“jerk.”
Ana turned her attention back to the
pulpit. The pastor was the same black man — Duncan — she had met at The Social.
As Ana sat in a pew with her hands folded
in her lap, looking up at the pulpit like everyone around her, she felt like a
fraud among so many holy people. She wasn’t a believer, and the words flowing
from Duncan’s mouth didn’t sound all that different from the fairy tales her
parents had told her as a child.
Ana wondered why Red Beard had given her
the message to come here. Had he merely been offering her a place of worship,
or did Duncan want to see her? She assumed the latter, given their conversation
at The Social. Perhaps Duncan was going to offer proof she was a “liar,” and
that her dad hadn’t done what she had clearly seen him do, she figured.
Though it would have to be some damned
impressive proof.
There was a small girl to Ana’s left,
tiny really, and adorable enough to crease Ana’s unhappy face with a smile.
Most of the children living in the lower floor apartments of The City looked
malnourished. Their clothes were often threadbare and dirty, no different from
their spirits.
This girl seemed different — scrubbed
rosy, her body clean and almost glowing. Her clothes were thin but well mended
and neatly pressed despite their wear. Her short blond hair was trimmed in a
severe line just beneath her chin. She stared up at the pastor, lightly
swinging her legs, fingers braided and resting in her lap, wearing a smile that
seemed so big and happy .
Ana couldn’t ever remember a time being
filled with that much joy.
The girl hung on the pastor’s every word,
singing every song while swinging her feet beneath the pew in front of her.
When Duncan finished speaking, Ana waited for the traffic to pass before
climbing into the open aisle. Ana waited behind the girl, waiting to see where
her parents were. But nobody came for the girl.
She just sat there, smiling, watching the
pastor.
Ana leaned over the aisle, “Are you here
alone?”
The girl turned to Ana and said, “Yes,
Mommy and Daddy let me come to church whenever I want. They said it’s better
than being at home and watching The Games.”
Ana swallowed, still confused about
whether she should be celebrating or mourning her father’s win this morning,
which she had seen just as she was leaving for church.
“I haven’t seen you before,” the girl
said, looking sideways at Ana. “Was this your first time at church?”
Ana nodded.
The girl smiled. “It’s great to have
you,” she said. “Father Duncan says we can never have too many people in
church.” After a pause, barely long enough to draw a decent breath, she said,
“My name’s Iris, what’s yours?”
She had “Ana” in her throat, then choked
on it and said, “Rebecca” instead.
“Nice to meet you, Rebecca.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Ana said.
She was about to ask Iris where she lived
when she felt a strong hand on her tightened shoulder. “Come with me,” Duncan’s
soft, firm voice said from behind her. Ana turned and met Duncan’s eyes, larger
than what she remembered from The Social, and infinitely sadder. “I have
something to show you,” he said.
Ana said nothing, just nodded, turned to
Iris, and waved goodbye, then followed Duncan through the church, past the
pulpit, then down some stairs and into the basement where there was a handful
of kids and grownups sharing food and discussion.
Despite the good-bye, Iris followed them
anyway, jumping from the second to the final step, then onto the basement floor
just a beat behind them, practically skipping across the room to the table on
the far wall, where she grabbed a piece of bread with a layer of sweetener
crusted across the top, then started nibbling on the end, like she probably did
every week.
Ana gave Iris a one-fingered wave, her
curled pointer bouncing up and down from across the room. Iris looked up,
smiled with her crumb-coated mouth, then waved back at Ana
Ana turned her attention back to the
pulpit. The pastor was the same black man — Duncan — she had met at The Social.
As Ana sat in a pew with her hands folded
in her lap, looking up at the pulpit like everyone around her, she felt like a
fraud among so many holy people. She wasn’t a believer, and the words flowing
from Duncan’s mouth didn’t sound all that different from the fairy tales her
parents had told her as a child.
Ana wondered why Red Beard had given her
the message to come here. Had he merely been offering her a place of worship,
or did Duncan want to see her? She assumed the latter, given their conversation
at The Social. Perhaps Duncan was going to offer proof she was a “liar,” and
that her dad hadn’t done what she had clearly seen him do, she figured.
Though it would have to be some damned
impressive proof.
There was a small girl to Ana’s left,
tiny really, and adorable enough to crease Ana’s unhappy face with a smile.
Most of the children living in the lower floor apartments of The City looked
malnourished. Their clothes were often threadbare and dirty, no different from
their spirits.
This girl seemed different — scrubbed
rosy, her body clean and almost glowing. Her clothes were thin but well mended
and neatly pressed despite their wear. Her short blond hair was trimmed in a
severe line just beneath her chin. She stared up at the pastor, lightly
swinging her legs, fingers braided and resting in her lap, wearing a smile that
seemed so big and happy .
Ana couldn’t ever remember a time being
filled with that much joy.
The girl hung on the pastor’s every word,
singing every song while swinging her feet beneath the pew in front of her.
When Duncan finished speaking, Ana waited for the traffic to pass before
climbing into the open aisle. Ana waited behind the girl, waiting to see where
her parents were. But nobody came for the girl.
She just sat there, smiling, watching the
pastor.
Ana leaned over the aisle, “Are you here
alone?”
The girl turned to Ana and said, “Yes,
Mommy and Daddy let me come to church whenever I want. They said it’s better
than being at home and watching The Games.”
Ana swallowed, still confused about
whether she should be celebrating or mourning her father’s win this morning,
which she had seen just as she was leaving for church.
“I haven’t seen you before,” the girl
said, looking sideways at Ana. “Was this your first time at church?”
Ana nodded.
The girl smiled. “It’s great to have
you,” she said. “Father Duncan says we can never have too many people in
church.” After a pause, barely long enough to draw a decent breath, she said,
“My name’s Iris, what’s yours?”
She had “Ana” in her throat, then choked
on it and said, “Rebecca” instead.
“Nice to meet you, Rebecca.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Ana said.
She was about to ask Iris where she lived
when she felt a strong hand on her tightened shoulder. “Come with me,” Duncan’s
soft, firm voice said from behind her. Ana turned and met Duncan’s eyes, larger
than what she remembered from The Social, and infinitely sadder. “I have
something to show you,” he said.
Ana said nothing, just nodded, turned to
Iris, and waved goodbye, then followed Duncan through the church, past the
pulpit, then down some stairs and into the basement where there was a handful
of kids and grownups sharing food and discussion.
Despite the good-bye, Iris followed them
anyway, jumping from the second to the final step, then onto the basement floor
just a beat behind them, practically skipping across the room to the table on
the far wall, where she grabbed a piece of bread with a layer of sweetener
crusted across the top, then started nibbling on the end, like she probably did
every week.
Ana gave Iris a one-fingered wave, her
curled pointer bouncing up and down from across the room. Iris looked up,
smiled with her crumb-coated mouth, then waved back at Ana
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