The Mirror Apocalypse

by John Ayang

  Not that it was the first case of discrimination alleged in the Catholic Church, nor was the substance of it extraordinarily important, as others in the past were probably denied Holy Communion by their priests and acquiesced under the sanction. But it was the first time highly learned members of the Church dared to take it up as a court case. The sheer mettle of the couple who dared to drag such a powerful entity as the Catholic Church to court over such a seemingly light matter was novel, and the press, running pre-trial articles and opinion editorials, tended to lean heavily on the side of the couple, thus whipping up popular sympathy for them. Excitement filled the courtroom and, in fact the whole city of Houston, as people waited to read about or watch the big trial.

  Inside the courthouse, the two attorneys—Turner on one side and Donovan on the other—silently flexed their legal muscles as they brought out papers from briefcases, arranging and shuffling them, putting some back or rummaging again for more, conferring in whispers with their respective clients and bobbing heads like victory was already a done deal for their side.

  “Bailiff, call the case of the day,” Judge Montgomery ordered.

  “In the case of Eshiet and Eshiet versus the Reverend Cletus McCarthy and the Catholic Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston, will the plaintiffs indicate their presence in court?” the bailiff called out.

  “We are present and ready, Your Honor,” Patrick Turner responded, stood, and sat again.

  “Will the defendants indicate their presence in court?” the bailiff called again.

  “Your Honor, we are present,” Stacy stood to respond, and sat down again.

  “Thank you,” Judge Montgomery acknowledged their presence. “Prosecuting counsel may proceed with the first witness.”

  Patrick Turner stood up, adjusted his tie and his pin-striped, custom-made grey suit, cleared his throat, and walked out from behind the desk.

  “Your Honor, prosecution calls Dr. Ima Eshiet to the stand,” he announced with a flourish. Ima Eshiet, who was sitting beside her husband behind the prosecuting counsel’s desk, stood up and moved to stand in the dock. The bailiff approached and, holding a Holy Bible, invited her to place her left hand on it and raise the right.

  “Do you solemnly swear by this holy book to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” He rattled through the formula.

  “I do,” Ima Eshiet responded. The bailiff retired to his corner.

  “For the record, Ma’am, could you state your name once more?” Patrick Turner asked, approaching her dock with measured steps.

  “Ima Eshiet,” she responded.

  “Your profession?” he asked again, as a matter of red tape.

  “I am a pediatrician by profession,” she responded.

  “From the facts of this case, I assume you are Catholic and a member of the Our Lady Queen of Peace Catholic Church. Am I correct in my assumption?”

  “Yes, I have been a member of the Our Lady Queen of Peace Catholic Church for fifteen years,” Ima Eshiet responded with a tinge of pride.

  “And for those number of years you have been a good and practicing Catholic…”

  “Objection,” Stacy interrupted with a strong voice. “Counsel is leading the witness.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Montgomery ruled, in the flat, boring tone that is characteristic of judges in that circumstance,

  “I’ll rephrase the question,” Patrick Turner conceded. “Ma’am, would you describe your life as a Church member at Our Lady Queen of Peace for those fifteen years, please?”

  “I have been a good practicing Catholic all these years,” Ima Eshiet responded on cue, to the gladness of her attorney, who smiled faintly and nodded as she proceeded. “I am a member of the Gospel Choir, the Samaritan Ministry that caters to the bereaved, and the St. Vincent de Paul Society, where I contribute substantial amounts of food and clothing for the Society to reach out to the poor. I pay a monthly tithe of one thousand dollars every month.”

  “And for fifteen years, that must be quite an amount,” Patrick Turner interjected.

  “Yes,” Ima Eshiet concurred. “Five years ago, I and my husband, we donated a set of cassocks for use by the altar servers. We also bought and donated the statue of Our Lady of Peace, made to order, for the Church’s grotto.”

  “Are there any more …”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Stacy shot up again. “The litany of Mrs. Eshiet’s good works in the Church do not seem to be relevant to this case.”

  “Your Honor, I am trying to show the good will and love that the Eshiets have for their Church, and even their Pastor,” Patrick Turner pled.

  “Overruled,” Judge Montgomery replied in the same flat tone.

  “Are there any more things you remember, that you…?”

  “Yes,” Ima Eshiet, interjected before Patrick Turner could finish his question. “When Fr. McCarthy, our Pastor’s house was renovated last year, we bought all the furniture in the sitting room from Gallery Furniture, and paid Hobby Lobby to decorate the sitting room, though we did these things anonymously.” Ima Eshiet continued, beginning to sound maudlin and sentimental.

  Fr. McCarthy fidgeted slightly in his seat and frowned at learning for the first time that the anonymous donors of his sitting room furniture and furnishings were the Eshiets. He did not like the way the case was proceeding and communicated his misgivings to Stacy in whispers.

  “Any more to say, Dr. Eshiet?” Patrick Turner asked gently and ever more reverently.

  “No,” Ima Eshiet replied, softly blowing her nose into her handkerchief, more for effect than the need to do so. Then she continued with pathos, “I could go on, but I’m not here to toot my own horn.”

  “Ma’am, could you describe in detail what happened on the day you attended church and went up to receive Holy Communion and were denied?” Patrick Turner solicited, gently.

  “I attended church, as usual, like any other parishioner,” Ima Eshiet began her story. “When it was time for Communion, I walked up with other Communicants, as usual.” She continued, sniffling a little. She told of how she approached Fr. McCarthy, stretched out her hand to receive Communion, and he asked her to move on because she was not in a state of grace to receive Communion. She recounted how she was shocked and for a moment stood stupefied until an usher came and directed her back to her seat. She was too stunned to notice that her husband was subjected to the same humiliation, but she later learned of it. By the end of her story, she was sobbing quietly into her handkerchief and expressing how emotionally scarred and ashamed she had been since then, so ashamed, in fact, that she couldn’t even bear to face her friends to explain because, of course, she was still unable to make sense of such a disgracing experience at the hands of Fr. McCarthy.

  Curiously, Patrick Turner did not ask her any further questions. He turned to Stacy and called out in the customary way, “Your witness,” and took his seat.

  “Ma’am, are you pregnant right now?” Stacy threw the question straight at Ima Eshiet.

  “Yes,” she responded curtly, feeling a bit caught off guard.

  “How did you get pregnant?”

  “By conception,” Ima Eshiet responded, feigning surprise at being asked about what should be quite obvious. A spate of laughter broke out in the audience.

  “Silence in the court!” Judge Montgomery ordered sternly, banging her gavel at the same time. Then she addressed Ima Eshiet directly, “Ma’am, answer questions as you are asked. We are not here in court to play games with words.”

  “I’m answering as I am asked, Your Honor,” Ima Eshiet responded, matter-of-factly. Patrick Turner smiled toothlessly and smugly.

  “Of course, silly me. I had forgotten that people get pregnant by conception,” Stacy continued unruffled. “Fair enough, Ma’am. As I can see, for a person of your educational standard, everything must be spelled out in si
mple terms for you to understand. I will do that now.”

  There was another round of laughter as Stacy smartly turned the tables on Ima Eshiet, who scowled slightly, but decided to eat the insult.

  “Silence!” Judge Montgomery hammered the gavel again.

  “Ma’am, what procedure did you use to conceive the baby?” Stacy proceeded, carefully this time. “Was it through normal sexual intercourse with your husband or through a procedure whereby your egg was fertilized in a petri dish outside your womb, and the fertilized egg reinserted in your womb?”

  There was silence in the court. Ima Eshiet was silent, too, for a few seconds until the judge’s voice prodded her. She glanced at Patrick Turner, who, himself, looked stunned, but decided not to object to the line of questioning Stacy had chosen to follow.

  “Answer the question, Ma’am,” Judge Montgomery ordered.

  “It was through a procedure of external fertilization of my egg and reinsertion,” Ima Eshiet replied.

  “What do you call that procedure in medical terms, Ma’am?” Stacy pursued.

  “It is called in vitro fertilization,” Ima Eshiet responded, still wary.

  “Now, you said the procedure involved fertilizing your egg,” Stacy repeated Ima’s statement for emphasis, then asked, “Was the egg really your own egg?”

  “Objection!” Patrick Turner stood, raising his hand in protest. “Counsel is asking for sordid details that have no relevance to the case at hand.”

  “Your Honor, I am trying to let the court understand the nature of the procedure which constituted an offense in Catholic teaching and which led to the sanction for which the plaintiff is suing my client.”

  “Overruled,” Judge Montgomery said. “Proceed carefully,” she addressed Stacy.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. I will,” Stacy resumed her line of questioning.

  “Ma’am, did you at any time solicit and pay for a donor egg from a certain Miss Kylie Gardner, a former graduate student of yours, to use in your bid to get pregnant?” Stacy was merciless in her questions. Even the court audience sat spellbound and very silent, wondering where all of this was leading. Ima Eshiet looked a bit unsettled. She glanced again at Patrick Turner, who nodded for her to answer in the affirmative.

  “Yes, I did,” she responded, still uncertain whether she should refuse to answer some of the questions. Her attorney had nodded his blessing. So, she decided to keep answering Stacy’s questions until she couldn’t really do so.

  “So, the egg which was fertilized and implanted in your uterus, and which is the fetus growing inside of you now, thereby rendering you pregnant, was, indeed, NOT your egg?”

  “Well…” Ima Eshiet hesitated. “Yes and no.” There was muted murmuring and Judge Montgomery banged her gavel.

  “Can you explain what you mean by ‘yes and no’?”

  “When my egg was screened and found to contain weak elements in the mitochondria, the yolk from Kylie’s egg was removed and the yolk from my egg was injected into her albumen by a process called ooplasmic transfer. Then the redesigned egg was fertilized by Edy’s sperm, that is, my husband’s sperm.”

  There was a confused murmuring in court. Even Judge Montgomery sat forward a little to listen with rapt attention to Ima Eshiet describing how she got pregnant.

  “So, Dr. Eshiet, if the egg that was fertilized by your husband’s sperm carried the yolk from you and what you call the mitochondria from Miss Kylie, would I be correct in asserting that the fetus you are carrying in your womb when born as a child will technically have THREE parents, instead of the traditional two?”

  “Yes,” Ima Eshiet answered curtly, without adding any other statements. The audience gasped. This was a novel issue. Although pregnancy by in vitro fertilization was widespread and taken for granted by many, as a form of reproduction technology that had come to stay, conceiving a child that would literally have three parents was not yet a common occurrence. It came as a shock to the court audience. Reporters kept darting out to call information to their paper or TV headquarters and sneaking in again to cover the proceedings as the case progressed. Patrick Turner was feverishly taking notes on his pad, occasionally glancing up to assure his client that all was still okay. He kept exchanging words in fierce whispers with Dr. Edidiong Eshiet, who seemed agitated at his wife being subjected to such ruthless grilling by the defense counsel. Stacy continued pacing menacingly as she bored down on her quarry.

  “Dr. Ima Eshiet,” Stacy addressed her with a formality that indicated she was about to deliver the death knell. “You have been a member of Our Lady of Peace Catholic Church for fifteen years, but for how long have you been a Catholic?”

  “I have been a faithful Catholic all my life,” she answered, adopting a stance of superiority that failed to hold.

  “I thought so,” Stacy concurred, patronizingly. “As one who has been a faithful Catholic all your life, would you say that your action—that is, the procedure that you used to get pregnant—is acceptable in Catholic moral teaching?”

  “Objection!” Patrick Turner interjected. “Catholic moral teaching is not my client’s area of expertise, nor is the morality of my client’s action the point in question here. Discrimination is.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Montgomery concurred.

  “Let me rephrase my question,” Stacy stood her ground. “Dr. Eshiet, was there ever a time when your Pastor, the Reverend McCarthy, discussed the morality of in vitro fertilization in Catholic teaching with you and your husband?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Did he explain to you that it was not morally acceptable?”

  “But he…”

  “Yes or no, did he explain to you that such procedures as you have described were morally unacceptable?” Stacy insisted.

  “But he….”

  “Yes or no, did he?” Stacy bored down unrelentingly.

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Patrick Turner started.

  “Overruled. Answer the question, Ma’am,” Judge Montgomery ruled.

  “Yes,” Ima Eshiet finally responded, grudgingly. She was upset at being rattled that way by a woman whom, given a different context, she would have put in her place.

  “No more questions,” Stacy announced, walking back to her desk with such power and self-confidence that made the audience murmur in approval. They had never witnessed a more ruthless cross examination. Dr. Ima Eshiet stood down and proceeded to her place beside her husband. Both husband and wife were visibly fuming. Fr. McCarthy sat still and gave away no emotions. He reached out, furtively, and shook Stacy’s hand on the sly as the latter resumed her seat beside him.

  “Mr. Turner, your next witness?” Judge Montgomery called out.

  “Your Honor, Counsel calls Dr. Edidiong Eshiet,” Patrick Turner announced again with a flourish, but without a smile this time.

  Dr. Edidiong Eshiet was a tall gentleman, an inch or two above six feet. He had the physique of a wrestler, with broad chest and bulky shoulders, and walked straight like an army general marching on parade ground. He stood and walked into the dock, carrying his entire six feet two inches effortlessly. The bailiff administered the usual oath and he took his seat, leaning back haughtily, as though he was the one about to ask the questions. He sported a well-trimmed mustache that gave his broad visage a stern look. His hair was well-trimmed, too. He wore a well-starched white shirt with cufflinks and a tie, and looked every inch a prosperous medical VIP and someone who commanded power. Even Patrick Turner, with his custom-made suit, paled in comparison. As Dr. Edidiong Eshiet sat waiting for the first question from his attorney, it was obvious that he wasn’t amused at the way his wife was rattled by the defense counsel. The court was silent.

  “Once more, Sir, would you please state your name for the record,” Patrick Turner said, with his usual smarmy air.

  “My name is Edidiong Barnaby Eshiet,” he replied
in a strong, clear voice laced with an African accent.

  “And your profession, Sir?”

  “I am an obstetrician and gynecologist by profession,” he replied.

  “How long have you been a member of Our Lady Queen of Peace Catholic Church?”

  “I have been a member of the Church for fifteen years. My wife and I joined the parish at the same time, shortly after we moved here from Norfolk, Virginia.”

  “And how long have you been a Catholic?” Patrick Turner continued needlessly.

  “I was converted to Catholicism from my African traditional religion when I was 17 years old. Since then, I have been a practicing Catholic up till now,” Edidiong continued.

  “Dr. Eshiet, on a certain day in September of this year, Sunday the ninth of September, to be exact, you attended church and walked up to receive Holy Communion, as usual, but was openly denied. Can you please tell the court what happened?” Patrick Turner demanded, as though the details were going to add any novel information to his summary.

  Dr. Edidiong Eshiet straightened up and gave the details of the events of September 9, 2012, at Our Lady Queen of Peace Catholic Church, where he and his wife, Ima, were denied Holy Communion. He conceded that if Fr. McCarthy had informed him before Mass to stay back, he, probably, would have understood and obliged. But letting them walk up and then humiliating them in front of the whole church was unacceptable. He concluded by stating that it was a very embarrassing and humiliating experience for him and, especially, his wife.

  “Dr. Eshiet, Sir,” Patrick Turner picked up his line of questioning. “Did you ask the Reverend gentleman why he singled you out for this public disgrace?”