Clean, lovely youths like the ones she’d seen at Walmart were doling out pamphlets and hugs in equal measure—an army of khaki pleats, blue shirts and good manners. Could one of these holy assholes have fucked with her engine? It was hard to imagine any of them even knowing how, but if not them, then who?
Joan squinted but could see no sign of the Reverend yet. Or Cecile. Were they together right now? Was she bent over a table of collection plates backstage, her khaki skirt shimmied up over her hips, panties down to her white Keds with Victor behind her?
“Can I offer you some good news, sister?”
A helper was coming toward them holding out a pamphlet. She didn’t recognize him, but he was beaming away at her and wore the blue shirt emblazoned with a small, white cross where an alligator or polo player should be. He was so clearly without malice, she found herself smiling back.
Zeus took the handout from him, saying, “Sure, I can use some good news,” and turned into a row of chairs. Joan followed.
“Have a great service,” the helper called after them.
Zeus sat and Joan settled beside him. He said, “Man, it smells weird in here. Like farts and gym shoes,” as he handed over the pamphlet. Joan gave him a nudge with her elbow and told him to shush.
She glanced at the front of the pamphlet, where, on a blue background decked with a bedazzled cross, were the words The Ministry of the New Redemption.
Inside were pictures of people who looked like they came from a stock photo search for “Indians: smiling, laughing.” There were babies in frills and twin boys and old men in camouflage vests. The women were drinking tea together, the grannies with their kerchiefs tied under the bulbs of their chins, and the children were running carefree through tall grass or having their cheeks pinched. There was a whole panel featuring professionals measuring brightly coloured liquids in beakers, or holding clipboards, or speaking in front of other professionals with a screen in the background that said PROGRESS in bold letters.
She read the entire block of text:
THE MNR’S STATEMENT OF FAITH
We believe that the Bible is the only authoritative and undeniable True Word of God for all persons on Earth.
We believe in the resurrection of the saved into everlasting life in Heaven and the resurrection of the unsaved into everlasting punishment in Hell.
We believe in Christ’s Commission to the Church to go into all the world and preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to every creature.
We worship Jesus Christ, not other spirits, or totems, or animals.
We do not condone any other forms of spirituality or belief.
“Who the hell is worshipping animals,” she muttered to Zeus. He sniggered and a woman with a thin cloud of auburn hair turned around to stare at them. Joan smiled weakly and then concentrated on carefully refolding the pamphlet.
The room was almost full now, which was impressive considering the scant population of the area. She heard a flurry of whispers behind her and turned to see what was happening.
Heiser was happening, making an entrance looking confident in his grey suit, shaking his heavy gold watch down his wrist to give it a quick check. (Stock photo search results for “white businessman.”) The helpers lined up like obedient kindergartners in front of him to receive a hearty handshake that shook their narrow shoulders and set the teeth in their smiles chattering.
“It’s fucking Heiser,” she whispered to Zeus.
Zeus lifted his eyebrows, watching the man clapping backs and hugging girls, then crossed himself.
Cecile jogged out from the darkness at the side of the stage and down the aisle to take her spot at the end of Heiser’s greeting line. When she stopped, she fluttered her hand at her chest, as if willing it to stop heaving, then smoothed her long, blonde braid. Joan narrowed her eyes. She hated Cecile. Youthful, helpful Cecile with her thick hair and thigh gap. Together she and Heiser walked down the aisle, shaking a few more hands, clapping a few more backs, and took seats a few rows behind them.
A high, lonely note from an organ snaked up into the ruching of the ceiling, and exploded in a flurry of lower notes. The crowd hushed, the music clicking off their conversations like a switch had been thrown. Those still by the door found seats and the organ went on for several minutes in brilliant suspension. Even Joan’s non-believing heart swelled with each new chord.
And then, cued by a sudden joyous burst of instrumental hallelujahs, the beautiful Reverend Wolff walked on stage.
“Holy shit,” Zeus said. “It is Victor!”
Auburn halo turned around and scowled, one swollen finger against her pink lips, though shutting him up didn’t make much sense since the audience had gone wild, clapping and shouting and stomping their feet. For a split second Joan was proud that this man was hers, before she remembered that he wasn’t, not anymore.
He held up a palm to quiet them, and when they fell silent, he launched right in, reciting the belief statement straight from the pamphlet as a few dozen other voices joined in.
She felt stuck somewhere between lust and disgust. He was still tall and lean and strong, that much was obvious even under the nice suit, but he moved like a man who had just learned how to move, not like Victor at all. Victor swaggered.
After a shout-out to the volunteers, the Reverend moved to the front of the stage and addressed them all as if they were sharing a private conversation.
“My friends, as Indigenous peoples, we are uniquely positioned. As stewards of our land, we are burdened with an evil that is buried within it, but also gifted with the blessed good of it all.”
People nodded in response.
“This evil that lies in wait has been called into being by the decisions that our forefathers made to turn away from the Lord, to shun His word, to renounce Him and all He stands for.”
Oh, the ugly bullshit coming out of his beautiful mouth.
The crowd swayed when he moved his hands to punctuate his message. They leaned forward when he whispered and stamped their feet when he shouted, like he was conducting them out of confusion and into certainty, speaking each note directly, pulling sound from the quietest string.
“We have allowed ourselves to be led astray. Some of us in this room have followed false teachings, worshipped false gods.” He smiled then, holding his palms up. “I’m not angry with you. I know you were told that’s what we must do, to communicate with these weaker spirits, these so-called totems. We are told we have animal helpers, that the ghosts of demigods and ancestors live in our homes, that we belong to clans named for earthly creatures. I was once like you, led astray. I was lost. And my friends, that wrong worship, that pagan way of life, is exactly what laid me to waste—what has led our people, our good people, to waste. And because of it, we fell into a time of degradation and great poverty. Why have we, among all God’s men, suffered so greatly? Why have we been left behind when it comes to enjoying the riches of His bounty? Why are our youth dying, our men in prisons at such a high rate, our women being murdered and going missing? We are paying for the sins of our fathers.”
He paced the edge of the stage, pausing to make sure his words hit their mark. As they rippled out across each row, they burrowed where they could, chipped a surface where they could not. Finding some lack in their response, he doubled down until sweat glistened on his smooth forehead.
“Your so-called community leaders have been agents for a much darker power. They have led you away from the light with simple distractions. Like children, we have allowed ourselves to be distracted. A drum is not a heartbeat—only the heart God gave you can beat the right way. A sweat lodge will not cleanse you—only confessing to God can do that.
“We have been given inadequate tools and faulty plans and told we must build ourselves up. Why? Because Satan rejoices in it. What better entertainment for the beast than to watch a broken people struggle with broken tools? Especially when God has already provided a house for us—when He has promised to feed and love and protect us. What a joke
!”
He watched the crowd for a long moment, walking the edge of the stage, his arms thrown open.
“It’s a joke that I don’t think is very funny. Not as a First Nations man of God. No, not at all. Why, brothers and sisters, would you worship an animal or put faith in a feather when Jesus has given you a path to the One True God who created every animal Himself?”
The crowd shouted back to him “Yes!” and “Amen!”
“Before, we were broken. Before, we were in pieces. We were fractured and separated from the truth. And now? Now we have the whole and the holy.” He drew a circle in the air and when his hands met at the bottom, he laced his fingers together in prayer.
“These lands were given to us by the Lord Himself,” he insisted. “They are ours to live on and prosper from. This entire wilderness is ours for the very purpose of celebrating and honouring the glory of God. He is the answer to our poverty, for how can we know poverty in His love? And in return we need to dedicate our success and wellbeing to His holy light.”
The assembly raised their palms to the roof, waving them like heavy buds on thin stalks.
“This entire empire of wild is ours in order that we may rejoice in His name.”
As the whole crowd climbed to their feet to shout their praises, the helpers moved to steady the feeble and the very old so that they, too, could stand, arms raised, hearts open.
“We must build churches, new homes, better schools, thriving businesses—all in His name. This is how we move forward. This is how we heal.”
“Heal from what?” Zeus said. He and Joan were the only ones still seated, though Joan felt like a bee was buzzing around her ear. She ran a hand over her hair and grabbed her earlobe. Still the feeling remained. She turned around in her seat.
There was Heiser, two rows back, standing with the rest of the crowd. At his shoulder was Cecile. They both offered her smiles that didn’t come close to reaching their light eyes. As hundreds of voices joined in a great swell of song, Joan stared at Cecile, who shifted her gaze to the stage, then closed her eyes and opened her mouth to sing.
Heiser didn’t join in. He kept his eyes on Joan, like they were alone together in a wooden boat with uneven flooring and uncomfortable folding seats, surrounded by rhythmic waves of song.
This man knew what she had come for. And despite the fear that scuttled around her guts at that realization, she knew that if he was so attuned to her, she must be a threat. Her chest puffed out under the thin, red coat. She couldn’t be ignored. She had to be feared. As the song ended in the final crash, she was the one to smile at him. And then she mouthed the words I know. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she turned back around, satisfied that she had at least unsettled him. She imagined the dark hair on his arms bristling.
The people surrounding her and Zeus were now gleaming with fervour, eyes on the Reverend, chins up, their faces tilted to the cross as if it were the very sun in the sky.
Satisfied, the Reverend sat down in his plush chair and opened the worn Bible with Victor’s long fingers. The assembly sat too, chairs squeaking on the floor. He stayed quiet a moment as people settled, regarding them like a preschool teacher at storytime, an uncommonly attractive preschool teacher, and then he opened the pages and read:
Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live…
He barely glanced at the page as he spoke, planting each word row by row, carefully enunciating the peaks, rumbling through the tender bits. He turned the page and continued without pause:
…and I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David. Behold, I made him a witness to the peoples, a leader and commander for the peoples. Behold, you shall call a nation that you do not know, and a nation that did not know you shall run to you, because of the Lord your God, and of the Holy One of Israel, for he has glorified you.
Joan was anxious. She hated this cheap version of Victor, filled with so many lies. She couldn’t sit still any longer. She pushed back her chair so she could stand, and it scraped the floor with a loud squeal. The Reverend raised his eyes for a moment and saw her. She leaned into staring back, holding his gaze so that he couldn’t sweep it away.
He faltered, as if he didn’t know Christ came after Jesus, and glanced down at the book open in front of him, scanning the lines to find his place. Joan was tempted to glance back at Heiser, but she dared not look away from the man on the stage in case he looked at her again.
He picked up the passage in a different spot, haltingly. When he looked back up, his eyes were wild, jumping over the faces turned toward him, searching for something or someone. Joan stayed standing so he couldn’t ignore her. The Reverend dropped the Bible and rose. The crowd started to murmur as he put a hand on the back of the chair to steady himself.
He tried to clear his throat, then said, “Uh, sorry. I ah, I need…water…” He stumbled to the side of the stage and pushed through the curtains.
After he left, it seemed like the crowd woke up, slowly and together. Some stretched, others yawned and a few bent-walked along their rows to the aisle and then out the tent flap to visit the porta-potties, trying to remain small so as not to be disrespectful. Whatever spell the Reverend had woven was broken.
“What now?” Zeus whispered.
Joan turned around. Cecile was gone but Heiser was still there. She smiled at him again, making the kind of full-on jackass face that would precipitate fistfights with her brothers when they were growing up. Heiser only sighed and, pulling a phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, began typing furiously.
Then Cecile was back, leaning over to whisper into his ear, and he got up and followed her up the aisle. They walked quickly to the front and disappeared behind the curtains to the left of the stage. A minute later, a blond ministry volunteer stepped out onto the stage with a handheld microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to take a ten-minute break,” he announced. “Rest assured the Reverend is just fine. Please feel free to step out for some fresh air or to visit with your fellow worshippers until he returns. Bless you all.”
There was polite clapping. Then people got up and obediently headed for the exit.
“We gotta get to him,” Joan said.
“Okay,” Zeus said. “Should we just go back there?”
“We’ve got to try.”
Joan started down the aisle. Zeus stayed right behind her, but he asked a little shakily, “Auntie, is it a good idea to try and grab Victor now, with everyone around?”
“All we have to do is remind him he’s Victor. Then hopefully he’ll come along without the grabbing part.”
“Can I help you?” A red-headed volunteer blocked their way through the curtains. She winked at Joan and whispered, “Porta-potties are outside, on the far side of the parking lot, darlin’.”
“We’re here to see the Reverend.”
“Well, aren’t we all,” the young woman said and giggled. “He should be back out in a jiffy. In the meantime, help yourself to some coffee and biscuits.” She pointed back to refreshment tables by the main entrance.
“He’s my uncle,” Zeus said, stepping around Joan. “He’s expecting me.”
“Oh okay, then.” She put a hand on Zeus’s arm to stop him. “Let me just pop back and let him know you’re here.”
“Uncle!” Zeus shouted. “Uncle, it’s me, Zeus!”
Her cheeks went pink. “Just one minute, please.” She disappeared behind the curtain.
“Thanks,” he called to her back. He tossed his head to move his bangs off his forehead and then straightened his heavy-framed glasses on his nose.
The curtains parted and instead of the redhead, Cecile s
tepped forward. Joan squeezed the back of Zeus’s neck.
“Oh, hello, Joan. I thought it might be you.” She didn’t bother to smile.
“Cecile.”
“Reverend Wolff is not feeling well. You’re gonna have to wait until the conclusion of service if you want to chat.” She glanced at Zeus. “Like everyone else.”
“Lady, I want to see my uncle now.” Zeus took another step forward. He was barely an inch shorter than Cecile when he straightened to his full height.
She flipped her eyes from Joan to the boy. “That’s sweet. You need to wait too.” Something in Cecile’s hard stare made him retreat behind his aunt. She smirked and called over her shoulder, “Marvin?”
A young man with a buzz cut came through the curtains. He was much taller than they were and seemed almost as wide as he was tall. Cecile told him, “Can you please ensure that no one disturbs the Reverend? He needs his privacy right now.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Cecile picked a piece of lint off Marvin’s bright blue shirt. “Thank you so much. We appreciate your vigilance.” Then she turned back to Zeus and Joan, folding her arms across her chest.
“Come on, Zeus,” Joan said, and they walked back up the aisle.
“I probably could take that guy,” Zeus muttered, but he was right on her heels. “What do we do now? Wait, like she said?”
Joan led them straight out the entrance into the cool dark of the field. “It’s a tent,” she said to Zeus. “How fucking hard could it be to break in?”
They turned the corner away from the worshippers, who were now huddled in groups outside, and jogged down the side of the tent, looking for entry points. The generators were loud back here. The interior lights made the canvas wall glow. To their right a line of dark trees turned into forest, quiet in the way only the woods at night can be.
“Did you hear that?” Zeus hissed from behind her.
“What?”
“Stop!” He sounded scared.
Joan turned to him. “What’s the matter?”
Empire of Wild Page 10
