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Leaning across from the Church in the City
In one day there were funerals weddings and one big baptism there. The sacrifice of blood and wine was held there on a daily basis. Candlewax made by bees sold by the beekeeper from the beehive was in the candles there, too. Across the street Jeffery stood back leaning against a store wall. He spoke to Dean standing there in his filthy coveralls. They've got plenty of money in there you know. Who? Where? questioned Dean. The church. Look across there at that big building. That alone is worth a ton. Let alone the stuff inside it. Stuff? Gold and silver stuff. All that stuff they use on the altar. I bet just the altar is worth a bundle. Sure. Nothing's cheap in there. They buy the best. Where do they get the money? From the people. How? They pass the basket. How much does each person give? Oh, I don't know. When I went to church I didn't give anything. You didn't? No. Why not? Because I always figured the crossroads is by the garden, where they sit sipping tea as they paint. Crossroads? Tea? Paint? What's this all about-- Yes. Yes what? Yes that's why you didn't give money to the church? No--yes I used to paint and drink tea. At the crossroads. What's that got to do with giving money to the church? Nothing. Nothing? Right. I just felt like changing the subject. Dean shuffled his feet and stepped back and leaned against the store wall and joined Jeffery in looking toward the church. The basketweavers worked steadily sitting in the grass at the basket factory, one making a large oblong basket, the other making a small round basket about a foot in diameter. Tall stacks of baskets stood all around. What'll these baskets be used for, asked the smaller blonde basketweaver. They'll be used in the church to gather the offerings. What church? Oh I don't know. Let's follow them and find out. All right. The baskets moved up and down the pews filling with envelopes and cash. Look at that. Yeah. The basketweavers followed close behind as the basket moved up and down the pews, filling. Finally the small baskets came together and tilted their contents into a large oblong basket. The money filled it to the brim. Look at that. Yeah. At last all the small baskets were empty and the large basket lifted from the ground and went up and lay on the top step to the altar at the front of the church. How much money? Plenty of money. Enough to keep the place going. The basketweavers smiled at one another, then sat down in the grass and began working again, satisfied they knew their purpose. Dean suddenly asked Jeffrey a question. What'd you paint? asked Dean. Landscapes. I always liked Van Gogh. You know Van Gogh? A little bit. I seen his stuff in books. I've seen the real thing. Where? In the museum. Museums are a lot like churches. How so? Fancy. Quiet. Clean. And full of expensive things. I know. Where does a museum get its money? Donations. And tax money. Do they pass a basket in the museum? No. There's usually a desk up front by the door where you can give money if you want. Do churches get tax money? That's a stupid question. How so. You know church and state are separate. What do you mean? You really didn't know that? Well--I never thought about it before. I'm not going to explain it to you. It's self- explanatory. Church and state are separate. Simple as that. I suppose I understand it. Good. You know you annoy me sometimes. Sorry. They both leaned harder against the wall and tightly folded their arms before them. In the chalice factory an overhead conveyor hung with inverted chalices moved in fits and starts bringing the chalices down to a steel bench where two women stood by pallets of boxes and had beige colored cloths in their hands. They worked taking the chalices off of the conveyor, wiping them down with the beige cloths, and stacking them in the boxes. As the conveyor slowly moved, the women talked animatedly back and forth. I hate this damned job Sheila, said Lucy. What do you hate about it? The work. The pay. Everything. The boss. Yeah. That damned Panko is a pain in the ass. But I don't mind the work--look--these are beautiful.
Sheila held a chalice up and it glinted in the neon light. She put it on the counter. Look at it. Just like it was on an altar someplace. There's so many of them. You wouldn't think they'd be able to sell so many of them. A fork truck came up and whined to a stop. Buzzcut Carl got off in a torn wifebeater undershirt. Got a full pallet ladies, I see. Yep, said Sheila.
Carl walked around the pallet straightening up the boxes and he threw a length of rope around the load and tied it off. Carl got back on his truck and picked up the pallet and drove off. That man stinks, said Lucy. Smells like sweat. I know. Sweat or piss. All the while as they spoke the chalices moved through their hands, glinting golden in the light. Meanwhile, Carl guided the fork truck through the maze of racks toward the loading dock. A small bearded man stood with a clipboard and came up to Carl. What you got Carl? Chalices. Carl leapt down from the fork truck and went and signed the bearded man's clipboard. Then he got back on the fork truck and drove up into the back of a tractor trailer and let the pallet down and backed out of the truck and leapt off the forklift and went toward the small restroom in the back to take a piss. Meanwhile the truck driver came up in a t-shirt and signed the clipboard and the bearded man tore off a yellow copy from the paper on the clipboard and handed it to the driver. The driver went out the back door and pulled his truck away from the loading dock and came around and closed down the back of the truck. NATIONAL SPECIALTIES was painted across the beck door of the truck. The truck driver waved goodbye and got in and pulled away. Having taken a piss, the fork lift man in the wifebeater undershirt went to the fork truck and turned from the loading dock and disappeared into the maze of warehouse racks. Across town, a clean-cut young man in black bought three bottles of cheap red wine at the discount liquor store. He brought the wine out to his black car and pulled quickly away. In the church, an large glass jug stood empty on a shelf in the room where the priest donned his vestments. Dean suddenly stretched and yawned, looked up and down the street, and then at Jeffrey. Why don't we go over to the museum, said Dean. Maybe later, answered Jeffrey. I'd like to see a real Van Gogh picture. Painting you mean. Picture. Painting. Whatever. Maybe we'll go there tomorrow, said Jeffrey. Tomorrow. Right. Jeffrey suddenly pushed off the wall and faced Dean and spoke waving his arms. The intersection is by the big rose bush, he said--they come to the fountain to fill their cups, they pour the water down their throats. Like we should. What? By the museum. At the intersection. There's a fountain there. People drink out of it? Yes. What is it a drinking fountain? What else would it be if people drink out of it? Well, it could have been a big ornamental fountain all made of concrete with statues and all, And all pennies in the bottom that people threw there for luck-- But how could people drink out of that? Water is water. Yes but that water would be filthy. Use your head, Dean. Jesus. I'm sorry Jeffrey. Okay. They stood silent for a while looking across at the church as the traffic flowed smoothly past them. The priest turned slightly and washed his hands with water and a snow white towel provided by an altarboy. He just used a little water--just enough to moisten his fingers. He didn't wash his hands the way a real working man would do-- plunge his hands into a sink of steaming water clutching a bar of yellow soap, and then lathering, lathering, the filthy hands, filthy from the filthy work. Whew I'm glad this day is over Dick. The water flowed. Yeah, said Rick. Its a filthy job. Right. But somebody has to do it Right. They scraped the filth from under their long nails, The water grew black as their hands grew white. Up to the elbows they lathered their arms. They washed and washed. Finally they pulled up the drain plug and the black water spiraled out of sight as they pulled down thick white towels from iron racks and began to dry their hands and arms. Dean spoke, nodding toward the church. We ought to go in there. What for? Say a prayer. You believe in prayer Dean? Yes. You really believe there's a big whitebearded God up there who hears your prayers and will do things for you? Yes. Don't you? No. Why not? Jeffrey stood open-mouthed a moment. I don't know why not, he finally said. I just don't. You should. Why? Because its true. You should believe everything that's true. I only believe things I can see and touch. Why. Jeffrey spit on the sidewalk. I don't know. That's how I am. They gazed across at the church. In the church the payer went on saying bring down your graces on your people, let them have peace and serenity and guide them on the way of being good to one another and most of all let each of them be good to themselves because you can't be good to others until you know how to be good to yourself. And be safe; let all your actions be so to make you safe from harm and to make your neighbors be safe from harm, as though you were standing watch at your neighbor's door as they stand watch at yours. And be happy; let the happiness which is always flowing in the air about you soak into you and let the words come out that will soak into those all about them and make them aware of all the happiness in the air about them that swoops and sweeps wraithlike, but good wraiths, not the horrid wraiths of history. And end up in heaven; end up in that place where your father dwells, and his son, and his spirit which is all three wrapped up into one-- The church is beautiful, said Dean. Yes I suppose it is. Look at the flowers growing out front of it. Look at that loser--on his knees weeding the flowers. You know--boulevard traffic fumes are hard on flowers. Flowers are better off inside in flower pots with nice healthy potting soil mixes. Think so Jeffrey? I don't think so. I know so. Do you have flowers at home in pots? No. Why not? They make me sneeze. Why? Allergies--why else would they make me sneeze? Oh--I don't know. Sometimes you don't know much, Dean. Oh. Again they stood in silence, until Dean spoke. Jeffrey. What? If you don't have any flowers in your house how do you know they'll do better in pots with good soil. Well--that's just common sense. But you said you only believe what you can see and touch. You can't see or touch common sense. Common sense is different Dean. Why is that different? Jeffrey looked away down the street and then back to Dean before answering. Common sense is something inside you. It's just knowing what makes sense and what doesn't. Where do you learn all this? Where do you learn all what? All the things you have to know to have common sense. You're just brought up learning stuff. Your brain is like a sponge. It soaks up knowledge and that's what you tap to have common sense. Its like knowing two and two makes four and not five. Complicated, said Dean. I know. This means that the younger you are the less common sense you have, I suppose that's what it means. Humph. All kneel and pray, As the host is elevated. And the wine is poured. They work in the bakery making special things, A conveyor belt of hosts comes from a large machine. And they are guided into the boxes lined with plastic in which they're shipped to the churches. Say the eucharistic prayer. Work hard in the searing heat making the hosts. And make the big special host used by the priest. Elevating the bread; there are no words. Elevating the wine; there are no words. Just a miracle. And they nod off in the audience. Anxious for all of it to be over so they can walk to their cars letting the tension drain from their bodies and drive home sleepily. Down the street from the church a traffic light was turning green, yellow, red, green yellow red. It caught Dean's eye. The traffic light is red yellow and green, said Dean. They have a red kettle for sale at Macy's the same color as the traffic light. They do? How do you know that? I was in there. You were in Macy's? What were you doing in Macy's. Walking around. But you can't afford to buy anything down at Macy's. How do you know what I can afford to buy and what I can't? You're not the Macy's type Dean. Oh? That's right. Well--anyway that red kettle was really something. Bright. Bright red. Just like the flowers they're weeding across there, some of which are that rich red kettle color. Don't you mean the kettle was the color of the flowers? What difference does it make? Think about it. Dean stood open-mouthed a while before speaking again. Red kettles are stacked in the Home Depot too, said Dean, by that stop sign at the end of that forklift aisle, by where that tall man's on his hands and knees picking through the wood to find good boards to buy. It's funny to see a stop sign inside like that, but it's there for safety. What tall man's picking through the wood. The day I was there I saw the tall man. But didn't you just talk about the tall man being there right now? What? The way you said it. And what are you saying about a stop sign in the Home Depot? I never saw a stop sign in Home Depot. They do. They have them for the fork lifts. What were you doing in the Home Depot anyway? Looking around. Like at Macy's? Yeah--like at Macy's. You kill me Dean. You can't afford anything at Macy's and you don't have a house-- Wait, wait--I could need something from Home Depot for my room. That dump you live in? It's no worse than the dump you live in. Well--you couldn't buy anything from Home Depot either, just like Macy's. You got no money Dean-- You got no more money than me Jeffrey. And what was that all about with the red kettles? I think red kettles look nice. Hum you must like Christmas too. Why? The Santas with the little bells and the little red kettles hung up that you're supposed to put your money in. Those are kettles? Sure. Those are pots. Pots? Right. Red pots. Red kettles. Red pots. You're so damned stubborn Dean. No. I just like the look of a red kettle. They look nice stacked up in the store. They're not the same as those pots used by the Santas. They're shiny and bright. What do they go for? What? The price. What do these kettles go for? I don't know what they go for. Why not? How should I know about what a kettle likes. What do you mean, what a kettle likes. Go for. Likes. Like, I go for you honey. God damn you Dean! What. What'd I do? You talk crazy. That's not nice Jeffrey. They stood backs against the building with their hands quietly clasped before them. They file up in line to get the hosts. Some of them take it in the hand. Some of them take it on the tongue. Receiving Holy Communion. Make them earn their money. Make them do a job. Give out the hosts. Give out the wine. It's acrid going down. It's bitter. At last, Dean pointed up to the spire of the church. It had a copper covering and was covered with verdigris. See that Jeffrey? See what? That steeple. It's all green. I know. Imagine what it looked like when the church was new. I know. The weather's rough on copper. I don't think it's the weather. It's the copper. If it was inside it would still turn green. It's the nature of copper. The nature? Right. What do you mean, the nature? The nature. The way it is. Like my nature is the way I am. It's a saying. A saying? Yes. What's a saying? A saying is something you say. Like, how you doing? Or, almost only counts in horseshoes. Or, a miss is as good as a mile. I understand Jeffrey. It's like what my father used to say. What? If a man's lucky, in the winter he'll have a working stove and Sears Weatherbeater paint on his house. Your father used to say that? That's right. That's some saying. Sears Weatherbeater, huh? What'd your Father work for Sears? As a matter of fact, he did-- See! There--there's another saying. What? As a matter of fact. That's a saying. That's something Jeffrey. That is too. What is? That's something. Huh---how about this one--even though I'm not on fire, slather me with the stuff. What? And here's another one--leftalone bags are easy to swipe. And another--the guitar needs new strings. And lastly--give a decent tip, the service was good. Yeah, you're right Dean. Those are all sayings--I think. Yeah. Go now the mass is over. Go put the word of God into practice. But they don't tell you to do that. How are you supposed to know to do that? They flow from the church. Swarming back to their lives. At last, Dean pushed away from the wall and rubbed his hands together. Well Jeffrey. I got to go now. Where you going. I just got to go--hey, listen. What? Keep your eye on the church--it'll give you something to shoot for. What's that mean? Oh--it's just another saying. And go take a look at the red kettles. In Macy's. And in Home Depot. Why? They're beautiful. Before Jeffrey could say another word, Dean stepped away, turned the corner, and was gone. Jeffrey faced the church alone, silently. The traffic flowed past. Horns blew. The city. |
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| Jim Meiroses work has appeared in may leading literary magazines, has been nominated for the Pushcart prize, and was short-listed for the 1997 OHenry awards. His work has appeared in such journals as Alaska Quarterly Review, South Carolina Review, and Witness. |
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Date of Publication: 25 Feb 2008 |
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