by Tom Hilpert
“Okay.”
She looked at me suspiciously. “Okay what.”
I reclaimed her hand. “Okay, I commit.”
She looked at me some more.
“We were friends with a future. I want the future to start now.”
“Just like that?”
“No, not 'just like that.' I've been thinking and praying and working things through. I invited you here tonight to communicate that very thing to you.”
“By holding my hand.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were married before.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Maybe men communicate these things by holding hands and making a move. But women need to talk about them.”
“Making a move?”
“I'm not vain, but I've had my share of men trying get to first base with me – and beyond. I know what you were doing.”
“For the record, I didn't plan to go beyond first base.”
At last, she smiled. Her eyes were warm and full of mischief. “That's a good thing. You see, I've had this spiritual awakening over the past year, and you aren't getting anywhere near home plate until there's a ring on my finger, a dress in my closet, and cake in our freezer.”
“I'll consider myself warned. And for the record, though parts of me might disagree, I feel the same way as you do about it.”
Leyla turned toward me and slipped her arms around my neck. “Now that's all settled, there's nothing wrong with a little restrained second-base action,” she said, and kissed me.
CHAPTER 2 6
“Hey, let's not steal any bases,” said Leyla, a little while later.
“Sorry,” I said, catching my breath. “It's been a very long time, and I sort of forgot myself for a moment.”
“Well, it's gotta be longer still, buddy.”
“Edward Gibbon would approve,” I murmured.
Her nose crinkled up into a puzzled expression. “I can imagine you saying that God approves, or my mother would approve, or your own mother, or even you yourself, and I would agree with you. But who is Edward Gibbon?”
“He wrote The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. He said basically that all civilization is built upon the resolve of women to insist upon marriage before sex.”
“So, you're saying I just saved civilization?”
“I would not have let it go that far either.” Honesty compelled me to add, “I don't think.”
We looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. The moment got even longer. I began to lean toward her again.
Melanchthon chose this moment to launch a pre-emptive strike on Leyla’s dangling earrings. She gave a little shriek and then collapsed, laughing. She grabbed the kitten and pulled him into her lap, stroking him. He clutched at her hand with his paws and began to gnaw gently on one of her fingers, purring wildly.
“So, how does saying no to sex, save civilization?” she asked.
I straightened up, and then stood up. “Thank you, Melanchthon. You want some water or something?”
“Sure,” she said.
I went over to my kitchen and got us both some ice and water. “According to Gibbon, Roman society began to fall apart after marriage lost its value in the culture, and promiscuity became widespread. Divorce became common, families were fractured and then other social institutions also began to break down. Basically, without the dominance of what we call 'the traditional family,' cultures break down and eventually collapse.”
“Isn't that a little bigoted? I mean, nowadays, a lot of people feel that there are many different variations of 'family' and all of them basically valid.”
“History done right is a bigoted discipline.”
Leyla took the glass of water. She sipped it and then winked at me. “This is good. We need a good intellectual discussion right now. So how is history bigoted?”
“I guess what I mean is, it shows things as they really are, or were, rather. Nowadays we maintain all choices for family units are equal. We try to pretend that all beliefs and practices are neutral in relation to each other. But history tells a different story. It shows us that not all beliefs and practices are equal in terms of their effects on people. Some things really are better than others. Democracy really is better than Nazism and Communism. Capitalism, for all its faults, really has benefited far more people than socialism. And, according to convincing arguments from people like Edward Gibbon, society really is better off when traditional marriage and morality are valued, as opposed to when they aren't. It isn't just a religious thing either – Gibbon was not a Christian himself. It's just the bigoted historical fact.”
“Do you always think this way, or only when I kiss you?”
“We could find out,” I said with an un-pastorly leer.
“Yes, let's,” she said primly. “I just kissed you not long ago, so now let's try not kissing, and see how that works.”
“Hey, speaking of marriage,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment, and ignoring the mischievous twinkle in Leyla's eyes, “I need to ask you a favor.”
She looked at me suspiciously. “That is a very weird way to set up a question,” she said.
“Well, in my own small way, I too, am trying to save civilization. I do a fair amount of marriage counseling.”
Leyla relaxed a little. “And?”
I told her about the marriage counseling sailing cruise.
“Isn't it a little late in the season for that?” she asked.
“Well, we're getting it ridiculously cheap, and these two couples really need the help. Plus, if they keep on like they have been, I could just save civilization by throwing them off the boat.”
“Seriously Jonah,” she said. “I'm a little worried about you at this time of year. The weather on Superior is nothing to mess with. Storms often come up out of nowhere.”
“Then come along,” I said.
“What are you saying?” She said each word very distinctively, looking at me in a way that I would describe as “levelly.”
“I need a captain. The guy we had bailed out on us. You can handle one of those forty-foot yachts, can't you?”
“Where would I sleep?” she said.
“Why does everyone ask me that?” I said. “We'd each have a couch in the main cabin. The two berths will be for the two couples.”
She was silent for a moment. “Jonah,” she said after a minute, looking into the fire, “you didn't – you didn't make a move on me just to get me to say yes to this, did you?”
I reached over and palmed her cheek, bringing her eyes to meet mine. “Never,” I said. “I am many things less than wonderful, but I would never do that to you, or anyone else for that matter. Regardless of whether or not you want to captain this cruise, I want to commit to you, to let our relationship go wherever God takes it.”
“Good,” she said. “I mean, I didn't think so, but...well, never mind.”
“The past few months have been tough. I'm trusting you again. You need to trust me too.”
“Okay. Can I think about the cruise?”
“Of course. But not too long. It's coming up pretty quickly here.”
“Gee,” she said, “you're coming up with all kinds of ways for me to save civilization.”
“Just want you to feel needed,” I said.
CHAPTER 2 7
Two days later, over a cup of wild rice and chicken gumbo at Dylan's Cafe, Leyla accepted my invitation to captain the marriage counseling cruise.
“Where will I be when you do the counseling sessions? She asked.
“Well,” I said, “we'll see what works out best. We may want to just talk informally while we're going along, or we might have formal sessions. I want to play that one by ear. Anyway, you may not be able to avoid being where we are.”
“There aren't many private places on a boat that size.”
“Exactly. And it wouldn't surprise me if the couples drew you into the conversation. I'd say, if you are drawn in, try to ask ques
tions more than give answers. Mostly, if they are going to work things out, they need to be thinking things through for themselves. Questions help them to do that more than answers most of the time.”
“That actually makes some sense,” said Leyla, smiling and slurping some more gumbo.
“Don't sound so surprised.”
“It's that whole macho-sensitive thing,” she said. “Sometimes I get so caught up in the hunter-fisher-martial arts side of you that I forget the sensitive side.”
“You forgot intelligent, good-looking, and above all, modest.” For some reason, she kicked me under the table.
After that, things began to come together pretty well. I appointed myself maritime chef, of course, and happily stocked up on avocados.
I had one more land-based session with each couple before we went.
Phil and Angela Kruger seemed a little tense with each other again. After they were seated in my office, Phil looked directly at me.
“Is this really necessary, Pastor? I mean, we're going out on the boat in a week.”
“Normally, I recommend counseling at least once a week, if not more,” I said. “Plus, the sailing-counseling tour is not magic. I think it will help you guys, but you can't sit back and wait for some bolt of lightning from the sky. You need to be at work on your relationship now.”
“Yeah, Okay, fine,” grumbled Phil.
“Philip,” said Angela, “this is an opportunity. Let's make the most of it. There are some things I want to talk about right now.”
Phil look at her like she'd stabbed him in the back. He looked at me.
“Go on, Angela,” I said. “If you have something to say to him, go ahead.”
I figured she was feeling ready to confess the affair. Frankly, I wasn't sure if it was a great idea, considering her husband's current mood.
“I don't like how you patronize me, Philip,” said Angela. I quietly let out a little air.
“What're you talking about, Babe?” he said. “I try to treat you like a queen, Angie, you know I do.”
“I've asked you to call me Angela,” she said. “And maybe I don't want to be a queen.”
“Ten years, I been calling you Angie, all of sudden, this year it's got to be Angela? Plus, now Phil isn't good enough for you, and you gotta call me Philip, like my second grade teacher or something.”
“Philip is your given name. Angela is mine. They are nice names. Nicknames and diminutives are demeaning and are often used by authoritarian figures for the purpose of dominating others.”
I said a silent thank-you to the Lord that it was difficult to turn Jonah into a nickname, and so I was protected from being demeaned and dominated. I think God might have laughed. He seems to have a better sense of humor than most of the people I know.
“I don't even know what that means,” said Phil, sounding a little plaintive. “We used to be happy. We didn't worry about garbage like what we called each other, and who was dominating who.”
“Whom,” said Angela, and I felt I had to agree with her grammar.
“I think it’s these crap feminist classes you’re taking at UMD. They’re putting ideas into your head.”
Angela shot him a deadly look. “They have only confirmed what I already knew intuitively to be true,” said Angela. She looked at me, and it sounded like she was trying to convince me, more than Phil.
“I’m sorry Angela,” said Phil respectfully. “I didn’t mean that.”
She glared at him for a minute and he looked down.
“Anyway,” she said at last, “you know I won't be taking classes anymore for a while.” She sounded sulky.
“Hey, Babe,” said Phil, putting his hand on hers. “I'm sorry you gotta quit. I know you liked all that crap. Maybe you can do it again someday.”
“You're quitting your studies?” I asked Angela. On the whole, it seemed to me that her studies were not helping her come to grips with her issues, and she had to get the philandering professor out of her life, but I also knew that she derived a great deal of satisfaction from her feminist courses at the University of Minnesota Duluth.
“Yes,” she said, looking away. “It's kind of a money-thing.”
Phil gave a little smirk. I wondered if he had been less than honest with her about their finances, in order to get her to stop.
Phil got his face under control again. “Look, Angela,” he said, “I know things are kind of tense with us right now. Just hang in there, OK? You know it will get better soon.”
She smiled weakly and took his hand. “I know, Philip. It will be better soon, won't it?”
“Before you know it, Babe,” he said.
“All right, listen,” I said. “When you go home tonight, I want you to talk more about Angela's studies. But I want you practice telling each other only how you feel. Instead of blaming the other person, or accusing them, just tell them about your feelings. Instead of saying, ‘you demean me when you call me Angie,’ try something like, ‘I feel very hurt and small when you don’t call me Angela, like I’ve asked.’ Get the picture?”
After some more conversation, they were on their way. They remained committed to the cruise, and I thought maybe we were getting somewhere.
CHAPTER 2 8
My purpose for meeting with the Stones was to talk them out of coming on the cruise. After we were all seated in my office, I told them so.
“But why?” said Jasmine. “I think it could help us so much.”
“We have problems, Pastor,” said Tony Stone. “I think this cruise will help us. We don't know anyone up here. We don't have the support of a community, and you can give us that with this cruise.”
They sounded like little kids asking for extra cookies. “Look,” I said, “the truth is I still don't understand your marriage. You are like no other married couple I've counseled. I don't understand your problems. I don't even understand your relationship. I think I will be wasting your time and money.”
Stone, normally so expressionless, had a queer look on his face, part heartsick, part something that almost looked like admiration. He began to stand up.
“Sit down honey,” said Jasmine. “We need to tell him.”
“Tell him?” Stone sounded shocked. “Jaz...”
“Yes.” She turned to me quickly. “Our problems are all about sex.”
Stone was staring at her. He slumped heavily back into his seat. She patted his cheek. “Oh, quit pretending, Honey. Obviously, Pastor Borden could see we were not being honest with him.” She turned back to me. “It's just that we're kind of embarrassed, and we didn't know how to bring it up.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, where I felt a slight headache beginning. “Well, OK, what seems to be the issue?”
“Can't we talk about this on the boat?” asked Stone. His voice was a little hoarse, and he cleared his throat.
“The boat isn't magic,” I said. “I think it can be helpful, but I don't know why you think that will solve all your problems, if you can't begin to face them here and now.”
Stone looked like he wanted to swear.
“OK,” said Jasmine, with a defiant glance at her husband. “I'll start. How come men seem to think that having sex will fix everything?” Tony was staring at her again, his mouth gaping slightly.
“Because it will,” I said. Now they were both staring at me.
“I beg your pardon?” said Jasmine after a minute.
“Tony thinks sex will fix everything, because for him, it probably will. It does for many men, though not all.”
Stone began to grin. Jasmine seemed off balance for the first time since I'd met her.
“Look,” I said, “I’m a Christian counselor. What I believe is that God made sex, and it was good. He made it specifically for marriage. Outside of marriage it is destructive. But in marriage it can be incredibly positive and helpful. In some ways, it’s almost like magic.”
They both chuckled, a little uncomfortably, I thought.
“This doesn’t apply to all men,”
I said, “but it probably does to at least a majority. For those men, it is almost impossible to overemphasize the importance of physical intimacy. That kind of intimacy alone will resolve many conflicts – for the men, anyway – and it goes a very long way toward making them feel happy and content in their marriage. It’s almost like magic. My suggestion to many wives is, you've been given your magical powers for a reason. Use them.”
“But it doesn't work that way for most women I know,” said Jasmine.
“That's very true,” I said. “It's unfair, but men have not been given a magic potion that will make everything better for their wives. Physical intimacy doesn't do that for most women. So, Tony, you're still on the hook. It takes hard work and sensitivity.”
“That’s kind of strange,” said Jasmine. “What’s so helpful for men is sometimes hard for their wives, and vice versa.”
“True,” I said. “We often think marriage is about our spouse making us happy. But I suspect that in part, God created marriage as a means to force us to mature as human beings.”
Both of them had perked up immensely at this discussion, and they peppered me with questions, and when we were done forty-five minutes later, I had changed my mind, and agreed that they should come on the sailing cruise.
CH APTER 29
Bayfield, Wisconsin, reminded me of all the quaint New England fishing villages I've never been to. It could have been the set for Amity, the town in the old movie, Jaws. The main street drops straight and smooth toward the lake and the town marina. On that early October day, the impossibly beautiful water sparkled to its endless horizon in the sunlight, framed between old brick buildings housing mom-and-pop stores, as well as touristy craft shops, a sprinkling of boutiques and a few hometown cafes. There were only a few masts still bobbing in the harbor, but they were enough to complete the picture.
“I love Bayfield,” said Leyla, sighing. She had her legs tucked under her in the front seat next to me, both hands wrapped around a cup of convenience-store coffee. I shifted down as we dropped toward the harbor.
