Methods of Madness

by Ray Garton

  He didn’t have to do that in Sabbath school, though, because the teacher, Mr. Moser was different than the others. Brett wasn’t the only one fond of him; all the kids liked Mr. Moser. There was nothing forced or artificial about him. When he laughed, it was real; his round little belly bounced like a ball and his darkly bearded moon face split into a broad grin.

  When he was concerned, as he was that Sabbath after Brett’s discovery, his heavy eyebrows lowered over his eyes and his forehead became creased with lines of genuine worry.

  He took Brett aside after Sabbath school.

  “How are you, Brett?”

  “Fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Oh. You mean after finding that… boy. Sheesh, everybody’s worried about me now.”

  “Well, that’s a pretty awful thing to find.”

  Brett shrugged.

  “A pretty hard thing to forget, too, I’d think,” Mr. Moser added.

  “I’m okay. Really.”

  Mr. Moser studied Brett’s face thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled.

  “How would you like to come out to my place after church, Brett? We could have lunch, then go for a walk and look for lizards.”

  Brett was thrilled at the opportunity to get out of his grandparents’ house for the day and even happier to spend the afternnoon with Mr. Moser.

  “I’ll have to ask Grandma,” he said. “She’s kinda careful about letting me out of the house because of this… well, you know, the killer. But I’m sure she won’t mind if she knows I’m with you…”

  Mr. Moser lived at the end of a dirt road about a mile and a half off Glass Mountain Road. His house was small and homey, nestled in the shade of several tall trees. He had no neighbors within sight of his house and plenty of rocky, hilly land around on which to hunt lizards and snakes.

  They had a lunch of taco salad and strawberry shortcake for dessert, then went outside for a long walk in the summer sun.

  It made Brett feel important to be alone with his teacher; he had Mr. Moser’s undivided attention and his interest. As they walked, they didn’t talk about Sabbath school or church—in fact, Brett completely forgot it was the Sabbath, which would have been impossible had he been with Grandma. Mr. Moser wanted only to talk about Brett.

  “What would you like to do, Brett, more than anything in the world?”

  “Do? What do you mean?”

  “Go to Disneyland? Fly a plane? Ride a rocket to the moon?”

  They were walking along a dusty trail and Bret began to thoughtfully kick a rock along ahead of him, wondering if he could confide in Mr. Moser. He decided it was safe to be honest.

  “I’d like to go to a movie,” he said quietly.

  “Pardon?”

  “A movie. You know, in a theater.”

  “Ah. The forbidden fruit.” Mr. Moser smiled knowingly.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Never been to a movie, huh?”

  “I’ve never even seen a movie. Not a real one, anyway, like Raiders of the Lost Ark or Alien. Just those stupid movies they show on Family Nights. And sometimes Grandma won’t even let me go to those.”

  Mr. Moser stopped and sat on a fat tree stump, chuckling quietly.

  Brett frowned, thinking perhaps he’d said something wrong.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s just that… see, I’m chairman of the Entertainment Committee. I’m one of the people who chooses those stupid movies.”

  “Oh.” Brett could feel his face growing hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, don’t apologize, Brett,” Mr. Moser laughed. “I know most of those movies aren’t very good, but we’re kind of limited. It is a church function, after all. There aren’t many good family-oriented films to choose from. We’re always looking for new ones to put on the Approved List, but the committee’s standards are pretty rigid. No swearing, no drinking, no smoking. I know what you mean, though; if I have to sit through Zebra in the Kitchen one more time, I may be sick.” He rubbed his palms up and down his bluejeaned thighs thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, “If you haven’t seen any real movies, then how do you know about Raiders of the Lost Ark and Alien?”

  Hesitantly, Brett told him about his collection of movie ads.

  Mr. Moser listened intently, watching Brett with great interest. When he was finished, Mr. Moser said, “Have you ever seen a VCR, Brett?”

  “We don’t even have a TV.”

  Mr. Moser winked. “Then let’s go back to the house. I’ve got something to show you.”

  Back in the house, Mr. Moser opened a tall cabinet in the living room. On the middle shelf was a large television set. Below was a black machine with the time glowing in green numbers on the side. Rows of what appeared to be books filled the top shelf.

  “This is a video cassette recorder,” Mr. Moser said, “and these—” He gestured at the book-like objects, “—are video cassettes.”

  Brett stared into the cabinet with awe, his lips parted.

  “When a movie is submitted for approval,” Mr. Moser said, “I sometimes invite the committee over here and, if it’s available on video cassette, we watch it here, then vote on it.”

  “So you get to see unapproved movies, too?” Brett whispered. “Not just the kid stuff?”

  “Well, it’s not likely that anyone is going to submit a movie like Body Heat or Tootsie for approval, but, yes, I get to see all the movies.”

  “Wow,” he breathed, leaning forward to reverently inspect the VCR. “How many videos do you have up there?”

  “About sixty movies or so on tape.”

  “Sixty? Sheeesh… “

  “All kinds of movies. You name it, and I’ve probably got it.”

  Brett stared up at the rows of tapes, imagining what it would be like to sit down and watch all of them—each one, back to back. He glanced at Mr. Moser, thinking there was probably little chance of seeing any of those movies.

  But Mr. Moser had a broad grin on his face.

  “Would you like to see one, Brett?” he asked.

  “But… it’s the Sabbath.”

  “Would that bother you?”

  “Wouldn’t it bother you?”

  “Well… why don’t we make this our little secret. Just between the two of us. Okay?”

  Brett held his breath a moment, expecting him to say he was just joking. It was too much to ask for.

  “Okay, Brett?”

  Slowly, disbelievingly, Brett nodded, then smiled as he realized Mr. Moser was serious. Really serious!

  Mr. Moser scanned the tapes and pulled one down, took it from its box, and slipped it into the machine.

  “This is a good one,” he said. “It’s a Disney movie, but don’t let that fool you. It’s called Never Cry Wolf. It wasn’t approved because there are a few swear words in it and a shot of Charles Martin Smith in the buff from behind. It’s great, though. Sit down. You want some chips?”

  Within minutes, Brett was seated wide-eyed in front of the television munching on potato chips and drinking a Crush.

  For two hours, he was far away from Manning.

  In the following weeks, Brett spent a good deal of his time over at Mr. Moser’s watching one movie after another.

  Grandma was pleased because Brett had told her he was working with Mr. Moser on some Sabbath school projects. No further explanation was needed; she was glad to know he was investing his time in wholesome activities.

  The day after he watched Never Cry Wolf, Brett saw Starman, a movie that would never even be considered for approval; Seventh- day Adventists frown bitterly upon science fiction and fantasy. At the end of the movie, the alien, played by Jeff Bridges, made love with Karen Allen. It was a gentle, tasteful love scene (the movie was only rated PG) with no frantic grunting or moaning, but it was nevertheless startling to Brett. He had neither seen nor imagined people touching each other, with their hands and their mouths, the way Jeff Bridges and Karen Allen were on t
he screen.

  He squinted curiously, straightened his posture, and said, “What are they doing?”

  Mr. Moser sniffed and fidgeted on the sofa.

  “They’re, um, making love.”

  “What?”

  “Making love.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well… when a man and woman care very much for one another, they, um… they share their bodies with each other. They kiss and hold each other. Like that.” He gestured toward the screen.

  “You mean sex?”

  Mr. Moser nodded slightly, his eyes on the television; he looked embarrassed and uncomfortable.

  So that’s what Grandma’s always complaining about, Brett thought, turning his attention back to the movie.

  Nothing but sex and killing…

  He could see nothing bad about what the man and woman were doing. In fact, it was pleasant; they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  As the tape was rewinding, Brett turned to Mr. Moser and said, “That didn’t look like a bad thing. The sex, I mean. People are always talking about it like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Well, it can be… misused,” Mr. Moser said, clearing his throat nervously. “But if it’s between a man and a woman who love one another and who are married, it’s perfectly natural and… healthy.”

  “But they weren’t married,” Brett pointed out with a nod toward the television.

  “That is why the Church doesn’t want you to watch movies unless they’re approved by a committee.”

  Brett returned the following day for a showing of The Color Purple.

  “I think you’ll like this, Brett,” Mr. Moser said enthusiastically as he put the tape in the VCR. “It’s a great movie. In fact, just barely missed the Approved List.”

  “How come?”

  “Oh, some swearing and drinking. But what really did it was the lesbian relationship.”

  “The what?”

  Mr. Moser glanced at Brett with a startled expression and Brett realized that, for a moment, Mr. Moser had forgotten he wasn’t talking to another adult.

  “Well talk about it after the movie.”

  It was a great movie, although very sad. Brett was surprised at how much the film moved him. By the time it was over, his eyes were puffy and sticky with tears. He didn’t want to talk for a while and was silent as the tape rewound. Mr. Moser watched him, waiting for him to speak.

  “So what’s a… lez-bean?” he finally asked.

  “Well, what did you think of the movie?”

  “It was good. But I didn’t see anything that looked like it might be a lez-bean relationship. Whatever that is. So what is it?”

  “It was pretty subtle; I guess you’d have to be looking for it. Remember when Shug and Celie went home after the big fight in the bar?”

  Brett nodded.

  “And they were alone together? And they started… well, touching each other?”

  Another nod.

  “That’s where, um—” He was fidgeting again, “—where their lesbian relationship began.”

  Brett waited for him to go on; when he didn’t, Brett said, “I still don’t know what it is.”

  Mr. Moser sighed. “A lesbian is… well, it’s a woman who would rather make love with… with another woman than with a man.”

  Brett frowned as he thought that over.

  “You mean… sex? The women do sex together?”

  Mr. Moser nodded and said, “Have sex, not do.”

  Brett pondered the new information, chewing his lip. Something about it bothered him; it didn’t fit into his rapidly growing view of things.

  “Are there men lesbians, too?” he asked.

  Mr. Moser nodded as he turned away from Brett and ejected the tape. “Homosexuals,” he muttered, putting the tape in its box.

  … and the homo-seck-shuls spreading the AIDS, Grandma had grumbled.

  There was another of her mysterious complaints explained.

  “Why would anyone want to—” Brett began, but Mr. Moser interrupted him.

  “How would you like a popcorn ball? I made some this morning.”

  Taking that as a hint to change the subject, Brett said, “Okay.”

  Brett waited for the mail carrier each day, but heard nothing more from his mother. After each disappointing delivery, he would play with Gabby until he knew Mr. Moser was home from work- Mr. Moser was an X-ray technician at the Seventh-day Adventist hospital in Deer Park and got off at three p.m.—then hop on his bike and head for his Sabbath school teacher’s house.

  A day did not pass without a few warnings from Grandma.

  “Don’t talk to any strangers,” she’d say. “And stay away from those Mexican hitch-hikers, you hear? Probably one of them who’s killing all those poor little boys. Always drinking their beer and smoking their dope… Course, if you keep saying your prayers, Jesus’ll watch over you and nothing will happen.”

  In Brett, Mr. Moser had found a protege; in Moser, Brett had gained a mentor, and he watched one movie after another, so many that he would have lost count if he did not list them in a spiral-bound pocket pad—a new kind of scrapbook. Beneath the title of each film were notes; Brett learned something new from each film whether he enjoyed the movie or not.

  Sometimes, while sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, munching snacks, drinking a soda, Brett would glance up and see Mr. Moser watching him peripherally, usually chewing a nail or passing a hand up and down his thigh nervously, as if wiping sweat from his palm. His eyes darted away the moment Brett spotted him watching, and he always returned his attention to the movie.

  Gremlins, The Terminator and Cujo defined Brett’s next week, followed by all three Star Wars movies in a row. Of the trilogy, Brett’s favorite was the first; he nearly jumped to his feet and cheered during the final scene in which the heroes were rewarded for their valor.

  At first, Brett found it a bit disconcerting to watch unapproved movies with the chairman of the entertainment committee. But Mr. Moser reassured him.

  “Remember, Brett,” he said, “it’s our secret.”

  One day, Mr. Moser said, “Brett, I think it’s time you left behind the little kid stuff.” He took down a tape and removed it from its box. “I think you should start learning a little about movies and the people who make them, seeing how you love them so much. Do you know who Alfred Hitchcock was?”

  Brett shook his head. He knew Mr. Moser’s “teacher voice” by heart; it was the same tone he used in Sabbath school when imparting lessons. Brett was infinitely more interested in the lessons Mr. Moser reserved for him personally, and so paid rapt attention, eager to please. He enjoyed what he was learning, savoring the taste of what Moser had called the forbidden fruit.

  Mr. Moser slid a new tape into the VCR. “Hitchcock was a very famous movie director, maybe the most imitated director ever.” He saw the puzzlement on Brett’s face, and because he was good at teaching, he explained. “The director is the one in charge on a movie set. He tells people what to do, where to stand, how to act. He makes changes in the story; decides how each scene is going to be filmed. He orchestrates everything. Anyway, this movie is Hitchcock’s first sound film. The first sound film to come out of England, in fact. It’s old—1929—but it’s good. I just got it and thought you might like to see it. It’s called Blackmail”

  The title conjured images of letters written on black stationery in Brett’s mind. He’d never heard the word “blackmail” before and had no idea what it meant.

  As he watched, he learned.

  For three weeks, Brett kept their secret and his list of movies grew a little longer each day. From Mr. Moser he learned about movies; from the movies he learned about life.

  It was the Friday night of the third week of their secret that things changed.

  Friday nights were always gloomy. Grandma never smiled—not that she did much smiling anyway—and was grumpier than usual. The darkness seemed a little darker and the scratchy music from Grandpa’s room seemed more
mournful than the rest of the week. Grandpa usually sat in the living room on Friday nights, his grave, shiny-bald head hanging heavily from his neck, for which it seemed much too big. He drummed his thick fingers on the armrests of his wheelchair, his eyes blackened by shadow, as Grandma rocked in the squeaky rocking chair, reading Sister White and humming off-key to the music.

  Brett was more than eager to get out for the evening.

  On that Friday night, Brett arrived to find Mr. Moser on the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Jim,” he was saying. “I completely forgot about it. I can be there in five minutes… No, no, I have nothing planned. I’ll be right there.”

  When he hung up, Mr. Moser paced before the phone for a moment, chewing a thumbnail, almost as if Brett wasn’t there. His eyes finally darted to Brett and his lips curled into a forced smile that was little more than a flash of teeth.

  “A Sabbath school committee meeting,” he muttered. “Forgot all about it.”

  “Oh. Do you want me to go?”

  “No, no,” he replied quickly, turning fully to Brett, holding out his arms and waggling his hands. “No, sit down, have a soda, put in a movie. I shouldn’t be gone more than twenty-thirty minutes. I have—” He lowered his voice secretively and smiled. “—I have a surprise for you, Brett. It’ll just have to wait a few minutes now, that’s all.” He took his wallet and keys from the coffee table. “Don’t answer the phone, just let the machine get it. Be back in a few.”

  After he was gone, Brett opened the cabinet and, with the help of a chair from the kitchen, pulled Ghostbusters down from the shelf. Mr. Moser had showed him how to operate the VCR so he slipped in the tape, turned on the television, and pushed PLAY.

  The empty house rang with Brett’s laughter as he watched the movie and drank a root beer from the refrigerator. Ten minutes into the tape, he pushed the pause button and headed for the bathroom.

  Mr. Moser had given Brett a tour of the house during his first visit. Pointing to the door beyond the bathroom, Mr. Moser had said, “That’s my bedroom, and that,” he’d added, pointing across the hall, “is the linen closet. If you ever spend the night, there are extra blankets and pillows in there.”