Sowing Season

by Brian Patrick Edwards

  Members of the family and the neighbors who joined them took turns, running from their rooms to the chairs that sat in the nearly pitch-black yard for confession. Amelia took the longest, as usual, and as always returned crying, even though she was the purest of them all. John’s was quick and everyone could hear roaring laughter from the back lot.

  It disappointed Michael that he didn’t see Stone come around for confession. He struggled with the anger, which raged boiled within him as he sat on the living room couch. But he donned a smile for the group when they entered the room and picked their seats for the Mass. Amelia sat next to him, gripping his hand tightly as she smiled. John and Cole both arrived and closed the curtains tightly along the windows, so that no outsiders could see inside the room. Maria turned off every light, and lit two candles for the celebration. The neighbors that came for Mass stood bordering the walls and darkening doorways into the room; it was the usual crowd, about fifteen in total, most of them very old and frail. The older women were given seats. They clung to their rosaries, their eyes glazed with age.

  Father Burns stood before them, in front of the blackened fireplace at the end of the living room. The air was empty of noise and the ceiling and walls flickered with the dancing flames emanating from the candles.

  They all rose to their feet and made the Sign of the Cross as the priest began to pray in Latin, “In nómine Patris, et Fílii, et Spíritus Sancti.”

  “Amen,” they all replied.

  And so, the Mass followed with recitations of Latin prayers and incantations that the faithful had spoken billions of times over centuries past in countries and kingdoms that no longer existed. These words passed down from their ancestors and, in this room, they still echoed along the walls. Few in this world know the significance and meaning of these holy words. The priest began to speak in English for a short while during his homily. He spoke of the martyrdom of Saint Stephen and the witness of it by Saul of Tarsus, who, after this account, saw a vision and subsequently gave his life forever to the Lord. Michael glanced over to Stone to see if he was listening, only to find that his cousin found picking at his nails and looking at his hands more entertaining and edifying than the Mass.

  Burns concluded his homily saying, “We, the faithful are called to love our enemies, even when they offer us up to the dead. Because there is always hope that they may come to our Lord for salvation, we must keep our hearts open for them, even in persecution, just as Saint Stephen did.”

  After the Apostle’s Creed and a few additional prayers, the priest consecrated the host, praying, “Accípite et manducáte ex hoc omnes: hoc est enim corpus meum, quod pro vobis tradétur,” and it became the flesh of Christ. One by one they went forward, kneeling as they received the Body of Christ on their tongues. Once a person took Communion he departed from the priest, crossing his chest before the crucifix that hung upon the wall.

  …

  At the priest’s dismissal, the group gradually made their way to the kitchen where the source of their salivation sat, spreading its savory aroma all around. The neighbors received their portions of vegetarian lasagna and bread from Amelia and took their dinners home; there wasn’t enough space or dinnerware to host them there.

  Michael’s blood sugar approached a dangerously low level and he knew that if he didn’t eat soon he would be at his cousin’s throat. Finally, the family sat down at the table, all seven of them, shoveling food into their mouths and talking about all things from the homily to the upcoming football season. Michael, however, had nothing to say of the Crimson Tide and their chances for a win tonight, he felt better with food in his stomach, but still carefully avoided looking Stone’s way.

  Clearing his throat, he spoke up, “Father, what do you think about the Zealots?”

  The sudden shift to such a dismal topic nearly set him aback, until he remembered the mask. “They’re excommunicated from the Church. Why do you ask?” His face brightened with a smile. “Hope you’re not thinking of enlisting.” He let out lighthearted laughter, as he went for another fork full of food.

  “What church?” Stone mumbled tearing apart a slice of bread.

  “Hm?” the priest probed, unsure of what the young man said.

  “What church are you talking about?” his voice rattled quickly and breathlessly with irritation. “You said that the Zealots are not in accordance. I’m asking you with what church, exactly?”

  “Stone!” Michael scolded, gritting his teeth.

  “No, I want to know what church he is speaking of,” Stone responded, whipping his head towards Michael. “Pardon me if I don’t understand, having had Masses in living rooms my entire life. What church is there?” he questioned louder, this time, for everyone at the table. Maria gasped.

  “The people that were here earlier. The very people at this table -- we are the Church, son. But, there must be millions out there, holding mass in their own homes with their own priest just as we have. And believe it or not, we still have a pope and bishops, although they’re all in hiding.”

  “You know, I’ve never even once stepped foot inside a cathedral or parish for Mass. They’ve all been destroyed and the ones that remain have been made into places of blasphemy. There’s no visible Church and with the absentee we have as a pope, I’m not sure what sort of accordance anyone has at all. Our faith is dwindling and the only people who seem to give a damn are the Zealots -- the terrorists -- so y’all call them.” He threw his silverware down on the table and the silence filled the room like a giant. Michael nearly popped, gripping his napkin tightly. The only reason he hadn’t had pounced on Stone already was wearing a collar and sitting across from him. All, except for Michael, Stone, and Father Burns left the table; the three of them remained quiet, gathering their thoughts.

  “Son, you can’t lose hope. And, don’t think for a second that terrorism is the answer. Zealots haven’t done anything, but further disgrace the Church and the message of Christ.”

  “It is a just war, that Zealots fight,” Stone retorted.

  Father Burns looked at him, his heart ached for the weary young man.

  “How’s it any different from what our ancient saints and heroes have done? They were killers, ‘zealots’ -- they were the terrorists of their times. If it weren’t for their bloodshed, we wouldn’t have any knowledge of Christ. We’d have even less hope than we have tonight.”

  “‘The gates of hell, shall never prevail’ and they never have, son. History books are filled to the brim with man’s hatred for God and his people. Yet we always rise more powerful than ever. He protects us.” Michael nodded his head in agreement with the priest.

  “But you are disregarding the very things that kept hell at bay…the vigilante…the knight…the crusader.” Stone laughed at the two men sitting with him. “All of Europe would have been named Mohammed long ago if something hadn’t been done. Why do you still fail to understand this?”

  “Stone,” Michael said, trying to reason with him, “I promise you, if they came for us, if they slaughtered our people in the streets, I would be the first to join you in the fight. As of now, however, there hasn’t been anything quite so violent. We’ve been taxed, that’s all; and, so we now meet secretly.”

  Stone fumed in his seat, twiddling his thumbs and tearing at the ends of his nails.

  “They have murdered us,” Stone started to rebut. “Haven’t you ever read about the plague that wreaked havoc just forty years ago?” Looking to the priest, he continued, “Have you forgotten? Everything between both Tropics was decimated. Billions died. You think this was an accident? It just so happened that the nations that supposedly contributed most to climate change were scrubbed from the earth. Not to mention, that the majority of the Church lived within those regions.”

  Michael considered the thought momentarily, looking to the priest for a response. The old man remembered it all very well. His eyes covered with sadness, thinking back to the horrific things that he had seen in those days, and the countless prayers
that he made without answers. He thought back to a time when he stood just beyond the quarantine line that separated the healthy nation from the starved and contaminated people, unable to escape their fate. Father Burns had led a team down to the gate one summer, when the plague was at its peak of destruction. The congregation stood as close to the gate as allowed, only a mile from the plagued masses. From that distance, they could easily hear their cries and wailing. It sounded like the torment deep in the pits of Hell. He stayed there for many weeks, watching the bodies pile and children sitting next to their deceased parents.

  “I cannot condemn what I do not know.” The priest’s voice cracked with tears forming in his eyes.

  “I think it’s very clear, sir,” Stone responded coldly to the water dripping from the priest’s eyes. “Are you also going to withhold judgement on them for sterilizing us? No one’s been able to conceive naturally, for what? Fifteen years?”

  “That’s enough, Stone,” Michael barked.

  “You must not have been paying attention, old man,” Stone continued, completely disregarding Michael’s warning. “It’s just a matter of time before they actually choke the life out of us. Those whores and bastards are in the streets at this very hour calling for the heads of you and yours.”

  It was at that moment that an already riled Michael leapt towards his cousin and brought him to the ground. Many curses rang out through the house as they scuffled along the dining room floor. Michael pressed his weight into his cousin, gaining the advantage and began swinging his fists in a blur. Again and again heavy hands landed against Stone’s face, spilling blood over his brow.

  Father Burns, shocked, attempted to stop them in vain. He watched them tumble, crying out, “Someone…John…help me!” He shouted beyond the dining room doorway. John quickly descended from the stairs, having heard the commotion. Confused, he sprinted towards the two men fighting upon the floor and forcefully placed his arms around Michael, dragging him off of the young man lying bloodied on the floor. John held Michael back as Stone scurried from the ground, running directly out the backdoor and into the inky darkness of the night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The STORK building overlooked the entire city, it was the highest and most beautifully structured skyscraper in all of Birmingham. Since STORK was founded in that city, it provided a great deal of economic dynamics to it. Just a century before STORK’s grand opening, the city had been all but abandoned. Now, the monolithic tower reflected everything from the ground up in its gloriously shining blue glass. Its massive presence nearly disappeared into the cloudless sky.

  Isaac’s eyes followed it from its base until he could no longer see beyond the countless windows that rose above him. He, a man of considerable height, was filled with abundant humility at that moment. He marveled at the near-miraculous feat wrought by the faceless structural engineers who had designed it. Isaac quickly combed his hand through his hair after catching his own gaze in the ground floor entrance while opening the door for his wife, Susan.

  She stepped through the entrance, her long, well-toned legs carrying her at a fast pace in sparkling white stilettos. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to her and the lush red curls that tumbled past her shoulders, bringing to attention, to the porcelain beauty of her face. She had striking green eyes with a strangely catlike character to them and pupils as small as pinholes. She glanced about the kiosk, never showing too much interest in anyone who greeted her. Isaac, handsome as he was from his well-groomed, flaxen hair to his chillingly blue eyes, never received much notice from anyone at all when he followed her.

  “Welcome to STORK, Mrs. Lewis,” said a young effeminate man from behind the marbled desk. “If you’ll take the elevator to the fortieth floor, your consultant will be there to greet you.”

  Susan quickly stepped away from him without any words, her face tilted up high towards the open air. Isaac thanked the young man before grabbing several mints from the bowl and scurrying off after his wife who had already stepped onto the opening elevator. She had no problem entering before the leaving parties exited the elevator either. After all, they had already finished their business and hers was much more important.

  “Pick up your pace, love,” she demanded quietly to Isaac. “We haven’t got all day. I want to make an excellent first impression.” She had an almost imperceptible fierceness to her quiet tone as she reminded him of this. The ride in the sleek, gold-trimmed elevator seemed to take forever. Susan puckered her lips and fixed the crimson lipstick with a handkerchief she pulled from her bag.

  “It’s gonna be fine.”

  “Please, remove that mint from your mouth. Your speech will sound peculiar and I can’t bear the sound of it rattling against your teeth.” Her words sliced at him constantly, never without complaint. “Spit it out now.” Her eyes darted in his direction.

  “I don’t have anything to spit into, honey,” he told her, trying to savor his last moments with the sweet wintergreen sensation that covered his tongue.

  “Spit it out on the floor, for all I care,” she commanded, waiting to hear the thud of the mint landing on the ground. Isaac did as told, shamed and secretly enraged, biting his tongue as always.

  The elevator door opened and, as promised, a woman with bluish tinted hair stood waiting. The consultant smiled, reached her hand out to Susan, and said, “Welcome, Lewis family!” She exploded with enthusiasm, catching Isaac completely off guard. “I’m Jocelyn, I’ll be your guide on this journey. If you follow me to my office, we’ll get things started.”

  Cubicles, constructed of bamboo and glass, occupied most of the floor space. Brilliantly colored lights in hues of orange and red mixed with the usual white lights to give the area a warm atmosphere. Office plants cast shadows along the walls and ceiling. It reminded Isaac of a jungle, void of wild animals and dirt -- an office space paradise, ringing phones and computer beeps replacing the bird songs and insect chirps.

  …

  “Here we are,” she said, guiding them with her hand into her office. The sun lit the area with its bright, golden light. Through the window, Isaac could view the entire city -- from the iron Vulcan upon the hill to the historical northside that glimmered in rustic radiance.

  Isaac and Susan took their seats promptly. “Would either of you like a beverage? Water, seltzer, or coke?”

  “We will have two waters, thank you,” Susan answered for them both, letting out a smile. Isaac liked the sound of a fizzling and chilled coke, but wouldn’t dare change his wife’s order. Within moments, a man appeared to place two glasses of water and a pitcher on the table that sat between their chairs. He poured both glasses and bowed out as he left, closing the translucent door behind him.

  The consultant took a seat at her desk. A few cheesy family photos of her, another woman, and a set of toddlers sat in frames on top of her workspace. The office walls displayed artwork depicting storks piercing through cumulus clouds and delivering children to giddy recipients. The subjects in the paintings appeared androgynous, even the babies -- no pinks or blues -- only a harmonious mixture of the two. Isaac chewed the side of his cheek, studying them momentarily. The stork seemed to exude a perpetual joy or bliss, as he did his job, delivering these children. Isaac never had the opportunity to take care of an infant before, but he was well read and watched many films. which never made the pretense that traveling with a child is painless or easy. Susan, on the other hand, usually the more pragmatic of the two, soaked up the reality portrayed in the paintings. Isaac could see she bought into the idea of tearless babies and an infinity of smiles and wonder.

  “So, Susan and Isaac, I hear y'all are thinking of having a baby?” Jocelyn smiled, as her biometrics unlocked her desktop. The display was only a sheet of glass, colored with images and words on the viewer’s side, but completely transparent from the visitor’s perspective.

  “Yes, we’ve been waiting for quite a while, getting our finances in order and remodeling the house. It has been a very busy few years for us,” Susa
n replied, reaching out to Isaac for the first time that day, rubbing the top of his forearm.

  “Yes, we’re very excited.”

  “Have y'all browsed online for anything in particular?”

  “Browsed?” asked Isaac, realizing he was quite unprepared for the meeting. Susan was the one who studied the options and day-dreamed, perpetually, of her future child.

  “We’ve looked every night,” she quickly answered over her husband. “There’s just so many possibilities to weigh. I’m not sure what will suit us best.”

  “Well, that’s definitely something I can help with.” Jocelyn projected her screen against the wall behind her, so they could see it. “We offer a plethora of packages, sorted by race, gender, combos, and even twin packages, which, as you can see, is what my wife and I selected,” she explained, pointing to the family photos on her desk.

  “They’re beautiful!” Pretending to care, she asked, “What are their names?”

  “Adrianna on the left, there, and to the right is Fiona. Women only in our house,” she laughed. “Technically, they are twins. Their faces are perfect reflections of one another, but aside from their symmetry, they share nothing. We chose to make one contrast the other by their coloring. STORK can deliver any child you could possibly imagine.”

  Susan looked closer at the photos on the woman’s desk. She could see that one of the toddlers had black skin, darker than the night sky, white hair, and blue eyes just as bright as Isaac’s. Her sister was an exact opposite; she had black hair, skin as white as cotton, and hazel eyes that seemed more golden than brown.

  “That’s incredible,” Susan remarked, truly interested. “And they were born this way?”

  “Yes, their genes were altered as they developed alongside each other in the lab, where they were closely monitored until birth. You can choose to have them favor your own genes though, if you’d like.” The consultant’s face became slightly soured as she continued, “We offer that as well, in the basic package.” An image of the package showed on the wall; generic child faces covered it. Crooked teeth, poor clothing, and unimpressive proportions they all had.