Tribe

by R. D. Zimmerman

  “Janice, who was that? Anything about the baby?”

  “No.”

  He couldn't rein in his curiosity, and he pressed, “So who was it?”

  It was a moment or two before Janice replied, “My secretary from work, okay? She was just asking if I really needed her at the office today on account of the snow. I told her, for your info, to take the day off.”

  “Oh.”

  “So do I have your permission to make another call, Todd? I need to talk to one of the other attorneys about a court case. You don't have a problem with that, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” replied Todd, a tad sheepish.

  Todd shut the door, then walked stiffly to the small guest bath off the other corner of the room. He turned on the shower and felt a blast of cold water. As he waited for it to warm up he leaned his head out the door.

  His voice low, he said, “Rawlins, don't say anything about me checking the phones last night, okay?”

  “What?” he asked, looking up from the depths of his pillow, his eyes barely open.

  “I want to wait for her to tell me about Pat.”

  Rawlins groaned and dropped his head. “Whatever you say, boss man, but don't you think that's only going to cause trouble?”

  “Yeah, probably, but I think it's the only ammunition I'm going to get, and I want to save it for when I really need some firing power.”

  Janice thought they would never leave for the hospital. She made a pot of coffee, some toast, then showered and dressed, staying up in her bedroom as long as possible so she wouldn't have to face Todd and his questions. At least he believed her stories about the phone calls.

  Sometime during the night the storm had finally stopped, leaving the Twin Cities under a mantle of fifteen inches of snow, which today was glistening in the now cloudless sky. Finally, just after eight thirty, Janice came downstairs and bid them goodbye, and Todd and Rawlins clambered out the front of the snow-laden house and down to the Cherokee. Once they had brushed and scraped off his vehicle, Todd rocked and blasted his way out of his parking space and into the single lane that been opened by the pass of a plow.

  Janice watched them from the front windows of her house. She had no idea how long they'd be gone or if they'd be back within the half hour—who knew if the personnel department at Edina Hospital would even be open today. This being Minnesota, however, chances were that someone would show up at work and Todd and Rawlins would be able to secure Zeb's home address. But if they came back before she did, she'd deal with it then. She'd just say something like she walked to the grocery. Right, she told herself, and then made a mental note to buy a half-gallon of milk and something else. Soup. A can of chicken soup. Perfect. Who'd doubt a story like that? And before she even put on her coat and boots she hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a pad of paper, and scribbled, “Walked to the store. Back soon.” Purposely not putting a time on it, she propped the note up in the center of the counter where they couldn't miss it. She next darted to the front hall closet.

  The plows might have cleared some of the main streets, but they wouldn't get to the alleys for hours, perhaps not until nightfall. Without even checking Janice knew there was no way she'd be able to extradite her car from the garage, at least not this morning and probably not until this afternoon at the earliest. That was why she'd suggested they meet at the small restaurant up on Lyndale; she could walk, and he'd be able to use the highway and major thoroughfares to get there.

  Amazing, she thought. They hadn't seen each other for over two decades. It was just too much to comprehend, and the last thing she grabbed were her sunglasses, for there was nothing brighter than a sunny winter day in Minnesota, particularly after a snowfall. Dressed in her Sorrel boots and long wool coat, she headed out and was greeted by the distant sound of shovels, snowblowers, and from one house the blaring music of U2. The temperature was all the way up to twenty-five, and evidently some neighbor thought it was spring and had thrown open his windows.

  Not sure what to expect of this meeting, she tromped along the parkway and up to Lyndale, which was already pretty well cleared, and turned left. The restaurant was up just a block or two, past the theater and a newly opened coffee shop. Reaching her destination, a small family diner that had been around for years, Janice stomped her feet. Oh, shit, what was Pat going to look like after all this time? Still as skinny? Still as young-looking?

  She took a deep breath, pulled open the door, and stepped in, her sunglasses perched high on her nose. She looked down the long counter, where every stool was occupied by locals who were eager to talk about the storm, but didn't see anyone that was obviously him. Her head then turned to the opposite wall and the row of red vinyl booths, all of which were also taken by weather gossips. Lifting off her glasses, she saw a couple of guys at the first booth, three women at the next, an older couple after that, and…

  A man at the fourth booth stopped drinking his coffee, looked at her, and started to rise. Dear God. His hairline had receded and his hair, particularly his sideburns, had grayed. No longer was he the kid with the lean swimmer's body, but a middle-aged man clearly out of shape. Or was that not him?

  Janice wasn't even aware that she was moving through the room, but then she was there, not four feet from this man who was staring at her, and she was hesitantly saying, “Pat?”

  “You look wonderful, Janice.”

  Suddenly they were embracing.

  “Did you have any trouble getting here?” she asked.

  “No, not really. The hotel parking lot was plowed first thing this morning, and the highways are pretty good too.”

  She pulled away, stared at him, and said, “I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you're here, but I still can't believe it.”

  “I would have called last night but I didn't get your message until this morning.”

  No, she really couldn't believe it was him. The last time she'd seen him he'd been lanky and young.

  Janice shed her coat, tossing it into the booth, then sat down. “My God, it's really you, Pat.”

  “Now, there's a name I haven't heard in twenty years.” He grinned as he sat down.

  She smiled nervously. “What do you mean?”

  “No one's called me Pat since I formally joined The Congregation.”

  “Really? What, do you go by a religious name now? Or Patrick? Is that what people call you?”

  “No, actually just Rick.” He glanced down at his cup of coffee. “I don't know, somehow Pat sounded a little too…too…”

  Staring at him, she realized that everything had changed and nothing had. After that tumultuous December, including how the guys at the frat house had branded him queer as well as his assault on her in that motel, he'd done everything to steer his life away from the hate and rejection, the confusion and misery. Everything including altering both his speech and dress from a less flamboyant to a more conservative manner. And turning his life toward a way—a profoundly religious way—that precluded homosexuality or even the mere thought of it.

  She finished his thought, guessing, “A little too feminine?”

  He laughed. “Yes, if you want to put it that way, perhaps. After all that nonsense at Northwestern and how crazy it made me, I just wanted to clear my head. And my life.”

  “I see. No confusion.”

  “Nope, none of that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I'm still with the church, which has been a blessing and a godsend.”

  “But not with Martha?”

  He looked at her, obviously pleased that she'd broached the subject. “Ah, so you have seen Zeb?”

  “I'm sure you know that he was here three years ago. He told me back then that you two were divorced.”

  “But you've seen him more recently?”

  “Come on, Pat. No games, all right? I know that's why you're here in Minneapolis.”

  “Of course.” He took a sip of coffee. “And how about you? Ever get married or are…are you still—”

&nbs
p; “A dyke? You bet. I had a partner, but…um, she died of breast cancer a few years back.”

  “You know your way of life is against Scripture, that it's against the will of God, but I'm still sorry.”

  “Am I supposed to say thank you?”

  Rick looked down at his coffee. “And how's Todd?”

  “Actually, he's doing well.”

  “I don't read the big papers much—we try to stay clear of the media, you see—but I did see something in one of the journals. Sounded terrible, that murder and everything.”

  “It was horrible, but Todd has come out of it changed.” She was hoping the subject would make him uncomfortable, and she could clearly see it was. “For the first time in his life his private self and his public self are one and the same. No more pretending.”

  “Oh.”

  They fell awfully silent. Janice sipped her coffee, stared at him. Maybe she shouldn't have come. Already she wondered whose best interest Pat had in mind: his own, Zeb's, or quite possibly his church's.

  Almost cheerfully, Rick said, “So what are we going to do about that son of mine?”

  Janice took a deep breath and turned away. “Pat, I can't believe you—”

  “Rick,” he corrected.

  She made it down to her parents' by Christmas and was supposed to stay there until the end of January, when she was scheduled to leave for France. When she started feeling tired and not so great a few weeks later, she hoped it might be her mother's fruitcake, but the nausea went on and on. Then she missed her period. She was never late. Never. The very next day Pat called out of the blue, begging her forgiveness. When she told him about her predicament, he told her to come up to Colorado, he'd buy the bus ticket, he'd take care of things. Janice thought she understood what he meant. What other choice was there but abortion? France was just a week away. Her life would be ruined. She had to get rid of it, the baby.

  But they said no.

  The place where Pat was living wasn't a communal house full of hippies dedicated to dope and rock 'n' roll. It was an old ranch house full of Christians, many of them dropouts from Northwestern who'd dedicated their lives to God.

  “An abortion is murder” Pat told her that night. “You have to keep the baby. And we'll keep you. Don't worry, you can stay here. We had a meeting about this and we decided. Well care for you and we'll feed you until the baby is born. ”

  “What?” she replied.

  “Janice, the child's mine too.”

  “But…but you don't understand. It might not be.”

  “What?” Pat snapped.

  “You don't understand, it could be—”

  “Just stop it, Janice, you're just tired, your hormones are all upset. Of course the child's mine. That's why God brought you here. And I won't let you do it. I won't let you kill it.”

  Though she could have escaped, Janice didn't know where to go, what to do, for she certainly couldn't go home to her parents. So she told her parents that the Europe program had fallen through, and she stayed in Colorado.

  When Janice's baby was born that August, almost a month early as best as Janice could figure it, she delivered her boy in a bedroom right at the commune. And by then she knew adoption was the only choice. That would be best for the baby.

  They called this child—the first born into their new tribe— Zebulun, and they called themselves The Congregation.

  It had indeed been a horrendous year, that one so long ago, and Janice now looked firmly at Rick and said, “He's my child as well—I won't ever deny that again. I'm his birth mother. I carried that child inside me. I was the one who gave life to Zeb. And let me remind you that the identity of his father was never—”

  “Oh, Janice, please, let's not get into that.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, there's no question in my mind. Not only did I raise him, I know him completely. Zeb's my boy, I'm quite sure of it.”

  “Then you must know something I don't.”

  “After all these years, watching him grow and learn and become a man, maybe I do. Why else did God bring you back to Colorado?”

  Janice looked right at him. “You've never told him, have you?”

  “Told him what?”

  “That he might not be your son, for Christ's sake.”

  “Of course not. First of all, there's no way to prove it.”

  “A blood test would clear it up.”

  “Janice, you don't understand.”

  “But it would. You're not afraid, are you?”

  “My word, no, but I'd never do that.” He smiled at her smugly. “You see, my church, The Congregation, is quite firm in its principles, in what we believe.”

  A voice interrupted, asking, “Coffee for you too?”

  Janice looked up at the waitress, an older woman with red hair and a blue uniform, who had a poured cup already in hand.

  “Say now, you ready to order?” asked the waitress as she set the coffee in front of Janice. “Can I interest you in the pancake special? It's two buttermilk cakes with—”

  “We're not quite ready,” interjected Janice.

  “Okay, you just let me know when.”

  Once the waitress was gone Rick continued, saying, “At The Congregation we don't see doctors or believe in any of that nonsense.”

  “What?”

  “Don't you understand? A blood test is quite out of the question.”

  “You're kidding.”

  “Of course I'm not. Our spiritual and physical business is with the Lord and the Lord only.”

  “How convenient—a direct line to God, just what I've always dreamed of.” Janice poured a small spot of cream into her coffee, stirred it, took a sip, and asked, “So just what have you told Zeb? He knows, of course, that you and Martha adopted him. Or at least he found out when he was eighteen because that's when Martha gave him my letter.”

  Rick said, “He understands all of that. I told him a long time ago.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, I told him everything—that I fell in love with a young woman and that we had sex and she got pregnant. And I told him that his birth mother refused to marry me, which was the case.”

  “Oh, and let me guess, you told him you raped me too?”

  “Janice, please. Maybe I was a little too aggressive—and I've apologized to you and the Lord for that—but we were in bed together and we'd been drinking.”

  “You'd been drinking, not me—”

  “Listen, I don't want to argue. I simply told him you refused to marry me,” interrupted Rick, “and that you ran away right after he was born.”

  “You…you told him I abandoned him?”

  “Janice, please, you did leave.”

  “I…I left because…” No, she wasn't going to give him the righteous satisfaction, she wasn't going to tell him she left because she was a lesbian. “Besides, you and Martha were married by then. You were married by a judge so that you could legally adopt him. We had it all done officially.”

  “We had to, of course, be married outside of our church. Otherwise, even though I'm his father, you could have come back and claimed him.”

  Janice leaned forward, placing her elbows on the Formica tabletop and her face in her hands. A piece of her heart was breaking, she was sure of it. Zeb had grown up believing that she had recklessly left him, when in fact it had been the most difficult, most tortuous decision of her life, one that continued to plague her. A sob welled up inside her. She'd wanted only what was best for him, and she'd thought that she, the young dyke, couldn't offer what Pat and Martha promised: a normal family. She'd wanted only the best for him, but instead she'd done the absolute worst, leaving him not simply in the care of this closeted Patrick, but there, right in the eye of a religious cult.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned as the tears rushed to her eyes. “I…I was such a fool.”

  Rick reached across the table and touched her arm. “No, you weren't, my dear. You were just confused.”

  Janice recoiled at hi
s touch and glared at him. “I was, and you still are.”

  Taking a paper napkin from a holder, she wiped her eyes. “Zeb left because of the baby, didn't he? I mean, he took the baby and left because she was sick and you wouldn't take her to see a doctor. She needed medicine, didn't she, and you wouldn't let Zeb get any, would you?”

  “Zeb has transgressed. We're still praying for him. We're still hopeful that he'll see the truth and return. The child's health problems are not with her own body but with Zeb's lack of faith.”

  “Fuck you, you asshole,” said Janice calmly, reaching to the side for her gloves. “Zeb did a very courageous thing. I'm proud of him. A long time ago I was hoping we could be friends, Pat. Back when we were in college I was hoping that I could learn something from you—namely, about being gay— which was why I agreed to drive out West with you. But you know what?”

  “Janice, please,” said Rick, trying to quiet her.

  “I feel sorry for you.” She started to scoot her way out of the booth. “I don't know what I was expecting by meeting you today. No, maybe I do. Maybe I was thinking that you'd have Zeb's best interest in mind, but obviously I was wrong.”

  “Janice—”

  “Goodby, Pat. Oh, and you know what, I forgot to tell you that you look like shit. Something has been eating away at you all these years—your sexuality perhaps?—and believe me, it shows that there's no peace inside you.”

  “Janice, wait.” This time he grabbed her arm and didn't let go. “This is serious. Maybe you don't know, but Zeb is married.”

  On the edge of the booth, Janice yanked her arm free. No, she didn't know. She had hoped he was. But until now she hadn't known for sure. And she now tried her best to show no reaction.

  “So?” she replied.

  “So do you know who his father-in-law is?”

  “Maybe…maybe I don't.”

  “The Apostle. The Chosen One.” He paused and leaned toward her. “Janice, he's the head of The Congregation.”

  “My, isn't that unfortunate.”

  “You're right there,” said Rick. “It's really unfortunate, because he's sent one of his, how do you say, most persuasive and strongest followers out here to retrieve the baby. He's strong. And, I must say, he's quite zealous in his duties.”