Ceremonies

'They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. I'd hoped to bring a jewel home, and now somehow I'd found one – the last innocent thing left amidst all that corruption. I kept her inside my shirt, pressed up against me, all the way back to the bus station and all the way to Flemington. She was almost dead by the time I got her home, but I knew my mother'd nurse her back to health.'

Carol lay down her fork. 'And did she?'

'Sarr's mother can do anything,' said Deborah, returning to the table with the salad. 'She has the healing gift.'

'I won't deny it,' said Sarr. 'She can make things live and grow when she's a mind to.'

'So the story has a happy ending after all.' There was relief in Carol's voice. 'And the kitten?'

'Haven't you guessed?' Sarr bent forward and lifted Bwada onto his lap. Squatting there uncertainly with her ears bent back, claws digging into his trouser leg, the animal looked fat and sullen and dangerous, but as soon as Sarr began to scratch the silver fur between her ears she blinked contentedly and relaxed, settling herself on his lap with an almost inaudible purring.

The others looked on, grinning; even Deborah seemed pleased -Deborah, who had heard the tale before and who bore little love for Bwada, the one cat of the seven that was Sarr's alone.

But Sarr himself shared none of their content. Now lapsed into reverie, he was years away and thrice as many miles, remembering in Bwada's purr the susurrus of wind as it raced beneath a frozen grey sky through that desolate circle of trees; and as the cat sound swelled and deepened, taking on what almost seemed a note of warning, he heard once more the old man's peculiar little song.

I'm among loonies, Freirs was thinking. These people are all insane! Every time somebody farts they think God is giving them a sign.

All through the story he'd been watching Carol's face. She'd been listening with rapt attention, and at certain points – whenever Poroth had prayed or called on God – she'd gotten positively starry-eyed.

But maybe it wasn't God that made her starry-eyed. Maybe it was Poroth.

Well, what else did I expect? he told himself. He's a hell of a lot bigger than I am, and in a hell of a lot better shape, and that soft, low voice of his would probably make any woman think she's a little girl again being tucked into bed by her daddy.

He wondered if Poroth talked so much whenever a new woman was around. Or perhaps it was the influence of the wine; that home-brewed stuff had been surprisingly potent. His own head was still swimming with it.

And of course there was that brooding quality he had – something, Freirs knew from experience, that women seemed to like. It was so easy to mistake for real depth.

Maybe this was all a bad idea, he told himself. Maybe I should never have asked her out here in the first place. Clearly Sarr's the master here. This is his world.

'No, I'll not deny it,' he was saying to Carol. 'I still feel the attraction of the lights. But I'm a wiser man today -1 know it sounds prideful, but it's true – and I know the path we've got to follow. We've got to give up the ways of man and the ways of the city: the corruption, the idleness, the love of worldly gain. And you should too. You should come back to the only constant things: the land… and God.'

That bastard. ^ 1 thought Friers. He's using God to make time with my girl!

'Now I'm not saying we have it easy here, Deborah and me, and I'm not saying we have a lot of anything but work. But we're living the way the Lord wants us to, living just like people in the Bible.' Poroth's hands took in the kitchen, the farmhouse, the fields and woods beyond. 'Our only aim, really, is to abide by what the prophet said: "Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein." '

Carol nodded as if she understood. 'Yes,' she said, 'that's Jeremiah. I kept hearing passages from him on the radio today. He must be big in these parts.'

Deborah seemed to find this irresistibly funny. Her husband did not. 'He's the prophet of our sect,' he explained.

Freirs spoke up. 'And a good thing, too. I sometimes think that's the only reason they let an unbeliever like me stay here – because they liked my name.'

Carol barely seemed to hear; her eyes were still on Sarr. 'The one thing I don't understand,' she said, 'is where you're hiding your church. I drove all over Gilead and didn't see a single one.'

'Oh, we don't go to church,' said Deborah, getting to her feet. 'We hold our meetings in the Brethren's homes. Later this month we'll be holding one here, and you're welcome to come out and see for yourself.'

'We take our call from the Gospels,' added Sarr.' "Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them." '

Carol nodded. 'I see. That's Matthew, isn't it?'

'Hey,' said Freirs, surprised, 'you're pretty good!'

She looked slightly embarrassed. 'Didn't I tell you? I went to parochial school for twelve years.'

Freirs' eyes widened. 'No kidding! I knew you were Catholic and all, but – well, I guess I'd always pictured you as just a nice corn-fed country girl from some little red schoolhouse in the sticks.' He tried to remember if she'd said anything about parochial school over dinner the previous week. Probably he'd done so much of the talking that she'd never had a chance.

'There's a lot you don't know about me, Jeremy,' she said. She turned to Sarr. 'You see, I may go about things a bit differently, but I've tried to live in the Lord's way too.'

Freirs regarded them sourly. They sound like they're on speaking terms with God, he thought. But I'm not so sure I'd want to meet the Poroths' version on a dark night.

Leaning back in his chair, he peered out the window above the sink. It was certainly dark enough out there tonight. The moon seemed to be hidden behind a cloud, with only a pale streak above the trees to mark its presence. A line from a poem came back to him: On the farm, the darkness wins. Though no doubt the Brethren would argue that the darkness here was the darkness of God.

Beside him Deborah was clearing away the salad plates; the Poroths ate their salad European-style, just before dessert. 'Hey,' she said, nudging him gently on the shoulder, 'come back and join us. I went to a lot of trouble over what's coming.'

It proved to be a steaming Indian pudding which had lain nearly three hours in the stove. Made of cornmeal and molasses, it was served with thick fresh cream from the Verdocks' dairy in town. 'Now, Carol,' she said, 'I sure hope you'll have no objection to this.'

'Not the slightest,' said Carol. Her eyes widened as Deborah ladled out a generous serving for each of them. 'God, it's a wonder the two of you can even stand!'

Freirs nodded ruefully. 'I'm still trying to figure out how they stay so thin.'

'I have to watch that man like a hawk!' said Deborah, laughing. 'He'd eat everything in the bowl if I let him.'

Pensively Poroth licked the spoon clean and looked up. 'They warned me about that when I married you,' he said. 'They told me, "Sarr, that woman from Sidon's going to starve you!" ' He eyed her with affection. 'But the truth is, we work hard, Deborah and me. We're at it all day, seven days a week. Keeps a body from getting fat. We don't believe in sitting on our duffs.'

There was a moment of silence; Freirs decided that Poroth had been speaking to him. He forced a smile. Keep it light. 'Oh, physical labor's all right, I guess, if that's what turns you on. But as the philosopher said to the farmer, "While you're feeding your hogs, sir, you're starving your mind." '

He glanced sidelong at Carol for approval and caught a smile. Maybe the night was still salvageable.

'By the way, have I told you about the exercises I'm doing?' While Deborah set aside the jug and brought out Rosie's wine, he launched into a description of his daily routine: the sit-ups, the push-ups, the stretching motions for the back. 'I've also done a little jogging,' he heard himself say. 'It's more interesting here than in the city, and a lot more private. Maybe I'll explore the other end of this road, or hike in the direction of those hills… '