This Is How It Begins

by Joan Dempsey

  When the dog had finished with her father, as her father lay bleeding out on the floor, Ludka’s mother charged the nearest soldier. She did not die in slow motion, groaning and writhing like a Hollywood star shot down. She died efficiently instead, in an instant, collapsing all at once like a marionette cut loose, a single bullet in her head.

  For an unbearably long, unknown amount of time after the soldiers had ransacked the apartment and seized damning evidence of Żegota’s work, after they’d searched the wardrobe and found nothing, because Izaac had slipped through the hidden panel into the wall, Ludka had been forced to sit at the kitchen table, her parents’ bodies within reach. The soldier with the dog had taken a fancy to her sketches and demanded a portrait. He sat facing her in her father’s chair, his dog sitting dutifully by his side. Ludka dutifully drew them both. She did not at first remember that she’d been crying, but now, telling Izaac, the memory returned, the way she’d had to continually wipe her eyes to see clearly as she sketched. The dog had watched her, repeatedly cocking his head, those butterscotch eyebrows knitted in concern. When she was done, when she handed over the portrait to the soldier, the dog stood, shook himself, and began to wag. He walked over to her, his eyes soft, his tail still waving, and before she knew what she was doing, she had offered him her open hand. He licked it, tentatively at first, then more methodically: palm, fingers, thumb.

  “He licked away tears, too, Izaac.”

  She touched both cheeks with trembling fingers. She gazed at Izaac in bewilderment.

  “And you did not stop him, kochanie, and that’s okay.”

  Ludka was crying in earnest now. She had done more than not stop the dog; she had welcomed him. He had been kind at precisely the moment you needed kindness—she needed kindness—and remembering him now—that murderous, gentle dog, his soothing tongue, the depth of his soft fur—something cracked open inside Ludka and sorrow swept in. And with the sorrow hurtled another, more recent memory: the idea that had eluded her in Oskar’s studio, about why Oskar had barricaded his mouth, about what Oskar shouldn’t have said. He told her that he hadn’t known Żegota bribed a guard to get him out of Pawiak, and that he didn’t think she’d want to see him after what he had … How then, had he secured his release? Ludka’s breath stalled. Her face grew suddenly hot.

  As the Nazis had departed, leaving her inconceivably alive, the soldier holding the dog had paused on the threshold. In butchered Polish, he said something over and over, trying to get her to understand. The one word she had clearly understood was Pawiak, a warning, she’d thought. But now, propped crying in a hospital bed, Izaac holding her hand, Oskar’s self-portrait as clear in her memory as the Chopin in her lap, she remembered with horror what else the soldier had stressed—a name. A name she hadn’t then recognized. A traitorous name: Pawel Brozek.

  31

  The Sermon

  Meck left his technician in charge of recording Pastor Royce’s sermon and hustled down from the Regent’s old projectionist’s room to join Jill and the boys in the congregation. Each Sunday for the past five years, when he walked down the aisle and settled into a worn red velvet seat, he often felt as eager as a boy on movie night; sometimes he imagined he could even smell popcorn. Today, though, his mind was on only one thing as he took his seat between Jill and Whit in the forward center section, their combined families occupying nearly the entire row. Meck’s flagging confidence had been shored up by last week’s surprising arbitration win, but Friday night’s fire at Izaac Rosenberg’s had toppled it. He spoke tersely to Whit.

  “In the end it doesn’t matter who did it, does it? The perception now is that our campaign is about arson, and assault and hatred. How do we recover from that, Whit? I mean, I knew we’d have to deal with a fringe response at some point, I just didn’t think it would happen so soon, or be so extreme. I can’t believe it would be one of us who set that fire, can you? Who would—”

  He cut himself off, and shook his head. A muscle pulsed in Whit’s jaw. Jill smiled at Meck sympathetically, and for the flash of an instant he felt fine. He smiled gratefully, took her hand, and gazed beyond her at their boys. John, as usual, was bouncing around in his seat, while Andrew, who leaned against his mother, frowned up at the stage. Ben had his back to them, talking with a friend in the row behind them. Meck turned his attention to the crowd, wondering about each person he saw. To Whit he said, “This whole thing is starting to feel planned.”

  Pastor Royce, in jeans and an untucked navy blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, walked steadily across the stage. When Meck had been Ben’s age, Pastor Royce had had jet-black hair and a slim build, but the calm and confident way he crossed the stage was exactly the same. The crowd began to hush. A simple wooden podium stood at center stage. Projected onto the old movie screen behind the podium was an array of crisscrossed beams of light that periodically pulsed new shades of purple and blue. The pastor held on to the podium, his over-the-ear wire-thin microphone barely visible against his cheek. He patiently scanned the congregation, side to side and up into the balcony, and when silence reigned, he waited a few more moments before spreading out his arms and beaming out a smile.

  “Good morning, Redeemers!”

  The crowd burst into returned greetings, and Meck felt buoyed by the swell of collective anticipation.

  “Thanks to the miracle of modern technology, I also extend a warm good morning to those of you joining us from our county fellowships across the state. Good morning, Berkshires! Good morning, Franklin, Hampden, and Worcester! Hello, Middlesex, Norfolk, Plymouth, and Bristol! And I’m thrilled to announce today that our newest fellowship in Essex County is joining us for the first time, meaning that as of now we have fellowships in ten out of fourteen counties. And counting! Let’s give a rousing Redeemer welcome to our brothers and sisters from Essex!”

  Meck and Whit exchanged smiles as they applauded and stamped their feet, and suddenly Meck felt full up, unconcerned. Whatever happened, he wasn’t alone.

  “Now,” said Pastor Royce, sounding more serious.

  He shook back his hair and gripped the sides of the podium.

  “We have some solemn business to discuss today.”

  On the screen behind him two words appeared: Religious Liberty.

  “I know you’re all aware of the homosexual teachers who were fired from their jobs less than two months ago, an action I understand many of you have welcomed. One of those teachers, our senator’s son, Tommy Zeilonka, was violently assaulted a month ago. He and the other teachers who were fired have also suffered harassment and vandalism. And then, just two nights past, Thomas Zeilonka was spending the night with his grandparents—I’m sure you know his grandfather, Izaac Rosenberg, our former attorney general, who was a guest on Tell It Like It Is not long ago? So Tommy Zeilonka was spending the night with his grandparents, and … someone attempted to burn down their house.”

  He held up both hands to quiet the rising murmur.

  “No one was seriously hurt, and the house, I’m told, had only minor damage. In addition to assault, harassment, vandalism, and arson, our community has also attracted the attention of the Westboro Baptist Church, and I’m sure you saw on the news the picketing they did at Tommy Zeilonka’s arbitration hearing, which I myself, and some of you, attended in defense of our children. What manner of disturbance, you might rightly ask, has come into our community? And what does the Bible have to offer us during this time? We will explore Paul’s letter to the Romans, and see.”

  Meck found that his tension had drained away, as it had on so many other occasions throughout his life when Pastor Royce had commandeered the stage and addressed Meck’s pressing issues. He relaxed into his seat, then had to shift his position a few times to avoid a bulging spring, which threatened to poke through.

  “There are those among us,” said the pastor, “who call what’s happening now a culture war, a war for the very heart and soul of our nation. I would not disagree. We are certainly being sorely tested. B
ut war employs hatred as a weapon, and as a Christian, hatred is not allowed. Jesus won’t allow it, which we know from what is written in John. A new commandment I give unto you, Jesus said, That ye love one another; as I have loved you.”

  Pastor Royce crossed his wrists over his chest and smiled as the verse appeared on the screen behind him. Most of the congregation echoed his gesture, and Meck smiled inwardly, remembering the Boston rally. Pastor Royce stepped out from behind the podium and threw out his arms.

  “‘As I have loved you!’ When we love one another we are the word made flesh, made manifest, made evident. But in the climate of our current culture war, if you disagree with someone, you’re apt to be called a hater.” He held up his fists. “The people at the Westboro Baptist Church believe that God is a hater. That God hates homosexuals, in this case. But hate has no place in Christianity, my friends, does it? No, it does not! So the idea of hate has arisen in our community, and some would think we are haters. The other idea that has arisen in our community is a concept I find much more insidious, at least as it’s being defined today. I’m speaking about tolerance. There was a time when tolerance meant what it means. I turn now to that other great book, The American Heritage Dictionary, to show you what it means. I’ll let you read this for yourself.”

  He strode to far stage left and turned toward the screen, where the definition appeared: The capacity for or the practice of recognizing and respecting the beliefs or practices of others.

  “The key word here is respect, my friends. Tolerance used to mean we treated each other respectfully, no matter how much we disagreed. But today we hear the word tolerance and it seems to mean something else entirely. It seems to mean that anything goes. Anything at all! That every idea is equally as valid as another. Well you know what I say to that?”

  He stepped to the very edge of the stage and cupped his hands behind his ears.

  “Do you know what I say?”

  Meck’s son John stretched high out of his seat and, with a few other people, called out “Poppycock!” Pastor Royce laughed and went back to the podium.

  “Poppycock, that’s right. This newly defined tolerance is the reason we’ve run into trouble here in our beloved state. This newly defined tolerance is the reason we now face a threat to the words you saw earlier on the screen that you thought by now I’d forgotten.”

  The congregation murmured protests, and laughed. Religious Liberty appeared again on the screen.

  “What I’m about to say, what I’m about to quote from the Bible, is something I’m afraid I won’t be able to say for much longer if we don’t put our collective might into this culture war, because already there are vast forces at work trying to silence me and you and our children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. We’ve seen this already in our public schools. We’ve seen this in the liberal media when we’re painted as haters. But this is not a war against Christians alone. This is America under siege. This is our First Amendment under siege. This is our liberty under siege.”

  He wiped the back of a wrist across his brow. He reached beneath the podium and took a long drink of water from a clear plastic bottle. He faced them and took a deep breath. He spoke quietly, urgently.

  “I am here to tell you we are not going down without a fight. We are not. Please turn to your Bible now and read with me from Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter one, verses twenty-four to twenty-eight. If we don’t win this culture war, it will not be long before we cannot even quote this passage aloud. Make no mistake … I am not exaggerating. God’s word—in the name of this newly defined tolerance—will be silenced.”

  Meck turned to Jill for their Bible. John was staring at them expectantly, and when Jill nodded, he happily snatched a Bible from the rack in front of him. With evident excitement he began to riffle through the pages. Meck leaned across Jill.

  “Not so rough, John. And share with your brother.”

  John nodded rapidly and threw an elbow into Ben’s bicep. Ben punched him on the thigh and both boys laughed, although Meck could tell it took an effort for John not to grab his leg where Ben had hit him. Meck and Jill simultaneously told them to cool it. Andrew looked beseechingly at Meck.

  “Come on over here, Sport. You can sit with me, away from the danger zone.”

  Andrew politely squeezed past Jill’s knees and crawled up into Meck’s lap. Pastor Royce began to read.

  “Wherefore, Paul says to the Romans, God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonor their own bodies between themselves: Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed forever. Amen. For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error which was meet. And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient …”

  Meck glanced over at Ben and John to see what they were making of what Pastor Royce was saying, and for once felt relieved that they didn’t seem to be paying attention. He wondered what Andrew could understand at five years old, and made a mental note to talk with Jill about how they should approach the subject when Andrew asked his inevitable questions. They’d have to keep the focus on changing the truth of God into a lie.

  As if Pastor Royce had read Meck’s thoughts, he said, “I hope you can see as clearly as I can how the people we are battling have turned away from God, have ‘changed the truth of God into a lie.’ What we are witnessing in our community is the result of these people receiving the ‘recompense of their error.’ The teachers who have been silencing our children and proselytizing about their own degrading passions as if they were natural have turned their backs on God. And what has God done? God has let them go their own way without him, and now they are reaping their recompense.”

  Meck frowned. He turned to Whit in confusion.

  “It sounds almost like he’s condoning the violence,” he whispered.

  Whit skeptically raised an eyebrow.

  “And lest you think I’m applauding these recent acts of violence,” said the pastor, “I want to clarify.”

  Whit gave Meck a look as if to say you see? Meck smiled as if he should have known better. Still, he couldn’t shake his uneasy feeling. Pastor Royce went on.

  “I understand the violence. I do. I understand the violence because I understand that God has told us here in Romans 1:27 that if we turn away from Him, there will be dire consequences, and the homosexuals who have turned away from Him must face those consequences. I also understand that we who believe that homosexual behavior is sinful grow weary of tolerating—in the original, noble definition of this word—we grow weary of tolerating the sinners. We grow weary when the sinners are influencing our children. When they’re silencing our children. When they’re berating our children for speaking from the heart. When they’re telling our children that sinful living is normal, that the Bible is not the word of God, that freedom of speech is only free for some, and that religion is not to be tolerated.”

  Meck slowly became aware of Andrew squirming, and repeatedly whispering “Daddy?” Meck relaxed his hold. Neither Whit nor Jill seemed concerned about Pastor Royce’s tone, about what he seemed to be insinuating, but Meck found himself thinking about Eric’s refusal to name the person who’d approached him for information. Arnie Dengler wasn’t clever enough to have enlisted Eric’s help, but Pastor Royce was. Meck massaged the back of his prickling neck. He was reading too far between the lines. Had to be.

  “But we are a forgiving and a kind church,” said the pastor, “a church that walks in the footsteps of Jesus, and I know there are some among us who have homosexual desires, and many more among us who have people in their families whom
they deeply love who consider themselves homosexual. And so I say to you now, show patience and compassion, as we have learned from Paul in First Corinthians, chapter six, verse eleven, when he says, ‘And such were some of you’—sinners, he means—‘Such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God.’ So show patience and compassion, and welcome to our church our homosexual brothers and sisters, and help them to be washed and sanctified and justified. Help them to get back with the Lord, help them to celebrate the end of their depravity, then breathe a sigh of relief for the preservation of our freedom to speak out about our beliefs, our freedom to practice our religion. This is our preferred method for winning the culture war, Redeemers, this is it, to do our best to bring our homosexual brothers and sisters back from their depravity, away from their due penalties, back to the Lord.”