As the World Churns (21 page)

    
“Exactly.
Imagine what a nicer world it would be if all the closeted homosexuals in this country stopped persecuting other gays from their pulpits or pews, and owned up to who they are.”

    
“Hmm.”

    He fixed his doleful gaze on me again.

    “Stop it-dear! I’m not a liar, merely an embroiderer of the truth. Rather skillful embroidering, if I do say so myself.” I stood and stretched, and in the process whacked my hands against the metal ceiling.

    
“Huafa mischt.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “You heard me. My mother was Amish, as you may recall. I know the socially acceptable way to say horse manure in this community. If you can’t just flat-out admit that you’re a world-class liar-well then, Magdalena, I’ve lost all respect for you.”

    I thought carefully before responding. I even cast a prayer heavenward. That it bounced off the metal roof of the reverend’s tiny trailer wasn’t my fault.

    “If I refuse, will you still be a judge tomorrow?”

    
“Of course.
I’m not being punitive; I just want you to stop kidding yourself.”

    Knowing that my prayers for a charitable tongue would be futile, I skipped them and dove right in. “Why, Reverend Nixon, you’re a first-class hypocrite, despite
all this
liberal posturing about self-knowledge. Your congregation is the most conservative in the county, Amish or otherwise. I’ve heard that you thump your Bibles so hard you wear them out on an annual basis, and, according to the hospital statistics, at least once a month someone in your church is hurt by all the jumping up and down in the pews you folks engage in. If they knew you were sneaking off into
Maryland
to watch movies, they’d toss you out like last year’s devotional guide.”

    The good reverend is one of those men whose virility is immediately made apparent by an enormous, angular Adam’s apple. When he swallows, or becomes agitated, it bobs up and down like a fishing cork on Miller’s Pond. At the moment, judging by the vigorous activity taking place in his throat, one might guess Richard Nixon had caught a large-mouth bass.

    “Please leave now,” he said in a tone as flat as central
Kansas
. Perhaps I’d gone too far.

    “Certainly, but you’ll still judge, right?”

    “Actually, I’ve just changed my mind; I will not be judging. In fact, I’m not even coming. Far be it for me to sully this august event with my wicked, hypocritical ways. Besides, I have yet to wear out last year’s Bible, let alone get started on this year’s, so I’ve got a lot of thumping to do.”

    “But who will I get to take your place on such short notice?”

    “Frankly, Magdalena, I don’t give a-”

    If Reverend Nixon finished his sentence with a swear word, I didn’t hear it. I was too busy fainting. Fortunately for me, the pastor of the church with thirty-two words in its name made good use of those long arms and caught me before my head hit the floor.

    Imagine my surprise when I woke to discover that I was in Hell, and I mean that literally. After all, I’d given my life over to the Lord, and was a
true
believer, and, although it’s faith that’s important, not good works, I’d even acted charitably at times. If anyone deserved to go to Heaven, it was me-not that any of us are truly deserving of such a wonderful place, but you know what I mean. I certainly didn’t think I was bound for Hell, just because I stretched the truth on the odd occasion.

    For some reason, I was lying on my back. Leering down at me was the Devil who, although
not
wearing Prada, was unmistakably female. Her voice soon confirmed that.

    “Do you know who I am, Magdalena?”

    
“Beelzebub.
Or would you prefer Your Devilship? But Satan-ess is just too sibilant, if you ask me. Look, a terrible mistake has been made: I’ve been sent to the wrong place.”

    “Oh?”

    “No doubt about it. I should be up there”-I pointed to the ceiling-”choosing my mansion. How many styles do we get to pick from? Oops, I guess you wouldn’t know.”

    “It’s me, Nurse Dudley.”

    “What?”

    “Focus, Magdalena. How many fingers do you see?”

    “Hey, that’s not nice! Just because I’m a simple Mennonite woman, you don’t think I know what that means. But you’re right, you do sort of look like Nurse Ratched, although frankly- and I mean this as a compliment, you’re somewhat prettier.”

    “Shut up, you idiot! I really am Nurse Ratched-
Darn,
you see what you made me do? Well, I told you I was going to get you, Magdalena; I just didn’t expect the moment to come so quick. But now that you’re lying in a hospital bed, and I’m the nurse on duty . . .” She rubbed her hands together and cackled.

    It was then that I realized Hell was merely a room at
Bedford
County
Memorial
Hospital
. The real Devil, however, could not have been any scarier than Nurse Ratched. I tried to sit up, but was pushed back down by her almost supernatural strength.

    “Help,” I shouted.
“Help!”

    She clamped her other hand over my mouth. Her deadly digits were icy cold, and smelled of rubbing alcohol.

    “I was only kidding, ha-ha. Or was I? I’m going to let you go now, Magdalena. But bear in mind that it will be your word against mine. And since you just came out of a near coma, and I am a respected professional, who will they believe?
The woman who exaggerates everything when she’s not out-and-out lying, or the kind, compassionate caregiver?”

    “Why you evil, evil-”

    The door opened and in strode my dearly beloved and, hard on his heels, the breathtakingly beautiful Faya Rashid. The latter is a doctor, and a friend of mine. Originally from Lebanon-as in the Middle East, not Pennsylvania-Faya has been busy turning herself into a proper American. Although she will always have an accent, and her grammar is not quite perfect, she knows more about American history and government than any six high school students combined. In fact, in less than a month, she planned to take the citizenship test.

    
“Babe!”
Gabe ran over to the bed and practically threw himself on top of me.

    Dr. Rashid peered around my husband’s thick mop of still-black hair and smiled. “You are awake now, Miss Yoder. Congratulations.”

    “Congratulate me on being alive; this woman tried to kill me.”

    Nurse Dudley somehow assumed the innocent pose of an elementary school girl. “The patient is exhibiting signs of extreme agitation. Would you like me to prepare a sedative?”

    “She would
not
,” the Babester said.

    My tormentor’s innocent façade began to crack. “Are you a doctor?”

    “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

    Dr. Rashid’s last hurdle in her quest to become an American is to master the tricky art of assertiveness-especially when dealing with men. Alas, I am not the one to teach her this skill, seeing as how I am a mite overqualified.

    Instead of shooing my sweet baboo from my bed, she laid a cool hand gently on my arm, and looked at me when she spoke. “Dr. Rosen is a world-famous heart surgeon, but I am afraid he is not Miss Yoder’s attending physician.”

    “I get the hint,” Gabe said, and retreated to the foot of my bed.

    Dr. Rashid’s dark eyes shone with relief. “Miss Yoder, is this the first time you are fainting like this?”

    
“To my knowledge, yes.
Although I suppose it is possible I’ve fainted before, and then regained consciousness immediately and not realized that it happened. I mean, theoretically, just about anything
is
possible-well, pigs will never be able to fly, of course, unless some wicked scientist manages to splice pig genes into a bird egg and comes up with something like a peagle, which would be a sin, and maybe something Congress-”

    “Hon, would you please just answer her questions? And for the record, we use pig valves in human heart patients all the time. I’d hardly call that wicked.”

    “Ha!” Nurse Dudley was obviously quite pleased with my reprimand.

    
“Nurse!”
Dr. Rashid spoke with shocking, but delightful sharpness. “Please do leave the room.”

    “But I was-”

    “Please, no buts. Yes?” She waited while my erstwhile nemesis stomped from the room like a spoiled child. “Miss Yoder,” she continued, as if nothing untoward had happened, “we checked your most vital signs, and I drew some blood while you were passed out. There is much backup in the laboratory, but your most vital signs, they are very good. You have a strong heart, Miss Yoder.”

    “Good things come in small packages.”

    A look of confusion flickered across her face. “Nevertheless, we are keeping you here for twenty-four hours for to observe.”

    “But you can’t! I have a competition to preside over.”

    “This competition must wait.”

    “It can’t wait. Everyone already is here with their cows. Folks have come from as far away as Timbuktu.”

    
“From
Africa
?
As far as that?”

    “Oh, is
that
where Timbuktu is? Never mind, that’s just an expression. My point is that this date is chiseled in stone, and so is my being there.”

    Poor Dr. Rashid turned to Gabe. That a Lebanese immigrant has to ask a Jewish man from
New York
to translate for a regular American like yours truly-well, as my mother-in-law would say, that’s a
shande
.

    “What she means,” Gabe said without any prodding, “is that a lot of people are counting on this cow competition. But don’t worry, Dr. Rashid, I’ll see that she stays right here.”

    “In a flying pig’s eye,” I sputtered.

    The love of my life planted a kiss on me of such high quality that it bought him some explaining time. “Don’t worry, hon, I have this covered; I’ll take over all your duties.”

    “But what do you know about cows?”

    “You’ll teach me. I’m not leaving your bedside until I know exactly what to do.”

    “Well, the first thing is to find a judge to replace Reverend Richard Nixon.”

    “Why? What happened? Is he unwell?”

    
“Uh-no.”

    “You ticked him off, didn’t you?”

    “Remember that I’m in a hospital bed. You can’t be mad at a dying woman.”

    “No!” Dr. Rashid gripped my shoulder. “You are not dying, Miss Yoder.”

    “That was for dramatic effect, dear. Gabriel, darling, if you can find a suitable replacement for the reverend, and pull off the job of emcee-well, I’ll be eternally grateful. I might even do this.” I pulled him close and whispered in his ear.

    “No way, babe, only my ma does that.”

    “Cut his meat,” I said to Dr. Rashid, to stop her from looking so horrified. Sadly, it was the truth.

    Dr. Rashid pretended it made sense. “So, we are all squares then, yes?”

    “Squares, indeed,” I said in much too loud a voice. “But please, dear, do me a favor. Tell the dietician that chocolate pudding is necessary for my health, and please tell someone-anyone other than Nurse Dudley-that I have yet to have lunch.”

    Gabe squeezed my hand. “Mags, hon, it’s three in the afternoon. No hospital serves lunch this late.”

    “Then tell the concerned party that I’ll have two suppers- one now, and the other at the appointed time. If they object,
Bedford
Memorial
Hospital
can kiss their Magdalena Yoder wing good-bye.”

    His and her gasps sounded almost like my old furnace starting up. “Darling, are you serious? Are you donating a new wing to the hospital?”

    
“Absolutely not, dear.
At least I have no plans to at the moment. But should I not get my lunch, I will definitely
not
be funding a new wing.”