Stealing Flowers

by Edward St Amant

  “How come,” I asked one day, “if philosophers weren’t able to recognize that we were trapped in the material dialectic, Karl Marx was all of a sudden able to break out of the trap?”

  “He was the first true philosopher,” he said in all sincerity. “Once he took off the veil of history and showed its inevitable march toward the world without governments, other brilliant minds followed his lead.”

  “I can tell that you’re one of those brilliant minds,” I responded.

  He frowned. “I’m just saying,” he continued, “that more and more people recognize that history has an intransigent nature and nothing can stop it. Already one third of the world is under communist rule. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  I had long known he had an answer for everything and that he hated me, but like a fool I would continue these insipid conversations, sometimes even drawing a small crowd of students.

  “I realize that according to you,” I persisted, “all sorts of leftist theories exist scientifically proving that capitalism leads to monopolies. How come the only major monopolies in America that exist are government created and protected ones?”

  He blew off my question. “The same capitalists involved over the world are consolidating and growing larger. It’s an indisputably totally proven fact.”

  I knew that it was untrue. Tappets was pretty large, but if mismanaged, it could be destroyed in a couple of years. Companies were fragile, and so was the stock market system which supported them. “Why will the people rise up and violently overthrow the Western Democracies after some future crisis occurs? I mean why do you preach Marxism? If it’s inevitable, violent action and preaching are unnecessary?”

  “We don’t preach,” he said with a lie. “We point out a path for the proletarian to follow. You’re never going to understand it. You come from the wrong class.”

  He was a knavish fellow and would always have a rejoinder, but why I have such nasty feelings about him is another matter. He grew to dislike me as I bested him in public throughout the year and began to avoid me. I was rather insulted. When I failed the course at the end of my term, I waged a rather public fight with him and marched to the dean’s office to register my complaint. I was indignant that this malcontent could possibly do this. I knew it was nothing except revenge. My work was focused, well-researched, and I had been careful to follow the guidelines. I put a tremendous amount of work into all my papers, no matter how large or small. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became, but the dean’s office, good to their word, investigated my complaint and asked the course professor to re-grade my three main course papers. I received an overall A-plus.

  I found myself in the summer of 1979, once again working at Tappets. I often traveled with Stan to Japan or different plants in the States. On these stateside excursions, I piloted him. I presently knew every key player in Tappets on a first name basis. The Stanroids were all free-wielding managers except Hiroyuki. Mary’s loyalists were managerially restrained except Cheryl Garland at Nexus, one of her oldest allies. I hadn’t made up my mind about many of them, but I did have an intense dislike for Graham Roberts, the head of Constant Batteries, who always looked at me with acute resentment.

  Clara had another stroke at the beginning of the summer and Una left for Jamaica. Unlike it had in the past, this didn’t tip me off to keep an eye on any upcoming calamity as it should have. I’d forgot about The First Law of Life for the unlucky; then one scorching afternoon near the end of July, it happened . . . it would cost me so much suffering, and that was the least of it. It was after an industrial league hardball game and my mind was focused on only two things: Getting to the pool, it was around 85̊ F, and relaxing. I was leaving for Japan in a couple of days to join Stan, and tomorrow I’d quite a bit of running around to do. Sally had come to watch Andy and I play. I was happy to have won, but I was tired. I’d stayed up too late the night before and ate too little for breakfast.

  We approached that damnable corner where I think everything in Jersey and New York Cities merges into Newark and Willow. We passed where the naked street-person had been killed by the bus. Besides the traffic commotion, what also annoyed me here was the level of noise, the seeming chaos. Cars pulled u-turns or cube-vans whizzed to a postal sorting-center nearby. It was always something, and then there were the street-people, who I detested more as I grew older.

  I noticed that Sally’s attention had been drawn to a vacant parking lot east of us on the other side of the street. Young people sold flowers in front of an old psychedelically painted school-bus, from one end of it to the other, the flowered prints and plaid stripes exploded in garish greens, pinks, yellows, and blues. I knew this sort of art was inspired by drugs, especially LSD, by hippies, and like the panhandlers and street people, I hated them. The only thing was, they didn’t look like real hippies. Moreover, the ugly lot stood as a reminder to me of the endless and senseless building in this immediate area. They’d torn down perfectly fine homes to start the construction of yet another strip mall.

  “Let’s walk to Western and cross there,” I said, seeing no gap in the speeding traffic.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  Andy shaded his eyes from the sunlight and looked over at Sally. With his dark complexion, especially in the summer, and short athletic body, he sometimes reminded me of an Italian I knew from the Hoboken head office, Burney Greco.

  “They’re from Northern Bloomingdale, I think,” he said, his voice lower than mine these last years. “It’s a big commune, or something. They’ve a church. I can’t remember its name.”

  I was immediately disinterested, besides, I knew right off that they hadn’t been hippies, they looked too straight. “Do you see the two blond ones?” I asked anyway.

  Andy nodded. “Pretty if you like Jesus Freaks. Dad says they’re capital-A assholes, but that’s what he calls Carter too.”

  I laughed. “I think they’re selling roses,” Sally said.

  She handed me the baseball bat, and let out her ponytail, so that her long blond hair fell to her back. I glanced back at where we’d played. The baseball-diamonds were all in use. To the north stood the Gusto. Beside it, the Essex County Theater showed four movies: Alien, Manhattan, The Life of Brian, and La Cage aux Folles.

  “At last,” I said and took off my baseball cap to wipe my forehead. “I hate this spot.”

  We crossed onto Delaware in the direction of Lower. “Look, they’re calling us over,” Sally said, waving to them.

  We were a hundred steps away from them. “Better not,” Andy said, “have you ever seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers? That’s what they say about these guys.”

  Sally half-frowned, but I laughed. “Sal, it’s a gorgeous day,” I said, “the pool awaits us.” I could almost taste the fuzzy navels. I would put vodka, peach liqueur, fresh orange juice, and crushed ice in a blender for a minute or so. It was scrump-delicious.

  “Let’s at least say hello and get their brochures,” Sally said and pulled me to a halt. “We talk about religion and you’re the one who’s studying it.”

  I glanced again at the two girls with long blond hair. We were closer now. They were pretty, though not glamorous, and tall and thin, though not haggard either. “Let’s say hello,” I said begrudgingly.

  “My dad would kill me if I brought home the Word,” Andy said, dragging his feet.

  Four of the bus people came over to us at once when we stepped into the lot. I thought the two blond girls smiled especially nice for me and Andy. They placed their hands affectionately on our arms. They’d no makeup, jewelry, nor fashion accessories. I saw that the whole group dressed the same, in clean white t-shirts, blue jeans and running shoes. They hadn’t a pound to spare between them and it seemed the girls didn’t wear underwear and went braless. At first I averted my eyes out of modesty, but realized that they openly stared at the three of us, but in a particular manner, as though we had just landed on earth from another planet. They seem not to mind me sta
ring at their breasts and their friendliness appeared genuine. I felt myself getting excited. Thinking back through the years, analyzing that day, I realize I’d noticed one important telltale sign. They all had dilated pupils and eyes that were out-of-focus. I know that this will all seem impossible, it seems so to me, and I was there, but it happened exactly as I’m describing it. It got ahead of Andy and I somehow, and in quick order and the rest was . . . well, it was the horrible thing that it became for all of us.

  A young bearded man with a purple birthmark above his right eyebrow approached, and a tall striking-looking young man also with a beard, hung just back. “Would you like a Pepsi?” the man with the purple burn or birth-mark said.

  “I’d prefer a cold brew,” I said and caught his eyes.

  “We don’t use alcohol or drugs,” they all chanted in unison. “We trust the natural high in the Lord.”

  It sounded like a song and I almost laughed aloud, and I noticed Andy curled his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “All you need is love,” the taller blonde answered.

  I looked in Sally’s direction, but she ignored me. She was focused on a tall pale handsome man with a beard. I felt my cheeks flush in jealousy. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I added.

  “Oh no,” the pretty blond-haired girls answered together with giggles. “You should come up to Ashbury Farm for the day, then you would see. There’s only the love of God in our home.”

  “Good grief,” I said to myself. The pale thin young man with the purple birthmark led Sally to the bus entrance. He’d a smile which I must admit radiated happiness and his eyes glowed almost in an ethereal, yet serious manner. His paleness added to this effect, and he appeared to me as if he would be reserved, but already he talked intently to Sally and waved his hands in animated gestures.

  He was out of earshot, but it seemed he coaxed Sally near the entrance to the bus. Moreover, the bearded striking-looking one was out of my sights and I was growing anxious. The taller girl, leaned forward. She stood at the same height as me, six feet high or so, a little less, and her eyes gleamed an almost sparkling deep blue.

  “Do you believe in God?” she asked. I looked her slender figure over. Her pointed breasts were nearly touching my body and she was inviting in a chaste sort of way, but she was definitely braless. “Do you know Christ died on the cross for our sins?” I shrugged. “Do you have Christ in your heart?” I shrugged again. “It’d be a good bet for you,” she whispered, almost snuggling into me now so that my loins stirred and my breath quickened. “Our family will show you the way. Please come and visit with us. Imagine a simple life in God. No more work or school or church, just living in Christ with a life as one with the Family of Truth.”

  I put my hand quickly up under her t-shirt to her breasts, squeezing her nipples. She stumbled back caught totally off-guard. “What do you do up on that farm,” I asked, laughing at her.

  Andy had been watching me and also laughed, following suit with the other blonde, who had a voluptuous body, a Marilyn Monroe-type. She didn’t react, just let him feel her, staring at him with contempt or condescendingly. She gathered her long blond hair and put it gently behind her as though to thrust out her chest. I could see her nipples as well through her t-shirt.

  “My family name is Divine Love,” the taller one said undefeated by our laughter, “and this is Love Israel.” They reached over and kissed us on the cheek, this stopped me from laughing at their names and I tried to cop another feel, but this time she was too fast and pulled away. “Please, come with us,” she said softly, seductively, “only a life in serving God can lift up your spirit. Your parents are of Satan and your education has cast you down. Since we came into the Family, everything has changed for us. We’re happy.”

  I saw that Sally had gone onto the bus, and cursed to myself, but the two girls sort of blocked our path. “Excuse me,” I said softer than I meant to, “just let me talk to my sister a second.”

  Love Israel, the Marilyn Monroe-type one who had let Andy cop a feel, grabbed my arm and looked straight into my eyes without blinking. “Please, come with us,” she begged as though starving and seized my hand as though I could seal her fate. “Don’t you realize that Christ died for you?” she said with true affection. “Don’t you want to serve the Lord? We will show you how to serve the Lord 100 percent,” she said, “and you will feel the need for nothing else but the Lord. You’ll be very happy . . . satisfied.”

  I think that’s when it struck me that she had dilated pupils, and the others as well. Although I felt genuine pity for the two girls, I nudged them aside and Andy and I stepped aggressively onto the bus. I wondered if these were a version of the toked-out Rastafarians that Una always warned us against. But I knew the Rastafarians didn’t preach Jesus. “Let me talk to my sister,” I said to the young bearded man with the purple birthmark above his right eyebrow as he approached.

  “They’ve come to the bus,” the two blond-hair beauties sang together victoriously just behind us.

  Inside, some of the seats had been removed to allow a small table which had been bolted to the floorboards. Donuts, sandwiches and soft drinks in ten ounce bottles sat on it. Although clean, the stuffy bus gave me a feeling of poverty, reminding me of the orphanages. A number of young people in the seats read brochures and talked about God. Sally appeared to be reading one of their pamphlets with the tall striking-looking young man also with a beard. Again my jealousy rose in a fury. The pale young man with a purple birthmark and thick beard tried to block my way and I brushed him aside. I could see now he had rather strange facial expression like the two blond girls. He weighed no more than one hundred and twenty-five pounds and I guessed I could easily take him down if I had to, even though he stood taller than me . . . his baggy t-shirt and pants prevented him from looking thinner than he was.

  “Sally,” I whispered furiously, Andy was directly behind me. “What are you doing?”

  The tall striking-looking young man with a beard, rose, leaned slightly forward toward me, as though he were drunk, or as though he was going to kiss me, and smiled warmly.

  “Praise Jesus,” he whispered in my ear, also in a fashion that was like the two girls, “Did you know that the Bible is the source of all truth? Jesus said: ‘If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.’ Praise the Lord.”

  “Praise be,” Divine Love and Love Israel chanted softly from behind us.

  I at once grew impatient, but the guy offered me his hand, which out of politeness I took, then he pulled me in and kissed me lightly on the mouth.

  “I’m Solemn Necessity,” he said, then pointed to the pale young man with a purple birthmark and thick beard, “this is Silent Peace.” He stared openly without blinking and for a moment I was hypnotized. “Let me tell you a parable from Christ. ‘A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, it was trampled on, and the birds of the air ate it up. Some fell on rock, and when it came up, the plants withered because they had no moisture. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up with it and choked the plants. Still, other seed fell on good soil. It came up and yielded a crop, a hundred times more than what was sown.’ That’s the allegory of the four soils in Matthew 13 and Luke 8. Do you know what it means?”

  He was older than Silent Peace by about five years. Like the rest, he smiled hypnotically, but his pallor made him seem almost ghostly. His slender hands, which he waved while he talked, seemed to be contradicted by his blue eyes and beard, yet in my estimation, he was only twenty-five years old. With his open haunted look, his face had a memorable quality.

  “You quote the bible well,” Andy interjected, “we really appreciate that, but we have to go now.”

  This statement woke me up, and I realized something was happening to me. “I’ve memorized many biblical verses,” Solemn Necessity said. “The parable
means, if people don’t hear the word of Christ, how can they be saved? You must find Christ by showing Him to others.”

  “Excuse me,” I said and stepped closer to Sally. I could see at once that she appeared rather bewildered and wasn’t herself. “Let’s go,” I said forcefully, pinching her arm hard and receiving an angry look from her.

  “Go home, Christian,” Sally said and looked at me with defiance, “I’ll see you later.” I knew something was wrong. She looked straight through me. “I’m staying. I want to visit Ashbury Farms. It sounds cool.”

  Her coldness struck me mercilessly. I noticed that other young people stared at me, but not without sympathy. I counted everybody on the bus, twenty-two. I looked at the faces and could clearly see the difference between the Jesus people and the newcomers, but I couldn’t have articulated what it was at the time. I studied Solemn Necessity. He was a pale man. Like Silent Peace, his angular bearded appearance bordered on aesthetic, but he wore his hair shorter, and his t-shirt, rather than being white, was tie-dyed in pink and purple shades as though to separate him from the others. He stood at five-feet ten-inches, not as skinny as Silent Peace, weighing one hundred and fifty pounds or so, but I thought I could take them both; even together if I had to.

  “It’s not necessary to go,” he said in a low friendly voice to me, “your sister has decided to come to our home this evening, just to see the Family for herself and to hear the word of the Lord. You should come and look after her, don’t you think?”

  I could feel my cheeks flush. “Come with us,” Sally said in a pleading voice, changing her tact. I looked at Andy, indicating that we’d had to have a go to get out of the bus.