Birding

Thanksgiving morning Toby woke up to noise and smells. He got out of bed and went downstairs in his PJs. The noise and smells were coming from the kitchen. His mother, aunt Susie and grandma Evans were talking and cooking. His seven-year-old sister Tilly was sitting on the counter singing one of her happy songs.

In the family room, Uncle Kevin and his father were sitting at a card table. Grandpa was sitting in the big chair reading a book. Toby went over to the card table.

“Hey Tob,” said Uncle Kevin.

“What are you doing?” Toby asked.

“We’re playing Risk,” replied his father.

“Can I play?” Toby asked.

“I think this game is a bit too hard for you,” his father replied. “We’ll play a different game later.”

Grandpa called Toby to come over and sit on his lap. Five-year old Toby did just that. He wanted to know what grandpa was looking at.

“It’s A Year-Round Guide to Indiana Bird Watching,” grandpa told him.

“Why you reading that grandpa?

 “I like birds, Tobias. Do you?”

“Uh-huh.” Toby rubbed his eyes and lifted the book to see the pictures. “What’s that?’ He pointed to the page.

“That’s a Dark-eyed Junco,” grandpa replied. “It says here that they like to eat seeds, insects and berries.”

“Huh. His name is Junco?”

“Yes. If you were a bird, I’d call you a Blue-eyed Tobias.” Grandpa smiled.

Toby turned the page. “Why do you like birds, grandpa?”

“Birds are special creatures. They seem to be wherever we are, as if God wanted to make sure we notice them. They are free and at the same time totally dependent on God and His created order.

“And there are so many kinds of birds, Tobias.” Grandpa flipped through the pages. “They bring color and sound to our lives. Seeing them and hearing them is proof that nature is healthy. I try to spot a bird by its coloring and by its songs and calls.”

“Birds have songs?”

“They sure do. Male birds sing to attract female birds. They also sing to scare off other birds from their territory and to bond with mates and young’uns. You want to hear a Mourning Dove Song?”

“Yeah.”  

Grandpa took a deep breath, formed his mouth and went “coo-AH-oo coo-coo”. He waited and then again “coo-AH-oo coo-coo.”

“The Mourning Dove keeps repeating this song until a female is attracted. That’s how I met your grandmother.” Toby’s eyes lit up when he saw grandma smile.

“Bird experts can tell the species of a bird by just listening to its song. Each species has its own song.”

“What’s speecheese?”

“A species is a way to name animals that are alike and have babies like them. Let’s see,” he found the page. “It says here that the Dark-eyed Junco is a species of Junco, a group of small, grayish sparrows.”

“It also says that Male Dark-eyed Juncos sing a sweet, high-pitched trill that sounds similar to the songs of the Chipping Sparrow and Pine Warbler. And during the winter, Juncos come to backyard feeders for millet and bird seed. I saw one at my bird feeder this morning.”

Toby looked over at the kitchen. “Let’s see if your mother has something for you to eat.” Grandpa moved Toby to his feet, got up, and the two of them went into the kitchen.

Toby was given a yogurt by his mother. Eating it, he watched Grandpa put his finger into the cranberry sauce, taste it and pucker his lips. Then grandpa put his finger into the mashed sweet potatoes, tasted it and said “Yum!” And then he put his finger into the pumpkin pie mix, tasted it and said “mm-mmm.”

When he reached for the stuffing, Grandma, hands on her hips, said, “Shoo you two. Come back when we’re ready to eat, in about two hours.”

“Let’s go for a walk Toby,” Grandpa said. “Get dressed in warm clothes. We’re going birding.”

A voice in the next room said, “Dad, the weather man said that central Indiana is 30 degrees and cloudy.”

Before Toby left the kitchen his mother said, “Go make your bed first and then put on your corduroy pants and blue sweater and then comb your hair.”

Toby shot upstairs and came back down two minutes later. His mother looked him over and then had grandpa put on his winter coat, his gloves, and the knitted hat that grandma made for him.

Outside, grandpa went over to his car and took out a pair of binoculars. He showed Toby and said “Maybe we will see a cardinal today.”

As they walked down two blocks past houses, they saw no birds. But then Grandpa spotted a Mourning Dove on a roof. He handed Toby the binoculars after adjusting the focus. “Let’s wait here and listen.”

When the dove began its song, Toby was transfixed until the dove flew out of sight.

They walked to the end of the street and came to a T-intersection. On the other side of the crossroad was open farmland. Wind whistled through the field of corn stalk stumps. Grandpa tied the ear flaps of Toby’s knitted hat below his chin.

To their left and down the road about forty yards was a small group of trees and undergrowth. “Let’s head there,” Grandpa told Toby.

As they walked along on the farm side of the road, Toby found a corn cob. Holding the smooth kernelled end, Toby showed grandpa the half-eaten end.

Grandpa looked it over and said, “Probably some squirrel started eating it. Or may be a goose.”

As they neared the trees, grandpa stopped and brought the binoculars to his eyes. He then handed them to Toby. “What do you see in that tree?” Grandpa pointed.

Toby looked and said, “The birds keep moving so I can’t see them.”

“They might be getting ready for winter,” Grandpa replied. They’re probably in a hurry to get out of the wind and get things settled for winter.”

Then Grandpa spotted a falcon perched on top of a utility pole that was about thirty yards down the road. He adjusted the focus of the binoculars and handed them to Toby. “Look up there. Can you see that falcon, Tobias?” He pointed to the electric pole.

Toby looked and said, “That is a falcon?”

Grandpa looked again. “Yes. A falcon known as the American Kestrel. I can tell by dark gray head, the rust-colored back and tail, the white cheeks and throat and blue-black bill. It’s the smallest of falcons. Some call it a “Sparrow Hawk”.”

“They like open areas without dense cover. He’s sitting up there to view the whole area for food. He’s scanning for prey on the ground. He’ll sit and wait. He’ll only attack when he’s sure that he will succeed. When he has prey in sight, he will either catch it on the ground or in flight. 

“In the summer months he’ll hunt and eat dragonflies, cicadas, beetles, grasshoppers, butterflies and moths, scorpions, and spiders. He’ll hover and capture insects in the air.

“In winter weather, like right now, he’ll hunt small mammals like mice, voles, shrews, and bats. And he’ll hunt small birds . . . like that little sparrow that just flew into the field. He pointed to it.

Grandpa let Toby use the binoculars to observe the falcon. “Let’s see what happens,” he said. “I wonder if that falcon noticed that small bird.”

A moment later, the falcon swooped down, grabbed the bird with his claws, and flew back to his high perch.

“Did you see that grandpa?” Toby asked.

“I sure did. He’s going back to his perch to eat it. Take another look.”

“Do birds eat other birds, grandpa?”

“They sure do. Birds of prey, like this falcon, have evolved to catch diverse things like insects, small mammals, and birds.

“I just remembered something. When I was a boy, Tobias, my father took me birding. One day he said “Frankie, there are so many birds but you never see dead birds. He told me that dead birds vanish because predators and scavengers come along and eat them. That’s why most bird bodies disappear. Creatures like foxes, badgers, ants, and birds of prey scavenge dead birds. The value of the bird’s life is returned to nature. Nature, he said, provides food for itself. Live birds and dead birds contribute to the lifecycle of our ecosystem.”

The sun never came out. The icy wind blowing across the open field made Toby’s nose and cheeks red. Grandpa said it was time for them to head back.

When they arrived home and opened the door, they were met with a rush of warm air, laughter, and savory smells. They saw the dining room table was set and the food ready to come out.

“Go wash your hands you two,” mom said. “We are ready to eat.”

When everyone had found their place at the table, mom asked grandpa to pray the blessing.

We give you thanks, most gracious God, for the beauty of
earth and sky and sea; for the richness of mountains, plains,
and rivers; for the songs of birds and the loveliness of flowers.
We praise you for these good gifts, and pray that we may
safeguard them for our posterity. Grant that we may continue
to grow in our grateful enjoyment of your abundant creation.
And now we ask Your blessing on this food we are about to eat. Amen.

A loud “AMEN!” followed.

Toby’s mother then handed Toby’s father a knife and said, “Carve the bird.” Toby gulped when he heard that. He looked over at grandpa.

“Tom turkey has been well fed. Now, he feeds us. Tobias, do you know which bird is at every meal?”

“No.”

“A swallow. Do you know which birds go to church a lot?

“No.”

“Birds of prey. What do you call a mean turkey?”

“I dunno.”

“A jerk-ey. What do you give a sick bird?”

“I dunno.”

“Tweetment! Did you hear about the owl with no friends?

“No.”

“He was owl by himself.”

The adults groaned. Toby wanted more.

After plates were filled and people were busy eating, Uncle Kevin asked Toby to tell everyone what he saw birding with grandpa.

“I saw a falcon. It came down and got a bird and ate it,” Toby exclaimed.

“Ewwwww!” Tilly didn’t like the thought.

Toby forked a piece a turkey, held it up, looked at his sister and said “Now I am a falcon!” and gobbled it down.

©Lena Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

~~~~~

American Kestrel

American Kestral – Call of the Male

Dark-eyed Junco

Dark-Eyed Junco

Dark-eyed Junco Sounds, All About Birds, Cornell Lab of Ornithology

Bird Sounds and Songs of the Dark-eyed Junco | The Old Farmer’s Almanac

Dark-eyed Junco | Audubon Field Guide

Easter Morning Central Indiana Bird Song

Easter Morning Central Indiana Bird Song

~~~~~

American Kestrel – Photo by John Mariani

Vermilion Flycatcher at Cattail Marsh in Beaumont, TX – Photo by John Mariani

Eastern Phoebe at Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, TX – Photo by John Mariani

American Tree Sparrow, Northwest Ohio – Photo by American_Phoenix

The quirky nature humor of  https://rosemarymosco.com/

Northern Shrike, new cartoon by Rosemary Mosco.

~~~~~

The presence of birds in our lives brings good health. Indeed research shows that the richer and more various the birds in a neighborhood, the higher people’s satisfaction with life. Birdsong is the natural sound linked most strongly to reducing stress and promoting restoration, particularly when it is more diverse and people are prompted to notice it. Birds bring joy.

Five curious health benefits of dark midwinter, according to science | The Independent

~~~~~

Imagination sees a parallel universe.

The Fowler’s Snare Chronicles

There is no way back but there is a way through.

The day that brothers Bryce and Blake returned to campus after a fencing tournament they were immediately escorted to the IU auditorium where the first session of the Ex Novo Institute in Basic Life Process had already started. It seemed to them that the whole student body was in attendance. They stood at the back of the balcony with the others who came in late.

Up front, a large screen projected a woman’s face. Her owlish eyes darted back and forth behind the circular frames of her glasses. The small, and yet imposing woman, had cropped black hair and was dressed in something like a military uniform. She was speaking from a podium off to the left of the screen.

“There will no longer be any recognition of the past. Clear your mind of all that came before. You are students of today. Your mindset is today. Your thoughts are today’s thoughts. When you complete the Basic Life Process course, you will become stewards of the New Way Forward and not of the dug-up past.”

Bryce and Blake gave each other a puzzled look.

“You will no longer be weighed down with the obligations of tradition and faith. Tradition and faith brought you guilt and prejudice and racism and greed and violence. You are to rid yourself of such baggage. Your motivations and direction will come from Central Screen. Central Screen will be your personal Event Horizon.”

A logo appeared on the large screen. Beneath the words “Central Screen” was what looked like graph paper curved into a cone pointing down. At the edge of the taper was “Event Horizon”. The cone’s tip was labeled “Singularity.”

“You will be given a new set of values from Central Screen. All that is good will come from Central Screen. There is no such thing as a morality that stands outside human society. Morality is subordinated to the General Will as shown on Central Screen.

“You will no longer have to worry about what is good and the right thing to. You won’t need religion. The Central Screen software will make particular ethical perceptions clearer by demonstrating how they exemplify more general rules based in scientific certainty. The software will provide a systematic accounting of reality that our intuitive moral perceptions and judgements can only hint at.”

When the first session had concluded, a student approached the speaker, Director Argans. She scanned the student’s face with her CenSoid App. “Yes, Alistair?”

“Director Argans, I am currently in the humanities doctoral program here at IU. My doctoral thesis is on Dante, Botticelli, and the Florentine Renaissance. I rushed back from Italy for this required course. Am I to understand, what you’re saying is, that the independent study of the humanities, the study of all languages and literatures, the arts, history, and philosophy is no more? Everything is to be found on Central Screen?

“Alistair, as you will learn on Day Three, anything that holds a bellicose inspiration from the past is a danger to the organization of peace. You will learn what unites us as world citizens. You want to live free from oppressive and pugnacious attachments to the past, don’t you Alistair? To see what can be, unburdened by what has been.

“It was pope Francis, Alistair, who said “a conservative is one who clings to something and does not want to see beyond that.” He also said that it was a “suicidal attitude because one thing is to take tradition into account, to consider situations from the past, but quite another is to be closed up inside a dogmatic box.

“And, wasn’t it Rousseau who said that people in their natural state are basically good. But this natural innocence, however, is corrupted by the evils of society? We are in the process of creating a new society using simple rational principles provided through Central Screen.”

“Well, Miss Argans, I never thought of art as bellicose or of being in a dogmatic box.”

“Alistair, you will after session three. Humanities stirs the emotions and emotions cloud reason. You will be given a new set of “realistic” or “rational” values to work with. In our workshops you will learn a new way forward with Central Screen AI. What will it profit you, Alistair, if you gained that doctorate and lose yourself with a suicidal attitude in the process?”

Another student broke in and Alistair wasn’t able to ask another question. He walked away stunned by what he had heard.

~~~~

“That was ten years ago this month.”

Comet got up from his chair and looked out the attic window of the Victorian house on Jefferson St. in Martinsville, Indiana. Seeing no threat, he sat back down and faced Scribe who was typing.

“That Ex Novo session was ten years ago this month. Make sure to note the dates in this chronicle. And listen, sis,” Comet emphasized, “no real names go into this eyewitness account. If these chronicles get into the wrong hands we’d be done for and so would mother and father and Grace downstairs. We are recording the diabolical acts of the Save Democracy party as Comet and Scribe. Let’s call this next chronicle Surface.”

“Surface?” asked Scribe.

“The Save Democracy party wants nothing to do with the past. Many in our world read and study history to know how to proceed. Practical wisdom is case based. But the Party studies the future, rewrites the past and proceeds with abstract theoretical reasoning or surface knowledge.

The party leadership operates like a ship’s captain heading out to sea and who ignores the traditional knowledge passed down through generations used by navigators to read the stars, winds, and currents.

“The Save Democracy party leadership ignores the guidance of the vast ocean underneath and the vast night sky above, the enduring connection to the space and time we all travel in. It ignores charts and says “I know my way around. I know where I want to go. I know the way forward just by looking at the surface” and “I know how to use a rudder.”

“The ship will move and be tossed about because the ocean surface is never still. Wind-driven waves and currents will steer the boat this way and that. It may take on water and go all Titanic. If not, it will end up lost at sea without a way back to port. Scribe, we have escaped. But most have been forced into steerage aboard the Surface ship of fools!”

“Got it, said Scribe. “I think.” She inserted another sheet of paper into the typewriter. “Did you finish what happened during that first Ex Novo Institute?”

“Ah, no. After the first session I came up and questioned Miss Argans about my law classes and finishing them up. She told me the same thing she said to the guy in front of me. When I left her, I noticed that I was being followed. I went to the second session – we all had to. It was the same lecture as the day before: tear it all down and start over. That time many of the students were clapping. Maybe out of fear or maybe because the words resonated with what they had been taught over the years.

“During the third session I saw the same people who had been following me. They were removing people from the auditorium. I snuck out. I went into hiding. We’ve been hiding ever since.”

Comet got up and took another look out the attic window. He remembered the day he saw the Rooms for Rent sign in the front yard. The widow Grace was happy to have them around to help keep things up and to keep her company. She also needed the money. The socialist economy had created hyperinflation. She let them rent two rooms.

Comet and Scribe arrived together. Their parents, who didn’t want either of them to grow up in the Save Democracy system, thought it best if they stayed out of sight together.

The house was a good location for Comet, a former astronomy student at IU. He spent many nights at IU’s Goethe Link Observatory just eleven miles north of Martinsville. He felt safe there in the middle of the night.

~~~~~

The street was quiet. What Comet thought unsettling was the Save Democracy party headquarters in the Morgan County Courthouse a few blocks away and the massive 5G tower standing next to it monitoring all digital communications and transactions.

“So, you were going to tell me what happened before all this Ex Novo business.” Scribe put another sheet of paper in the portable Smith-Corona typewriter.

Seeing no threat on the street Comet began pacing to give his account.  “Let’s call this next chronicle The Surface Comes to Power.”  Scribe began typing.

“Four years before the first Ex Novo days, a November election was held. But the man elected was not allowed into the White House. The Save Democracy party and a few others in the House of Representatives passed a resolution saying that the man was an “insurrectionist” and therefore disqualified under Section 3 of 14th Amendment “insurrection” clause. With Secret Service agents counting the electoral votes, together they refused to certify the election on January 6, 2025.  

“The Counting and Certification of Electoral Votes in Washington, DC, had been designated a National Special Security Event by the Secretary of Homeland Security. The military received an amended directive allowing for their direct involvement in civilian law enforcement operations under emergency conditions, including situations where there is an imminent threat. The military was used by the Save Democracy to facilitate a coup, a coup set in motion four years before on January sixth. An “insurrection” setup scenario had been initiated by the Save Democracy party in concert with the FBI, “deep state” actors, and later with a show trial.

“Right after the election, the twenty-fifth amendment was used to depose the current feeble-minded president. He was replaced by a puppet, the feeble-minded Vice president. The elected Vice President was given an office but no access to the White House or policy.  

“The Save Democracy party, over time, having taken control of both the house and senate with the votes of non-citizens, absentee votes counted after the election, and massive voter fraud, then removed the conservative members of the Supreme court with expulsions based on made-up ethics violations.

“The court was then reconstituted to hold fifteen members of the Save Democracy party. All challenges to the constitutionality of such sweeping changes failed because the plaintiffs were told they had no standing. No subsequent challenges were brought before the court after the Save Democracy party Speaker of the House tore up the U.S. Constitution during a State of the Union speech.

“It was then declared that the electoral college would be abolished and all future elections would have the oversight of the new Elections Council.

“Using the military “under emergency conditions” to keep the peace, Save Democracy members were quickly installed throughout state and local governments and the courts where there hadn’t been support for the Save Democracy party. The newly installed were given a mandate to defend One People, One Equality, One Equity, the motto of the Save Democracy party. The ensuing reign of terror went well beyond the atrocities of the French Revolution.”

Scribe stopped typing. “French Revolution? I don’t know what that is. Will the readers know?”

Comet sat down and faced her. “You were only six years old when the Save Democracy party took over the country. The party didn’t want anyone to learn history as it would expose them and their ways. You weren’t given a chance to learn history. I’ll explain the French Revolution later. You are an autodidact. You’ve learned a lot on your own already. I better go on. Have you got everything so far?”

“Yeah, go a little slower. I’m not used to typing on this thing” Scribe added another sheet of paper to the typewriter.

“OK. The Save Democracy party members immediately enacted permanent martial law. The Party media said that martial law had been imposed because of the civil unrest due to “perverse and macabre” political foes – those who didn’t accept what had happened to their country. Martial law allowed the Save Democracy party members to keep in check “extremist elements”, to control the drug trade for profit, and to exploit terrorism for its own ends.

“The operation of new penal codes was entrusted, not to legal authorities, but to local oversight committees. They hunted down those thought to be a threat to the community. Anyone could be accused of being disloyal to the Save Democracy party even based on hearsay. Anyone – father, mother, grandmother, grandfather, and child – could be imprisoned, tortured or executed for allegedly being critical of the Save Democracy party. Many were arrested on fabricated charges just to keep people living in fear of the local Save Democracy party.

“A favorite form of torture in many towns was the “Underneath pit.” An arrestee was thrown into a ten-foot-deep hole in the ground. The hole was exposed to the elements. The width of the pit was barely bigger than the person thrown in. He or she would not be able to bend or change their position. The hole was the prisoner’s latrine. After many days the person would become a sliver of flesh with only the feeling of anger keeping them alive. These tortures are still going on today.

“With the new power they had been given, local Save Democracy party members kept up the perpetual and brutal oppression of citizens. They loved to dehumanize. For them it was a game. They found new ways of doing so and posted them on Central Screen. Limitless coercion and terror were essential to the Save Democracy party’s New Way Forward.

“Random terror was meant to convey the constant and unyielding force of the Party’s control over humanity. It emphasized a future devoid of freedom and individuality. The end product was to create mindless and unfeeling oxen for the party.

“Out of fear of being sent home and losing benefits – a threat made on Party media – fifteen million illegal migrants voted for Party candidates every election.

“Once the Save Democracy party had full control, it was decided that vast numbers of the population had to be culled, as the welfare system, hospitals, schools, and prisons were overwhelmed. Some in the party just wanted to lower the population numbers out of climate concerns. So, a gain-of-function virus was released from a bioweapons lab in California. Millions of people suffered and died from the higher levels of spike protein in the One Health self-amplifying mRNA vaccine.

“The Committee of Public Singularity was established out of fear of a viral outbreak of past knowledge. The Committee created the Ex Novo-Institute in Basic Life Process to deal with the Underneath, a mindset that had been banned as extremist.

“The idea behind the institute was to make a clean sweep of human nature. At the compulsory meetings people were told that the Save Democracy party was building from scratch a new ideal society on the concepts of humanitarianism, social science, and collectivism using Central Screen programming. The analog past was to be replaced with a digital future controlled by Central Screen AI.

“What I learned during the Ex Novo sessions was that voiding the past and human attachments were required by the New Way Forward. Old thoughts, old habits, old culture, and old customs had to be destroyed. No one was to experience any connection with family, friends, children or about anything, past or present. They were to die to all that. All of life was to come from the Party’s Central Screen. All of life was to come from the Surface.”

~~~~

“You staying with me, Scribe?”

“Yeah. This stuff you’re telling me is nasty. I don’t like thinking about it.” Scribe shivered.

“Yeah, it is. That’s why we are making a record of it. People need to know what happened. Right now, the Save Democracy party is erasing anything connected to the past. Let’s keep going.”

Once again, Comet got up and looked out the window. The neighborhood was quiet.

During the first days at the house, Grace talked about Martinsville. The first settlers, she said, arrived in Morgan County in 1822. Large numbers of Quakers migrated here from the south because of their opposition to slavery. 

She also said Martinsville was nicknamed the City of Mineral Water. Oil workers discovered the foul-smelling mineral water while drilling. Mineral water was thought to have healing properties. It was used in the Martinsville Sanitarium which operated as a health resort until about 1957. But now, she said, the Sanitarium was being used by the Party for optogenetic experiments on citizens.

That’s what her last renters, neuroscience students, told her. The Party is controlling subjects with the presence of light to alter cell behavior with regard to reward, motivation, fear, and sensory processing.

Seeing nothing on the street that concerned him, Comet continued dictating while pacing.

“In tandem with the Ex Novo-Institute, there was an even more invasive program: ReCognify Conditioning. The Save Democracy party, along with the social programmers of the World Economic Forum, claimed that human nature is no different to that of a programmable machine.

“Transhumanist scientists began implanting vast numbers of the population with synthetic memories using brain chips to create a new ideal human. The ReCognify program had been initially tested on criminals. According to one unauthorized release of Party documents, customized AI-generated content converted visual information into codes delivered directly to the brain and stored in DNA and RNA, forever altering the subject.

“Prisoners were implanted with synthetic memories of their crimes – but from the perspective of their victim or victims. The embedded artificial memories prompted reactions like remorse, empathy, and understanding.

“The ReCognify program then began to be used on the general population to wipe away past memories and to make people docile and pliable to the Party’s party authority. The Ex Novo Institute was the means to bring in those subjects the Party thought would be troublemakers. But not everyone would submit to ReCognify and the “forced forgetting” process.”

“Hold it,” said Scribe. “The ink is beginning to wear thin. I need another ribbon. I wonder if . . .”

“We’ll ask Grace if she has more,” Comet said. “C’mon. We need a break.”

~~~~

“We know that the son of God has come and given us understanding so that we know the truth. And we are in the truth, in his son Jesus the Messiah. This is the true God; this is the life of the age to come.”

Father Denny stopped reciting 1 John from memory when the barn door creaked opened. Everyone drew quiet. Bryce and Blake and their wives appeared at the door. Father Denny waved them in. The couples greeted him and six others of the Underneath community.

The group met to support each other in a barn on a southern Indiana farm. They had been living on the farm, hiding from the Save Democracy for the past ten years. The refuge was Father Denny’s idea.

Anglican priest Father Mason Denny, a gaunt bewhiskered marathoner, left his Indy parish and moved to the sweeping 80-acre working farm to help his friend Tom and his wife Sally. The Binghams were in their seventies and working the farm had become too much for them. They had no idea what happened to their children. They hoped the Save Democracy party hadn’t taken them.

Seeing the possibilities and after much prayer, Father Denny knew that he had to create a refuge to help those of the Underneath escape the “fowler’s snare,” as he called the Save Democracy party’s operations. A portion of the farm land was already being used as a short-term RV campsite. Using all of his retirement funds, he converted the campsite into a mobile home park and began rescuing students.

When the Ex Novo Institute staff began pulling students out of the audience for the ReCognify program, Father Denny brought several students to the farm. The students knew Father Denny and trusted him. He had been a chaplain on campus, providing spiritual services in the Beck chapel on the IU campus. This was before the Save Democracy party banned all such meetings as subversive.

The rescued students lived in the mobile homes and worked the farm. From their organic garden they harvested green onions, Italian greens, tomatoes, asparagus, spinach, strawberries, green beans, heirloom tomatoes, summer squash, blackberries, melons, and herbs. From the field, they gathered sweet corn.

They grew an array of flowers – zinnias, gladiolus, dahlias, and sunflowers – and tended goats, rabbits, and chickens.

Every Saturday they held a farmer’s market to sell produce, goat cheese, pastured eggs, and pies and to barter with locals for butter, flour, meat, and diesel fuel.

Father Denny found a way to sustain the Underneath, a mindset that had been banned. But it had come at a personal cost.

~~~~

Comet and Scribe sat at the farmhouse kitchen table with Tom, Sally, Father Denny, and Skippy, Tom and Sally’s three-legged Airedale.

Comet and Scribe had recently found their way to the refuge. Grace, the woman they were staying with, gave them directions to the farm after local Party authorities came around one day looking for them. One of her neighbors, who had received a ReCognify implant, had given them away.

Comet asked Scribe to read the transcript of what Grace related about her husband.

“Bill was a mechanic in a manufacturing company. He told me that every day in the lunch room there were news reports on the TV saying that inflation was transitory and that the economy was doing great and that wages rose again for the fourteenth quarter in the row. Bill began posting his pay stubs on his tool box to show that it wasn’t true. His foreman came along and told him to take it down or face dismissal. Bill didn’t take it down and he was dismissed. The Party wouldn’t allow him to work again.”

Comet described how he and Scribe were recording what took place the last fifteen years. He explained his use of “Surface” to describe the operation of the Save Democracy party.” Father Denny agreed with his analogy.

Comet and Scribe were eager to hear Father Denny’s story. They said they would record the story and use false names and places.

“Scribe, you don’t have to keep lugging that portable typewriter around.” Tom offered. “We can hide it under a floorboard in the other room. No one will find it there.”

Scribe nodded and smiled in relief.

“Are we ready Scribe?” Father Denny asked. 

“Ready, sir,” Scribe replied. Father Denny began.

“During my twentieth year as rector of an Indy church, I lost my wife Ellen to the effects of the mandated vaccine. Despite my protestations and my own refusal to take the mRNA vaccine, she thought it a Christian thing to do to obey the authorities, especially as the Party had mandated “No vaccine. No church gathering.”

“After Ellen’s passing, I came to realize that the authorities had more in mind than a vaccine mandate. I was faced with a choice.

“You see. Churches not obeying Save Democracy party directives were closed. The churches with what I call “cultural Christians” – those that obeyed mandates and focused on . . .” he paused and looked over at Comet, “. . . Surface issues pushed by Central Screen Apps, issues such as social justice, equity, race, gender, sexuality, and creation care – remained open.

The Party knew that the fate of its project of atheistic secularization was tied to the religious feelings people had. The Party saw that it couldn’t convert the religious with ideology. But it could use religion to further its ideology and fill the void of absence of spirituality.

“I saw that the spiritual way of life was to be replaced with the Surface way of life. Religious symbols were to be replaced with secular symbols. The church and the gospel were being replaced with Assemblies of the General Will and the “well done” of social credit scores. The Party worked to fill the ideological and spiritual absence of religion.

“As a way to reorient churches, ministers were forced to sign a social contract acknowledging that Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains and that all people should unite with the General Will of the people to bring about the common good of the New Way Forward.

“The General Will, as dictated by the Central Screen app, meant the total subordination of citizens. All rights, all property and all religion would be subject to the General Will. Freedom would be associated with obedience. As such, the General Will directive provided Party members a defense for oppressing and destroying those who did not obey including those of the Underneath.

“The deeper-than-surface Christianity that I call the “Underneath” was an ideological, political and spiritual problem for the Save Democracy party. The “error correction” of “the science” didn’t work on the Underneath. Its underlying history, tradition, and transcendent gospel had to be rooted out and destroyed.

“The Save Democracy party understood that those like myself and those here on the farm and elsewhere – disciples of Jesus – are not directed by Central Screen. We are directed by the Lord of heaven and earth. We don’t compromise and hold back a reserve of ourselves to maintain the status quo and avoid trouble. We speak to the fiction and lies around us and that has brought suffering.

“The cultural Christians of Central Screen desire the good feelings of social justice activism but none of the adversity attached to proclaiming the gospel message. They portray themselves as being and doing right with social justice standards. Jesus quoted Isaiah to the Pharisees and legal experts when a dispute arose about a manmade imperative:

‘These people make a big show of saying the right thing,
    but their heart isn’t in it.
They act like they are worshiping me,
    but they don’t mean it.
They just use me as a cover
    for teaching whatever suits their fancy,
Ditching God’s command
    and taking up the latest fads.’

“Compromised, they live within the lie. They perpetuate and legitimize the ideological fiction of the Party. They become oppressed and the oppressor, persecuting critics of Central Screen activism.

“The party also knew that it couldn’t convert those of the Underneath with what they called the “Reformation” – the ideological work of scientific atheism through the Ex Novo Institute. They saw those of the Underneath as tenacious holdouts.

“Ex Novo programming was meant to show that The General Will is the purpose of life. Faith in The General Will was to become an inner conviction. Then, they assumed, all illusions about heaven and the afterlife and the kingdom of God fade away and disappear. The Surface was to be one’s spiritual refuge.

“When the vestry came to me one day and said “we need to show pronoun hospitality” I told them that I would retire. I could see that many in the congregation did not believe the lies of Central Screen, but they felt, as Vaclav Havel wrote in his essay The Power of the Powerless, that they must behave as though they did, or they must at least tolerate them in silence, or get along well with those who did.

“Havel went on to say that “They need not accept the lie. It is enough for them to have accepted their life with it and in it. For by this very fact, individuals confirm the system, fulfill the system, make the system, are the system.”

“Seeing this mindset in the congregation, I told the vestry I would leave and go on the road and see the country. I ended up here on Tom and Sally’s farm in southern Indiana. I expected my son to join me here at the farm when he returned from his doctoral research trip to Italy. But that didn’t happen.

“I lost contact with him son after he returned to the states. I was frantic and looked for him all over campus. Those I asked said that the last time they saw Alistair was at the end of the first session of the Ex Novo Institute. They said he was asking questions.”

“I was there. I was behind him in line,” Comet jumped in.

Father Denny felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.  “I know Alistair. I knew that he would question things and exercise his point of view. But I also knew that the Save Democracy party accepted no challengers. So, I imagine the worst and pray for his safe return.”

Father Denny sighed heavily. “That was ten years ago and I haven’t heard a word about my son since.”

~~~~

The rescue from the third Ex Novo Institute session that December day happened quickly. The students were not able to inform their families. Telling them their whereabouts would put their families at serious risk. When the students didn’t sign in for the next Ex Novo Institute session, their families would be contacted and would be forced to take Truth Test Serum to tell the Party’s enforcement squad where they were. Having no knowledge of where the students were, they would be released. Father Denny later found a way to tell them that “they were safe and not to worry.”

Refugees Erin and Joseph were fourth-year neuroscience students. Jeremy studied computer science. Quinn had been a biotechnology major and worked part time at the Ray Bradbury Center at the IU Indy campus. Steven and Melanie were pre-med students.

Bryce was working on a Masters in epidemiology when he met Bryn, who was studying Environmental Health. Blake was working on his master’s degree in Business Analytics when he met Alice who was studying Business Admin Medicine. Father Mason Denny married the two couples in a ceremony held on the farm.

Mobile homes housed the former students. Each couple had a mobile home. Erin, Quinn, and Melanie shared a mobile home, as did Joseph, Jeremy and Steven. Father Mason Denny had a room in the farmhouse. Comet and Scribe had rooms in the farmhouse.

The members of the Underneath brought with them as many books as they could when they escaped Ex Novo and ReCognify. Father Denny brought his library to the farm. No other books would be available.

The Save Democracy party had dictated that books and education created inequality and unhappiness and were therefore banned. Libraries no longer contained books. Libraries were converted into ReCognify centers. The outside world had been cut off from knowledge that wasn’t Central Screen provided.

There were no electronics – phones, computers, TVs, radios, GPS devices – and no Central Screen app on the farm grounds. This was done to secure the location. Father Denny told the group that “The farm isn’t off the grid. We are hiding in the open and keep a low profile.”

Isolated from their families, members of the Underneath farm refuge supported each other. Weekdays were filled with farm work. At night the group ate together and then gathered in the barn or at the fire pit behind a thicket. They read texts out loud and recited memorized scripture. Each had committed entire Scripture texts to memory.

Father Denny had told them that “memorization is a means to internalize information of sacred nature, a transmutation of the metaphysical into flesh and blood and marrow.” It was also, he said, a means to create a memory palace – a mental sanctuary of information tied to farm scenes so that they can recall what was memorized. This, he said, would sustain them if captured by the Party.

On Sundays, the farm’s Underneath community came together for a liturgical service. They sang, prayed, and recited scripture. Father Denny administered to the group and administered the Eucharist.

Comet and Scribe set all this down under the heading “Rescue, Refuge, and New Reality.”

~~~~

The nights of the Underneath community were filled with readings and recitations, music and drama.

One night, Alice read Wise Blood by Flannery O’Connor. Over several nights, Father Denny read Vaclav Havel’s essay The Power of the Powerless. Other nights he read Father Brown stories. Over several nights, Jeremy read Robinson Caruso and Comet read Treasure Island. Quinn recited the poem ‘Dover Beach’ by Matthew Arnold.

Alister talked about his trip to Italy, and about the Italian Renaissance, Dante, and Botticelli.

Sally played the piano, Melanie played the flute, Jeremy the guitar, and Father Denny played some of his Big Band LPs for dancing.

One night they acted out Hamlet. Bryce and Blake played Hamlet and Laertes and fenced during the last Act. The brothers had, at one time, been in the U.S. Olympic fencing team.

One fire-pit night Alice quipped that women make the best archeologists because they are good at digging up the past. And Bryn said the smarted person in the Bible was Abraham: “He knew a Lot.”

One night they came together to listen to Quinn read Fahrenheit 451.

When Quinn finished reading the first chapter, Jeremy said “Read the part again, the part where fire chief Captain Beatty explains to Montag about how books had lost their value.”

Quinn turned back a few pages and read.

“Surely you remember the boy in your own school class who was exceptionally ’bright’, did most of the reciting and answering while others sat like so many leaden idols, hating him. And wasn’t it this bright boy you selected for beatings and torture after hours? Of course it was. We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against. So! A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man’s mind. Who knows who might be the target of the well-read man?’

“Wow!” Said Jeremy. “That’s what the Party was pushing during Ex Novo. Exactly that!”

Father Denny added, “Polish poet Czesław Miłosz once said that “In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.””

Comet and Scribe took notes.

~~~~

Comet brought his refractor telescope with him to the farm. One late night the group headed outside to explore the night sky. The area around the farm had little light pollution, so the evening sky sparkled with illumination.

The moon was full that night and the entire earth-facing surface was clear to see. Comet pointed the telescope at the lunar surface. Everyone took a turn viewing.

Scribe, waiting her turn, caught sight of something coming from the road. The moonlight-etched figure walked and weaved toward them like one of the disoriented ReCognits. The figure stumbled down, got up and tried to wave but fell down again and stayed down.

The group moved closer. Bryce turned the man over and lifted the soiled hair from his face.

“It’s Alister! he shouted. “Help me get him up.”

~~~~

Alister opened one eye and saw his father sitting in a chair. He was asleep.

“Dad,” Alister whispered.

Father Denny jolted up from the chair. “I just had a dream that you came home.”

“I had the same dream,” Alister replied. “I guess we’re on the same wavelength.”

Father Denny felt Alister’s head. “You have a fever. Here, drink this water.” He propped up Alister and helped him drink. “How do you feel?”

“I feel weak. I have a headache and a stiff neck. I ache all over.”

“Can you talk about what happened?’

“Maybe later today.” With that Alister closed his eyes and fell asleep.

That evening Sally came downstairs and told father Denny that Alister was awake and his fever was down. Father Denny, Tom, Comet and Scribe went up to see Alister. He was sitting up in bed with Skippy on his lap. He smiled when they entered the room

Father Denny, seeing that Alister’s face was no longer pale, put the back of his hand on his forehead. “You’ve cooled down, thank God.”

“I’m ready to tell you what happened.” Alister took a long drink of water. The four took their place around the bed.

“After that first Ex Novo Institute session, I went up to Director Argans to ask about continuing my doctoral program. I won’t go into all she said right now, but I left with the understanding that the Party had put the kibosh on everything pertaining to cultural memory and intellectual diversity. Everything was to be the General Will of the people.

“When I left the auditorium, I went to my room and packed. I was going to come here. But then two Save Democracy party goons came in and took me to their headquarters on campus. There, over many days I was subjected to constant Central Screen videos. I was deprived of food and sleep. People I knew came in and tried to coax me into signing my allegiance to the Party. I wouldn’t.

“They must have seen that they needed to break me even more so I was placed in solitary confinement.  They put a sign above the cell. It read “The Divine Comedy.”

“I don’t know how long I was in there. What sustained me was my faith in God and what I had learned.

“Sometime, after a lifetime in that cell, I was brought outside. The fresh air in my lungs revived me. But then they dropped me into a deep hole in the ground. They said that if I wanted to be part of the Underneath that I would be put underneath.

“The hole was so tight that I could not move side to side or up and down. And it was so deep that I could not climb out. I was left there, day and night, in all kinds of weather and with bugs. I was in there maybe twenty days. Then one night I felt a rope on my face. I looked up and saw no one.

“I pulled on the rope and it was secure. I tried to climb it but I was too weak. But then a voice said “Hold on.” So, I did.

“I was pulled out to the surface and onto the ground. When I looked, there was no one around. No one.”

The group looked at each other.

“I found my way here.”

~~~~

When Alister had fully regained his strength, the Underneath community held a Eucharistic service in thanksgiving for his rescue and homecoming.

The first reading, Jeremiah 51:45-48, was read by Bryce:

“Get out of this place while you can,
    this place torched by God’s raging anger.
Don’t lose hope. Don’t ever give up
    when the rumors pour in hot and heavy.
One year it’s this, the next year it’s that—
    rumors of violence, rumors of war.
Trust me, the time is coming
    when I’ll put the no-gods of Babylon in their place.
I’ll show up the whole country as a sickening fraud,
    with dead bodies strewn all over the place.
Heaven and earth, angels and people,
    will throw a victory party over Babylon
When the avenging armies from the north
    descend on her.” God’s Decree!”

Alister read from Psalm 124: 6-8:

“Oh, blessed be God!
    He didn’t go off and leave us.
He didn’t abandon us defenseless,
    helpless as a rabbit in a pack of snarling dogs.

We’ve flown free from their fangs,
    free of their traps, free as a bird.
Their grip is broken;
    we’re free as a bird in flight.

God’s strong name is our help,
    the same God who made heaven and earth.”

Blake read the epistle, 2 Corinthians 6:16-18:

“Don’t become partners with those who reject God. How can you make a partnership out of right and wrong? That’s not partnership; that’s war. Is light best friends with dark? Does Christ go strolling with the Devil? Do trust and mistrust hold hands? Who would think of setting up pagan idols in God’s holy Temple? But that is exactly what we are, each of us a temple in whom God lives. God himself put it this way:

“I’ll live in them, move into them;
    I’ll be their God and they’ll be my people.
So leave the corruption and compromise;
    leave it for good,” says God.
“Don’t link up with those who will pollute you.
    I want you all for myself.
I’ll be a Father to you;
    you’ll be sons and daughters to me.”
The Word of the Master, God.

Father Denny read the gospel, Luke 21:11-19:

“Jesus went on, “Nation will fight nation and ruler fight ruler, over and over. Huge earthquakes will occur in various places. There will be famines. You’ll think at times that the very sky is falling.

“But before any of this happens, they’ll arrest you, hunt you down, and drag you to court and jail. It will go from bad to worse, dog-eat-dog, everyone at your throat because you carry my name. You’ll end up on the witness stand, called to testify. Make up your mind right now not to worry about it. I’ll give you the words and wisdom that will reduce all your accusers to stammers and stutters.

 “You’ll even be turned in by parents, brothers, relatives, and friends. Some of you will be killed. There’s no telling who will hate you because of me. Even so, every detail of your body and soul—even the hairs of your head!—is in my care; nothing of you will be lost. Staying with it—that’s what is required. Stay with it to the end. You won’t be sorry; you’ll be saved.””

Using the Jeremiah text, Father Denny spoke on “Come out of her, my people! The world, Babylon, would have you come out as its own creation but we have come out as sons and daughters of the Father.”

He then read Revelation 18:4-5:

“Get out, my people, as fast as you can,
    so you don’t get mixed up in her sins,
    so you don’t get caught in her doom.
Her sins stink to high Heaven;
    God has remembered every evil she’s done.
Give her back what she’s given,
    double what she’s doubled in her works,
    double the recipe in the cup she mixed;
Bring her flaunting and wild ways
    to torment and tears.
Because she gloated, “I’m queen over all,
    and no widow, never a tear on my face,”
In one day, disasters will crush her—
    death, heartbreak, and famine—
Then she’ll be burned by fire, because God,
    the Strong God who judges her,
    has had enough.

The Eucharistic Feast followed.

~~~~

On the following Saturday, at 9 AM, two tables were set up along the roadside. They were covered with fresh produce, flowers, eggs, goat cheese, and a cooler with rabbit and chicken meat. Local people began to come along and exchange goods.

Bryce thought that everything was going well that beautiful August morning. But then he noticed something and whispered to Blake, “Don’t look. I think that’s Director Argans getting out of that car on the right. She has white pointy hair now.”

Blake, conversing with customers, saw her approach the table. When the farm stand customers saw a uniform, they got in their cars and drove off.

“Where is your sign?” It was Director Argans.

“I’m sorry ma’am. What sign?” Blake looked puzzled.

“The “People of The General Will Unite” sign!” She crossed her arms and waited for an answer.

“Ma’am, here is our sign.” Blake grabbed the grease board from the table, erased “THANK YOU FOR COMING OUT,” and wrote something on it. He read it out loud: “We are compliant and obedient and there is no need to worry about us.”

Director Argans looked it over, huffed, and then her black eye brows shot up above the frames of her round glasses and her jaw dropped. She was looking between Bryce and Blake. Alister had come up to the table. Director Argens grabbed an apple from the basket on the table and headed back to her car.

Bryce breathed a sigh of relief. He looked over at Blake and said “Good one! She doesn’t know who we are compliant and obedient to.” And together, they said “There is no need to worry about us!”

~~~~

Comet and Scribe created a circular letter to send to other Underneath communities in hiding.

It began . . . “These chronicles have been written with eyewitness accounts so that you may know the history and extent of evil in the land. There are many other evil acts of the “Save Democracy” party which are not recorded here.

“These Fowler’s Snare chronicles have been written so that you may share in our faithful witness:

We have escaped like a bird

from the snare of the fowlers;

the snare is broken,

and we have escaped.

Our help is in the name of the Lord,

who made heaven and earth.”

©Lena Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

The Life of Ripley

Luke Ripley, the focal character of A Father’s Story by Andre Dubus, begins his narration with what he calls “my life” – the life people in northeastern Massachusetts know about. He then goes on to detail his personal “real life.” And later, we hear about his life without peace after an incident involving his daughter. After all is said and done, I wonder what you would think about this self-reliant guy who is comfortable with his contradictions and who refuses to sacrifice his daughter. And, who is he really protecting when all is said and done?

Luke’s publicly recognized “my life” is that of a stable owner. He boards and rents out thirty horses and provides riding lessons. The “my life” that people would see if they looked in his front room window at night is a solitary “big-gutted grey-haired guy, drinking tea and smoking cigarettes, staring out at the dark woods across the road, listening to a grieving soprano.”

Luke’s “real life” – the one nobody talks about anymore, except Father Paul LeBoeuf”- is revealed to us before the accident in the first three-quarters of the story. What do we learn?

Luke Ripley is a divorced Catholic and an empty nester with three sons and a daughter off somewhere else. His solitary existence is lived out in routine. We learn of Luke’s morning habit of prayer while making his bed and then going to feed his horses. He talks to God because there’s nobody else around.

His morning habit also includes seeing his best friend – Father Paul Leboeuf, the priest at a local Catholic church. Most mornings Luke rides one of his horses over to church where Father Paul’s officiates. There Luke hears the Mass and receives the Eucharist.  During the week the two men get together for a dinner meal.  With Father LeBeoeuf present and a can of beer in hand Luke verbally grieves his despair over losing his wife and his family.

At one point Luke tell us about the importance of ritual, having already told us that he is basically lazy person:

Do not think of me as a spiritual man whose every thought during those twenty-five minutes is at one with the words of the mass. Each morning I try, each morning I fail, and I know that always I will be a creature who, looking at Father Paul and the altar, and uttering prayers, will be distracted by scrambled eggs, horses, the weather, and memories and daydreams that have nothing to do with the sacrament I am about to receive. I can receive, though: the Eucharist, and also, at Mass and at other times, moments and even minutes of contemplation. But I cannot achieve contemplation, as some can; and so, having to face and forgive my own failures, I have learned from them both the necessity and wonder of ritual.  For ritual allows those who cannot will themselves out of the secular to perform the spiritual, as dancing allows the tongue-tied man a ceremony of love.

Nasrullah Mambrol offers this perspective:

The life that Luke tells the reader about is one filled with a variety of contradictions: He is a devout Catholic but divorced; he attends Mass regularly but does not always listen; he enjoys talking to his priest but casually, preferably over a few beers, and what they discuss is mostly small talk; he is a self-described lazy man who dislikes waking up early but does so each morning to pray, not because he feels obligated to do so but because he knows he has the choice not to do so. Luke Ripley is a man who lives with contradictions and accepts them.

Luke wants us to know that he lived through difficult days after the divorce and what he believed ritual could have done for his marriage:

It is not hard to live through a day, if you can live through a moment. What creates despair is the imagination, which pretends there is a future, and insists on predicting millions of moments, thousands of days, and so drains you that you cannot live the moment at hand.  That is what Father Paul told me in those first two years, on some bad nights when I believed I could not bear what I had to:  the most painful loss was my children, then the loss of Gloria, whom I still loved despite or maybe because of our long periods of sadness that rendered us helpless, so neither of us could break out of it to give a hand to the other. Twelve years later I believe ritual would have healed us more quickly than the repetitious talks we had, perhaps even kept us healed. Marriages have lost that, and I wish I had known then what I what I know now, and we had performed certain acts together every day, no matter how we felt, and perhaps then we could have subordinated feeling to action, for surely that is the essence of love. I know this from my distractions during Mass, and during everything else I do, so that my actions and my feelings are seldom one. It does happen every day, but in proportion to everything else in the day, it is rare, like joy.

The loss of his wife Gloria and her leaving the church and the loss of his children figured large in Luke’s life. But the “third most painful loss, which became second and sometimes first as months passed, was the knowledge that I could never marry again, and so dared not even keep company with a woman.”

Luke lets Father Paul know that he is bitter about this. And, that when he was with Gloria he wasn’t happy with the “actual physical and spiritual plan of practicing rhythm: nights of striking the mattress with a fist…”

Early in the narration we learn Luke’s thoughts about his friend Father Paul, the Catholic church, and tithing – “I don’t feel right about giving money for buildings, places.”

We later hear his reflections on Jennifer, his only daughter, becoming a woman: “It is Jennifer’s womanhood that renders me awkward.”

He relates how her growing up affected the ‘ritual’ of memories he kept of her as his sheltered little girl at home. Jennifer became an on-her-own twenty-one-year-old girl with a purse full of adult symbols including a driver’s license. Luke says that he wants to know what she is up to and he doesn’t want to know what she is up to.

And then one night, Jennifer involves her father in a life-altering incident. Luke, to manage the situation, sticks with ritual as if nothing had happened. Ritual, we learned, might have saved his marriage to Gloria. So, Luke returns to default ritual to “save” the only other woman in his life. He wasn’t about to give her up, not even to Father Paul. Luke continues his rituals but does not confess to Father Paul.

The story ends with Luke telling the reader how he justifies himself to God, in Job-like fashion each morning, for what he did: the love a father has for a daughter is different than he has for a son and he loves his daughter more than truth.

Luke’s OK with a guy being hit by the car and but not a woman. Men, like Charles Bronson and Clint Eastwood, are supposed to take the bang ups and arrests and prison time.

In the end, however, Luke must answer to God for what he does to protect Jennifer. Self-serving ritual will not save him.

I’ve read this story twice. The first time, several years ago, I felt I knew the protagonist. He was like a former father-in-law: a divorced Catholic man in his fifties who wore Old Spice, hid Playboys, had daughters, and who thought himself manly in a Hemingwayesque sense. So, it was easy to have a sentimental attachment to Luke. I could empathize with his grief about losing a spouse and children and with his ritual-managed loneliness. And especially so as he acted instinctively to protect his daughter.

After a second reading this past week, I saw Luke differently – beneath the surface, so to speak. And, I had some questions:

When all is said and done by Luke, is he really protecting himself, his “real life”, his ritualized sources of comfort, when he protects his daughter from being taken away?

Did Luke really just act out of laziness (laziness being the opposite of love) in order to maintain ritual and continue life as he knew it?

Was Luke’s manhood tied to his comfort from women?

Wasn’t it cruel, unjust, and devastating to the other family and father involved for Jennifer and Luke to leave the scene of the crime and to let things just go on without answers?

As a parent, what would I do in this situation?

A Father’s Story was first published in the Spring 1983 issue of Black Warrior Review

Profile: Andre Dubus (youtube.com)

Andre Dubus: Father and Son – YouTube

Dubus (youtube.com)

It’s Time for Some Pruning – Bishop Barron’s Sunday Sermon (youtube.com)

Easter Morning

Easter morning me and father are down in the basement brushing shoes. We put polish on them last night with a rag father keeps with his shoe shine kit on a shelf over the washing machine. I used the rag but brown polish came through on my fingers. We polish our shoes every Sunday but I know this Sunday is Easter because we went to church on Friday and we died eggs and my mother set the dining room table and there’s a lily in the front room and ham in the refrigerator and yellow jello with something in it and plastic eggs in a basket on the kitchen table and the sun shines like this only on Easter. I woke up cold this morning. I put on clean pajamas and put the wet ones in the clothes basket. Then I went into the kitchen and ate cereal. Father woke up. He got the Sunday paper off the front porch and came into the kitchen to make coffee. He waits for me to finish eating and scratches his belly and yawns. He tells me to let mum sleep in. She works too he says. After I’m done with my cereal we go downstairs to polish our shoes. We go back upstairs and father sits at the kitchen table drinks coffee. He opens the Sunday paper and gives me the funnies. We wait for mum and my brother to wake up. They wake up. My mother has coffee and my brother eats cereal. My mother says something to father in his ear. He tells us kids to go into the front room so he and mum can talk. We go. I share the funnies with my brother. We sit there for an hour. We look out the picture window and see father walking around the bushes with a basket of plastic eggs. We know what he is doing. We run to the back door. I hold the door handle and my brother bites his nails. Father comes to the door and says there are fifteen eggs hiding in our yard. See what you can find he says. We run to the front yard and look through the bushes and behind trees and in the mail box. The grass is wet and sparkly we find eggs but there are more we run to the back yard and find more. We pull up the bottoms of our PJ tops and hold the eggs there. We count them I have eight and my brother has seven we go back inside and see what’s inside Jelly beans gum tootsie rolls mother says to have only a couple she doesn’t want us bouncing around in church she says. Father is in the kitchen peeling sweet potatoes. Mother is washing goblets. I don’t know why she calls them goblets. They are not scarry to me. Me and my brother get ready for church. The clothes feel stiff but I wear them to look nice mother says. Father combs my hair and my brother’s hair. We wait in the front room and read the funnies. Finally it is time to go. We get in the car and drive to our church. I’ve never seen so many people. Mother wants to get a seat before they are gone we sit next to my friend Jeremy’s parents I smell flowers. People are talking a lot. Mothers are telling kids to be quiet. My friend Jeremy is sitting on the other side of his parents. Hes kicking the pew in front of him. The lady in front of him with a flower hat turns around looks angry but she smiles when Jeremys mom puts a hand on Jeremys knee and makes him stop. My best friend Billy isn’t here his family doesn’t go to church. We have to stand up and sit down a lot and listen a lot the seat is hard and I can’t sit still and I can’t listen a big woman is singing a high song that hurts my ears. I want to draw. I take the pencil in front of me and a card I draw Easter eggs and the face of the big woman I show it to Jeremy and he laughs. The man up front walks back and forth and then he stops and says o death, where is thy sting o grave, where is thy victory and I think about bee stings and moms gravy. Finally he stops and we stand up again and my pencil and card fall under the seat. A man behind me picks them up and gives them to me and smiles. Everyone smiles today even the woman at the organ who made a big burp sound when the music fell. Father and mother talk and talk and talk and finally we get back into the car and go home. On the counter is a strawburry pie. Mother puts on her apron and puts the ham in the oven. Father mashes the sweet potatoes. I tell them don’t forget to put marshmallows on the sweet potatoes. Mother takes a bag off the shelf and gives me and my brother a marshmallow. She tells us to go watch TV while they make dinner. We go downstairs. I turn on the TV and only Charlie Chan is on. Finally mother calls us and we go upstairs to eat we have to wash our hands before we sit down. Mother lights two candles on our table before the food comes father prays he thanks God for the food and Jesus and empty tomb abundant life heaven and earth sea and dry land family and friends those present and not present wonders great and small and mother says amen. Finally mother brings out the ham and the sweet potatoes and something green. Everything is hot she says. When the rolls come out me and my brother grab one. My mother asks me if I washed my hands. I look at them and my fingers are brown. They smell like polish it’s shoe polish soap and water and some scrubbing will take it off father says I tell them I better eat first because scrubbing is a lot of work. The end of what we did special on Easter Mrs Meyers your student Micheal M Skokram.

~~~

©Lena Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

Watercolors

A short story . . .

On a cold and damp March afternoon, Maeve met with funeral director Finn Joyce to discuss final arrangements. The appointment was set up after she responded to a mailer asking if it “would give you peace of mind to plan in advance so that your family would not have to make the arrangements themselves” and after reading an article about “Unexpected Deaths in The US Are Rising at an Alarming Rate.”

Director Finn, a tall thin man with dark auburn hair, pale skin, soft hands and a whisky voice, greeted Maeve and showed her to the Arrangement Room. There, he offered her coffee and water.

Finn began their conversation by pointing to a photograph on his desk: “My wife Fiona and I have lived in the area and have operated this funeral home for twenty-five years. Fiona works with families of the deceased to arrange details of the funeral and the obituary wording. She also does the makeup and . . .”

Maeve broke in. “I was here for Eileen Delaney’s funeral. She was a friend of mine.”

“By the number who attended the funeral, she was well-loved. How long had you known her?”

“We worked together at the Evercrest Nursing Home for some thirty-five years.”

“I know the place. I been called there many times. Do you still work there?”

“Yes. I’ve taken over Eileen’s responsibilities.”

“Ah, well then, maybe I’ll see you there. My wife helped Eileen’s husband with the funeral arrangements and wrote the obituary with the help of her husband and family. We have a list of services that we can offer you and we can talk about your last wishes.” He handed her a brochure.

“We prepare obituaries, arrange clergy services and pallbearers, coordinate with the cemetery or crematory . . .” Finn stopped when he saw that Maeve wasn’t paying attention. She was looking over his shoulder at something on the wall.

“That watercolor. I know it.” Maeve said.

Finn turned around. “My wife bought it at an art show here in town. I love how the light filters through the trees.”

“That’s Summer at Blossom Grove.”

“You know the artist?” Finn got up from his chair and looked at the corner of the painting. “You know M. Monahan? Wait. Is that you?” He looked at the application on his desk. “Well Maeve, you’re quite an artist.”

Maeve blushed. “I painted the same scene at four times of the year. I wanted to show the greening and flowering and the fading and falling of leaves and the limbs in winter.”

“You know, Maeve, people have brought watercolor portraits of the deceased to the wakes here. The portraits are a beautiful memorial. They have a graceful ethereal quality to them. I provide an easel next to the casket for the portrait.”

“I paint them. I paint portraits of the people in the home. When they pass, I give the portrait to the family. I got the idea when I attended my Irish grandfather’s funeral. Family and friends came to look at his dead body the night before he was buried. They drank and shared stories about his life. When a person dies at the home, the funeral home is called and the deceased is abruptly taken away. With my portraits, I give the family a corporeal reminder so they can share stories about the person’s life.”

“The portraits are well done. You’ve must have been doing this for a long time.”

“Thank you. Yes. I started as an oil painter years ago when I worked as an ER nurse. I wanted to depict the actual strangeness of the real world I encountered every day with surrealism, in a Frida Kahlo kind of way. But over time, the work and my life were becoming too dark. So, I decided to make a change and work in a nursing home where there is a less tragic and more of a long-suffering realism. And, that’s when I became a watercolor portraitist. I like the medium. Watercolors have a life and a flow of their own when you brush them on the paper. You let go and see what happens. They are kind of unruly to a certain degree as are the subjects I paint.”

“From the comments I overhear at the wake, you certainly capture the essence of the person,” Finn remarked.

He went on to explain his services and then invited Maeve to the display room where several different caskets were showcased. He then showed her the Reposing Room where the prepared body rests until the funeral takes place. He went on to show her a Reception Room where memorial services are held.

“There will be a wake in this room tomorrow. A tragic story,” Finn shared. “A 46-year-old man – a husband and father and founder of an investment firm – was killed in a car-jacking. The newspaper said the killer got away.”

“How terrible. The sudden loss of a husband and father must be devastating for that family.”

“Yes, it has been. I met with his wife this morning. She is having a hard time . . . How does one reckon with the out-of-the-blue senselessness of what happened?”

At that moment, Fiona walked up and introduced herself to Maeve. She recognized Maeve from the art show and praised her work. She then mentioned to Finn that a call had come in. She gave him the name and location.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Finn said. “Feel free to call if there are any questions. Maeve offered her hand. Finn took her hand and put his hand on hers.

“Sorry to share that with you. I am deeply saddened by what happened. After all my years as a mortician, I have never become accustomed to such unforeseen tragedy. And, sadly, there will be no watercolor portrait to place by the casket tomorrow.”

Maeve nodded her understanding and then thanked Finn and went on her way.

~~~

The next morning, after working a night shift at Evercrest and then making a stop, Maeve drove home to Valley Mobile Home Park and found two cars parked out front of her mobile home. She parked next to her trailer, grabbed the mail from the mail box, and then ran to the door and walked in. Sitting at the kitchen table were her younger sisters Molly and Morren and her niece Maisie. Duffy, Molly’s Pomeranian, began barking wildly when she walked in. Maeve put her purse and the mail on the counter and looked at all three.

“Who died and why is Duffy carrying on like that?” Maeve asked, taking off her rain coat. The three women sitting before her reminded her of nesting dolls – Molly the largest of the three and Maisie the smallest.

“Duffy doesn’t like that black cross running down your face.” Molly replied.

“It’s raining.” Maeve grabbed a napkin form the table and began dabbing her face.

“And Duffy doesn’t like that guy next store.” Morren added.

“My neighbor?” Maeve asked. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s a disgusting creature, Molly blurted. “Those tattoos, that yellow skin, his scarred-up face and watery eyes. He looks like a carny who runs the Tilt-A -Whirl. He was out in front of his trailer and gave us a nasty look when we got out of the car.”

“Well,” Maeve asked the group, “was Duffy barking at him and did you give him a nasty look when you saw him?”

Molly sighed loudly. The other two just looked at their hands.

“I don’t know him, “Maeve said. “He stays to himself. There’s something sad about the guy – like he’s had a hard time of it.”

“Maybe so. He is what he is,” remarked Morren.

“We’re here to check on you,” Molly declared.

“Check on me?” Maeve laughed. She poured coffee for herself and the others and sat down.

“Yeah, Moreen and I are wondering why you’ve been so quiet lately.”

“I’ve had things on my mind. Last things things. Do something about Duffy.” Maeve replied.

Molly had Duffy come up on her lap.

“Is that why you went to church this morning?” Morren asked.

Maeve looked at the three of them. “I thought I should become a familiar face around there. I want to be recognized by the gate keepers when I go the way of all the earth.”

“I see that you’ve been reading the obits,” Molly held up the open newspaper.

“My co-worker Eileen died suddenly. Cardiac arrest. I wanted to see what they wrote about her,” replied Maeve.

Molly looked through the obit page. “Let’s see what it says . . .

“Eileen Delaney passed away on . . . at her home aged 68. She will be greatly missed by her family who adored her, friends who loved her, and many people whose lives she impacted in such a beautiful way at Evercrest Nursing Home. Eileen was along-time member of such and such Church. Eileen was born . . . married William Patrick Delaney. . . celebrated a beautiful 42-year marriage. Bill passed away . . . Eileen greatly missed him. She and Bill had many adventures together . . . traveling to Europe and Caribbean and Alaskan cruises. Ballroom dancing and hiking were their favorite pastimes. They are survived by two children . . . three grandchildren. Sadly missed by brothers . . . brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces, relatives and a wide circle of friends. Eileen stayed active throughout her life . . . she was a member of the American Needlepoint Guild. Eileen Delaney’s’ family invites you to join them in celebrating her life. Please attend with your best Eileen stories. The funeral service and burial will be held . . .

“How long have you been working at that nursing home,” Morren asked Maeve.

 “About thirty-five years. Since the divorce.”

“Maeve, you could’ve gone on to get your doctorate in nursing like me,” Molly said. “Then you could write papers, have them peer reviewed, and published in journals. You would be recognized for your work, make better money, and move out of this trailer park.”

“Recognized?” Maeve replied. “I see myself doing what I’m doing. I don’t see myself doing anything else or living anywhere else.”

“Maybe not. But do you hate life? Morren badgered. “I mean, c’mon, you haven’t remarried and you haven’t gone anywhere and now you’re thinking about death. What about life?”

 Maisie spoke up. “Aunt Maeve, do you have a bucket list?”

“A bucket list?” Maeve got up and walked over to the kitchen window and looked out. She was surprised to see her neighbor looking back at her from his kitchen window. How strange, she thought.

“Yeah, you know, things you want to do before you die.” Molly said.

“I had an appointment with a funeral director yesterday to talk about funeral arrangements,” Maeve pointed at her sisters, “so you two won’t have to bother with them – and I have an appointment with Father Flannery tomorrow after work to talk about the art of dying.” Maeve took the Joyce Funeral Home brochure out of her purse and placed it on the table.

“What brought on all this morbidity Maeve?” Molly prodded. “Is it because you are with the dying five six days a week? What about living a little?”

“It’s not morbid to plan one’s death. And besides,” Maeve smiled, “I am thinking outside the box.”

“Not too would be a grave mistake,” Molly came back.

“The funeral director blamed the cost of living as driving up the cost of dying. He said I could pay now or pay later with a payable-on-death bank account accessed by my family.” Maeve sat down and waited for a reaction.

Morren looked at Molly and then at Maisie. She wasn’t sure if that was a joke.

Maisie laughed. “Now I know where I get my weird sense of humor. Aunt Maeve, I meant doing things like travel. You could. . . go see the world, see the pyramids.”

“You want me to go look at tombs? No, thanks. And no, I don’t have a list like that.”

“You could go to Barcelona or Rome and meet some dashing foreigner and be swept off your feet.” Molly urged.

“You know,” Maeve replied. “I listen to the stories of seniors in the home. Their stories are better than romance novels and what’s on TV. The things they’ve seen and done . . . you’d be surprised.”

“I just want to see you broaden your horizons,” Morren pleaded. “You have work. You have a hobby. But with all that that the world has to offer, why not live a little.”

Molly looked at her watch. “Well, Maevy, we came to check on you. My TV program starts in twenty minutes. We better get going. If you suddenly decide to take off to parts unknown let us know.”

Maeve picked up the coffee cups and put them in the sink. She saw her neighbor again standing in the window. But this time he had a gun in his mouth. Maeve yelled “Oh God!” and ran out the door. Molly, Morren and Maisie ran to the kitchen window.

“What’s that creature doing?” Molly scoffed. “If he offed himself there would be one less freak in the world.”

“What’s aunt Maeve doing?” asked Maisie.

Maeve was standing in the rain between the two mobile homes in her blue nurse scrubs. She was saying something to her neighbor but his window was closed. He kept shaking his head. Maeve pleaded with him, “Open your window! Open your window!” Finally, with one hand, he pulled up the kitchen window.

“Talk to me, “Maeve begged, “I’m listening.”

The man took a swig of something and then wiped his mouth with his arm.

“Lady, my best girl died in January been together for fifteen years she was on dialysis my dog Biscuit hell I think some of those mean kids around here ran off with her I lost my job at the steel mill I’m about to lose my trailer.” The man held up a piece of paper. “I find myself in the impossible position of being who I am right here and now.”

“I’m listening,” Maeve replied.

“What are you looking at?” The man jerked his head angrily toward Maeve’s kitchen window where Molly, Morren and Maisie were watching. He waved his gun at the window and the three women disappeared from it. Molly called the police.

“I’m here . . . for you,” Maeve pleaded with her neighbor. “I don’t know your name. What’s your name?

“Esau.”

“Esau, don’t die like this.”

“Is there a better way to go about it?

“You could die holding someone’s hand. Can I call Father Flannery?”

“What’s he gonna do throw holy water on me and make it all better hell I was baptized as a little tiny baby and look at me now I done some stupid things in my life but I paid all my debts I am good people labeled not good enough to attend my own daughter’s wedding can you picture that?

“Yes! I can paint you,” Maeve offered.

Esau laughed. “Paint me?”

“Yes. I paint portraits.”

“Lady don’t you see I’m already painted.” The man pulled off his tee shirt. “My cross hain’t bleeding like yours is I got this in Nam.” The man pointed the gun at the cross tattoo. “I got a lot of things in Nam that’ll change a man forever.” He put the gun back in his mouth.

Maeve dabbed her face with her sleeve. Overhead, the sky was growing darker. A sudden crack of thunder and its rumbling off had Duffy howling. Large drops of rain were falling.

“I’ll paint a portrait of you, right now Esau. So your children can remember you.” Maeve said this to buy more time.

“Lady, they want nothing to do with me.” Esau scowled.

“They never will if you shoot yourself,” Maeve replied.

He took another swig from the bottle. “You’ll stand in the rain and you’ll paint me?”

“Yes! Or inside if you’ll let me in.” Maeve replied. “Do you have family?”

“Yessss I havvvvve family,” the man howled. “My best girl has family but you know NO ONE wants to see you until you’re dead.” He put the gun back in his mouth.

“I can call them. Hold on. I can paint your portrait for them. Hold on Esau,” Maeve yelled. “I’ll get my phone and paints.”

As Maeve turned to run back inside, she heard a loud pop. Esau was gone from the window.

Moments later, heavy downpours arrived.

©Lena Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved

~~~

Thrown Off Balance

One of the greatest disciples of the twentieth century was neither a priest, nor a religious, nor a married person. She was a celibate, single woman who spent the last 13 years of her life battling lupus while writing some of the best fiction the world has ever known—all while living on a 544-acre dairy farm in Milledgeville, Ga. with her mother, her books, and forty-four peacocks. Her name was Flannery O’Connor.

-Fr. Damian Ference, The Vocation of Flannery O’Connor

Writing that may be dismissed as jarring, acerbic, and too controversial by people who are loathe to sit in the same room with someone who won’t validate their narrative – whether Progressive or Christian – are the short stories of Flannery O’Connor (1925–1964). She didn’t compile fluff for people to sit with the comfortable.

“She believed that story-telling ought to help modern men and women see “things as they are,” cutting through the fog of a culture that tells us that everything can be just the way we’d like it to be.”  -George Weigel, Flannery O’Connor and Catholic realism

O’Connor’s stories are typically set in the rural American South. Her sardonic Southern Gothic style employed the grotesque, the transgressive, and wild, comical and deeply-flawed characters who are often alienated from God and often in violent situations. Because of these traits, her stories may be dismissed by some readers – they do not sense a clear-cut Gospel message in her work or a comforting message.

Faith, for O’Connor, was not something easy or comforting. It involved a struggle with doubt within the seeming randomness and cruelty of life. She understood that struggle as maturing her faith.

In a letter to Lousie Abbot, O’Connor wrote

I think there is no suffering greater than what is caused by the doubts of those who want to believe. I know what torment this is, but I can only see it, in myself anyway, as the process by which faith is deepened. A faith that just accepts is a child’s faith and all right for children, but eventually you have to grow religiously as every other way, though some never do.

What people don’t realize is how much religion costs. They think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is the cross. It is much harder to believe than not to believe. If you feel you can’t believe, you must at least do this: keep an open mind. Keep it open toward faith, keep wanting it, keep asking for it, and leave the rest to God.

O’Connor wrote about the world as she found it in the Protestant South and etched her Catholic worldview into her stories. She professed: “I see from the standpoint of Christian orthodoxy. This means that for me the meaning of life is centered in our redemption by Christ and what I see in the world I see in relation to that.” 

Her signature short story, A Good Man is Hard to Find, embodies this. You might recognize yourself and what’s at work in your life upon reading it.

The title of the story is the title of a well-known song of O’Connor’s day, sung by Bessie Smith. But the story doesn’t reference a woman’s hard time with men as the song does. The story would have us look at what it means to be a “good man”. Everyone has their own definition of what it means to be good, as do two characters in the story – the grandmother and the Misfit.

The grandmother values her Southern upbringing and mannerisms. For a road trip, the grandmother is all fancied up, white gloves and all, as is the habit of Southern women. The grandmother thinks goodness is being polite, nice, respectful, and agreeing with her views on things. This is brought out in her conversation with Red Sam, a character as fatuous as the grandmother. He delivers the title’s line that comes across as a cliché dismissive of the real world’s Misfit-type violence.

The escaped-convict Misfit, also steeped in Southern tradition, views the world through an amoral nihilist filter. He is unconcerned with traditional morality or even the value of other people’s lives. He shows up in a big black hearse-like vehicle. By a turn of events, generated by the manipulative grandmother and her cat, they meet. The grandmother, “good” in a decent person sense of good does not appreciate what she is up against. Will she finally grasp what makes a “good man?”

The family members, who shout and argue until someone gives in and behave in petty selfish ways without much reflection or moral thought find themselves in a less-than-good situation. What happens to them?

What does the Misfit say about punishment, the law, and about Jesus and the resurrection?

And what does the story show about the activity of and need for grace and the state of the human condition that refuses it?

I have purposefully not given you a summary of A Good Man is Hard to Find. Reading it first and then listening to podcasts would be the best introduction to her work.

Why do I read Flannery O’Connor?

Her unsentimental gimlet-eyed Kafkaesque realism speaks to me as a writer in our distorted and moronic times.

“Writers who see by the light of their Christian faith will have, in these times, the sharpest eye for the grotesque, for the perverse, and for the unacceptable. To the hard of hearing you shout, and for the almost-blind you draw large and startling figures.” ― Flannery O’Connor

Flannery O’Connor. Photo: Joe McTyre

Her stories move mystical concepts down from a theological mountain into the hands of her characters – the misfits, freaks, and outsiders who reckon with them or don’t. Her ‘parables’ hit home more than all the logical sermons I’ve heard on grace, salvation, goodness, punishment, forgiveness, and moral decay.

And, like Jesus, she’s “thrown everything off balance.”

~~~~~

The Great Books Podcast: ‘A Good Man Is Hard to Find’ Flannery O’Connor

The Great Books Podcast: ‘A Good Man Is Hard to Find’ Flannery O’Connor | National Review

A Good Man is Hard to Find BONUS episode

A Good Man is Hard to Find BONUS episode (1517.org)

~~~~~

Bishop Barron Presents | Ethan and Maya Hawke – Understanding Flannery (youtube.com)

~~~~~

Further on Flannery:

Flannery O’Connor Reads ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ in Rare 1959 Audio | Open Culture

A Good Man Is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor — HCC Learning Web (hccs.edu)

How Flannery O’Connor and Cormac McCarthy Helped to Invent the South – By Nick Ripatrazone | The Marginalia Review of Books

The Complete Stories (archive.org)

Flannery O’Connor Reads ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ in Rare 1959 Audio | Open Culture

Flannery | American Masters | PBS

The Vocation of Flannery O’Connor – Word on Fire

Flannery O’Connor Reads “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” (1959) (youtube.com)

~~~~~

(Cormac McCarthy (1933 – 2023) had a several influences including O’Connor. Georgia-born O’Connor wrote in Southern Gothic mode and Tennessee-born McCarthy in Appalachian Gothic mode.  Both, with grim-humor, created grotesque characters and nihilistic settings – O’Conner to reveal the possibility of divine grace and lapsed Catholic McCarthy to wonder about the meaning of life. Both writers use violence in their stories. McCarthy to the extreme (Anton Chigurh, No Country for Old Men.)

Flannery O’Connor on Why the Grotesque Appeals to Us, Plus a Rare Recording of Her Reading “A Good Man Is Hard to Find”:

In these grotesque works, we find that the writer has made alive some experience which we are not accustomed to observe every day, or which the ordinary man may never experience in his ordinary life. We find that connections which we would expect in the customary kind of realism have been ignored, that there are strange skips and gaps which anyone trying to describe manners and customs would certainly not have left. Yet the characters have an inner coherence, if not always a coherence to their social framework. Their fictional qualities lean away from typical social patterns, toward mystery and the unexpected. It is this kind of realism that I want to consider.

All novelists are fundamentally seekers and describers of the real, but the realism of each novelist will depend on his view of the ultimate reaches of reality.

Nothing More Than Alright

A short story . . .

My father, on the nights when my mother goes to bridge club, makes creamed chipped beef with peas on toast for supper. He told me one time that in the military it’s called “shit on a shingle” or SOS for short. He makes me eat it even though I can’t stomach peas or the dried beef or the gravy and I’m not a soldier. Tonight again, my mother is at bridge club and I’m sitting here with SOS.

After looking at my plate for a long time, I move the peas out of the gravy, off the toast and onto the plate with my knife. I’m hoping I won’t have to eat them. The kitchen phone rings and I jump to answer it. My best friend Janey wants to know if I want to go with her and her boyfriend Nick to watch West Side Story at the Sky-Hi Drive-In. I say I sure do and hang up. My father doesn’t want me on the phone during supper.

The peas are cold and clammy now and I say I they’re cold and clammy and I can’t eat them. My father tilts his head down and tells me to eat them. I want to say no but I need his okay to go to the movie. So, I stab some peas with my fork and swirl them in the flour gravy and then I eat the green-grey mush with a bite of toast. I gag. I drink some milk and wash it down. My father lifts his head and says “alright”. I clear the dishes and wash them. I’ve done what he wanted, so now I can ask him about Friday night. But I wait until he’s sitting in front of the TV.

An hour later, my father is in the basement watching TV. I sit with him and ask about his movie. He says troops have been ordered to risk their lives and retake a hill that’s not important in the battle. I ask him why. He says it shows the enemy their resolve to continue to fight if an agreement is not reached in negotiations.

A Marlboro commercial comes on and I ask him about Friday night. He wants to know about the movie. I tell him it’s a musical about people fighting, dancing and falling in love and he says “Okay. Ask your mother when she come home from playing bridge.”

My mother finally gets home and I tell her about Friday night. She says she knows the movie. “Saw it with a friend when it came out in ’61,” she says. She knows Janey and Nick and she says it’s okay with her that I go.

Saturday night Nick’s car pulls into the driveway. He honks the horn and I yell “They’re here”. My father yells from the basement “Have a good time honey. Call if there is a problem.” Mom, on the phone with someone, yells for me to come straight home after the movie. I yell back “I will.”

I get in the back seat of Nick’s Chevy and we drive off – but not in the direction of the Sky-Hi. I ask where we’re going. Janey turns to me and says that Nick asked his friend Tom to come along. He had nothing to do, Nick says. I immediately panic. I wonder if I look alright.

I have a face full of pimples and a bony nose that’s too big for my face. I wonder if I used enough concealer. The green top I’m wearing is wrinkled. It was at the bottom of my closet. And the jeans I’m wearing are worn thin. I was expecting to sit in the dark and watch a movie with Nick and Janey.

We pull up to a ranch house on the other side of town. Nick honks the horn. A skinny blonde-haired guy walks out the front door and down the front walk. “Here’s Tom,” Janey says.

Tom gets in the back seat. Janey introduces Tom. I don’t know him from school. I give him a quick smile and then give Janey a stare. She just winks back at me. She knows I don’t have a boyfriend.

Tom is neatly dressed. He’s wearing a button-down shirt, khaki pants and loafers. His boxy glasses make him look like a bookworm. In junior high school he’d be called “a climber” and Nick “a greaser.”

The Twin Theater Sky-Hi Drive In is on the west end of our town. On the way we listen to the AM radio. A Chicago station plays Born to Be Wild and I Will Always Think About You. Tom and I sit quietly in the back. I suck in my lips and look out my window. The cloudy sky looks like flour gravy.

We arrive at Sky-Hi and pay for our tickets. Nick drives over to a center spot in the East Theater. Nick and Tom say they’re going to the concession stand. They ask what we want. Janey and I ask for Cokes and popcorn. I hand Nick some money and they head off. The guys return after twenty minutes just as the coming attractions start. I roll down my window and Tom hands me the Coke and popcorn. I say thank you. He gets into the back seat on the other side of the car.

Janey’s been sitting next to Nick the whole time he’s been driving. Now Nick puts his arm around Janey’s shoulder and they snuggle together. Janey asks “are you guys okay back there?” I say I have to move over to see the screen. I look at Tom and he gives me a nod that says it’s okay. I scooch over to the middle of the back seat and put my legs to the left side of the floor hump. “That’s better,” I say.

Finally, the movie begins. There’s an overture and then the Jets sing about being a Jet and beating up other gangs. The Jets and the Sharks want to fight each other for control of the streets. But first they go to a dance. It’s a musical, so I guess it doesn’t have to make sense.

At the dance, Tony of the Jets meets Maria, Bernardo’s sister. Bernardo is the head of the Puerto Rican Shark gang. Tony and Maria fall in love at first sight. Nobody is happy about that except Tony and Maria. Tony’s half in half out about the gang stuff but he’s all in on Maria. He wants to run away with her.

Tony and Maria start singing Tonight and I stop eating popcorn. I put my hand down on the car seat so I can lean forward and hear what’s coming from the speaker. My little finger touches Tom’s little finger. He takes my hand into his. We stay this way, looking at the movie and holding hands, until the movie ends and headlights turn on.

It’s past midnight when we leave Sky-HI. Nick says he’ll drive me home first. I go back and sit behind Nick. Tom looks out his window. Everyone is quiet. Nick turns on the radio. Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing comes on. I suck in my lips and look out my window. On the way home I see a car with one headlight and say “perdiddle.”  Janey and Nick kiss.

At home I get out of the car and say thanks to Janey and Nick and goodnight to Tom. Tom says good night looking at Nick and Janey.

I go inside and hear the TV on in the basement. I walk down the hallway to my bedroom. My mother is sitting in her bed reading her magazines. She sees me and asks “Susan, how was it?” I poke my head into the room and tell her it was alright.

“Just alright? Nothing more?” she asks.

“Nothing more than alright” I say.

“Okay,” she says. “Now go to bed. It’s late. Tomorrow’s another day.”

As I walk away she reminds me that she has bridge club again tomorrow night. I say okay.

In my room I take the ticket stub out of my jeans pocket. I find a pen and write on the back of the stub West Side Story Tom. I pull my keepsake box out from under the bed and put the ticket stub inside along with the Valentine cards from third grade and my second-place medals from clarinet solo contests and some poems I wrote. I close the box and put it back.

I go to bed thinking about the movie and Tom and peas on my plate.

©Jennifer Ann Johnson, Kingdom Venturers, 2024, All Rights Reserved