by Rob Mclean
Sergeant Wei had seen the girl’s glee at his Captain’s failing and was about to punish her for it, but the Captain managed to raise her arm to stop the retaliation. The Sergeant straightened. She had played this game enough to know her role.
“No need at all,” the Captain repeated. She rubbed the bridge of her nose to relieve the dull pain behind her eyes. “If only our guest would let us know who she is.” She squatted down and inspected the restraints. “After all, we wouldn’t want to detain the wrong person.”
“You can’t do this to me,” the girl bellowed. She strained against her bindings. “I am an American citizen.”
The Captain was disappointed to see the Sergeant’s body stiffen when she heard of her nationality.
“Yes, we know you are,” she said casting a sidelong look at her Sergeant, who frowned an apology. “Unfortunately for you, your American citizenship does not carry the same weight that it once did.”
“I have my rights. You can’t do this to me,” she continued, her volume unchanged.
Captain Lau closed her eyes and shook her head while waving away her protests. “Michelle Mae Cheong, you forfeited your rights when you broke the laws of this wondrous nation.” Her quiet voice was in stark contrast to the girl’s rants.
“Since when was it a crime to believe in Jesus?”
The Sergeant advanced with the cattle-prod, ready to punish her for her attitude. It hummed as she brought it near her neck. The girl tried to move away, but was tied too securely.
Captain Lau stopped her with a raised hand and leaned in close. “You live here now, but since you were born in the United States and lived there until you were fourteen, your delusion regarding your ‘rights’ is understandable.”
She noted the expression on the girl’s face weaken slightly. “Your crime was to spread sedition and insurrection by smuggling Bibles into this country and with, your parents, running an illegal church.”
Her eyes widened at the mention of her parents. The Captain made a mental note to look up their fate later. The girl’s eyes bulged as she tried to watch the cattle-prod as it hovered near her neck. “Article 18 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states…”
“Yes, yes, I believe I have had it quoted to me before.” She changed to English, “Even my ox of a Sergeant could recite it.”
“Then you know that when the government signed that agreement, it gave all Chinese citizens the right to religious freedom,” she replied in equally fluent English. The cattle-prod hadn’t moved. The Sergeant waited for a command from her master.
She switched back to Chinese. “Regardless, your crime remains. What would your American government do if I were to go there and break their laws? Would they not punish me as well?”
“The laws of God are higher than any national law. I have a duty to spread the Word that overrides any man-made law.”
“And you should know that our glorious government has generously tried to accommodate these ‘needs’ with legal, state-endorsed churches where citizens can exercise their rights to pray to their imaginary ‘Gods’ and yet you shun these and try to subvert the people by setting up your own illegal churches.” She rubbed her temples absently. She didn’t know how the prisoners survived with this putrid toxic air.
“The government ‘churches’ are nothing but mouth-pieces for the state. They are more concerned with keeping the people quiet than spreading the Word.” She said the words in English, with a polite tone, confident that the Sergeant couldn’t understand them and so wouldn’t respond with the cattle-prod. “There are far too few of them to meet the needs of the people.”
The Captain shook her head and frowned. “You must realize the danger of allowing individuals to set up their own churches? The power of superstition is far too dangerous. Semi-literate citizens can be easily manipulated to follow any sort of cult, or stirred up to rebel against the established order. The government cannot allow such uncontrolled dissemination of information to the masses.”
She paced around the girl. This was her life’s work and she argued with a practiced intensity. “The potential for civil disruption, of inciting over a billion people, is too real. It simply cannot be permitted. Surely you can see that.” Her brow creased. She was not used to explaining herself to her prisoners, but she found this one to be exceptional in many ways.
“You cannot silence the Word of the Lord,” the girl persisted.
“If you are so confident that your God is so powerful and will prevail despite all my efforts, then why do you have to smuggle Bibles and risk your lives by running illegal house churches?”
“We are doing the Lord’s work,” she said as if explaining something that was undeniably obvious.
“That’s my point exactly,” the Captain said, stabbing the air with her finger. “Why do you have to do his work? Can’t He do it Himself?” She directed her question directly to those sharp, hostile eyes and saw them falter, saw them slide away from her scrutiny. “If your God wanted China to be Christian, couldn’t he just make it so?” she waved her hand in the air, casting an imaginary spell.
“That’s not how it works,’ the girl said. The Captain thought her prisoner sounded less strident. She knew she had found a weakness in the girl’s divine armour.
“Isn’t it?” the Captain rubbed her chin, deep in thought. “In my investigations, it has been found that many of these emerging illegal churches are less concerned with the words of your Jesus and more concerned with introducing subversive western ideology such as personal rights.”
“Render unto Caesar…”
“Yes, I have read your Bible. A self-referencing, self-perpetuating document, designed to perpetuate its own ideology and culture, like a virus.” The Captain nodded thoughtfully. “You must thoroughly understand its power over people and therefore the danger it poses to the state. It is too dangerous to be allowed to be preached freely by unofficial practitioners such as yourself.”
Despite the restraints, she saw that the girl’s expression acknowledged his point. She could also see that the girl didn’t like it, but couldn’t rebuke the line of reason. The Captain nodded her satisfaction that she had been at least partly successful in changing the girl’s defiant attitude.
Logic had bombarded cracks in the girl’s walls of faith, and the Captain was confident that it wouldn’t be long before even her most cherished beliefs would leak out and desert her, leaving her ready to be re-educated with sensible, productive, state doctrine.
“Now that your disposition is more agreeable, I am happy to have you moved out of here, into somewhere more accommodating. In the meantime, I will leave you now to ponder our conversation.”
The throbbing in the Captain’s head had subsided and she felt decidedly better. She almost smiled, so happy she was with the progress she had made with the prisoner. She turned to the Sergeant and motioned her to follow her out of the room.
“Jesus loves China, you know,” the girl called out as they left the room. The Captain turned and stared at her. “And He loves you too,” she added.
“And will he love my Sergeant once she’s finished with you?” the Captain said in English. She saw the girl’s resolve harden just before she strode out of the room. The Sergeant following like a well-heeled attack dog.
Outside, the Captain turned to the Sergeant and once the door was shut, said, “We will leave her to ponder our words in her darkness. She is smart enough to see her plight.”
“Do you want me to give her any special treatment?” the Sergeant threw a lecherous look towards the cell, her hand tightened on her baton.
The Captain smiled at the devotion to duty her Sergeant showed. This oaf would abuse her own grandmother if she was ordered to. “No, I would advise against plundering this filthy foreigner. As you heard, she is an American, a banana girl.”
The Sergeant smiled. She had heard expatriate Chinese being called that before. They had lost their Chinese culture, and although they were yellow on the outside, th
ey were Western white on the inside. “And there might be trouble because of that?”
The Captain snorted a short laugh and shook her head. “No, there is no need. Being American, I doubt there is any form of deviant sexual abuse she hasn’t experienced. You would just be wasting your time. And besides, I don’t want you catching some putrid western disease from her.”
Chapter 34
There were plenty of empty spaces at the church car-park. At Clarice’s insistence, they had arrived early to make it easier for her husband, so John had no trouble parking his big car.
He had given it a cursory clean, removing his soccer bag and training clothes as well as cleaning out all the fast-food wrappers and cans from the back seat before offering Angela’s parents a ride with them. One day he might give it a vacuum as well.
With his freshly combed hair still damp, he felt awkward, but at least his tie did not bother him overly. He was glad that he had taken Geoff’s advice and gotten himself a shirt with a larger collar. He could have worn one of his ‘fake’ elastic ones, but if Geoff was wearing a real one in his condition, then John felt he should as well.
He had also taken Geoff’s advice about what to wear. It would have been okay for the fifties or sixties, but looking around the car-park, he saw it was mostly only the oldies that wore ties, besides some ultra clean cut Mormon types. He straightened his tie, but sitting behind the wheel with Geoff in the front passenger seat, mirroring an older version of the same, he felt just a tad retro.
Despite the warmth of the west coast summer morning, Angela was dressed conservatively, with an ankle-length tartan skirt and covered shoes. Her hair was braided underneath a dark blue scarf. It made her look a bit Amish, but he saw only her loveliness. When she caught him looking at her in the rear vision mirror, she gave him a nervous smile.
“You okay?” he asked as he killed the engine.
“Sure.”
He didn’t believe her. She opened the door and got out before he could ask her any more questions. John helped Geoff out of the front seat and then got his wheelchair and oxygen bottle trolley from the boot.
After fiddling with the latches and locks, trying to set up the wheelchair for a few moments, Clarice shooed him away.
“We haven’t all day,” she said, and then with a minimum of quick, deft movements, she had the wheelchair all assembled and ready.
“I’ve done this once or twice before,” she conceded when she saw the look on John’s face.
John helped Geoff lower himself into the wheelchair. “If she could do that with a M16…” John said in a stage whisper, bringing a grin to Geoff’s face.
John looked to Angela, but she was not paying attention. She was busy fidgeting with her new ring while looking about the car-park. To John, it seemed that she was checking to see who had arrived. He wondered if it were someone in particular she was worried about. Most likely that loser ex-boyfriend. John scanned the faces of the congregation, but couldn’t see him. He wasn’t going to worry about it too much; he felt he could take that guy in his sleep.
Geoff saw him scrutinizing the crowd. “At ease, soldier,” he said, breaking John’s concentration. “No enemy hostiles here.”
“Sorry,” John grinned and shrugged sheepishly. “It’s a habit.” He pushed the wheelchair up the path towards the front entrance. Angela and Clarice trailed behind.
A small group were clustered at the door. They were being greeted by a lean, older guy. The morning sun shone off his smooth head. His hair had migrated from his scalp and now lived around his mouth. He was welcoming an elderly couple with a two-handed handshake that, to John appeared genuine.
“That’s Pastor Greg,” Angela said. John nodded his acknowledgement while still surveying the gathering crowd.
As he watched the people milling about the front door, making their way in, he was becoming increasingly aware that they all knew each other. People greeted and chatted briefly with each other. Hand-shakes and hugs were being freely shared amongst old friends. He felt that there was a deep, underlying sense of belonging and community amongst the apparently random collection of otherwise unremarkable people. Part of him, the bit that strived to please, to protect and nourish; that part yearned to join this communion.
At the same time he was also aware that he was not part of this group. Eyes darted his way, and hurried looks told him that people saw him as a foreigner. They were not hostile, mostly curious. There were even a couple of welcoming smiles from complete strangers. It all added to the feeling that he had left his comfort zone back in the car.
Their group had made its way to the front entrance. Angela and her mother were animatedly talking with the Pastor like they were the oldest and best of friends, making references to things John had never heard of. He flexed his grip on the wheel-chair and waited.
“Angela tells me you’ve never been to church before,” Geoff said, twisting back to face John.
“No, sir. Not that I can remember.”
“Well, don’t you worry, son. You’ll do fine.” He waved John forward and then added, “Just don’t sing too loud.”
John was still wondering about that piece of advice when the Pastor took Geoff’s hand.
“Morning, Geoffrey. How are you today? Did you have a good night?” The Pastor still held Geoff’s hand in a firm handshake and laid his other on the old man’s shoulder.
“Lousy. Can’t wait to die.”
The Pastor nodded. “We’ll all get there soon enough.” He patted Geoff’s shoulder. “Did you want me to send a prayer for patience for you?”
“Hell, no. I won’t make that mistake again.” Both Geoff and the Pastor chuckled at something that John presumed was some private joke.
“Oh, John,” Geoff said suddenly remembering his duty. “This is our Pastor, Gregory.”
The Pastor held John’s hand in a leathery grip. John could imagine that the man must have had his palm worn smooth, having greeted so many people. Despite probably being the three thousandth person to have shaken his hand this week, the Pastor still managed to convey a warm and sincere greeting.
“Hello there, John.” The pastor gripped John’s upper arm with his left hand. “It’s always good to see a new face.”
John was about to reply, but Geoff spoke first. “It’s his first time, Gregory, so go easy on him, won’t you?”
“You mean he doesn’t have to take the test afterwards?” Both the men laughed, and John managed a smile. “So what brings you here today John?”
John looked to Angela, but she and her mother had moved on. They probably didn’t expect Geoff to be so chatty and were now exchanging pleasantries with an older woman further inside the building.
Again Geoff answered the question for John. “He’s now keeping company with our Angela.”
Pastor Greg’s brow creased as he took in the new information. John could see that it was news to him, and he wondered just how many of Angela’s friends knew of her change in relationship. Was she trying to keep it a secret, but then how much of her life did she share with her Pastor?
The Pastor put on a pleasant face. “I hope it all goes well for you both. Have you known her long?”
Again Geoff commandeered the conversation before John could answer. It was starting to annoy him, but he also felt it was easier and probably safer to let Angela’s father negotiate this social minefield. “I believe our Angela has already told you about her adventures last weekend?”
A look of understanding dawned on the Pastor’s face. “Well, I’m sure she’s in good hands then.”
“Thank you, sir; she is,” John said before Geoff could interrupt. Over the Pastor’s shoulder he could see Angela beckoning. Pastor Greg followed his gaze.
“You had better get going. Don’t want to keep the ladies waiting.”
Geoff jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Plus we’re holding everyone up.” John saw that there a large pool of people had welled up behind them. He suspected some were eavesdropping on their
conversation, curious about the new guy.
“Good to have met you,” John said. He pushed Geoff forward, getting a paternal pat on the back from the Pastor. He wasn’t used to so much caring male contact. The times he had been touched by his step-father, it hadn’t been so caring or gentle.
They caught up with Angela and Clarice, who were still talking with the older woman.
“Come along, dear,” Geoff said. “We don’t want to hold up the procession.” An innocent expression struggled to stay on his face.
“You…we were waiting for you,” Clarice said.
“Yes, dear,” Geoff said, then to the older woman, “Morning, Elma. No Admiral today?”
“No, he’s been called away.”
Clarice pulled at John’s arm. “Come along. We don’t want to hold everyone up, do we?” John obliged, moving the wheelchair forward.
“Yes, dear,” Geoff parroted. He waved to Elma, “Talk to you after.”
Elma nodded, but her gaze was fixed on John. He smiled an apology as he passed, but even he could see that she was affronted by the lack of an introduction. Despite this, he was beginning to enjoy the celebrity status of being the new guy.
They followed the women as they made their way to the front of the auditorium. The church was roughly octagonal with over half of the area taken up with seating. Rows of wooden pews, longer at the back and shortening towards the front, had a shelf on the backs where a variety of worn hard-cover Bibles lived.
Once Angela’s family were settled, John excused himself. He had been told that the sermon should be about an hour or so, but that the preacher was, on occasions, inclined to make it more like a ‘biblical’ length hour. John felt it safer to go now rather than have to leave in the middle of it.
The press of attention pricked his mind as he made his way to the toilets. Eyes followed him and heads turned. He paid them polite but scant attention until he spotted Chelsea. Dressed in black jeans, studded belt, Doc Martin boots and a black T-shirt with a metal logo, she stood out from the more mundane congregation.