by Ray Garton
They had a lunch of taco salad and strawberry shortcake for dessert, then went outside for a long walk in the summer sun.
It made Brett feel important to be alone with his teacher; he had Mr. Moser's undivided attention and interest. As they walked, they did not talk about sabbath school or church—in fact, Brett completely forgot it was the Sabbath, which would have been impossible had he been with Grandma. Mr. Moser wanted only to talk about Brett.
"What would you like to do, Brett, more than anything in the world?"
"Do? What do you mean?"
"Go to Disneyland? Fly a plane? Ride a rocket to the moon?"
They were walking along a dusty trail and Brett began to thoughtfully kick a rock along ahead of him, wondering if he could confide in Mr. Moser. He decided it would be safe to be honest.
"I'd like to go to a movie," he said quietly.
"Pardon?"
"A movie. You know, in a theater."
"Ah, the forbidden fruit." Mr. Moser smiled knowingly.
"Huh?"
"Never been to a movie, huh?"
"I've never even seen a movie. Not a real one, anyway, like Raiders of the Lost Ark or Alien. Just those stupid movies they show on Family Nights. And sometimes Grandma won't even let me go to those."
Mr. Moser stopped and sat on a fat tree stump, chuckling quietly.
Brett frowned, thinking perhaps he had said something wrong. "What's funny?"
"Well, it's just that...see, I'm chairman of the Entertainment Committee. I'm one of the people who chooses those stupid movies."
"Oh." Brett felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. "I'm sorry."
"No, no, don't apologize, Brett," Mr. Moser said with a laugh. "I know most of those movies aren't very good, but we're kind of limited. It is a church function, after all. There aren't many good family-oriented films to choose from. We're always looking for new ones to put on the approved list, but the committee's standards are pretty rigid. No swearing, no drinking, no smoking, no dancing. I know what you mean, though. If I have to sit through Zebra in the Kitchen one more time, I may be sick." He rubbed his palms up and down the thighs of his blue jeans thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, "If you haven't seen any real movies, then how do you know about Raiders of the Lost Ark and Alien?"
Hesitantly, Brett told him about his collection of movie ads.
Mr. Moser listened intently, watching Brett with great interest. When he was finished, Mr. Moser said, "Have you ever seen a VCR, Brett?"
"We don't even have a TV."
Mr. Moser winked. "Then let's go back to the house. I've got something to show you."
Back in the house, Mr. Moser opened a tall cabinet in the living room. On the middle shelf was a large television set. Below that was a black machine with the time glowing in green numbers on the side. Rows of what appeared to be books filled the top shelf.
"This is a video cassette recorder," Mr. Moser said, "and these—" He gestured at the book-like objects. "—are video cassettes.
Brett stared into the cabinet with awe, his lips parted.
"When a movie is submitted for approval," Mr. Moser said, "I sometimes invite the committee over here and, if it's available on video cassette, we watch the movie and vote on it."
"So you get to see unapproved movies, too?" Brett whispered. "Not just the kid stuff?"
"Well, it's not likely that anyone is going to submit anything by Martin Scorsese or Woody Allen for approval, but yes, I get to see all the movies."
"Woody who?"
"Never mind."
"Wow," he breathed as he reverently inspected the VCR. "How many videos do you have?"
"About sixty movies or so on tape."
"Sixty? Sheesh." Brett stared up at the tapes, imagining what it would be like to sit down and watch all of them back to back, without knowing what movie was coming up next. He glanced at Mr. Moser hopefully, but suspected there was little chance of seeing any of those movies.
But Mr. Moser had a broad grin on his face. "Would you like to see one, Brett?"
"But...it's the Sabbath."
"Would that bother you?"
"Wouldn't it bother you?"
"Well...why don't we make it our little secret. Just between the two of us. I won't tell if you won't tell, okay?"
Brett held his breath a moment, expecting him to say he was only joking. It was too much to hope for.
"Okay, Brett?"
Slowly, disbelievingly, Brett nodded, then smiled as he realized Mr. Moser was serious. Really serious!
Mr. Moser scanned the tapes and pulled one down, took it from its box, and slipped it into the machine.
"This is a good one to start with," he said. "It's a Disney movie from a few years ago, but a very good one. It's called Never Cry Wolf. It wasn't approved because there are some swear words and a shot of Charles Martin Smith in the buff from behind. It's a great movie, though. Sit down. You want some chips?"
Within minutes, Brett was seated wide-eyed in front of the television munching on Doritos and drinking an Orange Crush. For two hours, he was far away from Manning.
* * * *
Over the next few weeks, Brett spent a good deal of his time at Mr. Moser's house watching one movie after another.
Grandma was pleased because Brett had told her he was working with Mr. Moser on some Sabbath school projects. No further explanation was needed; she was glad to know he was investing his time in wholesome pursuits.
The day after he watched Never Cry Wolf, Brett saw Starman, a movie that would never even be considered for approval. Seventh-day Adventists frowned bitterly on science fiction and fantasy—unless it was written by C.S. Lewis, of course. At the end of the movie, the alien, played by Jeff Bridges, made love with Karen Allen. It was a PG-rated love scene, but it was nevertheless startling to Brett. He had neither seen nor imagined people touching each other the way Jeff Bridges and Karen Allen touched each other on the screen—with their hands and their mouths.
He squinted curiously, straightened his posture and said, "What are they doing?"
Mr. Moser sniffed and fidgeted on the sofa. "They're, um, making love."
"What?"
"Making love."
"Yeah, but...what's that?"
"Well...when a man and woman care very much for each other, they, um...they share their bodies with each other. They kiss and hold each other. Like that." He gestured toward the screen.
"You mean sex?"
Mr. Moser nodded slightly, his eyes on the television; he looked embarrassed and uncomfortable.
So that's what Grandma's always complaining about, Brett thought, turning his attention back to the movie.
Nothing but sex and killing, Grandma often said about TV.
He could see nothing bad about what the man and woman were doing. In fact, it seemed pleasant; they certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. What was bad about that?
As the tape was rewinding, Brett turned to Mr. Moser and said, "That didn't look like a bad thing. The sex, I mean. People are always talking about it like it's a bad thing."
"Well, it can be...misused," Mr. Moser said. "But if it's between people who care about each other, it's perfectly natural and...healthy."
Brett returned the following day for a showing of The Color Purple.
"I really wanted this to make the approved list," Mr. Moser said as he put the movie into the VCR, "but it didn't stand a chance."
"How come?"
"Swearing, drinking. But what really did it was the lesbian relationship."
"The what?"
"We'll talk about it after the movie."
Brett was surprised by how much the film moved him. By the time it was over, he was embarrassed to find that his eyes were puffy and sticky with tears. He did not want to talk for a while and was silent as the tape rewound.
Mr. Moser watched him, waiting for him to speak.
"So, what's a...a lez-bean?" he fi
nally asked.
"What did you think of the movie?"
"It was good. But I didn't see anything that looked like it might be a lez-bean relationship. Whatever that is. So what is it?"
"It was subtle. Remember when Shug and Celie went home after the big fight at the bar?"
Brett nodded.
"And they were alone together? And they started...well, touching each other?"
Another nod.
"That's where, um, their lesbian relationship began."
Brett waited for him to go on. When he did not, Brett said, "I still don't know what it is."
"A lesbian is...well, a woman who would rather make love with another woman than with a man."
Brett frowned as he thought that over. "You mean...sex? The women do sex together?"
Mr. Moser nodded. "Have sex, not do."
Brett pondered this new information, chewing his lip as he tried to fit it into his rapidly growing view of things. "Are there men lesbians, too?" he said.
Mr. Moser nodded as he put the videotape back in its box. "Gay men. Homosexuals."
...and the homo-seck-shuls spreading the AIDS, Grandma often grumbled.
There was another of her mysterious complaints explained. Brett was learning a lot. And it seemed that everything he was learning would be strongly condemned by Grandma and everyone in his Adventist community. And yet it seemed these things were not condemned in the outside world. Apparently, some people did not find fault with these things the way Adventists did. In fact, it had to be a lot of people if they were making movies about these things.
Brett began to get the sense that a vast world existed beyond Manning where everything was very different than it was in his life. He began to get the feeling that he was...locked up. In a box. He almost felt as if he were being held prisoner.
* * * *
Brett waited for the mail carrier each day, but received no more letters from his mother. After each disappointing delivery, he would play with Gabby until he knew Mr. Moser was home from work. Mr. Moser was an X-ray technician at the Seventh-day Adventist hospital in Deer Park and got off at three p.m. Then Brett would hop on his bike and head for his Sabbath school teacher's house.
A day did not pass without a few warnings from Grandma.
"Don't talk to any strangers," she'd say. "And stay away from those Mexican hitch-hikers, you hear? Probably one of them who's killing all those poor little boys. Always drinking their beer and smoking their dope. Course, if you keep saying your prayers, Jesus'll watch over you and nothing bad will ever happen."
In Brett, Mr. Moser had found a protege; in Mr. Moser, Brett had found a mentor. He watched one movie after another, so many that he would have lost count if he did not list them in a spiral-bound note pad. It was a new kind of scrapbook, a companion to his collection of movie advertisements. Beneath the title of each film, Brett made notes; he learned something new from every movie, whether he liked the movie or not.
Gremlins, The Terminator, Cujo, all three Star Wars movies in a row. Of the trilogy, Brett's favorite was the first. He jumped to his feet and cheered during the final scene in which the heroes were rewarded for their valor.
At first, Brett found it a bit disconcerting to be watching unapproved movies with the chairman of the church's entertainment committee. But Mr. Moser reassured him.
"Remember, Brett," he said, "it's our secret. I won't tell if you won't tell."
* * * *
For three weeks, Brett kept their secret and his list of movies grew a little longer each day. From Mr. Moser, he learned about movies; from the movies, he learned about life and the world.
It was the Friday night of the third week of their secret that things changed.
Friday nights were always gloomy. Grandma never smiled—not that she did much smiling the rest of the week—and was grumpier than usual. The darkness seemed a little darker and the scratchy music from Grandpa's record player seemed more mournful than the rest of the week. Grandpa usually sat in the living room on Friday nights, his grave, shiny-bald head hanging heavily from his neck, for which it seemed much too big. He drummed his thick fingers on the armrests of his wheelchair, eyes blackened by shadow, as Grandma rocked in the squeaky rocking chair, reading Sister White and humming off-key to the music. The summer brought some relief because the oppressive darkness of the night did not settle in until much later.
Brett was more than eager to get out for the evening and rode his bike over to Mr. Moser's well before sundown. He arrived to find Mr. Moser on the phone.
"I'm sorry, Jim," he was saying, "I completely forgot about it. I can be there in five minutes....No, no, it's fine, I'll be right over."
When he hung up, Mr. Moser paced by the phone for a moment, chewing a thumbnail, almost as if Brett were not there. His eyes finally darted to Brett and his lips curled into a forced smile that was little more than a flash of teeth.
"A Sabbath school committee meeting," he said. "Forgot all about it."
"Oh. Do you want me to go?"
"No, no," he replied quickly, turning fully to Brett, holding out his arms and waggling his hands. "No, sit down, have a soda, put in a movie. I shouldn't be gone more than twenty-thirty minutes. I have—" He lowered his voice secretively and smiled. "—a surprise for you, Brett. It'll just have to wait until I get back, that's all." He took his wallet and keys from the coffee table. "Don't answer the phone, just let the machine get it. Be back in a few."
After he was gone, Brett opened the cabinet and, with the help of a chair from the kitchen, pulled Ghostbusters down from the shelf. Mr. Moser had shown him how to operate the VCR, so he turned it on, then turned on the television. But he did not put the tape in yet. Instead, he headed for the bathroom.
Mr. Moser had given Brett a tour of the house during his first visit. Pointing to the door beyond the bathroom, Mr. Moser had said, "That's my bedroom, and that," he had added, pointing across the hall, "is the linen closet. If you ever spend the night, there are extra blankets and pillows in there."
"What's this?" Brett had gone to a closed door at the end of the hall.
"Laundry room." He'd taken Brett's arm then and led him away from the door, saying, "It's a mess."
After he finished in the bathroom, Brett stood at the bedroom door a moment and decided Mr. Moser would not mind if he just took a peek inside to see what his bedroom looked like.
It was dark in the bedroom and Brett reached for a light switch, found it, flipped it up. The first thing he saw was the huge screen across the room. He had heard of big-screen TVs but had never seen one before. He had not known they were that big.
He stepped over to the TV and saw that there was another VCR hooked up to it, just like the one in the living room. He brushed his fingertips lightly around the television's labeled controls—ON-OFF, VOLUME, COLOR, TINT...
Watching a movie on that big screen would be almost like watching it in a theater.
Maybe this is the surprise, he thought.
Brett hurried into the living room, got the Ghostbusters tape, returned to the bedroom and turned on the big television. When he tried to insert the tape into the VCR, he found another already in the slot. He pushed EJECT and the tape eased out like a tongue from a mouth.
The top of the tape was black as night and the white spools in the casing stared at him like dead eyes.
Looking around, Brett found no box for the tape, but a white label was attached to the tape's edge. In block letters written with a felt-tip marker were the words, WARNER BROS. CARTOONS #2.
He glanced at the clock beside the bed. Mr. Moser had been gone only ten minutes. That left another fifteen at least—he probably would be gone longer than he had said if it was a meeting. Brett had found that adults seldom acted as efficiently as they promised.
Slipping the tape back into the slot, he pressed PLAY and sat on the foot of the bed.
Cheerful music began to play and the words LOONEY TOONS appeared o
n the large screen.
"Bugs Bunny!" Brett exclaimed happily when the rabbit appeared, munching on a carrot. He had seen pictures of Bugs in a coloring book his mother had sent him once. Grandma had taken the book away from him and, in its place, had given him a book called Uncle Arthur's Bible Stories. No rabbits in that book.
After the credits, a little bald man appeared holding a rifle. He walked through the woods on tiptoe looking right and left.
"Shhh!" he said to Brett, looking right out of the screen at him. "I'm hunting wabbit. Heh-heh-heh-heh!"
Bugs suddenly poked his head out of a hole in the ground, took a bite of his carrot, smacked his lips a few times and said, "Aaaahhh, what's up, D—"
The cartoon was gone.
The screen danced with black and white speckles. Mr. Moser called them "ant races."
For a moment, Brett chilled with the fear that he had done something wrong, something that had perhaps damaged the VCR.
He sighed with relief when the picture returned. But it was not the cartoon he had been watching a moment ago.
A naked woman filled the screen. She was pale and had waves of cascading blonde hair, bright red lips, and heavily made up eyes. Her breasts were enormous. They bounced and wobbled like great water balloons made of flesh and tied with hard pink knots. They were bouncing because she was rapidly and enthusiastically sliding both fists up and down a large, hard penis. She laughed as she pounded her fists and her breasts flopped and the man thrust his hips upward.
Brett stared with a slack jaw, eyes wide as the camera pulled back to reveal more naked people doing things to each other.
He could not move. For a long moment, he could not even breathe.
* * * *
The Sabbath school committee meeting, which began and ended with prayer, was over in twenty minutes, just as Mr. Moser had suspected it would be. The entire committee was present—eight people in all—and, as usual, they sat around the conference table and socialized after the official business was out of the way.
