Martell walked to Harry's house and got a church key from Minna, who said her brother was out and looked at him strangely. But Minna always looked at him strangely.
The church was only a few houses down, a big gothic building in yellow stone. He was turning the key in the lock of a side door to the narthex, the wind in his ears, when Elaine's heels tapped up behind him.
"Please, let's get inside," she said.
He let her in.
They stood in the dim narthex, facing one another. Martell's instinct, shooting unbidden from long-dormant ganglia, was to take her in his arms. Instead he looked at her as she looked at him, each shifting balance like a wrestler.
The old pictures rose in his mind Elaine standing in a sunny room, a yellow dress in her hands. She was folding the dress to pack in the suitcase which lay open on the bed.
He had stood in the bedroom doorway, poleaxed by the incarnation of his fears.
"She's my student," he thought, "my responsibility. I shouldn't be living with her. So it had to happen one day. And what better day than today?"
He had turned and left the apartment without a word spoken. When he returned she was gone.
Today she wore a pale trenchcoat over a warm-looking knitted dress in blue. Blue went with her eyes. She untied a scarf and relased her long, heavy golden hair. He caught his breath. Her face, a perfect oval, had been lovely in a girl. Now it was wondrous. But there remained a softness, almost a supplication, in the slightly formless mouth that spoke of a hurt and lonely child. Only the hardest of men could have looked at that face without warming a little.
"You look beautiful," he said.
She smiled.
"My God, don't do that!" he said, turning his head away.
She touched his shoulder with a slim hand. "I'm sorry, Carl. Some people say my smile's a deadly weapon. I didn't mean to take advantage of it. I guess nowadays men are so scared of women, a nice smile's the sexiest thing a girl can wear.
"You look pretty good yourself, you know. You look well, more distinguished. Character lines. And you haven't gotten fat or bald. I'm impressed."
Martell had trouble meeting her eyes again. He'd always found it hard to take compliments. Now, able to sense that she meant what she said, he felt like a voyeur. And what if she started lying? He didn't want to know if Elaine lied.
"I thought we'd use Harry Gunderson's office," he said. "He's the assistant pastor. He's a friend of mine, and he's out."
"OK, lead the way." Her nervous smile dissolved him.
He led her down a side aisle of the sanctuary, toward the office addition behind the chancel. The light shone faintly from an overcast sky through the looming stained glass. He glanced back and thought Elaine looked cold and uneasy.
In the dim office hallway, two doors down on the left, he stopped in front of Harry's door, unlocked it and held it open for her.
The office was like the man wildly unkempt and comfortable. Martell always felt at home there. He cleared some books off an upholstered chair for Elaine and sat behind the desk.
"Full circle," Elaine said. "You teacher, me pupil."
"I suppose I get formal when I'm feeling awkward. I'm sorry."
"Do you feel awkward, Carl? After all this time?"
She took off her coat and he saw that her figure had not visibly changed. Shapes and textures he knew in his bones clamored for recall. She sat erect but graceful, her long legs crossed at the ankles.
He looked out the window. It had books stacked in it, and an obsolete brass candlestick, and, oddly, a harmonica. A shadow flapped down and blocked the light from the outside. It looked crow-like, huge, like a raven. Strange to see a raven this far south.
"You know who I think about every now and then?" he asked. "Mrs. Corcoran."
"The landlady."
"I wonder if she's still alive."
"She was the last I heard, but that was a while back."
"I suppose she'll outlive us all, drinking and smoking and coughing and falling down through the centuries, sustained by the purity of her vices."
"I remember her peering up the stairway as we climbed it," said Elaine. "She'd be hanging onto the railing for support, vibrating like she did all the time. You knew she had a word for me. I suppose people still do. Do you have a word for me, Carl?"
He was still looking out the window. The raven, if that was what it was, hadn't moved. "It's a problem," he said.
"Would it be a problem if one of your men friends kept a mistress?" Her eyes fixed him with the same intensity as once upon a time. Sometimes, when she had loved him, that intensity had frightened him. Even when he didn't face her, as he didn't now.
"As a matter of fact it would. More to the point, I'm not in love with any of my men friends."
She looked down. "All right. It's a problem for me too. You know it's not what I planned."
"I know."
She looked around the office. "God, I hate churches. It brings back all those hellfire-and-brimstone sermons in chapel at the academy. That school. A boarding school. It was like my parents said, 'You're not good enough to live at home and go to public school like normal kids. We've got to spend our hard-earned money ' they always made sure we knew how much it was costing them 'to send you to a Christian prison, because otherwise we know you'll grow up to be a degenerate or a welfare case.' Boy did I show them. I think this is the first time I've set foot in a church since I was seventeen."
Martell glanced at her, looked away.
"What I mean to say is, when I say I'm embarrassed about how I live, it's got nothing to do with middle-class morals. But I live with a man who treats me like a thing. He uses me, he shows me off, he despises me. I'm ashamed of that. You've met Oski."
"Why do you stay with him?"
She thought. "Did you ever face a bull, Carl?"
"A bull?"
"One summer when I was a girl, the first day of vacation, I went into one of my Dad's cattle pens mainly because I wasn't supposed to, I suppose. I didn't know Dad had put his new bull in there.
"I remember standing, frozen, looking into the bull's eyes you know how they look, blue all around, not like human eyes at all and realizing I couldn't do anything about that animal. I was crushable, breakable, no more able to protect myself than a piece of Kleenex. I suppose that was my first feeling of what do you call it? Mortality. Oski makes me feel the same way."
"He seems to have that effect on a lot of people."
"I stay because I'm scared of him, Carl. Do you know what it's like to be scared? Really terrified?"
"You know I do."
She looked down. "I guess I had that coming."
"I'm a man who relishes petty revenges."
"You're a sweet, kind man. That wasn't enough for me once."
"I don't blame you for leaving, Elaine."
"It had nothing to do with Forsythe. I didn't even know what had happened until later. You must have thought "
"You were very young. If you hadn't left then you would have later. Forget it. Go on with what you were saying."
"Do you believe in magic, Carl?"
"How do you mean?"
"Charms, spells, enchantments, raising the dead?"
"I'm... open to persuasion."
She smiled. "You used to say things like that in the old days."
"And you used to laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing now. What if I were to tell you that Sigfod Oski can raise a storm on a clear day? Or disappear in one place and appear someplace else, miles and miles away, a moment later? Or bring up a ghost to scare someone into a heart attack? Or make or make a woman love him or something that seems like love, and is just as strong?"
Martell closed his eyes. She wasn't lying, and that troubled him. He couldn't lie, and that troubled him too.
"You used to say," she continued, "that there was no reason except prejudice for rejecting the possibility of the supernatural."
"I was making a theoretical point. Forsythe said that he'd read my work and he wasn't surprised that a man who delighted in the illogical should embrace the irrational as well. The crowd enjoyed that."
"I've come around to your side."
"It doesn't matter anymore."
"It matters to me. I need a friend, Carl. A friend who has some idea how to deal with powers like Oski's. More than that, a friend who knows something about this Old Norse business. It's perfect that I've run into you just now but it's scary too."
"I don't follow."
"With Oski, you get used to nothing being coincidental. I can't help thinking our coming back together is something he engineered, for his own reasons. He's always miles ahead of everybody else. God knows what he's planning here."
"You mean he could rain on me, or make me fall in love with him?"
"Look Carl, if you think I'm crazy just say so! Don't make little jokes. I always hated your little jokes."
She's gone mad, he thought. That would explain it. Or maybe it's Oski who's mad. Maybe he just convinced her.
"What do you want from me?" he asked. A simple question. No need for awkward truths.
Elaine dug in her purse for a cigarette and lit it. Her hands shook a little.
"Like I said," she sighed, "it may be this is just what Oski wants me to do. But it's the only thing I can figure out. I've got to try.
"I've seen him kill, Carl. Did you ever hear of Oskar Berglund?"
"There was a runologist "
"That's the one. He died a couple years ago. Oski told me about it. He told me about it before it happened. Berglund was up for a committee chairmanship that Oski wanted. He was in the way."
"You're saying Oski killed him?"
"Not with his hands. Heart attack. Very sudden."
Martell grimaced.
"Do you think I'm crazy?"
He looked at her, unable to answer. As he met her eyes he hadn't allowed that to happen before he saw the desperate fear and loneliness at their bottom, blue as a pilot light. And he knew that his love was hopeless as ever. He was caught now, and all the pain to endure again.
Her eyes said she felt it too.
He bowed to it. He could see the noble death, the logic of the story, as a man looks at his hand in the split second after he burns it, knowing the pain is coming.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"I need to run. I need to disappear. Go somewhere where nobody can ever find me. I can't do it alone. I don't even have a car. He only gives me a small allowance. I've got maybe fifteen dollars in my purse. Money is freedom, and he doesn't let me have much."
"You need money?"
"I need you to drop everything, and get in your car with me and drive away. Leave your job, leave your friends, leave everything you own. Run with me."
"That's a lot to ask."
"You love me, Carl. I was afraid you wouldn't, but you do. I'm a bitch to ask it, but I'm desperate, so I'll take advantage. I'll try to make it up to you in other ways."
"How will we live?"
"Any way we can. I'll hook if I have to."
"What a charming picture you paint."
"I'm not offering you a vine-covered cottage, Carl. I'm offering you me. I'm no prize, but you seem to want me. What am I worth to you?"
He shook his head. "There's a problem."
"You think I'm crazy."
"I I don't know. Maybe you are. More likely Oski is. The point is, I definitely am."
"You're talking crap."
"To hide, to live underground, you've got to be able to tell lies. I can't."
"Not even for me?"
"I mean I can't. See this bandage? A young man cut my hand the other night because I refused to say something that wasn't true. He threatened to cut my face. The point is, I couldn't tell the lie. Not to save my life. I've got a serious psychological block."
She frowned. "I've never heard of anything like that before."
"How could I run with you? I couldn't even sign a false name on a motel registration."
Her mouth tightened. Her eyes glistened. The offer had been a kind of insult, but it had cost her to make it.
"I'll do what I can for you," he said.
"What can you do if you can't help me get away?"
"I'll... I'll talk to Oski."
"You are crazy."
"I'll talk to him. I'll threaten to go to the college administration. To the press."
"You think that'll mean anything to him? And let's face it, Carl you're not exactly an intimidating guy."
"I know, running away is more my style. But I can't do that. So I'll talk to Oski. You're right about this much I'll do things for you I wouldn't do for anybody else."
"I don't want you dead."
"I'm not afraid of magic. If you are, maybe you should talk to the fellow who belongs behind this desk."
"A preacher?"
"He's an actual Christian. I'm not. He believes in the other world and he has... authority, I suppose."
"No. Maybe I believe in the devil, but that doesn't make me ready to tie up with Jesus and his daddy. Besides, after all this time it would be kind of lousy to come running to him for help."
"You came running to me."
She covered her face with her hands for a moment. "I suppose it's good for me to be turned down once in awhile. When you grow up with everybody telling you how beautiful you are, you get to thinking it'll buy you anything. It's bad for the character. Being beautiful is such a fraud. I want to apologize for it sometimes. 'I'm sorry I have a nice face. I wanted a nice brain but I got stiffed.'"
"That's not true and you know it. You have an excellent brain. And what's wrong with beauty?"
She looked around and spotted an ashtray on a bookshelf. She got up to take it, then sat again. "It's only skin deep, haven't you heard? It was in all the papers. All my life people have been expecting me to do as pretty is, but let's face it. I'm a bitch."
"Maybe so," said Martell thoughtlessly. "That has nothing to do with your beauty. A great intellect or a great athlete or a talented artist can be a complete pig, but that doesn't make brains or strength or talent frauds."
She crushed her cigarette out. "Also it doesn't last. One of these days I'll look in the mirror and Edna Mae Oliver'll look back at me."
"The same thing can happen with brains, strength or talent. None of them is enough by itself. None of them is nothing either.
"My friend the pastor would say that everything except Good Itself he means God is a Second Thing. Second Things are good in their place. You can't compare them with one another any more than you can compare apples and oranges, or apples and sunsets."
He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I slipped into my classroom mode. I forgot about your problems for a second."
She smiled and the room brightened. "It sounds good. Like old times. Good times."
They walked back to the narthex together. At the door she said, "Please don't get hurt."
"I'll try not to."
"I wish you'd run with me."
"I really wish I could." For one moment he felt a bull-powerful impulse to take this woman in his arms and to be a man, just once again. He shuddered, fighting it down.
"I'll go first," she said. "You wait a few minutes before you leave. I know it's melodramatic, but you never know who's watching." She opened the door and went out.
Martell stood shivering and studied the twin portraits of Frette and Bendikson on the wall. Those redoubtable immigrant faces in their stand-up collars had taught five generations the meaning of the Law. Martell lowered his eyes, appropriately chastened, and browsed through a copy of the denominational magazine. The cover story was entitled, "The New Establishmentarianism Beyond the Wall of Separation." His blood screamed to him, full of wonder at the smoothness of Elaine's skin, the scent of her hair.
It was only a feeling in his stomach, as if he'd stepped down an elevator shaft, that reminded him he'd promised to defy Sigfod Oski.
Ghost-farmsteads are a common sight in the countryside. Consolidation has left many of the old family farms abandoned, the windows of the empty houses staring like madmen's eyes from unpainted faces. More often the buildings are gone altogether, efficiently bulldozed, buried, plowed and planted over.
The windows of one old farm watched four cars pull into their driveway that evening, arriving singly at five-minute intervals. Each switched its lights off before turning.
Three men got out of each car. The wind was cold enough to warrant their heavy jackets, but not the ski masks they wore.
"I must be getting old," one of them whispered. "This wind hurts my ears. Kind of gets down inside 'em and whistles like a trapped fly."
"Some kind of wind," said the man beside him.
Another masked man came out of the barn and walked towards them.
"Is it ready, brother?" the one called Thumb asked him.
"Yeah. Right inside."
"Bring it out."
The man went back in and came out with a half-grown Holstein heifer. Her black and white head came to about the level of his shoulder.
"Over here by the tree," said Thumb. He led them to a big cottonwood.
"This ain't getting any easier," one of them grumbled.
"It's got to be done," said Thumb. "Evil must be shown to be evil."
"I'm just saying it ain't getting easier. I didn't say I wouldn't hold up my end."
"I used to work in the Chicago stockyards," said another. "Same kind of thing. Hundreds of 'em a day. You get used to it."
"We got the tools?" Thumb asked. "Knives, rope? You sure that knife's sharp?"
"Sharp enough to cut a fart."
They all laughed, but they stopped when Thumb pointed at the joker. "This isn't funny, brother. This is a serious, tragic matter. We're not here for fun, and none of us is going to enjoy this. Remember who we are. We're God's garbage men. You want to have fun, go sing in a quartette."
"I didn't mean nothing."
"That's right, you didn't. St. Paul says, 'Neither filthiness, nor foolish talking, nor jesting, which are not convenient...' should be named among you. Ephesians 5:4. This is just the sort of thing he was talking about.
"Now before we stain our hands, I think we should bow our heads and say a silent prayer."
They stood for a minute in a circle, eyes down, shivering in the wind.
"All right," said Thumb. "Hold her still. Throw that rope over the branch. I'll cut."
Mrs. Maxine Ohlrogge was telling Harry Gunderson about her latest visit to the doctor.
"So I got to the parking lot," she said, "and there wasn't a single spot left, except one of those handicapped ones, and you know me, I'm not the kind of person who'd park in a handicapped spot, I just think that's the lowest thing in the world, well, not as bad as child molesting, but very bad anyway. What can these child molesters be thinking of? It's beyond me. Of course that's the sort of thing that's happening all the time now, it's part of the breakdown of the family, I mean that sort of thing never happened back in my day, and if they'd caught somebody at it they'd have known what to do with him, I can tell you. All they do nowadays is send them to doctors and spend the taxpayers' money on fancy treatments, when we all know what they really need is well, I mean we didn't talk about those things when I was a girl, but you knew that the police knew how to handle that sort of thing. Nowadays nobody knows how to handle anything. And the Extinctionists say that any kind of sex that doesn't make babies is a good thing, and how can they say something like that?
"And now they're talking about Extinctionists neutering their children, and some people cripple them so they'll have more VQ points, and the courts say that's their constitutional right, and I just don't understand. I think I've lived too long. I said that to an Extinctionist once, and she said I was right."
"And what did the doctor tell you, Maxie?" Harry asked.
"He said I was as healthy as a woman half my age. I mean I know I don't look like a woman half my age I know I'm an old fool, pastor, but I'm not so much of a fool as that, but he said my heart was as good as a woman of thirty, and I think that's something to take pride in, don't you? And it's a relief, too, because I'd hate to be in my friend Maddie's shoes, with her family pressuring her to go to the Happy Endings Clinic because her heart treatments cost so much. I mean I weigh a little more than I used to, but I've always tried to watch what I eat, except for ice cream, I'm afraid I just couldn't live without ice cream well, I suppose I could if I really had to, but I'd hate to have to make the choice, because at my age, Pastor, you have to cherish the little pleasures you have left."
"I like ice cream too, very much."
"Well, I mean it's awful when you think of it, people are starving in the world, and here we are eating precious food when we really don't need it, and wasting it on treats when it could be filling empty stomachs, but my Rudy used to say when he was alive, I can hear him now, he'd say, 'You can't help people by living in a cave, you just have to be thankful to the Lord for what you've got, and try to do all you can to help others.' And that's what I've always tried to do. I'm sure I don't do as much as a lot of people do, but you know how fixed my income is, Pastor, and you know I do try."
"You're one of the most generous people in our congregation," Harry said sincerely.
"Well I try, I mean I know it's never enough, but I do try to share as the Lord prospers me. I mean there have been things I wanted or would have liked to that I couldn't I mean I'm sure lots of people do more, of course."
"We never can know, Maxie. I think it's time to start the Bible Study. Here comes Stoney."
Livingston Berge entered the church's Fireside Room and rolled along toward them like Popeye the Sailor. The only sign of his hospital visit was a gauze bandage on his right hand. He gave the pastor a silent look that said he did not wish to discuss it.
"Well I guess we're all here," said Harry. "We might as well sit down and get started." Most of the weekly regulars were there Minna, Stoney, Mrs. Ohlrogge and a retired farm couple, he stout, she fat, who carried matching Bibles and never spoke.
They sat in a circle of folding chairs in front of the unlit fireplace, and after a brief prayer Harry began.
"As I recall, we got up to 1 Corinthians 1:21 last week. Would someone read verses 22-29, please?"
Stoney read:
"For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom: But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness; But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God. Because the foolishness of God is wiser than man; and the weakness of God is stronger than men. For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: That no flesh should glory in his presence."
"Thank you, Stoney," said Harry. "Now "
"Excuse me," said Mrs. Ohlrogge, "I'm having trouble following. I'm used to the Revised, you know, but I got this new Bible this week, and it seems to run a lot different from Stoney's King James and "
Harry asked, "What translation have you got?"
"It's uh I'm not sure. The the salesman said it was the very best, the latest translation available, and I thought, well, it may be a long time before I buy another one, so I'd better get a good one one I can use a long time, you know here it is it's the Winnowed Bible."
"The W.B.!" snorted Stoney. "Hoo boy, you got yourself a dandy there, Maxie."
Maxie's face went slack, like a souffle scorned. "I don't understand."
"You've got the new translation there's been so much fuss over, Maxie," said Harry.
"I'm afraid I don't pay much attention to those things...."
"Yah," said Stoney. "That what everybody says. Next thing you know, they got a pitcher of Groucho Marx hangin' above the altar."
"I think you mean Karl Marx," said Harry.
"Him too?"
Maxie stared at them. "What's the matter with my Bible?" she asked. "I wasn't trying to do anything controversial I just wanted a good Bible. I don't have a lot of money to spend you know, and if I have to go out and buy another one I mean, I don't know how I'd be able to do it, what with groceries and doctors' bills, and "
"It's up to you, Maxie," said Harry. He knew that interrupting her wasn't rude. It was silence she feared, and she didn't care who filled it. "I don't think the Winnowed Bible will hurt you, but I wouldn't use it myself.
"What it is, is a sort of condensed Bible. Shortly after the last merger, the church had to come out flatly and admit that if what it was saying was right, then Scripture had to be simply wrong in some places, and must be ignored. The Winnowed Bible is the first attempt to separate out the portions they've repudiated. They also made some textual changes, mainly in calling God 'she' exactly half the time. It's scheduled to be revised every ten years.
"And of course they cut the 'hard passages.' And a lot of the miracles are gone. So are the bloody parts of the Old Testament and the vengeful Psalms. They cut a lot of Paul's words, and even more of Christ's."
"I told you it was comin'," said Stoney. "When they took 'Onward, Christian Soldiers' out of the hymnbook, I told you it would come to this."
"What you're saying," said Maxie, "is that our church says that the Bible isn't God's Word anymore. Just parts of it are. And only they know which parts?"
"That's about it," said Harry.
"And they're going to revise it again in a few years?"
"They'll be revising it regularly."
"So I've got a Bible with Planned what do they call it?"
"Planned obsolescence. What the bishop would tell you, if he were here now, is that you shouldn't depend too much on this Bible or any other, because only trained theologians can interpret Scripture properly."
"That's not what I was taught when I was a girl."
"They won't kick you out for being behind the times. As a matter of fact, they won't kick anyone out. We've got seminary professors who don't believe in God at all."
"But when did all this happen? How did they change my religion without my knowing about it?"
Stoney raised a bandaged hand. "All you gotta do is to look at the signs of the times. I told you when they made the Corn Ceremony a sacrament that we were on the road to ruin. But did anybody listen?"
Harry said, "Maxie, there are still lots of faithful people in the church. And even the ones I disagree with most are sincere, loving people for the most part. We've got to remember that the Church belongs to Christ. He'll look after it."
Stoney said, "Somebody shoulda told that to Martin Luther."
Harry shook his head. "Luther was driven out, against his will. There's still freedom to preach orthodox Christianity in the NAPC."
"Well yes," said Minna with a smile, "but mainly in western North Dakota. There's a saying among the pastors 'Whosoever believeth in Him shall not get a parish.'"
"Minna!"
"Nobody listens!" said Stoney. "The whole world is going to Helena in a handbag and nobody will admit it! You know what's happening in our town? We got devil worshippers out on the old Tysness place, doin' God knows what kind of heathen ceremonies and sacrifices. Farmers been missin' their animals, and they've found some of 'em all cut up what do you say mutilated. Who knows what'll be disappearing next? Little kids?"
"That's alarmist talk," said Harry.
"Everybody knows about it! You ask anybody on the street downtown. They're all scared."
"I've been to the W.O.W. farm, Stoney. There's no evidence those kids have anything to do with those things."
"Evidence? You wait for evidence, they'll shut down the country on us! Sometimes you just gotta act on what you know!"
"That's a dangerous way to think. You could end up doing things you'll regret."
"I'm not gonna sit by and watch my town go pardon me Pastor, but I mean this to the Devil," Stoney said. He got up and walked out.
Harry stared at his back as he left.
The couple who never spoke stood up together and the husband said, "I don't like to make a fuss, Pastor, but Stoney's right for once. You don't know what's going on. But the town knows. We all know, and we're scared. We'll be going now."
They left.
"What I want to know," said Maxie, "is what I'll do for a Bible now. I mean, I'm sure I don't want this one, but my old one is just falling to pieces, and the money only goes so far. When Rudy was alive there was a little more coming he used to do odd jobs, you know but now I just barely make it from week to week, and I hardly ever drive the car, and I mean, it's been so hard since he died, and I thought I could at least depend on my church, and now I just don't know "
"I've got a good Study Bible I never use," said Minna. "You can have it."
Carl Martell watched himself, taped at the farm, on the 6:00 news that evening. He thought he looked like a whitewashed sepulchre.
Sigfod Oski looked like a monument to Victory.
Afterwards Martell tried to eat a sandwich but gave it up. He sat on his sofa, ignoring the television, looking at the telephone. He had to call Oski.
He'd promised.
He wondered what would happen if he broke a promise. If lying hurt, what would promise-breaking do?
Just do it, Martell. Don't think about it. Get it over with.
He lifted the receiver. He pushed the buttons.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
No answer.
Oski must still be out at the farm.
Thank God.
The face of a well-known movie critic appeared on the TV screen. He said, "The self-appointed guardians of public decency have made themselves heard once again this week in connection with the Cannes Festival award-winning film, 'Nap Time.' As is so often the case, these people, who have not even viewed the film themselves, feel free to condemn what they do not understand. They've particularly made noises about a a single scene in the film, where the anti-hero sodomizes and strangles six screaming children, one at a time, to the music of 'Let Me Call You Sweetheart'. OK, I'll grant it's not a pleasant subject, but you've got to look at it in the context of the the director's technical mastery...."
"You see those crazies out at the old Tysness place on the news?" a seed corn salesman asked his friend at the Home-Maid Cafe that evening.
His friend across the booth swirled a french fry in ketchup and said, "Pretty weird. Vikings right here in Epsom, five hundred years ago. Sounds crazy to me."
"What's crazy," the salesman said, fishing a pack of Marlboros out of a pocket of his lumberjack shirt, "is that we let those nutbags stay in this county. Henry Olson told me and he saw it himself that they found a dead cow on his brother's place. Somebody'd strangled it and stabbed it maybe a hundred times. And I'll bet "
"You know that's funny, 'cause Myron Skalholt told me the same thing happened on Sievert Borson's place. And somebody else I forget who it was he told me the same sort of thing a couple weeks back, only I forget all the circumstances. You know they reported a couple of those things on the news a few weeks back, and then you didn't hear a thing anymore. Somebody's covering up, you betcha."
"Well I'll tell you this there isn't a soul in this town doesn't know about it happening someplace. And if it's cows now, who's to say it won't be people next? But who's gonna do anything about it? You can bet your life the cops won't get off their cans."
"You know what I heard?" the salesman's friend asked. "I happen to know this is true, because I got it from Ron Sogge at the elevator, who heard it from his brother-in-law. This brother-in-law has a friend who was driving along around midnight one night, out near Sogn, a couple weeks back. Well, he picks up this hitchhiker. Young guy. Beard, long hair. He sits in the back 'cause there's a sack of chicken feed in the passenger seat. At first he won't hardly say a word, won't say where he's going, where he comes from, nothing, so the guy starts worrying 'Who is this guy? Some kind of psycho I picked up?' Then, after ten, fifteen minutes, the hitchhiker speaks up and he says, 'The Antichrist is coming.' And the guy looks in the back seat, and what do you know? The hitchhiker's gone. Disappeared, like he'd never been there. What do you think about that?"
The salesman shook his head. "Tell that to some folks, they wouldn't believe you."
The friend chewed another french fry meditatively.
"How about that wind tonight?" he asked. "Brrr."
"Well that's one thing about Minnesota. If you don't like the weather, wait a minute."
The friend laughed, as he always did. Especially when the other fellow was picking up the check.
"No ma'am," said Deputy Sheriff Clarence Stokke to the telephone, "we don't know anything about anything like that. You can be sure that we'll tell the radio and TV people if anything develops. There's no reason for alarm. Yes ma'am, I'm sure. Thank you for calling. I'm sure you'll be perfectly safe in your bed."
"What the hell is going on?" he growled when he'd hung up. He turned to Deputy McAfee, who was eating a turkey-baloney sandwich. "Sixteen calls! In two hours! From all over the county! Over two dead calves, a couple weeks back!"
"Well they were cut up pretty bad," said McAfee, wiping his mouth.
"Yeah, but it's been two weeks! Now all of a sudden, people think there's been whole herds cut up in Moland, Skyberg, Sogn, Aspelund. Somebody out there's spreading rumors."
"Maybe it's Solar Bull's Lunar Tunes out at the old Tysness place. One of these nights somebody's gonna burn those kids out of there, and buddy, I don't want to be around."
Stokke shook his head. He picked up his copy of the Draft Horse Journal. Police work was not his life's dream. What he really wanted was a little farm of his own where he could raise Norwegian Fjord Horses.
"You read the memo on the DSL yet?" McAfee asked.
Stokke put his magazine down. "Yeah, I read it. Can't say I like it much. What does DSL stand for again?"
"Dangerous Sectarians List. You think you'll have a problem with it?"
"I don't know. We sure wouldn't get away with it if we were keeping records on Vegetarians or Extinctionists."
"But you know things have gotten out of hand. Terrorism, cults, all that crap. We've gotta keep tabs on these people."
"I can see that, but I'm supposed to write up people for publishing unlicensed newspapers, or holding Bible studies in their homes. My grandma used to hold Bible studies."
"The law's real clear. Everybody's got the right to think whatever they like. But talk about it in public, or publish it or hold meetings, and it's our business."
Yeah, but still "
The phone rang again and he picked it up. He said, "Yes... Yes... WHAT?"
When he'd made a few notes he hung up. "Let's take a ride," he said to McAfee.
"What happened?"
"Somebody just found another calf."
McAfee threw his brown bag into the recycling container. "Maybe it's that comet," he said. "You seen it yet?"
"Sure. Lot better show than Halley's was. Better even than Hale-Bopp. And you know what happened with Hale-Bopp."
"Could be the comet, maybe. Or the wind. You feel that wind tonight? Feels like January."
Bart Swanson had finished carrying Julie Anderson's boxes of belongings down to his car from her dormitory room. He climbed the stairs again, feeling a little dizzy. His head still hurt from the knock he'd taken the other night, and the cold wind outside seemed to aggravate it, making cave-noises in his head. He walked down the hall to her room and stood in the door, nearly filling it, looking at her. She was sitting, smiling at him, cross-legged on the stripped mattress. The empty dorm room with its cinder-block walls reminded him of a jail cell.
"I think it sucks," he said. "You having to quit school, and your folks making you leave town and go to this hospital, as if you were some kind of crazy. And all because of Whitey Martell. And he gets off free."
Julie giggled. She was small and slender, with dimples and light brown hair. His instinct was always to be gentle with her, though she didn't much care for gentleness.
Bart frowned. "Julie, get serious! You've been laughing at me all night! I'm not gonna see you for months maybe, and it's making me crazy, and all you can do is laugh! It's like everything's a joke to you. Even me." He closed his eyes. The noise in his skull was almost pain.
Julie giggled again. "Poor Bart. You don't get it, do you? It's such a scream!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" He moved toward her, angry and confused.
She sing-songed, "I know something you don't know!"
He took her wrist in one big hand and squeezed. "Talk sense!" he said. "Don't play games!"
She whimpered, and tears welled in her eyes. "Don't, Bart! All I mean is, it was a joke. Just a joke!"
"What was?"
"The whole thing! I tried to come on to Mr. Martell, I thought maybe he'd give me a break on Midterms. But he said no, and he gave me a D on the next quiz, so I thought, 'I'll get even with you, you bastard,' so I complained to the Dean. He had it coming. He made me feel cheap."
"You you were lying?"
"It was only to get back at him!"
"You tried to screw him for a grade, then you tried to get him fired for turning you down? You lied to me! You know what I did? I coulda killed the guy!"
"That was the best part!"
Bart hit her then.
He hit her many, many times, and the noise in his head drowned her screams.
Harry stood in Pastor Hardanger-Hansen's office, across the desk from her, white-faced and trembling.
"YOU TOOK HER TO THE HAPPY ENDINGS CLINIC?" he shouted.
"Sit down Harry, before you have a stroke."
Harry collapsed into a chair like a sack of laundry.
"Surely you understood that self-termination was always an option."
"You could have talked her out of it. I have, many times."
"Didn't it tell you something that she kept coming back to it?"
"Of course it told me something! It told me she was desperately looking for attention and love and a reason to live."
"And you thought you could provide that? I'd say that's pretty arrogant, Harry. Do you really think a life that depends on your powers of persuasion is really worth living?"
Harry stared at her. "I was trying to help her open her heart to the love of God. How is that out of line for a pastor?"
"You tried to force your personal values on her. You have this taboo against suicide. It clearly didn't relate to her personal needs. I'm glad I was able to intervene before you wasted more of the church's time trying to interfere with an intensely personal decision."
"Wasted time? Saving the life of a child?"
"What does it profit a person if she saves her life and forfeits her soul? Cassie was trying to follow her heart, the true way of the Spirit. You were trying to keep her off the path of God."
"The path of God? Since when is the path of God the way of death?"
"We must die to live again."
"You know as well as I do that has nothing to do with a child putting poison in her veins."
"I know nothing of the sort, and it offends me deeply to hear you questioning my compassion. God is calling us to cleanse this earth by phasing out human corruption. Every person who's called to further that goal by removing themselves ought to be encouraged."
Harry shook his head. "I heard you talking Extinctionism," he said. "I never knew you'd take it to this length."
"I'm no hypocrite."
"Well you call Cassie's parents, then. Explain to them why it was good for the earth for their daughter to die."
"I'm prepared to do that."
Harry got up to go. His face was wet. As he walked out the door he said "I'm going to talk to the bishop too."
"Be my guest."
MEMORANDUM
FROM: A. Carnegie Hall, Station Mgr.
TO: WEEP announcers.
RE: Studio Doors, Earephones.
Once again I must reutterate again station policey on entering and exciting out of the studio. All anouncers WILL enter the studio at the beginning of his shift from the west door (by the utilty room) and exite from the North door, (by the transmitter.) Thus insuring a free flow of traffic flow in the building. And remember, do not hang around in the studio if your not on shift.
ALSO, from now on WEEP will not be responcible for keeping earphones in the studio. If employees wish to use earphones, they may purchase there own. Otherwise, make do with the moniters.
Thank you.
A.C.H./cak
Rory's listeners could tell he was in a good mood, and several called to mention it.
He'd found peace. He knew what he was going to do.
Thumb was smart, but not as smart as he thought. Rory didn't know how he'd predicted the meeting with Zippy (or Laura he'd have to start thinking of her as Laura now), but the result had been just the opposite of what he'd wanted.
He'd always liked Zippy. And now that she was a pretty girl instead of a skinny kid, he liked her even better. No way he'd do anything to hurt her.
No. He'd talk to her. He felt sure in his heart he could bring her to Jesus if he just had the chance to spend some time with her.
He'd drive out there tonight, after his shift. Let Thumb sit on his name.
"Weather forecast for WEEP Country colder and windier, folks, and there's a chance of some snow sneaking up on our blind side. Nasty weather for October, but praise the Lord, when He's in our vessel we can smile at the storm...."