Pew(39)

Mrs. Columbus was looking at the ceiling, shaking her head a little but holding her eyes still.
Well, that was a strange thing to hear as I thought he was the one who had been taking me to church—that I’d been going mostly for his benefit and not really my own. It’s true that I had noticed that Johnny hadn’t been sitting up at night to read the Bible and he’d stopped leading the prayer at supper and wasn’t singing during the church service anymore, but I hadn’t wanted to make anything of it. I just felt glad he hadn’t moved out after high school, that he wanted to stay close, that he didn’t join the military or go off somewhere like other boys did. Then, only a few days before he went away, Johnny kept telling me about how he didn’t believe in anyone being different from anyone else, and I told him, well, I agreed with that, that all of God’s children are equal and he said, no, not like that. He said it was larger and harder to believe, that he had begun to think you couldn’t even love just one person more than someone else, that you couldn’t prefer one community over another one, that you couldn’t believe in one country over another one, that you couldn’t even prefer your own by-blood family—that the family you were born into didn’t mean anything, that you couldn’t even have a name. You had to give it all up. You had to truly be nothing. He said that’s what Jesus was really teaching and all these people had it wrong. You had to be nothing. Nothing.
Mrs. Columbus quickly pressed a handkerchief to her face.
Not even a name. He wouldn’t even have his own name. She shook her head. It wasn’t easy, he told me, for him to believe all this, but he also said it was too late for him to not believe it. And when I looked at him, I could see it, too. He wasn’t there anymore. No one was there anymore.
She put the handkerchief back into her purse. She looked at me closely and slowly.
So. You can see why … when I heard about some young person being found in that other church I thought, well … maybe. But you’re not. I know you’re not him. I don’t know you at all.
She looked at me one last time and I looked at her and what she said was simply not true. We did know each other. Whatever we may have known before or since didn’t matter. Even as she said she didn’t know me, I could see this and I felt sure that she could, too. It didn’t matter what was said, not this time. A word is put down as a placeholder for something that cannot be communicated, no matter what anyone tries, no matter how many words accumulate, there is always that absence. I stayed silent.
Well, I stopped going to church and it’s true I may have said some cross things to Dr. Corbin since Johnny left, but he must know that he owes me my son. He must know that much.
Dr. Corbin had come back in and was standing near us. Mrs. Columbus stood and turned to look at him.
Everyone thinks that bad things only happen in a place like Almose County and nothing bad happens here, she said. But they’re wrong. They’re all wrong.
I listened to her steps retreating, away from us and never to come back. Dr. Corbin sat again. Someone brought over two blue plates heavy with stewed vegetables and we ate them, not even stopping to look at each other.



DR. CORBIN SLOWED THE TRUCK when he saw someone walking on the road ahead of us. The walking person wore a wide-brimmed hat and wasn’t carrying anything, their arms hanging as if only attached but otherwise unaffiliated with the rest of the body.
Where you headed? Dr. Corbin called out as we reached him.
Ain’t in any hurry to get there, the man said back.
Very good, Dr. Corbin said. Take care now, you hear?
Oh, you can bet I will.
We drove on.
The road we’d been following, thick green fields on either side, curved into another road and led us into a neighborhood of slight, stooped houses. A fire hydrant was spewing on one corner and several children jumped in and out of the stream, their clothes soaked and heavy on them.
It’s a special day, the day before the festival … with the kids out of school and all, you have to do something with them.
He parked the car in front of a small yellow house with no trees around it.
Suppose that’s part of the reason they sent you over here. Everyone over there is supposed to stay inside all day, to get ready, I suppose.
The air was heavy and warm. We walked into the house, not much cooler, but all the lights were off. Dr. Corbin was carrying a paper sack he set down on the edge of a couch.
We haven’t got a spare room, so you’ll have to sleep here if that’s all right. Well, even if it ain’t all right, that’s what we’ve got. He smiled. Hilda sent this bag of clothes with you—she said you might need a change of clothes. He shrugged and we went out the back door of the house to a yard where several people were gathered in white folding chairs around tables draped with bright blue cloths. A child ran up to me and grabbed my hand and led me to a small dogwood tree in the corner of the fenced yard. Three or four dogs were chasing one another and sniffing the ground in search of something.
Look! the child said, pointing at the tree. A doll was bent over a branch just out of reach, hair flung the wrong way over her head. She’s stuck up there, the child said seriously, then ran toward one of the dogs, singing as she went.
A familiar voice behind me—I figured a church would get you eventually. It was the woman from the gas station, the one that had given me milk and whiskey.
You go on and get yourself something to eat, you hear? Got to save up your energy this time of year, and the heat being like it is. You got to save up your resources.
She pointed toward a table covered in plates and large bowls and cakes caving into the spaces where slices had been cut. Someone was shouting at Dr. Corbin there, trying to force a small plate of something into his hands.