by Peter Foley
Unsynchronized and from underneath wet towels, three hundred heads nod in approval.
“Of course, we also have the company of an unfortunate young man who was run down by a car outside Salvation’s door. I will be visiting him in due time. Thank goodness for our medical supplies. As the west coast of America is washed away and while the ecosystem is getting all fucked up we can sit here with a million dollars’ worth of medical supplies. We could withstand a nuclear fallout, ladies and gentlemen, we have so many miracles.
“Speaking of miracles… I was thinking the other day about a few services back when a man came to me, and just to show you that there is nothing lost in this consciousness, brother Aiden, back there, you were concerned about something that was lost?”
A man stands and nods to the Pastor.
“You were concerned that you lost something miles and miles away. I can tell you that today my spirit retrieved it for you, come and take it.”
The Pastor produces a gold credit card from inside his gown. He shows it to the air then taps it on the lectern and holds it out for Aiden to collect. As Aiden takes the card, the crowd interrupts one another with cries of “Oh yeah”, “Oh golly” and “Praise be!”
“You see, nothing can be lost in this consciousness. Do you understand the mystery? Do you understand my power? I see all, I know all. Did you hear that? I see all. I know all. Let that sink in and let me tell you this – if you don’t need a God, I’m no harm to you.”
Low yells of “Yeah” and “Preach” follow in the Pastor’s vocal riptide.
“But if you do need a God, I, personally, will edge out your Sky God, no problem. Do you understand what I’m saying? Let me explain – does any other church have love? Those other preachers, did they deliver you to Salvation tonight? Do they have buses? Have they given you a home? Have they given you any help? Do they go into the court and the jail and set you free?”
“No!” shout many voices.
“What about Sky God? Did Sky God Jesus – did he do any of those things for you?”
The Pastor pounds the lectern.
“No!” he shouts. “I’m the only one that will help you because I’m the only one who cares about you! I’m the only one that loves you! There is only one hope, only one glory and that is me! Your Father. And to those in need of a Sky God I spit on ye bible and cast out its word.”
The crowd is mute. The Pastor picks up the open Bible off his lectern and lifts it high and demonstrates it to the crowd, then with his eyes bulging and his nostrils flared like a horse about to throw off its rider, he lowers the Bible to his chin. Lifting his head, he throws his face towards the page and spits on the printed words with exaggerated, emotionally suffused extravagance. The motionless crowd watch as he extends his arm back and launches the Bible down the aisle. It flies six feet before it bounces along the floor once, then twice before finally coming to rest at the feet of the congregation.
“You see! Nobody’s going to come out of the sky!” he yells. “I did not get cast down by lightning bolts! I see that some of you are not aware of what God is! Let me educate you – God is perfect freedom, justice and equality, perfect love. There’s only one thing that can bring perfect freedom, justice and equality and perfect love in all of its beauty – and that thing is me!”
“Hell yeah!” says one voice from the pews. To Hazel’s astonishment, claps and yells spark from all quarters, a few stand with a violent sense of agreement. The Pastor’s voice grows in power and his words fall like granite.
“I have come to make one final dissolution! One final elimination of all religions! And until I have eradicated them from the face of the earth, I shall do all the miracles that you said your God will do and never did! I shall come and heal you all of the diseases that you pray to be healed, but never are. You have also seen all the gifts and faculties of a woman who could not see and is now healed. All that I do is done to remove all the images of the condescending saviors that you have. All the symbols of the heavens, the judgment halls and the Sky God consciousness; I will eliminate it from the opinions of people, so you recognize finally and completely that there is no Sky God!”
The Pastor lifts his hands, commanding the crowd to cheer. They do so with pleasure and the applause rings long. Finally, he goes on in full throat, distorting the loudspeakers. His delivery is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, his fervor grows swollen and outrageous.
“It is written that ye are Gods – I’m a God and you’re a God! So, I’m a God, and I’m going to stay a God until you recognize that you’re a God – and when you recognize you’re a God, I will disappear, but until then I’m going to be very much what I am – GOD ALMIGHTY GOD!”
The crowd is a wash of emphatic noise. The Pastor takes a breath but quickly continues.
“And I must say it is a great effort to be God, I would wish it upon another, but no one else has the faculty that I do. When they do, I shall gladly hold their coat, but until then I am God. And I will have no other Gods before me. Beside me there shall be no other. As my rage purifies the land outside these walls, I will keep you safe inside my Salvation, because I am God and this is my Temple!”
He raises a fist, the crowd cheer. The Pastor has brought his crowd to a successful, frothing frenzy, to ecstasy, but in the front row stands a lonely, frightened figure in the mass of rhapsody: Little Miss Rosie Porter. Like she has done at almost every sermon throughout her young life, she bows her little head and frowns. The Pastor glares at her.
After witnessing the sermon in its entirety, Hazel starts to consider her luck, and all the things it has brought her because now, at first reaction, luck is all she has to blame for this. She places the blame for this situation on the very same force that, at other times, had spilled coffee down her blouse or stubbed her toe or forgot to set her morning alarm. To Hazel, this new scene is a clear indication that not only had luck deserted her, but it actually hated her. She purses her lips and widens her eyes so much they almost turn into exclamation points. She looks up at the gray cobwebbed ceiling and mutters the only words she can find to express herself.
“What. The. Fuck.”
15
The first impression is always the right one
The Common Room has none of the Sermon Hall’s aged elegance. It is, however, bigger, and set out with two parallel rows of wooden tables and chairs that are made from the roughest sturdiest looking timber by an inexperienced craftsman. At the far end of the room, between two large loudspeakers, a band plays. The Common Room is full of people; some stand, some play games and talk while a most simply sit and listen to the music.
An elderly man in a brown suit jacket and a charcoal flat cap runs his fingers over the keys of an electric piano. The clean white china sound clinks and chimes in sympathy with his cheery mellow mood. A younger man creates a wash of rhythm on a small drum set while an electric guitarist and a bass player fill the gaps. Eleven-year-old Karis Fletcher is on lead vocals. This song is her favorite, it’s a version of “You Are So Beautiful”. She replaces the words “You are” with the words “Salvation is”.
Inside Salvation, you can’t hear the outside world. No sound encroaches, no patter of rain, no boom of thunder and no rushing of winds. In the dim light of the Common Room, you can almost imagine this little girl’s voice has calmed the hurricane. The listening women watch Karis and occasionally wipe a tear from their cheeks. In the middle of the room, some men provide a rough counterpoint to the peaceful melody thanks to a game of dominoes. While they slap tiles hard on the tabletop and haw at each other, some children draw with colored pencils on single sheets of paper.
The room is warm, a little too warm, thanks to the heat escaping from the kitchen, which is adjacent to the stage. A peek through the serving hatch facing the Common Room shows a busy cook at work. The excess of heat brings the smell of simmering food as a consolation. Details of tonight’s menu are pinned to the wall:
Tonight’s meal will be rice, peas and carrots.
One scoop per person.
Hungry eaters with plates in hand approach the sign then tut. Hazel hears the conversation between three people at the kitchen’s serving hatch, which concludes with. “No meat tonight, the Pastor says so. Maybe tomorrow.”
That’s fine for Hazel, she’s already decided she isn’t hungry for the church’s food or company. She’s made no observance of the room, aside from locating a faraway seat to sit in and overhearing that conversation on her way in. Once seated, she doesn’t see the domino players slapping tiles onto the raw timber tabletops, she doesn’t notice the open-mouthed laughter from the thick spectacled lady on the table opposite and she’s quite unconscious to the amplified sound of the singer’s voice. She’s preoccupied with two things: her phone and its lack of signal. A towel covers her shoulders, the nails of her left hand tap the tabletop and she mutters to herself in a low breath. Anxiety twists inside her and the embers of a dreadful recognition begin to glow.
“You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had,” says a voice from a seat opposite.
“Try me.” She bunches her shoulders and folds her arms.
The voice leans in. “My day, if you’ll allow me, started this morning when I learned a big hurricane was coming towards America and this hurricane, likely to cause large scale devastation, was pointing straight at me. I think I may have been the last person to hear the news. Then I met a woman. I think she’s crazy – I’ve no idea where she is now,” he pauses to rise up from his chair to look around the room, “then I hit a man with my car, terrible thing that. Then I met a mad pastor, pastor? Is that the word? Pastor? Anyway, I met this mad pastor and watched him throw a book across a room. And now I’m here. That’s my day so far, but the night is young and there’s still plenty of time to fuck it up. I’m Drew. You?”
“Hazel.” She relaxes her shoulders and unfolds her arms. She continues in short form. “I’ll save you the time, you probably recognize me from TV.”
“I don’t watch TV, it’s too much of a commitment.” Drew yawns into his hand. “So what are you in for?”
“I’m a meteorologist and although I’ve known about the hurricane for weeks I somehow ended up on the crazy bus with people like you.”
“HA! Yeah, that’s pretty stupid,” says Drew. “At least I have ignorance as an excuse.” He casts a quick eye over Hazel’s sullen, soaked form, paying special attention to her vexed, deep azure eyes. “So, some hurricane, huh?” He adds, “How about dinner?”
“What about it?”
“What about what?”
Hazel sighs and turns her attention back to her phone.
Drew frowns. “Hold on. What do you mean by ‘people like you’?”
“No offense.”
Drew watches her for a moment, observing her upturned lip and tight jaw. Despite her tense demeanor her face is elegant and defined. Her hair, long and wet, flows over one shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Drew says. “I don’t mean to be insincere; I always make a terrible first impression. Let me start again. My name is Drew, I’m thirty-two, a DJ, formerly of Liverpool, England. Can I sit with you for a while?”
Hazel’s austerity relaxes into curiosity. “Sure, why not,” she says, sliding away her phone. “So, Drew of Liverpool, England, you told me how you ended up here tonight, but how did you end up in California in the first place?”
“Now that’s a story. I’ll start at the beginning – first I was a DJ, then I moved to California – oh, I suppose that’s the end. I thought that story was longer. In any case, hopes and dreams brought me here, hopes and dreams and other expensive frivolities.”
“That’s an old story in this town, it’s full of hopes and dreams, but they’re not frivolities.”
Drew narrows his eyes and teases Hazel with a smile. “But that is what they are: frivolities, pure folly for both men and women, old and young, for all races on earth. Hopes and dreams aren’t good things, they keep you up at night, they make you worry, they make you ill.”
“I suppose next you’ll tell me that charity is for suckers, ambition is for losers and love makes you nauseous.”
“Nah. I’ve thought about love. I can’t shake the idea that love is a marriage between hopes and dreams, and love is, in fact, nothing but a weapon. Think about it, if you were to look at all of humanity, at all of its history, and place on one side of a scale all the good that love has done, and then on the other side place all the suffering that love has caused, you’d find a very uneven balance. Love is responsible for more human suffering than cancer and nuclear bombs combined, because they’re all made worse by love.”
Hazel turns a cheek to Drew. “That’s not a very churchy point of view.”
“What?”
Hazel laughs.
Drew laughs, at what he’s not sure. “Perhaps my second impression isn’t better than my first. Just choose the most flattering of the two.”
Hazel looks at him, slowly nodding. “Does everyone in this church think like you?”
“I’ve no idea. You tell me.”
“Oh! I’m not – I thought you were! So you’re not with these people?”
“No, but I did run one of them over,” he says, waving a finger, as if it counted for something.
“That’s terrible.”
“I do feel bad about it, I’m sure I do. I must check on him…”
“Are you sure you’re not crazy? Like these people?”
“What makes you think these people are crazy?”
“Did you hear that sermon earlier? Anyone who follows that guy must be a little, you know…” Hazel rolls her eyes and taps her temple.
“Yeah, I bet he’s crazy.” Drew was beginning to drift off into a distracted thought when, from the middle distance, a familiar voice approaches.
“Hey! Drew! Well, may I say you waste no time making new friends. You better make sure you tell Father!” The voice belongs to Megan, Drew’s neighbor.
“What? Oh, hi!” Drew says, standing up in a hurry. “You made it! Great. Hi, hi, hi. This here is Hazel. Hazel, meet Megan. Megan’s my neighbor. Her house is being swept away as we speak, just like mine.”
Megan shakes her head. “What a day!” She brightens. “So you made it here in one piece, I see, that’s good.”
“Is it?” Drew says.
“Of course, I’m glad you made it here. But I wasn’t joking, Drew. In our church, when you meet someone special you have to declare it to Father first, otherwise people will talk and someone will report you.”
“I’ve literally just met this woman, and report me? I’m not even in this church! What are you even talking about?” Drew frowns.
“I’m teasing but take it as an FYI that in this church, relationships have to be sanctioned to be seen as proper. I’m being selfish in bringing it up really, I only mention it because there’s someone here I like, a lot.”
“Oh, yeah?” sputters Drew.
“Yeah, he’s right here.”
“He is?” interjects Hazel, seeing a flicker in Drew’s eyes.
“Yes he is. I’ve known him from afar for a while, and he’s handsome, a little aloof, and I’m really into him, so tonight I asked Father to green-light our relationship so I can proceed.”
“…And?” asks Drew.
“And, he gave me the go ahead!”
“Congratulations, I’m sure you’ll be very happy together,” Hazel says.
“I think so too. So, Drew, if you would, I’d really like it if you…”
Drew leans forward. “Yes?”
“…I’d really like it if you would meet Huxley. Come here, Huxley.”
As if from nowhere, Megan produces Huxley. “Isn’t he handsome!” She wraps her arms around him. He’s a six-foot-tall clean-shaven man with a large profile, glistening teeth and a thin neck that’s partially obscured by the flicked-up white collars of an otherwise red polo shirt. He stands at Megan’s side with the blank-yet-mobile expression of a man who wants to say something but has no idea of
what that thing is.
“Say hi, Huxley.” Megan smiles.
“Hi.”
Hazel smirks.
“Hi, Huxley…” Drew says, finally. “Boat much? You look like the sailing kind? Good weather for it? Ah, shit, sorry, I’m sobering up.”
“Well, we gotta go and share the good news with everybody.” Megan turns away. “I’ll see you all later!” She finishes with a wave.
Smirking still, Hazel lets a full beat pass. “I guess love is a weapon.”
“Did you just see that? And, for the record, I didn’t say I didn’t like love, it’s just… you know. What does she see in that guy? He looks like a bore, and he’s got the biggest face I’ve ever seen on a man. And he has a moron’s smile, and eyes too.”
“That was great,” Hazel says.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think she likes you very much.”
“What makes you say that?”
“That was a total burn–”
Before Hazel can form the thought fully, a loud cry of “HELP!” comes from across the room. It’s followed by several shouts of “Lord! Oh, Lord!” and “Praise be!” and “Child” from various places.
“Somebody else has heard the news then.” Drew looks over at a commotion near the dance floor.
“I don’t think it’s that.” Hazel springs to her toes. At the other side of the room a crowd is forming a cautious circle. Sitting in the middle, on the floor, is the dull-eyed heavily pregnant teen Hazel sat next to on the bus.
“What’s wrong?” Hazel shouts, running over to the nervous circle.
A film of sweat has formed on the pregnant woman’s brow, through her tightly tensed jaw she appeals to Hazel. “Help! I think my baby is coming!”
