by William Poe
“What did Father say about the letter?” I asked calmly.
“Father compared you to Arjuna, the Hindu god who protected Krishna.”
“Arjuna was a reluctant warrior,” I said, remembering Madame Blavatsky’s writings.
“One who did not obey orders,” Mitsui pointedly observed.
Fortunately, Kawasaki entered the room and disrupted the exchange. He pulled a suitcase on rollers, indicating that he had just come from the airport.
“Did you tell Simon about the letter?” Kawasaki asked, unaware of the preceding conversation. “Maury is offering a good opportunity,” he added, with no detectible guile.
Mitsui sat back in his chair, feigning disinterest.
“If Father is in prison,” Kawasaki said, “no one knows what will happen. Father wants you to—what’s the term?—lie low. Father told Mitsui and me that you have a great future in the family, that you will become a protector.”
“Yes,” I said. “Mitsui told me about the Arjuna comment.”
Kawasaki laughed. “Father had just met with church leaders from India. They presented Father with a book about Hindu gods.”
As Kawasaki spoke, Mitsui reached into a drawer and pulled out a large book with an image of the elephant-headed god, Ganesh, on the cover and said, “They gave me the same book.”
Since hearing Norman’s lectures as a member of the One World Crusade, I had accepted that every religion held a portion of the Truth. World Unity—that was the dream I once believed possible—depended on everyone sharing the ultimate Truth that tied the strands together the way a Grand Unified Theory in physics would explain the forces of nature. Divine Principle fell far short of that goal.
In that room at the New Yorker, facing Mitsui and Kawasaki, considering the prospects for my future, all I knew was that I didn’t want to lose what I had fought so hard to achieve.
Mitsui and Kawasaki started speaking in Japanese. I took the Hindu book from Kawasaki and recognized images and stories familiar from my youth. What a waste I had made of my teenage years, reading esoteric literature instead of studying science. But the teachers had made critical thinking seem like such a bore that I didn’t realize science could unlock a world of imagination that would have made religious ideas seem inconsequential and fantastic.
While Mitsui and Kawasaki conversed, I suddenly heard Abbanim’s name and strained to figure out what they were talking about. When I caught the drift of the conversation, I jumped into the mix.
“Does Father really think that Abbanim will take over the church if he goes to jail?”
“Father believes Abbanim will try,” Mitsui said, “as long as Bozeman supports him.”
“Is there any doubt about that?” I asked.
“They don’t agree on much,” Mitsui said, failing to elaborate.
“Father has a plan,” Kawasaki added. “He will complete the blessing for thousands of members and match hundreds more couples in preparation for the next blessing.”
“At least Abbanim doesn’t have the authority to marry people,” I said, expecting Mitsui and Kawasaki to nod in agreement, but they remained strangely stolid.
“Who knows what Abbanim thinks he can do?” Mitsui said. “Some members believe they can get away with anything.”
My lack of contrition must have unnerved Mitsui. I directed a barb back at him.
“Maury says that if you go to jail with Father, it will be to what lawyers call a white-collar country club—a low-security prison. Maybe the time away from members will give you an opportunity for self-reflection.”
Mitsui sat up in his chair so erect that I thought he might pull a sword from beneath the cushions and slice off my head.
Kawasaki pretended not to understand. When it suited him, he feigned less than a full command of English.
I decided it was time to get away from Mitsui before the rhetoric escalated. As I turned to leave, Kawasaki asked me to check with the front desk; there were forms to fill out prior to the blessing.
Outside the door, I paused to listen as Kawasaki and Mitsui began a heated discussion. Curiously, I heard the names of Martin and Norman. They mentioned Abbanim again, this time in conjunction with the word for “ceremony,” but my knowledge of Japanese wasn’t sufficient to discern the rest.
Downstairs in the lobby, I spotted Masako’s boss from the restaurant. He told me she was at work in Greenwich Village and suggested that I go there to have a meal. It seemed like a good idea, despite my apprehension.
As I left the subway station and began walking toward the restaurant, my thoughts became increasingly troubled. Behind me was Lyle, waiting in Hollywood, the person with whom I enjoyed having sex. Ahead of me was the woman I respected, a person who had earned my affection and who wanted to bear my children. With each step, I moved closer to a life whose boundaries where deception, falsehood, and hypocrisy.
I was nearly frozen with ambivalence as I neared the restaurant’s front window and saw Masako waiting on a table. She almost spotted me, but I dodged her line of sight by ducking into an alley across the street. The evening shadows obscured my presence, but I could see Masako clearly. She smiled pleasantly as she served her customers, an American couple who seemed to be trying sushi for the first time. Masako demonstrated how to hold the chopsticks. After an inept try, they all laughed. Finally, the man and woman picked up the sushi with their fingers and shoved it into their mouths. My heart ached watching Masako interact with them. She was lovable, self-assured, and vivacious—attractive characteristics in anyone, man or woman.
Where was the erotic charge that merely thinking about Lyle invoked? Had I not fasted and prayed, knowing God would make me straight?
I considered that being gay might be a lucky thing. As a member of a group that fulminated so forcefully against same-sex relationships, being gay spurred me to challenge the authority of supernatural beliefs. Otherwise, given the prestige I had gained, would I ever have confronted my faith? Like so many with a spiritual mindset, I was a master at justifying the ideas I wanted to believe were true.
Would I have considered abandoning Father if he condoned same-sex relations? That might have kept me going no matter what flaws I discovered in the theology or how profoundly science challenged religious authority.
Sexual struggles lifted the veil of mystery and allowed me to see Reverend Moon with clear eyes. Perhaps he honestly believed what he said, but he was as wrong as anyone who consumed the lives of others based on “just so” stories that primarily served to support the authority of an elite few.
“Have faith,” people are told, but to what end? Faith without solid evidence leads to delusion and authoritarianism.
A person’s first goal in life must be self-awareness if there was any hope of becoming a well-adjusted member of society. I was unknown to myself and therefore easily persuaded, first toward the rigid stance of the Divine Principle and next to the seemingly easy life of the rival Epicureans! I had no idea what I wanted or how to achieve it. Hollywood would turn out to be both the best and the worst place for me to carve out my sexual and moral identity.
I spotted a phone booth near the entrance to the alley. Masako would see me if she looked in that direction, but I took the chance and made my way toward it. I wanted her to know I was in New York, even if I wasn’t ready for a face-to-face meeting. I dug through my wallet and found the phone number of the restaurant that she had written on a gum wrapper. The cashier answered, and I asked for Masako. The woman set the phone down and called her from a table in the back. Masako walked straight toward the window. As she picked up the receiver, she looked outside, but luckily, a group of people on the sidewalk hid me from her line of sight.
“It’s Simon,” I said quietly.
“Are you Simon, future husband?” Masako said, responding playfully.
“Some kind of Simon,” I said. “I wanted you to know that I am in New York.”
“Well, ‘some kind of Simon,’ can you eat? Come inside. Sushi good
today.”
“Uh, well…” I stammered.
“I love to see you, Simon-san. So long time no see.”
“I know, Masako. They want to put Father and Mitsui in jail. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t.”
“Everyone talks about the great Simon Powell,” Masako said. “I proud to be your fiancée.”
“Soon-to-be wife,” I said.
“Soon be husband, too,” she said.
“Your English is cute,” I told her.
“Maybe. But I don’t want children talk like me.”
Masako turned her back to the window, and I felt more confident that she hadn’t spotted me, even if her words made it seem as though she knew I was right across the street.
“Will you come inside?” she said.
“Mitsui and Kawasaki have given me a lot to do,” I said. “I may not see you before the ceremony.”
“Okay. I see you.” Masako put down the receiver and, with her back still turned to the window, walked toward the rear of the restaurant. Only then did I realize she had been looking in a mirror on the back wall.
I raced to the subway and caught a train back to the New Yorker, avoiding Times Square with its temptations—I had enough confusion swirling around my head as it was. Lyle satisfied me sexually. But did I love him? The question confounded me. It wasn’t a difficult question when I thought about Masako. I loved her tenderly. Why couldn’t the two of them become one person?
The next day, I went to morning service with the MFT commanders and the many captains who had flown in during the past few days. Cheery eyes and warm embraces greeted me, but every hug brought a pang of guilt. These members thought I was Simon, the loyal brother whom they trusted.
At the end of the service, Mitsui spoke to the group, saying that Father had asked that members encourage their families to come to New York for the wedding. The thought of bringing Vivian and Lenny to New York seemed incredible, but Mitsui treated Father’s suggestion seriously and offered the phone in his private office for members to use. I could barely dial the numbers I was so apprehensive when my turn arrived.
Vivian answered.
“Your father and I would like to see you get married,” Vivian said. “But, honey, it would take a lot of money, what with the medical expenses and all. And, Bubby, it sure is sudden.”
“Reverend Moon didn’t give us much notice,” I told her. “We only found out a few days ago that he wanted to perform the ceremony. Everything about our group is strange, huh?”
“You know that’s right,” Vivian agreed, then caught herself. “I mean…”
“Don’t worry. I’m the one who called it strange.”
“I’m sorry we can’t be there for you.”
“What if I pay for the tickets?” I said. “But you’d have to be here tomorrow.”
Vivian spoke to Lenny. “You saw New York during the war,” I heard her say, “but this is my one chance.”
I smiled, listening in. The prospect of seeing New York was what sold Vivian. Mass wedding was a foreign idea. But a visit to New York City?
“Okay,” Vivian said, barely concealing her excitement. “If you can arrange the tickets. But where will we stay?”
“I’ll have everything taken care of by the time you arrive. Just get here safely.”
Early in the evening, members gathered at a building next to the New Yorker that the church had recently acquired. It once housed a popular theater, abandoned for decades. Family members had already restored the auditorium to its original art deco splendor.
The sight of brothers and sisters filing into the auditorium was awe-inspiring. Over four thousand people would receive the marriage blessing. Father came onstage and gave a speech about the significance of the ritual for which we had gathered in the auditorium.
“The fact that you made it here,” Father proclaimed, “means that you have conquered Satan.”
Solemn looks went from person to person as the providential nature of the gathering began to sink in.
“Representing all humanity,” Father said, “you are the ones chosen to know that the Messiah has arrived. Satan tried his best to defeat you, but you made it to this great ceremony. God claims you as His children.”
Sergeant Choi added to Father’s words. “When you complete the rituals, you will be free from sin. Do you understand? No matter what you’ve done prior to this moment, God forgives you.” Sergeant Choi smiled as Father urged him to say, “No questions asked.”
“Sin goes away,” Father said in English. “You are free.”
A remarkable quietness fell upon the auditorium. Sergeant Choi and Father bowed their heads and prayed. Only gradually did the brothers and sisters begin to stir from their own prayers. I had never experienced such solemnity.
Father’s words rekindled dying embers of faith in my heart, and as such moments would have it, I glanced up and, immediately, my eyes met with Masako’s. She had been scanning the brothers’ faces trying to find me. I smiled. She smiled back. I could almost see the heavenly cord reaching out to bind us.
According to the Divine Principle, Jacob’s wrestling with the angel of God at the ford of Jabbok set the pattern for breaking human bonds with Satan. The angel, substituting for Satan, broke Jacob’s hip, symbolizing the smashing of Satan’s claim on Jacob as a descendant of Adam. The ritual before us would reenact that holy event.
In terms of what I knew about church theology and practices, this was uncharted territory. Married members never spoke of these rituals. Would our hips literally be broken? I doubted it, but couldn’t say for sure.
Sergeant Choi remained on the stage after Father had left the auditorium. “To establish the lineage of God in your own families,” he explained, “each member will undergo a symbolic battle. Your injury will be inflicted by a blessed member of the family representing the angel of God.”
Members lined up to enter an elevator that rose to a room on the third floor. After what seemed an eternity, my moment arrived. A stone-faced brother closed the gate of the antiquated cage-type elevator and threw a lever. The mechanism clanked into action, and we began to rise.
The third floor consisted of a large room with a vaulted ceiling. Dark-green paint, freshly applied, covered the walls, making the space foreboding and claustrophobic.
Brothers and sisters stood in long lines, heads down in prayerful reflection. Twelve elders, each representing a tribe of Israel, stood in a row with members queued before them. As a brother or sister approached the designated spot in front of the elder brother, they were instructed to grab their ankles. The elder raised a wooden stick, the length of a baseball bat, and then brought it down forcefully on their upper thighs.
A loud thwack announced the administration of Jacob’s injury. The twelve paddles fell in strange syncopation, making a racket louder than Alberich’s metallurgists in the music from Das Rheingold. Brothers and sisters tried to suppress yelps of pain, but the agony told on their faces.
As the pounding progressed in my line, it felt as though the pole had made contact with my own legs each time it struck. After the third impact, the Jacob-wounded individual struggled to the elevator and returned to the ground floor.
Beads of sweat formed along my hairline as I anticipated the thwacking I was about to receive. Perhaps the demons within, faced with expulsion, feared this ritual.
I arrived at the place of pain. Dr. Lee, the Korean elder whom I had once observed playing pool with Father, told me to bend over as he raised the indemnity stick high into the air. I got into position, praying desperately that this might be my moment of transformation.
God, grant me sexual attraction for women so that I may be a true husband to Masako and forget my desire for Lyle.
Whack! The first blow caused me to lurch forward.
Whack! Pain shot up my legs and into my heart.
Whack! The final blow brought me to my knees.
When I tried to stand up, I fell back with a paralyzing ache. None of the other memb
ers had experienced anything so debilitating. Something wasn’t right.
I looked up, expecting to see Dr. Lee, but instead, Mitsui’s solemn face greeted me. He had substituted himself to administer the third blow, having struck with such force that his glasses fell to the floor. Mitsui handed the stick to Dr. Lee, nonchalantly picked up his glasses, and walked away.
It took inordinate strength to command my legs to move. I wanted to grab the stick and crush Mitsui’s skull. But my legs refused to participate in the act of revenge. Mitsui slipped through a doorway and disappeared. I struggled to my feet, resisting the pain in hopes that I might pursue the monster.
One step and I collapsed, this time falling sideways with searing pain that nearly caused me to faint. There had been nothing religious in Mitsui’s attack; self-righteous rage of the same variety I’d experienced at the hands of Principal Klinghoffer had driven his actions. Those sorts of men couldn’t bear losing control over the individuals they wanted to dominate.
Gradually, I regained my composure and put aside murderous thoughts, substituting them for something close to gratitude for what had transpired. Mitsui’s sadism had broken the spell of Father’s promised forgiveness.
Once again, I had become absorbed by the atmosphere of conviviality so often generated by groups of like-minded people. How easily we lapsed into magic thinking when greeted by loving, compassionate, caring people who promised the jubilation of spiritual abandon!
There was, after all, no meaning to the concept of sin. Nothing supernatural that needed forgiving. We were creatures of the earth, born of random mutation and endowed with a social conscience through the vagaries of natural selection. How could such a weak hominid have survived the eons without a propensity for cooperation and group cohesion?
I was gay because nature had made me that way, in whatever way such emotions fit the evolutionary scheme. Father, Mitsui, Kawasaki—none of them had the right to tell me how to live. My eyes were open, fixed on the obvious truth of my humanity.
