Upon This Rock

by David Marusek

  Apparently, Sarai had dinner duty that day because she and Cora were peeling carrots and turnips next to the range. Peeling them sullenly, Poppy thought. And then he remembered he had punishment to mete out at Worship Time. What an inconvenience. But discipline must be ironclad. Especially now. Especially now.

  Poppy continued into the common room. Next to the stove, Mama P’s lawn lounger was vacant. Her blankets were folded tidily and stacked at the foot, with the cat snoozing on top of them. The babies were playing on the floor with wooden blocks and toy cars. Most of the tables were set for dinner, still hours away. One table was an assembly line for the family’s handicrafts business, but only Deut and one of the middle girls were at work. All of the other busy little hands were out in the bathhouse wrapping moose. The girls stood up to greet him, but the little one’s eyes were puffy from crying. She was one of his second set of twins, either Frankincense or Myrrh.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Poppy asked Deut.

  “Nothing, lord. Growing pains.”

  Poppy didn’t like the sound of growing pains, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was inevitable. How old was the girl? Twelve? Thirteen? She was one of the girls that Bunyan coveted as playmate for his daughter.

  “Well, tell her to quit sniveling. I don’t want to hear sniveling, and I don’t want to see that ugly face. Go wash up, girl.”

  The girl, who well knew which twin she was, Myrrh, and that she was twelve years old, peeped, “Yes, lord,” and fled the room for the kitchen.

  Deut, meanwhile, distracted her father with business. She pried the small parcels from his hands and said, “These are the new tacks and chains? They finally arrived?”

  “I expect they are,” Poppy said. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you open them.”

  While Deut did so, Poppy examined several skeins of completed pendants hanging on delicate faux-gold chains. Deut said, “It says there’s only a thousand here. Will more be coming, lord?”

  “Of course,” he snapped. “I ordered ten thou —” Only then did he realize what he was saying. “No.” He corrected himself. “No more are coming. In fact, take these and get rid of them. Get rid of the carvings and angels and ornaments. Get rid of it all.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We’re not in this business anymore. Those days are gone. That time has come to an end.”

  TT3 1.0

  SECOND-BORN HOSEA was the finish carpenter of the family, and third-born Proverbs was its design specialist. Together the two boys had renovated the narrow mess-hall kitchen into a more open, efficient space, albeit still powered by wood.

  Skillets, pans, pots, utensils, and anything else that could be hung from a hook was hanging along the cornices of two walls. Knives of all sizes and shapes resided in a special block. And clever, movable prep tables allowed for optimal use of the limited floor space.

  Sarai fed sticks of spruce into the fireboxes of the restaurant-sized range. Dinner simmered in large pots on the back burners, on hold, ready to serve in about an hour and a half. Dinner rolls were rising on trays in the warming ovens, and the water tanks were heating twenty-five gallons (95 l) of water for cleanup after the meal.

  The chief puzzle in preparing dinner for the Prophecy family had to do with its timing. In the Prophecy household, dinner on six nights of the week followed Worship Time. Although the average Worship Time lasted twenty minutes, sometimes the Holy Spirit loosened Poppy’s tongue, and then he shared the Word for an hour or sometimes two hours without pause. One night a few years ago, Poppy went on for so long that the babies were crying out loud for their supper, and he didn’t even hear them, so caught up was he in the Spirit.

  So Mama had come up with a plan. Hold back the trays of dinner rolls. A few minutes into Worship Time, one girl steps into the kitchen and pops them into a hot oven. For if there was one thing Mama had learned after twenty-six years of marriage to the man, it was that the yeasty aroma of baking rolls could compete even with the Holy Spirit for his attention.

  Deut swept into the kitchen with a tray of dirty cups and dropped them one by one into the tub of dishwater. When she looked up, her twin sister was staring at her. Not a hostile stare, the opposite, in fact.

  “Why?” Sarai said in a small voice.

  “Why what?” Deut replied.

  Sarai tried to speak but broke down and hid her face in her hands.

  Deut was troubled to see her sister so miserable, and she almost gave in, but instead she said, “I don’t see why you get to be the princess all the time. You were born five minutes ahead of me and that gives you privileges for the rest of our lives?”

  Sarai shook her head, but Deut wasn’t buying it. Sarai had done something really vile in the field by calling into question their father’s authority in front of the little kids. Deut couldn’t just stand by and let her get away with it, could she? It was for everyone’s sake that she’d ratted her out.

  TT4 1.0

  A SOFT KNOCK on the prayer cabin door woke Poppy from his nap. How long had he been asleep? An hour at least. He felt refreshed.

  “Who’s there?” he said.

  “Adam, lord. Dinner’s ready.”

  “I’ll be right in.”

  Not surprisingly, after such an active and miraculous day and after such a good nap, Poppy had an appetite. During his nap, his spirit had continued to grapple with the problems of the day, and he had come to the decision, in the interest of time, to skip the Worship Time homily and get right to the correction. Why not? Valuable spiritual lessons could be learned from witnessing the administration of just punishment.

  Also, he would mete out the punishment before revealing the miracle. That way, everyone, including the punished, could cleanse their minds of distraction and be able to fully take in his good news. Father God’s miracle was the message of the day, not the punishment of wrongdoers.

  The creak of the porch floorboards told Poppy that his son was still outside his door.

  “What?” he shouted.

  “I got the vehicles ready, lord.”

  What was the boy going on about? Poppy sat up in the daybed and swung his stocking feet to the floor.

  “Lord?”

  “What is it, Adam? Why are you hectoring me?”

  “Sorry, lord. Can I come in for a sec?”

  In a fit of irritation, Poppy strode across the floor and unbolted the door for his son. Then he struck a match and relit the lamp and fed a couple of logs into the barrel stove. When he turned around again, Adam was standing next to the desk staring down at the lavender envelope lying there.

  “What do you want?” Poppy said. He already knew what his son wanted.

  “I was just wondering if any mail came for me, and I see that some has.” He reached for the envelope.

  “Leave it!” Poppy said, but too late. Adam was already clutching the envelope to his chest like a girl.

  Poppy held out his hand for the envelope, but Adam said, “Look, lord. It’s addressed to me. It’s mine. I never wanted to keep this a secret, lord, I promise you, but I never found the right time to tell you. If what you say is true, and this is our last trip out, well, I guess now must be the right time. I met a girl.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I’ve always been an obedient son, lord, and I dedicate myself to the family totally and spend all my time preparing the keep. But if we threw the bolt tonight, I’d be in my mid-thirties the next time we open the gate, and who knows what kind of world we’ll find when we come out? Am I to live my entire life a bachelor, lord? Am I never to have a wife? Or a child? Do you want no grandchildren, lord?”

  Poppy said, “The Bible says there is a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing. You well know which one this is.”

  “Yes, lord, I know, but even if we’re not allowed to marry until it’s all over, at least let me bring her in to live with us so that when it’s all over she’ll still be alive so I can marry her. How can that be against F
ather God’s plan? She’s a spirit-filled girl and godly and in complete harmony with Father God’s truth. I made sure of that. If I ask her to be my wife, I believe she’ll say yes. If I ask her to plight to a seven-year betrothal, she won’t complain.”

  Struggling to hit just the right balance of filial devotion and manly independence, Adam rested his case with, “And I love her with all my heart.”

  All for naught. Poppy reached out his open hand again, and this time his grim-faced firstborn handed over the fat envelope dyed in the pastel color of springtime and lust. Poppy opened the stove door. If the kid had just kept his mouth shut, Poppy would have let him have the letter. Why did he have to go and challenge him like that? Do you want no grandchildren? Was that a threat?

  But Poppy was no more able to destroy the letter now than before. He had followed one path for so long, it was hard to know when it was time to change course. And it was probably no accident that the letter should arrive today. It might even be part of Father God’s plan. So he shut the stove door and handed Susan Krae’s love letter to his son, much to his son’s predictable and pitiable relief. He turned off the lamp, locked the prayer cabin door, and followed the boy who would be a man into the house.

  TT5 1.0

  THE PATRIARCH MOVED his chair next to the lawn lounger. It was the signal for the family to assemble and arrange themselves in a wide semicircle around their parents. Each child helped drag a bench or chair or cushions for sitting on the floor. Little ones were boosted onto laps. Adam and Hosea carried their mother in from the bedroom. Sarai and Cora stood next to the kitchen door still wearing their aprons. Crissie Lou, the dog, curled up at Uzziel’s feet. Calgary, the cat, waited until Mama was installed in the lounger and then took her rightful place on her lap, where she proceeded to groom herself.

  When everyone was settled, Poppy seated himself, unsnapped the holster on his belt, removed the Holy Book, kissed it, set it unopened upon his lap, and rested his ropey hands on its tattered leather cover. “Praise Father God, we’re all here again,” he said.

  “Praise Him,” they chorused. “Praise His Holy name.”

  “Amen,” Poppy said, looking directly into the eyes of each of his congregants. “My children, and Mama, something miraculous happened today to which I was witness. Father God willing, what I saw will change the course of our lives.” He paused to read their reaction. “It is my blessing to reveal it to you, but first we have some unhappy business to get out of the way. Son?”

  “Yes, lord.” Proverbs rose to his feet and went over to the mirror hanging on the wall. He pulled a birch switch from a quiver of switches hanging there. He slashed the air with it a few times. It made a shrill whistling sound that frightened the little ones, and Crissie Lou slunk out of the room. But Proverbs secretly winked at the children and smiled. He handed the switch to his father, pulled a chair around, leaned over it, and assumed the position.

  Stenciled in red ink across the yoke of Proverbs’ shirt were the words, Fair Trade 100% ORGANIC. Mama had made him the shirt when he was fifteen and midway through a particularly rebellious phase. Proverbs held the family record for most corrections. For a while he was getting two or three corrections a week, and Mama grew weary of mending and re-mending the backs of his shirts and taking out the bloodstains. So she sewed her wayward son a sackcloth shirt, the yoke and back panels of which were four layers of thick, coarse burlap. The birch switches had finally met their match. And the best part was that because prophets of old wore sackcloth, and sackcloth was mentioned in the Bible, there was little Poppy could do about it. In recent years, Proverbs loaned out the shirt to his younger brothers as the need arose, which wasn’t very often. Otherwise, it was pretty much retired. Tonight he put it on for the first time in four years. It was very tight, a testament to how much he’d filled out in the meantime.

  Poppy slapped the switch against his own thigh to test it. “Why is Father God punishing you, son?” he asked.

  “Because I killed a moose, lord. And I’m real sorry about it.”

  “That’s not why. If you’re going to ask forgiveness for something, at least know what you’re asking forgiveness for. Try again. Why is Father God punishing you?”

  “Because I should’a waited till after Nellis flew over, but I didn’t believe strong enough that the moose would hang around.”

  “Good. By whose authority do I raise my hand against you, son?”

  “By the Father’s.”

  “That’s right. For it is written . . .” Poppy picked up the Bible and recited from memory, “‘He that spareth the rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.’”

  “Amen.”

  “Who loves you, son?”

  “You doeth, lord.”

  Poppy frowned. “How many stripes did you earn today?”

  “Teneth.”

  A ripple of suppressed giggles passed around the room at Proverbs’ defiance, but one look from Poppy put an end to that. Poppy set the Bible down and raised the switch high over his head before bringing it down sharply across Proverbs’ back. Proverbs flinched but made no sound. Poppy felt the flinch, and it felt genuine and not faked. The cat jumped off Mama’s lap and joined the dog outside of the room.

  Poppy aimed the second stripe for a tiny rent in the burlap under the coffee grower’s logo. Years of patient attention to that spot had already worn through two of the four layers of sacking. Again he raised the switch and gave it his all. This time the switch snapped in two.

  Poppy ordered Proverbs to fetch a replacement. The children gaped in horror, but Proverbs made goofy faces at them. He tested the second switch as he had the first with comical slashes in the air and declared it a worthy switch.

  “Bring a few more while you’re up,” Poppy said dryly.

  One stripe, two stripes, three. Four stripes, five stripes, six. Proverbs could no longer hide the pain. The children covered their faces, and the babies cried.

  “Open your eyes and watch!” Poppy snarled at them. “Unless you want a taste of it too.”

  It wasn’t until the eighth lash in about the same location that the switch drew blood. Good. And not until the tenth and final one that a groan escaped the boy’s lips. It was a tiny groan, but it was a hard-won and satisfying one, and the only groan Proverbs was likely to give up. It was enough to assure the father that he’d gotten through to the son.

  Proverbs straightened up, a little wobbly, and faced his father.

  “I love you, my boy,” Poppy said. He broke the switch in two and handed the pieces to Proverbs.

  “I love you too, lord,” Proverbs said. “Thank you for caring enough about me to keep me on the straight and narrow.” One more smile for his audience of scared babies, and the boy returned to his chair. For the rest of the night he was careful not to lean against the seat back.

  “Sarai, you’re up.”

  TT6 1.0

  THE ELDEST GIRL removed her spaghetti-sauce-stained apron and came forward. The children, especially the youngest, began to cry in big, wet, but silent sobs. Sarai rearranged the whipping chair and assumed the position.

  “Not so fast,” Poppy said. “Don’t be so quick to pass sentence on yourself. Stand up, daughter.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Stand up and tell us what Father God is punishing you for.”

  She stood up and faced him. “Because I sinned with my mouth, lord.”

  “That’s right. You did.” Poppy slapped a new switch against his thigh, making the children jump. “But that covers a wide range of sins. To be more specific, you committed the same sin that Lucifer committed when he thought he was Father God’s equal and turned the heavenly hosts against Him in rebellion. What sin is that?”

  “Um, pride?” Sarai said.

  “Yes, pride. You believe that Father God is weak and you are strong, when the opposite is true. And the punishment for a sin of pride is an act of humility. Here is your punishment: you will wash your parents’ feet and dry them
with your hair, as Mary Magdalene did for our Savior. In this way you will demonstrate the purity of your humility and obedience to the authority of your parents.”

  Before he even finished speaking, Sarai was heading for the kitchen.

  “Come back here. Where are you going?”

  “To fetch a basin of water, lord.”

  “No, not now. I have wondrous news to share now. Wait until after supper to wash your mama’s feet. Then bring your basin out to the prayer cabin and wash mine there.”

  Sarai abruptly changed course and, instead of the kitchen, she went straight to the mirror and grabbed the quiver. She poured the rest of the switches into her hand and threw them across the room at her father. More of them hit her astonished siblings than her father.

  “If you want to punish me, lord,” she screamed, “punish me here and now. In front of everyone. Not hanging over my head like an ax. Not out in your cabin. Now!”

  “Silence!” Poppy said. “It’s not up to you to name your punishment.”

  With a shriek of frustration, Sarai stormed out of the common room, slamming the door of the girls’ bunkroom behind her. Hosea glanced at Adam, and Adam shrugged his shoulders. The children watched in fear for their father’s reaction. Deut asked, “Should I go bring her back, lord?”

  “No, leave her. I’ll deal with her later.”

  “But . . .” Deut said. “She’s the cook tonight.”

  Poppy silenced her with dagger eyes.

  “Yes, lord,” Deut said, got up, and headed for the kitchen.

  “Stop. Stay here. I want everyone to hear this.”

  Right on cue, the golden-crust fragrance of browning rolls washed through the room. Poppy sniffed the air, but instead of enticing him, it made him ask, “Who’s in there?”

  “Cora, I guess.”

  “Bring her out here.”

  “But dinner, lord.”

  “Shut up and listen to me! Let dinner grow cold. Let it rot! Go do what I told you, or do you want a whipping too?”