  'How did they get out?' he whispered, nodding toward the cats as he moved beside his wife.

  She shrugged. 'I never locked 'em up.'

  'Of all the dumb-' Once more he dropped his voice. 'You know how Brother Joram feels.'

  'Oh, honey, don't be angry with me. Tisn't anything important. Joram will just have to watch his step.' She reached once more for the knife. 'Are we ready?'

  He nodded curtly. 'Ready.'

  Metal flashed. She brought up her hand and, with a smooth stroke, sliced off the topmost point of the star. It remained lying before them, still decorated by the cuttings from last year's crop.

  Just beyond the firelight the seven pairs of eyes followed every movement, missing nothing. Silent as shadows, two of the animals' rose and padded back to the house. The others crouched nearer the flames, purring softly.

  Corn fragrance hung above the table, reminding those assembled of their empty bellies. With the first clean slice the spell that held them had been dissipated, replaced by simple hunger. They murmured in anticipation.

  'Brothers, sisters,' said Poroth gravely, 'let us break bread.'

  The command was, this time, a literal one. Crowded around the bread loaf, the celebrants broke chunks off with their hands. They were polite, even deferential; the pieces they took were not large. Still, the star's smooth contours soon looked ragged, and before long, limbs devoured, it had been reduced to a shapeless yellow mass. The severed portion, a triangle nearly as large as a kite, was brought past the fire to the children, who greeted it with shouts of pleasure. It had been garnished with extra sweetmeats, including three plump candied crab apples and a slice of glazed peach; they fell upon it eagerly. The garland of corn had been removed beforehand and left in a prominent place at the head of the table, where it presided over the destruction of the loaf.

  Like corn bread it was dry, crumbly, and provoked an immediate thirst. Cups were handed around; the thermos jugs were emptied, disgorging strong hot coffee brewed with chocolate. Older children trooped forward for their share; the younger ones sang planting songs, or dozed, or fought over the sweetmeats. Men were lying full-length on the grass; benches were not part of this occasion. Some of the married couples sat together in the darkness, washing down the last of the bread while they searched the zenith for meteors; others remained standing, sipping their coffee as they gazed dreamily into the flames. In the warm reddish light their features were drained of detail, taking on the ageless look of masks. Here and there a lightning bug glowed and dimmed above the lawn, and in the sky beyond the cornfield the Sickle rolled serenely toward the western horizon. Children chased a buzzing June bug from the bag of seed; overhead Draco and the Queen wheeled in an endless chase around the pole star, the Dragon's tail directly overhead. In its tip shone Thuban, pole star of the ancients, once a herdsman's beacon and the light to which the pyramids aspired, stony angles pointing toward its gleam. Since that hour five thousand years had flashed and died like sparks; the heavens had shifted. But not until this present spring had the world really changed.

  At night the city seemed immense. The sidewalks looked as wide as streets, the streets like highways; in the absence of traffic the avenue resembled a dim, empty arena, its spectators all gone home. Cars passed only at intervals now, in groups of two or three, and could be heard from blocks away. Carol's voice sounded loud amid the silence.

  'Jeremy, I can't keep up with you!'

  'Sorry,' he said. 'I guess I'm still upset about that bag.'

  The two of them were walking north toward Chelsea, their footsteps slapping heavily against the pavement. Freirs no longer had his book bag. Earlier that evening they had stopped to eat in a crowded little Italian restaurant on Sullivan Street, Freirs slipping the bag beneath his chair, and later when he'd reached for it, it had been gone – stolen, most likely, though Freirs still clung to the hope that it had been taken by accident and might eventually be returned; it had contained nothing but books and student papers.

  The loss of the bag had spoiled what had been, until then, a happy evening, though for Carol the incident was already receding into the haze of the past. The two of them had
shared a bottle of chianti over dinner; she'd had nothing to eat since her afternoon break, and that first glass had immediately gone to her head. Later, after coffee, he'd convinced her to join him in a brandy. It had never taken much to get her drunk, and tonight she'd been especially susceptible. Despite the coffee, she was beginning to feel drowsy and, in her imagination, was already staggering into bed and pressing her body in sleep against the cool sheets. She could think about the day's events tomorrow morning.

  It was now well past midnight. A mile to the north the red, white, and blue lights that illuminated the Empire State Building throughout the July Fourth season had gone dark, with only the wink of a red warning beacon left to mark the top, while up and down the avenue the lights of the deserted shops glowed pallidly behind steel security gates. In the shadows of a butcher's window, hanging carcasses and the goose-pimpled body of a turkey pressed against the metal bars like creatures in a cage.

  She walked slowly, aware that she'd eaten too much. Still, hadn't it been nice of him to take her out like that! It was something she missed, here in New York, where most restaurants were beyond her means, places to pass without entering. Today, though, her luck seemed to have changed. All evening she'd been thinking of Rosie's check, carefully folded in her handbag, and of how she was going to spend it. Two benefactors on the same day – it was almost too much to believe.

  'I feel like I've eaten enough to last the whole weekend,' she said, hoping she sounded sufficiently grateful.

  'I wish I could say the same.' As he walked he stared gloomily down at his paunch, as if surprised it was still there. 'I've really got to get in shape this summer. If I don't lose around twenty pounds

  … ' He shook his head.

  They were passing the open doorway of a barroom, its patrons concealed by darkness; the sounds of salsa music and argument spilled out into the night. Carol hurried after him.

  'I don't think you look so bad. Honestly.'

  'Well, thanks.' He stood a little straighter. 'But you should have seen me a year ago, during my diet. I was positively lean then. Like you.'

  She shrugged, though she knew she'd been complimented. 'My two older sisters have really full figures. I was always the skinny one.'

  'Not me,' he said mournfully. 'When I was growing up I was a regular little tub. My parents had to send me to a weight-watchers' camp in Connecticut.' He slowed, briefly, for her to catch up. 'You know, come to think of it, that was just about the only time I ever really got out into the country. That, and a temple youth-group trip, and a few weeks at a tennis camp on Long Island. Pretty provincial, huh?'

  'Oh, I wouldn't say that.' She wondered if he'd been kidding. 'I'll bet you think it's the rest of us who are provincial.'

  He grinned. 'I don't deny it! But then, that's what comes of being a New Yorker all my life.' With an easy sweep of his hand he took in the nearly deserted street, the lights of distant traffic, and, it seemed to her, the whole titanic nightscape of the city, the dark alleys, silent buildings, and the millions around them now dreaming in their beds.

  She envied him his growing up here. It was a world he knew well enough to thrive within, and one he might help her know better -something, anyway, worth hoping for. For a moment, as she walked up the avenue with him, Freirs already ahead once more, it seemed to her that she was on a different street entirely, one that, if only she didn't stumble, would lead her to a future in which all things were possible.

  'I can't help wondering,' she said at last, 'what you'd make of my town.'

  Tm sure I'd like it.'

  She laughed. 'Don't be. It isn't very interesting.'

  'Well, you know – Pennsylvania and all.' He waved his hand vaguely to the left. 'I expect it's pretty scenic out there.'

  She glanced at him skeptically. 'You sound as if you've never been west of the Hudson.'

  'Oh, don't get me wrong,' he said. 'I've done my share of traveling. L.A., Chicago, Miami…" He waited till she'd drawn beside him. 'My parents moved down to Florida a few years ago. Horrible place! And after college I spent some time in Europe. But as for good old country living in the good old U.S.A. -you know, going to sleep with the chickens, getting up with the hogs, or whatever it is they do out there… ' He shrugged.

  They were approaching another bar now. Carol moved closer to his side. She couldn't explain why, but she felt quite safe with him, despite the fact that he himself was plainly somewhat tense. Both of them had been sobered by the loss of the book bag, and the night had sharpened her senses when she'd first stepped from the restaurant, but now her giddiness was returning. Perhaps it was Jeremy, or perhaps only the drink. Love stories always made her weep when she read them late at night, whether or not they were really sad; she trembled at mysteries after too much black coffee, even when their plots held no terrors. It was hard to tell for sure.

  Normally she might have been a great deal more apprehensive. Although they were nearing her own neighborhood in Chelsea now, she was unaccustomed to being outdoors at this hour, when every stranger was potentially a threat: the sleepy-eyed schoolboy who shuffled past them, hands plunged deep into his pockets, might be secretly caressing a rosary down there, or his own nakedness, or a knife. Faces which would have been ignored by day now took on a peculiar cast, and she was acutely aware of figures in the distance, coming toward her through the empty streets. Even their footfalls were audible; she could hear them, and anticipate the encounter, from several blocks away.

  At this moment the view ahead held only a bored-looking householder walking his dog. From the sidewalk behind came the voices of a couple speaking rapidly in Spanish and, across the avenue, the echoes of a small, lumpish figure staggering after them upon a black cane, a tattered parcel clutched beneath its arm. Newspapers swept like ghosts through the foyer of an abandoned movie theater near the corner, its marquee blank, display case bare of posters; wind stirred the heaped-up trash against the doors as the two of them hurried past, reminding Carol of the rustle of dead leaves.

  'You know something?' she said. 'I think the country will be good for you.'

  'Really?' He sounded as if he cared. 'I sure hope so, because I keep suspecting I've been missing something.'

  'Well, I think you have. Of course-'

  She stumbled slightly and felt his hand reach out to steady her. He seemed to hold her longer than was necessary.

  'Of course, I don't know you very well,' she said, pulling away slightly. 'You may get bored. What are you going to do if you're unhappy out there?'

  'Unhappy? What do you mean?'

  'Can you just come back here to the city if it turns out you don't like it? I hope you haven't paid the whole thing in advance.'

  'No, I haven't paid anything yet,' he said. 'But I told the Poroths I'd stay the summer, and they're expecting me to, so I guess I have a certain commitment.'

  'Still, that's hardly the same as a contract.'

  'Maybe,' he said, glancing at the figures behind them. 'But I feel my word to the Poroths is just as binding as a contract. It's the way those people operate. And anyway, I did sign something with the other couple, the ones subletting my apartment. They wanted the place till September, and I gave it to 'em. They wanted the whole thing in writing, and' – he shrugged – 'I gave it to 'em. So I just made my mind up: I'm going to stay the whole summer and that's all there is to it. You won't find me coming home crying!'

  For a moment she thought she'd heard real self-pity in his voice, but then, screwing up his face, he made a mocking little sound like the sobbing of a baby, and she broke into laughter. Soon he was laughing with her – but only for a moment; clearly the doubts she'd raised were still on his mind.

  'Jesus, I hope I don't get bored out there,' he said. 'I certainly don't expect to. My dissertation alone should keep me busy round the clock. If you could see the size of my reading list… 'He shook his head. 'God, I'm still so pissed about that book bag. There were things in there of my own, aside from all those papers. You wouldn't believe t
he catching up I've got to do. There's a course I'm teaching next fall that I'm completely unprepared for, a night class at Columbia-'

  'I thought you taught at the New School.'

  'Sure, but nobody's going to pay the rent on that. You've really got to scramble for the jobs these days. You've got to take whatever comes along and hope that someday someplace gives you tenure. Me, I admit it, I'm a bit of a hack. I'll go wherever you pay me and teach whatever they like.'

  She felt a trace of envy. 'The pay must be good at Columbia.'

  'Well, it isn't actually the college I'll be with, it's the General Studies program. But it's the best I can do right now. The course itself is partly my idea… '

  The rest of his words were drowned out when, beneath their feet, the pavement trembled like the roll of a hundred drums. In an instant they were engulfed by a cavernously deep rumbling, as if something vast and invisible were bearing down upon their lives. Through the subterranean corridors below them an IND express hurtled noisily uptown, leaving only silence in its wake.

  Silence… but broken by a certain sound behind them, a queer irregular thump-and-scrape from somewhere down the block.

  'What will it be on?'

  'Pardon?' He was peering over his shoulder, but quickly turned back to her; one didn't stare at cripples. In the distance the little figure with the cane, head bowed, continued its laborious progress up the sidewalk. The emptiness and the night seemed to press heavily upon it.

  'Your course,' she said. 'What'll it be on?'

  'I'm calling it "The Gothic Imagination." That's the kind of title they go for up there. I told them I'd start with Shakespeare and work right up to Absalom, Absalom, and believe it or not, they bought it. They must think-'

  'Wait a second! Since when did Shakespeare write gothics?'

  He paused. 'Well, there's always Hamlet. You know – ghost on the battlements, lost inheritance… But that was just part of the sales pitch. The same with the Faulkner; I threw them in for the names. The truth is, I'll mainly be reading a lot of crazy old horror stories, the sort of stuff I should have read ten years ago. I've been faking it all this time, and now's my chance to find out what I've missed.' He turned to look at her, smiling. 'Should be fun, eh?'