Suncatchers (7 page)

“Announcements” followed, during which Willard asked for more nursery volunteers and someone to sign up to iron the communion cloths for next month. He reminded everybody of the Wednesday service, visitation on Thursday night—there was that word again—and repeated the list of shut-ins. The theme of the Sunday school social in March was going to be “Springtime,” he announced. Perry expected someone to snicker at the lack of originality, but no one did. They needed people to decorate Fellowship Hall, Willard said, and there was a sign-up sheet in the lobby.

Then Brother Hawthorne took over for the next part, “Offering.” There was a sudden stirring over the entire auditorium and a great rustling of purses unzipping and unsnapping and wallets being wrestled from hip pockets. Several men holding silver plates walked down the aisle and stood in front of the pulpit. Someone behind Perry ripped out a check, and several coins rolled onto the floor and stopped at his feet.

“Oh, looka there, some little person's gone and dropped their offering,” Eldeen said in a loud whisper. She craned her neck to look behind them. Perry bent down and picked up three nickels and a dime. A small child started crying several rows behind them, and someone whispered, “Shh!”

“We got your money, missy honey,” Eldeen called softly. “Pass it back,” she said to Perry. A large hand was thrust forward beside Perry's shoulder, and he dropped the coins into it. He heard a ripple of fond chuckles as the coins exchanged hands.

He noticed Joe Leonard slipping out of the choir and disappearing through the side door. When Brother Hawthorne prayed for “these sacrificial gifts,” Perry saw Joe Leonard come back into the auditorium and mount the platform carrying his tuba, this time out of its case. He felt a flash of admiration for Joe Leonard. That instrument had to be heavy. Perry couldn't imagine having to hold it up and blow into it at the same time.

As the men started the plates back and forth between the rows, Joe Leonard nodded to Jewel and began playing what was listed on the schedule as “Offertory—Special Youth Music.” It was a song Perry recognized from a number of years ago, when some popular singer on the radio had sung it in a swingy blues style. “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound! That saved a wretch like me!” He still remembered most of the words.

Everyone was listening with serious, attentive expressions, even the children. Perry didn't know much about brass instruments, but he suspected, listening to Joe Leonard play, that the boy was pretty good. The notes rose full and deep. Perry thought of Joe Leonard's high singing voice and smiled at the contrast. He wondered what had been behind the boy's decision to play an instrument like the tuba. Joe Leonard finished the song the first time through and then played it all over once more after Jewel had filled in the break with a few notes. No one clapped after it was over, but several people, including Eldeen, said, “Amen.”

“Wasn't that a blessing?” she whispered to Perry. He nodded.

Joe Leonard quickly rejoined the choir, which Willard then led in a song that started out with “I stand amazed in the presence of Jesus the Nazarene, And wonder how He could love me, A sinner, condemned, unclean.” It occurred to Perry that these people didn't seem to have a very high opinion of themselves.

He glanced over at Eldeen, who had her hands clasped together under her chin and her eyes closed again. He saw that she was mouthing the words to the song the choir was singing. He studied her hands. They were almost as large as his own, with big purple veins running like twisted tubes beneath the wrinkled, discolored skin. Her nails were grayish, thick, and square.

He looked up at Jewel playing the piano. She was beautiful really, with her soft dark hair, the long neck, those eyes the color of a blue mist. Perry wondered if she knew she was pretty, or if all she saw when she looked in the mirror was a worm, a wretch, a sinner condemned and unclean. He looked at Joe Leonard, whose chin was lifted high, whose Adam's apple throbbed above his brown bow tie as he sang, “Oh, how marvelous! Oh, how wonderful!” How would this boy ever survive in the cruel world?

He glanced at others around him and wondered who they all were. Did they act this pure and pious all the time? The couple in front of him with the three children—did they ever fight? Did the husband ever throw things? Did the wife ever make harsh, sarcastic remarks to the children? The preacher, Brother Hawthorne, gazing meditatively at his open Bible as the choir sang. Did Brother Hawthorne enjoy a good joke? Had he ever gotten drunk and given anybody a black eye? Cursed? Did he ever watch R-rated videos? The plain little woman playing the organ. Maybe she was a chain smoker in real life. Did she ever have the urge to jump into a swimming pool fully clothed? Or naked? He watched Willard Scoggins waving his arms expansively in front of the choir. Did Willard ever break the speed limit? Had he ever held a knife to someone's throat or gambled away his family's grocery money? Harvey Gill sat across the aisle from Perry with a tall, matronly woman who must be his wife. Had Harvey ever had a lustful thought? Did he like beer and pretzels? Or did he survive on manna?

5

A Painted Still Life

When the phone rang on Monday morning, Perry knew it was Cal.

“So what's up?” Cal asked. “Did you scout out the church yesterday?”

“Yep, morning and night both,” Perry said.

“Is it going to work you think?” Cal asked.

“It's just what we wanted—small, about a hundred and fifty people or so, no denominational affiliation, fundamentalist.”

“Great,” Cal said. “And did they try to get you saved, born again, converted, regenerated, baptized, and sanctified?”

“Not really,” Perry said. “They just did their thing, and I just watched.”

“Well, I don't believe that for a minute. Don't kid yourself, Perry. They were watching
you
is more like it. And they'll be coming after you before long. Count on it.”

“Well, maybe so,” Perry said. He knew what was coming next. He'd heard it a dozen times already. Though Cal claimed to despise his religious upbringing, Perry couldn't help noticing how much he enjoyed talking about it.

“I grew up in Sand Hill, Georgia, remember, right in the middle of it all,” he said. “I got my exercise by walking the aisle—or I guess my mother got hers from dragging me down it. Public profession of faith, Sunday school, Training Union, Daily Vacation Bible School, Camp Victory every summer, baptism by immersion—the whole works. They had their claws in me before I was out of diapers. Thank God I got away from that place. Trust me, Perry, they won't let you rest until they think they've rescued you from the wolves of the world and brought you to the fold.”

Perry suspected Cal was right. He wouldn't be surprised if Harvey Gill had already called a special prayer meeting to pray for him.

“What are the neighbors like?” Cal asked.

“Nice. They're real nice people. But different—it's just a whole different culture.”

“Didn't I tell you? Part of it's the South and part of it's the religion. Every one of those little towns down there is spooky. You step inside one, and it's like you're in some kind of time warp. It could be anywhere from the 1940s on. Unless you get around some teenagers and hear the music, you'd never know what year it was. At least teenagers are good for something, I guess.”

Perry recognized the sigh that followed as an invitation to ask Cal how his daughter was, but he didn't feel up to listening to the answer.

After a pause Cal continued. “Watch the kids at this church, Perry. That's where the rottenness shows up. I remember hating Sundays with a passion. My brother and I had to think up all sorts of things to make it through without dying of boredom. Did I ever tell you about what we did during the communion service that time?”

“Yes,” said Perry quickly.

Cal laughed. “Well, anyway, keep an eye on the kids. Especially when they get to be twelve, thirteen. That's when they start getting fed up with all that crap they've been told all their lives. That's when I checked out. And
that's
where you can prove the failure of the system.”

“I'm not trying to prove anything, remember,” Perry said. “That's not what I do in a book like this. I'm just writing what I see.” He had sensed from the beginning that Cal had a lot more interest in the success of his book than just that of an agent for his client. He had wondered, in fact, how the whole project had originated, though he had never asked. It wouldn't surprise him a bit to learn that Cal had been the one to cook up the idea and had then presented it to one of his editor friends, suggesting Perry as the author so he could keep a finger in the project. Cal had a lot of friends in high places in the publishing world and had proved himself to them over and over with his unerring instinct for what would sell.

“Well, I'm just trying to give you some tips, that's all,” Cal said.

Perry thought of Joe Leonard and wondered if he ever considered telling Jewel to shove it when she said it was time to leave for church. He thought of the tuba solo and wondered if the boy had been forced against his will to play it. What kind of music did Joe Leonard listen to when he wasn't at church? Was he fed up with the Church of the Open Door and ready to ditch it all? Had he ever thought of emptying the grape juice bottle before communion, as Cal had done, and replacing it with real wine laced with Budweiser?

“Have you talked with the preacher yet?” Cal asked. “What's he like?”

“They call him Brother Hawthorne,” Perry said, “and he clears his throat a lot when he preaches. Probably close to my age, went to some Bible college in Florida, and uses a lot better grammar than you said he would. Has a red-haired wife who sings solos and probably outweighs him by ten or twenty pounds. Has some little kids, too. I told him last night after church I'd like to come see him sometime this week.”

“Bet he's excited. He probably thinks his excellent preaching put you under conviction, as they like to say. Or maybe he's expecting you to apply for membership. That really wouldn't be a bad idea, you know, Perry.”

“We talked about that already, remember? I'm not going to join or sign anything or recite an oath or go through any kind of initiation. I'm here to observe and write. I'm not going to pretend to be one of them.”

“But you'll be attending all the time. Eventually people will start to assume you're a member anyway.”

“All the more reason not to go through the hassle now,” Perry said.

“You'd get a better view of things from the beginning if you were a member. They'd let their guard down more.”

“No. We went through all that already. I never did it in my other books, and I'm not starting now. I don't want to try to participate and research at the same time. That's not me. It never has been. Besides, it's not honest.”

“Well, if it's
honesty
we're talking about, how honest is it to go to a church all the time and pretend to be interested when all you're really doing is writing a book about it?”

“I'll tell them sooner or later,” Perry said. “I'll have to.”

“Yeah, but in the meantime, they're thinking you're somebody you're not. Don't throw that honesty bit at me, Perry.”

“It's not dishonest to attend a church regularly,” Perry said testily. “I'm not making any kind of commitment by sitting in a pew. Anyway, they'd ask me all sorts of questions if I applied for membership, and I have no desire to be quizzed about religion.”

“Okay, okay. But you're going to have to put up with people bugging you
all
the time instead of just a one-shot thing. Get your answers ready. ‘If you died today, do you know where you'd spend eternity?' ‘Are you on your way to heaven?' You wouldn't have to go through all that if you went ahead and—”

“No!”

There was a pause. Perry pictured Cal holding the receiver out in front of him and staring at it, bewildered. Perry seldom questioned anything Cal suggested and never so emphatically.

“Well, carry on,” Cal said at last. “I'll talk to you later.”

After he hung up the phone, Perry refilled his cup of coffee and took it back to the guest bedroom, where he had set up his computer on the dressing table. It was one of those low-sitting old mahogany dressers with a little round stool that fit into the curved center. The large oval mirror could be tilted to any angle. Perry had moved the dresser away from the wall and aimed the mirror downward so he wouldn't have to look at his face every time he glanced up. He had moved a kitchen chair in to replace the stool and had laid a towel across the dresser top with a piece of shelf board set on top. On this rested his computer. Not exactly the setup of a professional writer, he thought, but it would do. In fact, it might be good for his writing to have to adjust to a new room, even lower his standards of comfort.

He stood in the doorway and looked at the mahogany dresser. He knew it had been foolish not to bring his sturdy oak desk from Rockford. His sister had scolded him over the phone for leaving almost everything behind with Dinah. “You're stupid, Perry,” Beth had said. “You're going to have to start all over and buy everything from scratch.” But the thought of that was better than the thought of leaving gaping holes behind him in a house where he had once been happy. It was really for Troy anyway, though he hadn't told Beth that. Maybe one actor was offstage, but at least Troy would have the security of the same set and props.

Perry glanced at the clock. Troy was probably just getting to school about now. Mondays had always been hard for him. After being home for two days, he never wanted to go back to school. Dinah had always blamed Perry for this. “What do you expect?” she had said once. “You make him think the weekend is some kind of uninterrupted party time where nobody ever has to work. Friday afternoon till Sunday night solid, you're letting him drag you around wherever his heart desires. A movie? Oh sure, Troy Boy. Which one? Sledding? Okay, but first let's buy you a new sled. That other old thing must be at least two months old. Pizza? Fine. Call all your buddies and invite them to come, too. On and on, every weekend. Then Monday morning, bang. Reality. School. Weeping and wailing. It wears me out, Perry, and it's not healthy for Troy.”