*****
The new parsonage was a little bigger, however more isolated than ever before. James had to ride the bus to school. The moves never mattered to him. Friends were easy to make when he wanted. He lived in his own world with very private thoughts and dreams. Nothing outside that world made any difference. It was all just monotonous details. An unwelcome existence, he was perpetually lonely without being alone.
Reverend John Jones repeatedly forced the story of his son’s second birthday upon him. James believed it was a milestone; the day he became a rebel. He never understood why he resented his father so deeply. His mother had seemed different when he was very young. He mostly felt sorry for her now. Sometimes he thought of them both, himself and his mother, as victims.
Occasionally, he dreamed of running away and taking her with him. Then the wrath of his father would again fall upon him, and his mother never intervened. He hated that the Reverend used her as an implement, always sending her to bring him to that awful place. My father’s chamber of horror, he called it. James came to see his parents as a discordant pair, the master and his disciple.
Inside his private world, his dream world, James lived a very separate life. There, his house, the yard, and his room were always the same, warm and welcoming. There, his father was not a minister, and his mother spoke her own mind. In his imaginary existence, James had friends, many friends. There, they liked his jokes and valued his opinion. There, he was a part of a group, an important part of something very special, a society, his community, a place where he belonged. There, he had no desire to rebel. There, suspension from school was not a possibility, and best of all there were no summons or waiting for punishment.
*****
Estrella at ten was tall for her age, gangly, and a clever, gifted pickpocket. Her inquisitive brown eyes were full of life and hope. Only her olive skin hinted at her heritage. She learned everything with ease. At school, the boys admired her from a distance and the girls envied her. No one befriended her.
Every afternoon Lupe supervised her daughter’s homework, which had nothing to do with books or school. They were lessons of the street, lessons of survival in an indifferent world. In all that she touched, she excelled. Her marks never knew she was there. She routinely lifted wallets, cleaned them out, and put them back unnoticed.
When she was twelve, her favorite panhandle was telling old men she was lost; they gave her cab fare and food money. When she pretended to be blind, she doubled the take.
The money went straight to Guadalupe’s purse. Lupe counted the scores individually regardless of their dollar value. For each one Estrella received her reward, a tiny bar of rich, Mexican dark chocolate. Trapped beneath her tongue, the candy slowly melted and the natural effects oozed through her body. Often, when the pilfered money first touched her hand, she could taste the phantom cacao.
TWO
The Reverend carried his 5’11” frame perpetually erect and rigid, like a duty-bound Beefeater. His long sinewy arms were discretely muscular. His rapidly graying, sandy-brown hair continuously diminished, leaving behind an ever-growing, waxen scalp. Outdoors, he wore a black fedora, a protection for his pale skin. Parishioners cowered when he entered a room as though they feared him. James David definitely feared him; he believed were he to openly resist or rebel, the last thing on the elder’s mind would be any consideration of personal pain, for either party.
James read book after book, in secret, and loved them all: fiction, non-fiction, biographies, even textbooks. He found Shakespeare, history, science, and mathematics to be especially captivating. Had the Joneses known, they would have been overjoyed, which was exactly the reason James read late at night when his parents slept. He perfected a facade of disinterest, and worked hard to seem remedial to his teachers. Everything in James’s world was a secret, including what he knew.
*****
At twelve years old, his hormones attacked his judgment. He began to openly rebel against his mother.
“James David, do you have any homework today?” Grace asked one day right after school.
“No,” he answered dully.
“I don’t understand this,” she began more assertive than normal. “I talk to the other mothers of children in your grade. They tell me there’s homework almost every day.”
“They’re liars,” he rebutted. “They’re just dirty stinkin’ liars.”
“James David, don’t talk like that. You mustn’t call other people liars.” She forced a commanding tone. “You have certain responsibilities, and you will have throughout your life. You must do your homework.”
He stood up directly in front of her. His brown eyes bulged and his face reddened. Already taller than she, he looked down upon her with contempt. On a smaller scale, he shared his father’s physique; his olive skin matched no one. James David clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles whitened. He began to speak in a dry, cruel monotone. “Yeah, well let me tell you somethin’. I’m an American, I’m twelve years old, and I have rights.” His words sent his mother straight to her room where she wept for hours.
The next day, for Grace, was like the inquisition. The persistent Reverend spent nearly two hours evoking a thorough explanation for her swollen eyes.
The summons came immediately after school, delivered in a scratchy, broken, almost apologetic, tearful voice. “Your father would like to see you.”
*****
The Reverend was working at his desk. The light from a tattered table lamp cast an eerie shadow across the darkening room. James entered and took his place at attention.
More than three excruciating hours passed. The Reverend closed his Bible. He carelessly tossed aside his wire-framed spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “James David, you are right. You are an American, caused by an accident of birth and not by my choice. You are twelve years old. For us all, the passage of time is a natural phenomenon. You do have rights. Now, young man, I am going to tell you exactly what those rights are.
“You have the right to remain silent. Children should be seen and not heard. You have the right to do exactly as I say. You have the right to live in this house for as long as you follow my rules. You have the right to address your mother and me with absolute respect. You have the right to go to school every day and do the best work possible. You have the right to attend church every Sunday.
“If you choose to give up, take advantage, or ignore any of these rights, I will hold you accountable. Moreover, may God help me; you will wish you had never been a miserable wretch born to this earth. Do you understand me?”
The boy stood as still as a stone. He stared straight ahead with unflinching eyes.
“James David, do you understand me?” The Reverend asked again, openly agitated.
“Yes,” James David whispered.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” he said in a still quiet voice.
“Before you sleep tonight, you will memorize Proverbs 29:18. ‘Where there is no prophecy the people cast off restraint, but blessed is he who keeps the law.’
“In the morning, first thing, you are to come here and recite this passage to me, flawlessly. Do you understand?”
James David nodded.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered in a clear, determined voice.
“Very well, you will apologize to your mother, and you will do your homework. After your recitation, I do not wish to hear of this again. You may go.”
*****
Grace accepted James David’s apology, although, she knew nothing would change. She knew many things she could never tell the Reverend.
*****
On the day they brought the yet unnamed baby, James David, home from the hospital, Grace agreed with her husband. “One child is enough. Let’s do our best with what we have,” she said.
“It is God’s will.” Reverend Jones answered. “It was sin that brought us to this moment; consequences must now be paid for what was done.”
She lovingly cradled the tiny baby in her arms; the smell of newborn and hospital was strong. “I know we must pay for what has happened,” she conceded.
As he drove, the Reverend glanced at her with remorseful eyes then with contempt at the baby. “The two of you led us here. You were complicit, and for all I know, you encouraged him to act.”
Tears filled her faded blue eyes. “He needed me; you cast him out, and he needed family.”
“He may have needed a sister-in-law, but not an intimate friend as you once called it.” Clearly agitated, he increased the car’s speed. The next hour dragged by in silence.
*****
That same night Grace knelt by her bed for a very long time, praying and crying. “Lord, dear God, why must thou forsake me? Why hast thou decided to strip my womb and make me barren? Please, forgive me my sins. I know the book of Matthew, and in that, I have violated your seventh commandment. For what I have done, I am truly sorry. Please, help me teach my child well that he might come to know the true nature and spirit of his father.”
*****
Much had changed in the Reverend since Grace first met him. When he was young, he was happy and playful. He made no secret of his love for life and God. It was circumstance, family, and disappointment that changed him, gradually at first, then more rapidly as the years passed. Once, when he was in his mid-forties, he confided in Grace that he felt his opportunity to achieve his goals lessening with each passing year. He said it in a moment of melancholy, quite unlike his normal demeanor. “I once hoped to save the world,” he said with remorse. “I intended to begin with my little brother; I have failed in every aspect of my life.”
*****
Months before Grace first met David; she heard all the stories. The Reverend saw his brother as young and foolish. At the same time, he possessed exceptional intelligence and huge potential. When he spoke of David, he was animated and excited.
“Darling, wait till you meet David,” he laughed. “I’ll have to be careful or he’ll steal you away. He looks like a cigarette model in a magazine. With his boyish charm, I’m sure he breaks hearts every day. He’s tall and thin with big, wondrous, green eyes and a charming smile.”
“It sounds like you’re describing yourself, John.” She said lovingly.
“If I can get him started down the right path,” he continued as though he had not heard her, “his capabilities are unlimited. I’ve never known anyone so intelligent and gifted, although I loathe his friends. He tends to make bad choices; he’s a terrible judge of character. Nevertheless, he is my brother and I love him. I’m going to do everything I can to help him achieve success and make a contribution to the world. Once you and I are married, we will all be one happy family. Our life together, all of our lives, are going to be so good.”
*****
On Thanksgiving Day, the year before she married John, Grace finally met David.
The sun arose to find its reflection glittering like precious stones embedded in a heavy blanket of frost. The frozen dew succumbed to the warming, yellow rays, and vanished before the extraordinary rumble of the motorcycle filled the quiet subdivision.
John Jones’s expression turned into a broad toothy grin when he heard the sound. He took his fiancée by the hand, and nearly dragged her to the front door.
A magical sensation swept through Grace when David crossed the lawn. He does look like John, she thought. She felt an instantaneous and absolute link to him. Everything good the Reverend had said about his brother was true. David was charismatic; he made the right jokes, cast appropriate glances, and honored meaningful silences, all with perfect timing, yet his presence disquieted Grace.
The Thanksgiving meal went quite well save a few pointed, caustic, mostly ignored remarks, which the Reverend made regarding David’s goals.
After lunch, Grace cleared away the dishes and began to wash them.
David casually sauntered into the kitchen. “Can I help?” He immersed his hands in the soapy water before she could answer.
They worked side by side in nervous silence. Once, accidentally, he touched her hand; she gasped for breath.
*****
On Valentine’s Day, of the following year, the thirty-eight year old Reverend John Jones made twenty-six year old Grace his bride. David, then eighteen, was his brother’s best man.
At the small reception, David asked Grace to dance.
She was timorous in his arms. Startlingly flustered, she pushed back and looked anxiously into his eyes. “I have to go,” were her only words as she slipped away. In the corner of her eye, she saw her husband watching.
*****
In the following four years, the brothers seldom shared a civil word.
“David, I have nothing more to say to you.” The Reverend told him; his voice was cruel. “You’re wasting your life; we both know it.”
In spite of the Reverend’s attitude, David worked hard to build a relationship with him.
*****
When the Reverend was away, David sought out the warm counsel of his sister-in-law. Enthralled by his brilliance and the depth of his capacity to experience emotion, she encouraged him to follow his heart. Their intense conversations became long and intimate; they became best friends. Grace was more open with David than she had been with anyone in her life, including her husband. They trusted each other completely, and shared their deepest secrets.
David visited John and Grace often, frequently dropping by even when he knew the Reverend would not be home. David and Grace were always very careful.
*****
David had a girlfriend. Yet, he never took her, or any of his motorcycle friends, to his brother’s house. The Reverend made it clear that he was sure they were all scum. In the final year of David’s life, his twenty-second, the Reverend spoke not a word to, or about, his brother.
*****
David Jones rolled through the fatal intersection on his motorcycle a late, cool Missouri Saturday night. A night that for most people was no different from a thousand other nights.
The police said David did not see the drunk driver careening through the red light with his headlights off. David’s prized 1954 Harley-Davidson was a pile of mangled steel, bent beyond recognition. Only the motorcycle’s fiftieth anniversary solid bronze medallion was unscratched. David was Dead on Arrival.
*****
John Jones did not want to be a father. Actually, as he remembered it, he never really wanted the responsibilities of a husband. Still, a loyal and obedient wife was necessary for a successful ministry, and Grace was easy to look at, a good cook with a tolerant heart. All John really wanted was to be the Reverend Mr. Jones. He resented his parents because their second son was born when they should have been planning their retirement. They said it was God’s Will. He called it ineptitude.
When David was just a brother, an innocent little brother, John adored him. They played together during John’s infrequent visits to the home of their parents. He liked to tuck the child in to sleep and read aloud his favorite passages from the Bible.
The elder Joneses went on to a better place, and carelessly left their eldest son to be a father to his brother. That not being bad enough, his brother could have been Chinese for all their dissimilarity in belief. The only things they had in common were their parents, and a shockingly similar appearance. They could have been mistaken for twins had it not been for their glaring chasm of years.
*****
The summer when John first met Grace, the July before they were married, the two brothers buried their mother alongside their father.
Because of the death of their parents, his brother became his son. Outwardly, in the beginning, he praised his younger sibling. He spoke often of opportunity and responsibility. He even tried to convince himself that he could make a difference. However, alone with his thoughts, the Reverend believed, that at eighteen years old, the mold was set; David was already what he was to become. The course of the ship is laid in, and I, unlike t
he wind and waves, can have no bearing on the destination. My brother is too old for me to change.
Occasionally, Reverend Jones regretted his critical treatment of David. Although in the end, there was no time to make up for his actions. His final, malicious words were nearly a year old when David died.
Reverend John Jones stood by the open grave, alone, for a very long time after the mourners left. The coarse gravediggers sat on their heels, far off, waiting, watching, and talking. Occasionally, the wind carried a word or phrase across the granite garden. “He must be the boy’s father.” The Reverend heard one of them say.
“I would not have made a good father.” The Reverend said to the pine coffin. “I was never even a good brother.” At forty-two years old, he gazed forlornly at the grave of his only brother, his baby brother; the pain ripped him apart. He was mad and bitter, a failure in the eyes of God.
“I am a wretched sinner,” he said to God, “I beg for your divine forgiveness.” He knew when he heard his own words, that his opportunity to atone on a mortal level was forever lost. “God, I pray my brother walks with you. Please, tell him I am woefully sorry, and I love him.” At length, his will escaped, the old man shuffled away. His steps guided only by instinct.
Eight months later a child was born, a boy, a baby whose semblance, for the perpetually grieving Reverend, was too much like his dead brother. He struggled to look upon the child’s face.
The infant lived the first sixty-long days of his life referred to only as the baby. Haunted by remorse, the Reverend finally acquiesced; he agreed to a mendacious name, James David Jones.
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