The Shelter

by Peter Foley

  “Yes, we got them and cleaned them for you. They’re almost as good as new. But I’m afraid you won’t be wearing them anytime soon.”

  “What do you mean?” Stephen opens his eyes to the blinding light. He sees a nurse. Shading his view with his hands, he looks down to his feet. He wiggles his toes a little but gets distracted by a plastic tube in his arm. His eyes follow the tube into a bulbous plastic bag of an IV drip. “Am I paralyzed?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that. Don’t worry, I can see your toes move,” the nurse says. He looks down to check for himself, with relief he watches his toes wiggle.

  Images of wet mud, bare feet, car headlights and a gurney flash through his mind all at once. Although he can still see flecks of mud under his fingernails, he realizes someone must have cleaned him up, probably this nurse. She must have also changed him into the white gown he’s wearing.

  “…Good, ’coz I thought I could feel ’em. Thank you for your kindness, nurse. I’ll be getting up now, I need a leak.” He rubs his eyes and tries to focus on the nurse. Below a nurses cap is a plain but not unattractive face. She’s maybe twenty-five, he thinks, and dressed in what looks like a nurse’s uniform, but not a modern one, it’s dated, like a hand-me-down or something found in an old military surplus store. It’s over-washed powder-blue, with darker blue buttons and matching trim around the arms. A white-faced silver clip-on watch dangles from the breast of her shirt, above which sits a name tag that reads “Nurse Chamberlin”. He relaxes and smiles at her as she inspects the bag of his IV drip. Her demeanor is cold and clinical.

  “Like I said, I gotta go pee. Could you point me in the direction of the bathroom?” Stephen lifts his bed covers to get up, but a shock of confusion plants him back down on the mattress. Looking at his legs, he sees he’s immobilized. He looks to the nurse for an explanation.

  “We had to put both your legs in casts. It really was necessary.” She flashes a maniacal smile and a perverse brightness rises in her face as she watches Stephen’s surprise transform into confusion and then into terror. She continues to talk, but he isn’t quite able to listen.

  “It’s all right, I’ve numbed you right out, you can’t feel a thing. You’re a lucky boy. You don’t know how lucky you are. Father’s going to come for you soon.” While she speaks she readies a needle. She checks the chamber of the syringe against the light then in one firm motion she stabs the tip of the needle through the thick plastic wall of his IV bag. She pushes the plunger.

  Moments begin to slip and stutter, the room draws distant. The air in his lungs grows thick and difficult. His ears fill with cotton balls, his hands grope into deep space. He claws at the nurse’s clothes and feels coarse fabric slip between his weakening grasp. Stephen watches his own last conscious moment from a high place as babbling sounds leave his lips; what he’s trying to say he doesn’t know. His body is powerless. The lights above his bed glow dimmer and dimmer, until his willingness to resist fades. Chemicals invade his blood and his mind is overwhelmed.

  SOS. SOS. SOS.

  “Salutations to all within Salvation. This evening’s sermon will be a special one. In ten minutes, everybody must gather in the Sermon Hall to witness a miracle. Tonight, our faith and our father’s power will heal the broken legs of a cripple. That is all.”

  24

  You have been healed

  Every face turns towards a loudspeaker, every eye narrows with the weight of cognition and every hand ceases mid-action, then without a pause, every soul makes their way to the Sermon Hall. It takes only a few brief moments for the room to fill and for a chattering spirit to form. The air in the Sermon Hall is cold. Regardless, a few elderly parishioners fan themselves with a pamphlet they found on their pew. On each seat the same document is waiting to be discovered. Hazel picks up a copy and scans the words printed on the glossy page. “The Sermon of Salvation and Damnation” reads on one side, and on the other it lists “The Rules”:

  1) Do not speak ill of Father

  2) There shall be no gods before Father

  3) Show kindness

  4) Mother is Father’s wife, there will be no jealousy towards her

  5) Report anyone who tries to talk to you about leaving

  6) Report anybody that speaks ill of Father or of Mother or of Salvation

  7) The Planning Committee rules with the will of Father

  Printed along the bottom edge are these words: “Father carries a great burden of Salvation,” and “Father is a mighty power. Thank Father we are here.”

  As the Pastor enters the hall all heads turn to greet him. He smiles and shakes hands as he makes his way down the aisle. A long white scarf hangs from his shoulders. His strong frame, outlined by his black silken gown, shimmers in the light. His broad powerful smile is reflected back in all the faces around him. In his wake walk eight church members, tall and proud. The Pastor eventually takes his place behind the microphone. He pauses for a moment to calm the crowd with nothing more than an expressionless gaze. He signals for little Karis Fletcher to come up to his side and sing.

  The audience, made of people young and old, large and small, fat and thin, wait for the little songbird. In her yellow dress she stands before them with solemn eyes. Her song casts a shadow over the room:

  “Little baby, as you grow old,

  I want you to drink from the plenty cup,

  I want you to stand up tall and proud,

  I want you to speak up clear and loud, my little baby.”

  Accompanied by the soft flat sounding dusty-looking piano, Karis’ delicate melody finds favor as it haunts, fades and leaves a moment of quiet reflection in its place. The Pastor breaks the silence.

  “Dear friends, how I love you.”

  The crowd voice their appreciation in a spontaneous clapping of hands.

  “Today we gather to celebrate a miracle birth. The first child born in our new paradise, in our Salvation. Baby Quincy Jr is a miracle, there can be no doubt. Quincy Jr is pure, and we welcome him to this new world as only we can.”

  More warm applause follows the Pastor’s words as the people embrace his sentiment. Easter stands to show her child. The Pastor calms the room with his hand, he stiffens his posture and grips the lectern’s edge. With glassy eyes and slicked black hair, he’s immaculate.

  “There are things that this beautiful child will never know, and this blessed, precious child will be better for it. He’s born into a perfect land and he will never know that life outside this Temple is hell, and life away from Father’s love is hell, and nothing can be accomplished without Father.”

  A cordial smattering of hands ensues. The Pastor moves on in a warmer voice.

  “As I always tell you, love is a healing remedy. Now, let us fill this room with love. Let our minds be open and our hearts be full.”

  While the crowd stands and greets one another, a puzzled expression appears on the Pastor’s face, as if something has disturbed him.

  “Sister… Sister Clare…” he says with a mood of reconciliation. He peers through the multitude and focuses on one elderly woman in the middle of the room. “Dear sister… I see you have four sons, and your fifth son died of cancer? Is that right?”

  “My second son…” Clare rises to her feet, grasping and knotting the hem of her green floral blouse.

  “I mean, the son who is not living. He who died of cancer? He was studying to be a teacher, wasn’t he? And he was so talented, and you grieved over him. I want you to be at peace, knowing that your son is also safe in your knowing Father’s keeping.”

  “Ooooh, thank you, Father, thank you, Father,” drawls Clare.

  “Now you have grandchildren, and you like to hold them close?”

  “Yes, Father,” Clare says, releasing her clothes from her creasing grip.

  He removes his white scarf and holds it out. “Take this scarf and wear it. It will prevent a heart attack that lies ahead in your future and you shall be saved.”

  Applause, love, and more applau
se resound, bouncing off the walls, the ceiling and the cold floor. Clare takes the scarf and returns to her seat with a tearful face.

  “Ida May Kips,” announces the Pastor, peering about the room, “you’re from Corpus Christi, Texas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your maiden name is ‘Pleasant’? And you say in your mind that you try to live up to that name, but people make it difficult?”

  “Yes.”

  “Father knows the pain you’ve suffered. My spirit was with you when you lost your three cousins, distant cousins, nearly all at the same time.”

  “Yes.”

  “You lost your mother in 2007?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have a pants suit? Two-piece with a gold pattern? You have it with you, you packed it for your trip to Salvation?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m now looking into the future to change events that would have happened to you in your life… Listen to my words – do not wear that pants suit until after the sixteenth of April and be careful. Do not fear, if you do these things and always think about how very, very much your Father loves you, all will be taken care of.”

  Again, the crowd strike their palms. The Pastor allows the noise to linger and mature before he changes tone.

  “I’ve sincerely and conscientiously not only attempted to prove, but I have proven, that you cannot base your faith on the Bible. Do you get what I have just said here? Until something has been proven empirically, whatever your conceptual ideals, you have to make a juxtaposition with reality someplace, so you know by evidence that it’s tested to be real. And today I will give you all more evidence of my power. We have with us an unfortunate poor man who was knocked down by a car right in front of us, right outside the doors of Salvation. We owe it to this man to channel our spirit and heal his body. We owe it to that man. Bring him out here. Bring that man to me.”

  Nurse Chamberlin appears at the back of the room. Her shadow stretches up the aisle and in her shade is a wheelchair. She pushes the chair towards the lectern. The sight of it, or rather its occupant, causes mutters and whispers from all quarters. Those who can’t see stand and point and marvel. Slumped and dressed in white, Stephen sits in the wheelchair. His head is bowed, his arms are limp, his legs, covered with a white sheet, point straight ahead. His eyes are open, but vacant and rolling. The crowd are excited, they know what happens next.

  As Nurse Chamberlin pushes Stephen to the front of the room, Hazel ducks below the attention of the crowd and whispers to Drew, “That’s the guy you hit! He looks bad!”

  “His eyes…” Drew mutters.

  “His legs!” Hazel says.

  The Pastor stokes the energy in the room. “This poor man sits before us. Uncomfortable, in pain and unable to walk. His bones have suffered many breaks, many breaks and fractures. His legs have been destroyed by a speeding automobile and his body is beyond repair without the love of Father. Now, Sister! Show me his legs!”

  Nurse Chamberlin pulls the sheet off Stephen’s legs in one quick motion, exposing two crude homemade casts. People, alive and animated, expecting and bouncing stop suddenly and suck the air with a collective breath at the sight of Stephen’s legs.

  “Let us, with love, heal this man. Watch Father’s glory!” the Pastor says.

  People rise to their feet and clap, the piano provides discordant energy to their rhythm and the atmosphere becomes one of celebration.

  The Pastor walks several circles around the wheelchair, scanning it up and down. He stops at Stephen’s stiff bound legs and places his right hand above the casts. The Pastor makes a tight fist and raps his knuckles on the hard plaster so the impact can be heard throughout the hall. He opens his squeezed palm then rotates it in a circle above Stephen’s legs. The Pastor narrows his eyes and adds a second open palm to the circular motion and shouts, “Be healed! Be healed! Be healed! Bumwila-mub-batoo! Be healed!”

  The Pastor raises his hands to the sky, as if to pull out the pain and injury, and announces, “This man is healed! Cut off these casts and this man shall walk! Now! Do it now!”

  The room erupts with emphatic declarations from the onlookers. Alarmed by the crowd, Stephen’s head bobbles. Becoming conscious of the noise, he gazes at them with dead eyes.

  For Stephen, time passes in slow bursts of unsynchronized sound and movement, devoid of feeling, as if someone is badly cutting the reel of his reality.

  Someone’s cutting my legs! What is that on my legs? Why am I here? What’s going on?

  Scissors cut through his thin casts and expose his fleshy legs that are blemished with white powder. Nurse Chamberlin and one man hook Stephen under the arms and lift him to his feet, another man takes the chair from under him. A sudden volume of encouraging cheers push Stephen further into uncertainty and fear.

  Who’s holding me? Why? Am I standing now? Who are these people? Why do they clap?

  “Walk!” commands the Pastor. The nurse and her assistant release their grip. Stephen stands a moment and sways on the spot.

  “Walk! You shall walk with the love of Father!”

  Stephen’s face is distorted and confused. The crowd hush themselves. They watch Stephen watching them. Suddenly, his legs stutter and baulk in spasms and he motions a step forward. The crowd explode in crude selfish euphoria. He walks a few drunken missteps. His legs are solid, but his mind is challenged. Distorted colors scroll in his vision, noise zooms across his ears, and only narrow images of the outer world penetrate the darkness of his senses; the dull drone of a cheer, the voice of a man shouting, the sight of his legs wobbling.

  What’s that sound? Who is she? Where am I? Who are they? Are they real?

  The evening’s entertainment comes to an end after a short while of watching Stephen stagger around. When the whistling and cheering reached fever pitch, he was slumped back into the wheelchair and hurried away by Nurse Chamberlin. Intent on always leaving people wanting more, the Pastor ended his service.

  While people flutter to the exit, Hazel looks at the lectern a little longer, hoping for a punchline, but all she sees is the Pastor watching and waiting. As the last of the congregation leave smiling like summer dogs, Hazel decides it’s time to vacate her pew. Drew, following her example, does the same.

  At this point, if Drew were paying any attention he may have noticed the Pastor say a few more words. Words that, if heard, would have caused a dreadful, sinking, submerging feeling to well up inside him, but, in this fleeting moment between moments, Drew’s mind is elsewhere. He doesn’t see the Pastor lean over the small black bulb of the microphone, and he doesn’t hear the Pastor slowly and very deliberately say, “Not so fast, Drew, you’re not going anywhere. You and I are going to have a little talk.”

  25

  Fear not death, for the hour of your doom is set and none may escape it

  Drew follows Hazel’s impatient stride towards the exit. He tries to keep up with her steady head-down march into the corridor, but he’s blocked by two men standing in the doorway. The pair face him with matching grim expressions. Ponderous, Drew follows their gaze over his shoulder to the Pastor, who’s flanked at the lectern by two other men with gravestone faces.

  The discourteous pair at the door part to allow Nurse Chamberlin to enter. Striding in, she parades across the hard concrete floor carrying four glasses of wine on a tray. She takes a place by the Pastor and stares at Drew before whispering something into the Pastor’s ear. The Pastor, in a manner nowhere near as discreet as Nurse Chamberlin, responds in full voice directly into the microphone. His words boom across the room.

  “Okay, but if we’re going to do this properly, you might as well bring back Oscar, Tom and Judy.”

  Nurse Chamberlin puts the wine by the lectern and leaves.

  With a sigh, Drew walks back into the Sermon Hall and takes a seat directly in front of the Pastor. The two men fix their gaze on one another. No words are spoken in a length of time equal to a stare. Beat after beat, Drew looks into the Pastor’s
shark black eyes.

  “This is about the accident yesterday? Hitting Stephen with my car. I’ve been feeling terrible about that, but he seems to be on the mend,” Drew says.

  Not a flicker of recognition passes across the Pastor’s face. Instead, he selects his own line of idle conversation. “While we wait, Drew, would you take some wine?”

  “In a word,” Drew says, “I suppose.”

  The Pastor contracts his lips in an effort to resist expressing some malign disapproval and reaches out a gleaming cut crystal glass that shimmers glittery light along its deep ridges. It brims with red wine, making it look like a red spring tulip on an elegant white stem. Drew accepts the glass and for the first time notices how tall the Pastor is, perhaps six foot three.

  “Some operation you have here. Quite a place,” Drew says, looking around the hall.

  “Yes. I’m very proud of my accomplishments,” the Pastor says with a flourishing gesture. He looks at Drew with pensive interrogation, as if he were observing a new species. “Drew, do you understand what this place is?”

  “I understand what it was,” Drew says, lighting surprise on the Pastor’s face.

  “Oh, go on. Tell me what you think it was,” the Pastor says. Nurse Chamberlin returns with the three people she sought: Oscar, Tom and Judy. Each is given a glass of wine.

  For no specific reason, something stirs in Drew, he’s less keenly attentive to the wine and he ponders the look of unnamed intent on the Pastor’s face. He notices the look of close observation. Drew’s eyes narrow on his glass of wine. The moment passes. He takes a sip of the deep red and recoils. “I can never get used to California wine, it’s so tart. Anyway, this place…” he says, banishing his earlier mysterious feeling. He takes a moment to look around the room again, this time to scan every detail.

  “In the eighteen century,” he begins, “new punishments for crimes were being introduced in the British courts. England began sentencing convicts to transportation, which basically meant shipping them away to far-off parts of the world to kind of export the problem, out of sight out of mind, you know?”