California(51)

Micah sent away all of these visitors with a curt nod or a subtle shake of the head.

When he put his arm across Frida’s front and said to a visitor, “We’ll begin the meeting shortly,” Cal realized there was no one behind the stage door. The meeting would start when Micah started it. He was the televangelist here.

And just like that, the voices in the pews behind them faded away. Cal heard someone close the front doors, and a man’s baritone groan about the heat that would descend soon enough. The doors were reopened, and someone else, a woman, complained about the bugs that would soon be in the Church, attracted to the brightness. No one listened to her. Micah hoisted himself to standing.

He walked up the two steps leading to the stage and stood behind the pulpit. There had once been a microphone up there, no doubt, but now whoever wanted to keep the congregation’s attention simply had to project. But it wasn’t a problem, Micah’s voice was so loud, Cal leaned back.

“Peter was supposed to run tonight’s meeting, but it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Cal had expected a more eloquent welcome from his brother-in-law, some comment on the evening, the day’s momentous events, but Micah acted as if nothing new had happened that day, as if he hadn’t in fact come back to life for his own sister. The lack of preamble should have eradicated Micah’s charm, but the people’s silence proved that they respected him, were magnetized by his presence alone.

Or maybe this was just normal. Perhaps the Land didn’t require niceties, fancy speeches. They’d stripped away the fake and dangerous veneer of modern culture, the one Cal himself had been eager to leave, in order to live freely. Micah was just being himself up there, and people were listening, not in the name of etiquette, but because it didn’t occur to them not to.

“I know we need to discuss Morning Labor and the issue with people missing their shifts, but…” Here Micah smiled, and a few people at the back of the Church laughed. Cal thought he heard someone stamping their feet.

“You all learned today that I have a sister and that she’s been just a few miles off for the past two years.” He paused. “As you probably already know, she’s here now. She’s come to the Land.”

Frida was leaning forward in the pew, her hands shaped into a steeple like the one above them. She reminded Cal of a high school basketball player, watching the game from the bench, hoping to be called in. Micah said her name, and her hands fell. She turned around to take in the crowd. Cal kept his eyes on Micah.

“Frida’s with an old friend of mine. His name is Cal. Short for Calvin, but call him Cal. Everyone does.”

So Cal wasn’t Frida’s husband, or even her partner, or her boyfriend. He was Micah’s pal.

“Frida and Cal,” Micah said, lowering his voice to address them. “Stand up, so that everyone can see you.”

Frida was on her feet before Cal could even compute the request. She pulled him up to join her, and Cal finally took in the congregation. The Church was crowded with people, more than just the ones he’d seen earlier, probably fifty or sixty. They were sitting in the pews or standing by the open door. Those sitting by the lights were already soaked in sweat; Cal himself could feel the wetness under his arms and at his forehead.

Some of the people were grinning at him; others were nodding solemnly. He caught Fatima’s eye, and she raised both eyebrows in a goofy way. When he tried to make eye contact with Peter, he just looked through him. Cal shrugged and looked away.

No one was elderly. No one was very young.

It hit him all at once. There were no children. Not one.

“Where are the kids?” he whispered to Frida.

She sat down as if she hadn’t heard him.

“I know this situation isn’t to be taken lightly,” Micah said. “I don’t expect any favors.” He rubbed his hands together. “We will bring their presence here to a vote. Believe me, we will.”

If the Land voted against their presence, Cal wondered, would he and Frida cease to exist?

“But, in the meantime,” Micah continued, “I’d like to have them stay here, just until a decision is reached.”

Now that Cal had already seen the crowd, he couldn’t help but turn around to witness their reactions to Micah’s request. He half expected someone, Dave, maybe, or Peter, to stand up with a pitchfork and demand the outsiders leave. It would make sense; Frida and Cal’s presence expanded a community that wanted to remain the same size.

He wanted to stand up and say, Do what you want. We’re happy to leave. He wouldn’t, of course. And, anyway, Frida didn’t agree with him.

“Is that all right with everyone?” Micah said.

Cal had to grab on to the back of the pew when the women sitting behind him held up their fists in response to Micah’s questions. They moved them back and forth, as if their hands were hinged, as if they were knocking on invisible doors.

Just like at Plank. The way they’d expressed approval, whether they were cleaning horse stalls or discussing Roland Barthes in seminar. Why was the Land mimicking that knock? Micah had clearly taught them that signal of approval; or had some of them already known it?

He began feverishly looking around the room at the other men’s faces. Did he recognize anyone? Except for Micah, he hadn’t seen any of his classmates since the day he’d left Plank. What if they were here, and he could talk to them again? What did that mean? A ghost town that lived up to its name.