Pew(36)

Hilda muttered something to herself, but Steven didn’t notice and kept talking.
And what He told them was to have a special day every year for everyone to confess all their sins together—out loud—so that we all understand that we’re all sinful, we’re all broken, and there’s no use in blaming anyone else for anyone’s trouble. Of course, people still want their privacy so there’s blindfolds and curtains that are set up—
It’s very beautiful, Hilda said. Even with the blindfolds. You feel how beautiful it is.
Yes, Steven said. And it’s moving to see the community come together.
Well, almost.
They’ve always been invited. We invite them every year. And Dr. Corbin, he was part of the group that put it all together anyway, but even he couldn’t convince his own church to come. That’s what I was told anyway.
Well. I mean. I can understand why. It’s just that—
Anyway, that’s neither here nor there, Steven said. Point is, Dr. Corbin is going to bring you to the festival on Saturday so you can see for yourself what it is, and what our most important values are.
Right.
And there are some things you might see at the festival or on the way that we decided it would be better for you to know about ahead of time.
So it doesn’t startle you, Hilda said.
On the way to the festival you may see a lot of policemen in the streets.
The guns are symbolic. Hilda seemed to recite it from somewhere. They’re symbolic of the power of God, and of the powerful gifts he’s given to us.
And also, they’re there just to make sure that no one gets hurt.
That’s right.
Because pretty much half the town goes to the festival, so half the homes are unattended, so we have our police officers keep the neighborhoods safe, you know.
Hilda nodded, solemn.
After the festival, the community is really exceptionally safe, but we do see a few problems that happen just before—
Hilda whispered something in Steven’s ear.
Oh, the rumor. Right. One thing everyone wanted to make sure was clear to you is that there’s nothing to be afraid of, and I don’t know what Nelson or another kid may have repeated to you—but Kitty and Butch were concerned he may have told you the rumor that has been going around the high school, something about a human sacrifice that happens at the festival, which is just some lie somebody made up to scare the younger kids—
We ease the children into it.
That’s right. Most children aren’t let inside for the confession part of the festival—there’s a room just outside the main room where they’re kept. So I think what happened is that some older kids were just trying to frighten the younger ones.
That’s right, Hilda said.
Nothing to be afraid of.
Oh, no, nothing like that.
Ritual is something that’s very important to us, Steven said.
Yes.
So. That’s really all, I think. Dr. Corbin will drive you over and you might see more policemen on the street, and when you’re inside the festival, you’ll get a blindfold just like everyone else, and after that I think it will actually make a lot of sense.
Oh, yes. I think so, too. Hilda’s body remained very still. It seemed she was not, for a few moments, breathing.



FRIDAY




WOKE UP HUNGRY; listened to wind whining in the trees beyond the windows. I slid out of bed, pressed my ear to the floor, heard nothing. My stomach moaned to itself and it sounded like a song.
Hilda shouted through the door, up the stairs—Pew?—the sound of the door unlocking—Are you up yet? I sat up, went to the top of the stairs. She was wearing a white robe and had her hair pulled up in a towel.
I just about forgot you were still up there, quiet as you are. Come have some grits when you’re ready.
I ate standing up, facing away from her and listening to the parrot singing the same five notes over and over in the other room and after some time I looked down at an empty bowl. I put the bowl in the sink. The bird was still singing, singing as if it were practicing for something, as if this song would someday be necessary.
Dr. Corbin will be over in a couple hours. He’s going to take you to lunch, I was told, then to a little party, some kind of gathering or something happening over in his neighborhood. Now you’ll have to excuse me to fix my hair.
In the front room Steven was sitting in a plush chair, a newspaper shielding his head, his chest.
I sat in a chair beside the window and looked out at the thick green bush just outside. A beetle was crawling across some leaves, trying to get through them, trying to go somewhere. The morning passed like this, Steven’s newspaper cracking open and closed—beetles crawling across leaves.
Dr. Corbin came in a pale beige truck with one soft, undivided seat in the front. He wore a plain gray suit. His shoulders stooped and his chest caved as if he were forever peering over the edge of something. I had the feeling he’d just realized something dear and lost to him was never coming back. He held a complicated privacy, his own slow wind.
I don’t know how it is I can sometimes see all these things in people—see these silent things in people—and though it has been helpful, I think, at times, so often it feels like an affliction, to see through those masks meant to protect a person’s wants and unmet needs. People wear those masks for a reason, like river dams and jar lids have a reason.
Dr. Corbin did not tell me where we were going, and I did not need to know. The truck’s engine shook and muttered. I wondered if I might ever return to Hal and Tammy’s house. I imagined Tammy might give me a peacock feather, something useless and beautiful, a real thing to pass between two people since we cannot see all the unphysical things that pass between people.