The Good Slave (7 page)

Slaves, of course, weren’t permitted inside Liberty Chapel, as the massive church-studio complex was called.
 
They had their own churches and chapels where they’d sing and pray and murmur their chaplets.
 
And by law everyone, slave and freeman alike regardless of status, had to attend Sunday services and donate twenty percent of their income, fifteen percent for those who made one hundred thousand dollars a year (who were very few), five percent for millionaires (who were fewer still), and so on.
 
Since slaves had no earnings, the
Servus Publicus
laws stipulated, among other things, that all slaves age thirteen and above were required to annually perform thirty hours of public service such as painting curbs, mopping floors, picking up trash, etc.
 
(Adept party sycophants often found themselves with an extra slave or two—temporarily, of course, and free of charge—as a bonus remuneration, officially, for their loyalty and dedicated service to the Church-State.)

There was also compulsory Bible Study once a week, and all had to watch Master Josef preach live every Sunday through Thursday night on EBN at 8 Eastern, 7 Central.
 
Every student in America was subject to an early morning quiz on the previous night’s sermon.
 
Slaves weren’t quizzed, of course.
 
There was no school for them.
 
It was legal to teach slaves the basics of reading, writing and simple math, but most slave owners didn’t see the need—let them remain the beasts of burden God intended the to be.
 
Besides, an educated slave is a dangerous slave.

“I want everyone to join me in a pledge!” Master Josef would occasionally proclaim to his viewing audience.
 
He would do this often enough for it to be part of his regular shtick, but no one seemed to mind.
 
When he spoke again, his voice would be soft.
 
“I want you to pledge that
you
will never,
ever
rest until this sinful old world...”—here his voice would begin to crescendo—“...is bound to the cross of Jesus Christ by the golden chains of
love
!”

Listening to Josef Messinjure could be like riding in a rowboat on a stormy sea.

“I know I’ve asked you to take this pledge many times before.
 
And I’ll ask you many times again, for if homosexuals were once again granted our precious civil rights, why then we’d have to grant those same civil rights to prostitutes…”—crescendo—“...thieves and even
child molesters
!
 
I do
not
want to live in a world where the vile dregs of humanity have the same rights and freedoms as decent,
normal
, God-fearing Americans!”
 
Pause.
 
“And I don’t think you do, either.”
 
Then he’d snicker into the microphone.
 
“Why, I can’t even think of them as human, to be honest.
 
They are
less
than human.
 
They are
sub
-human.
 
They are the crud of crud!
 
The most
putrid
scum to befoul the
human race
!
 
We do not allow bacteria and viruses to marry, do we?
 
Do we condone the holy union of microbes swimming in a petri dish?
 
No!
 
Of course not!
 
Marriage can never again be torn asunder from its traditional and
natural
roots!”

He’d grab the edges of the podium and let his head hang down, waiting a good ten seconds before lifting his chin and looking out over the audience before looking directly into the camera and chuckling.

“Why is homosexuality a sin?
 
You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve been asked that question.
 
‘Why is homosexuality a sin?’
 
I’ll tell you why homosexuality itself and not just a homosexual
act
is a sin, my good brethren.
 
It is a
sin
because the Bible
says
it is a sin!
 
I have never in my life seen any man I wanted to marry!
 
And if another man even
looked
at me with sinful lust in his eyes, I swear on the Good Book that I would
kill
him without a moment’s hesitation!
 
I would
destroy
that monster!
 
And when I got to the pearly gates ol’ Saint Peter himself would thank me for ridding mankind of such a
repugnant creature
!”

He’d pause here to wipe his forehead with the white handkerchief in his dark blazer’s breast pocket.

“God says in both the Old Testament and the New Testament that homosexuality is an abomination.
 
An
abomination
!
 
It’s right there in the Bible, and more than once.

“Leviticus 18: ‘Thou shall not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is...’”—pausing for dramatic effect—“...an abomination.’”

All across America the great congregation murmured approval.

“Leviticus 20...”

 
“May I please use the bathroom, sir?” Phoebus asked in as meek and submissive a voice as he could muster.

“No!” the guard barked.
 
“Keep moving!”

The little slave and his master were escorted through the imposing door under the golden cross by all four guards.
 
They’d only walked down the hallway a short distance when they reached a tall and steep metal staircase that led to prison’s basement.
 
It was so narrow they had to descend single file.
 
The stairs squeaked and groaned with each man’s step.
 
(By contrast, the little slave’s steps had little effect.)

At the bottom were three beat-up old golf carts, but the guards ignored them and walked straight ahead, on and on down the endless, deserted hallway.
 
The walls’ faded white paint was peeling near the ceiling.
 
About every twenty feet hallways branched off to the left and right, and at each intersection stenciled black letters underneath a stenciled black cross identified the passages as BLOCK 2, BLOCK 33, STORAGE WING 15, BLOCK 57, BOILER WING 10, etc.

Bright bare fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead.
 
They walked past prison cell door after prison cell door after prison cell door.
 
There were no bars like you’d see in the movies.
 
Just doors.
 
Phoebus wondered if there were really men on the other side of each door.
 
Wondered what they were doing.
 
Were they watching TV?
 
Did they have TVs in their cells?
 
Or books or video games?

The little slave was looking down at the floor as they walked, noting from the dried swirls that it had been recently mopped it with dirty water.
 
Still, the pine-scented dirty mop water failed to completely mask either the pervasive scent of mildew or the faint background smell of feces.

From the outside the prison had looked a mile long.
 
It was stuck in the middle of the lonely countryside far from any city.
 
The land was flat, and trees had been cleared as far as the eye could see.
 
There wasn’t a single building in sight.

Phoebus glanced up and saw the letters SHU painted on the wall just before they turned the corner.
 
The guard behind him grabbed the top of his head and roughly shoved it down toward the floor before kicking his ass so hard he fell to his knees, intensifying his need to pee.

“Get up!”

The little slave scrambled to his feet and hurried to keep up.

They walked about another twenty feet when the guards stopped in front of a door.
 
It was unremarkable clone of the innumerable nondescript gray metal doors they’d passed.
 
In the top half was a little window with a little metal door of its own.
 
One of the guards hit the door once with his club that sent a clanging echo down the empty hallway.
 
Someone on the other side opened the door’s little window.
 
The guard inside, looking as grim as his colleagues, looked at the group for a few seconds, and without anyone uttering a word he unbolted the door and it creaked open.

The rectangular room wasn’t much different than the prison it inhabited: cement floor and ceiling, windowless cinderblock walls.
 
But gray and never painted.
 
Phoebus’ heart began to race when he saw Stephen seated to their left at the far end of the room, a guard on each side of him.
 
He sat in a simple metal folding chair just like the ones that fill every church basement.
 
Cold, hard and stoic.
 
His wrists were cuffed in front of him.
 
His ankles were shackled with a long chain that looped through the triangles attached above the intersections where the chair’s front and rear legs crossed paths.
 
He was slouching, which seemed odd.
 
His knees spread wide.
 
Stephen watched in silence as his father and the little slave were escorted to an identical metal chair at the opposite end of the room.
 
It lacked rubber cushions on the ends of its legs, and when it shifted slightly as the old preacher sat down, it let out a wince-worthy sharp screech that bounced off the floor and walls.