Iron Balloons

by Channer, Colin

  A LITTLE EMBARRASSMENT FOR THE SAKE OF OUR LORD

  by Konrad Kirlew

  Your father will be ordained tomorrow,” Mrs. Riley announced to her children, during their Fridaynight family devotion.

  “Why are they ordinating him?” Justin asked.

  “Ordaining. The word is ordaining. After you’ve been a minister for a few years and proven yourself, then you get to take more responsibilities in the church.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like baptizing people and marrying people.”

  “Does this mean that you won’t be at my recital next Sunday, Daddy?” Barb asked.

  “I wish I could hear you play,” Pastor Riley said, “but I have a church board meeting next Sunday.”

  “Couldn’t you have it another time, or start it earlier or something, Daddy?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? You’re the minister!”

  “Listen to me very carefully.” His voice rose into boss mode. “You kids don’t seem to understand the importance of the Lord’s work. I can’t make all of your events, okay. And that’s just the way it is.”

  Pastor Riley glared at each of his children to make sure they got the message. Pauline looked as if nothing had happened. Barb screwed up her face. Justin glanced at the cover of the Bible in his hand. Even Freddy, their two-year-old brother, looked sheepish. Sis, their helper, patted Barb on the shoulder as if to say, Hush, never mind.

  “Let’s finish this discussion and not spoil a good worship,” the pastor continued.

  Mrs. Riley told the kids that they would be going to Montego Bay tomorrow and their father was going to preach, so they had to wake up early for the drive from Black River.

  Justin was excited. Tomorrow’s trip was going to be important. He could tell this from his parents’ voices. As they said their prayers at the end of worship, he prayed for all their friends and relatives, especially his eldest sister, Sheila, who lived in Canada. He also prayed that Jesus would help him to be a good boy, which wasn’t always easy, and watch over them while they made their way along the country roads tomorrow, and help Daddy to preach a good sermon tomorrow for the ornamentation.

  Pastor Riley sat on the platform of the Montego Bay church, the biggest and most important church of his denomination in that part of Jamaica. It was a concrete block building with an impressive vaulted ceiling, a baby grand piano, a small pipe organ, and stained-glass windows. The church was packed. It was hot, despite the overhead fans and the open windows. Some of the congregation halfheartedly waved paper fans with wooden handles that looked to Justin like giant popsicle sticks. From his seat in the front row Justin could see his father sitting in the big chair reserved for the preacher, directly behind the pulpit. His father was wearing a new black suit, a starched white shirt, and his favorite tie, which was the color of dark wine and had a subtle paisley print.

  Justin thought his father seemed a little nervous when he was being introduced. The introduction was made by Pastor Ed Townsend, the president of the western region of the church. Townsend was tall and burly, black as coal. He had a booming voice and what some people called a military bearing. Everyone referred to him as “Uncle Ed” or “The Chief.” But never to his face. People were afraid of him. And not just unimportant people. Ministers as well.

  “Pastor Riley is a son of the soil,” Townsend bellowed, “and the husband of one wife. Sister Riley is an outstanding nurse and the Lord has blessed them with four lovely children.” He asked the Riley family to stand.

  After they sat down, Justin told his mother softly, “He made a mistake. There are five of us. He didn’t count Sheila.”

  She looked up at the ceiling fans, thought a bit, then scribbled on a piece of paper, He probably forgot.

  Justin reached for her pen and began to write a question, but his mother took the piece of paper and crushed it. With a quick pat on his leg, she implied that they could talk about it later. But not now. In church.

  When Pastor Riley finally approached the mike after the Chief’s operatic introduction, Justin wondered what it felt like to be called to speak in front of so many people. He’d seen his father speak in church many times, of course, but the thought always came to his mind. Whenever his father spoke in church, he seemed to grow somehow. It was as if he changed into a bigger man. His shoulders. His chest. His voice. Barb called it the preacher voice. It was deeper, slower, and had pauses that conveyed a strong effect. Each pause would bring you forward … draw you in.

  What did it feel like to change that way? thought Justin. The thing that caused the change, were you born with it? Was it a blessing? Do I have that thing inside myself?

  When little Freddy heard his father’s voice, he shouted, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” broke away from Sis, and ran to the pulpit as fast as his little legs would go.

  The congregation sighed and laughed, and Pastor Riley offered, “Was it not our Lord who said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven?’” He stepped away from the pulpit, lifted Freddy, and gave him a big, warm hug, and joked, “This one will be a preacher.”

  He called Sis to come and get the child, but when she came the child began to fuss and wail. There was an anxious moment there in which the pastor had to choose between being looked at as a man who loved children or a father who knew how to control a child, and he smiled right through it. But when the moment passed without appearing like it was about to end, he took the child away from Sis and set him on the big chair behind the pulpit.

  “I want you to be very quiet,” he stage-whispered. “Listen carefully and take good notes.” Freddy nodded solemnly, quieted down, then quickly fell asleep, giving Pastor Riley more material for a joke.

  As Justin watched all this, he thought, I could never get away with that. He was jealous and a bit annoyed. But minutes later, Pastor Riley told a story that annoyed him even more.

  “There was once a little boy who had misbehaved, and his mother said, ‘When your father gets home, I’m going to tell him.’ Now the little boy knew that once his father came home, he would surely get a spanking. When the father arrived and his wife gave him the news about the son, the father called the little boy into his room. Before his father could even remove his belt, the little boy started singing, in a quivering voice, a song his parents had taught him. You may know it.”

  Pastor Riley started to sing, and not having a very good voice, really sounded like a kid who was in trouble.

  God can do anything, anything, anything,

  God can do anything but fail.

  Justin knew the story. It was one of those family stories parents think are cute and which their children hate. He was the little singer boy. He had heard his father tell it before, but never in church.

  “Well, when he started singing, the father’s heart just melted. There was nothing he could do but smile and put away his belt. That was faith. He had repented, and had faith that God and his parents had forgiven him, and that he could avoid a spanking. Of course, the father pointed out to his son that if he misbehaved again he would be spanked, even if Gabriel himself came down and played the song on his golden trumpet.” Everyone laughed. “We can apply faith to every aspect of our lives, even occasionally to get out of the trouble we’ve put ourselves in. We need the simple trusting faith of a child.” He continued, “I won’t say who that little boy was, but he’s someone I know very well.”

  Justin felt as though the entire church was staring at him and giggling. His father might as well have stripped him naked and paraded him around the church to show how healthy a child could be on a vegetarian diet, another of his new kicks. Note the well-formed limbs, the clear eyes, the strong teeth, and the perfection of his circumcised manhood. Vegetarianism: If you’re serious about the kingdom of heaven. Justin wanted to die, but only after his father had been strangled slowly in painful ways.

  Barb hummed the first line of “God Can Do Any
thing” in Justin’s ear. He threw her an elbow. She threw it back. Mrs. Riley gave them one of her don’t-you-dare looks and they calmed down. Justin made plans to poison the entire family when they got home.

  Finally, church was over. As they were ushered out, Justin kept his head down, refusing to look anyone in the eye. The family stood outside and took pictures and shook hands. “Smile nuh, man,” Pastor Riley said at one point to Justin, who was pouting and scowling the entire time.

  In the car on the way to Uncle Ed’s house for lunch, Pastor Riley said, “What’s wrong, Justin? Who trouble you?”

  “Did you have to tell that story?” Justin asked. “Everyone knew who it was!”

  “Cho, man, I didn’t tell the story to embarrass you. You’re too big to be worrying about those things. I was trying to make a point. Jesus used examples from his life all the time.”

  “From his life, but not from other people’s lives.”

  “We know that it was a little embarrassing for you,” Mrs. Riley said. “But it shows that you had faith. That’s a good thing.”

  “Well, Jesus isn’t around to be teased by His friends,” Justin answered. “He’s dead. I’m alive.”

  “Don’t look now,” Barb said, “but Jesus isn’t dead. He’s alive!”

  “Didn’t He die on the cross, Barb? Has anyone seen Him lately?”

  “Haven’t you heard of the resurrection, stupid?”

  “Now if you can’t say anything nice,” Mrs. Riley said, “don’t say anything at all.” The older children mockingly mouthed the last phrase together, one of their mother’s mantras.

  “You can’t use other people’s stories without permission,” Barb continued. “That’s a copyright violation. Justin, you should sue him!”

  “Enough, Miss Lawyer,” Pastor Riley said.

  “If you win,” Barb said, “don’t forget to pay your tithe.”

  Justin couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Here he was, trying to enjoy a good sulk, and Barb was making jokes. Even Mrs. Riley smiled.

  Pastor Riley didn’t get it, or maybe he didn’t want to.

  “That’s enough. You’re too force-ripe. I used the story as an example, not to embarrass you. But you’re in good company. Our Lord suffered far more than a little embarrassment on the cross.”

  “I’m not anybody’s blasted example,” he muttered. It was only after he’d said it that he knew he’d said it aloud.

  “But wait,” Pastor Riley said, and shot a look at the rearview mirror to catch Justin’s eye. “What did you say?”

  Justin didn’t answer.

  “Boy … what … did … you … say?”

  Justin kept quiet as he thought of what to do. If he did as he was told and repeated what he’d said, then he’d be “rude and bright ’pon top of it,” and if he didn’t answer, he’d be “acting like somebody tell him him is man.”

  Justin mumbled something that his father couldn’t hear. It was nothing. A kind of baby talk. So he didn’t repeat it and he wasn’t silent. Two birds. One stone.

  “I heard you,” Pastor Riley said. “Where did you learn that sort of language?”

  “You called Pastor Gordon a blasted fool a few weeks ago,” said Justin. His parents had been talking on the porch when he’d overheard it and had quickly changed the subject when Justin came into view.

  Mrs. Riley left it all up to her husband now and kept staring at the road ahead.

  “That doesn’t mean you should repeat it,” Pastor Riley said, to break the crust of silence that had quickly built up. “And besides, you had no right to be listening to big people’s conversation. You’re out of order.”

  By this time they’d arrived at Uncle Ed’s.

  “We’ll finish this when we get home,” Pastor Riley continued. “And I don’t want to see that donkey face anymore today. Keep this up, and when you get home I’ll give you something to have a long face about.”

  Barb began to slap away imaginary insects from her legs and arms, teasing Justin in the secret spanking code.

  “Sing your way out of this one,” she whispered. Justin did his best to tune her out.

  Uncle Ed lived on a hill in Reading, just outside of town, in a large white two-story house. As they turned off the main road, Justin noticed the driveway lined with coconut trees and stones, the bottom of the trees and the stones painted white. The lawn was huge, and flat—to Justin, perfect for a football game. When they got out of the car, he could see the ocean in the distance and the city in the foothills down below.

  “Does Uncle Ed have children?” Justin asked his mother, as they walked toward the house.

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “So who lives in all these rooms?” He pointed to the trees around them. “Do they eat all this fruit by themselves?”

  They went inside and mingled with a few other ministers and their families, some of whom they hadn’t seen in a while. Justin could almost predict the comments: Barb had her father’s facial features and complexion, Justin had his mother’s smile and quiet personality, Pauline was a mixture of her parents, and Freddy had his own look—at which point Pastor Riley would say he looked just like his grandmother. Justin said nothing but the minimum. Just enough to be polite.

  They saw Pastor Pointer, who had just returned from England, where he’d been working on a doctorate for many years.

  “Riley,” he said, “it’s been over ten years.” He turned to the children. “Your father and I go back a long, long way. Since we were colporteurs selling books to make our way through college in the States.” To Pastor Riley now, he said, “Last time I saw you, you were a single man throwing your net into the Sea of Galilee. How many children do you have now? These are all of them?”

  “Yes, yes,” Pastor Riley said. “Just these four. The Lord has blessed. Seems like every time I even look at my wife, there’s another one.”

  He introduced the kids by name and they all shook Pastor Pointer’s hand. When they were finished, Justin asked his mother, “But what about Sheila?” He tried to make eye contact with his mother. “She’s our sister.”

  Mrs. Riley smiled and looked at Pastor Pointer as she laid her hands on Justin’s head.

  “Mommy,” Justin pressed, “Daddy is forgetting about—”

  Mrs. Riley pinched him.

  “What is the little man saying?” Pastor Pointer asked.

  Justin hesitated. His parents glared. “We have a sister named Sheila.”

  Pastor Riley reached for Justin, pulled him to his side, and said, “I … ahh … had a daughter years ago, before I was a Christian … and ahh … she lives abroad with her mother.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “So,” said Pastor Riley. Justin felt a tremble rushing through his father’s arm, “how was … ahh … England?”

  They left Montego Bay after dark, and the ride home was quiet. All of the children were asleep except Justin.

  Pastor Riley drove fast, as he always did. Justin waited tensely for the moment he knew would have to come. They made their way through the narrow roads, the darkness sometimes broken up by lights—electric in the towns and kerosene in the districts where the farmers lived.

  Justin tried to take his mind away from the inevitable by taking pleasure in the way his father changed the gears, how he made the engine of the Morris Oxford hum with music, how he dove into the corners with flair, passing overloaded trucks on small roads, the car’s roof line just a little lower than the giant wheels.

  But it was hard to keep his mind at rest. His parents were discussing all that had happened that day, including the chance that Pastor Riley might be sent to lead another church. They were doing it indirectly, but Justin understood a little of their code. It was mostly “my man” this and “our friend” that, but sometimes they’d use a Bible name like Joshua or Moses or Zaccheus, which he knew referred to little Pastor Daniels, the conference secretary.

  Except for the code, they spoke as if no one else was in the car, as if the children
in the back did not exist. Justin began to hope as time went on, began to consider the possibility that his father might let things slide because the ordination—he made sure to get it right—had gone well. So what if afterward there’d been an awkward moment? The moment that mattered had gone extremely well, except for the little foolishness with Freddie.

  When they got home, Mrs. Riley went into the kitchen to fix supper and Pastor Riley called Justin into his room.

  Justin felt prepared because he knew the routine—before the spanking his father would say, “Do you know why we have to do this?” He would nod yes, then his father would say, “Tell me, so I know you know.” At this point Justin would say “It’s wrong to tell a lie or take something that isn’t mine,” or something of the sort, then, depending on his father’s mood and the nature of the deed, he’d either hold out his hand to receive the blows in his palms, or try not to resist when his father took his wrists and held them with a single grip above his head and rained down on his bottom with the brown suede belt.

  This time, though, nothing was said. Routine was shoved away. Pastor Riley reached for Justin and began to rain down on his bottom with the belt.

  And Justin refused to cry. He didn’t know what stopped him. It wasn’t like he was trying. Or that the beating didn’t hurt. It was as if something had hardened up and blocked his throat at the point where the tunnels from his mouth and nose went their separate ways, so neither sound nor snot could come. And without these two, it seemed the tears just wouldn’t come. Just wouldn’t come, which just made things worse, because his father needed tears as proof of contrition.

  Mrs. Riley entered the room without knocking, crossed her arms, and said, “Enough, dear. Enough. He’s got enough now. You’re going to damage the child.”

  “He’s too facety. Too own-way. I need to beat it out of him. If he can’t hear, he must feel.”

  “Mummy,” called Justin. “Mummy.” He began to squirm now, as he watched his mother standing only feet away. “Mummy. Mummy.”