To the Max

by Julie Lynn Hayes

  Maybe I exaggerate a bit, but I can’t help the way that I feel. The reason is obvious, at least to me: my mother needs to be saved from something very dark and very sinister, once I can make her see that that is what the Reverend Fisher really is. And in order to succeed, I need more information on our foe. Or is it foes? I suspect that he is not in this alone, and that maybe Richard’s instincts about Amy are more on the money than my own or Rachel’s. You know, I’d even be glad to discover that I am wrong about Terranova Fisher, that he is actually good for Juliet, and that their union might be a worthwhile thing. But somehow I don’t think so. And maybe at the same time that I save her, I can save Richard and myself. From what, I still don’t know.

  We decide to go in separate vehicles. Because it is more expedient? Or because it makes for a faster getaway? More likely because it just makes sense, considering where each group of us is coming from: Richard and I from St. Charles County, Rachel and Diana from Webster Groves. And as I am the last to discover, my friend Cat has taken up residence with my cousin Sebastian at his apartment in Ballwin. (Richard and I should visit them soon, bring a gift. Do they make cards that say congratulations on your cohabitation? I just might have to write one myself and print it out on the computer.) I nix Richard’s suggestion that he wear his Devil Made Me Do It T-shirt. I think he is joking, to lighten my mood, but I’m not taking any chances. Instead we wear dress shirts and pants, and another damn tie that he has to help me with. We are all concerned about my mother, and Rachel is even worried about Amy, thinks maybe they are both being swayed by the same evil influence. Looking at her nephew, I have to wonder if it just doesn’t run in the family. But I allow Rachel her delusions. For now.

  The Masonic Temple sits at the top of a hill, the drive leading up to it is steep, and the Monte doesn’t particularly like it. Luckily she’s a V8, and I coax her up the steep grade and into a parking spot well away from others. There is no sign of the rest of the crusaders yet, so we decide to meet them inside. I pocket my keys, and we walk around to the front of the building and through the main entrance.

  Inside, in the foyer of the temple, there sits an empty desk, where I imagine a receptionist sits on business days, and beside the desk is a slate board set on an easel, a neatly lettered chalk message pointing one toward the Church of Divine Redemption. Richard and I follow the arrow through a set of open doors and find ourselves entering what is apparently the meeting room for the temple, with a stage at the far end and rows of grey metal folding chairs set up on the floor, parted like the Red Sea by an aisle down the middle. Innocuous. Ordinary. So why then do I feel as if I have just entered the stronghold of the enemy? The chairs are filled with nicely dressed people already gathered for the first service, which is set to start at nine—and don’t think Richard didn’t grumble about getting up early on a Sunday for this—a lot of them women, I notice, and a few couples. At first it doesn’t dawn on me that I don’t see any young children, until a family comes in right after us, with two little ones in hand, and I watch as the young ones are taken off into another room by a cheery-looking attendant. I wonder what sort of indoctrination is practiced there.

  We stand there uncertainly for a moment, looking about for Juliet. A young man approaches us. He is maybe twenty-five, has short dark hair and impenetrable dark eyes, and is dressed entirely in black; his darkness is in direct contrast to his very pale, almost cadaverous complexion, and he has a very sober mien. “Welcome to the Church of Divine Providence,” he greets us, giving me something of an appraising glance. “My name is Josiah. Josiah King. You are Max, are you not?”

  “How did you know?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Your mother described you to me,” he explains. “Besides, you do look a lot like her, you know.”

  I suppose that makes sense.

  “And this would be your friend, Richard?” he continues, turning toward my better half. Richard merely nods. “Juliet is waiting for you,” he says. “Let me take you to her.”

  As he is speaking, my eyes are skimming the worshipers, and I can see her. I should have looked in the front row first. There is no sign of the reverend, but sitting next to her there are Amy and Mordred (which is what I call him now), and I’m not sure that I want to go in that direction. I decide to play detective instead, stalling for time. “Let me ask you something, Josiah. Have you known the Reverend Fisher very long?” I pretend that I haven’t heard his suggestion.

  “Yes, I have.” I notice immediately that Josiah doesn’t seem to smile very much—is that from being around His Eminence too long, I wonder?—and his voice reveals nothing of what he may or may not be feeling.

  “Maybe you can tell me something about him?” Not subtle, but sometimes a less-than-subtle approach is called for.

  He never blinks an eye. “He is an honorable man of God,” he responds automatically, as if he’s said this so many times he no longer has to think about it. And yet for a second, I thought I saw a flash of something more in his eyes. And then it’s gone. But before I can delve any farther, I can feel my waist encircled by a pair of hands and my ear is being blown into. I slap Rachel’s hands away in annoyance and move my head out of her reach, which only makes her laugh. Richard chimes in with his deep rich voice, and my sister giggles.

  “Very funny.” I turn and give her my faux evil eye. “Behave. Rach, you’re in a church, remember?”

  She only sticks her tongue out at me. How mature. “Where you two sitting?”

  I don’t get a chance to answer that. Apparently we’ve been standing by the door too long for my mother’s taste, and Josiah isn’t making any headway at moving us toward her, so she comes to fetch us herself. Doesn’t even act surprised to see us, as if we have been expected; did loverboy tell her that he threatened me to get me to come, I wonder? I doubt that he presented it in quite that way. He must have sugarcoated it somehow. So why don’t I just tell her that he did? I suspect she wouldn’t believe he meant it that way. It would be futile effort on my part, so why bother?

  “I’m glad you could make it, love,” she says to me, and I watch her carefully to see her reaction to Richard’s presence. If he is unwelcome, then so am I. But no, she is her usual self, and she hugs us both in her usual warm way. Maybe it’s because the minister isn’t present, I can’t help but think. Rather ungraciously, I must admit.

  She takes my hand. “Come on, I saved you a seat.” And she leads me toward where Amy and the brat are waiting. I cling to Richard’s hand, and the rest simply follow of their own volition. I’d rather not have a ringside seat, but apparently I do. Although I make sure that I am in between Richard and the evil child.

  “Josiah is Terranova’s right-hand man,” she explains. “He helps with the day-to-day running of the church. I don’t know what Terranova and I would do without him.” I wonder how much time the minister spends running his own church, as he seems to spend an inordinate amount of time smooth-talking my mother, but I make no reply, taking in my surroundings instead. Mother clears her throat and glances at me expectantly, so I turn to meet her gaze. “It means a lot to me that you’re making an effort to get along with him,” she says, “so that we can form a family.”

  But we are a family! Always have been! I want to cry out even as I wonder what led her to find someone who only serves to feed her homophobic tendencies, which can’t possibly be good for me and Richard. Why can’t things be like they were before he came along? Even with the attempted blind dates and the little stunts she’s pulled, I always knew she loved me, but now I am worried that I am not good enough for her, not without a major overhaul of my personality, and my psyche, and my libido, which I cannot, nor would I even attempt to, perform.

  I feel Richard shift in the seat beside me. Naturally he has been listening, that’s a given; he always looks out for me and me him. And he leans in toward Juliet. “But Juliet, you have a lovely family now,” he says, his hand resting tenderly on my knee. He’s a much braver soul than I am. I tend to get overemoti
onal at times and lose my capacity for rational thought.

  If she had been about to say something, that idea was shelved as the sound of a drum roll begins with what sounds like a single snare. Mother’s attention immediately snaps toward the stage, her head whipping about as if it has been pulled on a string, and as the curtains slowly draw back, the sound of a chorus can be heard, but not seen.

  The stage is dark on first perusal, seemingly empty, but then a spotlight is flipped on and in the middle of the stage a figure is revealed, dressed entirely in black from head to toe. I can hear a collective sigh from the women in the audience, as if he has simultaneously struck their pleasure chord. I find him to be rather ominous myself, for it is none other than the Right Reverend Terranova Fisher. In his hands is a large black Bible with a gold cross on the front. But it is not open, like he has no need to see the words to know the contents. His dark eyes flash as he scans the people before him. Is it my imagination, or is he looking in our direction, as if to ascertain that I have given in and come because he commands it? As if reading my thoughts, Richard lays a calming hand upon my arm, and I can see the reverend visibly flinch before he recovers his equanimity. Score one for us, I think.

  In the background, I can hear that the drum is done, as is the chorus, replaced apparently by a CD, Holst’s “Planets”—in particular, “Mars, Bringer of War,” a very powerful piece indeed. And as it begins, so does the applause, which swells and rolls about us in enthusiastic waves, as if the music is a cue of some sort. My mother and Amy lead the others in their enthusiasm as they energetically bring their hands together. Somehow, I manage to refrain, as does Richard.

  “Good morning, all,” Reverend Fisher begins, picking up a wireless mic from the floor, “how’s everyone doing this fine day? I hope that you’re all happy to be here, just as I am happy to be here with you. Good, good. Your smiling faces tell me all I need to know. Ah, I see that we have some new faces among us. Let us welcome them to our church, shall we?” Friendly applause is directed toward us like an intrusive wave. I feel like I am on some sort of display, and I don’t like it. I look away from the stage for a moment, away from the apparent object of veneration, to where I can see Josiah King standing at attention by the wall, like a member of the emperor’s guard. And as I look at him, the gaze he turns upon the sole occupant of the stage is less than friendly. What’s that all about? I wonder, even as his expression relaxes into its former unreadable expression.

  “Before we begin today, I’d like to offer my congratulations and warmest wishes to Donnie and Debbie Whitlock who recently celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary.” He points toward the back of the room, where everyone cranes their neck to gawp at a young couple sitting together, a sleeping infant cradled on the girl’s lap, and another one obviously well on the way. “I remember when they met here, mere children, so many years ago it seems, but they have grown together, getting to know one another, and in the process they fell in love, and here in the sight of God and their friends and family they were united five years ago, and are very blessed in the sight of the Lord with a wonderful growing family.

  “Family. Family values. Something which is hard to find these days, but once found it should be embraced and held onto with all one’s strength.” Everyone dutifully swivels around to face the preacher once more as he begins his sermon. “In these days of loose morals and looser values, sometimes it’s hard to do what is right, rather than to go along with the crowd. It’s hard to be the lone voice of reason in a world where anything goes, and too many people just do what feels good at the time, decrying that love is different now, and our notions of it are old-fashioned. But real love is not old-fashioned, is it, nor is marriage, although it is quickly becoming the exception rather than the norm. Divorces are too easy to obtain, so there is no incentive to try to work something out. It’s easier to break the faith and just try again.

  “As the Scriptures say, ‘A man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and the two are united into one’. ’Til death do they part. Not until they decide that it’s inconvenient to be married any longer. Proverbs asks us, ‘Who can find a virtuous and capable wife? She is worth more than precious rubies’. Truer words have not been said. Also, in Proverbs, ‘Houses and wealth are inherited from parents, but a prudent wife is from the Lord’.”

  He moves from the stage now as he speaks, leaping down onto the floor so that he is level with his parishioners. The women especially are hanging on every word. I wonder if they are fantasizing about what it would be like to be his wife. I glance at Juliet. Her mouth is slightly open, and she wears a rather glazed look. Good Lord. And I don’t mean that facetiously. I definitely do not like where this is going. I risk a glance beyond my mother; Amy is looking at Fisher just as slack-jawed. But her nephew has his eyes focused on my lover. I glare at him, and he winks at me and turns his head. I must have growled a little, ’cause Richard squeezes my hand reassuringly, and I return my attention to the sermon at hand.

  Terranova is working the crowd now. He doesn’t stand still but moves up and down and around while he speaks, so that everyone pivots to follow his movements. I catch Rachel’s eye. She doesn’t look too happy, either, nor do Diana, Sebastian, or Cat. I’m sure there will be a big confab after this ordeal is over. “Again from Proverbs… this seems to be a proverbial day does it not?”—his parishioners laugh appreciatively, like trained hyenas—“‘The righteous man leads a blameless life; blessed are his children after him’. I think that we can safely say the same for a woman and her children. It is only fitting that the children receive the blessings and the benefits of their parent’s life, but it is also their duty to lead righteous lives themselves, that they may pass this legacy onto their children.” Am I imagining things or is he directing this at me? His next words leave no doubt.

  “First Timothy says, ‘If anyone does not know how to manage his own family, how can he take care of God’s church?’ Having a family is both a blessing and a responsibility. It is much more than a biological function as some would have you believe. God intended us to procreate, not recreate, and to raise our children lovingly and in his image. Therefore, how can one devote one’s life to God, and do as he wishes, if he cannot carry out such a simple commandment? One can’t. It’s just that simple. One can’t. Parents have to know what their children are doing at all times. They must be there for them, watch over them, and lead them away from the evil and wicked temptations that the flesh falls heir to. The devil has many playtoys, and he likes to try to entice us with them. And oh, yes, there are so very many of those enticements, are there not? Turn on the television: they’re there for all to see. In our television programs. And in our literature. In the magazines that they try to bombard us with. And in the wicked people that come into our lives that try to tempt us to stray from the path of righteousness. Wickedness seems to very prevalent, these days. It must be disheartening to many of us, for did not the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah fall for just that reason? Yet, do not despair, for is not the Lord God with us?

  “‘Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived in that regard, nor worry. Neither the sexually immoral nor idolators nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders’. First Corinthians, chapter 6 tells us….”

  What the fuck? Did he just say what I think he just said? I glance at Mother; she is too wrapped up in him to pay me any heed. I glance at Richard—he heard it, too, I can tell—his lips are compressed in a thin line of anger.

  “Society as a whole is too willing to embrace the immoral,” Fisher is continuing, gathering momentum, “because it’s easier to go along with someone, give in to him, than try to make him give up his wicked ways, or say something that might ‘upset him’. Family values have become passé, out of date—at least that is what they would have you believe. But it isn’t so! Do not doubt for a moment that the way to the Lord, to eternal salvation, lies anywhere else but with the paths of righteousnes
s. Suffer not the immoral to continue to follow their wicked ways. Lead them back, help them back to the love of our Lord God Jesus, save the sinner, love him, but do not allow him to follow the path to perdition.

  “Suffer not the harlot to continue to lie with a man who is not her husband, nor a man to lie with a woman that is not his wife. Encourage them to remember their vows of fidelity, and to honor their marriage beds. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Neither lie with a man as one lies with a woman, for that is detestable. Leviticus tells us so. Did God not destroy the city of Sodom for that reason? We must save the Sodomites from themselves, for they are obviously confused and need us to lead them back to the light which only comes from the acceptance of Jesus Christ as our Savior.” Fisher’s voice has been rising steadily, whipping himself and his congregation into an emotional feeding frenzy. I hear soft amens around me, and praise the Lords, which only serve to punctuate his words.

  “Let us pray for these sinners now.” He falls on his knees in front of the congregation, eyes closed, hands which hold the microphone uplifted as in supplication. “Dear Lord, we call upon you to help our brethren, to lead them back into your mercy, and to cure them of this bedevilment which fills their soul….”

  There is more, but I am no longer listening. I am hurt, and I am angry, very, very angry, but it is Richard’s actions that give me the courage to do something other than sit there and seethe. He rises to his feet with a great deal of grace and dignity and reaches down for my hand. “Come along, love, I think we should go now.” I take his hand and stand also. Behind me, I can see that the rest of our group are on their feet as well. Looking at Richard, I think how very handsome he looks, so very dignified. His eyes are trained on Terranova, who seems to be regarding him with some amusement, through half-lidded eyes. We make our way to the aisle and head down it—the congregation is far too immersed in their reverend to notice, not even my mother, apparently—as we hear Fisher’s voice continue.