"No," I finished. I reached out my hand. "I'm Deidre McMannus."
"Matthew Mahaffry." Two pumps. It was a strong, confident handshake.
"Mahaffry?" I smiled, "Irish and Jewish?"
He returned my smile with a dimpled one of his own. "It happens, but I'm not. I've got a different kind of 'family' connection to the Malachim, if you get my meaning."
I shook my head.
"Girlfriend."
He smiled.
"I'm gay."
"Oh." It was rumored that Rebeckah sheltered gays, lesbians, and other sexual deviants unwilling to renounce their lifestyles, but I'd always thought the rumors false, a smear campaign to destroy the Malachim reputation further.
"How have you been, Michael?" Matthew asked politely. "Maxine told me you'd left in the middle of the night. What happened?"
"I ran afoul of Rabbi Feinstein."
"Theologically?"
Michael nodded.
"I guess I did hear about that. Your little display was quite the talk." Matthew shrugged. "I'm surprised you left ... without saying good-bye."
As they continued to renew their friendship, I found myself staring, searching for clues. I'd never met an admittedly gay man before. If Matthew hadn't told me, I doubted I could have guessed. There was nothing about him that seemed feminine in the least. He held himself arrow-straight, none of the "warning signs" of unmanly posture. His body was slender, but not unmuscular. Matthew wore his uniform well, and I wondered if he did any actual soldiering. Most likely he did, as I doubted Rebeckah would allow anyone to tarnish the Israeli insignia by not doing their part for the Malachim cause. Rebeckah had an interesting sense of irony.
A ban of gays in the military was the first battle cry of the New Right's campaign against the Queer Nation.
The New Right claimed that the mass destruction of the war came down to a secular president's leniency toward gays during the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" years. If we hadn't left the protection of the country in the hands of a bunch of fruitcakes, they claimed, none of this would have happened – "this" meaning the Medusa bomb. And here stood Matthew in the center of the glass city wearing a uniform.
"So, Michael," Matthew was saying, "maybe I'll see you later tonight? We could go dancing like we used to."
Michael's eyes slid over to mine, which were wide in surprise. "Like we used to?" I mouthed.
Michael blushed and turned back to Matthew. "Uhm ..."
"You're welcome to come too, Deidre," Matthew said. Then, he added, "As long as you're willing to share." With a wink to Michael, Matthew waved goodbye. Over his shoulder, he said, "I've go to run ... guard duty. It was nice meeting you, Deidre."
As Matthew moved off, Michael said, "Your mouth is still hanging open."
"What?" I hadn't realized I was still staring. I tried to stop my analysis of Matthew's walk before Michael noticed, but when I pulled my eyes away, I knew it was too late. Michael grinned at me. I blinked innocently up at him. "What?"
"You're terrible." Michael shook his head, still smiling.
"Me?" I said, still reeling from the shock of Matthew's parting shot. "You're a flirt."
Michael shrugged. "Matthew appeals to me. He's very funny and sharp. He was one of the most interesting people I used to hang out with when I was here before."
"Were you lovers?"
"No," he said quietly, almost regretfully.
"Are you bisexual?"
Michael grimaced. "You say that like it's a dirty word."
"Are you?"
"Gender is a human notion. Flesh is a costume I wear. My insides are male and female – in God's image."
I looked at Michael's broad, masculine form, and said, "So ... God is okay with ... It's not a sin?" I could still see Matthew moving through the hallway. "What about, what is it, Deuteronomy? 'Two men shall not lie down together.' "
"There are hundreds of laws in that book. Do you follow them all?"
"No, but Rebeckah's people do."
"Yes, and Rebeckah has no trouble reconciling it."
"What are you saying?" I asked, even though I knew. Rebeckah was a lesbian. I'd suspected for a long time. She was discreet; I never saw a lover. Since she had never confirmed or denied it, I'd figured it was none of my business. Mostly, I tried not to think about her sexual preference, because politically it was a liability, and a doozie at that.
"You're the detective, Deidre. Have you missed all the clues, or just ignored them?"
"Rebeckah is smarter than to be obvious."
"So then, you knew," Michael said. "Why do you do it? What's the point of denying the truth about people?"
"To protect myself from entanglements ... and pain."
"More like just delay it." Michael grimaced.
"What would you know about it? Your life is pretty simple, Michael."
"Not anymore," Michael snarled.
It was true, so I held my tongue. Michael started strolling down the hallway, toward where a crowd was gathering. I followed to what looked like the main entrance. I could see the box office jutting out of the center of the wall, framed on either side by two double doors. Cracked projection squares, filled with holographic stills of actors in costume, spotted the walls.
The crowd of mourners snuffled quietly, waiting for the doors to open. Though a couple of people waved at Michael in greeting, he made no move to join them. We stayed in the back near a wall of holo-photos. In the dim light, the holographs flickered solemnly. Shielding my eyes from the pulsing light, I turned to face Michael.
More people had gathered, and the sound of soft sobs drifted through the hallway. "What's death like?"
He shrugged. "I wish I knew. I don't know what happens to you. I was born of pure spirit; you were forged between, a mingling of heaven and Earth. You are something less than me, yet something far greater. You are who They made in Their image. That's something I'll never comprehend, as my existence is a shadow of your own, a half of the whole."
Though his body seemed like a shell to me, it meant more to him. His body was his connection to godhood. I could see the desire in his eyes. "That's what you don't want to give up."
Michael nodded, but said nothing.
I stared out at the crowd. People held each other and wept openly. Daniel was dead. I tried to feel angry or sad, but nothing came. I had reconciled myself to his loss a year ago, when we were separated by his prison sentence. This was different, more permanent, but I couldn't dredge up any feeling. That scared me.
"Was it all an accident?" I wondered aloud. Hugging myself, my eyes stayed riveted to the grieving Malachim. "Or destiny?"
Michael was quiet for a moment. Then, looking up from his brooding, he said, "Her thoughts translate into my action. But, I'm like an arrow shot into water. She can see Her target through the ripples, but the water is deep and the current strong. The arrow doesn't always stay true to its course."
I shivered. Michael didn't usually talk like that. His eyes seemed unfocused, far away. To break the spell, I forced out a chuckle.
"Yeah, right. What is this, 'Zen and the Art of Mastering Freewill'?" More seriously, I added, "But since we're on philosophy, riddle me this, Michaeclass="underline" what's with the He, She, They business?"
Michael shrugged. "God is difficult to describe in human terms. I use what feels appropriate, whatever fits the situation."
I grimaced at Michael's inability to give a straight answer. "But which is correct?"
"All of them. None. How should I know?"
I let out an exasperated snort. "But, you've met God."
"Not the way you're thinking." Michael smiled sadly. "I am God taken form, but then, so are you."