On closer inspection Kate saw that his T-shirt had a print of a yellowed hand holding a knife and protruding from a toilet. Metallica was written above and Metal Up Your Ass written below, in spiky, angular capitals. Mrs Hibble was pointing at Kendall and tugging on her husband’s shirt, and Kate knew Jim would be in for an earful after the service. At the side of the stage, Jim sang loudly and nodded his head to the beat, smiling at Kendall, and Kate wasn’t sure if it was because he was oblivious to the T-shirt’s message or because he approved of it.
It felt great to sing, and she was surprised at the warmth that flooded through her — surprised to realise just how much she had missed it. She loved to sing, but had kept it to a minimum at home, her voice a gift for Corbin’s ears only, because Lawrence made hurtful jibes every time she sang within earshot of him. Church was the one place where she could give full rein to her desire, getting lost in the communal joy of making music.
The song finished and the band returned to their seats on stage. Jim strode back to the lectern, beaming. “Well, what a lovely way to start this morning’s service. I can’t tell you how great it feels to be joined as one in harmony, praising our heavenly father. God has gifted us all with our own unique, personal voice, and the best way we can use it, whether it be high or low, loud or soft, croaky or smooth, or even,” he said, his already wide smile growing even wider, “a little out of key, is to sing in praise of him. Glory be to God!”
There was a chorus of Amens from around the room, and then Jim moved on to more mundane matters. They sang two more hymns and the service broke as the children departed for Sunday School lessons in the adjacent hall. Kate was lulled into a sleepy sense of pleasure by the familiar routine, only vaguely aware of the occasional glance in her direction, and was feeling relaxed and comfortable when Mrs Hibble stepped up to the microphone.
“Today’s reading is from Second Corinthians,” she said in a scratchy, high-pitched voice. “Chapter two, verses five to eight.” She paused, allowing people to find the appropriate page in their Bibles. “If anyone has caused grief, he has not so much grieved me as he has grieved all of you to some extent — not to put it too severely. The punishment inflicted on him by the majority is sufficient.” She paused again, her steely gaze swinging round the room to meet with Kate’s, and there they rested. “Now instead,” she said, increasing the volume of her delivery, “you ought to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow.”
Kate squirmed as the old woman’s icy stare seemed to pierce right through her.
“I urge you,” she said, nodding towards Kate, affirming that the ‘you’ was a personal rather than collective one, “therefore, to reaffirm your love for him.”
She gave a cold smile and left the stage, returning the lectern to Jim.
He thanked her, then said, “The theme for today’s service, as you may have gathered, is forgiveness, and in particular, the need to forgive the people in our own lives who have sinned against us and caused us grief.” He stopped, allowing this to sink in. “When someone sins against us, there are a range of emotions we might experience. Sorrow, disappointment, anger, perhaps even rage. These emotions can be particularly dark and destructive when the person who has sinned is someone close to us, someone we love dearly.
“In Ephesians, chapter four, verses thirty-one and thirty-two, the Lord says, ‘Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ, God forgave you.’ I’m sure you’ve all heard the old adage — to err is human, to forgive is divine. It might sound like a cliché, but clichés only become clichés because they stem from truth. God forgives — he forgave all our sins by sending his son to die on the cross so that we might be saved. He gave the ultimate sacrifice, in order to forgive. In order for us to become more like God, we must also have a heart that forgives.
“In Matthew, chapter 18, verses twenty-one and twenty-two, Peter asks Jesus how many times he should forgive. ‘Lord,’ he asks, ‘if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? Once ... twice ... three times ... as many as seven times?
“‘Not seven times,’ answers Jesus, ‘but, I tell you, seventy times seven times.’ Now, if you’d all like to put your mathematics hats on for a moment and multiply those numbers, what is seventy times seven?”
There was a murmur in the audience as people attempted the equation. Then someone called out, “Four hundred and ninety.”
“Thank you, Mr Hibble, you’re not just a pretty face after all.” There was a titter from the congregation. “Yes, that’s right, four hundred and ninety times! Now, the idea here is that this is not a literal figure, that we should forgive someone four hundred and ninety times and then on the four hundredth and ninety-first time we tell them to go burn in hell.”
There was another titter, louder this time.
“No, siree, the idea here is that our forgiveness should be boundless, limitless — that the sins of our brothers should always be met with a forgiving heart!” He paused again to let his words take effect, taking a sip of water before continuing.
“You may well be thinking, That might be fine for Jesus, but I’m not Jesus. I’d rather wring so and so’s neck than forgive them, and that, my friends, is perfectly understandable. Forgiveness is difficult. It requires determination, and strength, and commitment and love. That is why it is divine. Nothing easy is divine. But you know what?”
He raised his voice and held out his hands, imploring his audience. “Forgiveness feels good. No, that’s not right. Forgiveness feels great! When we forgive, not only are we doing the subject of our forgiveness a favour, we’re doing ourselves a favour. All that rage and anger we feel — it tears us up inside, beats us down, lays us low. All it does is breed more rage and more anger, and I tell you, the only way, yes the only way you can overcome your rage, defeat your bitterness, is through the act of forgiveness.
“Now, some of you are sitting here right now, and you’re thinking, Don’t be ridiculous, Jim. What would you know? Who have you ever had to forgive? The best way to deal with someone who has sinned against you, who has laid you low with grief, is to enact revenge. And if I’m being honest, I’ll admit you have a point. Yes, revenge is sweet, and there was a time in my life when I ran with revenge, when I thought the best way to react to someone who slighted me was by smashing a beer bottle over the back of their head when they were facing the other way. And again, if I’m being honest, sure, I can tell you it felt good to take revenge. But you know what?” he said again, the words a mantra, spurring his audience on. “That good feeling was so very fleeting, and it was soon replaced by feelings of guilt, the guilt that comes with hurting one of your fellow men, and self-loathing, the self-loathing that comes with knowing that there is enough wickedness in this world without you contributing to it further.
“Guilt and self-loathing, you see, are terrible emotions. And there is no escape from them if you seek to meet the sins of others with sins of your own. Two wrongs do not make a right! It’s a cliché, yes, but it’s a cliché because it’s true! Eventually, after many years, guilt and self-loathing brought me to the gates of despair. It was then that God showed me the error of my ways, and I found it in my heart to forgive. Once I did this, I became a changed man, a man born anew, a man whose life could be filled with abundant joy!”
Jim smiled then, providing evidence of his abundant joy, and was answered by a smattering of Praise the Lords and Hallelujahs. Carrying on, he said, “The act of forgiveness is like having a giant pair of scissors. A giant pair of scissors that allows us to cut our ties to those who have sinned against us, ties born of grief and rage and bitterness, and to regain and renew our personal power. Forgiveness is an incredibly powerful act, and the rewards that come with forgiveness are also incredibly powerful.”
Jim took another sip of water and cast his eyes around the room. “Now,”
he said, “time for a rhetorical question. Who knows what karma is?” Hands spiked up across the room. He nodded gently, lips pressed together. “Lots of you — that’s good. Now, you might think that as a pastor of a Christian church, I shouldn’t be espousing a belief in the Hindu concept of karma. You might think that God has everybody’s destinies all planned out and that karma has nothing to do with it. Well, I’ll tell you, right here and right now, that I absolutely do believe in karma! And another thing I’ll tell you, is that forgiveness is at the very heart of karma! God wants us to forgive, as he forgave us. And when we forgive, not only are we rewarded with a karmic abundance of joy and a lightness of heart, we are also rewarded with the forgiveness of others. That, my friends, is the essence of karma. Do unto others as you would have done unto thyself.”
Jim went on in a similar vein while Kate wriggled in her seat, wishing she was elsewhere. It seemed everyone was in kahoots — her parents, Suzanne, Lawrence, and now Jim Winton — and she felt like a sheep being herded into a pen, dogs nipping at her heels. Just how much dirt have you dished? she thought, glaring at Suzanne, willing her to turn around and face her, but Suzanne seemed enthralled by Jim’s words, her eyes glued to him, oblivious to Kate’s discomfort.
And she had to admit, Jim’s words were having an effect. She turned them over in her mind, and as much as she disliked the implications, she was tired of being angry at Lawrence. As Jim spoke, his deep, mellifluous voice casting a spell, she tried to imagine what forgiving Lawrence would look like. The idea of letting him back into her house, re-establishing their marital connection, seemed a step too far. And in the back of her mind there was the image of Evan, wearing nothing but her dressing gown. She tried to banish it, squeezing the back of the seat in front of her until her knuckles turned white, but it kept returning, like a boomerang, making her crotch tingle. She squirmed, blushing with a mix of anger and desire. She considered making a break for the exit, but the thought of all those eyes upon her, watching her flee…
“If there is any one of you this morning who has someone in their life who has caused them grief, any one whose heart is filled with anger and bitterness, then I urge you to come forward now, kneel at the stage and seek comfort in communion with our Lord. If you are confused, if you feel you don’t have the strength needed to forgive, then come forward and pray, ask our Lord to give you the strength you need, the clarity of purpose that you seek.”
Kate was on her feet before she realised what she was doing. It was as if her mind had given up control of her body and sat back watching, helpless to resist, as her legs led her to the front of the stage. She knelt and bent her head, resting it on the padded ledge that lined the front of the stage. Breathing slowly, she shut her eyes and tried to pray.
At first, she was lost for words, and painfully aware that she was now more visible than ever. She felt unseen eyes boring into her, judging, but as she continued her breathing, slow and deep and steady, she was able to focus and express her request. Lord, she asked, why are all men such jerks?
She waited, but didn’t feel anything. It was a valid question, but perhaps a little broad. She tried to narrow it down, home in on the specifics of her need. Dear God, I want to forgive Lawrence, I really do. I’m so tired of the pain and anger. But… I just don’t know if I want him back in my life as my husband. I don’t know how I can ever trust him again. Please, Lord, I don’t know what to do. Help me.
Kate felt bodies next to her, hands upon her shoulders. She opened her eyes to see Suzanne and Lisa kneeling either side of her, Lisa looking concerned, Suzanne flashing a triumphant smile. Closing her eyes again, she allowed Lisa to stroke her back and repeated her plea to God, letting the intimacy of the moment flow through her. Her awareness shrank — the room and the people in it disappearing — until all she knew was herself and the slow beating of her heart, the rhythm of her breathing. Within that small circle she felt something else too. Whether it was the presence of God, or just her bladder trying to tell her she needed to pee, she wasn’t certain, but in the end it didn’t matter.
Again the tears came, but this time she didn’t fight them back.
TWENTY-FIVE
Evan took Yumiko’s hand as they descended the steep bank to the beach. Still stiff and sore from crashing his bike, he was glad to finally arrive at their destination. Aside from scrapes and bruises, he hadn’t done any major damage, but the night had been a difficult one, tossing and turning as he struggled to get comfortable.
Yumiko had acted sympathetically when he got home after his ride, tending to his wounds and giving him a massage, but had otherwise been strangely withdrawn. His suggestion that they have a picnic had been met with muted approval, but the walk along the lakeside track seemed to have drawn her out of her funk. He squeezed her hand as they stepped over the matted roots of a tree, and she squeezed his in return, flashing a quick smile.
The little pebbly beach was a favourite of Evan’s, secluded and quiet, with the entrance to the path overgrown and hidden from the track above. As he had expected, they had the beach to themselves. Tomorrow was the first day of spring, and the sun was high and warm in a cloudless sky as he laid out the picnic blanket by the water’s edge.
They sat down, Evan grimacing as a sliver of pain shot through his shoulder. He opened the hamper, removed a selection of crackers and toppings, then dived back in to reveal a bottle of sparkling wine and two plastic wine glasses. “Ta da!” he said, brandishing the bottle. “I’ve brought bubbly.”
“Nice,” said Yumiko with a non-committal smile. “What’s the occasion?”
“I just want to celebrate our relationship,” he replied, working the cork loose. “And how much I love you.” He popped the cork and filled her glass, beaming.
Her smile widened and she accepted the glass, taking a sip. “This is a beautiful spot. How did you find it?”
He poured himself a wine and sipped it, looking out across the glassy water to the houses peppering the shore along Peninsula Road, the ragged lump of Deer Park Heights rising above. “A friend of mine showed me. I haven’t been here for ages.
“Boyfriend or girlfriend?”
He cocked his head, giving Yumiko a quizzical look. “Does it matter?”
She shrugged as she made herself a cracker. “I suppose not.”
“You’re the only girl I want to be here with.” He embedded his glass in the pebbles at the edge of the blanket, stretched forward and took off his shoes, wincing with the effort. “Come have a paddle with me.”
“Nuh-uh. It’ll be freezing.”
“Come on, it’s a beautiful day. You’ll be able to feel the Earth pulsing beneath your feet.” He pushed himself onto his knees and began working on her laces. “Aren’t you hippies into that sort of thing?”
She laughed. “Oh, so I’m a hippie now?”
“There’s a muslin dress in our wardrobe, isn’t there?”
“So?”
“Hippie.” He removed her sneakers and laid them on the blanket.
“There, sneakers,” she said, pointing to them. “Hippies don’t wear sneakers.”
He stood and, reaching down for her hand, said, “Don’t be ashamed of who you are. Own it. Even hippies need comfortable shoes.”
She took his hand and he hauled her up. Another dart of pain shot through his shoulder but he turned the grimace into a smile. Rolling up his cargo pants, he took a step into the icy water, turning to face her.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Like lukewarm soup.”
“I’ll bet.” She bent to roll up her jeans and Evan kicked out, splashing her. Yumiko yelped and said, “Right, now you’re for it.” Stomping into the water, she gave him a playful shove. He pretended to stumble, then pivoted and kicked water at her again. She scooped water in her palm, firing it at him.
Dodging, he said, “You’ll have to do better than that.”
She scooped up another handful, flinging it in his face.
“Hey, no head shots
allowed!” He shook his head and leapt towards her. She ran away, splashing through the shallows, squealing, and he laughed. “So elegant. Those childhood ballet lessons really paid off.”
“Ho, ho, very funny. At least I’m a better dancer than you. You dance like you’ve got a carrot stuck up your arse.”
“Do not!”
“Do so!”
His grin wide and toothy, he beckoned to her. “Enough. I call truce.”
She came, smiling, and they embraced. They stood silent, arms entwined, the crystal water lapping around their shins, until Evan said, “The soup’s gone cold.”
Yumiko nodded. “Yep. I can’t feel my toes anymore. Does that mean I have frostbite?”
“Possibly. We’d better get out I can massage the life back into them.”
Back at the picnic blanket, Yumiko crouched to roll down her jeans, but straightened again when Evan dropped to one knee in front of her. “Evan?”
He took her hand and said, “Yumi, I’ve got something to ask you.”
“If you’re going to—”
“Yumiko Okamoto — will you marry me?” he said, reaching for his pocket. “I don’t have a proper ring, but I thought this could do for now.” He pulled a white shell from his pocket, twisted and circular, and moved to slide it onto her finger.
She snatched her hand away. “Oh Evan, what are you doing?” she said, her voice quivering.
“What do you mean? Don’t you like the ring?” He rolled his hand over, presenting the shell on his palm. He’d taken it from a small collection she had gathered on her travels around New Zealand, and had thought she would love it.
“No, the shell’s lovely. But why now?”
“Isn’t this what you want?”
“It’s what I wanted. But now… Jesus, Evan, you never wanted to before. What’s changed?”
Taking the Plunge Page 18
